Danse Macabre

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Princess Tutu.

Pairing(s): Mytho/Fakir, implied Mytho/Kraehe

Warning(s): Some sexual situations, psychological abuse, Raven!Mytho, Fakir's slight potty mouth

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Princess Tutu.

Author's Note: Okay, so I had a thought. What if Fakir had given in to his despair during episode 20 (the one with Raetsel and the discovery of what happened to Fakir's parents and Fakir's apparent powers)? I thought to myself, that would have been the opportune moment for Mytho to come be a creeper and prey on Fakir's emotions. So here is that idea, come to fruition. This is the first chapter. Constructive criticism is welcome, along with comments.

Chapter 1 – Reverse Situation

Fakir threw the door open and launched himself into his bed, curling his legs into his chest. Everything ached now. His chest ached from the run to the dorms. His eyes ached from crying, which he was still doing at this moment. His heart ached at the pain he himself had caused to his parents and Mytho and Ahiru and Rue and Charon and everyone else he had met. His soul ached from not being able to be the Knight he was supposed to be.

Why do I have this power? Fakir asked himself. Why do I have Drosselmeyer's power? Why did I write that stupid story all those years ago? Why am I still alive? Why, dammit? WHY? All of his questions remained unanswered, flying around in his brain like those damned crows flying around the town in those godforsaken days when he was just a child and how they flew now under the command of Kraehe and Mytho.

Footsteps. Then a voice, sounding slightly muffled by the fog of sadness in his brain. "Fakir?"

The older teen clutched at himself, seeking some comfort that he hoped would be provided by his own skin but wasn't there. "Go away," he muttered.

"Fakir, what's wrong? Why are you in such pain?" asked the voice, which Fakir now recognized as that of his Prince, Mytho. He must have settled himself on the bed, judging from the slight dip in the mattress.

"I've done something terrible," Fakir replied. He was not going to cry in front of Mytho, no he wasn't. He wouldn't make himself look even weaker than he already knew Mytho thought he was. He wouldn't make a fool out of the Knight he was supposed to be. But alas, his eyes won that battle, and tears continued to stream from his eyes.

Suddenly, Fakir was being lifted, and then he found himself face to face with Mytho, and he was being cradled in his lap, like a child awakened by a nightmare and seeking comfort in a parent's touch. But the important thing to remember was that he was being cradled in his Prince's lap. This was most unnatural. The Prince was not supposed to provide comfort and support to the Knight, not the other way around. But somehow things had turned on Fakir yet again. "Mytho?" he asked, bewildered.

"Fakir," the Prince replied with a smile that was purely Mytho.

"W-what are you doing? Where's Kraehe?" Fakir inquired, looking around nervously. "What's going on h-"

Mytho put a finger to Fakir's lips, which effectively silenced him. "I'm here to help you, Fakir," he said. "Let me help you."

"What would you do to help me, Mytho? You said it yourself, I'm just a fool, a Knight who can't even find the strength to die. No one can help me. I can't even help myself." Tears threatened to fall again – dammit, what was going on with him today? He was acting like a stupid lovesick schoolgirl! Not even the real schoolgirls cried this much! – but Mytho gently wiped them away with his thumb. He then began stroking Fakir's hair. Fakir tensed at first, and then slowly relaxed, letting the long fingers trail across his scalp. Oh God, Mytho had wonderful fingers, and they were getting all of the right places on his scalp.

"I know you've been hurt before, Fakir," Mytho replied as he continued to rake his fingers through the older teen's hair. "Let me help you feel better."

"Mytho, you've got it backwards," Fakir mumbled, trying not to fall asleep from Mytho's touch and his own emotional weakness. "I'm the Knight, it's my job to help you –"

"And now I'm returning the favor," Mytho replied. He smiled that Mytho smile again, and his eyes just seemed to exude warmth too. It was like staring at a fire in a fireplace, gently pulsing with heat and lulling him to a dreamy state of mind. "Just relax, Fakir. I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again."

"Relax…" Fakir said dazedly. He sighed, and let himself fall prey to the tender touches of his beautiful Prince. He closed his eyes, draped one arm around the Prince's waist and folded the other one into his chest. His breathing evened and deepened until he was asleep, completely relaxed. Unconsciously, he leaned in towards Mytho's torso, completely at peace.

Mytho continued to stroke Fakir's hair with that perfectly soft, gentle smile gracing his features. He wanted nothing more than for Fakir to be happy, to forget the pain of the past, to never change.

And to love only him, and hate everyone else.

Please review, give concrit, etc.