Intimacy

Title: Intimacy
Author: Elisabeta
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Persephone/Twins; One/Two
Warnings: Big, squicky, bloody deathfic warnings. Not a main character - just a random girl the twins presumably picked up. I suppose I've inplied that they're sort of psychotic repeat killers. And there's graphic het sex, along with a little bit of slashy twinness. I think I need help, of the professional variety.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don’t sue. All you’ll get is a collection of my trashy fanfic and a well-thumbed copy of LotR anyway.
Summary: Persephone has issues with intimacy; she visits the twins to worem oem out.

***
“It bothers me”, said Persephone. “*They* bother me”.

The Merovingian made no effort to turn to his wife. He sat on the overstuffed leather sofa with his legs crossed at the knee, arms spread wide over the backs of the seat cushions. He was watching a movie. The movie was ‘Dead Ringers’.

Persephone shifted closer, the latex of her dress squeaking against the leather of the sofa. She toyed idly with the fabric of her husband’s expensive cuff.

The Merovingian sighed. “Who bothers you, my love?” he asked, his eyes still glued to the screen.

“You know who”, she said, resting her head on his arm. He sighed again. “The twins”.

“Ah, the twins”. On screen, there were twins. Jeremy Irons playing two roles, both… wrong. It was delightful. “What is it about them that bothers you so, chérie?”

“It’s just…” Persephone trailed her fingertips over the back of her husband’s hand. “I wish…”

“You are too human, my dear. You impose such human values. And if you want the two of them to be less… vocal, chérie, I am sure they would be only too happy to oblige. You have only to ask”.

Persephone rolled her eyes, but her husband of course did not see. He was entirely too involved with the scene unfolding on the screen, with Elliot and Beverly Mantle, with the gasp as cold steel punctured Elliot’s chest and the blood began to flow. He didn’t even bat an eyelid as his wife rose and swept from the room. He was used to her temper.

Persephone had seen the movie a hundred times or more. Her husband, despite his apparent love affair with all things French, had a cinematic taste leaning more to the American avant garde, which explained the endless hours he spent tucked away in his study with his plasma-screen television and his collection of Cronenberg DVDs. Most likely he would be in there for the entire afternoon, and well into the evening, obsessing over Videodrome and Scanners and Crash.

Persephone, however, had other plans.

She smiled to herself as she crossed the chateau foyer. Her heels and tight white dress made walking awkward but she had it down to an art, the latex of her dress pulling tight against her thighs and the heels of her shoes clicking rhythmically against the marble floor, and then the marble stairs. She trailed one hand g thg the banister, using the other to flick back her long hair over her shoulder. She walked quickly. She had purpose.

Her husband thought her complaint was about the noise that the twins made. He was depressingly naïve at times. In reality – if there was such a thing – she had no complaint about them at all.

She could hear them already, from the top of the staircase. It was a far-off sound though she knew the source was not so very far away, only dampened by doors and wall-hangings. She opened the double doors that led into the east wing and walked through into the corridor.

The sound grew louder with each step. There were screams, sobbing, pleading… she heard it at least once a week from the bed she shared with her husband. It made her heart race. Her husband put in earplugs and offered a pair to her. Her answer was always the same contemptuous scowl; he’d shrug and return to his book.

She stopped outside the door. There was a girl inside the room, sobbing incoherently. She supposed it was some vain attempt in forming words but the words were unimportant. What mattered was the passion in her tone. It was heavenly.

Persephone reached out and took the cold metal handle of the old wooden door in her hand. Slowly, silently, she swung it open.

The room was lit only by scattered candles and for a moment she couldn’t see. The heavy drapes were drawn. But soon her eyes adjusted and from indistinct shapes formed two tall, identical men, and one small, frightened girl.

One was naked. His clothes were folded and piled neatly on a dresser by the wall, by the chair in which Two was seated. One had his hair tied back with a long black satin ribbon that trailed down his back. He had his straight razor in his hand. It was already streaked with blood.

The girl was curled up, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms bloody from the gashes by her shoulders. Her hair was dirty blonde but streaked sickly red-brown and matted against her pale skin. She was sitting, cowering, by the pillows, and the headboard of the twins’ four-poster bed. One was standing by her, eyeing her coldly. The girl was crying.

