Hello! I love Fakir x Ahiru! They may be my favorite pairing EVER. Their competition being Miroku x Sango and Mercedes x Ingway from Odin Sphere. There are so many great facfic stories for Ahiru and Fakir buuuut, I think some of the stories are rather dramatic. I wanted to write a story where Ahiru becomes a girl and they just get to live peacefully. *Spoiler* Since at the end of the anime their world turns into a normal one i.e. no talking cats, no alligator headed ballerinas, no ducks that can turn into girls (╯︵╰,) . . . I want to write them into their normal world, with a bit of smut! Hope you enjoy and if you are so inclined, please review!
They were a bunch of sticks with different hairstyles. Pirouetting lollipops. Including Fakir.
As the years progressed so did the pas de deux. Pas de deusx expressing love. Pas de deux of death, grief. Even pas de deux of ecstasy. Utilizing the anthology of ballet to shock and transfix the audience. That and, perfect pointe. Fakir caressed his partners; tracing their faces with his lips, cupping their bodies like a cup of jasmine tea, and the constant lifts. So intimate that the term 'intimacy' became null and void to him a long time ago. That's what it meant to be a dancer. Your body was merely a tool. Don't take it personally.
He didn't care how close someone got or where he had to touch them. As long as they didn't get in they way of his alluring, menacing performances, he did not give a damn.
He became the biggest piece of eye-candy In Goldcrowne Academy since Rue and Mytho flew away to a magical kingdom. Literally. A sucker and marshmallow respectively. King and Queen of a kingdom far, far away. Fakir's near violent obsession with the art made him a hard candy that every student would bite if given the chance.
Any candy, even one as unyielding as Fakir, would dissolve in a lake inhabited by a waterfowl so pure she created miracles. Instead of spitting his bitter ass out, Fakir was lucky Ahiru waited for his sweetness to surface.
After Rue and Mytho found their happy ending, Fakir fought for Ahiru's. He promised her, no.
They promised each other that they would live together as their true selves. Her? A duck. And Fakir, a ballerina with possessed blood that could write happy endings. With her encouragement, he was able to face what he spent his life turning away from. Turning Mytho away from too. Fakir had changed. All thanks to that simple duck.
Fakir was a bull-headed grouch who denied his destiny until that meddling girl came shrieking in front of Mytho's window. She showed him free-will, taught him to rewrite the character you were born to play and to stand up against inconceivable odds.
So, was it such a surprise that now that her voice had been shattered to quacks, he returned to his stubborn way? Beneath it all, he was a selfish bastard. With what little frustrations he had after defeating Drosselmeyer he released them through dance. He had to pick up dancing after a while. Restoring peace and joy to lives Drosselmeyer twisted was satisfying however, his muscles itched. He may have had Drosselmeyer's blood but he didn't share his penchant for sitting all day. Everyday. Day in day out. It was as much destiny as it was for his sanity that Fakir joined the town's most prestigious dance troupe. He also took some supplementary teacher at his former academy.
More aptly, when alone he warmed up and perfected the basics. He saved his best performances for Ahiru; Odette, The Red Shoes, Sleeping Beauty etc. Her squawks of excitement and admiration filled his heart more than anything in the world. Her eyes sparkled. It was like nothing changed. She would mimic him, her feathers softening and staying close to her form, arms reaching for the future with her legs in beautiful form. She was the most beautiful dancer Fakir had ever seen. No one else caught his eye like Ahiru. Maybe it was because his eye was trained for error but if he were being honest, it's because she was a work of art in any form she took. Her spirit shone through in every move. Even as a duck.
Her rosey pink hair, honey graham skin and those darling freckles flew through his mind as his exertion further and further entranced him. One time while dancing Sleeping Beauty Fakir, so enthralled with Ahiru's attention, slipped into the female's role.
His onlooker shuddered. He heard her gasp like she were a girl again. Then, she was deafeningly silent. He faltered in his dance and looked at her with those doleful tears in her eyes. Calling out to her did nothing because she had flew away.
