The sword's above the fireplace. The flames are casting shadows along the wall, dancing to an unknown rythytm that his eyes follow, entranced, bewitched, mesmerized.
His thoughts stray to somewhere he doesn't want it to go to: his head pounds, his heart beats, he takes a deep breath.
Calm down
He releases it.
His eyes focuse back on the sword that should've been his.
But it isn't. It's Her's, just like everything else in this Monty-forsaken place.
It's Her's...
The approval, the love- the adoration...
The talent, the skill- the training...
All things he want. All things he can never have...
Just like he can never have-
No. Do not go there
He feels like he's going to throw up.
He's not sure if it's due to self-disgust or sickness. He's leaning towards the former.
Maybe if he throws up the pain will go away, the clenching in his gut, the aching in his very soul.
He just wants it all to end. He wants to walk over to the sword- Her sword - and just-
He's already walking towards the sword before his mind can register. A subconscious action of a tormented spirit, of a demented person clothed in depression and depravity.
But unlatching the sword from it's position over the fireplace and on the mantle?
That's all him.
Looking at the sword clutched in his rasping grip and seeing only a way out?
That's all him.
Unsheathing the sword, admiring the century-old metal that will soon go through soft flesh- his soft flesh?
That's all him.
Moving his mouth into an empty smile, steeling his heart, waiting for his sweet sweet release?
Waiting for this nightmare to end?
For the dreamless sleep to take him forevermore ?
That's all him.
But thrusting his sword at his own heart, and stopping, and thinking, and feeling?
That's all Her.
He doesn't want to leave, not yet.
Leaving means he can't see her again. Leaving means he'll hurt her.
And that's simply unacceptable...
So he doesn't do it. Because he's scared, not of death, never of death.
He's scared of leaving her alone.
He's scared of never ever seeing her wonderful smile. Her radiant blonde hair. Her gorgeous heart-shaped face. Her breathtaking ocean eyes.
He's scared of leaving behind those jokes just between them. Those adorable blushes she does when she's embarrassed. Those pouts she does when she doesn't get what she wants. Those laughs that never fail to warm his heart and brighten his dark, dreary world.
And he drops the sword with a clatter that barely even reaches his ears, and he falls to his knees, and he hates himself for even thinking those thoughts about Her.
He bows his head and tries to cry but the tears just won't come out, because he's run out of tears to cry.
His throat is tight, way too tight, he feels like he's being suffocated.
Footsteps draw his attention- he panics.
He stands up, almost falling over because of the endless tide of emotions hitting him on every angle, his eyes dart across the room. He wants to hide!
But He's too late. He hears a gasp.
Nononononono- anyone but Her - please oh Monty no
"Jaune?" She whispers in confusion: hair, messy; eyes, half lidded; lips, oh so very inviti-
Oh Monty he's doing it again, he's yearning for her again. He's loving her again. And not in the way he should. He hates himself for it
His breath hitches. For a single terrifying moment he thinks he's drowning. Unable to say a word. Unable to think. Feeling only pure terror and something else he doesn't want to acknowledge.
Her mind catches up to what she's seeing. A blond young man- her brother: knees, shaking; eyes, wide; breath, erratic; skin, pale; mouth, agape; hair, tousled and sweaty.
Sword on the floor. Sheath discarded a few feet away.
Horror grips her. Terror fuels her outburst. But it is worry that makes her act.
"Jaune!?" She screeches in alarm, rushing over to him, and grabbing him by the shoulders.
He hates how her touch sends waves of pleasure through him.
"Hey Jeanne..." He says in a throaty voice, he hates how feeble he sounds, but he hates the sliver of lust that managed to sneak into his voice even more.
"Don't you 'Hey Jeanne' me!" Monty, she's so cute when she's angry. So intoxicating...
He's never drunk alcohol before, but he feels like he's drunk- drunk on her...
He catches himself leaning forward ever so slightly. Just to get a closer look at her worried features. Just to drink in the beauty of his twin.
Of his talented twin. Of the pride of the Arc name. Of the favored child.
Of the subject of his envy. The person he wants to be.
Of the sibling he's been there for. Of the sister that's been there for him.
Of the young woman that's captured his heart.
