#i just like putting disparate personalities together in a box and then shaking it violently

[fooltofancy]

a thing about me is that i will make multiple ocs for a universe who can never be in the same room together because they would kill each other.

[letbenfuck2021]

be the thing that buries me (ao3)

For the last four years, Vanya finds herself both prison and prisoner. She doesn’t have super powers. She isn’t physically strong or a tactical genius. But ordinary and helpless as she is, Vanya is determined to find a way to save her brother. She doesn’t want her body to be a cage anymore.

sequel to “inside your head the sound of glass”

rating. explicit. warnings/tags. pseudo/sibling-incest, dub-con, dead dove: do not eat, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, dark fic.

chapter 1:

It’s cold in the city. Winter came early this year, a brutal cold snap billowing in about a week or so after the Academy turned eighteen and it showed no signs of letting up. And it is this frigid autumn that finds Vanya nearly freezing at the kitchen table, attempting to cut carrots into somewhat bite-sized pieces. She is, so far, mostly failing.

“Vanya darling,” Grace calls from across the room where she is preparing cornish hens for roasting. “Why don’t you head to the drawing room? It’s much warmer up there.”

This was the third time Grace had made this exact suggestion in the past hour. Vanya’s clacking teeth and the precarious way her hands shake as she presses the blade of her knife down is agitating Grace’s programming. Each heavy thunk against the cutting board causes Grace to twitch, an electrical impulse in her software reacting to the quickly climbing probability of injury occurring.  

“I’m okay, mom,” Vanya replies under her breath before lifting the butt of the knife once more and wrestling the carrot into place under the blade.  

It’s a little past four in the afternoon and already dark, a cold blue light washes the room and leeches all the warmth from the air. A few moments, Grace will reach for the light switch on the far wall and plunge them into the dingy orange light of the fluorescents overhead. But for now, Vanya sits at the kitchen table, shivering under a large sweater, a hoodie and two thermals and narrowly fails to slice open her own hand as she cuts away another jagged, ugly piece of carrot.

“What the fuck? Watch what you’re doing, Al! You almost took my fucking head off!”

“Don’t be a bitch, Diego.”

The echo of Allison and Diego’s bickering wafts in through the open window above the kitchen sink from outside in the courtyard. They’re running drills practically in the dark and it is only growing darker, but her siblings still have another thirty minutes to go before they can venture indoors. When their father took Ben, Luther, and Five on mission three week ago, Reginald had given strict instructions for all of those left behind. Her own orders had been sparse but from what she could tell, her siblings’ regimen was rigorous and immensely detailed. When they aren’t training, they are out patrolling and running other smaller missions.  in the last ten days much to her dismay. Vanya sees her siblings more in the paper than in person, but she’s been waiting, planning for her moment and now, it’s almost here. So, despite the cold, despite the blade that veers too close for comfort to her left hand and the damn carrot that rolls once again beneath her knife, Vanya is determined to wait.

“Yeah! Duuun’t be a beeotch, Deeeeee-yego!” Klaus calls from somewhere else in the courtyard before bursting into a shriek of laughter.

Even his laugh sounds slurred. His voice is quite a bit more muffled than either Allison or Diego’s, as though he’d tucked himself into the far corner of the yard and it was really a miracle that he was awake at all. The night before, Klaus had slipped out sometime around midnight and hadn’t returned until that afternoon. No one said a thing when he’d stumbled into the dining room in the middle of lunch and draped himself casually across his seat across from Diego. These days, no one saw virtue in commenting on Klaus’ perpetual lack of sobriety. In the same way that no one said anything about what was going on between her and Five or the horizontal scars littering Ben’s forearms. They’ve all quietly decided that it’s easier to turn a blind eye to all these things. They’ve all agreed that Klaus’ slurred speech sounds better than his screams in the middle of the night.

“Let’s go again, Diego,” Allison called out. “Start from the top.”

If Diego had any reservations about running through another set in the dark freezing cold, he made no audible dispute. Instead, the courtyard went silent again except for the occasional grunt or shout from either of her siblings. Though it didn’t always seem like it, Diego and Allison were a pretty dynamic duo in hand to hand, at least that’s what she’d heard from Five. When he ran missions, Five would often pair them together despite Allison’s protests. Keeping Allison and Luther apart was perhaps a petty move on Five’s part but it was also a strategic one. Five often talked about their siblings to Vanya, his dissatisfaction with them, his begrudging affection all tied up in his keen observation. It’s a little like listening to a story, a novel on audiobook about people in a far away land. After what happened to Five, the line in the sand that was between Vanya and her siblings was now drawn in concrete. Reginald had always done his best to keep her separated from the others. She wasn’t a complete fool. Having her hold blank clipboards, blow whistles, and stand beside him during training were all his not-so-subtle ways of indicating to them all that Vanya was not like them. And if that message wasn’t clear enough then the slow building resentment towards her would surely do the job. Though her mundanity had damned her, it had saved her as well from the brutal, violent reality that her siblings inhabited. They all begrudged her, her normal and therefore privileged existence. What happened to Five was just the final nail in the coffin. Not even Ben would acknowledge her these days.

“Ah!”

The knife slips in her grasp too far for her to recover in time before the blade cuts a line across her thumb, from the edge of her nail to the first knuckle. The wound looks, at first, completely innocuous. Bright red across her pale, clammy skin but thin and strangely static as though someone had drawn on her in red ink. Then, the wound unfolds. Her skin unfurling like a curtain as the blood begins to pour and the sting turns into intense pain.

“Oh dear,” Grace suddenly at Vanya’s side.

Before she bleeds all over the table, Grace reaches out and grips Vanya’s thumb with a kitchen towel. Her mother squeezes tightly, the pressure stopping the sharp pain but it’s replaced with a throbbing ache that is just as intense and leaves Vanya breathless.

