Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/578587.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Caliborn/Calliope
  Character:
      Damara_Megido, Caliborn, Calliope_(Homestuck)
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, First_Time, First_Kiss, Oral_Sex, Cunnilingus, Lap_Sex,
      Humanstuck, AU, Implied_Character_Death, draft
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-11-30 Words: 5312
****** June 28, 1998 ******
by mousaerato
Summary
     This is a flashback scene for the bigger work 'Vice.' After a few
     beta readers suggested I publish this to AO3 separate from the main
     work, I decided it would work. The final version will most likely be
     different, however.
Notes
     I should probably mention that this is a DRAFT...
                …as the music died down around them, Caliborn and Damara
attempted to continue a conversation. The air around them was electric, buzzing
with the murmurs of couples enjoying each other’s company in the restaurant.
Caliborn never smiled, but for the first time, Damara got a look at what she
considered a relaxed look on his face. She was surprised to see how much
tension he held in his muscles seem to melt away as he took a sip of lime-
infused water to wash back the taste – and the blood – of his rare steak.
Damara was always attracted to him, even from the day they met seemingly eons
ago, but never until that moment had she really had the opportunity to lookat
him. It was always in sly glances without his knowledge, peeks in her
peripheral vision, or in the middle of “work” where doing so could have cost
her neck – literally. He was always rather informal at home, opting for a
simple black shirt and slacks, but in a white dress shirt, dark green
suspenders, and a dark red bow tie only he could pull off in such a formal
setting,she found herself paying very close attention to his looks.
                First of all, he was tall. Damara was, for a young woman, on
the above average side at 5’6”. Caliborn, however, still towered over her – he
had to be about 6’1”. He was bald, but by genetic hiccup. His bone structure
favored no hair, with prominent cheekbones and a strong jawline. His eyes were
a dark shade of brown, with the faintest flickers of deep, blood-red bronze,
like lava or fire, and his brow line made him look a touch menacing even at his
most placid – if he could ever trulybe called “placid.” He had brilliant teeth,
and Damara couldn’t help but noticed that some of them looked a bit sharper
than others; he looked as if he had the beginnings of fangs, if he happened to
bite his lip the right way. He was muscular, but not too bulky;running was a
hobby he enjoyed, as she noted from their time living together. Lastly, he was
permanently tan, and naturally a ruddier complexion – something Damara rarely
saw in her town or area. She loved it, and especially loved the fact that those
dark arms were covered in ink on the biceps – various symbols of personal
significance to him. One day, she hoped to ask him a little more about them,
but her heart had other questions to ask.
                She felt out of place in such a fancy place with her hair
pulled into a bun and wearing what she considered a rather plain, green and
embroidered dress that thankfully stopped at the knee this time, but Caliborn
had a way of making her feel like she was something special. Maybe it was the
way he kept his arm around her in public, as if to claim her. Maybe it was the
way he walked with her in such confidence and haughtiness, as if he knewthat
people were looking at her, but she was only looking at him. Maybe it was the
way he never showed any interest in speaking to other women besides her.
Whatever it was, she couldn’t help but feel genuinely attractive, not just a
cheap plaything – though she was sure plenty of people pegged her as just that
to him.
                She took a sip of her Shirley Temple – she couldn’t resist a
red drink – and pouting her lips, became bold. “So, are we an item now?”
                “If that’s what you want to call it, yes.” Caliborn kept his
voice low, but Damara couldn’t help but smile with her eyes. She understood his
hesitance to acknowledge it in such a public place; in the past, someone had
asked if she was his little sister.It was one of the few times Damara had seen
a furyblaze across his face. Usually, his anger ran cold and calculated.
Tonight, however, he seemed practically playful,and before Damara knew it,
Caliborn was giving her a roguish smirk after eyeing the other tables. He knew
they were too busy to be alarmed.
                “I have a question for you,” he started. “Personal one.”
                Damara felt her face get warm with anxiety as her stomach
flopped.  She hoped it was simply the chicken she had ordered, but she knew
that was a lie. Caliborn’s face wasn’t wrought with stress, anger, or the
umbrage that seemed to permeate his entire occupation; Damara wasn’t sure how
to take him seeming so happy. Still, she looked up and met his analytical gaze
to answer. “Yeah?”
                “How many guys were you with before me,” he said firmly.
“Tricks don’t count. The ones that mattered.”
                A brief, hazy memory of white gloves and cold hands whirred
past her mind’s eye; Damara couldn’t understand it, nor why it appeared at the
sound of his question. She looked down and picked at her food nervously before
answering, “Just one.” She would never admit it (unless of course Caliborn
asked), but it was Rufioh. Maybe that was why losing him hurt so much.