One quickly backhanded her across the face, the ring on his hand scraping viciously against her cheek. Her hands flew to it and One seized her wrist. She shrieked. One reached out and held the razor to her throat.

Persephone slammed the door.

One’s head snapped up and he stared at her. Two smiled faintly; he’d noticed her the moment the door had opened. The girl just looked at her with huge, doleful, teary eyes and the hope in them stung.

“Ah, ma pauvre…” Persephone stepped toward the bed, arms outstretched. One withdrew the blade with a frown and stepped away; the girl scrambled toward Persephone, the woman in white. Persephone sat on the edge of the bed and took the girl in her arms. She sobbed against the latex of her dress, smearing blood and tears all over it. Persephone held her, stroked her hair.

“It’s all right, it’s over”, she crooned, as she gazed over the girl’s shoulder, over at One. He had none of a human’s modesty. He stood, leant against the hard stone wall with his arms crossed over his chest, making no attempt to cover his nakedness. Persephone smiled.

“It’s over, ma pauvre petite fille…”

“Thank you, thank you…” muttered the girl. Persephone drew back slowly, took the girl’s arms in her hands, and nodded. She looked up at One.

“You were going to kill her”, she said simply.

“Of course”, said One. The girl shook, trembled in Persephone’s hands.

She reached up with her right hand, rubbed the bloody tears from the girl’s cheek with her thumb. She smiled kindly. The girl tried to smile in return but she was shaking so hard, she was so confused… She sobbed loudly.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay”, said Persephone. “It’s okay now, I’m here…” She tilted the girl’s chin with the back of her hand and leaned in closer.

Their lips touched. The emotion was so unrestrained, so pure that it took her breath away, the fear hop, pain, relief… it flooded into her, made her heart race. It was intoxicating. It was beautiful. And it was not meant to last. She drew back.

“It’s all over”, she said, and she left the bed.

The girl frowned, then her eyes went wide. “No!” she screamed, and scrambled for the edge of the bed. “No! Help me!” But she was too slow. One sprang onto the bed, yanked back her head by the dirty blonde hair and slit her throat even before she could reach the floor.

The girl reached out to Persephone, fingers clawing in the air as she gurgled blood from her throat. It ran down her torso between her breasts, over her stomach, staining the white sheets red. And then her eyes went blank. She dropped forward. She was dead.

Persephone leaned back against the heavy oak door and watched as One left the bed, wiping the razor clean on a cloth he plucked from the nightstand. He turned and tossed the cloth onto a chair across the room when he’d finished, his back to Persephone, the long black ribbon in his hair trailing right down to the cleft of his arse. He looked back at her over his shoulder as he stood there, tapping the wide edge of the blade against his thigh.

“Is there something you wanted?” he asked, replacing his sunglasses.

“Perhaps”, she replied, a smile quirking the corners of her mouth.

One turned and stalked toward her, the slap of his bare feet against the stone floor audible and strangely enticing. Persephone watched him come and did not shy away. His pale skin was made almost golden by the candlelight, set off by the streaks of dark blood. With his hair tied back, the fine muscles of his neck and shoulders stood out in a way she’d never seen. His lips curled into a smirk as he pressed her back against the door.

She gasped as his forearm barred painfully over her collarbone. Then she smiled. She ran her hands over his chest, over his smooth white skin, feeling the strong muscles just beneath the surface. Her fingertips skirted down over his dark nipples, over his stomach, feeling the unexpected quiver that brightened the smile on her lips. Then her hands dipped lower, found the trail of fine white hair that led from his navel, and followed it down ‘til her hand was wrapped around his hardening cock.

One smirked. “So that’s what you want”, he said.

In a flash he’s grabbed her arms, twisted and flung her, hard. She went skittering across the room on her too-high heels, and landed face-down on the bed. She righted herself, lying back against eh sheets with a broad smile splitting her face. She laughed.

One strode toward her, the hardness between his legs jutting out and bobbing with each step. He shoved the corpse from the bed and let it flop to the floor with a dull thud of skull on stone, then he stroked his cock once, up and down, as he looked down at Persephone.

