A/N: Ack it had been a loooong time since I posted anything on here and given how many reviews/favourites/follows I've had in that time I feel terrible. So here is a little drabble I came up with on a whim (cause that's how I roll.)
Sometimes late at night, long after Mabel has fallen asleep beside him, he simply watches her sleep. Cliché he knows but he cannot help but watch the steady rise and fall of her chest, her heartbeat visible in her neck. More often than not he relishes the chance to watch his sister so unashamedly, to memorise her features, from the dark curve of her lashes against her cheeks, the almost imperceptible smattering of freckles across her nose, to the small content smile on her lips. After all there in the sanctuary of their bed there is no one to stop him, judge him nor condemn him.
But sometimes he watches Mabel with a clinical kind of detachment and curiosity that he acknowledges as sociopathic in nature. He wonders what it would be like strangle her as she slept. He wonders would she wake and writhe beneath him as she has before, albeit in wildly different circumstances? Would she look at him with horror and betrayal or smirk at him, defiant and fearless even in the face of death? Perhaps she would look at him in understanding, his sweet sister knowing him as well as he knew himself. He wouldn't be surprised if Mabel sometimes sat and watched him sleep, tracing featherlight touches over the veins in his arms wondering what it would be like to slit them and watch his blood soak the sheets. She always did prefer to watch people bleed.
He's still sitting against the headboard when Mabel shifts and notices he's not within reach and opens her eyes. She doesn't ask what he's doing or why he's awake, she merely sits up and moves over to him and rests her head on his shoulder and entwines their fingers. He isn't sure how long they sit there, content in their silence but all too soon the sun starts to pierce through the curtains and muffled birdsong can be heard. When he hears the first of the servants begin to move about downstairs he reluctantly pulls away from his sister and climbs out of their bed. Before he can get further than that Mabel grabs his arm and tugs him down for one last kiss before he sneaks back to his room. If he happens to stroke along the pulse on her neck or she happens to lightly drag her nails to leave faint red lines along his arm neither of them mention it before he slips out the door.