                Caliborn said nothing, and offered no feedback: he was not
shocked, amused, offended, or even angry.In the interests of fairness and
equality in their newly-christened relationship, Damara decided to level the
playing field: “How about you? Prostitutes don’t count. The ones that
mattered.”
                “Honestly?” he seemed to laugh at himself before his voice
turned, a kind of nostalgic and sweet tone that surprised Damara’s ears as he
answered. “Just one.”
===============================================================================
                Caliborn’s upbringing was exceptionally unusual. He could not
remember his parents, not due to some tragedy or accident, but because they
simply were never there.In fact, Caliborn’s upbringing was one of utter
isolation. Lavish, yes, but isolated; there were only ever two people he had
contact with. One was an older doctor who always wore a white suit named
Scratch, charged with executing his employers’ commands to the letter, no
matter how insane they seemed. The other person was her.
               Calliope.
               His sister. His twin. His antithesis. She was taller than
average for a girl, lithe, and strikingly pale, with white-blonde hair she
favored short and shockingly bright green eyes. She exuded warmth and kindness,
filled with inspiration, enthusiasm, and powerwith her first breath. She loved
to draw, could coax a grin to even Scratch’s sinister face, and the nature of
their upbringing made her sob often. Caliborn could barely recall even one day
when she didn’t end up in a corner of their green, red, and gray-tone bedroom,
crying and wondering why she couldn’t associate with other children. She longed
to be someone else in a place far away, and even her great drawings and stories
weren’t enough to make her feel any better.
                Their upbringing was one made to engender familiarity and
contempt all at the same time. They were tutored together, taught by Scratch;
they played outdoors in the shrouded backyard of their stone-walled  and
seemingly ancient manor, covered in green and reddish-brown ivy that stretched
and possessed every inch of space, but their activities were highly
specialized. Calliope tended to the garden, a “ladylike” hobby, while Caliborn
was encouraged to run, play ball with Scratch, and be aggressive. They ate
dinner together in a small, green and red kitchen, always Caliborn at the red
and Calliope at the green, practicing etiquette for visitors who would never
come. Calliope excelled at the genteel mannerisms that marked a cultured
upbringing; Caliborn found the rules arbitrary and therefore not useful to him.
After all, this was the nineties; there was no need for aristocracy, and no
need for culture if guests were never to come.
                Every moment of their day was spent together, seemingly to
prepare them for a competition. Each one had their own unique, highly gendered
advantages: Caliborn was aggressive, active, strong, a “born leader”; Calliope
was passive, permissive, pacifistic, and more content with following in making
strong ties to others - especially Scratch. While he was firm towards Caliborn
and respected him as he grew, he always seemed to have a soft spot and weakness
for Calliope when they were young, and Caliborn grew to loathe it. Still, they
were family, bound together by rules they did not choose and could not
understand. They were never allowed to leave their home – Scratch provided all
they needed, when they needed it, just as he was instructed.
                While Calliope became withdrawn and sad, Caliborn became
hostile, angry, and hateful. He never fully understood her sister’s empathy;
her fascination with other creatures and care for the hurt and wounded animals
they’d see during their brief walks around town struck him as alien. He
couldn’t fathom how anyone could look at a dead bird or a hurt cat and feel
anything besides indifference. Calliope always seemed willing to pour out her
heart, and something about it made him hate hermore than anything else.
                His hatred boiled slowly, bubbling as time went on. With every
shared meal, every time they were made to bathe each other, with every night
when they fell asleep in the one full-sized bed their shared room had. He
loathed her weakness, her empathy, her passivity, her inescapability. When they
were young, he would sleep in a black t-shirt and red shorts, and inevitably,
she would end up pressed against him, clinging to him for body heat, her white
and femininely-cut tank top and green shorts a complete contrast to him. She
seemed always too close, too pressed into his skin, and as the years progressed
and he began to sleep in only his red boxers, it became literal. With every
night that Calliope’s cold and slender arms found their way around his
developing frame, he thought of another way to kill her as his blood throbbed
through him in a seething, calculated rage. He regarded her, the only woman he
knew, as chained to him, binding him down to a life of desperation and
unfulfilled potential – and as someone who had to die so that he could truly
live.
                 He swore at last that it would happen before they turned 17 in
December, a little over five months from that night. He would kill her; destroy
the ritualistic monotony that dictated their lives like the unchanging motions
of a clock’s pendulum. He would see her die at his hands and watch as a pale,
weak, and feminine duplicate of him who shared far too many features would
disappear and erase the tension, madness, and sickness from them both. He knew
how it would go and it thrilled him, sent chills of excitement and anticipation
down his spine as he dreamed of how it would feel to dig into her, to fight
her, to watch her breathe her last, labored breath. The image of his final
victory was the thought that helped him go to sleep at night before he and
Calliope dimmed the silvery, old lamp in their room (which Calliope kept on out
of habit) and fell asleep together, just as they always had for the last 16
years of their lives.
