	Hot. Uncomfortably hot. Incredibly hot. Unbearably hot.

	By the third time Cutlass woke up like this, she'd shifted from wondering why it was called “heat” to wondering how she supposed to stand it. Her blood burned beneath her skin, her thighs felt half-numb with tension, and the only thought she could focus on for more than five seconds was relief. Every instinct screamed at her to mate, or at the very least get some other kind of friction going between her thighs. It was getting harder to think of it as an obstacle to overcome instead of a need to satisfy. More than once during the last two nights, she'd briefly entertained the thought of giving in and doing just that. It would have been so easy to sneak away on her own somewhere, and even easier to slip her arm down between her legs, just for a few minutes...

	She then decided it was best to get up and put her mind on something else before she did anything she would regret. She forced herself to sit up and close the persistent gap that had kept forming between her legs.

	A quick glance at Damascus told her he hadn't been sleeping. Again. She still wasn't sure what exactly had been keeping him awake—self-loathing that he still felt the way he did about her, spite at the distance that had formed between the two since he told her, the alluring scent that had started coming off of her in waves three mornings ago, or some kind of combination of the three. The sunrise let just enough light into the hollow for Cutlass to make out the stain of dried tears on his face, but she found it hard to take note of that, because he was poking out of his sheath again. It was nothing she hadn't already seen since years ago, so she wasn't put off by it anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact. She had a little trouble looking away from it while she spoke to him.

	“You were crying again...”

	“If it annoys you, I can go somewhere else to do it,” he offered, refusing to look at her.

	She was a little taken aback by that response. Had he really begun to think so little of himself? She suddenly became aware of how much she'd been avoiding him since he'd confessed, and supposed he took this as repulsion on her part.

	“No, that's not why I said it.”

	As if made of stone, he remained lying on his back, still and unmoving. He kept his tone neutral and his gaze on the ceiling. “Then why bother to say it? You haven't said anything else to me in the last week.”

	“I...” she was at a loss. “I'm sorry, Damascus, I—I just don't know what I'm supposed to think of you anymore...”

	“You don't know what to think of me anymore?!” he finally moved, getting up to stand, and looking her square in the eyes for the first time in a week. He didn't know how else to vent everything that had run through his mind in that time, so he just said it. He stood there and accused her, as if she had knowingly made him feel so rejected and unwanted.

	“That's all, then?! You don't hate me?! You don't think I'm disgusting or perverted?! You don't wish you had someone else for a brother?! You don't wish you could just leave and never have to see me again?!!”

	“Damascus--”

	“YOU DON'T WISH I WOULD HAVE DIED THAT WINTER WHEN I WAS SICK SEVEN YEARS AGO?!!”

						XXXXX

	[i]The harsh winter wind howled just outside the opening of the sleeping quarters. Nearly the whole of Rapier's pack was out hunting , as food had become scarce, and only a few members of the pack were old enough to hunt.

	Unfortunately, its formerly-most-able member had to stay behind.

	The bed-ridden shiny Pawniard lay on his back, his lungs so heavy it was hard to breathe. He shivered uncontrollably, both from the cold and fear for his life. His latest fit of congested coughing had finally settled down, but now his throat had been left even closer to closing up completely than it ever had before. It took nearly all the strength left in his aching, oxygen-deprived body to stay conscious and keep breathing.

	He knew he was going to die before the next morning. He'd contracted a fatal disease that invariably killed each of its victims within a few days, or at the very most, a week. The illness attacked the respiratory tract, gradually closing up the victim's lungs and throat until the infected Pokemon suffocated. The disease was not known to be contagious, but there was also no known cure. All hope for his survival had been cast aside by the rest of the pack. He hadn't even been fed since the first coughing fit had struck four days ago, as there was not enough food left to waste any on a pack member who was unable to contribute their own hunting efforts to compensate.

	With each coughing fit, Damascus's life was slipping. Somehow, he knew his next fit would be his last. He'd already accepted it. He considered himself lucky even to have lived to the age of twelve. Two of his sisters died before they ever hatched, and his brother had died two years ago, at the age of six, his life cut short by the very same illness that afflicted Damascus now.

	His only concern was for what would happen to his last sibling.

	Cutlass stubbornly remained at his side, refusing to accept the inevitable. He HAD to live. She'd already had so much loss in the 11 years she'd been alive. If she lost him, there would be nothing left. No friends, and no family besides her father, who, in all fairness, was a warrior first, a leader second, a dictator third, and a parent last.

