It Feels Right
She is beautiful - his sister.
Though they are one, nearly identical, he sometimes feels jealous. He's never harbored ill feeling towards her - how could he ever? -, though he does feel a nagging and ugly thing wrecking havoc inside his head when he catches a glimpse of her electrified body, sparkling under the moonlight as she practices her thunder magic. He will never be as proficient as her when it comes to manipulating the natural elements, and he feels a great sadness because of it.
Fire - roaring with powerful heat, making bright ashes float on a path of smoldering destruction.
Thunder - shockingly loud, wild, a force so ethereal he considers it a magnificent death - to be struck by a beam of pure, godly energy.
Wind - deceitful, playful, dancing sharply, a simple death flowing easily through.
She mastered these three basic elements before her tenth birthday, while he had just barely started getting a grip on the intricate theories of dark magic. It took him two more years to finally be able to wield it properly, and even then, he felt pathetic because of his impotence to control the nightmares, for trembling like a child in his sister's embrace when his screams woke her up at night.
As Kalyt watches the sparks dance between her fingertips, he wonders about his jealousy. It's not something he feels proud of, but it's born from a sense of property. She is Khara and he is Kalyt, and they were named after the two ghost stars that hung above the palace on the day of their birth. He was born first and so he is the protector, the one that guides the way and shields.
Khara is the treasure. His treasure.
"Kal!" she yells from the courtyard and runs to stand on a spot where he'll see her more clearly from his window. She waves at him, her fingers still sparkling, shining in the night.
He leans forward and plants his palms on the window pane. "You're supposed to be inside, Khara."
Her laugh reminds him of how mother used to laugh, but somehow Khara's is prettier. More womanly.
"And who is going to tell father? You?" It sounds like a challenge.
He rolls his eyes at her impish tone, he then gestures for her with one finger, 'Come up here.'
She complies, setting off in a lithe sprint up the marble stairs that lead to Kalyt's room. It's because she remembers his promise that she is in such a hurry, not only because she adores him and would never pass an opportunity to spend time with him - only him, alone.
His room is darker than hers and, though she understands how wielding dark magic can change a person and the surroundings they prefer, she still feels sad just thinking of the long hours Kalyt spends by himself locked up, reading nothing but those unearthly passages in his tomes. He's read to her before, her head cradled under his chin, both warm under the silk covers of his bed and his fingers having half the effect of his voice in sending shivers down her spine. Her hair stands on end and she is frozen in place until he finishes reciting the dark spells that somehow sound more like eerie, ghostly poems. She barely understand what he recites, but the way he speaks is enough of a clue.
Sometimes he too talks to her of the bizarre thoughts that plague his mind, about the dreams.
'It's most strange, Khara. I've never felt such a mix of fright and...'
'And?'
'Thrill. I think something must be wrong with me, sister. The darkness is growing inside of me, its roots are tearing me apart, fraction by fraction. I don't like the things I used to like, and things I shouldn't think are suddenly too enticing to not think. If only you knew... it's abominable.'
'Don't talk that way. I'd never think bad things about you.'
'But I-'
'Enough. You are my brother; flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood. We are one. Nothing will make us apart.'
She thought at the moment she'd placated a part of his inner problems, but by the look he had given her she knew she missed something. He however decided to keep his thoughts to himself after that night, only sharing his books and his covers with her when he stayed up, when he feared the nightmares would come and hunt him. He said looking at her gave him peace of mind to work on improving his skills while she slept, and who was she to deny him the comfort of her presence? Who could ever deny him anything?
She politely knocks on his door because she knows this displeases him greatly, because he doesn't like to waste time. It's her way of helping him exercise his patience.
A familiar groan seeps through the wooden door, followed by the deep tones of his voice. "Come in already."
She slides through a small crack after opening the door, sliding in like she's a particularly agile assassin or a thief. She even presses herself against the wall and dives into the shadows after noticing Kalyt is still seated in front of his table near the window. He's giving his back to her, so he hasn't seen her and it's just too precious an opportunity to let pass.
He sets down his quill, pushes the ink away and sighs. His hand is aching after so much writing and drawing intricate patterns. His eyes feel tired, but not his mouth, and he stands with a falsely energetic smile for Khara. He freezes on his spot after standing up, unable to locate his sister. There is nothing inside his room save for what has always been there, accompanied by the usual chill and thick darkness lurking in the corners. The only source of light seeps weakly through the window, but now it's covered by drapes. The candle on his table is about to flicker out.
"Khara?"