“Sorry, mom,” Vanya murmurs, finding the words difficult to form.

Grace crouches down, her other hand deftly fishing a small tin box from the pocket of her apron. She releases Vanya’s wounded thumb for a second to open the little box. The aching pressure on her thumb releases for just a second before a sharp burning pain floods her senses. The world seems to shrink to her bleeding digit and Vanya blanches when she sees something white peeking out of the mess of blood and tissue. As soon as the box is opened and placed on the table, Grace’s hand moves to cover her thumb again, her steady fingers putting an uncomfortable amount of pressure over the wound.

"Is it bad?”

“It’s alright, sweetheart,“ she says though Grace has yet to actually inspect the injury.  

They wait like that for a few moments. The pain in her hand is making Vanya’s head spin while Grace begins to hum. Vanya looks up from her finger and finds her mother’s face turned towards the open window over the sink.

"Your brothers and sister should be coming in soon. They’ve been playing all day. I hope they won’t be too tired for dinner.”

She still spoke about them all as though they were children. Breakfasts were still happy faces made of fried eggs and bacon, pancakes with shapes made of chocolate chips. What she must think of them all, her children. Though she made no comment on it, Grace left Vanya’s clean and folded clothes in Five’s room now and left her daily meds there as well. After another moment of looking out into the dark, Grace turns her attention back to Vanya’s thumb and uncovers it. Her face is a portrait of bland concern.

“Hm, we may need stitches,” she says, pinching at the wound and pushing the disparate edges together and letting them fall apart again. “Why don’t we just patch it up for now and we’ll see from there?”

Grace smiles and it’s beautiful. Of course it is, she’d been made to be that way. Vanya often wondered if her mother had once been a real woman, someone with real feelings, with thoughts and desires that existed beyond whatever Reginald had coded into her. Grace stands from her crouched position, easily keeping her balance despite her tasteful, four-inch pumps. She instructs Vanya to replace the towel and put pressure on the wound while she goes to wash her hands at the sink.

“Your brothers and sister should be coming in soon,” she says with her back turned to Vanya. “They’ve been playing all day. I hope they won’t be too tired for dinner.”

The old pipes groan as the faucet sputters, at first there’s barely a trickle but Grace’s hands are poised and moving as though through a steady stream.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, mom.”

This earns Vanya another wide, blank-eyed smile when Grace turns around wiping her hands on her apron. It takes a few minutes for Grace to clean and bandage Vanya’s thumb. The sharpness of the initial pain has faded and is replaced by deeper ache that makes her head spin and stomach turn ever so slightly. Grace admires her handy work then lets out a small gasp as though she’s just realized something.

“Vanya darling,” she says standing to her full height. “Why don’t you head to the drawing room? It’s much warmer up there.”

Vanya shakes her head, eyes still glued to her injured thumb trying but failing to will the pain away.

“It’s okay,” Vanya implores.

Grace tilts her head to the side, the large curls in her blonde hair shift like water sloshing. She looks troubled, her programming stumped. The girl is clearly half-freezing and now injured as well. She should be someplace warmer, perhaps even in bed. Vanya is fragile, ordinary, and largely incapable of contributing to the household. This all information that has been coded into Grace as truths. Vanya should be out of the way as much as possible but heavily supervised. Quickly, her mechanics run through the options and settle on this.

A wide smile and “maybe some hot chocolate instead. Warm you up a little.”

Before Vanya can decline, Grace sets to work. First she covers the Cornish hens in foil, they’ll need to sit for another half an hour before they’ll be ready for roasting and the stove will need at least half that time to finish rising to temperature. The air in the kitchen is cold enough that she doesn’t need to put birds back in the refrigerator. Instead, she leaves them sitting on the counter when she goes to fetch milk and a saucepan.

“Why don’t you sit closer to the stove, dear? It’s much warmer there.”

Vanya glances out at the window over the sink. She thinks she can just make out the sounds of labored breathing but all she can see is darkness. They’ll be finished soon and she doesn’t want to miss her chance but Vanya is also freezing and the painful throbbing in her thumb is making her dizzy so she relents and slinks across the room to the stove. She bypasses the chair at the end of the table and opts instead to squat down beside the old rusting appliance. Grace had been right; it’s infinitely warmer in her new location, though Vanya already knew it would be. This isn’t the first winter evening that she’s spent crouched at Grace’s feet beside the stove waiting just to catch a glimpse of her siblings.

“Did you remember to take your vitamins today?” Grace says from above her.

Vanya nods, doing her best to balance on her heels and stay clear of the heated metal beside her. How could she ever forget? Her “vitamins” are actually a cocktail of different medications that she takes on a daily basis. Recently, she’d noticed the arrival of a new pill, round, pale and though she’d been given no explanation for its sudden appearance the timing of its addition suggests that it was some kind of contraceptive. It had been Five who offered that particular hypothesis about the new pill’s purpose. And despite being somewhat relieved that she had one less thing to worry about, Vanya had been downright scandalized and denied even the possibility. Instead she had insisted that there must have been a new development in her condition.

The smell of milk heating wafts through the air, cutting through the cold and making Vanya’s stomach churn. Her thumb still hurts, the pain seems to be growing as more time passes but she tries not to think about it. Instead, she focuses on Grace humming a song that sounds simultaneously familiar and alien as the warm smell of milk and chocolate hangs in the air.

Vanya considers asking Grace now about the new pill. It isn’t uncommon for pills to appear and disappear according to what her condition required. When she was four, Vanya had contracted a highly contagious illness and had to be quarantined away from the rest of her siblings for months. She’d undergone multiple treatments and a couple surgeries, and even now she required vigilance and a strict adherence to a daily chemical regimen prescribed by her father.

