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For Love, Perhaps	By : HunterOpera Category: +S to Z > Utena Views: 1625 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no money from this and own nothing related to Revolutionary Girl Utena. All copyright holders are owners of their own characters.

Chapter List
- 1-Rose Dawn
- 2-Lost Petals
- 1
- 2
She's so simple. So naive. It makes this so much easier.
Today is Sunday.
We isolated her from her friends and admirers, though both my brother and I are unsure where she got her crest from. We're usually so careful about these things. We usually have plans in place, but the path before Utena Tenjou has not been prepared.
It was a Friday when my classmate Saionji lost his duel to a pink-haired freshman who had shown up to the arena without a sword. She was so sure of herself. It reminded me of the times before, back when the world was brighter and was not trapped so easily in lies.
She shines like the sun. She beat him once and then again, then the blue-haired boy with the piano on a Tuesday. I wonder what that little genius will do when he realizes his sister is lying to him and herself. It's an absent wonder, though, gone like the world that was, the world where miracles were still possible.
The Leopard Queen would understand if she could bring herself to look beyond her misery. We'd chosen her for this iteration of the game, my brother and I, set all the pieces in place to take her soul.
“Utena will be so much more delicious,” my brother said, smiling as we lounged in the aftermath. “An unexpected treat.”
I said nothing, picking my skirt off the floor and fastening it around my hips.
He looked at me with narrow eyes.
“Why must you be so cruel?”
I let him see my smile before I left. It seemed polite.
Juri was discarded on a Thursday. I left my brother late Saturday night. Today is Sunday.
I step out of the shower and look at myself, not a hint of ages past. Flesh is so malleable and time is such a funny plaything, one second leaking into the next, decades gone by until its hard to remember where one ends and another begins. One of our victims claimed that the awareness of time changes with age because one can remember more of it. It becomes harder to take more in as one gets older because there is only so much humanity can remember on a personal scale. It's an interesting thought.
My brother and I can remember back centuries with crisp precision. The problem is that we started before anyone thought to keep track of passing ages.
Still, there is something about the pink-haired fool that tickles my recollection but I cannot focus on it. It's maddening and makes me hate her. I just want this game to end.
Droplets of moisture on firm legs, tight flat belly, pert breasts. I look so young and feel so old and the idiot in the bedroom does not and could not understand. I open the door and she smiles me at me, curled up in her blankets on the top bunk. She does not remember me leaving; memory is the easiest dream of all to manipulate.
She edges up and I smile at her, walking closer, letting the towel fall down and pool around my feet as I pad closer to her. Her eyes widen, lips part as I press up on my toes, cupping the edge of the bed frame with my fingers. Her lips meet mine, shy and sweet, her fingers entwining with my own. I climb up the ladder and she helps me up, holding me with careful intent, starts to rise.
I place a hand on her breast and push her back down onto the mattress. I can feel her heart quicken beneath my palm, her breath turning shallow and cheeks flushing. Shuffling the blanket to one side, I straddle her, one hand squeezing her budding breast while the other circles lower, playing with the sensitive nerves of her hip, trailing the border of leg and torso, brushing along the shaved denial of her maturity.
She thinks we are friends.
When she tries to rise up and meet my lips I push her back down, following so that our lips meet. I pull her tongue into my mouth, tasting the sweet innocence of her, my darling would-be prince. My knee brushes the space between her legs and she sighs into my mouth, her resistance melting away when our lips part, when our eyes meet. I know exactly what she sees – whatever she needs to, whatever lie she wants to justify this to herself.
She gasps when my fingers curl into her, head tilting back. I lay small nibbling kisses along her neck, the fingers on her breast parting and circling over a nipple, twisting to introduce a little bit of pain and heighten her pleasure. I have charted the curves and pleasure of so very many. My other hand is coated in her juices, her arousal and sweat sweet as her hands fumble with my back, my sides. She reaches down and tries to cup my ass and I smile at her, curling the touches inside her just so, and her whole body shakes, hands reaching for the sheets, gripping them tightly as she bites her lips and tenses at the first touch of orgasm.
Utena is still riding the wave of her first when I pull her up on her side, pressing my body against her back. One hand goes underneath her and comes back up, hugging her close and leading her by the breast and then the belly, the other continuing to play with the sopping softness between her legs. My own leg cradles around her, twisting her hip as my fingers thrust deeper, harder, and she cries out a second savage orgasm.
It's a good thing we have this whole dorm to ourselves.
My brother and I arrange this for all our victims. Isolate them and get them addicted to the pleasure we can offer them. Utena is whimpering beneath me now, her breath a shattered collection of shallow moans, her eyes half-lidded and glossy. She tries to speak and fails as I flip her around, one hand on her shoulder blades and pressing her down, the other inside her pulling her ass up.
Her hips follow where I lead, knees tucked underneath her as I take the hand inside her out and spank her once, twice, she shuddering at the touches, shuddering in a different way as I use feather touches along the back of her thighs, trailing back up and inside her, my lips on the nape of her neck, nibbling at her ear as she shudders and sprays her cum into my hand.
I let her roll over, her hands grasping her hair as I kiss her lips, her cheek, her neck, going lower until my lips are teasing the soaked entrance to her, my tongue spelling a warning on her clit. Her hand is in my hair, tightening painful, pulling me in harder as I slather her with affection. Her hips press against my mouth as she screams, thighs pressed against my ears, and when she goes slack I am ready, pouncing up, my tongue trailing lines of pleasure up her tight belly, the tender underside of her budding breasts and circling around her stiff nipples, trailing further to her neck and throat and lips.
She's barely aware of it as my tongue circles hers, too lost to the waves of ecstasy I've inflicted on her. She's too young and too naive to know that this is just another kind of duel, one she's lost and will continue to lose.
My hand circles around her neck, pulling her up, our mouths never parting, her every moan a delicious thrill down my throat. I break the kiss and stare deep into her eyes, our legs tangling, my clit pressing against hers. She's so sensitive now that even the slightest touch brings out her quivering little moans and I can take pleasure however I want. I'm holding her leg, kissing her calves and her toes while she clutches the pillow and cries.
I'm using a technique perfected in majestic desert temples that were reduced to dust centuries before she was born. She does not know this, but the howl of her orgasm is the exact prayer I'm looking for, my juices mingling with hers.
We lay in the aftermath, both of us sweat-slick and satisfied. She crawls to the foot of the bed with a pillow, placing it under my head and settling in next to me, her head on my shoulder. I hug her close.
“Good morning,” she says.
“Good morning, Miss Utena,” I answer. The scorn in my voice is too subtle a tone for anyone to catch.
“It's nice waking up like this,” she says, and I think about my brother watching us in from his tower and say nothing. “It's nice waking up and not being alone.”
And, just like that, I know that my brother and I will break her.
*
Whew. Off to a start. I'm posting this as a warning now: I tend to go to some pretty dark places and this is as light as this fic will get. It's a second warning because people have ignored tags in the past and I don't want to bother anyone, but I do want to write this fic. If you write a review, I will respond to it at http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/topic/36931-metroid-the-bergman-affair-feedback-comments-and-workshopping/?page=15, and keep responding to any conversation and workshopping as I have time. Thanks for reading, and I'll be back with more next week.
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For Love, Perhaps