Mine has a dream. Ayame does something about it. Fluffy, sexy, practically plotless.

A/N: I don't own Fruits Basket. The Love-Goddess, Benzaiten, belongs to herself.

Once upon a time, God invited the Snake to a wonderful race…

No, no, that's too far back…

Once upon a time, in a bustling city called Tokyo, there was a seamstress named Mine, who went out into the world to seek her fortune.

Once upon a time, there was a prince named Ayame. He was a lower-ranking prince of a cursed kingdom, and he succeeded in annoying the ruling family so well that they kicked him into the world to seek his fortune.

No, that's not quite the right place to start either…

Once upon a Christmas, Fortune played a merry trick on a silver-haired prince and a stubborn seamstress. The seamstress and the prince were halfway to being in love, but alas! The prince was under a grave curse, along with an oath not to speak of it. The seamstress had already tasted unrequited love, and she was resolved not to taste it again. So the seamstress prepared to leave the prince, and they would have parted ways, each nursing a broken heart. However, Fortune (or perhaps the kindly Love-Goddess) provided a snowy Christmas, thereby revealing the prince's curse in the lamplight: he would turn into a snake when very cold or when hugged by a woman.

When the smoke cleared and the prince regained his human form, the seamstress took his cold hands and wrapped them in silk mittens. They vowed to keep their bond a secret, and to treat one another as equals.

That was at Christmastime. Season of long sleeves, velvet and fur, high necklines, and chaste kisses in the snow.

Now it was springtime. Flowers were sprouting, birds were coming back from their long winter vacation. Warmth suffused the air. And Mine was… acting strange.

Oh, she had started her work at Little Shop of Wonders at more-or-less the usual time. She made tea and she fetched lunch for herself and the Bossman, all quite normal.

And yet.

Mine was distracted. She had to take out her work and redo it. She made errors in the accounts. She jumped about a foot in the air when Ayame spoke behind her.

"Why do you have to move so quietly?" she demanded of him.

Hours passed in this fashion. Diligence was one thing, but Ayame felt a cold little chip in his heart when he realized Mine had not looked him in the eye all day.

He took his lunch break early and spent the time in the break room, arranging their meal in an aesthetically pleasing fashion. It was a deliberate refocus of his energy, because he really wanted to set his hands on Mine's shoulders and demand what was the matter. He felt it would be boorish to try and force her attention onto him… But maybe a tiny act of service, like setting the table, would prove his good intentions.

"Hello, Bossman," Mine said when she entered the breakroom. "Oh, thanks for setting up!"

"You're welcome," Ayame said, and he realized his patience was shorter than he'd thought. "Mine," he said, "is everything alright?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" In the gloom, her glasses took on the sheen of the window behind him.

Mine sat down at the table. Ayame followed suit.

"Penny for your thoughts, Bossman," she said, picking up her chopsticks.

"Mine," he began. "This state of affairs is insufferable." Damn, that wasn't the right way to open. "I mean. Mine, forgive my bluntness, but it's obvious. The placid lake of your soul has been disturbed—a stone tossed in, a catfish mucking around in the silt."

Mine blinked. "Catfish?" she said.

"Did I do something to upset you?" he asked. "You haven't looked me in the eye all day."

"Damn… you noticed…" Mine's shoulders hunched up, and her hand covered her mouth.

"Let me know and I'll make amends," he took a breath, "but I can't take the silent treatment!"

Mine looked up at him then, and their eyes met. And she saw that he was in deadly earnest.

"Bossman, it's nothing you did," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Bossman."

"Because your ears have turned all pink."

"Never mind my ears," she said, while her ears and cheeks turned redder.

"Did some boorish customer accost you? Do I have to hunt someone down?"

"No—"

"Then what?"

Mine hesitated, and then she spoke in a rush: "I had a dream about you last night and it's still distracting."

Ayame's jaw dropped.

"Now it's out," she said, and her ears were a fetching scarlet by now, "and it's just made things more awkward."

Ayame blinked once– too stunned to even formulate a reply– and then the bell rang from the front of the shop.

"I'll get it," Mine said. "You—start eating," She pointed at their minifridge, then at him, before walking out.

