Unfinished Assignment

AN: Heeeey guys! Guess who? Er... right.

So, I've come bearing more smut. And this time, it's another kink meme prompt!

But before that, I want to thank you guys for your support. I'm still a novice at anything involving smut, so I'm very glad to hear that a few people are enjoying it. Thanks a lot!

Prompter: Animeshen

Prompt/Kink: 'Okay, you asked for it. I want Fakir masturbating while watching Ahiru dance in a ballet leotard she doesn't realize shes grown out of. The closer Fakir's proximity to Ahiru WITHOUT being discovered, the better.'

Dedicated to: Animeshen, as it is her prompt that brought this smut bunny to life!

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Unfinished Assignment

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The halls were bare. And as far as Fakir was concerned, that was the only plus to being stuck walking through the Academy after dark.

He was irritated with himself. Which was nothing new, really. As of late, his behavior over certain... things was troublesome. But with this particular incident, he had been careless enough to leave the rough draft for his essay (which was unfortunately due tomorrow) inside of his damn locker. Which resulted in having to come back to the damn school and get it once he realized the papers were missing from his satchel.

On the bright side, he had found the back door to the main building to be open. Fakir briefly considered that might mean someone else was present within, but tossed the thought from his conscious immediately. That didn't matter, regardless.

With a glower at expanse of darkened hall ahead, the ex-knight shoved his hands into his pockets and quickened the pace of his feet. The sooner he got the parchment, the sooner he could leave and finally finish his homework.

And that was the inner resolve he had conjured just before he saw something odd - which subsequently slowed his steps.

A single door up ahead was left ajar - just a sliver - allowing a thin stream of dim light to pour through the tiny opening. He recognized it as one of the ballet practice rooms and came to a halt just outside of the door. Had some idiot left the light on? Irrationally aggravated by the thought - as well as the inner nagging that he should go in and shut it off, Fakir lifted a hand to the door, ready to just throw the damn thing open in his frustration...

And stopped, just an inch from his fingertips touching the brass handle.

There was noise coming from inside. Soft footfalls pitter-pattering across the floor, labored breathing...

The dark-haired young man blinked in confusion. Why on earth would someone be practicing ballet this late? Surely they knew the building was generally closed after six. Perhaps they had lost track of time?

Curious, despite his prior hurry to fix his own pressing issue, Fakir leaned forward and cautiously peered through the scant opening - which promptly pulled a gasp of shock from the reaches of his throat. His wide green eyes easily recognized that familiar female figure. She was short in stature, sported long red hair twisted up into bun on the back of her head, expressive blue eyes, and had a small, lithe body.

Ahiru was the last person he expected to see dancing in the empty school at this hour.

...And she was also the last thing he wanted to think about. That oblivious moron had been edging into his conscious so frequently that it was starting to drive him mad, little by little. It was as though she had situated herself right on the corner of his mind, not unlike a duck building a nest, sticks and branches of it poking and prodding uncomfortably at his brain.

His next immediate thought was to leave - simply turn and be on his way before she worked her strange, infuriating magic and stopped him from being capable of thinking straight. It wasn't his concern if she wanted to practice dancing this late at night. He had more important things to be taking care of, after all.

With a short, calculated intake of breath, the young man pulled away from the halo of light around the opening of the door, turning his gaze away from girl within. He fixed his eyes in the direction he needed to be going, and lifted a foot to start off toward the waiting locker rooms.

Only to hear a very audible thump mixed with a stifled shriek.

On reflex, Fakir swiftly turned his attention back to the miniscule opening he had abandoned, searching for the redhead. Had she fallen? Was she all right? His eyes searched, not finding her in plain sight - until he caught her reflection in the mirrors paneled on the side of the room across from his vantage point.

She was sitting on the polished floor with her back facing the mirrored side, legs bent out in front her and rubbing the area just below her spine with one hand. And with a dramatic sigh, the redhead rose from the floor and faced the other direction, absently brushing off the front of her leotard.

Fakir thought she looked very tired. The normally bright luster of her eyes seemed a little duller than usual, and her shoulders hunched in a way that suggested she had been at this for quite some time. ...But how long? Why wouldn't the moron just take a rest or call it quits for one night? He was almost sorely tempted to barge in and demand she go back to her dorm and get some sleep before she collapsed.