Vanya could remember practically nothing of her illness and the resulting treatments. Most of early childhood is a vague smudge for Vanya and what she knows of her condition is a patchwork of bits and pieces she’s overheard or been told. Nothing from that time of her life feels real, except for Five of course. He’s the only thing that she can remember with any sort of clarity from her childhood. There is of course the rejection, the loneliness, the utter desolation of being an ordinary child in a clutch of extraordinary ones, but those things are more like a murky lake of misery. Five stands out like a raging flame. She remembers him dogging her relentlessly, always seeking her company, rooting out her little hiding spots in the house. At first, it had been painfully awkward to be under the weight of his attention but it wasn’t long before painful awkwardness became desperate craving. Now, Vanya can’t imagine who she could possibly be without Five.

The stove steadily grows hotter and Grace’s humming begins to skew atonal. Five and the others are scheduled to return that night though. Reginald had called earlier in the day but, according to Pogo, he didn’t give a specific time. The thought of Five’s impending return sets Vanya’s teeth on edge, with both eagerness and apprehension. Pogo had been tight lipped about the progress of their mission and so she had no ability to tell what mood her brother would be in when he returned. Every mission took a toll on him, truthfully on all her siblings and Vanya worries what state Five will return to her in but she wants Five home, whatever state he’s in.

“Oh my dears! You’re practically popsicles!”

Grace’s exclamation jostles Vanya awake. At some point, she’d managed to drift off with her back pressed against the wall and balanced on her heels. She’s sweating beneath her layers, the stove’s oven is nearly to temperature.

“We’re fine, mom,“ Diego replies, his voice is labored and when Vanya peeks up over the table, she notices that he has Klaus on his back.  

“Why don’t you all have a seat, you’re just in time for hot chocolate!”

There’s a shuffle of feet and the sound of a chair legs screeching across the floor. Vanya rises to her feet just in time to watch Diego dump Klaus unceremoniously into an empty chair.

 ”Ow, Didi,“ Klaus whines. "Try a little tenderness wouldya? I’m precious cargo.”

His speech is still slurred but there’s a clarity to his words that wasn’t quite there earlier when Vanya had overheard him in the courtyard. Besides his griping, the room falls silent as soon as Diego and Allison spot Vanya. They both tense up as though they’ve seen a wild animal.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Diego snarls.

His animosity is nothing new but Vanya winces regardless and tries to focus her attention on her sister.

“She lives here, genius,” Allison retorts glibly but the tension doesn’t leave her body.

Grace, seemingly unaware of the uncomfortable strain between her children, moves throughout the kitchen gathering mugs and setting them out on the table.With a mechanical poise, she divides up the hot chocolate into four perfectly even portions. Klaus doesn’t seem to notice what’s happening either. He’s opted to bury his face into his crossed arms resting on the table in front of him and doze off.

“I need to talk to you,” Vanya says, trying her best not to look at her brother.

“Like hell you do,“ Diego barks.

Vanya almost loses her nerve. Of all her siblings, Diego despises her the most or it may just be that he has the hardest time hiding it.

“Relax, Two. Drink your cocoa.”

Despite being Number Three, Allison is the unquestionable superior. Diego could never quite convince himself that he was or could ever be better than his sister. Allison easily outdid all her brothers in almost all things and where she was found lacking, she found ways to make up the difference. Diego      respected     Allison and so he usually deferred to her and this time is no different. He doesn’t stop glaring at Vanya but he takes a seat beside Klaus.

“Let’s talk upstairs, Vanya,” Allison says evenly. “It’ll be warmer up there.”

Vanya nods in reply and follows her sister out of the kitchen. Diego watches her leave with a hostile glare and kicks Klaus’ chair so hard that it jostles him awake. Behind her, Vanya hears them bicker.

"Get up asshole and drink your cocoa.”

“It’s hot chocolate.”

“Same thing.”

“What? No it’s not!”

Their voices grow vague as Vanya and Allison ascend. Vanya’s heart is fluttering in her chest and her stomach, which has been in knots all day, only gets worse. Vanya is afraid of Allison. Not in the way she fears Luther. She still has nightmares of the sound of her own fingers snapping, joints popping out of place and searing pain of skin ripping. She isn’t scared of Allison like she’s scared of Diego who took every opportunity to verbally berate her. Vanya has no memory of Allison ever being especially cruel to her or physically harming her but she knows what Allison can do and that’s more than enough reason to fear her.

“H-how was training?” Vanya asks hesitantly.

As much as she fears her sister, Vanya admires her more. Allison was everything that Vanya wishes she could be. Beautiful, strong, confident and most importantly, Allison is special. She’s extraordinary. And even if she’s scared of her, Vanya wants so badly for Allison to like her.

“It was like negative twenty out there,” Allison replies without turning around. “It sucked.”

Vanya nods even though Allison can’t see her. She doesn’t know how to reply to that. It had been years since she’s been allowed to participate, even in a spectator position, in training.

Allison leads her to the main parlor where a fire’s been lit. It’s exponentially warmer here and Vanya finally feels as though she can think straight. She watches as Allison makes a beeline for one of the ornate couches and lays herself out with a huff. Vanya opts to stand off to the side, nearer to the fireplace.

“Um..thanks fo-

“Just tell me what you want.”

Vanya’s throat suddenly feels dry. She can’t see Allison’s face from where she’s standing but she can hear the cold annoyance in her voice. It makes her feel small but she shoves the feeling down.

“I…I want you to undo the rumor you used on Five.”

Allison sighs heavily from her lounging position.

“Vanya. Really? This shit again?”

“Please, Allison. If you could just try, I know yo-“”

“I’ve already told you. I’m not doing that,“ she says sitting up. "Why don’t you just accept that he’s obsessed with you and take the win?”

“It’s not a win!” Vanya shouts, her voice cracks.

Allison looks genuinely startled by the outburst and it emboldens Vanya. She takes a step closer and continues.