Ayame did as she instructed. Or tried to. He did rather stare at his food for a while, with the air of a man distracted. But then, most unromantically, once he started to eat, he found himself ravenous. Not for the first time, he wondered about the relationship between hunger and… well… another kind of hunger, when you thought about it.

"Bon appetit," he said when Mine came in.

"Bossman," she said.

"Yes?"

"Let's talk about it after work."

"I'd like that… very much," he said with commendable restraint.

Why had Mine said that?

It had to be down to her bloodline, she decided. The Sohmas may have been eloquent princes in ages past, but the Kuramaes and all her mother-lines were good, earthy peasant stock. Some primordial ancestress must have whispered in Mine's ear, "Why be prudish? It's just sex."

Anyway, at the end of the day Ayame and Mine met again. It might have been a standoff worthy of an elegant ballroom, the way that they stared at one another and then at anything except one another, but it so happened they were only in the breakroom of Little Shop of Wonders and Mine thought, "One of us has got to get a grip." She said out loud, "I need to change my shoes," and went to her locker.

"Shoes? Oh," said Ayame.

Mine, shoes in hand, sat at the table and unclasped the sensible Mary Janes she wore to work. She traded them out for a pair of heeled character shoes with a black bow at the ankle.

"Those are darling, where'd you get them?" Ayame asked.

Mine exhaled a fraction. "Thank you Love-Goddess. We can talk about clothes." "A shop called Kick Up Your Heels," she said out loud, "in Harajuku."

"I don't know them, are they new?"

"Yes, very new," she said. "A friend of mine told me about them."

"Are they in any other colors?"

"A dark brown, and red, I think. I'll give you the address."

"Thanks. Do you ever think about lace-up boots? You know–" Ayame waved a hand vaguely. "Sailor Saturn style?"

"It's a good look," Mine agreed. "But they're too fancy for me."

"I beg to disagree. You have very pretty–" he paused a fraction of a second too long– "ankles."

"Ankles, hm?"

Ayame tossed his hair and seemed to make up his mind. "Your legs are absolutely divine. There, I said it."

"Bossman…"

"Mine, if I may…"

She looked up at him. "Yes?"

A slight tremor in the set of his lip, but he spoke quite normally. "If you want to talk about– that thing you mentioned earlier—"

"At your insistence."

"And I am so sorry— Mine, I will follow your lead. It's up to you if you want to talk about it or not."

Her shoes were buckled. Mine held out her hand and Ayame helped her up. Now that she had an extra two inches on her height, she felt a little more confident looking him in the eye.

"Well," she said, "we are kind of dating, aren't we?"

Ayame nodded, his golden eyes wide.

"Then…" She asked slowly, "your place, or mine?"

Yes, Ayame had a large, well-appointed apartment above the shop, yes. But he said he preferred the third-story walkup where Mine lived. Smaller, messier, crammed with sewing projects. He said at this point his own apartment was just turning into a place to store clothes. And yet he didn't give it up.

To give up that apartment, paid for by the wealthy Sohma clan, would have invited questions. Scrutiny. There was enough scrutiny on them: Ayame had explained to Mine about his family's curse. How essential it was to maintain the illusion that they were a cavalier, spoiled twit and his bubble-headed assistant, and meant nothing more to each other than work partners and, occasionally, a manikin for new clothes.

But when the door to Mine's apartment closed behind them…

Ayame helped Mine shrug off her cardigan, and she tugged the scarf off from around his neck and hung it on its peg. While her back was turned, Ayame set a hand on her shoulder and then kissed the crown of her head. Then, a smooch to the right and one to the left—

"My ears?" Mine asked.

"You have no idea how cute they are," Ayame said. "Especially when they go all pink."

Mine turned around and pressed a light kiss to Ayame's smile. "Put on the kettle for tea, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

By the time Mine had stowed her shoes away and put on her house slippers, the kettle was on and Ayame was looking over the flowers she'd set in the middle of her table. He discreetly rearranged them in a manner more suited to their shape as he chattered away.