He heard the door creak open and it is still slightly ajar, so she must have entered. He considers calling her once more, but soon a more coherent conclusion comes to mind, and his smile sharpens at the edges, going upwards until it becomes a thing children might have nightmares of.
Khara knows he's caught on, because she can spy his low movements. He's hunting her, like he used to do while playing hide and seek around the palace.
"Feeling playful tonight, eh?"
His room is spacious enough for two grown elephants and the lack of light makes it perfect for a stealthy spell that hides her presence. It' so simple, yet so much fun. If only she could contain the giggle bubbling in her throat...
"Come out, come out..." Kalyt sing-songs as he stalks closer to her hiding place. His haughty steps slide across the carpet under his feet, as if savoring the approach of victory. When he closes the door he stops and sniffs the air, like a wolfish creature following a trail. Then he jumps to his left, in front of the spot where she had stood mere seconds ago, his hand digging into the shadows behind a bookshelf.
The tinkling ring of her laugh echoes from somewhere inside.
His second guess is still very close, but the shadows are too thick and cover too much of his room, so Khara can move with all the liberty she wants, that is until the final light is snuffed out by a cold puff of air from the mouth of an impatient predator. Now she moves more carefully. It's no longer a fair game because with all her dexterity and will to adapt, Khara is still not as fond of darkness as Kalyt, and he feels at home more than ever. The light had been a hindrance, an inconvenience for his dormant senses.
Khara gasps when the light rake of a sharp tip graces her neck. Now he's just playing with her. He pokes her several times until she's out of breath and pleading between laughs for him to stop. It doesn't occur to her until minutes later than she can cast fire and put a stop to the tickling. After a tiny flame appears on her palm she can make out the silhouette of her brother as he backs away.
"What was that?" she asks, intrigued.
"What was what?" her asks back, nonchalant, his hand pulling away the drapes to let the moonlight in.
"That thing on my neck. It was sharp. Did you poke me with a knife?" the tone of her voice is incredulous, but not accusing, as she joins him near his table.
Kalyt snorts, his features clear but paler under the dim light.
"Why on earth would I have a knife in my room? Even if an assassin finds his way in, I'm no weakling mage. I..." he looks down at his hands and examines them disinterestedly, "haven't had a chance to cut my nails, is all."
His sister hums. "Figures. Maybe let me do it for you? I'll be careful."
He dismisses the idea. "Never mind that. I called you for a reason."
Of course, how had she forgotten? Fun as it is to play with Kalyt it's even more fun to do things in secret with Kalyt.
Inside a bag that he has hidden for a week is a bottle. Inside the bottle is a red liquid; a very expensive wine, scarce as rain in the arid lands of Plegia. He's waited for the perfect moment to share it with her.
"Valm's moon harvest," he says, filling a cup for Khara first and then one for himself. "Worth a man's weight in gold."
"Oooh," Khara says appreciatively, brushing hands with Kalyt and noticing how cold he is. "A fat man?"
He chuckles. "A very fat man."
She is happy to see him laugh tonight. It's so rare nowadays to see him show a face that isn't somber or blank, lifeless.
"A toast for the moon", he offers, and Khara is quick to add, "And the stars."
Tonight Khara and Kalyt shine in the distance, about to disappear behind tall sand dunes. The two ghost stars have been dead for longer than any human mind could possibly recall, yet their light reached them only seventeen years ago. They are shadows of their true bodies. Echoes of their lives travelling across the infinite inky ocean above.
Like always Kalyt is the first to venture beyond, with Khara following closely behind.
Kalyt observes this as the pleasant alcoholic taste of grapes slides down his throat. His eyes steal private glances over to his sister, to the very small drop of red hanging at the corner of her mouth. He finds himself appealed, and not nearly as appalled as he should, because he's thinking those thoughts again. The sound of delight from her throat is finally too much for him.
"I'm so sorry, Khara. Truly."
She doesn't know what he's going about, specially with that serious expression as if he's killed her pet or something just as grave. She has no pets, and she can't imagine Kalyt ever doing something so bad it would merit he apologize to her. She knows he thinks of apologies as a form of admitting to something done terribly wrong and it's been so long since he last apologized for anything. Back when they were younger they would both apologize for their short-comings to their father very often but now they're deemed strong and competent, each in their own similar fields, so the apologies are mostly unheard of.
"What are you sorry for?"
"Something bad."
"What is so bad?"
His eyes are closed, his hand seeking hers. Their fingers interlace and he is thankful for the support and warmth that seeps into his skin.
"I've been very distant these past days."
