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The salvation of one's soul is a serious matter. So often, one finds that one has trodden the paths of excess and wisdom and there can be no return; even when one's downfall is not one's own particular choice. Long have we suffered, she and I, and long may we suffer again for the sin involved in our release. She is innocent of it, I know, for I would not allow her to follow me to that dingy waterside finale. She slept the sleep of an adored angel, or so I like to imagine; pretend that she did not follow, rooftop to rooftop until she could follow no more, feign that she did not watch from the shadows as I opened a smile in him from one ear to the next and carefully laid him in the river. He had always wished to seem as though he walked upon the water for us.
The well-wishers were few, among them the 'loves' of our lives, those for whom we were unclean and unfit, for whom we could never have been appropriate partners, I suppose. They have found that which they would love and, indeed, it provides them with great comfort, comfort which could only be seen by two who have suffered as much as the one who brings harmony to their union. I am no fool, nor is my dark sister. We have always been aware of the dual nature of the love we share[1] and it has caused us some distress in many ways more than one. Still, after much contemplation and agonized indecision, what is there left to us but this?
It has been long since I have felt such peace in my soul. To know that Brother, my dearest brother, has deposited the wretched monster that haunted us for so many years into the depths of a Hell which can be no less horrid than that in which we lived almost delights me. To think such a thing is surely some sort of sin in and of itself; however, I find that I do not regret believing it so. Long have I wondered who would accept such stained lack of purity and, indeed, I thought that I had found one such as I in my beloved with his warm sapphire flecked eyes and his dark hair. Yet he has overcome the ignoble actions of his father[2], the beatings and the perversions forced upon him and discovered the warmth of love, the true claiming of his heart. I wonder at that, and I wonder that the world has gone mad that so many paternal figures who should be filled with love and warmth for the children of their loins choose instead the path to degradation and run pell-mell down it with careless tread, stomping upon the innocence of those seeds with vicious feet that care not what they touch or rend asunder.
What is severed once so often becomes that which cannot be mended, be it the gossamer silk of one's favorite kimono or the flesh of one's body. Who would have such torn and soiled things as we, in the end? Who would be capable of finding pleasure in that which flinches from touch or whimpers in the dark of the night because of the terrors that stalk the murky corridors of their dreams? And so it comes to this and I do not mind. Indeed, it is more fitting than any other possibility could ever have been.
We are what we are and that we will always remain.
Kodachi carefully snipped the stem of one of her black roses, lifting the trembling petals to her nose and sniffing delicately. With a soft sound of exasperation, she moved on to the red ones close by, fingers gentle as she reached through the thorns to cut one of those as well. The scent of that rose seemed to be sweeter than that of her own and she sighed in disappointment. Oh, the wretched things just didn't hold fragrance as well as those of her brother! The frown of disappointment marred her smooth brow as she rubbed the velvet petals of that crimson-dark rose against her cheek contemplatively. What to do, what to do....?
Tatewaki Kuno moved silently down the aisle of the greenhouse, roses tumbling on either side. There were black and red tea roses, rambling roses, even husky blossoms with heads as fat as those of cats; a particular horror of Ranma Saotome's, in fact, one that had rather amused Tatewaki at one point, or so he thought as he moved through them, the scent wafting in the heated air. Before, he had thought his jealousy was over Akane Tendo; perhaps even over the 'pig-tailed girl', though it was more likely anger that Saotome rejected him in that form than jealousy of any sort. No, his jealousy was an entirely different matter, a matter more of... family.
Some time had passed since the death of the head of the Kuno household. Indeed, the police had given up entirely on ever solving such a mystery because there were simply too many people who would have delighted in slitting the principal's throat from one side to the next. In the time since their father had 'passed on' (as people so delicately phrased it to avoid driving the two even more mad than they were already believed to be), Tatewaki had come to the conclusion that his jealousy had been entirely misplaced. No, his jealousy was not for Akane Tendo; it was for...
"My dear twisted sister," he greeted Kodachi, voice amused as he watched her jump slightly, pricking her palm with the sharp thorns of the stem in her hand. Eyes identical to his own sapphire-sparked silver-grey orbs rose and the smile on her face was brilliant despite the thin bead of blood trickling to pool in her palm as she laid both roses carefully on the cutting table nearby. With care, he lifted her palm by the wrist and gently kissed that trickle of blood, tongue tracing over it with delicate precision.
"Brother dear," she responded in kind, her smile fey as she tilted her palm to cup the point of his chin and lifted her face for his benediction.
He granted her that desire, lips soft as they took her own, gentle and sweet. "How fare our children?" Tatewaki murmured huskily afterwards, sucking on his lower lip momentarily before kissing her again.
"I cannot persuade mine to hold the same delicate fragrance as yours, brother mine," she responded, frowning at the black roses nearby, her expression maternally stern.
"Ah, but what it lacks in scent it makes up in appearance, no?" Black-fringed lashes lifted to allow his eyes to caress over her face. One hand rose to rub gently at the smear of potting soil marring her ivory complexion. "And how could they not, to please such a lovely faery-child as yourself?"
Dulcet laughter sprang from carmine lips as she carefully wrapped her arms around his neck. "Thy honeyed tones are sweet," she fairly purred. "Think you to seduce me, miserable dragon-man, and make of me thy own?" The cadence of their play was a well-accustomed balance by now, her ivory face flushed, eyes sparkling bright.
"I shall conquer thee and make of thee my own!" he responded teasingly, hands clasping at her slender waist to lift her and sit her on the small table beside the roses so lately cut.