"I was thinking about Halloween— yes, I know it's very early, and very American, but sometimes those Americans do get a good idea— and I was thinking, have you seen the musical Wicked?"

"Yes, I love it," Mine said, "what does this have to do with Halloween?

"I was thinking we could do a couple's costume: me as Glinda, you as Elphaba! Powerful witches—fabulous outfits—a bond that transcends destiny. But, officially, they aren't a romantic couple. So it's still incognito."

"Really?"

"You would look so cute in green, Mine, and think of Elphaba's dress on you!"

"The blue one?"

"No, the black one with the– you know– swirls and spirals and beads on it. You'll see…"

And in a trice, Ayame had whipped out his phone and was searching for reference photos. Mine passed a few pleasant minutes imagining Ayame in either of Glinda's signature dresses– hot pink and full of flounce, or iridescent, twinkly pale blue? Blue, Mine had decided, when Ayame held out his phone for her inspection. "Look!" he commanded. "Elphaba in her power as the Witch of the West. Look at those sleeves– those skirts– and tell me you aren't intrigued, I dare you."

Mine studied the costume— and it was sumptuous, and it would be perfect for Halloween— but on a subterranean level, her mind turned and observed. Ayame was being a little too glittering and gay. Like a man afraid of silence. If Mine knew her Bossman, he was desperately curious about her dream, but also courteous about her privacy. He wouldn't pry.

Well. Why should they both suffer?

"It's a beautiful costume," Mine began, "and a fine idea, but I just got out of work."

"No way! So did I."

"Let's put aside talking about clothes for a couple hours…"

"Fie," Ayame protested flatly.

"And talk about dreams."

"Oh."

The kettle whistled and Mine poured out the hot water. It seemed to her that her gestures were more languid than usual. She was aware of Ayame's eyes on her, and that sent a pleasurable thrill down her back.

"I assume you dream about me sometimes," Mine offered, setting the teacups on a tray.

Behind her Ayame made a strangled sort of noise. "Oh, yes. Sometimes."

"Let's go into the other room," Mine said, as she turned, holding the tray. Ayame sprang to open the sliding door into the apartment's main space, which held a kotatsu table, a small wall-mounted television, a rack of sewing projects in various stages of development, and, most pertinently, a bed in the corner. A humble twin bed over two shelves— fitting a commoner's dwelling, Mine had said once— but nonetheless, it loomed large in the imagination of the two people now kneeling beside the table.

"The first part of my dream," Mine said, "was like something out of a fairy tale, but all puppets. Puppets made of silk and lace and velvet."

"Exquisite," Ayame murmured, leaning his head on his hand.

"Imagine, Bossman dear, some enormous Arabian Nights palace with buttresses and minarets, and pleasure gardens set in the shape of stars. But the palace was under a curse," she cast her eyes down, and her long lashes threw shadows on her cheeks as she contemplated her teacup, "and all the people there were turned into stone. I was an adventurer wandering the estate—think the Prince in Sleeping Beauty, white tights and a black doublet—"

Ayame nodded.

"—And I was looking for someone, I didn't know who, but then I crossed into this garden, and under a willow tree there was you."

"I was wondering when I came into the picture…"

"I remember it was full of iris flowers, and willow trees, and you were just lying on a bench, when I found you and knelt beside you and…" she drew out the moment a little, enjoying the look on his face, "I kissed you."

"That is so romantic," he said. "Your imagination is a treasure."

"Oh, I haven't gotten to the good part."

Ayame's eyebrows went up.

"You woke up," she said, "and your hair fell into your face, so I pushed it away… just like this…"

She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. At the touch, Ayame's eyes fluttered shut and he let out a long sigh.

"And we kissed some more," Mine's voice slowed down, "and somewhere along the line your shirt vanished… and you, um."

Ayame's whiskey-colored eyes opened and met hers. "Go on," he said, quite soberly.

"You held me," Mine whispered, "and… held me, and held me."

"That sounds wonderful." His voice was a little wistful.

Mine halted, the words tying on her tongue. "Dirty talk," she admitted, "is harder than it looks."

"You're doing marvelously," Ayame assured her. "Go on, please."

"I'm sorry—"

"Whatever for?"