However, that thought quickly dissolved from existence when the young girl furrowed her brows and went back to dancing, carefully extending one leg behind her in arabesque. It was a little off-center and lacking some grace, he noted, having a keen eye for dancing himself. But it was crystal clear from her focused features that she was giving it all she had, no matter how lacking the result might be.

And it was easily past nine by now. He had to admit that he admired her legs.

Fakir blinked, flushing as he realized what he'd just thought. No, dammit! Not legs. Work ethic. Stamina. Determination. WHERE THE HELL HAD THAT OTHER WORD COME FROM!?

He swiftly turned his head to face away from the door and across the short width of the hall, already feeling a heat growing steadily in his cheeks with each passing second. His back pressed up against the closed side of the twin doors as he swallowed. She obviously hadn't been hurt from her fall. He had no reason to stick around here any longer. It wasn't his concern if she looked tired or weary. And if that idiot collapsed, it would be her own damn fault.

The soft, moving footfalls from her dancing reached his ears again and the writer's eyes automatically flicked to the side and through the opening, reflexively searching for the source of the sound. And they widened instantly when they landed on her. The quick steps had been in preparation for a jete - which she was now airborne with, legs spread wide through the air.

Fakir hadn't seemed to process the fact that he was still staring dumbly after she had touched down again. His green eyes were steadily trained on her form as she moved across the floor, following every step and every new position she formed as she practiced the art she clearly loved.

While 'graceful' was not the term he would use to describe her dancing, there was something about it that demanded his gaze to root to her. Which he did almost without thought, as if his eyes were being tugged along with her on invisible strings. He could not tear them from the redhead - not that he had even considered trying.

Captivating. That was the word. But the ex-knight paid his brief writer's insight little mind.

He watched her silently, gaze turning to the mirrored-panels whenever she would pirouette or bound out of his line of sight. Unconsciously, he began to lean in toward the opening a little, somehow drawn to it - or more specifically, to her. And that was ridiculous by every line of logic he knew. She could not beckon him when she didn't even know he was there in the first place. But his mind was quickly wavering away from the concept of logic altogether.

All that mattered was watching her. He wanted nothing more than to witness her every move - every arch, bend, twist, stretch...

Slowly, Fakir began to notice things about Ahiru that had nothing to do with her dancing at all: small beads and lines of sweat upon her face and neck that glowed with the dim light, the awkward, but appealing shape of her legs, curled locks of red that plastered to her cheeks, forehead, and the back of her neck, the way her eyes would close and her mouth would open in a perfect 'o' shape when she pushed her limits, the swell and bounce of her small, shapely breasts straining against taught fabric that looked much to small to hold them in properly, graciously displaying a tantalizing amount of--

THUNK.

The young man stifled a muffled curse of pain when he hit his head against the door from his sudden jarring movement away from the opening to the practice room. But he could not focus on the throb at the back of his head. Nor the possibility that the room's only occupant may very well have heard the noise. He was too preoccupied with struggling to regain his breath and attempting to contain and disperse the massive flock of burning heat that attacked his face from all sides.

He did not just look at her chest.

He did not just ogle her breasts!

What the hell was wrong with him!? Appreciating the art of ballet was one thing, but now he had begun appraising the dancer herself in ways that were very inappropriate.

Yes, she had grown a fair amount in the past two and a half years since he changed her back. That much was undeniable - anyone would notice the changes offhandedly. Such differences were common with growing up and everyone experienced them in some way. It was normal.

However, staring at her like a goddamn peeping tom from behind the tiny crack of an opening of a door was not.

Fakir had been stubbornly insisting to himself that he was not, in any way, attracted to her. The past few weeks had been irritating and troubling to him in manners he was not familiar with. He was not like the other sickening parts of the male species that unfortunately happened to be in many of his classes. He did not compare girls' chest sizes, or join in the boys' appalling conversations about 'conquests'. He didn't care which girls were considered good kissers or desirable by the rest of the young men.

But then he would see her - the short, unassuming and cheerful friend and former partner of his - and something changed. Suddenly he would wonder how she would take to kissing and study the softness of her pink lips in silence as she rambled on about her day to him. He would feel strange urges to reach out and touch her - whether to simply brush a strand of salmon-colored hair that hung in her face, cup her cheek with his calloused hand, or even pull her right into his arms.

