"No," she muttered after a while, "I love Sister and Brother the same, I think. But different."
Ever patient, the elder Ukrainian girl, waited for her slighter Belarusian bed mate to complete her cryptic statement. It had been a simple enough question, one that Yekaterina had thought nearly every time she went to bed with Natasha. Who do you love more, darling, Ivanya or me? She tried her best to ask without bitterness, tried her best to shake all thoughts of bitterness from her mind. If Natasha loves Ivanya, that's good for her. That's lovely for her. Yekaterina would wish them only the best as a couple.
But Natasha could sense the sour tone in the question. She had known for quite a while now that the Ukrainian girl had feelings for her. And it had troubled her conscience for quite a while now.
"My love for Brother is the sort of love warranting marriage."
"I've gathered that much, darling. I think we all have."
She tried to laugh innocently, but the syllables rolled off her tongue rather indignantly.
"It is the sort of love which you read about in Greek tragedies. The sort of love that makes me want him more for the sake of proving to myself that I can have him, rather than for the sake of having him. It is not the kill, Sister, but the thrill of the chase. And yet, it still leaves me feeling empty."
Natasha had never spoken so freely of her feelings around anyone, and Yekaterina was startled by the words of her Belarusian beauty.
"My darling..."
"When I am with Sister, I feel almost too full inside. Like I may burst from all of the love stuffed into me. This sort of love is the love that would be shared in secret, on certain occasions. The sort of love that one wants every day, but knows they can only have sparingly."
The elder girl cupped her slender counterpart's chin, gracing the Belarusian's lips softly with her own. This advance was met with greater furor, the slender girl sliding her bare chest against the other's ample bosom.
And as they made love, Yekaterina wondered why it was that Natasha never climaxed to Ivan's name, but only to that of her syestra. As Belarusian hands slid purposefully between Ukrainian thighs, she decided that whatever the reason, this quirk made her smile.
"In truth," Natasha muttered after a while, "I love Sister the most."
"Wonderful," Yekaterina replied breathlessly, "for I love you the most."