"For talking about. Holding. It's… I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"Mine, I don't feel bad. Dreams are natural things. My curse is unnatural. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Mine smiled, and her hands clasped his. Puckishly, she added, "That's sweet, but my dream wasn't that wholesome."

"Beg pardon?" His eyebrows went up. "I thought this was a fairy tale dream."

"Bossman, haven't you read The Arabian Nights? Fairy tales can be raunchy," she said.

"Okay," Ayame's fingers began to rap on the table. "Don't leave anything out. Who was on top?"

Mine smiled at him in a way that answered his question. .

"You vixen," Ayame said in a most approving fashion.

"Anyway," Mine drawled, "I remember you were paying attention to my breasts…"

"You do have a marvelous bosom," Ayame interrupted.

"Thank you, but then I woke up rather abruptly. And I was obliged to take care of myself," she said, and she found a new lease on life in the little shudder that went over Ayame's frame, and the sight of his tongue as he wet his lips, "because my head was just full of you. You were all I could think about. And then I was distracted all day… because you were so near, being all tall and stunningly handsome and… oh."

Oh because Ayame had lifted a hand and caressed Mine's temple and cheek.

"And?" Ayame said.

"And talking in that stupid sexy voice…"

"You think my voice is sexy?"

"Ayame, I love your voice."

The light in Ayame's eyes turned glassy, brittle. His hand withdrew from her face.

"What is it?" Mine asked.

"What's what?"

"You're pulling away, dear," she said. "What happened?"

Ayame tried to compose himself. "Ha," Ayame said stiffly. "Here I am, trying to tell myself I'm greater than my fear– but the truth is, it's you, Mine. You're greater than my fear. I trust you more than I trust myself."

"But… the word 'love,'" Mine ventured. "That upset you, did it?"

"Yes," said Ayame, and the words began to flow again, "that word and I have a rocky history. I mean— I haven't told you much about the God of the Zodiac, have I?"

Mine shook her head. "You said it would give me nightmares," she said, "and I want to remind you, I'm a tough cookie. A brick."

"It gives me nightmares," he said, "just to think of you and God in the same sentence. Listen. I was six when I said 'I love you' for the first time. I said it to the God of the Zodiac, who was, at that point, forty-five minutes old. No one could stop Hatori, Shigure, Ritsu, and me from barging in on the childbed," he added with a bleak laugh. "And at sixteen I decided that it was an empty phrase and I would not use it at all."

Mine regarded him calmly, and began to rub his cold hands with her own.

"You aren't shaken by this?" Ayame asked her.

"I feel bad for you," Mine said, "and yes, what you say paints a rather grim picture. But I shouldn't have used the word 'love' so carelessly. A lot of people have trouble with the word."

"You? Careless?" Ayame shook his head. "Mine, why are you making excuses for me?"

"No one can help their family," Mine pointed out.

Ayame simply stared into her eyes. "Mine," he said, "you deserve someone who can say 'I love you' with all their heart."

"That may be," she replied firmly, "but I want you. I want you so much, you're slipping into my dreams. All I could think about today was you, and how you'd look if I told you. I'm crazy about you, Bossman."

Ayame leaned to the side, so his long hair fell into his face. "If I had known you ten years ago," his voice so soft it barely stirred the silver curtain, "what a different man I'd be."

"Well, you know me now," Mine said. "What are you going to do about it?"

He considered. "I'm going to do," he said, "my absolute best." Mine hardly had time to tilt her head questioningly when Ayame clasped his hands together. "Dear tea-rose in bloom," he said, "sonata in black and white, Mine…" He hesitated, and met her eyes.

Mine held his gaze and lifted her brows. "Bossman?"

"May I taste you?"

"Ah!" Mine sat up straight. His boldness was unexpected and really, really hot. "Yes," she said, "Yes, yes please."

He got to his feet and held out a hand. Smiling, Mine took it.

Hands, yes, hands were wonderful things. The young lovebirds had made several very promising experiments with hands. However, in later years, when they were to look back, Ayame and Mine would both count this night as their first time. The first time they shared their erotic fairy-tale dreams. The first time the word "love" crossed either one's lips. They did not yet know, it's true, they didn't know how deeply they would come to love each other. But it was not a first time to regret, no, not in the least.