And once he snapped out of those alien thoughts, he would become infuriated with himself for contemplating such things. It wasn't uncommon for him to stalk off right in the middle talking with her, or even turning around and heading the opposite direction when he saw her approaching. Fakir feared those thoughts and odd, inexplicable urges. He was a damn coward and that overshadowed even risking to hurt her feelings just for his own peace of mind.

However, that idiot was easily just as stubborn as he was. She didn't take his ignoring lightly or allow him his own personal bubble to hide in. If he walked away from her, she followed. If he said rude things to her, she would kick him the shin, and pout, and ask him why he was being so mean. The stern glares and warning glowers didn't intimidate her any longer. She knew as well as he did that they had come far past what was on the surface of each other. Even as dense as she normally was, the duck-girl could tell that something was bothering him. And she seemed determined to get it out of him whether he wanted to share it with her or not.

Which lead to a certain interference on her part that he could not forget about no matter how hard he tried.

Ahiru had, unknowingly, given him his first erection.

And the memory of that incident was still far too clear in his mind for his liking.

"Hey! Fakir! You JERK! Don't you go running off again! I know you saw me!"

The dark-haired youth tried his best to ignore the fast-approaching steps on the grass behind him, picking up his pace as he made his way behind the ballet division building. If he could just get to the collection of hedges nearby, he could lose her easily...

"FAKIR!" the girl's voice was clearly angry now, the steps having broken into a trot. "I'm getting tired of this! Just tell me what's wrong! Or what I did! Or whatever this is about!"

A growl of annoyance filtered out through his thin-lined lips. "I'm busy, dammit!"

"Yeah right!" she countered immediately with a snort. "You saw me and then you immediately turned around and went the other way!"

"I remembered something I had forgotten, that's all." His tone was clipped as he willed his feet into a speed-walk toward the rapidly approaching rows of rose hedges, "Now go away and mind your own business for once."

"Fakir!" her voice had taken on a whining edge as she broke into a run, finally gaining on him. "Tell me why you're avoiding me! I'm not stupid, you know! Even if you think I am. I can tell something's not right!"

He paused in front of the bush, glancing back at her from over his shoulder. "If you're not a moron, then quit worrying over nothing. Now, I have business to attend to." And with the graceful leap of a trained dancer, he easily vaulted the rose branches and disappeared to the other side, successfully vanishing from the immediate sight of his redheaded pursuer.

It took a moment for the duck-girl to snap out of the awe of watching his flawless athletic bound before she blinked, realizing she'd just been ditched. "H-Hey! Fakir!" she shouted into the thick hedges. "That's--That's not fair!"

With a heavy sigh, the ex-knight tuned her out and continued down the path, shaking his head back and forth as he stared at his feet. Fakir knew he couldn't really keep doing this. Sooner or later he'd have to face her and stop running away from all of those uncomfortable thoughts, no matter how much he wanted to keep ignoring it all. She really didn't deserve to be so blatantly shunned, and especially not with the numerous lies he kept composing to feed her with.

And the longer he kept this damn ruse up, the closer it was to breaking his promi--

"GOTCHA!"

Green eyes looked up in surprise - just long enough to catch a glimpse of the flaming red before he felt the impact of the short girl and fell backward, landing none-too-gently on his tailbone. Groaning in pain, he sat up -- or tried to, rather -- almost immediately prevented from doing so with the weight that had settled down on his stomach.

A very displeased-looking Ahiru frowned down at him. And cherry red consumed his face in a heated blush as he sputtered, "W-W-What are you doing, you idiot!?"

She puffed her cheeks out in irritation before breathing out through her nose. "I'm not moving until you tell me what's going on."

Fakir stared at her in dumb shock for a brief time until his eyebrows furrowed together, arms lifting him up to his elbows in attempt to face her more directly. "Get the hell off of me right now!" he demanded, glaring hard at redhead, although his face was still very obviously flushed.

"No," she retorted immediately with an almost childlike pout. "I'm gonna make myself comfortable right here until you want to talk." And to accent that, she moved back and forth a little on top of him, crossing her arms defiantly.

Whatever words he was about to yell next died on his lips when she rubbed up over his stomach and back over his crotch area, forcing the young writer to suck in a sharp, breathy gasp as a spark flew threw his body. The unexpected contact of her warm weight rubbing down over his middle area seemed to have brought rational thought to a jarring halt. His arms swiftly gave out, causing him to fall back onto the cobblestone as his mind struggled to process what he had just experienced.

