From the Kink Meme-Incest (Malik/Ishizu)

The first time they had kissed wasn't anything special. Malik had awoken from a night full of terror in the darkness of the tomb, sought out his sister; she had been there, with warm and soft hands. His small arms around her neck, body trembling, completely afraid of the things he felt; he was completely trapped. And when she stroked his hair, gently kissed him on the mouth, it was okay, just for a minute. And her brown eyes were full of love...

He was fourteen by the time it became routine. Odion was regularly out by then, entranced by the idea of the working world. It was never planned but, somehow, Ishizu had found that her baby's blonde hair looked so beautiful against the flashing glowing of the television, his violet eyes nothing less than entrancing. "Malik..." She whispered, hesitantly trailing her knuckles along those high cheek bones, "I have to ask you something..."

"Yes sister?" innocent as ever, he cocked his head, blinking. He looked so perfect just then; barely adolescent.

"Don't be scared," her voice murmered through numb lips. Malik, innocent in so many ways, had nodded, looking at her as though nothing unusual was happening. And those pretty eyes slid closed as his sister kissed him, licked his lips, led his hand to her breast for the first time. And everything was finally quiet inside his chaotic mind.

He was sixteen and it wasn't strange anymore. Odion gone for a long while, visiting on weekends, a perfect example of normalcy. Malik would find himself in the position of housewife, cleaning and making sure dinner was hot when his sister came home. And daily, she greeted him with a kiss, a smile, a story of the world he had once been so anxious to see. Recently struck by agorophobia, preferring to live through others, the safety of the radio and TV and covered windows...

Malik thought the wine tasted fantastic on her lips. She pressed him against the bed, long fingers playing with the hem of his shirt, the belt on his jeans. He lifted obediently to let them be removed. She was the only one to trace his scars, to kiss his wrists and neck when the gold was gone, the only gold shining from his hair. "Malik," his only love moved slowly, always on top, never ashamed of his insecurity. ("When you are ready" she always said). And he looked into those perfect brown eyes as she rode, fisting thick black hair.

And when his sister slept in cool sheets next to him, their tan legs entwined, he stroked her face, the tattoos that matched his own, marked them as one. And he wondered if she looked like their mother...