Years, being reduced to mimicking his movements, broke her. Her heart was still there. Entirely full. But Fakir wanted to see her human again. Was their pas de deux at the bottom of the lake their last? No. What kind of ending was that? In spite of those promises
He wrote a happy ending for her. In secret . . .
Until Ahiru transformed into a girl.
It was an ordinary early morning for the pair. Fakir was drinking his preferred poison, black tea, skimming a book on the dock while Ahiru skimmed the lake's surface. He was re-reading one of Drosselmeyer's first tales where he deigned his characters worthy of happy endings. Fakir was different.
Years of hesitation. Formulating the right mindset, setting, time and place, themes motifs for his princess. He had never been so anal, not even with Mytho. His possessiveness didn't make it any easier to get into the flow necessary to provide Ahiru with her happy ending.
But it was the very thought of Drosselmeyer that inspired him last night. Ahiru was sleeping on his windowsill while Fakir wondered, quite gloomily, how losing one's wife could create such a cruel heart. How would Fakir feel if his . . 'Situation' with Ahiru continued? For three years they had lived contentedly like hurt children. Imprinted by tragedy yet hopeful nonetheless.
And then he danced to Sleeping Beauty and screwed it up. Ahira became distant. Sad. Was this how Drosselmeyer felt when his wife was dying? The pain? How did he feel when his wife died? Did it match any of the emotions Fakir felt now? Could Fakir's feelings for Ahiru, his longings, his desires; were they powerful enough to give her a new life? That night Fakir asked
"Ahiru, do you dream of becoming a girl again?".
Her slow steady breaths indicated she was sleeping.
"Ahiru, what do you dream of?". Fakir asked. These questions became his mantra and the pen flew across the paper. He awoke with drool on his arm and a neatly closed notebook. Ahiru wasn't to be seen. He ran around the room looking for her only to see her swimming in the lake, per usual. He was only marginally disappointed. He ruffled his hair, got ready for the day before preparing his tea and joining her. . . .
Until Ahiru transformed. There was a brilliant flash of light like when she returned a heart shard or when the clumsy girl transformed into Princess Tutu. That hopeful little melody, a piercing light, and a naked girl. She was just standing there, The water was only up to her ankles and she looked so . . .sincere. There were tears in her eyes and she was searching for Fakir desperately.
'What an idiot', Fakir thought. He sat on his rocking chair, suddenly she couldn't find where it was? The long-gone dynamic bubbling up inside of him again.
She was tripping on her legs, so much longer now as an 18 year old than a 13 year old girl. She fell face first in the water and Fakir thought she would drown. He ran to her, the water logging his pants, and encircled her in his arms. He embraced her, held her close to him. Her lips quivered with hard formed words as Ahiru's eyes flooded with disbelief.
Charged with pride, wonderment, joy the selfish bastard the young man couldn't help but pick on her as calmly as if a miracle had not just brought his love back to him.
"Is that all the thanks I get?"
Ahiru quacked, Fakir laughed and she spoke her first words
"You bully!".
Yes, they were the happiest failed knight and fallen princess imaginable.
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The duck who transformed back into a girl was a fairytale of its own. And it was a happy tale. Ahiru's outbursts were from joy, gratitude and disbelief that Fakir wrote a story for her, and that it had worked. The travails of being human again was surmountable with Fakir's love and dedication bolstering her. And there were many hardships.
It had been years since Ahiru walked. Admittedly Ahiru had always had shaky coordination. Fakir took her on walks so serene and lovely she forgot that she forgot how to walk. The burn in her limbs was as diminutive as her palm in his. His one hand was bigger than both of hers. He guided her with a tender touch and if she were peering up at a flock of birds, trip on some forestry, he'd catch her.
To Ahiru's surprise, Fakir was quiet. Well, maybe it wasn't surprising. He had always been taciturn. When they were kids Fakir was so unlike the pink chatterbox. Fakir would speak as if every word cost a fortune. In those days, he only started flapping his gums when he was having a fit or spouting wisdom.