“It hurts him. He’s not even himself anymore and he’s trapped here because of it. Because of      me    .”

What Vanya isn’t saying is, because of you. Allison hears it anyway.

“You can do it,” Vanya implores. “If you would just try.”

“I can’t,“ Allison says, punctuating her assertion by standing.

Allison is fairly tall for a girl her age and she certainly dwarfs Vanya’s miniscule five feet. She’s an intimidating figure but Vanya won’t back down.

"Yes you can. You’re the only one who can help us.”

“This is getting old. And a little pathetic. Enough already.”

With that, Allison turns and makes for the door but Vanya rushes forward. Before she can stop herself, Vanya reaches out and grabs Allison by the wrist.

“I’m just trying to help our brother! Why won’t you help me?”

As soon as Vanya touches her skin, Allison recoils pulling her wrist from her sister’s grasp. The force causes Vanya to stumble and Allison feels sorry for it. In all honesty, she has nothing personal against her sister. She doesn’t particularly like Vanya but she doesn’t hate her the way Diego does and she isn’t scared of her like Klaus and Ben seem to be. Truthfully, Allison doesn’t      know    Vanya. They’d lived practically their entire lives under the same roof, grew up together, shared meals, slept in rooms barely twenty feet apart but Allison had never felt any closer to Vanya than she felt to any given stranger off the street.

“Stop, Vanya. Just stop. You’re not helping, you’re just trying to make me feel guilty.”

“I’m no-”

“Yes. You are. And you know what? I am guilty. I made the rumor. I agreed to say it. I’m guilty. But that hasn’t changed anything for the last four years. It isn’t gonna change anything now. If you really wanna help Five, maybe you should stop blaming everyone else and figure out how to do it on your own.“

"Well you let Dad treat Luther like a tool all he wants,” Vanya says and she knows she should stop but the bitter words spilling out of her like vomit. “I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that you won’t help us.”

Vanya knows she made a mistake. Allison watches as her sister’s expression changes from resentful anger to utter fear and she wants to laugh. Allison had always pitied Vanya for her weakness and they both knew it. But for the first time, Allison is beginning to realize that she doesn’t just pity Vanya, she resents her. She had never once in her life been allowed to even seem weak but her sister wallowed in her frailty, relied on it even. Some dark, nasty part of Allison wonders if that’s why Five was attracted to Vanya so much in the first place. Five like little else more than feeling superior.

“I-I’m sorry,” Vanya stuttered, her eyes wide with fear. “I didn’t mean…”

Her trembling lip, Vanya’s little body shrinking away with anticipation. Terror slinks off of her like a rotten stench. Allison takes it all in and she feels terribly powerful. This isn’t a new experience for her. Allison had often stood above opponents, criminals, vandals, sometimes even her own brothers, and she loved being above them. She liked to savor the intoxicating feeling of being the winner, the victor because that was the Hargreeves way. Do whatever it takes to get on top and stay there. Even if you have to cheat and Allison had no qualms about playing dirty and yet, for some reason, the sight of her sister, trembling before doesn’t make her feel triumphant, it makes her feel sick.

“I’m sorry, Allison. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Vanya barely manages to choke the words out, her teeth are nearly chattering with how sacred she is. Looking at her makes Allison feel sick. Her shoulders suddenly feel too heavy, they slump as she sighs. She’s so tired that it nearly brings her to tears. But she doesn’t cry. Allison doesn’t get to cry, no matter how much she wants to.

"You’re right. You shouldn’t say that. Even if I wanted to, I don’t know if I could undo the rumor. They just have to run their course.”

\\\\

She wakes into the dark with a crick in her neck. She’d fallen asleep with her head at the foot of Five’s bed again, staring out at the snow falling against the darkness. It’s a bad habit but she’d always liked Five’s windows. Vanya isn’t sure when she’d fallen asleep but after her encounter with Allison, she’d dragged herself up to Five’s room, buried herself under his comforter and tried to find some solace in the snowfall outside his window. She must have succeeded because when she wakes, it’s nearly midnight and there’s someone with her in the dark.

“When did you get back?” she murmurs apologetically.

It’s become an unspoken ritual that Vanya waits up for Five when he comes back from a longer mission. It wasn’t always possible, but Vanya tried her best to be there for him whenever he got back. She attempts to turn her head to see his face but the muscles in her neck spasm. She can hear the sound of her own groan entering into the cold silence, jostling the air and she thinks she also hears a laugh. Just a small huff of air really, beside her ear all warm and soft in a way that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand.

His thumb finds the tight muscle in her neck, massaging circles into her flesh. It hurts at first, the sudden pressure makes her gasp and the flush of blood back into the area makes her a little dizzy. He curls his fingers under her neck, arching it upward so that he can suck hickeys into the skin he’d just massaged. She’ll be peppered with purple marks, too high above her collar and plentiful to cover but even so, she cranes her neck and lifts her chin exposing more skin for him to mark. Ever since the Paris job, they had settled into a kind of uneasy armistice. There had been no explicit discussion, no bargaining or clear transaction but something of a conclusion had been reached.

"Fi-ah!”

His teeth find the sensitive spot where her neck curves into her shoulder. Five bites down, hard enough to make her jump but not enough to break the skin. It’s both agonizing and thrilling the way it hurts.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, it’s the first words he’s spoken to her in almost three weeks.

He, Ben, and Luther had been running some kind of reconnaissance mission where secrecy was of the utmost importance and there had been no chance for the odd phone call home. His mouth is hot and wet over her skin as he trails languid kisses along her collar bone then back up to where he’s no doubt left teeth marks in her skin. His breath is warm, ghosting over the sensitive skin.

“Did you miss me?” Five murmurs, hovering over her aching skin.

