Not in Gold

Edgar/Sabin. R. ~300 words. Incest. Pastfic.
His reasons are carefully worded, flawlessly planned.

The castle at night is quiet, as still and silent as the sands stretching far beyond the ancient stone walls. Anticipation runs hot through his veins, the thrill of it makes his breath trip and his heart beat faster and then faster still. Every door passed is one step closer, every one remaining is one more chance of discovery.

His reasons are carefully worded, flawlessly planned. It’s little more than an opportunity to practice the statecraft drilled into his head day after day. Gestures, tone, inflection, he makes sport of an art and couldn’t care less about the disapproving lines etched deep on his father’s face.

It’s the disapproval that makes his steps light for fear of being caught, the shame and the excitement and the unbearable desire for just once more that curls in his stomach like something alive and greedy. It’s never satisfied, there’ll always be just once more after this, just once more after that.

If only the king could see him now.

A hand catches his arm, and for a moment, he’s certain he’s finally been caught; he can feel his pulse on the back of his tongue. And he is caught, trapped by the touch of overheated skin, by the sound of breaths as fast and frantic as his own.

It’s wrong, the way he lets Sabin touch him, the way he taught his younger brother to touch, to tease, to shove warm tongue, slick fingers and hard dick deep inside him over and over again. It’s wrong but so very right to taste Sabin’s come on his lips and feel it trail warm and slippery over his thighs.

He promises himself this time will be the last, but when Sabin’s breath washes hot and heavy across his cheek, and he hears the harsh whisper of, “Brother,” into his ear, he knows he’ll feel everything all over again, just one more time.


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