	She didn't even want to rule the pack when she grew up. They didn't accept her or her brother as their future rulers, or even as their equals. She was the only female in the pack out of five who had ever survived for more than a year or two, and thus they shared the impression that all females were inferior. Damascus had a coloration unlike anything any living Pawniard or Bisharp had ever seen before, and so everyone assumed this was an unwanted deformity. It was thought of as a stain in the otherwise fine and flawless  fabric of Rapier's bloodline that was to be cut off at Damascus's generation by disallowing him to pass it on to children of his own. It was a disgrace.

	The pack didn't want either of them. She was the only one who cared if he died. She refused to leave him when everyone else had. She wouldn't give up on him. She clung to him as if for her own life, her arms wrapped around his torso, her body shaken by shudders and sobs...[/i]

						XXXXX

	“... Was that when it started?” Cutlass finally ended the silence that had settled between her and her brother since his last outburst.

	He nodded, finding himself on the verge of tears again. “You were the only reason I kept gasping for air.” He covered his face with his arms. “You were the only one who ever cared, and now I don't even have you anymore...!”

	So that was why he'd cried every night since confessing to her. That was why he even cried over her so easily [i]at all[/i] lately. That was why he'd been unable to sleep without her at his side since ever since he'd gotten sick, all that time ago.

	He didn't just love her; he had an abandonment complex.

	And she had done exactly that in the last week—abandoned him.

	That was enough. She ignored the awkward situation that had formed between them. She ignored the fact that he thought of her as more than a sister. She even ignored the reactions both of their bodies were having to her heat. He still needed her, and she still needed him; that mattered more than anything else.

	She comforted him the same way she always had when he cried before he'd told her he loved her; the same way he needed her to right then. She embraced him. He returned it eagerly, holding onto her so tightly that both their sets of external ribs locked with one another. The flat sides of her blades came to rest on his back, and she stroked it up and down a few times, the same as when he'd found her after she'd been exiled not long ago.

	“I'm still right here, Damascus,” she soothed. “You're still my friend, and my brother. I haven't forgotten that.”

	Instead of responding with words, he just tightened his grip and kept crying, though it had gotten more quiet.

	By the time the sun had completely risen above the horizon, the crying had subsided entirely. In spite of that, they still held on to one another. Damascus was reluctant to let go of her again, and Cutlass found herself almost unable to. Now that he'd been calmed down, and she had nothing else to distract her from it, her heat had started acting up again. He was her brother, true, but he was also the opposite sex, and his body was incredibly close to hers. Up until then, she'd never really noticed how [i]male[/i] his scent was, either...

	Becoming aware of the smell of her heat flaring up again, he let go of her and covered his nose. A familiar, unwanted warmth returned to his face when he remembered he was still poking just out of his sheath. He wasted no time in thinking of an excuse to leave.

	“Um... I ate the last of the Tropius last night, so we're going to need more food.”

	“I can't hunt like this...” Cutlass was loathe to turn down the opportunity to sink her blades into something, but she'd learned her own limits well enough by now that she knew better. “The smell would give me away before I even got close to anything, and I can't think straight in the first place...” she shifted her position slightly to lean against the hollow's wall on her side, crossing her legs awkwardly.

	“Err, right...” he hadn't thought of that. It would be tough to hunt anything worth eating if he didn't have any help; most of the prey in the area was big and powerful. The only smaller prey were Golduck and Mienfoo, the latter of which held a colossal type advantage over Pawniard. He highly doubted there would be any eggs to steal around this time of year; fall had set in, and trying to keep eggs warm would be too foolish for any Pokemon to try, save for perhaps an Ice type, but no such Pokemon lived anywhere within a reasonable distance. Most of the plants were already half-dead by now, so foraging in the nearby White Forest would be a huge chore that would yield few desirable results.

	“I guess I could try to find a Psyduck somewhere and we could eat that...” he offered, quickly running out of options.

	“Better than nothing,” she shrugged. Psyduck were nowhere near as tasty as Golduck, but taking down a Golduck was tough without help. They were too quick, and had the advantage of attacking from a distance, something that Pawniard lacked. She would have to settle for now.

	“I'll be back later, then,” he stifled a sigh of relief and headed for the biggest part of the river with utmost haste, nearly forgetting to bring his helmet in the process.

	It wasn't difficult to find a young, plump Psyduck and lure it away from its parents, nor was it difficult to decapitate the bird. If anything, it was just a little annoying to carry the fat thing back up to the hollow to be cooked and eaten.