Khara is amused by his reasoning. This is what he's so sorry for? What a silly thing. Even if she missed him and thought it odd for him to not come out at least once to join her during dinner (the only time he actually let himself be seen outside his personal space), she had known better than to make herself a nuisance by intruding into his room. She'd suspected nothing of him, she only worried. Perhaps that's why he apologized instead? For making her worry?
"It's alright, Kalyt. I know you like to be alone most of the time. I would have liked to be here for you, just in case you felt troubled again, but I know you would have let me in."
By the defeated, weary sigh he lets out she knows she's once again missing more.
"I have avoided you. No one else. The dreams are back and they are worse... or better. I don't know what to make of them anymore."
Her arms are instantly at his sides, surrounding him delicately, with infinite care. Their cups are left forgotten on the table.
"Tell me everything. I'm listening."
She always is. Her ear is at his heart, surely not missing the erratic rhythm or the way it skipped a beat when she pressed herself against him. Kalyt debates with himself then - is it good? It feels good. Too good to be appropriate. But what does he care? He should care. This is his sister. But why is that not correct? Something that feels this good should be correct. But what if it isn't? Is it any less good? No. It's even better.
As his arms settle on her back she makes a sound of appreciation because he knows she likes how tall he is and how safe she feels in his embrace. She likes to be surrounded by him.
"Remember when I first spoke to you about this? 'If only you knew...'?
"And do you remember what I said afterwards?"
"Yes." he responds, his grip growing tighter, his black eyes set downwards. "But you didn't let me finish. After you said you'd never think bad things about me, I was going to say 'But I do.'"
Khara's head perks up with surprise.
"I think bad things about you. And I don't feel wrong thinking those bad things." his lips move slowly, his voice audaciously indecent.
She doesn't realize it, but even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to escape his grasp. With a blank mind and more curiosity that she has ever felt in her life, she moves closer, because by the way he's looking at her she feels this should remain between whispers.
"What are those... bad things?"
A strange kind of panic swallows her voice as Kalyt's hands trace her figure with force, his fingers tugging at her dress now and then, like he wants to shred the fabric to pieces.
His breath is sweet when he lowers his face to her level, pulling her even closer. "They are things I want. I used to think the nightmares had finally made me go mad, but I'm not. Maybe, in a way, I could be considered crazy. Though, who can say if my being crazy is an impediment?"
His lips are now too close to hers, the words enticing as they grace her mouth. Her hands had started to claw at his arms on instinct as he tipped her head backwards, making it impossible for her to see what exactly that strange spark she caught in his eyes was.
"Perhaps I only needed a little bit of madness to feel brave enough. Perhaps that's why I wanted to read to you... so you'd understand this madness of mine?"
There is a warm, wet thing dragging itself across her neck. Then a mouth, murmuring against the skin there.
"Do you understand?"
Khara can only gasp at the realization of having Kalyt's tongue on her, and how it's not unpleasant but is alarming nonetheless. She pulls gently at his hair to make him know she wants him to stop, but unexpectedly spurs him to continue. When she hears the tear of fabric though, she has to make her wishes heard above the heady sensations crawling under her skin.
"Stop that." she says firmly and pushes with her hands on his chest.
With little protest he draws back, docile and arrogant all at once when he sees her hand dart for her neck, how her eyes widen slightly examining her fingers covered with his saliva.
"That felt good." he says. "Did that feel good for you too?"
"It..." she starts, but realizes she doesn't know what to say, except the obvious. "It' isn't... right. Not for us. Not..."
"Why?" he counters.
"What?"
It's incredible how much he sounds like the young version of himself that used to ask her question after question about things he didn't know but wished to learn. With large, pleading eyes, he used to tug on her sleeve and point at the things he found interesting.
'Why is that plant greener than the other?'
'What is that wolf doing on top of the other?'
'Why is the moon scared of the sun? Isn't the sun also scared of the moon?'
"I asked - Why? Why is it not right? If it felt good, then it must be right."
She steps back, her hands looking for the place where his fingers dug a whole and finds it at her side, above her hips and dangerously close to her chest. The gash is large enough that she could poke her arm out of it. Looking back at Kalyt she wants to tell him it was one of her favorite dresses, but stays silent. She's more concerned with the confident logic he's using on her.
"The law says it's wrong, Kalyt. Here and everywhere else. No one is above the law."
"Ah, yes." he drawls out. "The law."
She's never heard him so spiteful over anything. Normally he abides by the rules. Life has given them many privileges and they know how to be grateful for what they have. It's unlike any of them to go complaining about restrictions that seem insignificant when compared to their endowment, given by birthright. They are in no position to renounce the only thing that makes them equal to others and gives comfort to the masses.
