Act II: Chocolate

This is the wrong dress rehearsal.

It has to be. Why else would there be people disrobing each other on the stage while performing the tango? Never mind that the music is in fact from The Nutcracker. This...this debauchery couldn't be Ahiru's other rehearsal. He must have heard wrong. This is a mistake.

Or at least, that's what Fakir thought until a blur of red and black tackled him in a surprisingly tight grasp and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before dashing away as suddenly as the blur had arrived.

His eyes were not deceiving him, much as his mind fought about whether he wanted them to or not. That was Ahiru in a maid outfit. This is further confirmed when another member of the cast closer to the stage calls out to her.

"Ahiru!" she shouts. "Are you coming or just breathing hard?"

Ahiru practically squeaks as she rushes down.

"Hey! Don't forget to practice!" the castmate calls again.

At her prompting, Ahiru scans the aisle seats on her way and begins hugging and kissing whomever she finds the same way she hugged and kissed Fakir. He couldn't entirely contain a strange, strangled sound that loosed itself from his throat when some of these people were hugging and kissing her back.

There's nothing else to do. They're going.

Fakir follows Ahiru down the aisle and grabs her by her wrist.

"Huh?!" she lets out, whipping her her head around. "F-F-Fakir?! What are you doing here?"

Ahiru thought her imagination was exceptionally good when she tackled him. It was such a strange job, going out and "fluffing" the audience, as the director had put it. Go out and kiss random strangers? Hug them? Dance directly in front of them? Touch them in the same strange places she's been dreaming about? She never knew there was such dancing that included the audience so...intimately.

The only way should could approach these people so boldly, much less hug and kiss them, was by picturing her friends in their place. It took some getting used to, the idea of kissing Mytho, Rue, Edel, and particularly Fakir. But after a time or two practicing, the task turned from a chore to a thrill, especially when her almost-chaste affections were reciprocated. The realization that it was more than her imagination and she really did hug and kiss Fakir caused her eyes to widen and her face to turn a deeper and deeper red.

And now he was dragging her out of the auditorium, which sort of thrilled her. But at the same time, she has to practice...

"We're leaving, moron," he grumbles.

"Wha-? But we're in the middle of the dress rehearsal," she protests.

"We're leaving," he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ahiru turns to her befuddled castmates and says, "I'm sorry but I guess I gotta go!"

On their way out, Fakir sneers as he hears a couple of girls snickering and whispering.

"That must be him. The guy Ahiru's shacked up with but not shacked up with, know what I mean?"

"Oh god, the tension must be hell."

"I don't know how he can stand it."

"Him? I don't know how Ahiru can stand it."

Fakir didn't hear any further comments and didn't want to. It wasn't any of their business. And it looked like that was something he needed to make clear to Ahiru.

It seemed like it took forever, but Ahiru and Fakir finally made it home, his hand firmly around her wrist the entire way. She had to fight the overwhelming surge of desire that unexpectedly came with how perfectly her wrist fits in his hold, better than her dreams ever imagined. It took all of her strength to not vocalize her disappointment when he finally let go.

"What in the world were you doing there, Ahiru?" he finally demands.

"Ah-" she tries, looking for an appropriate voice. "Ah, practicing."

"I could see that. But why are you practicing in that- that filthy performance?"

" 'Cause...'cause...'cause Lillie got the part for me!"

"Lillie?"

"Uh...uh-huh. She said she needed someone else in the production and that I should help her with her plight."

Fakir pinches the bridge of his nose. He should have known.

"And you just agreed to it? You just let yourself get dragged along? You really are ridiculous, idiot. No wonder you haven't been able to concentrate on The Nutcracker..."

He went on a bit more, mainly about how this additional performance is affecting her and the rumors he heard as they left, but there was so little space between them that Ahiru was having trouble thinking straight. Her mind was swimming in their combined heat, his green eyes boring into her, and the way his voice hit her ear. Part of her wished for boldness so that she could just close the small distance between them and stop his mouth with hers.

But then he said, "You should drop out."

"What?! But I can't!" she automatically protests, snapping out of reverie.

"Why not?"

" 'Cause...'cause I already told Lillie that I would and we're already in dress rehearsals and- and Fakir, I can't just leave! You just- you don't understand!"

Fakir lets out a frustrated sigh and it sounds so much like something else that Ahiru can't entirely hide the shudder that runs up her spine. He stays quiet for a moment, wondering if he accidentally frightened her by being too harsh. She really is easy to influence, isn't she? It probably isn't entirely her fault. Though he's not sure why she can't just let it go.

"Go get changed," he says, dropping it for the moment. They can resume the discussion when she's not dressed as a maid.

"You just don't understand!" Ahiru tells Fakir for what must have been the millionth time over the last few days.

"You're right," Fakir says, practically sneering. "I don't understand why you can't just quit."

"It won't change things now! Leaving's not gonna make me a better Clara or make me any less stressed out or make the dreams go away so you might as well just stop it, Fakir!"

"Dreams?"

"Qua-!" Ahiru covers her mouth as Fakir regards her with a raised eyebrow.