                Caliborn was, save for when cool limbs would skim his for
warmth, a sound sleeper. He woke in the middle of that warm June night to
something else entirely. In the lighter phases of sleep, Caliborn heard the
small squeaks of bedsprings and felt a shift in weight. He didn’t pay much
attention to it, assuming it was “Callie” moving around restlessly again. She
always had a tendency to dream vividly and deeply; it was as if she had found
another world in her head. He straightened out flat onto his back and tried to
rest again, never opening his eyes. Just as he felt the world start to slip
away, he felt a weight upon him, followed soon by the feeling of air tickling
under his nose and his breath stifling.
                He opened his eyes, still in a daze, to see two arms on either
side of him, pale hands pressed palms down against the mattress on the sides of
his head, and an all-too-familiar face partially illuminated by the lamp, near-
white hair practically aglow, eyes shut with her mouth pressed softly against
his.
                Any semblance of sleepiness left Caliborn with a shock as his
eyes quickly widened, bewildered. Every muscle in his body tensed as his
sister’s eyes opened, bright and green meeting the brown in his.
                He rasped out, uncertain and pressured. “Callie, what the—“
                “Shut up,” she commanded in a whisper, cutting him off with
another kiss on the lips, soft and panicked and quick. It was the single most
aggressive thing she had ever said to him, and even with that, it wasn’t so
much a demand, but a plea. Her voice, small and scared, didn’t command
authority, but rather seemed to beg him, invite him. She stole peck after kiss,
over and over, and as Caliborn brought his hands to hover at her sides, he
wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Every one of Calliope’s kisses was sweet,
intoxicating, confusing, and seemed to beckon to him: please, tell me you’ve
thought about this.His anger and rage had melted from him without his volition,
and unconsciously, he let his hands clasp at her hips, tan skin still a
contrast to her white tank top even in shadow.
                Was this the first time she had done this while he was resting?
How long had she wondered? How did she know all this? Maybe he too was curious,
in a dark part of his mind, mixed seamlessly into the pitch-black ink of hatred
that permeated and coated that gray matter. If it was there, it was too
thoroughly mixed with everything else; a never-ending swirl into entropy. At
that moment when he truly realized their lips had met – the first time that
anyone had kissed him - something in that blackened, tar-dark contempt moved,
shifted, changed.
                Caliborn found himself kissing back, bringing his head up just
enough with each lingering connection to show his responsiveness. Still their
kisses were chaste and innocent, but as Caliborn’s fingers inched up Calliope’s
back, Calliope let her torso rest against his, pinning him (as much as a girl
as light as she could) with her weight against his firm chest. It was the last
nudge Caliborn needed to be bold; he let the tip of his tongue brush Calliope’s
top lip as a random thought, and she let out a pleased hum as she parted her
lips to grant him entrance, uncertain of why she knew to do it, why somewhere
in her mind she managed to think of it. Every smack of unpracticed, restless
lips echoed in the silence, and each exchange of tongues made Calliope warm and
flustered, hands rubbing at his unclothed shoulders, trying to feel at the
muscle in his arms.
                Calliope broke the kiss at last, opting to be bold. She started
to plant soft kisses to Caliborn’s cheek, then to his jaw line, and finally
down his neck. No one had ever touched him that way, and his body responded
enthusiastically, hips bucking up instantaneously to get some kind of friction
to alleviate the erection tenting his boxers. His fingers found their way under
the hem of Calliope’s shirt as he looked at her; she had stopped kissing him,
her face pleasantly pink in contrast to her adoring green eyes, and the way she
licked at her lips let him know she was as hot – uncomfortably, unbearably hot
– as he was.
                “Should I…” he started, tugging lightly at the white top.
                “Please,” she huffed, voice full of desperation. Something in
him couldn’t standto hear that sadness in her voice at that moment, so he
gently lifted the shirt from her frame, careful and considerate as he heard her
sigh with pleasure, legs shaking and tightening around his hips. He tossed the
shirt to the floor and looked at her, still not entirely believing what was
happening. Sure, he had seen his sister topless before with all the times he
had helped her bathe, but he never really looked at her. He let his thumbs rub
encouraging circles into her hips, earning a low, throaty kind of noise from
Calliope, whose eyes fluttered shut as he brought his hands up, fingers gently
caressing the soft skin of her small stomach.