"The law is nothing but somebody else's opinion. So what if others think it's wrong for me to love you the way a man loves a woman?"
The brazen admission of feelings comes so quick and briefly it makes Khara wonder if Kalyt really is crazy, to say something like that with no preamble and not even thinking about his own careless words before they leave his mouth. Is he actually serious? How can she be certain? And what if he is serious? What is she to do now?
"It's only wrong if we get caught."
"You can't be telling me your honest opinions now, Kalyt! It's-"
"Why is it hard to believe? Why can't I love you like this?" he tells her this looking as if he's ready to pounce on her, his fingers practically itching to touch her again. Feeling her once wasn't enough like he thought. Instead now he's convinced beyond doubt of just how right it truly is to have her in his arms, melting and shivering as he pleasures her. "Why can't you let me love you?"
"You can't be asking me..." her words are cut short as she comes to understand that she's avoiding his question. "Why can't I? I... love you. But it's not that kind-"
"Really?"
Why is he so insistent? Does he really want to force an answer that'll satisfy him? She can't give him what he wants. She wants to go back to her room and try to forget the wrongness of how... not wrong she felt when he touched her the way he did. Nothing good can happen if she stays. Things might be blown out of proportion and she really loves Kalyt with all her heart and doesn't want to taint that with anything she might say or do out of frustration. She wants to leave, but he won't let her. His arms are around her again before she has time to reach the door.
She struggles with him, but of course he is stronger and it's not like she's ever felt compelled to run from him, to deny him. She can't muster up the will to reject him because she has never done such a thing. She'd never refuse anything he asks of her. Never, ever.
"Shhh..." he tries to stop the tears spilling onto the carpet while soothing her tense muscles. His kisses, chaste and careful, falling on her shoulder, do horribly wonderful things to her insides. "Feel this? Don't fight it. It'll hurt, trust me."
She does. She trusts him with her life - she'd give it up for him if need be. It does hurt, unlike anything has ever hurt, to battle that unknown something begging to be released. This is the first time she has felt the 'something' surface as strongly as now, after hearing her brother's confession, if it could be called that.
With a tiny voice, not really wanting to be heard, she asks him, "...Do you? Kal, do you really love me... that way?"
His answer does not require time to come out truthful. All this time Kalyt has thought of Khara as much more than a family member, whose affectionate gestures should remain within certain boundaries. He sees her differently and dreams of doing things to her that, defined by those boundaries, are bad. But he's past the point of giving a shit anymore. He's ached for her this entire time, unable to tell her with a voice that will hold nothing back.
"Yes," he says, urgently wanting to reassure her. "I love you, with all that I am or ever will be."
Khara is anguished.
"Gods..." she cries into her palms.
Undaunted, Kalyt makes her face him once more, his hands taking a hold of hers, guiding her even as she looks away with pink cheeks and lowered lids. She is not unwilling, only scared.
"Feel." he instructs her again.
He isn't cold anymore. In fact, he' burning under her palms. She did this to him. She warms him up, makes him feel bliss with only her body's proximity. He twitches, unfolds in response to her timid ministrations and she feels. It's so... Gods forgive her, but it feels right.
"Harder," it's a simple request from his part, panting after Khara's hands reach the hem of his trousers and he pushes her closer and closer to where he needs her the most.
The sensation is foreign, and were it not for Kalyt's aid and his encouraging groans she would be burning with more embarrassment than now. She would be beyond terrified that she might do something unpleasant of even hurtful, but with his hands guiding her, what is there to fear? He lights the way.
Before that night, neither had experienced the intoxicating smell of a lover's sweat, the addictive necessity to have their skin slide against the object of their affection, to taste and mark what they now wish to keep for themselves. It's welcomed in how overwhelming it is, their lovemaking - powerfully, it wipes away all that is not the pleasure of wet kisses and the rhythm of their hearts, going faster and faster until it's all too much and let themselves be consumed by their orgasms.
It's greater than some guilt founded by fear. What they have, from that moment on, is indestructible.
Notes: Thanks a bunch to (CENSORED), because it's great that you read my crap when I need you to. You're always so nice.
Yes, yes. I'm a pervert. Who isn't? Okay, you in the back, you're not a perv? Congrats. Anyways, I ship these two.
Funfact: No. I dunno if 'ghost stars' is the correct term, but I couldn't find the information anywhere, so I had to come up with something. Isn't it beautiful? Just think about it - stars that have been dead for so long yet their light is just reaching us. Look it up: A sky full of ghosts.