At first, Vanya can only manage a sigh. He feels good, there’s no denying it. As much effort she puts into keeping the lines drawn between what is real and what is the rumor, Vanya can’t lie about how he makes her feel.  Five would have been a talented lover under any circumstance. Vanya is certain of that though she tries not to think of it much. Even if she believes that had he been given the vast wealth of opportunity that freedom would have afforded him, Five would never have chosen her, it still stings to think of him with others.

Before she manages to answer him in any sort of comprehensible way, Five laves his tongue, wide and flat, over his bite mark. Vanya lets loose a sound that is half whimper and half moan but entirely mortifying. But Five seems to appreciate it, an appreciative hum rumbles across her skin as she tries to catch her breath. It could feel humiliating sometimes, the level of intimacy he demands from her. Five is always struggling closer, ripping through the carefully constructed barriers she’s set between them for their own protection. He wants everything from her, every sound, every reaction and sensation. And had she been more of a fool, Vanya would give it to him freely but she knows that had it not been for the rumor, he would have never wanted it any of this. He may want every single bit of her now, but Vanya knows that when the rumor wears off, he’ll resent for every little inch she gives.

“Five, maybe we shouldn’t-” she begins to say, her nerves outweighing her desires.

But before she can finish her phrase, he bites down again. This time is harder than before, not enough to break the skin but enough to make Vanya yelps. Desperate to find anything to hang on to, she reaches for him, her fingers desperately scrambling across his face, over the shell of his ear, before settling and tangling into his hair. Though her nails are short and dull, there is no doubt that in her frenzy she left behind some damage but Five doesn’t seem to notice or care.

The pain only lasts a moment before he drags his tongue over the new bite dissolving the tension and rendering her a shivering mess. She lets out a low, guttural moan as he continues to mouth at her neck, sucking hickeys into her skin. Something stirs in her belly, a searing, aching need unfurls as his kisses shift downward. The comforter slides off of her body as he draws the middle line of her body. The frigid air is an assault on her body but it only makes her lean into him. Her shoulders rise from the mattress and the hand that had been at her neck trails down between her shoulder blades, propping her up.

She wants to put her arms around him, feel him closer. As terrified as Vanya is of the day when this all comes crashing down, it doesn’t change that she wants Five. Ever since they were kids, Vanya has ached and longed for him, even when he was right beside her. Wanting Five, wanting to be with him, wanting to love him in every way that has, does and will exist is not a new desire for Vanya. Sometimes, she thinks she was born that way. But despite all this, she hesitates as Vanya always does. So cautious, so careful, Vanya loves like a kicked dog. She flinches back before a fist is ever even raised, before he can even think of rejecting her, Vanya has already bowed out in repose.

Vanya is lost to herself, the torrent of desire and fear inside her when she feels the sudden shifting of weight as Five leans back. His hands are gone, the cold crowds in and she loses him in the dark. Turning on to her side, the weight of her raised torso resting on one elbow, Vanya squints into the darkness before her and finds her brother all cast in shadow. He’s not that far from her, his face still level with her own. There’s just enough distance, a few feet maybe, that the darkness leaves his face almost completely obscured. She can make out the curve of his ears, the corners of his jaw but his eyes are lost. He is just a shape, the suggestion of a man but not one entirely. He is some spectre made of stuff darker than the pitch darkness around them. For a second, she’s afraid. She doesn’t recognize him, even when she sits up on her knees, leans in closer. She can’t see him. Her blood pounds in her ears as the fear twists into something else, something more.

“Five?”

“I always forget,” he mumbles but she cannot see his mouth moving. “When I’m away, I always forget. Just how good this feels.”

His voice shakes as he says this, like he’s scared too. Five and Vanya had always shared so much, sweets, sweaters, kisses, why not share their fear as well? Vanya is aware of the phenomenon he’s referring to. It was Diego who had been so kind as to inform her that when Five is far enough away from her, the effects of the rumor lessen and what’s left in its place is a dull ache. A week, maybe a little more and Five starts to act like his old self again.

Hey, Seven. What do you think would happen if you just fucked off for good?   

Though it hurt when Diego spit that particular possibility at her, she had to admit, it’s a fair question. Five always espoused how much he missed her while he was away, how desperately he craved her the whole time but she wonders how much of that was actually true. What if he’d been happy while he was away? What if he’d been free? Or at least close enough.

“Did you miss me, Vanya?” he asks once again, this time he sounds unsteady, unsure.

It breaks her heart to hear her brother so degraded, but she can’t answer him. The words just won’t come as she stares back at him across the darkness, his features bleeding into view as her eyes adjust. He looks young. In the dark, he looks like her brother. The brother that had held her fevered hand when they were all ten and a bout of the flu had ripped through the entire academy but had settled on Vanya for nearly a month. This was her brother, who had kissed her on the mouth with sugar glazed lips and fed her so many doughnuts that she thought she would puke.

This is her brother. And she can’t even bring herself to tell him that she misses him. So Vanya takes off her shirt instead. Five waits in the darkness, watching her strip down to her bra. Vanya can feel his eyes on her as she slides her sweater and shirt off together. Her skin is a shock of goosebumps as her hands, already shaking with the cold, reach back to undo the hooks.

“Let me,” she hears him murmur.

He shuffles forward, even on his knees, he’s still level with her eye line. His long arms reach up and close the distance between them as finds the center of the band. It will only take him a few seconds to undo the hooks. Embarrassingly, Five is better at undressing her than she is but for these scant seconds, Vanya allows herself to rest her cheek upon his chest. It’s a small sin, to give herself this bit of comfort but she still feels the weight of it when Five’s hands slowly trail down her arms, taking the straps of her bra with them. She hears Five take a breath, holds it for a few seconds as he drinks in her body.

“You have no idea, Vanya,” he murmurs. “You can’t even imagine what it’s like for me to miss you.”