She moved back across the bed but couldn’t spread her thighs. One didn’t seem to care; he tapped the razor against his thigh as he looked down at her. Then he leant forward, steadying his weight over her with his left hand by her hip, and used the razor to slit open her dress from hem to navel. If nothing else, it was worth ruining the dress for the look on One’s face and the satisfying sound of ripping latex.

One spread her legs. Her clear plastic heels rested against the bed, dug into the sheets and set her legs at an almost impossible angle; One ran his silver-ringed, silver-tipped fingers firmly over her ankles, up over the backs of her calves, over her knees, up to her thighs. Persephone made it a personal habit never to wear underwear and that day was no exception. One’s dark lips curled as he ran his fingertip over the coarse hair between her legs.

He dipped his thumb down into her and flicked it once over her clit. She gasped and shifted her hips, looking up at him as he knelt between her ankles. He still held the razor in his hand; as his thumb massaged gently at her throbbing clit he ran the back of the steel e ove over her ankle, over her calf, over her thigh. She watched him do it, the candlelight reflecting golden in the silver steel as tiny quakes of pleasure rippled through her.

He changed hands. His right thumb took its place at her clit and the razor rested flat against the flushed skin of her abdomen. His left hand moved over her leg, squeezed hard at her thigh; she felt the scrape of his sharp nails against her arse before he ran them over her belly, up to the end of the split in her dress. He moved and cupped her breast roughly through the latex, squeezed hard. He slid two fingers inside her as he did it and she gasped. Then she moaned.

He was over her now, resting on his left arm. She stared at her own eyes reflected in his sunglasses as his fingers thrust inside her, his thumb sliding over her clit. Her mouth hung open. She breathed heavily. He smiled, exposing perfect white teeth.

He was careful not to kiss her lips, but his mouth found her collarbone and latched on roughly. He bit at it and she found she’d moved her hands to his back, painted nails clawing livid red marks over the white skin. One just bit down harder, thrust into her a little faster.

And then he sat back, withdrew. Persephone frowned and raised herself on her elbows to look down at him over her exposed body. He smirked at her. He picked up his razor and tossed it further up the bed, the heavy pearl handle making it bounce. Then he took his cock in his hand and held it a moment as though feeling its weight. Persephone smiled, sucking in her bottom lip and running her teeth over it as she watched.

One cupped his balls with his free hand and squeezed. Persephone’s smile widened. Then he inched forward on his knees and leant down over her; she parted her thighs still further, almost to the point of pain, feeling her heart flutter in anticipation. She watched as One reached down between them and parted her lips with his fingertips. She held her breath as he pushed down inside her.

A long, slow thrust and One was balls-deep inside her. She smiled and lay back, letting him hook his arms under hers, letting him align his body over her. His abdomen rested against hers, his chest pressing against, her latex-covered breasts as he buried his lips in the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She could feel him deep inside her and she willed him to move.

He did. He withdrew up to the tip and then thrust back into her, long and hard. A soft moan escaped her lips. It hadn’t been this way with her husband in years.

He moved faster. Their sweat-slicked bodies moved against each other, mixed with the blood drenching the bed sheets. One moved faster, buried himself inside her with almost bone-jarring force. She could take it. She wanted it. She’d had enough of gentle, impassive lovemaking to last a lifetime or more. She wanted passion and fire and pain. One gave it to her.

She met his thrusts with thrusts of her own, jarring his pelvis with hers. She could feel it starting in her, warm fingers spreading through her, writhing in her stom rak raking at her cunt. He hands grasped at the sheets and her nails almost cut at her palms. One picked up his razor. Her eyes flickered open. She came with cold, sharp steel against her throat.

He didn’t withdraw at first; he ceased moving, just lay there with his hard cock still inside her and his blade at her throat as she quaked with tiny aftershocks and caught her breath. She stared at him, wondering what he meant to do next, the feel of him still in her ane pre press of metal at her throat making her shiver. Then he pulled out, moved away, sat cross-legged beside her tapping the blade against his thigh. His pale skin was still red-brown with blood.

He leant in to kiss her and she held her breath, but he stopped half way. He hovered above her.

“Enough”.

The loud, familiar voice made her start and made One smile. It was Two. She’d forgotten he was there.

