II. Indifference cannot be easily forged if one finds that persistent emotion.
It is their…
He's lost count. The hunger for each other's lust and passion has increased. When they are together, bare skins in contact—never having kissing mouths—, everything explodes and shatters.
Take me. Fuck me.
Never save me. Never love me.
I don't need it. I will never need it.
They thrash wildly on her bed and immediately the coldness of the blue room sifts through his pores. He looks at her as she breathes through her mouth, taking in large gasps.
He doesn't wonder what her mouth will taste like. Wondering will lead to wanting and wanting will lead to another type of consummation.
He focuses on her eyes and asks her what she's made of.
Fire or ice?
Fire.
Or.
Ice?
She doesn't reply.
---
Several weeks have passed since that night.
He was a man of a lot of thoughts, of infinite sharp logic and undoubtedly above average intelligence. That had never been challenged before, and if it had, it would probably be by the very striking brunette whose perfume still permeated his pillows. His illicit relationship purely of sexual relations with his stepsister had a contrary effect on his opinions and thoughts even though he knew he shouldn't think much of it.
His arms folded over his head while he lay there in deep contemplation, wondering how on earth he could claim to be in love with another woman—the virgin— and yet whatever purity the emotion promised him was tainted horribly as soon as he made some form of contact with her—the vixen—, he didn't know whether those smoldering looks and light, airy conversations in front of the public who adored, feared, and revered them served as foreplay.
She had spoken very little about the gradual turn in their affiliation, from lust to companionship to the consummation of both. One rule. It was iron clad and bound with many gossamer strands of dirty talks and invectives disguised as passion and affection.
His hand picked on the edge of the blankets that still covered his narrow waist, his eyes, mercurial and intense in nature, were submerged in his own introverted thoughts. The entire room seemed to have already been stained with her essence, for he could feel the coldness everywhere. As his strong hands tied the white sheets around his waist tightly, the wooden floor felt cold on his feet as he wandered over to the window just in time to watch the first few signs of snow fall.
How pure the world was outside. He was surrounded in the innocence he never had and yet somehow, through the lowering of his blond lashes (boy-man lashes, deceptive in its golden beauty), he knew it was the one thing he didn't want.
---
The vixen in this tale has just finished bathing, her warm and damp milk skinned body (as smooth as the velvet in his voice when he seduces) was covered in a piece of satin gown whose end went just above her knees. Her hair, though usually in a carefully arranged style of layers (as meticulously groomed as the layers she placed over her emotions), were now dripping slightly wet, the brown strands clinging together with the water as a cohesive. The droplets cascaded down her body, subjected to the law of gravity, but she didn't seem to care. The sound of her presence was nonexistent, and it was a rare occasion in which she was the one who would catch him off guard, for wasn't it always him who had oftentimes gone to her room whilst she lay asleep in order to catch her unaware?
Like a predator surveying her prey (or a devil examining an angel she was about to corrupt), she stopped and ceased her action to shut his bathroom door in order for him to remain uninterrupted. The vixen, the cruel, lust filled woman who oftentimes possessed the sin of avarice and of insatiable thirst for everything else, took a moment to stop and look at him.
His muscled back was free of any marks she assumed her nails had left in their earlier tryst, and he was obviously one of his more contemplative moods. She wondered how long it would take for him to move a limb, for the man she knew, the bedfellow and stepbrother, was restless in nature.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, leaning against the shelves filled with the books that would never serve his thirst for knowledge and intellect. She remembered the virgin then, the name, that unspeakable name, hidden in the purity of the snow he was fixated into staring at. Yes, that was what he wanted, wasn't it? She nodded slightly, her green eyes going to the framed photograph of him and the virgin (though, isn't it incorrect to call a girl that when she's been deflowered?) smiling together, his arm slung around her waist and that mouth of his unusually baring his teeth in a smile that she could only deduce to be genuine. Was that love then? Hah, if this was how he portrayed love, then she could never have faith in such a force. This was love for him? This clandestine affair hidden in his lies, in his eyes, in his words as he professed his affection for the yellow haired hypocrite who was in reality no better than them? Was it love then, when he would kiss the virgin and look into her trusting blue eyes, only to go into the blue and gold room of a young woman he should never be involved with in the middle of the night?