It’s true and the guilt she feels because of that makes her want to disappear. He skates his hands up her sides, sighing with relief at just being able to touch her skin. He puts his face into the crook of her neck to breathe in deeply.

“You smell like home,” he says into her skin. “You’re everything to me, Vanya. You know that don’t you? I need you with me.”

She nods slowly. It’s true. It’s all true but none of it’s real. His hands drop down to the waistband of her jeans, undoing the button as he places kisses along her shoulder, then her clavicle. The click of her zipper coming undone is loud in the silent, dark room. Five pushes them over her hips and down to her knees. Vanya sinks down, laying herself out on her back so that he can free her from her pants completely. He moves quickly from there. His fingers are already curling at the elastic band of her underwear when she stops him.

“Wait,” Vanya says, her hands falling over his own to stop their movement.

Five flinches as though she’s burned him. Under her breath, she murmurs an apology. It’s easy to forget just how brittle the rumor has made him. Her brother has always been such a large, looming figure in her mind, confident, strong, intelligent. Even after four years, Vanya forgets just how easily he breaks. With one hand, she laces her fingers through his own, an act meant to reassure him though he doesn’t seem moved. His eyes are hard as he watches her rise from his bed.

“What are y-” he begins to ask when she detangles her hand from his.

But he falls silent as soon as she turns her back to him, falling to her elbows and knees on his mattress. Behind her, Five takes in a sharp breath.

Then she hears, “fuck.”

Her heart is a sharp staccato in her ears as she feels him lay his hands over her hips, slowly, with near reverence. His hands are cold on her skin, colder even than the air around them. And not for the first time, Vanya wonders where he’s been. Part of her wants to ask him, wants to ask him what he’s done and what he’s given up to be here with her again. He pulls her back, pressing his hips into her ass. Through the fabric of their clothes, she can feel the hardness of his cock and it sends a shiver down her spine. He moans as he rocks his hips and Vanya gasps as he squeezes her buttocks. He leans back just far enough to slide his thumb down and press up against her pussy, feeling her through the fabric. Embarrassingly she can feel the cool dampness that’s spread into the fabric.

“You’re so wet, sis. You must have missed me.”

He nudges into her further, the fabric feels almost coarse on the sensitive flesh but Vanya leans back. There’s no point in playing coy now. Five hums appreciatively, massaging slow circles into her through the fabric in a way that makes her head spin. She’s panting like a dog in heat by the time she feels him push her damp panties aside.

He pushes into her without preamble. It’s rough and Vanya lets out a low sob as the pleasure of him filling her flushes up her spine like a fever. He loops an arm under her belly to hold her in place as he shifts his hips back and thrusts into her again. Five grunts, the heat of his breath fans out across her frigid skin making her shiver. A few more slow, languid strokes before he begins to pick up his pace. Tears bud at the corners of her eyes. Her elbows slide out from under her. The sheets come up to meet her face but his arm is still around her waist, keeping her ass up as he pounds into her so hard that her knees nearly give out.

It’s too much. It’s always too much. She’s all but lost in a haze of pleasure, trying to meet each of his thrusts. It feels good just to be with him, to have him in her and yet, she can’t let go. In the back of her head, she can’t forget that this isn’t real. And the guilt roils in her gut. She suddenly feels sick, her throat tightening until she chokes.

"Fi-Five-ah!” she gasps out.

Her face is pressed into the mattress, fingers grasping at the cotton sheets. The wet slap of flesh against flesh becomes erratic and behind she hears Five groan. His fingers at her waist dig into her flesh. He’s close. Vanya knows it, with each swing of his hips, he grinds into her harder, deeper. Then with a guttural moan, he thrusts one last time and spills into her.

“Sorry,” he gasps. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

His hips are still pressed up against her ass, rocking slowly into her as he rides out his orgasm. It takes a few moments before his breathing evens out, his cock softening within her. He slides out of her gingerly, careful to keep his arm around her waist. Vanya can feel the warm dribble of his cum sliding down her thigh as he gently lowers her to the bed. Sluggishly, she turns over onto her back.

“Lemme finish you,” he mumbles, dropping to his knees and spreading her thighs.

“It’s okay, Five,” she says dazedly. “You’re tired.”

He laughs a little into her skin as he plants kisses up the length of her inner thigh. Five sometimes jokes that she’s a little too polite, especially considering the things they’d done together. It’s cute though, he’d usually say with that too-wide grin of his and she’d blush and try to remember how to breathe. But tonight Five seems unwilling to indulge her impulsive niceties.

It’s still a little uncomfortable for Vanya to let Five eat her out. It’s embarrassing, of course but it’s all a little embarrassing. Sex is a mortifying, uncomfortable ordeal but what isn’t for Vanya? She’s lived her life feeling like an exposed nerve, both acutely vivid and devastatingly deadening. Mostly, it’s the intensity that scares her when he climbs between her thighs with greedy mouth and fingers and extracts from her a feeling that goes beyond pleasure or pain. She can feel it building now as he slides two fingers into her cunt.

He lifts one of her thighs and rests it on his shoulder, the other he pushes back, opening her wider for him. His free arm wraps up under her thigh, looping around and across her hip bone. Sufficiently locking her in place, Five puts his mouth to the top of her pussy. His tongue finds the sensitive spot to the right of her clit, pressing into it, hesitant at first, and when she begins to squirm, he goes harder. He knows her too well, knows that he needs to build up to her clit. The little engorged nub is far too sensitive, so he works around it.

He’s set a languid pace inside her, straying so very close to that erogenous spot. When gets close, brushing just shy of her g spot, it sends a jolt through her and Vanya yelps. She’s so dazed, her body is so warm, unbearably warm but also freezing. The room seems to have gotten colder and it makes every sensation that much sharper. Her nipples are so tight now that it’s almost painful. Five suddenly wraps his lips around her clit and sucks, not hard but it earns him a grunt. Her pleasure crests so suddenly that it leaves her literally breathless. For a second, everything stops, she loses track of herself as she hangs in the balance.