"Well?" she prompted impatiently.

Fakir had to swallow thickly before he could coax a reply out of his mouth that suddenly felt far too dry. "Y-You---I SAID GET OFF!" A desperate hand rose with the command, meaning to push at her. The duck girl merely grabbed the offending appendage with one of her own hands and glowered down at her captive. She lifted up just a little, as though following through with his wishes, but then quickly flopped right back down onto him again.

The dark-haired male's eyes bulged. Another, deeper and more startling shock rippled through his system, followed by a train of warmth that situated right into his groin area. He had to swallow several times to stop the strange sound that attempted to climb out of his throat.

What the hell was she doing to him!?

And the longer she sat there, the more that warmth and tingling sensation spread within him, forcing his breaths to become gradually shallower. He knew he should just break the grip on his hand and shove her off, but his arms were refusing to cooperate.

"Why won't you just tell me?" Ahiru implored as she squirmed restlessly in her position, unaware of the effect her movements were having on the trapped young man beneath her.

A grunt released from Fakir's mouth when she rocked from side to side, another shot of fire burning through his center area. It was becoming overbearing. Almost to the point that he wanted to start moving back against her and keep that strange, pleasurable friction going.

The ex-knight abruptly froze and felt a significant amount of color drain from his cheeks. There was a growing stiffness in him just beneath the weight rested down onto his groin - right where that heat was all concentrated. Amidst the hazed mess his mind was slowly becoming, he understood what was happening.

And he didn't want to believe it.

With a sudden, massive burst of panic-induced adrenaline, Fakir ripped his hand away from hers and grabbed both of her arms by the wrists. The girl only managed to let out a startled squeak before he quickly swapped their positions - his figure now looming over to glare dangerously down at her, holding both wrists pinned next to either side of her head as he knelt over her prone form.

He opened his mouth to shout at her for not listening, but the words caught in his throat before they could release.

Fakir was abruptly stunned to dead silence by the image of Ahiru laying down before him. Her expression was clearly surprised, cheeks flushed and wide cerulean blue eyes unwavering in their gaze back upon his own. A curtain of pinkish-red spilled out around her head, braid somehow having come half-undone inbetween the change in positions and seemingly giving an extra glow to the color already lighting her face. Her lips were parted just a bare hint, full and pink and just begging to be kissed...

And in those few scarce moments of simply looking at her beneath him, Fakir's pants became unbearably tight and constricting.

Never had he felt a desire or a want so strong. It struck him to the very core with a myriad of sensations that threatened to spur him into action. The thoughts and urges that formed as a result were intense and his fingers flexed over her immobile wrists. He wanted to mold his mouth over hers, touch areas of her bare, soft skin and press her down into the stone path with his body, roughly grind his aching shaft against her...

And the realization of the nature of those thoughts woke him up from the blinding lull of lust with a force equivalent to being hit by a bolt of lightning. The young writer gasped audibly and immediately released her arms, lurching away from her and stumbling shakily back to his feet. Shame lit his face red with embarrassment, tinted even further by the arousal still churning deep within his body.

He could not believe what he had just considered doing to her.

Without giving her time to collect herself or respond in any manner, Fakir swiftly turned and fled without a word, leaving a very disoriented and confused redhead in his wake.

...Thankfully, she had no idea what had happened that day. And the ex-knight wanted to keep it that way. Such inappropriate desires weren't meant to blemish an innocence like hers.

And now here he was spying on her dance practicing and staring for far too long at things he shouldn't have been looking at in the first place.

If Ahiru knew the kind of young man he was shaping up to be, she would probably freely avoid him without him having to go out of his way to keep enough distance from her. However, he was far too much of a coward to tell her the truth. And to make matters worse, little by little, he felt almost as though he was truly breaking his promise.

Which, in fact, he was. Avoiding her in the manner he had become accustomed to, translated to roughly the opposite of staying by her side. Heaving a sigh through his nostrils, Fakir righted himself against the door, eyes wandering back to the opening of the enclosure where he could still hear the girls footfalls as she continued her practices, oblivious to his presence just outside of the room.

Despite the waves of remorse and shame that sifted through his conscience, the ex-knight could still feel that tingling warmth begin to stir within him. He had no choice but to distance himself from her as much as possible. What could have happened if he had acted on any of those errant thoughts that had invaded his mind when she was trapped underneath of him?