Who are you? She asked him silently, because since the start of their coupling, fewer words were spoken. It was as if their bodies were subconsciously seeking heat from each other and only each other, and the words had ceased. It was the price to pay for such an intimate allowance into her body, because to be physically attached and emotionally attached respectively was one thing, but for both to happen at the same time… It was death. It was demise. For even if she knew that she was strong and an extraordinary being like that of Nietzsche's Superman, an individual that he himself once explained interest in (for she had never been one for philosophy and in the past, while they still spoke and was still not ensnared in this web of sex and power, he had thoughtfully commented out of the blue that he fashioned them as an Overman, which he explained were beings that were not subjected to the laws of morals and such), she had her own moments of weakness and she was logical enough to not overestimate the magnitude of the power of these said moments of weaknesses because it might eventually become her undoing.
The rule she spoke of during that one fateful night of combustion and heady atmosphere of hips thrusting and orifices touching skin still stood between them, separating them more now that they were physically intimate. She was about control, and she held on to it dearly. He had attempted to kiss her mouth once, and she exhibited that control over him by turning her head and declining. Somehow he understood the deeper meaning it held for them and never attempted it again.
Oh, but don't get her wrong. This new level of understanding between them was beneficial to her, because when he is inside of her, she feels like she is connected to another part of herself. However, she is realistic enough to know that it will never exceed to something else. Fucking. That's what they are doing, right?
She was not ready to face the society she'd spent years of her life pleasing with the news of her illegal liaison, a very dangerous liaison with a man doubly displeasing to her mother for his reputation and displeasing to the public because they were related by law.
Therefore, she had to also conclude that he was her own secret. Her dirty laundry, the dirtiest in the lot of the despicable things she'd done. She knew that for a young woman of fine upbringing with a secret penchant for illegal substances, a part of the thrill of allowing him to touch her and please her, was the knowledge that she was spitting at the face of her unfeeling mother, who would probably shrivel up and die the moment she found out. As for him, she knew that he was also in it for the thrill, for she was, despite his relationship with the virgin, the embodiment of desire and all things that should never be done.
It was a mutual understanding based on the enticing thrill of sex and desire that ultimately overpowers the claim of love and the staunch grip on a solidly pure reputation.
"How long are you planning to stay there and watch me?" he spoke suddenly and she blinked at the interlude.
"As long as I feel like it." She answered breezily and he turned to face her, a slight smile (a rare smile…) appearing on his handsome face.
"Have you finally succumbed to my charms, darling?" he added the last word with an extra drawl.
She looked into his eyes and realized this was dangerous. She also knew well enough that if one were to play with fire, it was adamantly imperative that she stay out of its flames as soon as she was through.
(Who was it that said even the coldest got burned?)
"No." she answered in a clipped tone, effectively stopping the start of what could have been a clever banter filled with sexual allusions. As much as she would have liked to indulge in this game of his, she realized with mild annoyance what the day would bring them. As her mother had insisted, they should spend the holidays as a family and to quench the curiosity she had concerning a certain virgin her errant stepson seemed to be committed to, she invited the entire family on a week in Aspen.
Hours later, she was currently situated beside her boyfriend (or one of the many hopefuls who had hoped to bed her) and her apathy to the cold atmosphere only served the niggling thought in a certain blond's head that she was indeed made of marble and ice on the outside, but emanated hell on the inside. He, (who shall hereafter be referred to as the clueless) had an arm wrapped around her while he proceeded to drown himself in alcohol with the other. They of course had gotten their own room and after a particularly long and tedious day of skiing, they had decided to retire for the night.