	Unlike the previous week, the two Dark-types engaged in conversation over their dinner, as they used to. The main topic was what they were going to do about the food shortage during winter. It was much easier to feed two mouths than thirteen, but it was also considerably easier to hunt with the power of thirteen rather than just one. Hunting the hibernating Tropius population was out of the question—that was practically suicide without the force of large numbers. The Altaria were migrating, and only one flock or two had yet to leave for a warmer climate. The plants were dying quickly, and with them, their fruits. Neither Cutlass nor Damascus had any fishing experience, but unless they wanted to eat nothing but Psyduck all winter, it seemed they would have to learn quickly. At the very least, Cutlass would be able to do this without worrying about the scent of her heat giving her away.

	As imperative as the subject at hand was, neither of them were really focused on talking about it, thanks to that very same scent. Damascus stared disconnectedly at the meat skewered on his blade as he took bites from it, but it was easy to tell he wasn't really seeing what he was looking at. He'd given up on trying to cover his nose by the time dinner was half-over. It was pointless. The smell was too strong to avoid breathing in, especially when the source was only a few feet across from him, on the other side of the fire that did nearly nothing to ward off the Arceusdamned scent. He didn't even want to know how far he'd slid out of his sheath, but his best guess was at least halfway.

	Were he aware that Cutlass was having such a difficult time trying not to stare at the dark reddish organ, he may have made some effort to cover it.

	It still looked oddly grotesque to her when she really thought about it, but when she considered how it might [i]feel[/i], it was vastly more appealing. Though she hadn't seen the entire length of it, it still looked like it would be enough to fill her completely, and maybe even stretch her out a bit. She noticed it twitch once, and tried to imagine how it would feel if it did that inside her...

	… Then Cutlass noticed the stone she'd been sitting on was getting a little wet, and immediately crossed her legs together. She forced back a sigh of frustration, her face flushing red. She didn't dare take her eyes off her food again, and she didn't know how she could take another night of this. She knew Damascus must have been feeling the same way, though he wasn't going to portray it. She'd already reacted so badly when he'd told her he had any feelings for her at all, let alone sexual ones. He probably thought she'd never forgive him if he did.

	Whether it was just the smell itself that was causing it, or he really was attracted to her that way specifically, it was obvious to Cutlass that his body was going through the same stress hers was. She had the same blood in her veins that he did, but they were also a male and a female, both with natural needs and desires. How wrong would it really be if they were to satisfy each other...?

	“... Damascus?” she half-mumbled, hardly believing what she was about to say.

	“Hm?” he snapped out of his blank stare, not having expected to be spoken to again at that moment.

	“My heat is [i]reeeaally[/i] bothering me,” she groaned, leaning back a little.

	“Uhh, o-okay...” His eyes widened minutely, and he had to look away from her again. But he couldn't. “Why are you telling me this???”

	“I want you to do something about it.” She uncrossed her legs and spread them, hoping she looked as good to him as he did to her right then.

	“WHAT?!” his voice cracked awkwardly.

	“You know as well as I do neither of us can stand this,” she pointed to his mostly-erect member, “and I don't think I can even put up with it all fall and winter.”

	Dumbstruck, he found himself at a loss for words, and unable to look away from her little pink folds, and that tiny opening that promised him the world and more. She had a point: They would both be miserable until spring if they did nothing about it, and fall had just barely set in.

	But that was no excuse. What kind of brother would he be if he went through with this, even if she'd given her obvious and full consent?

	“I...” he shook his head. “I can't do that, Cutlass.”

	“Why not?” she tried to tempt him further. “You want to. I want to. I won't think any less of you. No one would know. No one but Arceus Itself can judge us.”

	“[i]I[/i] would know,” he countered. “It's wrong, and I know that. Even if it wasn't, what if something happened? What if I hurt you? And, what if you have eggs? What then?!”

	“I'm half Steel-type, Damascus. I have a high pain tolerance, so you're probably not even big enough to hurt me. Besides...” she scooted back further on the flat stone and lay on her back, “... eggs break easily.”

	What she said was completely detestable, but seeing her lying on her back with her legs spread for him, her clitoris peeking at him, and the little hole beneath it twitching and glistening with the light of the nearby fire had more of an effect on him. He felt his pulse throbbing in a place he wished it wasn't. His resistance was weakening faster than his knees.

	“... We really shouldn't do this...”

	“And you really shouldn't be in love with me, either, but you are.”

	He wasn't sure if he could argue with that, nor was he sure whether he even wanted to try anymore. 

