Two ficlettes

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I really need to stop writing fanfic at two in the morning. But, because I don't have the ability to alter the past, here are two that I did write very early in the morning, and probably show it. Hope you enjoy anway.

Warning: The first fiction is appropriately titled "Pervy Ahiru." There's nothing at all graphic, but a sexual act is mentioned. 

"Pervy Ahiru"
A Princess Tutu fiction

He had waited three years. He had felt as if he would have been taking advantage of a child.

A four year difference in age felt like a lifetime to a 17 year old.

But despite her innocence, she knew better. She knew that love was not defined by age. After all... as a duck she had fallen in love with a prince. Who said that as a 13 year old girl she couldn't fall in love with a 17 year old boy?

And so while he waited, sustaining them on short kisses and brief caresses, she had fantasized.

She had imagined him touching her. Her face, her neck, her stomach, her breasts, her...

And then she would bring the image into a bright clarity as her scream was muffled by her pillow, her hands busy elsewhere.

And all the while, he had slept in his bed, thoughts of her occupying his mind and causing images to flit through his dreams.

After those three long, agonizing years, she had asked him why he had waited, even to touch himself with thoughts of her.

"I didn't want to dishonor you. It felt dirty," was his reply.

"Mmm," she responded, idly playing with a lock of his dark hair.

"What about you?" he asked, smiling at her, "Did you touch yourself while you thought about me?"

"Of course," she replied.

"And how was it?"

"Bliss," came her answer, and he smiled at her lovingly...

"Thoughts of Mytho didn't make me come even half as hard.."

"Love Undone"

A Princess Tutu fiction

Defiance, she supposed, was her greatest asset.

 

She was a beautiful young lady and her skill with ballet was astounding, but... none of that had mattered, ultimately.

 

Not even the intense love she had felt had really made that much of a difference.

 

It was her stubborn nature--her desire to do the opposite that was expected of her that had turned the tides. Of course, it had surprised her a great deal, as well. She had not done what she had expected of herself, either.

 

Fueled by love, her impetuous nature had driven her to the edge of madness... or perhaps, finally, sanity.

 

"You came home that day," the little duck had told her, though she could not speak the words.

 

"You gained my respect," the knight had smiled kindly, though no curve graced his lips.

 

"I recognized your love that day," the Prince had pressed soft lips upon her own that she swore were real, "and I finally understood that I returned that love."

 

She had wept afterward, the comforting words and smiles and kisses that did not exist weighing heavily upon her heart.

 

She had helped to murder her own father in a rash act of love and defiance, and regret seized hold of her heart like a vice.

 

"Do not regret your heroic actions," came the soft voice of Princess Tutu, "You saved the Prince, and us all, and we love you for it."

 

Her tears came faster.

 

"Weep for your fallen father," Princess Tutu laid a comforting, ghostly hand upon her shoulder, "and weep for your fallen innocence. But know that we are all standing beside you as you do so."

 

And she looked up, and realized for the first time that they were all standing beside her. The knight, her Prince, and... a small yellow duck, tears glittering like diamonds running down soft feathers.

 

"Did I do the right thing?" her voice was hoarse with crying.

 

"I do not know," Princess Tutu's voice was weaker, fainter.

 

"Did my father love me?" she couldn't help but ask.

 

"I do not know," her visage wavered, fading away.

 

"Are you leaving me?" a sob tore from her mouth as she asked the last.

 

"Yes," Princess Tutu gazed at the petite duck standing proudly beside the knight, "and never."

 

The Prince helped her to stand after Princess Tutu's figure had vanished, the pain written clearly on his face.

 

"You will miss her," her voice was flat, uncaring.

 

"Yes," was his response, and he looked at her with anguish, "But not as much as I would miss your love."

 

And she threw herself into his arms, and they both took what comfort the other had to give, sobbing their grief together.

 

And in the background, a knight walked away from the scene, a small smile playing at his lips, and a small duck clasped firmly in his arms.

Feedback is appreciated.