Something along the day nagged her, because she realized she had noticed how her stepbrother's hand always seemed to be planted either on the virgin's hand or her waist. She had never noticed such things before. Amidst the falling snow and the tightly wrapped in designer clothes beautiful people who laughed and gossiped, she never noticed the melancholic beauty of the fading sun when her boyfriend had pointed it out to her in an effort to prolong his status as her other half (since he sensed her apathy and knew with impending doom that he was about to be added to the long list of failed conquerors who vied for her affections yet never attained even a miniscule of it), she realized something was going terribly wrong.
In the silence, she sensed something was spinning and crashing. She realized with an almost horrified reaction what it was and while other people would have groaned out loud, she pushed all those disturbing images aside and kept it in a box inside her head.
She was the vixen, the manipulative and strong willed brown haired green eyed beauty of wealth and influence, she could do anything and everything she wanted and control everything she damn pleased to control.
She reasoned that perhaps the numbness of the extreme cold had gotten to her reasoning, but that could be rectified easily. She also realized that the details she'd recognized earlier were not the only ones of note. For one thing, she surmised that the reason why she stared at her stepbrother was because he fascinated her with his gift to lead a double life. One moment he was the loving, devoted changed player while the next he would mercilessly pound into her and give her extreme pleasure. Watching him was like watching herself in a way, and that was why she noticed those things.
The clueless handsome young man who was her chosen companion for the trip started peeling her clothing off, and she leaned back, surrendering to the warm, wet pad of his tongue as he worshipped her reverently. As his mouth grazed her skin, she tilted her head back and wrapped her arms around him, allowing him to get a glimpse of her eyes while hoping he would see the forced emotion in it as passion. When their eyes locked, he smiled at her and she smiled back, running her small fingers through the fine locks of his dark hair while he told her how beautiful she was.
There it was: the familiar heat between her thighs, the surge of the thirst to be filled was being screamed by her womb and she pressed herself closer to him, letting him know what she wanted and that she wanted it now.
But no… Somehow this guy was different. He was gentle and he took his time, but once again, she didn't want to be fucked she wanted…
Wait.
That was wrong.
Her eyes shut tightly, in phantom pain and confusion.
Her control was being challenged.
Before she could fully comprehend whether or not it was merely the jumbling of words or whether it was the horrifying truth, she felt her mouth being covered by his and she eagerly devoured the chance for a distraction. His tongue slipped into her mouth and she allowed him access, her thumb rubbing the nape of his neck while he caressed her body with the same gentle hands.
And she was slipping into the gaping black hole of pleasure and bliss, the sensation alarming yet soothing at the same time. For as he withdrew his mouth from hers to give them both a chance to regain the oxygen lost in the contact of their lips, he kissed her forehead and entered her while she parted her legs.
Everything was fine then, until he kissed her again.
And somehow… Somehow her dirty secret, her eternally beautiful lie escaped its confinement and she whispered a name silently, so silent she was the only one who heard it.
"Sebastian."
She nearly stopped breathing and pushed him off her, suddenly everything burned and she needed to escape. As she grabbed her clothing, she ignored his protestations and instead warned him to not go after her. Her chest felt inexplicably heavy, what was this foreign… thing that clung onto her like an insistent parasite? She grabbed the keys and threw a thick wad of bills at the attendant, procuring a vehicle that allowed and promised her a lengthier distance compared to the use of her own booted feet. She drove and drove until she was alone with only the moon to serve as a companion. Yet, how is it possible that even the moon seemed to laugh at her predicament? There was a solitary bench that seemed to be meant for troubled young people such as her to mull over her confused thoughts, this was going against the very rule she'd set upon.
She stayed the entire night there, awake, her skin nearly numbed by the cold, yet comforted by the numbness it presented. As the first indications of the sun appeared on the already lightening sky, she heard another vehicle park behind her.
The vixen, this very annoyed and a bit vexed vixen, knew it was him even before she turned around. His feet crunched the snow as he sat beside her, his arched eyebrows almost disappearing in the black ski cap he wore. His scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck and his cheeks were flushed red from the cold.
"What the fuck are you on?" he demanded, glaring at her. "Your boyfriend said you ran off last night like some insane lunatic, is this part of your twisted game to dump him? Because knowing you, I won't be surprised."