	“... Can we at least go inside first?” If they were going to go through with it, they might as well not be entirely indecent. Besides, the rock she was lying on didn't look comfortable.

	“Fine.” Cutlass pushed herself up and gave him a smile that was half sincere and half triumphant, leading him into the hollow. She lay on her back again, this time in his bed, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he lay atop her.

	Because this was a time when most Pokemon only had one or two specific mating positions per subspecies based on body type, rather than being able to choose between several, this was the only option they knew of. Put simply: They weren't built like canines, so they wouldn't mate like canines. Such a thing had not been heard of yet, the same way only very similar subspecies of Pokemon could communicate even loosely at this point in time.

	Their only other option was for her to straddle his waist and bounce on him, but that was too advanced for anyone without experience. Instead, he would remain on top of her the whole time, unless they chose to try other alternatives to actual mating. He chose his angle carefully when doing this, so that the sets of blades on their torsos would lock, rather than cut into one anothers' stomachs. He'd been this close to her plenty of times, but under the new circumstances, he felt... pressured. He was unsure of himself. He didn't think he'd have the stamina or experience to satisfy her before tiring out.

	But that didn't matter just yet. For now, he was content with pressing his lips to hers, relishing the content hum she gave when he did. They both found this oddly addictive, and soon one kiss became many kisses. As this went on, her arms and the flat sides of her blades explored his shoulders, his back, his sides... Hardened muscles were evident beneath his tough skin, and for reasons she didn't understand, she loved to feel them. He would have made a strong leader and warrior if he had taken the chance that was given to him, but right now, she was more glad than ever that he hadn't.

	It didn't take long for them to get more passionate. She kept him in place by holding the back of his head as best she could, and rubbed his tongue with hers. They tasted one anothers' dinner, but somehow it wasn't unpleasant to them. Their mouths just stayed molded together, and they explored each others' thoughtlessly, having forgotten all notions of being siblings. That was no longer significant.

	He took a particular interest in his sister's lower body, stroking up and down from her hips to her thighs and back. She pressed into his touch with a small sound of approval that was neither a coo nor a moan, but something in between. Acting on instinct and impulse, she ground her hips against his, thus rubbing the underside of his now fully-unsheathed organ against her folds. He groaned upon feeling pleasure like this for the first time, and rubbed back, changing his angle enough to grant her most sensitive bundle of nerves some much-coveted attention. She gave a low moan, wrapping her legs around his waist and locking her ankles. He bit the inside of his lip, his face flushing red when he realized precum was already leaking from his tip, adding to the fluids that had already coated her dark pink vulva.

	The shiny Pawniard doubted he would last long at all once he was inside, and he doubted even more that he could handle doing this twice, having no previous experience. Still, he wanted to make this the best experience for her that he could, and there were a few other ways he could do that.

	Damascus continued to slowly grind against her as he left a trail of kisses that started at her mouth and led down to her chest, between her two buds. She was a little less developed there than most female Pawniard her age, but she wasn't at all far behind, either. There still would have been enough fat for him to squeeze, but unfortunately, Pawniard didn't get hands until they evolved. For now, he merely ran his tongue over the right lump a few times, noticing her skin was much softer here than elsewhere. He then let his tongue drag over her peaking teat.

	“Mmmph...” the former heiress moaned just a bit louder than before as he suckled it. At the same time, he delicately rubbed the left one in circles. She had to keep herself from writhing under his touch. It was pleasing, but she was as impatient as ever, wanting him to focus more on the throbbing ache in her core. The outside rubbing wasn't enough anymore—she needed something to fill the void of her dripping center.

	The older sibling seemed to pick up on this quickly. He let his tongue drag along her skin from her now saliva-covered breast down to her opening, and the raw scent—not to mention the sweet taste—of her heat intoxicated him all over again. It was no wonder why they called it “heat.” Her inner folds felt torrid against his lips and tongue.

	On the receiving end, Cutlass was more than happy to finally start feeling a little satiated. He held onto her hips with his blades as his tongue flicked over that little bundle of nerves relentlessly, and she was just as content to keep her legs locked around his face and neck. She keened at his ministrations, and her pulse started racing when he poked his tongue inside her. Pawniard had short little tongues, but this was entirely new territory, so that hardly mattered. A small gasp escaped her as he started pumping his tongue in and out, the first few involuntary squeezes around it sending shivers up her spine. They soon got into sort of a rhythm of this, and she started clenching the wet muscle of her own accord every time it pushed in, panting and moaning with abandon all the while...