Age seemingly made him more reserved. When she was a mere waterfowl, he would often talk to her. For her sake. Telling her about his day, his classes and when he graduated, about his troupe. She ate up the stories of ballet, imagined the dances and how Fakir looked as he complimented his partners. She knew he was more fantastic now than she could imagine.
But now that she was a girl, Fakir amused himself with spine tingling staring contests with Ahiru instead of conversation. Ahiru was just as excitable and talkative as she was as a girl however, was quite embarrassed by the frequent and silly ways in which her tongue tied. She found his eyes to be incredibly hypnotic and they would spend hours gazing at one another.
This realization never failed to alarm her. She would quack loudly and blush or avert her gaze demurely. Fakir no longer seemed to have errands or ballet practice. He spent nearly all of his time with her. She didn't question it being, she never had a good sense of time and scheduling to begin with. The routines of human beings was the first thing she let go of once she became a duck. Fakir would often sit beside her at the kitchen table, spread legs brushing against hers, and read her a book. It was exactly what he'd do when she was a duck but it felt entirely different. Of course, she was a girl but, what had changed? They had only gotten closer after these years but that proximity felt hot, tingly, stimulating!
One day Fakir was reading to Ahiru and Ahiru wanted to switch things up. Fakir was rubbing his leg against hers and she would giggle, tap his foot onto hers. Their footsies would have been seen as flirtatious in even a blind man's eyes. But they were alone, and having a good time. Ahiru loved the feel of his foot on her petite foot. She would remark on his foot. How warm it was, how big! How rough. Fakir's feet were ticklish. She would run her toes across the top , his leg would jerk against the table to escape. But today they concentrated on reading and Ahiru's foot hovered over his, running along his shin harmlessly now and then. With all the staring came these small and fun touches. Ahiru loved how physical Fakir became over the years. He lost all his useless brooding and instead concentrated his dark thoughts into particular moments. And Fakir allowed her the pleasure of being close to him.
"Fakir! Can I read for you this time?". Fakir's leg stilled against hers.
He lifted his head from his hand going into staring contest mode, before winking. He rested his arm on the back of her chair to allow her space to read to them both. Ahiru smiled brightly.
Fakir was taller than her. He was always taller than her but now, even more so. She had a more major growth spurt. Gaining give and half feet from transforming into a young woman alas, that didn't make Fakir any smaller. She leaned down towards the book, fingering the words like a kindergartner. She could feel his eyes boring into the side of her face. Her mouth dried like she was sucking a lime.
Her body was different. She had noticed Fakir change into a teenage boy into a young man. He was 20 years old. Fakir made puberty look elegant and civil. She had missed the surging hormones, acne, body odor and reprehensible unrelenting desires that comes with pubescence that Fakir hid masterfully from her. So, Ahiru was ignorant to the facts of life. To Ahiru, her female figure was merely a fattier longer version of the body she barely had control of as a middle schooler.
Her washboard chest was dotted with soft lumps that weighed her down and prevented her from squeezing through tight spaces. Her bony butt became a round tush that widened the space her hips took up. Her arms used to fall at her sides now hit her hip bones. These growths were weights to coordinate. Protuberances to be mindful of lest she spill Fakir's ink or knock something else off of a table.
She was taken aback by her looks. Sooty dark eyelashes that blanketed sorrowful and bright eyes. Her upper lip was stained light pink and her bottom lip was heavy and as dark as her freckles. Round cheekbones and an angled chin surfaced from her youthful visage creating an ethereal, regal beauty that so greatly countered how Ahiru viewed herself in her mind's eye. Countered how she looked as a kid!
She doubted Fakir. She made him read her story to see if he had embellished her looks. But no, he only had words of admiration for the little duck. Saturated with the keen observance of a savant, devotion of her brother in arms and the romantic prose of her best friend. The words were so much that her hands flew to cover the pages so he couldn't read another word about the girl a miracle created.