Then, she comes crashing down. Distantly, she feels him inside her, his mouth still on her clit. It takes her a few moments to hear her own squealing, feel her own body scrambling against Five’s grip on her hips. There’s a wet pop and suddenly there’s Five, grinning up at her from between her own thighs. She realizes she’s still breathing as he draws a line of wet, sloppy kisses up her body, to place a sweet peck on the corner of her mouth.

“Sorry,” he says again, then stands.

Vanya dizzily notes that he is still mostly dressed while she lies a complete mess and naked as the day she was born. It somehow always comes to that and Vanya cannot quite make any heads or tails of it. She feels both wound up and completely undone as she watches him undress and toss his clothes on the floor.

“We can go again in a bit,” he maneuvers her body easily, ushering her further on to the bed.

There’s a kind of wired energy to his words but even through hooded, heavy eyes, Vanya can see the sluggishness in him. He climbs in besides her, pulling his comforter over them in one fluid motion. Under the covers, he entangles their bodies, nudging her knees apart and hooking his leg through. He wraps her up in a tight embrace, he’s so much larger than her and she feels completely enveloped, the cold melting away with the heat of his body. Vanya is still too dazed to try to put up any kind of fight. She lets the pleasure of his kisses, peppered erratically over her face, wash over her. His hands wander and grope at her body as he pulls her even closer. Five has a habit of becoming hyper just before he crashes, one last burst of energy before the sudden stop like he’s on a sugar rush.

“I just…I need so-ome shut eye…” he trails off.

His hands still, his mouth is at her hairline, murmuring what sounds like nonsense. As he’s pulled under by exhaustion, Vanya feels herself returning to the surface. She feels both comfortable and uneasy in his arms. Nothing ever feels as good as being with Five but nothing hurts as much either. She’s caught between memorizing this exact moment, locking it away in the deepest, most secret part of her mind and guarding herself against it. It isn’t real. No matter how good it feels, no matter how much she wants it, it isn’t real. She chants this in her head even as she presses her nose into his chest and breathes in deeply. The salt and musky of his damp skin mingles with the brand of mild soap they use at the Academy. She doesn’t know how long she lingers awake, listening to the twin sounds of his heart beating and his slow, even breathing.

None of it can ever be real, she reminds herself. It isn’t her, it isn’t love. It’s the rumor and she can’t ever let herself want more than that.  And yet. She feels the words well up inside her, a truth too big to hide in her throat.

"I missed you,” she whispers hoarsely. “I miss you so much it’s killing me.”

[rudra-writes]

Pallas Meets Belaar (Part 8)

Part of a roleplay story with Telurin’s player. At Karabor, Pallas’s romantic involvement with a death knight is discovered by one of the high priests, who seeks to confine and discipline him. Aware that something is amiss, Telurin requests his mentor, Anchorite Belaar, look into the situation.

Telurin just shakes his head and continues to stroke Pallas's hair until long after the little Anchorite has fallen asleep. The past month had been stressful for the both of them, and regardless of what names Pallas does and does not want applied to them, Telurin is determined to see to it that Pallas is never put in that situation again. He spends most of the night just enjoying having Pallas in his arms and watching him sleep, safe and so trusting that he won't come to harm with him near. Telurin falls asleep himself sometime late enough that it may be more accurate to call it early morning than late at night, Pallas still held protectively in his arms.

That morning, as the pale early light streams through the window, Pallas opens his eyes to the chirping of birds. Telurin's unclothed body surrounds him, and he himself is wearing no more than a thin chain. It feels surreal to wake up and no longer be surrounded by his familiar, small room back at Karabor.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes. It surprises him somewhat that Telurin is present here. The death knight seemed to more typically be an early riser. Pallas moves himself slightly to look at the other man's sleeping face.

As soon as Pallas moves, Telurin's arms tighten around the slender Anchorite, effectively trapping him against him, but is otherwise absolutely still. The death knight’s features are softened in sleep, the tension that is so often present in his face wiped away. It makes him look younger, possibly, or more like the man he was in life, even though the stillness is perhaps unsettling.

Telurin's arm muscles tense, and Pallas is trapped. The priest frowns faintly, looking about for a moment like a concerned bunny. By all appearances, the death knight looks to be asleep. Pallas isn't certain how Tel is aware he is present.

His face looks softer, but there's no breathing, and it is eerily similar to looking upon a deceased person at their wake. Still, Pallas studies him tenderly, his observational eye taking in features he was coming to know almost as well as his own face.

After a few minutes, he became hungry. Pallas debated what to do. He remembered the time he had touched Telurin in sleep, and the other man had awakened violently and grabbed him. Telurin had said to Pallas that he should speak first, after that time. Would it work?

Pallas says quietly, "Telurin?"

There's a subtle yet clear shift in Telurin's features as Pallas speaks his name. He squeezes the Anchorite a bit more, and there's the barest hint of a smile about his mouth. The death knight opens his eyes, then closes them again, though it's clear that he's awake. 

"Mornin'," He says, and even demonic voices can be roughened with sleep. He opens his eyes again to look at Pallas. "Sleep well, Kechare?"

Pallas sees the smile -- or did he? It happened so quickly, and was so brief. The priest caresses the side of Telurin's face now that he is awake, and presumably safer to touch, combing his mutton chop with his thin fingers. He smiles, "I did. But you have trapped me in the bed with you, and I am hungry."

"Ah, but I like having you trapped in bed with me." Telurin smirks, and lets his fingers wander up and down Pallas's back as the Anchorite combs his muttonchops. He doesn't let up his grip, apparently having Pallas back and safe has put him in a good mood and he's already teasing.

