a/n: another short klaus/rebekah drabble, written for the incest ficathon over at livejournal. in which blood is thicker than water. enjoy and review!
The boy is not her first paramour. He shall not be her last.
Her brother's hands curl around her own, and this feels more like a caress than a curse.
"Let him go," he says now, voice just a purr, voice light and whispered and oh, this is a kiss more than anything else. "Bekah, let him go."
The knight at her feet gives a light groan, and Rebekah watches the way her brother's eyes tighten, watches the way the muscles at the curve of his jaw harden and become cruel in tandem with his hands. The boy is a pretty creature, all gold hair and a mouth that curves instead of snarls and eyes so blue you can drown in. Her brother, in contrast, looks more like the serpent than the man, an abomination to be preached of by the likes of Savonarola. She wonders idly how many commandments they have broken, how many virtues they have sullied.
This is not love, she thinks now, and curls her fingers tight around her brother's, bones of steel and flesh of dead men, a thousand times over. This is not love.
This is the direst, cruelest thing in her life. A thing to be spoken of in whispers, in hushed tales, murmured lowly for fear of being heard, a thing that exists in blood and flesh and torn selves, a thing that kills instead of breathes. She is an animal, and this is the trap.
Rebekah bends and twists the boy's neck in her delicate hands, the bone snapping with a clean crack beneath. Her fingers are not stained at all.
This is not the first commandment she has broken. This shall not be the last.
