PT Secret Santa fic
... This thing needs a title. I labeled the file on my computer as "Summer Storm," but I don't really feel like that works. Though, it's still vastly better than the other fic I started and gave up on, which I decided to call "Clarissa Explains It All." .... Probably for the best I didn't finish that one.
Anyway! Here we go.
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Pairing: Mytho/Rue
Rating: K+?
Length: 531
Notes: This was written for nuitsongeur for the Princess Tutu Secret Santa Exchange.
Kraehe woke to the sound of rain creating a dull, monotonous rumble against the rooftop. She listened for a few minutes, and it was just when her ears started to pick up the faint, tuneless music of water spilling off the eaves that she understood the reason she had stirred from her sleep.
It was not the sound of the rain.
There was a solid warmth at her back and draped around her waist that had not been there when she had fallen asleep that night--or any night, for as long as she could remember.
Wide awake, she stared out into the darkness of the room, letting the sound of the rain pound through her as she shyly coaxed herself to reach down toward her waist. There was nothing to fear, nothing to hold back. There couldn’t be. If he wanted this, he could have it. He could have anything from her.
When her fingertips brushed over the hand so familiar from a hundred pas de deux, it tensed. She flinched, and began to withdraw her touch, but he captured her hand in his grasp before she could move away. He seemed faster, now, than he used to be.
... No, that wasn’t it. Mytho had been quick enough without his heart, without what she had done to it. He’d had beautiful reflexes, even, that had enabled him to throw himself at the helpless and be the savior he’d always been meant to be. There was a difference in his actions, but it wasn’t speed.
“Rue,” he hissed into her ear, and Kraehe shivered. He squeezed her hand, and tightened his arm around her. It was almost painful. “Rue. Tell me something, won’t you?”
Against the dull throb in her skull of the sound of the rain, Kraehe heard herself answer, the timbre of her voice wavering shamefully. “Tell you what?”
Mytho slowly traced her palm lines, silent for a moment. The rain was deafening. When he finished with her palm, he delicately brushed his fingertips over her knuckles before suddenly clutching her hand again. His grip was hot and damp in a way it never had been before, and Kraehe realized with a start that his hand was trembling.
All of him was shaking, in fact. He clung to her like a child woken from a nightmare.
He spoke aloud, his words ringing out over the noise of the rainfall, voice high and anxious, innocent. “Are there feathers? Can you feel them?”
Rue shut her eyes, brow furrowing with the effort of keeping her voice steady. “No.”
Mytho immediately relaxed around her, his grip around her waist loosening into something more affectionate. He brushed his thumb gently over the back of her hand. Kraehe felt him lean in to whisper into her ear again, his breath hot against her skin, and she opened her eyes.
His voice came out low and soft, self-assured, this time. “You’re lying, you dirty crow.”
He laughed, and drew her closer. His laughter was as light as sunshine, and lilting, like music. Rue stared stiffly out into the dimness of the bedroom, straining her ears to hear the cacophony of rain hitting the window.
Anyway! Here we go.
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Pairing: Mytho/Rue
Rating: K+?
Length: 531
Notes: This was written for nuitsongeur for the Princess Tutu Secret Santa Exchange.
Kraehe woke to the sound of rain creating a dull, monotonous rumble against the rooftop. She listened for a few minutes, and it was just when her ears started to pick up the faint, tuneless music of water spilling off the eaves that she understood the reason she had stirred from her sleep.
It was not the sound of the rain.
There was a solid warmth at her back and draped around her waist that had not been there when she had fallen asleep that night--or any night, for as long as she could remember.
Wide awake, she stared out into the darkness of the room, letting the sound of the rain pound through her as she shyly coaxed herself to reach down toward her waist. There was nothing to fear, nothing to hold back. There couldn’t be. If he wanted this, he could have it. He could have anything from her.
When her fingertips brushed over the hand so familiar from a hundred pas de deux, it tensed. She flinched, and began to withdraw her touch, but he captured her hand in his grasp before she could move away. He seemed faster, now, than he used to be.
... No, that wasn’t it. Mytho had been quick enough without his heart, without what she had done to it. He’d had beautiful reflexes, even, that had enabled him to throw himself at the helpless and be the savior he’d always been meant to be. There was a difference in his actions, but it wasn’t speed.
“Rue,” he hissed into her ear, and Kraehe shivered. He squeezed her hand, and tightened his arm around her. It was almost painful. “Rue. Tell me something, won’t you?”
Against the dull throb in her skull of the sound of the rain, Kraehe heard herself answer, the timbre of her voice wavering shamefully. “Tell you what?”
Mytho slowly traced her palm lines, silent for a moment. The rain was deafening. When he finished with her palm, he delicately brushed his fingertips over her knuckles before suddenly clutching her hand again. His grip was hot and damp in a way it never had been before, and Kraehe realized with a start that his hand was trembling.
All of him was shaking, in fact. He clung to her like a child woken from a nightmare.
He spoke aloud, his words ringing out over the noise of the rainfall, voice high and anxious, innocent. “Are there feathers? Can you feel them?”
Rue shut her eyes, brow furrowing with the effort of keeping her voice steady. “No.”
Mytho immediately relaxed around her, his grip around her waist loosening into something more affectionate. He brushed his thumb gently over the back of her hand. Kraehe felt him lean in to whisper into her ear again, his breath hot against her skin, and she opened her eyes.
His voice came out low and soft, self-assured, this time. “You’re lying, you dirty crow.”
He laughed, and drew her closer. His laughter was as light as sunshine, and lilting, like music. Rue stared stiffly out into the dimness of the bedroom, straining her ears to hear the cacophony of rain hitting the window.