A Heart Devoid
Garrett Hawke polished off the last of the bottle of Arbor Red. Maker. He'd had three glasses and he was feeling it. Not drunk but definitely tipsy. Everything in the room had fuzzy edges and he swayed slightly on standing. He never usually touched the stuff. He was more of a mead or brandy type of man. But Bethany was here, and she liked it, so he'd popped the bottle. It had been collecting dust ever since Lady something-or-other had gifted him it last year. Had he slept with her? Probably. It was soon after Merril left and he had been in a dark place.
This last week had been the first time he had felt whole in a long while. There had been too many wasted nights: drinking and fucking at the Rose, only to wake up with no memories and an overpriced whore crawling out of the rented bed. But there had been nothing of substance since Merril. He had his friends, but they had each other. They didn't need him, until some thugs had to be dealt with. Nobody needed him for anything other than his brawn. But Bethany did, his sweet sister. She had come back to Kirkwall to stay with him for a couple of nights after their trying journey into the Vismark Mountans. She was changed, the Grey Wardens had changed her. She was still beautiful, as beautiful as she had suddenly become when he returned from Ostagar to find a desperate, scared, talented woman in the place where a desperate, scared, talented girl had been just months before. She was ripe and voluptuous with distracting curves in all the right places. But now she was a warrior, there was steel in her eyes. She had experience and fire and Maker help him but it was as attractive as hell.
She's your sister, he had repeated in his mind earlier that evening as his eyes drifted down to her plump lips and the pink tongue that was licking wine off of them. Your little sister. Your baby sister. He was a monster. But with a second glass of wine, he couldn't keep himself from checking out the way her night robe gaped at the front revealing the tops of her soft, round orbs and the deep cleavage between. His throat went dry just remembering it. He was both the luckiest man in the world for having such a vision in his life because she would hug him and kiss his cheek (as she had done earlier when she had trotted off to bed after just one glass of wine), and the unluckiest because he couldn't do what he wanted to with her. "Look after her Garrett" his mother had said when they first arrived in Kirkwall. "There are all kinds of men who will want to advantage of such a young, sweet girl. You must protect her." And he did. His mother would have had a fit if she ever guessed that he himself was one of the men he'd had to protect her from.
But she never really needed his protection. She was always a fantastic mage, with quick reflexes and powerful spells. And even more so now that she had fought in Maker knows how many battles against the darkspawn. She didn't flinch anymore. She didn't apologise as much either. His Bethany was truly a woman now. More woman than any of the whores he'd been using for company.
He grabbed hold of the banister as he pulled himself up the stairs, taking each step slowly to avoid falling. But he was fine really. Just a bit tired. He'd crawl into bed and sleep it off. Then in the morning he'd have to say goodbye to Bethany, for goodness knows how long, and then his mansion would be deserted again. Sandal and Bodahn had moved out long ago, and Orana was on leave not due back til next week. She didn't live here anyway. Come nightfall it was always the same. An empty house and his books. Until he gave in and walked down to the Hanged Man or up the road to the Blooming Rose.
Not tonight though. For tonight there was someone else here. He could hear her deep breathing through the ajar door and he took a step towards it and pushed it slightly further open. Just to check on her, he told himself. The moon was full and she hadn't shut the drapes so the light streamed across her resting form. The blankets had been pushed to the side, it certainly was warm that night. Hawke smiled at how peaceful she looked. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow, the blackness contrasting against her skin and making her seem ethereal. His eyes, unbidden, drifted down her body to check if her robe was still gaping and it was. If anything it seemed it had opened even more. She must have been hot, he thought as he stepped carefully into the room. The thin fabric (he knew it was thin because when she'd hugged him goodnight, pressing herself briefly against him, he had felt her warmth radiating through it) had ridden up high and was pooling around her thighs. How had it come to be in such a state? he wondered. Was she pleasuring herself before she fell asleep? Had she pulled up the hem of her robe and slipped a hand beneath? Was she wearing undergarments even? His glance was fixed on her thighs but now it turned to her face. Her lips were parted and he imagined what she had looked like in her ecstasy. A groan bubbled up in his throat and he was aware that he was hard. Hard and aching painfully for his sister.
