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love with nowhere to go

Summary:

Borders and boundaries are nebulous. Treacherous. Wars fought over imagined lines in the earth. Wealth determined by everything from seashells to trinkets to gold, with no two nations able to agree on which is best.

You may love your brother as a girl, but not as a woman.

You may love your steed as a boy, but not as a man.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Borders and boundaries are nebulous. Treacherous. Wars fought over imagined lines in the earth. Wealth determined by everything from seashells to trinkets to gold, with no two nations able to agree on which is best.

You may love your brother as a girl, but not as a woman.

You may love your steed as a boy, but not as a man.

Furiae sees her own filth mirrored in the way her brother regards the dragon - subterranean warmth, fettered lest it consume the very firmament on which he stands. She sees the way his hand lingers as he strokes the creature, tracing the dips and valleys of her scales. He is silent, but the violent kineticism that radiates from him seems to settle in her presence. 

She does not hate the dragon for it - she has only ever wished for Caim’s happiness, and she cares little that his comfort bears the silhouette of a creature that orphaned them.

“I know you care for her,” she says one night. Caim, of course, does not respond, but his eyes are wary as he regards her. Her brother has never needed a tongue to speak.

“It’s painful, isn’t it? To have love with nowhere to go?” 

His eyes are still daggers, though Furiae notes that their jagged edge lay solely across his own throat. She smiles, hoping for once that she looks as beautific as the goddess she’s proclaimed to be, brushing the back of his hand with her fingertips before lacing their fingers together. His hands are rough with battle and deliciously warm; she imagines their heat permeating the flimsy modesty of her dress and shivers.

“Would you like to know what I think?” she whispers. Caim is silent as ever, but his eyes darken with understanding. Regardless, she wants to say it, if nothing for the pleasure of it.

“Love is only wrong if it hurts someone. I know you care for her–” she says again, eyes boring into his as if daring him to contradict her.

He doesn’t.

“--as I care for you. Your love has nowhere to go… as does mine. We both ache with it.”

She leans closer, placing a hand against his check. He is beautiful - eyes savage with uncertainty, skin hot with violence only ever a hair’s breadth beneath his skin. She allows herself to bridge the gap between their lips, tasting the deluge of words he might like to say, memorizing the way his lips are warm and chapped and hesitant beneath hers. She swears she can still taste the brine of bloodshed on them.

“Let me take that pain away, brother. Touch me as you long to touch her,” she murmurs, hating how her voice trembles into something closer to a plea. Caim’s eyes flicker between her eyes and her lips. The conflict is writ clear across his features.

He hasn’t refused her outright; the realization comes as an expectant flare of heat between her thighs. She places one of his hands on the swell of her breast; almost reflectively he rubs a thumb against her nipple, strained impertinently against the fabric. Furiae sighs, soft and sweet.

“I shall not take offense - I have love enough for us both. Embrace me, Caim,” she says, pulling him towards her again.

There is a moment where she thinks she will be pushed away - her eyes flutter shut on the precipice of another kiss, unwilling to see the rejection in his gaze should he refuse. She can almost hear the roar within his skull. In a secluded corner of her mind she marvels that touching her is one of the only things that seemingly unnerves the infamously bloodthirsty Caim.

Then there is violence, wonderful violence, wrought on her mouth.

She can’t call it a kiss, exactly - Caim is as brutal with his lips and teeth as he is with a sword, and she can tell that mouths are one instrument with which he is unpracticed. She guides him as well as she can, schooling the desperate curiosity of his tongue into her mouth rather than licking outside of it… but she expected no less. To know that she is the first to sample this facet of him excites her, and every inelegant nip of his teeth stokes the simmering flame of her desire. He seeks fangs she lacks; the forked, serpentine tongue he longs to be twined around his is but a blunt organ stroking delicately against his.

There is another blunt organ rutting much less delicately against her thigh, and she cannot help but giggle. Her mother had warned her that the embers of a man’s heart were quick to ignite, but even so she’s surprised at how hot Caim’s blood seems to run with such little provocation.

She runs her fingers against the obscene peak in his breeches; the crude violence of Caim’s mouth slows.

“Please… please grant me this,” she says, moreso as a courtesy; she is already untying the laces holding him in check, mouth watering as she imagines the heat and heft of him, the salt and musk of him –

Filthy, she hears - a mother’s chiding reprimand, for a girl’s affections are obscene when blood turns her into a woman.