She straightened her legs and crossed them at the ankle as she propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. He’d watched them all the while and now he was crossing the room, boot-heels clicking loudly on the flagstones, removing his coat. He stopped by the corpse next to the bed, toed its limp right arm out of the way and tossed his coat into a chair across the room.

She watched entranced as One left the bed, standing up beside his twin perhaps three feet from him. They looked at each other. Two’s hand reached out and trailed down over One’s o, to, tracing the patches of dried blood, scratching at them with his sharp silver nails. One stepped closer, his arms encircling his twin’s waist.

Two’s fingers closed on the ribbon in One’s hair and traced its line down the centre of his back. His hands settled on One’s arse and pulled him forward, pulled him closer. Persephone’s heart skipped as One’s cock pressed into his twin’s clothed stomach.

They kissed then, but only briefly. Two turned One around, to face the bed and face Persephone. Two fitted close and perfect to One’s back, his hand closing on his cock. Their eyes fixed on her; seeing into the code and through their glasses she knew they were staring at her, small smiles on their faces. It brought a flush to her cheeks. She couldn’t help but watch.

They stood together, Two behind One, Two’s left arm barred over One’s stomach, Two’s right hand wrapped around One’s cock. Two jerked roughly, resting his head on his ’s s’s shoulder to look at Persephone as she lay on the bed. Her eyes were on Two’s hand as he jerked, her fingers straying down between her thighs. It didn’t take long. She thrust herself achingly into orgasm as One came in hot, sticky bursts over his twin’s hand.

“I should be going”, Persephone said, inching forward off the bed. “My husband will wonder”. Two nodded and licked han hand clean. One was unbuttoning Two’s vest.

She made her way to the door, remarkably steady on her feet. Her dress hung open from the navel and she was flushed from the heat. It had been a remarkable afternoon.

At the last moment, she turned back. One was directly behind her and he swept her up against the doorframe.

“We wanted to cut you”, he murmured, dark lips beside her ear as he tapped the flat of his blade against the exposed curve of her breast, just by the latex. His voice made her shiver. “You would have liked it”. She glanced over at Two. He was smiling.

One left her then and the twins kissed, hard, hungry. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that was meant for her eyes and she felt almost embarrassed to see it. Almost.

“Stop”, she said. The twins broke the kiss, identical faces turning to her. “I want you to kiss me”. Two nodded slowly. “As though you were kissing him”.

Two stepped closer and took her shoulders roughly in his hands. He pulled her to him, then he kissed her.

He ran his tongue over her lips, pressed it into her mouth, kissed her hungrily. Persephone took hold of the back of his beck, under his dreadlocks, and pulled him in tight against her, his hardness pressing against her stomach through the fabric of his pants.

What she felt then she’d never felt before. It was passion and it was logic, beyond anything she knew. It was oneness. It was completion.

Two smiled as they broke the kiss.

“Weren’t you leaving?” he asked. She nodded, stepped back into the doorway.

“Thank you”, she said.

“Anytime”. It was a twin response, as the two turned back to each other.

As she stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her, One spoke again, for them both.

“Feel free to stop by next week”, he said. “We’ll be waiting for you”. Persephone smiled. She might just do that.

She walked back down the corridor, down toward her room. She was practically naked, covered witsheesheen of perspiration and her dress was bloody and tattered but it didn’t matter. In fact, she had half a mind to walk back downstairs, into her husband’s study and show him exactly what she’d been up to. Though, knowing him, he’d be too busy jacking off to Cronenberg to even notice.

The Merovingian was so short-sighted when it came to her, when it came to love. Perhaps at times her sensibilities were disarmingly human, but to connect the twins and incest? The twins were simulations, programs – they weren’t brothers. Her problem was with their intimacy, and the lack thereof in her travesty of a marriage.

She opened the door to her bedroom, closed it behind her. She traced the lines on her skin that One had put there, and she shimmied from her dress. She stepped into the shower, under the hot spray. She wondered why they even had separate designations. Their existence was clear to her now.

What was between them wasn’t incest. One and Two were the same. Running her hands over her breasts, over an unnoticed razor-nick on her stomach, she smiled. What was between them… it was masturbation.

***
End
***