Your Little Whore
Title: Your Little Whore [Sequel to: My Thoughts Perverse]
Pairing: One-sided Peter/Edmund
Rating: R
Warnings: Rape. Incest.
Summary: Hold still, it will be over soon.
EDMUND'S POV
I always knew you were sick, my brother. Always knew what you were.
Always.
You stare for hours, scorching my flesh with your hungry eyes.
I shift and squirm beneath those looks. Just what you want, to make me uncomfortable within my own skin.
I'm afraid, all the time. Even hearing your name makes my blood chill and freeze.
I try to hide, to blend with the walls. Never drawing attention or speaking too loud. But the effort is wasted, you always find me.
I don't remember the last time I was free of your presence. Its been too long since I were able to undress, to bathe without the fear of being watched.
And its been too long since I've felt safe.
Sometimes at night when I can't find sleep, I roll onto my side and open my eyes, and my breathing stops when I see you right there, wide awake and motionless and watching.
And haunting.
I know you have me memorized. Every muslce and contour and scar - you probably know my body better than I.
It disgusts me.
I disgust myself.
When I want to cry, I don't. You'll use it as an excuse to get close, to hold me too tight and let your hands wander wherever they want, clutching and clawing, learning the way my muscles feel beneath your fingertips.
Bile rises in my throat. I try to pull from your embrace. It's useless, though, I should have known. I'm nothing but weak compared to you, and all I can do is wonder, What is the use in being Just when my predator is Magnificent?
It's there in your eyes, when you enter my room. And I should have called for help when you turned to lock the door.
I know I'm pathetic when I don't make a sound. But you want me to put up a fight, and I won't.
I stay quiet, searching for comfort in the thought that this may well have been inevitable.
Only a matter of time, until you came to take what you want from me.
Your lips at my neck and teeth on my skin, it makes me shiver. The intimacy of every gesture burns me, and I'm surprised you aren't rough. Maybe because I'm not fighting back. Or perhaps you're just being careful, so as not to leave a mark.
I need to cry out when I feel you inside. I need to writhe and scream. But I don't.
Your hands are hot and your breath is hotter, and the sounds that pour from your lips make me ill. I want to vomit, to stop breathing and pass out.
I feel every part of you move. The strength of your arms and your hands and your legs. I feel you inside me, breaking my body and claiming my spirit.
My face is sticky with tears and I know that I'm shaking.
You're slicing me open, stretching me out, using me like a whore. And my tears fall faster and your moans are soft and your come is boiling inside me.
If I could choose one moment to die, I would choose this moment right now.
You pull yourself out, and pick up your pants, and I know you're staring all the while.
I've never felt more dirty or exposed in my entire life. I want to stand and run and scream. I want to scrub myself until my skin is raw.
I think if I stand, blood and semen will drip between my thighs. And that would make you smile. So I won't move and I won't give you the satisfaction of seeing your essence leak from my body.
I'll just lye here until you're gone.