"What dreams?"

The longer he stares, the deeper the blush on her face grows.

"Oh good lord, Ahiru," he grumbles, putting his hand to his face. "You're having dreams about that...that debauchery."

Thankfully, he's able to cover his own blushing with the gesture. Just the very idea that Ahiru would have dreams about- about that...

But then, as if something sparked right there in Ahiru's mind, her own eyes narrow and she drops her hands to her sides, balling them into fists.

"It's not like I can help it anymore! And when you're like this it makes me wonder why so many of them are about you!"

That anger-fueled confession makes Fakir jolt up, his hand dropping away from his face and mouth agape.

"Ahi- you- what?!"

Ahiru puts her fists on her hips, not even letting herself feel embarrassed or selfish anymore when she can be mad and frustrated at Fakir. Fakir wasn't sure what he was feeling, as that seemed to require thought and his mind wouldn't slow down enough to let him think. Everything fits together now: the rumors, the noises, why his name would come up in her sleep for no apparent reason, how she would tense up and breathe heavier whenever he touched her...

No, he has to get out of there. Get out of there and think of this somewhere without her, lest he get caught up in his memory of her breathing or her reactions to his touch or carrying her to her bed while she was fondling her-

No no no no no no no, got to get out.

He stumbles away with a complete lack of his usual grace, runs into the dining table with his back, and manages to find enough presence of mind to maneuver around and dash out. Once he's gone, Ahiru drops her hands from her hips and sighs. Now she allows herself to be embarrassed. She would just go and say all that stuff to Fakir and make him run away because he just- he wouldn't want to- and now he probably won't even want to dance with her anymore. That very thought gave her a strange, hollow ache.

Sometimes she really is an idiot.

Fakir has never been one for ballroom dance. It doesn't call for the same level of skill, the same finesse. And yet here he is, dancing the lead of a tango partnered with-

"Ahiru? What are we doing?"

She doesn't say anything during their dance, simply following the smooth steps. Her hand passes from the light touch on his shoulder to trace soft fingertips against his neck. His breath hitches just as she loosens his tie.

But just as Ahiru removes the tie completely, she leaves his hold. Fakir reaches out but his hand is snatched away. He turns in annoyed surprise, his frown deepening as he finds himself in Rue's arms. Her smile is one of cruel amusement as she steals the lead, the ballerina bending the danseur over her arm in a dangerously low dip.

"What's going on, Rue?" he growls, pissed.

"Think of it as a party," she answers before righting him.

"A party?"

"Mm-hmm," she hums, forcing him to move back with every sliding step forward and her hand snaking beneath his jacket. "And a party's no fun if you're stuck with one person all night. You have to mingle."

Rue shoves into his back, pushing him into a turn and taking his jacket off in the same motion. This is when Fakir sees the others dancing, switching from partner to partner. His eyes search until he finds Ahiru in Autor's arms of all people. And when he sees the musician idly snap the strap of the redhead's dress before tugging it down over her shoulder, dread washes over him at the realization that he's not the only one being stripped. Hearing the duck-turned-girl cry out only solidifies that fear in his belly.

"Ahiru-!" Fakir calls, reaching again only for another hand to grasp his.

He has the lead again but this time his partner is Mytho.

"Fakir," the prince says, leaning into his knight-turned-writer and curling a leg against his waist. "You're not enjoying the dance like the others."

And just like that, Fakir goes from irritated to embarrassed, jaw dropping and face flushing crimson.

"I'm not the only one!" he protests, moving away from Mytho's weight on him. "You're just going along with this while Ahiru needs help?"

"But she likes it, too," Mytho says, gentle touch deceptively ripping Fakir's vest open.

"No she doesn't!" Fakir argues, backing away again. "Can't you hear her calling for help?"

"I hear her," he states, walking in a circle around Fakir and taking the vest off the writer's shoulders. "But she's not calling for help."

Fakir has a moment before he's pulled back, and in that time he sees that girl... That one that has a crush on him, one of Ahiru's friends. What was- Pique! That's right, Pique. And she was looking towards him with a Cheshire Cat grin just as her fingers brush against Ahiru's hip and pull at her skirt. Ahiru cries out again but it's clear from the smile on her face and the way she arches into Pique's touch that Mytho was right.

"No..."

As if in response, Ahiru squeaks out, "Yes-!" as the others close in on her.

He can't see who's holding him but he can feel all four limbs being held back by clawing grasps into his clothes. Ahiru's focus is on the attention she's receiving from their partners in the dance, moaning in ecstasy while oblivious about Fakir's predicament. He watches, helpless as they shred the remainder of her clothes and openly kiss and caress her bare skin. Seeing her like that fuels a fire in Fakir, flaring up with indignation, jealousy, and desire all at the same time.

And then, just when he couldn't be sure which emotion would come out on top, Ahiru raises an arm up and a new hand reaches out from the darkness to grab her wrist. Another hand comes to possessively wrap around her, fingers splaying over her chest and winning him a desperate gasp.

Fakir wakes with a start just as he sees himself grinning wickedly over Ahiru's shoulder.