Fandom: Shoujo Kakumei Utena (Revolutionary Girl Utena)
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Rating: R; hints of graphic sex
Notes: "Made to Order" challenge for girlchild in utenadrabble: Utena/Anthy/Akio. Post-series. Preferably graphic Utena/Anthy sex, with mention of some kind of physical impairment Utena now has (i.e. blindness, scars, et cetera.) Also, I'd rather not have Akio appear in a physical context-- more like a ghost, or a memory, or a phone conversation.
Summary: She doesn't believe in fairytales, and she has no secrets to tell.
“Do you believe in fairy tales?” she asks her one lazy day, when they are sprawled on their unmade bed, naked and sated. A gentle breeze from the window cools the sweat on their skin.
Utena laughs, softly, delicately tracing the curve of her breast with a fingertip. “No,” she says. “No, I don’t believe in fairy tales. There is no place for them in my life.” She looks at her, eyes that do not see, and smiles hesitatingly.
After a moment, Utena asks, “Do you believe in them?”
“Once,” she says, “once, I did.” She leans down and kisses her then, kisses her hard until the breath is stolen from her.
Later, when they are sated again, Utena rolls from the bed. Straightening, she arches her back, the moonlight turning the faded silver scars crisscrossing her back into stark slashes of hatred and pain.
Green eyes watch her, and she grimaces.
“There are no such things as princes,” she whispers, pulling the blankets around her in a vain effort to get warm, now that she is alone in the bed, “or princesses, for that matter.”
Utena does not hear her.
“I still don’t know your name,” Utena says one evening, when they are sitting on the couch. “It’s been almost three months.” She is reading, and Utena is playing idly with her hair.
“There is no need to know,” she says, turning the page as she stops her shoulders from stiffening. Utena is sensitive to these things. “It’s not very important.”
“Oh,” Utena says; an uncomfortable silence lingers.
She closes her book at last, twists her head up and kisses Utena. When they part, she says, “I still don’t know your secrets.”
Utena’s eyes deaden further. “I have none to tell.”
“I see,” Anthy says, dissatisfaction in her voice.
It is a merry game they play.
Denial is a kind whisper in their minds, which tells of castles in the skies, swords born from light, and dreams ripening from honour, most important of all.
Utena doesn’t like roses.
She hates the dark too, but now the darkness is all that she sees. Her happy ending is of her own making.
And Anthy... Anthy has no ending at all.
Anthy drives a red car, but Utena only knows it’s red because Anthy has told her so. She drives recklessly, taking corners too fast, and their hair streams out behind them.
No matter how fast Anthy drives, Utena sees nothing.
Utena lies back and closes her eyes, letting the speed take her. She arches like she is coming.
Anthy usually ends up fucking her in the back seat, and Utena gasps and whimpers and cries, spasms making the muscles in her spread thighs twitch and jerk. Afterwards, they lie together, their legs tangled, and try to remember how to breathe.
They can hear the thundering beat of the other’s heart, and it reminds them that they’re alive, alive, alive.
Neither of them believes in ghosts.
“So,” Utena says, after it’s been four months, “about that name.”
Anthy laughs and closes her book. “So,” she says, “about those secrets.”
Utena’s breath hitches in her throat. “I have none to tell.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Anthy says, rising and walking around to the back of Utena’s chair. Her slim, brown arms circle around Utena’s shoulders, her wrists looping just above her breasts, the loosest of entrapments. “I know them all anyway –”
“What,” Utena says.
“– my prince,” and Anthy kisses her neck, biting the smooth skin, sinking her teeth against the thudding heartbeat just underneath.
Utena lets out a sob.
“Please,” she says.
Anthy purrs and hums, leading her to their bedroom.
Utena opens her eyes just when Anthy comes beneath her, and this time she finally sees.
“Anthy,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss her.
“There was no need to tell you my name,” Anthy murmurs later, much later, when the moon is high, splashing the walls in silver. “You knew it all along.”