Fakir was handsome beyond reality. In her youth, it was Mytho's transcending beauty that made Ahiru pine for humanity. Yes, the prince made her crave a life greater than that of a waterfowl. Mytho was a prince from another world, an idyllic story where she was cast to be the forlorn lover who turned into a speck of light the moment she confessed her feelings. Her relationship with Mytho was fluff. Fairytale.
Her relationship with Fakir was real. The couple built a bond that withstood all odds. Ahiru saw the good in him, and she witnessed what he thought was bad about himself.
Looking at Fakir now, with her human eyes, she understood what made Pique such an avid member of the Fakir fan club. All his boyish features carried into a formidable man that squeezed the breath out of her. His broad shoulders, his firm waist that deceptively slid into his narrow hips while his feet stacked his outrageously muscled body. Fakir reminded Ahiru of the famous statues they used to study in art history class. Ahiru saw how Fakir molded himself into a work of art. Knowing he crafted her with the same mastery and dedication sent the butterflies in her tummy ablaze, her body became hot and jittery and she thought she would melt from the result of his labor. Her.
Skipping over puberty and showing the results made Ahiru a picture of sublime innocence.
If anything bothered her about her transformation, it was her unruly hair. Long, wavy and uncontrollable! She wanted to fit into the beautiful frame Fakir wrote for her. But braiding her hair in her signature style tired her fingers. It was such a mess!
While reading to him, Fakir's gaze made her wish she had spent more time on her hair. She had to escape this feeling.
She read slowly, mouthing the words before triumphantly shouting once she figured it out, relying heavily on Fakir's help. She was grateful for his patience but she knew she could read better than this. The words were just so small.
"Fakir? I can't see. Can I?".
Ahiru stood up to slide into his lap. His arm on the back of her chair left him wide open. She plopped herself between his legs. Fakir stiffened. She felt him adjusting behind her. He was larger than her and the space between his legs looked much larger than it really was. Maybe she was still perceiving things as a duck. She snugly fit between his legs. Her bum was planted on the seat and pressed against Fakir. Her back bowed when she leaned towards the book, creating a pocket between her and Fakir's chest..
Her bum pressed into the crux between Fakir's legs.
"Theee wi-wi, cud, wicked! Waa- aa- tch". Ahiru continued to read. She wondered why Fakir was still as stiff as a board behind her. She placed her petite hand on his larger knee. Fakir gasped at her touch to which she responded
"Fakir?"
He inhaled deeply while clenching his eyes. He ingratiatingly patted her hand and she continued reading. Much to her relief he relaxed behind her.
Her ponytail was cascading down one side of her arm, so Fakir had view of her petite back. He rubbed his knuckles up and down her back, drifting to the sides of her waist, along the back of her neck and spine.
He was petting her like she was a duck and Ahiru purred from his ministrations.
It would have been perfectly comfortable if his lax body mollified the press of his muscles against her. His muscles were so sharp. In fact, she could only make it through two sentences until the pinching of his bony thighs became unbearable.
It's how they read books when she was a duck. Being a girl didn't mean she couldn't sit in his lap so, why was this so uncomfortable?
It was innocent. Ahiru wiggled to adjust herself. She just needed to get some space. Fakir really had bony thighs!
He shot out of the chair like someone spilled ice water in his lap. The chair fell back and Ahiru lept and landed face first into the book. She turned to look at him and he had a mischievous look on his face.
"Fakir?".
"Ahiru" he said darkly "Are you?".
She rushed to him and looked up at him with a worry-stricken face. What had she done now?
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I don't know what I did but I didn't mean to upset you and I swear I won't do it again!".
Fakir blinked rapidly.
"Was it my reading? I know I'm slow but-".
"No, no Ahiru, that's not it. Your reading is much better". He sighs and massages his forehead.
"Fakir?".
He smiles and pats her shoulder "Don't worry. I'll take you on a walk later, okay? I'm going to see if Karon needs any help". Ahiru knew something was off but she couldn't tell what. She tried not to take it personally. But it was hard. After all, she was a person once again. . .