	And then it stopped.

	She let her legs slip off his shoulders as his tongue left her, groaning at the loss. But he wasn't going to leave her untouched for long. He licked along her folds one last time to savor the taste, and then covered her body with his again. She smirked with feminine pride—something she never thought she would do—when she felt something hot and hard settle between the lips of her entrance again. He held her sides and pulled back just a little, his thick tip prodding her opening. He hesitated for a moment, remembering the significance of what he was about to to, what he was about to take away from her. Their eyes locked.

	“Cutlass... Are you really sure about this?”

	She didn't answer. Instead, she locked her legs around his waist again, and pulled him in with one abrupt motion. His back arched at the sudden warmth and tightness around his endowment, and he struggled to keep his hips from moving. She bit the inside of her lip as she took in his entire length, the stretching causing a minimal amount of pain. She thanked Arceus she was half-Steel type, and didn't even want to guess how much it would have hurt otherwise. She averted her gaze from where their bodies had joined, and instead looked up at his eyes again.

	“Don't move yet, okay?”

	“I won't,” he murmured, covering her mouth with his again and desperately wishing he could start drilling into her, but he knew it would hurt her, so he was patient. This time she tasted her own juices on his tongue, and flushed red at the thought of it. She briefly wondered if his tasted anything like hers, but knew she probably wouldn't get the chance to find out. Before much longer, the pain subsided, and she'd accommodated him. She pulled her lips away from his, her warm breath teasing them as she panted subtly.

	“I'm ready.”

	That was all Damascus needed to hear.

	He'd been nearly overcome by the urge to start going as fast as he could and hit orgasm the minute she'd first pulled him in, but he knew better. He started with slow, steady thrusts, taking all but the tip of his length out of her before sliding it all the way back in again. A breathy moan rattled her throat once he'd found his rhythm. The tension that had built in her core over the last three days and nights was finally starting to be worked off. She tried to buck her hips and clench his girth in time with his thrusts, but had trouble doing both at the same time, as she wasn't used to using those particular muscles yet. Instead, she left the movement up to him, and contented herself with just squeezing him upon each entrance, the same as she'd done with his tongue. She grinned in triumph when he gave a low moan, still entirely unused to this kind of pleasure himself.

	He picked up the pace once he was sure he'd leaked out enough precum to do so without causing any damage, eliciting louder moans from her. Pleasure wracked his body in waves even as she was unable to keep up, and had to switch to grinding her hips against his. He was barely able to handle this much. All too soon, he felt his stomach starting to tighten.

	“Cutlass...” he huffed, “I can't keep going much longer...!”

	“I'm close, too...!” she panted, her bright yellow eyes half-rolled back.

	Her thighs clenched around his waist tighter than ever as his thrusts lost their rhythm and became more erratic. He moved as fast as he could, losing himself in her warmth, her tightness, her wetness, her moans... The knot in his stomach was tightening, building up to what would be the first orgasm of his life. The occasional drips of lubrication from his tip became frequent spurts. He put everything he had into a few final thrusts...!

	Damascus pressed his lips to hers as he buried himself inside her one last time and let himself release into her awaiting core. She pressed back and clenched tightly and uncontrollably around him, her own orgasm set off by the force of his hot fluids shooting right past her cervix. Their chests heaved as they reached the height of pleasure and stayed there for a bit. There was nothing in their world but themselves, their joined bodies, and the pleasure for nearly a minute. She moaned into his mouth, a long, drawn-out sound of bliss.

	Soon, the feeling started to die, and her legs trembled as they left his waist. Their mouths separated as they came down from their high, their chests heaving as they panted, suddenly becoming exhausted. He pulled his length out of her folds with a small squelch, his face heating up again when he saw that some of his juices were leaking back out. She pulled him back into her arms and held his body atop hers, ignoring his wet member pressing against her leg.

	A pleasant sort of tingling sensation was left behind where the shiny's orgasm had died. His guess had been right—he was suddenly becoming drowsy. He wanted to tell Cutlass he loved her, but it still felt so completely wrong. As the haze of his mind cleared up more, the weight of what he'd just done sank in. He'd taken his little sister's virginity away, along with his own. It bothered him, how easily he'd given in to it, and how [i]wrong it was[/i], and how [i]amazing[/i] it was.

	And that he would do it again if he could.

	“Damascus?” she murmured, smiling up at him weakly, the usual blazing fire in her eyes reduced down to a glowing ember.

	“Hmm...?” he blinked at her with heavy eyelids.

	“I love you too.”