well behaved women

Title: interlude
Author/Artist: shiegra
Rating: NC17
Warnings: The usual for the pairing. sex/incest.
Prompt: 6 – Hellboy – Nuada/Nuala – don’t make a sound
Word count: 1412



The halls were cold.

Even as she traced her steps through her father's new makeshift stronghold again and again, letting the tang of iron and earth and rust sink into her until she had imprinted this new home deeply into her bones, it was what lingered most familiarly with her. The bite of the wind, burrowing deep into her skin; at night, she carried more and more blankets to her bed, and sometimes felt as though she would never be warm again.

When she was a child, in the chill she would not have slept alone. Curled against her brother, they would have shared warmth between them until they could sleep, knees and ribs and heartbeats pressed together--vulnerable enough to be almost human in their fragility, exposed only to each other.

Now there was no one, and she had only the chill and her memories and the bitter wind singing through the walls. Nuala went higher.

Higher, and higher, and higher. Up through the towers, until even she was shivering and her breath plumed in front of her. It was so cold she could hardly believe it; the chill bit at her right down to the bone but she kept going, in long restless circles, listening to the distant disharmonious song of human life.

Even her father drew her to his side one night and asked her gently, "what possesses you so?" Nuala had no answer, and so only took his hand, tried to smile, and drew away once more to pace the perimeters of her new territory.

Her path took her in ever widening circles until one night she found herself in the shadow of the long abandoned billboard, rain-washed and faded. Nuala pressed her hands to her belly, feeling the crown piece edge against her ribs, and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, her twin stood close enough to touch.

Her indrawn breath drew harshly enough to resemble a scream; in a heartbeat his hand was over her mouth and his body against hers, pressing her flat. Rain beaded on his armour, on his high cheekbones and pale eyelashes. "Shh, sister," he whispered, and his lips moved against her cheek. "I came only to visit you." His lips move like a caress. "Not to battle."

Words failed her. She could touch him, but the prospect almost frightened her. Because he was not home for good--because he might be a dream--because he was not safe, never had been, and even she might not be immune?

She could not think. Distance had grown between them, inserted like a blade by his own rejection of their world, widened with time--by now, she had assumed it healed over, like a grievous scar that would never leave her but only twinge, alienating them forever.

Instead, she could suddenly no longer feel the cold.

"Don't make a sound," he said, voice soft and not-quite-gentle, and his hand slid from her lips. She pressed her palms to her skirts, curling her fingers within them.

"You are bold to come here."

He stepped back, and she breathed in, obtrusive. Like a courtier he captured her hand and lifted it to his lips. Maybe mocking, maybe not; she had no way to tell that was not blinded by the knot of her own emotions in her chest.

Welcome home lingered on her tongue, inappropriate. She swallowed the words.

They stood at the edge of their respective territories, the mist of the wild rain clinging in her hair, the shadow of the towers falling over his body. His sword pressed into her hip, the hilt imprinting on her flesh, and he slid his fingers through her hair.

"Welcome home, brother," she said, surrendering to the words, and his eyes flashed.

"Home?" He whispered, close enough for his breath to touch her skin. "I dwell beneath the city now, have you not forgotten? Our father's court has not been my home for a long time."

Nuala closed her eyes. "Then there is no reason for you to be here. Your exile has not ended--you tread the very line of your vow, my brother."

"Always," he promised. "Always."

And then--as though no time had passed at all--he kissed her. It was soft, so soft, feather-light and gentle; the sounds of the city rose gently around them. She could feel his heartbeat even as her own sped up. She fisted her hands against his chest, nails dragging against his armour, and it was like it snapped some last string inside of him.

Her shoulder blades were pressed into cold metal; long lean hands cupped her face, holding her there so he could kiss her with increasing savagery. One leg was between hers, knee pinning the long fall of her skirts to the back of the billboard behind her, and she held on, shaking. The weeds rasped against their legs.

"Sister," he said, too soft and dangerous as he broke away, "for you I could walk the edge of a knife."

She drew toward him, helpless, pulled up short by her own skirts--she knew his goals and he knew she knew and abhorred them and for the moment it was swallowed up in them both by the rush of fulfillment a century of emptiness left them savagely aching for. Her breath was coming too fast, and heat burned in her cheeks, throat, just beneath her skin. Water slipped down the back of her neck as he shifted his stance to draw her skirts up her legs. His hands scalded her.

The clearness of his intentions was almost stunning; she sank her heels into the ground, knowing she should stop him, knowing this was--unthinkable--and yet only tipping her hips forward, helpless, as his hand cupped her.

Her head fell back, body shuddering, and--long fingers, calluses, the deliberate rock of his palm against her--it all dizzies her. Here she was hot, furnace-hot and slick. The pads of his fingers pressed into her, stroking her, and his lips touched hers. He was breathing as hard as she, now.

"Nuada--" Her voice was unsteady. She found the ties in his clothing--how long ago had it been since she'd sat on his bed and watched him dress as innocently as children, simply for his company in the morning?--and unwound them, nails and quick deft fingers, and she found him, hard and hot, and he hissed.

"Nuala," he whispered against her throat. One hand fisted in her hair as he drove into her, possessive and strong. She closed her eyes against the rain-damp fall of his hair, feeling the heat build between them like an inferno, and rose on her toes, moving against him. A gust of strong wind made the billboard creak and masked her small, shuddering cry as he tilted his hips and slid even deeper, moving slow and sure. Agonizingly slow, masking themselves in the shadows; she shook inside his arms, wordless, biting on her own wrist to keep silent, and his arm wrapped around her, crushingly tight, as she clenched around him.

She buried her face in the side of his throat, inhaling his scent, and tugged against his grip in her hair just to feel it tighten as his hand followed her, fingers then spreading against the back of her neck, hard and sure. Like the string of an instrument wound too tight, with each thrust--with each ripple of pleasure humming through her, responding as exquisitely as a plucked string--she felt closer to snapping.

She wondered what she would dream of tonight, and with the thought the world turned golden against the inside of her eyelids. It burst between them like a supernova, reflecting and ricocheting between them until she could barely find the breath for the scream she had to muffle against his throat.

"Nuala," he whispered, and his voice was a caress. She held onto him as long as she could before they slid apart, enough to reform some semblance of normality, of the life that went on without each other. His eyes nearly glowed in the dark as he looked at her.

She closed her eyes again. "Go," she instructed him, and her voice did not waver. "Go now."

Where she expected only the emptiness of rain and mist there was suddenly a hard kiss that rippled golden aftershocks through her; he was gone before she finished shuddering, and she regained her composure there in the weeds, piecing herself together through several long moments, before returning to shelter.

Her father smiled when he saw her. She wondered what new thing they saw in her; she felt the warmth like nothing else, and smiled beneath the weight of their eyes, serene as the moon.