He was in his mother's bedroom looming over her only daughter, a hand pressed against his trousers to relieve the tension. His mother's bedroom. She would have cut him off, she would have kicked him out, she would have never talked to him again for fantasising about her sweet, little Bethany. But Bethany wasn't little (no she certainly wasn't) or sweet any more. Bethany was luscious. And mother was dead. There was no one to make him feel guilty for his thoughts and Bethany was asleep. She would never know.
With hasty, clumsy fingers, Hawke unbuttoned his trousers just enough to expose his throbbing member. He had been told by many a woman, and a few men, that he was blessed but he had large, familiar hands and he fell into a rhythm easily. Staring possessively at his sister, he imagined how she liked to be fucked. Surely, she had fucked many times by now. Probably by various men. He imagined her in different positions: on her back; bending over being taken from behind like a dog; riding a man from above. That last one was his favourite. Bethany in charge and with her globular, doughy breasts bouncing and accessible. He could make out the shape of them through her robe now and he was desperate to reveal them, to see them, to expose her. But he managed to hold back. He didn't want to wake her. His cock was swelling, and he closed his eyes to the sensation as he imagined his younger sister's clothes being ripped from her before being fucked by two men, spit-roasted like a boar. And, did he dare?, but he had gone this far… He imagined himself fucking her right now, climbing on top of her prone body and entering his pulsing dick into her snug, pulpy, moist hole. She would be warm and wet if she had been masturbating. And he imagined she was gloriously tight too. He would come inside her as soon as he felt her surround him. He was close, he was going to come. He wanted to be looking at her when he came. He opened his eyes, ready to grab the discarded blankets to catch his seed, and found Bethany awake and looking directly at him.
Shock and panic set in immediately and he was turned around and stuffing his quickly shrinking apologetic self back inside his trousers before he could even think reasonably. "Sorry, oh Maker, I'm so sorry" he was saying, but it was like listening to someone else. What have I done? Maker, what have I done?! He was flustered and trembling, a bearded, 200 pound rock of a man reduced to a naughty boy, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She was never going to talk to him again, she was going to leave and never come back, she...she was gripping his wrist in her delicate hand. Her long fingers twined around his arm and she tugged gently to turn him around and face her again. He let her lead him with no resistance. He had done wrong, if she was going to tell him how to fix it, he wouldn't offer argument.
"Shh," she said smiling slightly, just a slight uptick of her lips. She was sitting up, the hem of her robe reset back round her ankles, but the collar still untied and gaping. From this angle it gave a fabulous view, but he was still red in the face and contrite and he kept his eyes firmly on hers.
"Bethany, I'm s-"
"Shh Garrett," she repeated as she reached to fiddle with his trouser buttons. He hadn't had time to finish tucking himself away properly and before he knew it she had encircled his still-semi-hard cock with her small hand.
"Bethany?" he managed to croak, stuck between not believing his luck and simply not believing what was happening.
"Shh. You can always feel safe with me," she said. "I love you."
I love you. It didn't taken more than that and the feel of her hand, to make him instantly stiff again. Words that he hadn't heard in over a year and words that came so naturally to Bethany. She erased the guilt. She was accepting of him. And his need for her. And she was skilled at this too. She dropped his gaze and watched his cock as she pumped him with confidence, steadily increasing her tempo. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and her eyes glazed over with desire. Garrett felt his throat bulge with a groan and he couldn't keep it in. He opened his mouth and practically growled. A raw, gravelly, lengthy sound that made Bethany's eyes widen. She looked up at him in surprise but then smiled wider, satisfied with herself and returned to the task at hand. She was working him hard now, and the motion was causing her breasts to jump and jiggle underneath her night gown. Garrett was distracted by them. He was staring. What did her nipples look like? What did they feel like? He had to know. He tugged at the fabric hard and the neckline pulled down around her shoulders. It impeded her cadence momentarily but she quickly adjusted, yanking down the fabric a little more so that her succulent udders fell out. Garrett immediately grabbed one in hand. He was a large man with large hands, but they were barely large enough to contain one of Bethany's wonderful breasts. It was huge: soft and warm and, as he had imagined, heavy. Her nipples were pink and hard. Not small but not big either. Perfect tips to her perfect bosom. He pinched one, and kneaded the doughy flesh unapologetically and Bethany made a "Mmm" noise and bit her lip. He watched himself touch her as she touched him and it was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to him. He had fucked a lot of women but he couldn't remember wanting a woman as badly as he wanted his sister in that moment. Maker he wanted to throw her down and bury his cock deep inside her. And the fact that it was forbidden made it even more desirable. No one would know but them. A secret pact between siblings.