Pallas laughs and pushes against Telurin's chest. "How do you know I'm even there if you're asleep? I swear your arms moved on their own."

Tel lets him push out some, but as soon as he stops fighting, he pulls him back to his chest. "Oh I know." He says smugly. "Though I could say the same for you. You were out nearly as soon as we were finished last night."

"I was tired! Who wouldn't be after everything you did?" Pallas tries to twist away and out of Telurin's arms, to no real results. He settles back grumpily, and his stomach rumbles. "Listen to that, you are starving me."

"I suppose I do have to give you credit." He smirks, "You were very good last night." Telurin kisses Pallas on the top of the head and then releases him. "It would be remiss of me to rescue you just to let you starve the next day."

Pallas is released, but he does not end up going far, only moving away enough to sit up in bed. He looks at Telurin, his expression becoming more uncertain. "You don't really think of me as being your pet... do you?"

"I didn't know it worried you so much." Telurin frowns. "Of course you are your own person, Pallas. No matter what I say when we are .....otherwise engaged."

Pallas moves over to Telurin, and puts his arms around his neck. "...There is a part of me that enjoys the fantasy of it," he murmurs. "I feel like in a certain way, it could be blissful. Not having to feel as if I had to worry for myself, and letting you take care of things. Take care of me."

His thin arms squeeze Telurin tighter. "I can't be that, though... I want to be your... your equal."

The mention of being equals makes Telurin's frown deepen. He sits up, looking away from Pallas. "We will never be equals, Anchorite." He stresses the title, making sure that Pallas knows which way he feels the disparity lies. "No matter what happens here, behinds closed doors, in public there is no question of it."

Pallas blinks, not having expected this reaction. He touches Telurin's arm. "Equals in a relationship," he clarifies, trying to meet the other man's eyes. Surely... surely, that was different?

Telurin still keeps his eyes down and away, but he does nod. “In the relationship.” He confirms, as if he’s testing the sound of it on his tongue. He shakes his head with a smirk. “You said you were hungry. Get dressed and we will go downstairs to remedy that.”

Pallas peers at Telurin, but understands that this may be all the death knight is comfortable saying about this subject. He smiles and leans in to kiss his cheek, his mood brightening despite Tel's usual insistence that he is an inferior creature.  

He then hops up off the bed, removing the chain and transferring it back to its wooden box, which he stows back in his satchel. The priest starts to wash his face in the washbasin. "Do you have someplace in mind where we should head next?" he asks. "I suppose if I am now Belaar's student, we shouldn't stray too far." Although Belaar hadn't exactly given them a timeframe when he expected their return. Pallas had some other things in mind.

Telurin stands and stretches, causing his muscles to ripple and flex. He picks up his discarded clothes and begins the process of putting his armor back on.

"You'll need a mount, and not one of those skittish rental beasts." He says, considering. "That should be our first order of business."

Pallas watches Telurin out of the corner of his eye while the death knight stretches, his tail twitching. Now that he's properly rescued and his containment is in the past, and his beloved guardian is with him again, he is starting to feel bubbly and excited.

He throws his silk clothes on, and his priest's habit on over those, then moves to Telurin's side to try to help him reattach the various pieces of his armor. "Where shall we find such a beast? Embaari, perhaps?"

Telurin looks surprised, then amused, to have a helper for his armor, and considers this. "Embaari has a fair number of talbuk traders pass through." //And Rii likely knows them all...// he thinks to himself, which decides it for him - he'd rather not spend days walking up and down various picket lines, looking for the animal that doesn't spook at his presence and yet is still sound enough to keep up with Sugarfoot. "Though I am fairly certain Belaar meant for you to return today, a diversion of a day or two should give him time to settle things at the Temple."

"/Today?/" Pallas says the word with a whine, looking up at Telurin with an expression that clearly suggests whatever plans he may have been forming may have to be put on hold.

"I'll take the blame with Belaar." Telurin snorts, setting his hands on Pallas's shoulders. "I do not want you near the Temple today, and a trip to Embaari first is not going to hurt anything."

Pallas blinks, stopping for a moment. He did not expect his complaining would actually work. "You won't get into much trouble, will you?" He stands up on his tippy toes, and wraps his arms around Telurin's neck. "I'm just so happy to have you back, I want us to do something nice. Can we, Telurin?" he asks earnestly.

Telurin wraps his arms around Pallas, careful now that he's got his armor on, his tail coming around to curl around Pallas's lower leg. "Of course we can, Kechare." He says, and the tone of his voice suggests he would have agreed to just about anything Pallas had asked him. 

Joyfulness spreads across Pallas's features, and his tail wags. "How long has it been since anyone's taken you on a date?" he asks. His voice might have sounded coy if he hadn't been so delighted by the idea.

Telurin's head comes up and back, and there's startled amusement on his features. "A date?" He says with a smirk. "A very long time, I would say."

Telurin seems surprised, but not appalled. Pallas bites his lower lip, unable to contain his shy, eager smile. "I don't know what events are happening around this Embaari, but, um, I grew up not real far from this area on our world, and I remember there was a really good mead and beer-tasting festival that happened about this time every year? And the Observatory is still the same. I don't know if you would like to look at stars, I, I mean, you probably do that all the time on the road already, it's probably not really special to you..."

Telurin just presses his lips together in amusement and puts a finger over Pallas's lips, stopping the nervous flow of words. "If that's what you want to do, that's what we will do." He replaces his finger with his lips, kissing Pallas with a surprising amount of tenderness. "I am fond of good mead. I'm sure it will be entertaining, if only to see you enjoy yourself."

Pallas all but melts into Telurin's kiss, sliding bonelessly against the death knight's armored body. He wants to protest that whatever they do should be entertaining for Telurin as well, but, apparently it will be simply for Pallas's happiness. He stands leaning against the front of the other man's armor, looking happy and melty.