He wanted to be closer to her. Even in ways he was certain were not appropriate. It was for her own good that he was pushing her away. At least until he got it under better control...

And for the first time, Fakir admitted to himself that he was attracted to her. So much, in fact, that it frightened him.

Just then, the redhead heaved a rather long sigh and folded down onto the floor, spreading her legs out in front of her and blowing a stray lock of hair from her face. "I guess I need a little break," she spoke to herself, placing her hands behind her and leaning back on them.

Abruptly, Fakir became aware just how tiny the leotard was on her. They were supposed to cling and be form fitting, of course, but the way it hugged her curves and limbs was almost like a second skin... and leaving very little to his imagination as a result. He squirmed against the door, discomfort heightening steadily even while the girl simply reclined in a nonchalant manner.

He should leave. He knew he should. They weren't even touching in this instance and she was still clearly having that strange effect on him - and his body, despite that. It would be simple just to walk away and continue what he had set out here to do in the first place.

The young dark-haired man blinked. What had he come here for? There was something, but now he could not recall exactly what it was.

As if to interrupt his thought process all over again, Ahiru suddenly straightened and lifted back to her feet, stretching her arms out over her head. His eyes followed her the whole time, drifting down to her pert rear as she bent over and touched her toes. He remembered that warm weight of her on top of him in the gardens and how it felt to have it pressed right down over his manhood. And he slid down a few inches against the door and then arched back up again, as if feeling an invisible friction from the memory alone.

The heat already engulfing his face was growing and spreading down, mixing and churning with a burning sensation that drifted all the way down to the area of his groin. How would it feel with her bare skin pressuring down upon him, he wondered, and his hidden shaft seemed throb with want at the thought.

His eyes became half-lidded as he watched her approach the mirrors, easily hefting one of small legs up onto the barre and bending over it to stretch the muscles out. A very common practice and stretching technique. There was nothing special about it.

And yet Fakir's heart began pumping more quickly in his chest as he regarded her lithe figure performing the same action over and over again. He was having much more difficulty thinking coherently in safer paths to muse upon any longer. He wanted that body to move across his own and couldn't help but fantasize of being right there with her at the wooden barre, matching his form's rhythm to hers.

On a shuddering breath released with agonizing slowness, he reached down to the front of his trousers and carefully rubbed the aching bulge that had formed there, never once taking his eyes off the redhead as he did so.

This was dirty. Dirty and wrong and he was filled with self-loathing as he proceeded to stroke himself while he peeked at the duck-girl through the open crack of the door.

He wanted to believe he was different - more sophisticated and with much more self-control than other young men his age. There was no absolute need for this kind of indulgence, was there? It was a guilty pleasure, not so 'natural' as everyone else seemed to claim it was. And it was a weakness of both mind and body. A knight would not succumb to carnal desires and needs of the body in this way. Duty and honor were far more important.

And even if he wasn't a knight anymore, this was one of the most dishonorable things he could ever think of doing. Especially given the circumstances. First he avoided the poor girl at every turn, and now he watched her from a secluded place with an unabashedly hungry and lustful gaze while he imagined doing inappropriate things to and with her. What kind of horrible person was he becoming?

The writer tensed when Ahiru changed positions, his hand stilling and green eyes widening.

Oh god, when she arched back like that with her mouth open--

"Fakiiiir!"

The sound of her voice calling his name passionately, even though it only existed in his mind, made his breath catch in his throat and his hardness throb against the tight material of his black pants with a fresh stab of desire.

Wrong. Dirty. Dishonorable. Despicable. Shameful. Perverted--

His vocabulary listed off those words and more into his mind in rapid succession as he hurriedly undid the clasp of his pants, closing his eyes briefly when Ahiru released a small vocal noise that made the tight band of heat in his center area threaten to burst.

Whispers in his head hastened to coax him into giving in completely: There was no one else in the school. It was dark. No one would know. If he could keep himself quiet, even she would be none the wiser. Her innocence would not be lost, or damaged, or even threatened.

Perhaps he would be a low, disgusting creature for this act, but relief... he needed to have it. He couldn't have her. And if he wanted to protect her, then this was the only way to reach satisfaction by coming as close to being with her as he could without actually touching her or endangering her purity.