How dare he?
She glared at him, feeling the fury she rightfully had the chance to feel. A part of her wished she could take perverse joy in secretly tormenting the virgin by making casual double meaning comments that made him frown at her disapprovingly, but somehow she knew the satisfaction wouldn't be as it was before.
Annoyed at her refusal to talk, he shook her slightly and her coat moved to reveal an alarming patch of skin on her neck with an interesting shade of blue.
"Christ." He swore, taking off his scarf and wrapping it around her neck.
He was being concerned and gentle again, and she couldn't stand it. She pushed him away and stood up, ignoring the pain in her unused legs. Mustering whatever indifference she had, she strode to the vehicle and got out her keys, ignoring him all the while.
"What's wrong with you?" he yelled, looking frustrated.
"Why did you come here?" she finally asked coldly.
He blinked in surprise at her question and then proceeded to look at her as though she was an idiot. "To murder you in cold blood because I found out you were alone." He answered sarcastically, "Why do you think?"
"I think you wanted to have a chance to fuck me while Blondie was still asleep because I'm sure she didn't give you enough last night, being the disgusting hypocrite that she is." She spun her words like venom, making his temper flare.
"The world doesn't revolve around you, Kathryn!" he retorted bitingly, "As surprising as it may be, Annette satisfies me plenty."
Something inside of her twisted at his reply, "Well, great for you then! It's over! This stupid arrangement is fucking over. I'm sick of you already."
(Because I can't do it.)
His right fist clenched and that vein on the right side of his head was now visible and again she realized with that same sickening feeling, that it was one of the many things she knew about him. She didn't want to know, but she did. It indicated he was about to go off on her.
"Fine! It's not like I can't live without it!" he bellowed, reaching into his jacket to pull out a small wrapped box and throwing it on the thick snow that rested at their feet. "Merry Christmas, Kathryn." He spat out bitterly, driving off in a cloud of angry snow dust and leaving her there.
Her breathing turned into normal and she bent to take the gift that was his purpose for coming to find her in the first place. There was a small folded piece of paper taped on it and she looked around before she opened it cautiously.
K,
This is something you should have, given your incessantly snobby attitude and ineffable charm.
With all my… (you know what).
-S.
She opened the box and took out a thin platinum necklace with a custom made pendant of a small crown that would have been corny had it not been encrusted with emeralds the same shade of her eyes.
Without saying another word to quiet the screaming in her head, she placed the present in her pocket and headed back to the hotel, where she spent the rest of the week in mysterious silence.
A/N: Slipping back into K/S is like going home and sleeping my own comfy bed. Thank you for those of you who've read A Beautiful Night to Die, it's a crash and burn (Well, I wouldn't say I've already been burned but I suppose it's only a matter of time, eh?) attempt at expanding my horizons. It's not yet finished though.
Katie: Weeeell… Alright, I won't abandon that D/Hr, but as clearly evidenced by the apparent rough start you've mentioned (although thank you for also stating that I've somehow managed to rectify myself at the end) with 'ABNTD' (as you've shortened it), you're quite right. It's very difficult to adapt to different personas and write about them when I've written about 7 or so (I forget) fics that contained purely of K/S. So yes, I still maintain my apologies should I fuck it up and make D/Hr seem like bickering, smart mouthed, arrogant, and wealthy stepsiblings. I'm trying very hard not to since I'm out to prove something to myself as well, which is why unlike AIE, the updates regarding that will be very slow. I don't want to disappoint people who have read my CI stuff and are probably expecting something of the same caliber with the first HP fic.
B: Congrats on the new fic.
Sophia: Yes, I shall definitely continue. This is my favorite so far. I know I say that a lot, but sometimes I have the attention span of a newborn and the contentment rate of gold diggers.
Celeste: Thank you! ;-)
Pat nosferatu: Thanks, and I am TRYING to write a D/Hr in fact I already have the prologue up it's just difficult since I have to figure out how to go about it.