I was debating to leave this as a one shot, but then I thought (after reading copious amounts of D/E/S) that maybe it would be fun to continue down this path. I'm not sure how long it will be, but I think there are a few more chapters left in this before I run out of ideas. So enjoy it while it lasts.

WARNING: Het, hints of slash/incest, explicit descriptions of the best kind.

DISCLAIMER: I own nada, except my own twisted thoughts.

A/N: I still haven't named names, but hopefully it's pretty clear who's who.


Chapter 2

Every day I see you looking in
I'll be the smoothest thing to touch your skin
You're longing to be loved but you're alone
And your longing makes you shiver to the bone
Emiliana Torrini, Gun

I roll onto my side and smile as I feel her hand caress my cheek. Her lips brush against mine, once, twice. It's all it takes for me to roll her over onto her back. Brushing hair from her eyes, I let my own eyes drift south. White sheets are firmly wrapped around us, keeping her from pushing me away, helping me settle between her legs and feel sticky wetness on her inner thighs.

Her hand entangles itself in my hair as she pulls me down to capture her mouth – this time with an added hunger and desperation. I can feel her body arching against mine, her legs spreading further to accommodate me, one slowly rising to curl around my waist as her hips slowly rotate. I pull away from her mouth and she moans softly in protest. I press a finger to her lips, my eyes fluttering shut as her tongue brushes against the tip. My mouth latches on to her neck instead, teasing bites enticing hisses from the back of her throat.

My cock rubs against her entrance and her body rises in response. Her arms encircle my neck, her hands digging into my shoulders, pushing me away from her neck towards her breasts which rise up willingly to my mouth. I flick my tongue over one nipple, smirking as her fingers entwine themselves in my hair.

"More..."

I am more than happy to oblige. Open-mouth kisses to her stomach produces noises that go straight to my groin. Her neediness makes my mouth water as she instinctively raises her legs over my shoulders and I almost pass out as I inhale her scent. Her taste is even more intoxicating and I can't help myself – pushing one, two fingers deep inside her, my tongue moving frantically between her wet folds and the knot of tension that draws whimpers from the back of her throat.

An echoing howl brings me to my senses.

I open one eye. My bed is empty. There is no her. There is only me. And my throbbing cock. And an all too familiar stickiness.

Another dream. Another memory. I don't need to fall back into slumber to remember the ending. I can remember the feeling of her tongue lapping her own juices from my lips and chin as she rolled me over onto my back and slid down my length. I remember watching in rapture as she rotated her hips, her breasts half-hidden by her hair before she swept it over her shoulders. I can remember the trickle of sweat making its way down the side of her face as her eyes fluttered shut and she collapsed forward.

But it's never just a dream. The whimpering drifts down the stairs to my half-open door. As if last night wasn't enough. As if all the other nights weren't enough. What started out as a game, a sick game at that, has now escalated into a game of mercy. Except I doubt that either of them are capable of such a thing. Mercy, that is. Payback, revenge, whatever it is, it'll never get old.

I've spent a life time torturing those closest to me. And now it seems it's time to get a taste of my own medicine. But for the first time in a long time, the incessant torment involves another, all too willing participant. She pulled us both in as her predecessor did all those years ago. She was sweet, innocent and neither of us could resist. And sure, there were times that I would lie and listen to them. But it was different then. He was different. I remember the whispers, the reassurances, the coy looks they used to give each other.

And then something changed. The deliberate kisses, with eyes boring into my own. The way he would pull her against him and kiss her neck, her mouth forming the perfect "O" as she held my gaze. Their previously private escapades somehow couldn't be contained. I lost count of how many times I would walk into the lounge, kitchen or any other room and encounter them in a state of indecency. I used to play it off with a smirk, a roll of the eyes, a lewd comment if I felt inclined. And at least she had the decency to blush. He on the other hand, seemed quite content with involving me in whatever game they were playing.

And then something else changed. He disappeared. And I was suddenly left to pick up the pieces. Sweet and innocent came back into fashion. I cradled her in my arms. I told her everything would be okay, all the while wondering if this was my chance. Never once did it cross my mind that it was all still a game.

I took her to my bed for nights on end, I tried to mend what I thought was a broken heart. I tried to push him from her mind as I sunk into her night after night. I tried and succeeded to entice my name from her lips. Finally, she was all mine. I got greedy. In more ways than one.

Then one morning he reappeared. Not that I noticed at first. I was too caught up in something else. Only when she moaned his name instead of mine did I stop. Pushing the sheets away I looked up at her and realised her eyes were looking elsewhere. I turned, her legs still over my shoulders and saw him standing in the door way.

"Carry on," he smirked before turning away.

I glanced back at her. Her mouth twisted into a smile.

"You heard him," she murmured, running her hand through my hair.

I remember feeling compelled to do as she said, as they both said.


I make my way downstairs, listening out for anything that might make me turn back and remain behind closed doors for ever and eternity.

She looks up at me from the table as I enter the kitchen. I nod in greeting and she responds with a small smile.

"Sorry about last night." But something about her eyes tells me she isn't sorry at all.

"It's fine." It's not.

"He... we got carried away."

"It's fine," I repeat.

"We forget."

"It's fine," I growl.

She shrugs.

I open the fridge, stare at its contents and then close it abruptly.

"Morning, brother." He leans over and kisses her cheek, his eyes never moving from me.

"Don't," she murmurs.

"What?" He looks confused but only briefly. "Oh, you were apologising? For what? We have nothing to be ashamed of."

He slides his hands over her shoulders, his thumbs working away some illusive knot that makes her eyes flutter shut.

"If he wants to listen in, that's his own fault, not ours," he says in a low voice, his eyes still on mine. "And if you want to beg for more or scream your appreciation, you should do without feeling guilty."

I bite my tongue.

"He always knows he's more than welcome to join us..."

I shudder. But it's not as if the thought hasn't already crossed my mind.