Wanton, she hears - a father’s sneer towards women of the gutter whose blood ran hot like a man’s.

– she is both, and longs for nothing more than to pleasure her brother’s cock.

She presses her lips to him, tongue flicking against the bead glimmering at the tip. Caim groans, voice trailing into a wordless moan, its timbre matched only by the low hum of approval from Furiae.

“Is that good?” she says, running her tongue along the shaft. A vapid, selfish question, she knows - his eyes are rapt, and his lust is firm and insistent against her tongue despite his hesitation. Such a curious contradiction - somehow he is soft yet hard, like steel wrapped in velveteen. She allows him deeper her mouth – and this is its own pleasure, for his breaths become ragged, and one of his hands settles at the back of her head as if to keep her from moving. He thrusts shallowly - tentatively, before settling into a merciless rhythm as he savors the unfamiliar heat of her mouth, the vice of her throat.

There is something darker about the taste of him here - the usual salt of his skin, but if she laps at the font she can also taste something more secretive. The flavor blooms on her tongue. Romance novels had described the taste of a man’s pleasure as sweet, but she finds herself far fonder of the unvarnished bitterness of it .

But she did not ask him to touch her only for him to finish in the insensate heat of her mouth. Between her thighs she can feel the throbbing heat of her cunt, can feel with strange certainty that she’s slick for him. Her knowledge of how man and woman join is rudimentary at best – a few private glances at sordid literature kept out of reach and the half-deranged fantasies of a girl with naught but cold, thin fingers to suffice – but some things need not be taught. Her body seems to know well enough it wants, and for once she’s disinclined to pretend otherwise.

Reluctantly she removes her mouth with a soft pop, crawling forward such that the source of her shame, her want, lay before him. Caim looks uncertain, eyebrows knit in rare, guileless confusion.

“You may take me however you wish, but I imagine that you may like to do so as beasts do.”

In her fantasies, Caim would have laid her gently on her back, would have peppered her with kisses from head to heel. He would have drank her in, would have strummed her for any notes of pleasure until she sang beneath him.

She is content for her brother to mount her like a beast, to find her own pleasure while Caim finds his courage. Caim hesitates only briefly; there is a moment where she feels naught but cold on the slick heat of her cunt, and then there is –

Heat. But more than heat, there is p a i n

Her brother’s cock is a knife, a sword finding its sheathe. She grits her teeth, not willing to let him hear her cry out - he is either damnably ignorant to the agony of a girl’s virtue, or simply unconcerned. She had begged him to take her like a beast, and he had obliged her. The searing ingress offers no reprieve; it is methodical and merciless, not quick enough for the pain to ebb, but not slow enough for her to adjust to the girth and stretch of it. She glances at him quickly, and isn’t surprised to see his lips twisted in cruel glee as he violates her.

Furiae smiles bitterly, bringing her hands between her legs to stroke at the nub at their juncture. Her beloved Caim relished brutality and pain, especially when it had been demanded of him; this was precisely what she had wanted, wasn’t it? To whet her passion with his violence? Had she not brought herself off imagining his cock slick with her blood as well as her desire? 

Her cunt was already slick and swollen with need, her legs quaking uneasily as she traced small circles around her clit. She feels herself tighten around him, can feel him drive deeper into her in response with wordless need.

She may be sullied, a maiden who begged her brother to damn himself for her sins, and yet she cannot find it in herself to want forgiveness. The copper and salt of sin, she finds, is far sweeter than anything virtue had offered to her anesthetized palate. 

Emptiness - tedious days and vapid praise, tasteless food and deadened nerves. She wants Caim to burn it all away: to be so consumed in the blaze of his violence that there is nought but ash in its wake, to dye the anodyne white of her existence in a kaleidoscope of red. 

The world shatters into a thousand sparks behind her eyelids, her body seeming to dissolve like sea foam as she cries out; Caim is not long behind her, fucking into her as though he means to pry apart her viscera with his flesh and seed. She smiles at the thought of it; Caim is but a man, and the only danger his own weapon poses is quickening life rather than the taking of it. She isn’t sure if she says so aloud, so hazy is she in the sweetness of embers of her passion, but the queer smile he gives in reply suggests he may have.

Notes:

Written for the Folger's Flash Exchange 2023. I saw this lonely single DoD request and knew what had to be done.

The exchange recommended a max of 1200 words but Caim and Furiae had other ideas. I hope you enjoy, anon 💜