"Sister," he rumbled.
Bethany smiled, a dazzling smile and locked eyes with him. "Brother," she murmured.
That nearly undid him.
"Put it in your mouth." It was supposed to be a request (he would've begged for it) but it came out rough, as an order.
Bethany didn't look offended though. If anything the glint in her eye was gleeful as she instantly obeyed her elder brother's command and bobbed her head over his pulsating member. Her mouth was hot and wet, and her tongue thick and keen. Garrett grunted. She didn't introduce him gently but sucked him in far, the head of him jammed into her throat. She made a gagging noise but didn't slow down. She pulled out and jammed him in again and Garrett stared down with enlarged eyes trying to memorise everything about this. His fiery, feisty, buxom sister who men would sell their own mothers to have a chance with, was going to town on him, her older brother. It was his responsibility to guard her virtue not destroy it. But to hell with that. He loved it. Oh Maker, he loved her. His member was full and quivering and ready to explode, but Garrett used all his willpower to hold off and enjoy this sensation as long as he could. Her tongue swirled quickly around him before pulling him deep into her throat one more time. She felt so good. She was the best sister any man had ever had. She grabbed his buttocks and pulled him in as deep as she could take him (he could sense her breathing through her nostrils) and hummed around him. Hot. He squeezed her breast hard. Wet. With his free hand, he held the back of her head and started thrusting in her mouth. Wanting. Bethany encouraged him, clamping his buttocks and pulling him into her. He thrust harder. He couldn't stop. Her breasts were both free and bouncing wildly now, and he was holding the back of her head with both hands as he fucked her throat.
"Beth, Beth, Beth," his new mantra and he liked it a lot more than I'm sorry. And he was coming. He pulled out and grabbed himself. With one, two long strokes, he was finishing and he sprayed hot, thick ribbons of come over his sister's breasts. He liked the way his seed trickled over the round orbs.
Silence. He was breathing hard, knackered. Slowly the buzz of his intense orgasm faded and he was left with reality. He was standing over his baby sister, having just sprayed her with his load. She was covered in the stuff. Her breasts were still on display for him, from when he pulled down her dress like an unstoppable brute. Her eyes were watering, her cheeks flushed. And she, too, was breathing laboriously. There was no questioning what he had just done. To his baby sister. He was eight years older than her. He should have known better.
This is where it gets awkward, a voice said in his head. A sober voice. The voice of reason, never speaks up until afterwards.
Garrett cleared his throat and knelt down in front of her. He had trouble looking at her. His little sister. I took advantage of my baby sister. But Bethany didn't have trouble looking at him. Her eyes were shining and she watched him with that smile still painted on her face. He picked up the blanket and tentatively dabbed away the evidence of what they had just done from her chest. And a little from her chin too. He couldn't help but catch her gaze as he wiped her face, and her look of love made him smile despite himself.
"I'll get you fresh blankets," he said. She nodded, still with that smile. That smile said, I know you Garrett. I know you better than anyone. And perhaps that was inarguable now. His own smile broadened. "I love you Bethany," he admitted.
"I know," she said. "Go and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
He didn't really want to leave. He wanted to crawl into bed with her and pull her against him and slumber in her soft, warm embrace. But she had given him so much, he couldn't ask for more. So he stood up, fetched some fresh blankets for her, gave her a smile and a peck on the forehead and retired to his own room. He thought of Bethany and what had happened, and what the morning would bring, until he slipped into the Fade. He slept deeply and soundly all night, with a contented smile on his face, and a heart no longer devoid. His heart was full of love.