Disclaimer: Princess Tutu does not belong to me.
Notes: I've had writer's block so I can't say I've written some masterpiece. To some extent, this is for Val-Creative. The girl who got me into this pairing. Oh, and this is before Ahiru comes along.
Fakir felt like some sort of predator. He knew that he probably looked like a cat bearing its fangs.
Why Mytho never felt the need to wear pants, eluded Fakir. He had tried to get him to wear them but they were always off within the next hour. Mytho just did not wear pants. So he constantly gave the other boy a view of his milky white thighs. If the prince hadn't been heartless, then Fakir would have believed that he was just a tease.
He was at the window sill, his legs drawn up against his chest. Showing more than enough skin and making Fakir just want to touch. Feel how soft the skin seemed. How soft it probably was. Just touch.
"Mytho, put some pants on."
He had to put pants on. It was just one of those days where Fakir felt his patience for everything thinning. He had yelled at several students already, just worsening his reputation as some asshole.
"Hmm?"
His head followed the way that a random bird went. A small smile made its way on Fakir's features. How simple. Mytho was simple.
"I said put some pants on. If anybody walks by then they'll see you. We don't need any rumors about you in school."
"Okay, Fakir."
Fakir's eyes moved along as Mytho moved to where he had taken his school uniform pants off. It was the only real pair the boy owned. Any other pants he had owned had never been used. They were usually thrown out because they never were used.
Why he was suddenly thinking about the fact that Mytho never wore pants suddenly was a little confusing. Mytho had always had that odd quirk about him ever since they'd met. It was nothing new. But he was suddenly closer to Mytho now.
The thing he never liked about Rue was how she took advantage of Mytho. How she always forced herself into his life. He had heard the way she talked to him, the things she made him say. It was rotten and underhanded. Not to mention Fakir just had a bad feeling about her.
Yet he was more like her than he cared to admit.
"Mytho," he said as he walked to the boy who was sitting on the bed. "What would you do if I touched you?"
Mytho looked to him, some confusion apparent on his face. "Touch?"
Sitting next to him, he nodded. His fingers began to trace little circles on his thigh. He felt a sense of guilt surge through him. But he would have been lying if he had said he'd never thought of it before. Touching Mytho and Mytho touching him. Although he knew Mytho would never touch him back. It didn't matter. Not right now anyway.
"Yeah, touch. Like this. Does it bother you?"
"I don't know."
"Can I take that as a no?"
"Whatever."
What Fakir wanted was Mytho to want him just as much. He knew that even if the prince got his heart back, he wouldn't choose a knight. Besides, the knight would be dead. He'd be dead. Mytho would have to choose a princess. It was just how the stories went.
Mytho's thighs were soft. It didn't shock him. They looked soft. He looked to the older male again but he was just looking at Fakir. If he had any emotion, he was sure Mytho would ask him questions. Really annoying questions. Questions that would make him feel guilty and have to stop.
He could already imagine Mytho's voice asking him why.
"Why do you do things to me when I don't say yes?"
"Why do you touch me?"
He removed his hand and stood up, turning away from his source of guilt.
"Mytho, don't tell anybody. Or I'll punish you, got it?"
"Okay."
Fakir flinched but it didn't stop him from giving one last look to him.
"I'm sorry, Mytho."
The silver-haired boy said nothing. He knew nothing of sorrow or guilt. Fakir was envious of that. He wished this guilt was gone. He wished this want was gone so he wouldn't have to almost force himself on the defenseless male.
"What a lucky wretch you are."