She's yelling now. An angry snarl on her lips. A worried gleam in her eyes. Hands raking over his shoulders, he thinks he feels blood being drawn.
But he can't hear any of it. he can't register anything except how oh so very tempting she looks.
He knows it's wrong to desire the forbidden fruit. He knows...
But he's oh so very tired of the shame wearing him down. He's oh so very tired of suppressing his feelings.
And when he's at his weakest, when his defenses are at their lowest.
Is it really a wonder that he lets it all out?
Is it really a wonder that he embraces her frame?
Is it really a wonder that he cups her suddenly warm face into his hands?
Is it really a wonder that he looks into her wide blue eyes that mirror his own with lust in his gaze and a burning hunger in his chest?
Is it really a wonder that he pulls her flush against him, that he wants her to be as close to him as possible?
Is it really a wonder that he places a searing kiss on her lips, packed with an amalgam of dozens of emotions that he wants to convey to her?
It feels like it lasts forever. The arms she placed on his shoulders find their way around his neck. She feels herself pulling herself closer into him, grinding against him, and she moans into the kiss.
Her mind is a jumbled mess. Her cheeks are on fire. Her entire body is on fire. He wants her. She wants him.
But a single though manages to reach through the blockade that is her lust fueled mind.
He's her brother
She's shocked into action. She's disgusted, horrified.
But she's also burning with desire. So much desire that it make her very being hurt. It sears through her body with the heat of a thousand suns. And the only thing that can quench this...this...heat, is her brother.
She's conflicted. Warring with herself.
And she doesn't know which side she wants to win.
Her need for her brother. Or her morality.
They reluctantly break apart, a string of saliva between them.
His eyes look into her's. There's so much desperation there. His features are set into a blushing lustful leer. His voice is low and throaty and he doesn't speak. He slurs. Like he's intoxicated, intoxicated by her, the though sends a pleasant shiver through her spine.
"Jeanne...Monty, Jeanne...you're so...so beautiful... I...love you...I need you."
His words send a wave of heat through her frame.
The look in his eyes break her heart...he looks so broken.
She feels that if she rejects him... that if she shuns him...he'll just break down. That he'll just fall into a pit of despair.
When did her brother become so broken?
Was it the pressure? Was it because of her?
Her brother was always the subject of ridicule. All because he wasn't as talented as her.
He was seen as a spare.
A pale imitation.
A failure.
Nobody believed in him. Except her.
Even by their parents and their other sisters.
So much so that when he somehow got into Beacon alongside her.
He wasn't met with congratulations like she was.
He was met with ridicule.
By the very people that should've supported him through everything. By his own family.
Looking back, considering that she was the only one the didn't shun him...that believed in him...
Is it really a wonder that he grasped onto her with such desperation. That he looked at her with such longing and infatuation?
All of this is just background thoughts however. She's too precoccupied staring into his mesmerizing eyes, so much like her own...
She's wondering why she's doesn't want to deny him.
Does she have feeling for him too?
Her cheeks burn at the thought, her heart beats uncontrollably at the look of his suddenly irresistible face.
It should feel wrong to desire her own brother like this. It shold fill her with disgust: but it doesn't...
it feels so right...
Maybe it's because he's the only one that doesn't put her on a pedestal, that doesn't idolize her.
Maybe it's because they're so alike. Both in appearance and personality.
But she needs him too...she loves him too...
And when she faces her feelings...
The disgust is gone...the fact that he's her brother makes him all the more irresistible in fact.
And as she leaned in and huskily muttered an 'I love you' back at him, as she watches his eyes light up with unbridled joy, she wonders to herself if she's got a problem for being so crazy over her own brother.
And as he recoperates her advances with that same love-struck gaze that she's pretty sure she's wearing as well. As he kisses her with a kiss as hot as a star, as his tongue invades her mouth with a ravenous hunger rivaling any Grimm, And with a need for her that fills her with a longing warmth in her core.
She thinks that they both have that problem. Too bad it doesn't really feel like a problem.
AN
Well...that was a thing *shrugs*
Actually wrote this because I feel a bit sick. And as you can tell, Jaune in this fic feels horrible too, so that's where the inspiration for this came from.
*whispers* And also because incest is hot...
*immediately gets sent to Hell*