"Tatewaki..." Her voice was serious and he looked down at her with an expression of curiosity, tilting his head and waiting for her words. "Tatewaki, is what we do wrong? Is it so wrong to find happiness and pleasure in this when it is so like..." Her features twisted painfully as she bit down upon her lip, raven tipped lids dropping to hide the sheen of tears behind them.
"Beloved sister mine," he breathed with a heavy sigh, pulling her gently against his chest. "Is it a sin that we have found comfort and some measure of love from one another when there are no others who would understand what has been done to us or what we fear and feel? How can it possibly be wrong when none may comprehend who or what we are better than ourselves?" He tipped her chin up to look into the gentle planes of her face. "It is not wrong to find love where it grows freely, to nurture it, thorn-tipped and wild, so much as it is wrong to rip those brambles loose from their innocent soil. What we choose, what we are, is no reflection of that other, my cherished one; if anything, it is a direct refutal of everything we learned as children. It is exquisite, a love like no other, and I believe that we must cling to it. We shall grow strong here and when the time comes, we shall go abroad in the world and make our way hand in hand. For now, however..." His lips brushed tenderly across her brow. "For now, we shall remain, and none shall know of what we are to one another until the time is right."
"My brother dear," she whispered tenderly. "I do love you so!"
With that softly spoken benediction, she lifted her face once again and captured the firmness of his lips with her own, caressing with mouth and tongue in slow cadence. His arm wrapped around her waist gently, the huskiness of his voice as he breathed her name muffled in the damp heat of the greenhouse. "Here," she whispered softly. "I want you here!"
Tatewaki's fingers trembled on her skirt as he unwrapped it from her waist, spinning her slowly to leave her in nothing but her leotard. With a brush of his arm, gardening implements and potting soil went tumbling from Kodachi's small wooden table and onto the floor with only the barest sound of protest and he lifted her, fingers sliding unerringly between her legs to brush tenderly against the heated wetness which had arisen already and which pressed damply against the material still clothing her body. Her lips parted in a breath of pleasure as his fingers slid beneath it, her body dropping until she lay upon her back, arms lifting above her head slowly, so slowly, the feel of his thumb sliding against flesh already damp with desire making her mind spin.
"Imouto-koi," he breathed as he flicked the first snap of the leotard and then the second, the soft spandex parting beneath his fingertips and he pushed it from her hips up to her waist and then her breasts, her back arching to help him, and she was bare to his touch, his tongue, his will.
Her head shook from side to side in a wave of black tresses as his teeth found a nipple, a gentle bite sending shivers of pleasure down her spine even as she gave a soft sound, unfamiliar, a noise full of the feeling imbued within her by his touch, his hands tracing her curves even as her own hands rose to push at the white shirt of his school uniform, buttons popping loose beneath her trembling fingertips. Tatewaki's mouth coursed down her belly and she dropped back, the yearning to have him as bare as was she abandoned with the warmth of those soft sucking kisses, down to her navel and across the curve of her belly, tangled momentarily in the silken curls of her woman's delta before nudging and burying in sweet wetness as he knelt at the edge of the table.
Slow lashings, sweet lappings of his tongue against her clit and his thumb found her core and pushed inside of her accompanied by an almost violent cry as she arched up to meet that digit, gasping in quick pants as her lashes fluttered down and whimpers became low moans. Her hands were in the thick shocks of his hair and she pulled at him tightly when she became too sensitive, almost sobbing as her desire crested and she shimmered along on opalescent waves.
In that moment, he knew what she wanted, what she needed more than anything, what she had needed all her life, to be part of something and part of someone who loved her as she was, someone who felt no need to besmirch or belittle that intensely private part of her that only he knew. Their fingers fumbled together as he rose, her body shifting to the edge with his help as they released the buttons of his uniform pants and the heaviness of his erection was freed, throbbing in the damp heated air of their greenhouse. "Kodachi," he groaned softly, nuzzling the head of that stiff shaft against her damp petals. "Imouto... koibito!"
"Aniki," she breathed, lashes fluttering up. "Please!"
That single tremulous gasp was all he needed and he entered her, slow and sweet until she was full and crying out with the wonder of him so deep in her. His hands came to hold her hips, steady her, even as she wrapped impossibly long legs about his waist and tilted her body to the even liquid thrusts that pounded within her, slow and steady. It was so right, to be grasped tight in his hands, to feel the heavy power of him inside of her and his fingers caressing through damp curls to find her core once more, featherlight touches that drove her near mad with wantoness and the desire to be one with him always, forever, to be the whole and complete creature they should have been! With a cry that seemed swallowed by the roses, she came, synapses firing off quick flashes behind her eyes as she shuddered in his grasp, body arching until only her rear and her shoulders met the table as he gave a few last stuttering thrusts before collapsing against the lean line of her body to gasp for breath, holding her tightly against his own.
Her fingers lightly stroked his sweat-damp hair as they lay still, his torso pressed lightly atop her own, his hands stroking down the soft pallor of her skin.
"Ai shiteru, Tatewaki-kun."
"Ai shiteru, imouto. Ai shiteru."
[1] The question here is whether he means *Ranma* or the way they feel about one another? ^_~
[2] Most of you have read "Father Figure", I think, and I've decided that this is the same universe. Dark and nasty. I'm rather afraid to think on what Ukyou's life must have been like. And I have vague... plans... for Mousse. But then, I've had those plans for Mousse since I finished off Swordplay. Maybe that little fancy will stay right where it belongs: in my head. Poor poor Mu Tsu. He's so *abused*... *prrrrrr* >)