They stood facing each other.

"I know," Ayame said, "that you have a thing for power dynamics."

"What gave it away?" Mine asked, wriggling a bit in her maid uniform.

Ayame licked his lips. "Don't distract me," he murmured. "In your dream," he said, "you were a heroic adventurer, and I was the prince that you rescued. Do you want… to tell that story tonight?"

She nodded.

"Alright. You… have saved my soul," he said deliberately, as he undid the braid on her right side, "and I want to show you my gratitude." His voice was lower and rougher, and terribly, wonderfully sincere. "But I am a Prince," he added, with a touch of his usual bombast, "and it is my nature to rule."

Mine nodded to encourage him, and made a note to check more fairy tales out of the library.

His fingers plied the thick hair of her left-hand braid. "You will put everything in my hands, Mine. Everything. You are…" he leaned closer to whisper to her, "entirely mine, tonight."

"Yes, Bossman," she said, melting on the inside.

When her hair was entirely loose, and its perfume floated around her, he kissed her deeply, and then gave an order: "Turn around."

Mine turned, and felt a light press at the small of her back. Ayame's hands. He was undoing the bow at the back of her pinafore. The sensation reminded her of a small white snake riding in her sleeve. Not for the first time, she wondered if she should tell him about the other dream from last night. The one where she was a palace maid (complete with uniform), and he was a prince, handsome and amorous and… not human. She'd dreamed him into a naga: human from the waist up, serpentine from the waist down.

It had been a good dream.

What did it mean? She had an idea or two. In the land of fantasy, a man blessed with a snake spirit was… not to put too fine a point on it… something of a fertility god. Why wouldn't she find that aspect of Ayame fascinating, just as much as his exquisite body, or the facets of his soul, or the rest of him? What else could it mean, except love?

But… should Mine tell him about that dream? The primordial ancestress must have loaned her wisdom again. Mine thought, no, I won't tell him, not at this juncture. She might mean to say, "Ayame, even your serpentine self has begun appearing in my dreams—Ayame, what if that means something? Ayame, I think I love—"

But what might he hear?

"I don't think of you as human."

No… not at this juncture.

All this time, Ayame had been drawing off the pinafore and loosening the bodice of her black dress. "I want to hear you. Gasping. Panting," he said lightly.

"Yes, Bossman."

"I want you to touch my hair."

"Yes, Bossman."

"I want you to say my name."

"Yes… Ayame."

Ayame knew he was a hedonist. What else could he be, possessed by the sinuous, materialist spirit of the Snake as he was?

Well, Ayame thought he knew what a hedonist he was.

Then Mine said his name.

It was just as well that she used "Bossman" for everyday. Hearing his name in her voice—the name he had never held very dear before—it uncoiled something tight and anxious inside him.

"Again," he commanded.

"Ayame…"

He kissed her deeply. He drew his hands from her waist to her own hands, and pulled her over to the bed.

"Sit."

"Yes, Ayame."

God, the sight of her—with her eyes dark and liquid, and her breath coming in little pants, and her hair undone—and her hands playing with the hem of her dress and petticoats.

Christ, it was hot in here. Ayame realized abruptly he didn't do very well with excessive heat. He unbuttoned his tunic with trembling fingers and pulled it off over his shoulders. And then, because Mine was clearly enjoying the show, he pulled off his undershirt, too. Then he knelt. A sense of urgency overcame him, probably something to do with his swelling cock.

"Show me," he ordered her, and she obeyed with a smile and a "Yes, Ayame."

Ayame knew he was a hedonist. But—he set his hands on Mine's knees to spread her wider—there was really no pleasure on earth—he kissed her bare thighs scandalously, and moved inward slowly at first—no pleasure on earth like Mine's pleasure—her fingers caressed his scalp as he licked, and lapped, and tasted, and probed—he was a hedonist, drinking in her pleasure, drunk on her joy, and he didn't let up until Mine screamed his name.

