Thread: Between Love and Hate (Sølvi versus xxplaywithmexx)

Daycen At last it was time for the reunion. The Prince found himself anxious where before he would stride with confidence into the presence of his sister. The overwhelming drive to best her in everything from the petty to the grand had accompanied his every encounter with her. From youth to adolescence and up until now. In strength when he forced himself to best during their training, before she took to her own system, away from him. With words when he cut through her defense with attempts of humiliation and belittlement. Through and after their encounter in her room. He asserted his dominance and gave his submission only to savor whatever reaction he would earn, or so he told himself. Before the jealousy just before their trip began, before the spiteful fucking beneath the Inns floor, and before she cried the words that divided them until the bandits descended upon them, he was sure he was in control. The power was his no longer. The power no longer seemed so important. What seemed to matter most, more than anything now, was his sister. During the manic recovery Daycen had convinced himself to do what was right. By the Gods, to make some salvage from the destruction they wrought. The attack was warning enough, Daycen half-believed. The Gods were angry and the incestuous twins and it was time for a change or they would be undone. It was difficult to imagine, after what they had been through, leaving his sister and dismissing such insanity from mind. He was right and she would see and never would they speak of this again. But now. As he stood in the entryway to the chambers his sister held, what seemed to matter most, more than anything, was his sister. Solveig He breathed, quietly, looking upon his paler than norm twin, princess, and lover. Thank the Gods, youre alive. They evaporated, one by one, though in rapid succession, the thoughts he bore just before moving into the room. He brought the door shut behind him just as his mind let go of the final rational thought and it was just he and her. He closed the distance with an awkward limp, his arm in a sling as it wasnt ready to hold its own weight. He felt like cripple and wondered if she would wonder if he was. He moved to her bedside. The prince had also been washed though stubble graced the usual, proper, clean-shaven face. His hair would appear longer and a bit mussed, as if he lay back to rest after the wash and brushing. He looked as he felt. He was paler, thinner, and rugged. Such an experience will shake a man or woman. Daycen was always the kind to preach whatever or whoever doesnt succeed in killing you will only make you a stronger man. Time would tell if it was true enough for the prince. He was garbed about as simple as Solveig. A white, loose linen shirt and black, laced, cotton pants. Each chosen for the sake of comfort the servants told him and he wasnt about to decline. He was still sore, though it seemed his sister somehow ended up with the graver wound. He had to shake his head and stifle a soft, involuntary laugh, despite situation. And what, sister, were you doing in the way of a fucking sword? Of course, she would move to fight. It was who his sister was. The Prince wouldnt give her time to answer, if an answer was expected at all. It was hard enough to wait as long as he did, mere moments since he entered. The details would come and he would force her to show the scar whether she wanted him to see or not, but for now, his lips would seek hers, accepting no rejection as they pressed against her mouth. His right side faced her, the injured shoulder still bandaged beneath the shirt, soaking in whatever was meant to be healing the hole up. His left hand found her fingers beneath the sheets and took hold, squeezing tight. He let the kiss end, soft and tender for the once and only feeling slightly uncomfortable after the matter. The realization came over him that he may well be overstepping his boundaries. They hadn't spoken since the incident and Daycen had to doubt this was the way to start this meeting. The hesitation grew, sure enough, and his hand came away. He thought to apologize, but held reservations to that as well. In fact, he was a bit embarrassed. Suddenly feeling rather protective of the sister he previously fucked against walls and forced over and slapped and choked and, Gods, fucked again and again, hard and harder. This wasnt them and it felt different. It wasn't right, or mayhap it was. He never knew anymore. Suddenly, all he wanted, more than anything, was some confirmation that this wasn't some intrusion. How in every Hell did one take such a devilish relationship beyond what it was. And what it was was difficult enough to describe or even acknowledge in the first place.