"Ngghh..." Fakir winced when he pulled his stiff manhood right out from his pants and boxers, the cool hallway air making him realize just how sensitive that part of him truly was in this state. Keeping his back flat to the door, he returned his gaze to the object of his shameful want. She had just settled into the basic first position and held it, her expression appearing determined despite the simplicity of the position.

As the young man curled his right hand's fingers around his length, he knew he had just sealed his fate - one he did not have the mental or physical strength to even try to defy. And there was no turning back now.

Ahiru fluidly changed to second position, her chest stretching out on either side with the movement of her arms, and legs spreading to a fair distance apart on either side. His eyes roved over every inch of her spread-eagled form as he slid his hand up and down over his erect penis at a languid, careful speed.

He could imagine pinning her down to the floor just like that, her legs open and inviting, blue eyes pleading and expectant...

The ex-knight panted as he gripped himself with a little more force from the unnecessary imagery his brain had concocted. The thought of her helpless and bare beneath him should have bothered him, at least for her sake. But as sickening as it was to admit it, that scenario excited him terribly - just like the previous instance out in the hedges.

Fakir wasn't even following her position changes after first to second, now only taking in how her arm and leg movements made the fabric of the leotard pull across her body in various appealing ways. He almost expected her breasts to fall free of confinement, given how low of a dip the collar of the small dancing outfit made just barely over the mounds.

He squeezed both sides firmly in his hands, relishing in the moan of pleasure from the redhead as he teased the little pink protrusions to a hardened, ready state.

"Haaah... haaaaa!" Fakir struggled to hold his quickening breathy gasps in while his hand stroked rough and fast over his erection. Whether there was still any amount of guilt left or not, he had abandoned his earlier restraint and started to move against the gliding motion of his hand. And still his eyes remained glued to her, hazed and glassy green unable to break even a precious moment from regarding her every move.

Finished with the basic positions, Ahiru turned her back to the barre and used one hand for support upon it as she lifted her right leg as high as it would go in front of her, the other hand's small fingers pressing to the underside of her thigh to push herself further.

She was naked and pressed flushly to the barre, cheeks flaring pink and fingers curled down to hold on either side of the wood to keep balance. Her legs were entwined around his back and bare front glistening with sweat that collected down into the valley between her little bouncing breasts. She choked out his name over and over in ecstasy as he slammed into her slick warmth and rattled the mirror image behind them.

Fakir inhaled sharply as a white hot sensation poured through his veins like liquid fire. What he had just indirectly imagined doing to her on the barre against the mirrors was previously unthinkable - it had only gone so far as a little pleasing friction before. And now he had already stooped low enough to envision having actual intercourse with her. Dirty imagery that formed while he secretly spied on her and masturbated to watching her dance.

But the shame and self-depreciating disgust would not come and swallow him. The maddening wish to experience that forbidden act with her was too unfathomably strong for anything else to contend with. Even if those more unpleasant feelings were still present and lurking somewhere inside, the blinding image of sex (in that very room where she currently was) suffocated the others until he could not respond to them.

He already felt close. The thought of kissing or molding his figure against hers had been arousing, but now it was a hundred fold when those musings had escalated to far more dangerous territory.

Fakir's panting breaths had turned shallow and more erratic, fisted hand wildly thrusting over his hard length with an uncontrolled pace. Being inside of her, moving within her wet warmth... just wondering about how it would feel was nearly enough to drive him insane with desire.

The ex-knight's eyelids drooped a little further when she turned toward the mirror, both hands gripping the barre as she extended a leg behind her. Temptation urged him to lean closer to the door, his hand not ceasing its pumping over his shaft. He could fix his clothing and walk in easily, apologize for his behavior and request to dance with her, tell her how beautiful she was and how he could not take his eyes off of her, arouse her, strip the form-fitting fabric from her body, make love to her right there on the floor...

He entertained the idea with an odd amount of seriousness given his current state, already moving to stuff his still-pulsing erection back into his boxers.

And then froze when the severity of those thoughts splashed him like ice cold water over the searing heat. Utter disgust with himself rose above the burning lust as he jerked back back away from the opening of the door.

How could he...

How could he even think of...

Fakir released a strangled breath, appalled with what his thoughts had morphed into. He dared think of taking her innocence while he was trying to protect it? And even begin to act on that urge?

Despicable. He did not deserve to protect her at all, much less allow himself this incredibly selfish form of relief. Maybe breaking his promise entirely would be for the best. He was the danger to her now. He was the threat that lurked in the shadows.