Then— Ayame leaned back, quickly, before he could do something stupid like reach out to take Mine in his arms. It was easy to reach his own release: his senses were still full of his lover, his Mine. For a moment his thoughts looped and whirled like trapeze artists: was Mine his captive or his captor? Did she belong to him, or did he belong to her? Both, yes, all, yes, yes, yes.

Gradually the normal sense of time returned to him. He became aware that Mine was watching him with a smile; she was also holding out a box of tissues. He took the tissues and sprawled on the floor, utterly undone.

Abruptly, he heard her say, "Ayame, get off the floor."

Trust Mine: sometimes taking orders, sometimes giving them. But Ayame continued to settle horizontally. "No, I'm fine here."

"If you're going to lie on the cold, hard floor, then—" Mine sat up and scooted her way to the end of the bed. She braced her feet on the floor.

"No!" Ayame sat up again. "You are a princess, you will not come to the floor."

"Then you, too!" Mine reached for his hand. "We'll lie side by side," she promised. "No embracing."

With a reluctant groan Ayame gave her his arm and let her lever him up to his knees. Mine scooted close to the wall and Ayame followed. Him on his stomach and her on her back; they regarded each other across a distance of sheet.

Ayame grinned.

"What?" asked Mine.

"You delight me," he answered frankly. She laughed.

In that attitude they lay for a long time, but gradually Mine propped herself up on her elbows. "I'm starving," she said. Then she covered her face in one hand, an embarrassed gesture. "Oh, spoken like a true commoner."

"I don't mind," Ayame said. "A Prince must provide for his loyal servant."

"Provide for me?" Mine peered at him through her fingers.

"Feed you," he said. Even he was impressed with how lascivious he managed to sound.

Mine's ears went red again and Ayame smirked widely.

"Let's eat out," Mine suggested, "as long as Your Majesty is paying."

"Vietnamese?" Ayame offered.

"Ooh, I could go for some pho. And spring rolls. Now where did you throw my—ah! I see them. Now tidy yourself up, Bossman."

"Yes, Mine."

He went to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He leaned in close to his reflection and stared into his eyes. With just the dim light—were his pupils going—vertical? "No, no, Ayame, pull yourself together," he muttered. "Don't get all morbid just because you were cursed in your mother's womb."

He braced one arm on the wall and frowned. In the mirror he mouthed "I love you." He cleared his throat: "I love you," but the words cracked; "I love you!" came out forced and bright.

He scowled at his reflection, and was about to indulge in some real grade-A self-pity, when Mine, out in the apartment, began to sing.

Ayame smiled, quite to his own surprise. It was a song from Wicked, he realized. He heard pleasure and strength in her voice. It sounded like Mine was quite satisfied indeed. He worked quickly then, to wash his face and comb his hair so he could be tidy. So he could be with her again.

It turned out he was the first one to be ready. He lingered in the foyer, until she came over with her purse over her arm, her cardigan in place, and her house slippers kicked off.

"So," Ayame said. "Fairy tales, huh?"

"I've always loved fairy tales, Bossman." In a flounce of eyelet and linen, Mine popped herself onto the bench.

"If I may—" Ayame knelt before her.

"Bossman?"

Ayame inspected her shoe collection, before drawing out a pair of twinkly black pumps with buckles. Three buckles apiece. "Will these do?"

"I thought I was supposed to be the servant," Mine said, but she held up her stockinged foot anyway.

"Oh, Cinderella, let a Prince have his pleasures," Ayame told her. He slid the shoe onto her foot, and the intimacy of the gesture made them both catch their breath. Ayame clasped the buckles on the right foot, then the left.

"That's all right, then," Mine said softly. She brushed a lock of hair out of Ayame's eyes. "When we come back," she said, "let's talk about some of your dreams, alright?"

He smiled. "Yes, Mine."

Once upon a time, there was a prince who was something of a serpent, and a peasant who was something of an artist. There was a small kingdom, called the Little Shop of Wonders, which they ruled together. There was, perhaps, a Love-Goddess who looked after them in her distant, divine fashion.

Once upon a time, there was a curse that was fraying, and a young love that grew stronger every day.

All that is to say: once upon a time, it was spring.