What an ironic turn of events. She might never forgive him, but--

The young man's darkened green eyes broadened to saucers when they settled on the redhead again, and his previous thoughts vanished. She was sitting on the floor, a little blue towel wrapped about her shoulders, and drinking from a milk bottle that appeared to be filled with water.

Once again, his self-loathing dissipated under fresh tendrils of heat that curled and clamped about his face and neck and groin. His hand immediately sought its former grip on his manhood as his eyes bore into her, avidly taking in everything he could see from his hidden vantage point. The way her lips were puckered around the nozzle of the glass was reminiscent of something else. And bringing a very inappropriate fantasy to mind before he could prevent it.

Her lips teased along the very tip of his shaft, closing around it for the briefest moment that made him twitch in anticipation. He dug his fingers into her hair and tugged forward, eager for her to take him into the waiting cavern of her mouth. And she complied, mouth opening further to allow more of his girth inside. He gave a staggering breath which swiftly turned into a deep groan when her tongue licked the base, swathing the veined texture on the underside with her warm, wet appendage. And then she suckled, drawing a gasp of shocked pleasure from his throat, the sheer sensations of her mouth assaulting him from every angle with no nuance of mercy. He recklessly pulled her forward by the grip of her red locks, forcing her to take more of his length in and then out, in and out...

Fakir's hand followed those motions as she continued to guzzle the water down, obviously very thirsty from her workout. He struggled to hold in a fierce grunt when her pink lips constricted around the bottle's end, his fingertips flexing and squeezing around the erection to mimic her gesture.

But it was when she dribbled water down her front that he completely lost it.

His pupils dilated in the darkness, the binding threads of scorching heat that held him captive all exploding at once and dousing his vision with bright white. A pained, whispered cry of her name escaped his throat as he was consumed by euphoria, his essence spilling out of his tip and over the hallway floor below him.

Fakir wasn't sure how much time had passed before he could finally see and think straight again, but he found himself sitting down against the door and breathing harshly, limp shaft still held loosely in his fingertips. He could feel the faded stickiness of cum on his hand, and blanched when he noticed the substance on the floor in a mess in front of him.

Oh god, how he was he supposed to clean up--

"Whoa!" the startled voice from within the room suddenly cried out, and the writer nearly bashed his head against the door in surprise of the outburst. He took a fleeting peek toward her, to see that she was apparently looking at something out of his view. "It must be so late! Oh no, I lost track of time, didn't I?! Fakir would call me a moron if he knew..."

But in fact, the young man was cursing himself into oblivion within his head, face flaring with unfathomable embarrassment over what he had just done. Heaving in attempt to control and calm the rapid beating of his heart, he hurriedly tucked his manhood back into his boxers and did up his trousers with fumbling fingers.

There was no damn time to wipe up the traces of his dishonorable indulgence. If she realized how late it was, it wouldn't be long before--

"I'd better get back to the dorm!"

He didn't even attempt to spare a glance to see how close that quick patter of feet was getting to his location. In a completely ungraceful and undignified manner, Fakir scrambled to his feet and scampered down the hall back the way he had originally come, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to depart. He absolutely could NOT let her catch him being here.

And thankfully for the retreating young man, the redhead that poked her head out from the door had miraculously not heard or seen his frantic exit.

...Or perhaps she was just too preoccupied with staring at the floor outside of the ballet practice room, a confused expression etched onto her features.

"Someone spilled milk on the floor?"

-------------------

Fakir ran all the way back to Charon's without once slowing down or looking back.

He needed to hide in his room for a week. Or a month. However long it took to convince himself that he was not a sick, twisted freak of nature. However long it took to stop wishing that fate would come back with a vengeance and tear him in two, or shred him to bits. However long it took to be able to actually face her again without feeling like the scum of the earth for what he did---and imagined doing.

And his original goal - the essay he had been so intent to retrieve and finish - was completely forgotten.

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AN: Despite the... subject matter, I tried to make this at least somewhat believable for the characters. Particularly Fakir. I could see him dealing with his hormones that way, and feeling absolutely terrible for doing it. Poor guy.

Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed this installment! Reviews are, as always, greatly loved and appreciated. And thanks to Animeshen for the challenging prompt! It was pretty interesting to write. I hope this fits for what she was looking for!

And as always, thank you for reading!