                “Open your eyes,” he instructed, not sure what to do as he sat
up and reached her breasts, small, but inviting. With difficulty, she complied,
hands coming from their place fisting the sheets to rest on each of Caliborn’s
forearms. His brown eyes were uncertain, cautious, and for the first time in
his life, scared.She knew him well enough to understand that without the
nervous eyes or tense mouth, and squeaked to him, “Do it, go ahead.” Her voice
quivered with each syllable. Caliborn didn’t need to be told twice, bringing
dark hands to her pale breasts, kneading curiously at the soft, supple, and hot
flesh, both at the same time. Calliope’s green eyes squeezed shut as his
touches became more confident, more precise, eventually letting her head fall
back as the pads of Caliborn’s fingers rubbed over her nipples, making them
hard.
                He still couldn’t believe what he was doing, but something in
him urged him onward, eventually bringing his mouth to a breast to kiss and
lick at the sweet skin. Calliope’s hand, now noticeably hot,gripped the back of
his head as another wrapped around him for purchase. When he took a nipple into
his mouth and sucked, lavishing it with his tongue, he earned a gasp followed
by a shrill moanof pleasure. She raked at his back with blunt nails, gasping
and panting with anticipation, and when Calliope stopped him to kiss him
forcefullyon the mouth, Caliborn couldn’t take it anymore.
                “Lie down, lie down,” he urged in a whisper, helping her to
roll onto her back gently. He took her small wrists up in one hand, holding
them down as he kissed her again, passionate and enthusiastic. He couldn’t get
enough of tasting her. He had no idea how to do anything that was going through
his mind, but he wanted to try. Remembering what she had done to him, he let
the tip of his tongue slide down her neck, earning a beautiful shudder and
needy whine from her. He worked his way down to her prominent collarbones,
kissing and nipping at those beautiful breasts for a moment before dipping
lower, eventually reaching the elastic of her green, silken panties.
                As he began to tug at the fabric, getting ready to slide them
away, Caliborn looked up at his sister. She was flushed, shaking; she kept
biting at her lip and grasping at the sheets for dear life, and he noticed ever
so slightly that tears were welling up in those beautiful, shockingly green and
expressive eyes. When the tears began to roll down pink cheeks, he was
overwhelmed by two feelings: first, confusion, and second, arousal.As if he
needed anything else to make his blood pool south, Caliborn had learned he was
a dacryphile, loving the way her eyes shimmered with tears in the light.
                “Caliborn…” she huffed, voice weak and small. “What are you
doing?”
                “I…just feel like I should,” he replied, positioning himself
between her legs and running a finger over the dark, damp spot of her panties.
It was so small a motion, barely perceptible, but Calliope was agonizingly
aroused, desperate, and wet that she moaned, toes curling up and cracking
loudly. When her eyes slammed shut again, scrunching her face up, he could see
more tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. He throbbed; he had to
do it again.
                He took the tips of his middle and index fingers and circled
over her still covered clit, earning him another groan and full-body shake. He
continued, letting his free left hand finger at the elastic of her panties,
teasing and begging her to let him pull them away.
                She screamed again in pleasure, a kind of yelp, and while she
brought a hand to the back of his head, she rasped, “Doc’s going to hear us,
he’s going to k-“
                “It’s fine, it's fine, he’s not here,” Caliborn cooed, voice
still not above a whisper. “He’s not going to know, I promise,” he said in a
low voice, just as assuredly as it was lustful. He kissed at the wet fabric,
suckling a little to get the savory, sweet flavor onto his tongue. “Is this
okay?”
                “Y-yeah,” she offered, voice so ghost-like and quivering it
made Caliborn feel undone. He didn't need to be told twice, as he slipped off
the last piece of material that kept her separated from his ministrations.
“It’s…it’s good…”
                He hummed in approval, dipping his head between her legs to
kiss and rub at her thighs, unbelievably warm under his big hands. She brought
her knees up to his shoulders, ankles crossing and keeping him practically in a
vice. Caliborn took it as a sign to continue, so he tentatively slid a finger
between her folds, licking at his fingers before lapping at her, slow and
steady and reverent. She sighed heavily, but when his two fingers accidentally
came in contact with her entrance, she moaned,mewling at the loss of sensation.
He looked up at her, never once stopping the ministrations with his tongue, and
cautiously slipped his index finger inside of her, watching for her small
reactions on her face.
                “Oh, fuck,”she said with a bite, eyes slamming shut; it was the
first time Caliborn had ever heard her swear, and it went straight to his dick
as he worked inside of her, probing and stretching at her, marveling at her
heat.
                “God, Callie you’re so wet,” he muttered to himself, pressing
another finger inside of her. “Is that too much?”
                “No, no, no,” she rattled off, aroused to the point of madness.
“That’s, th-that’s good, just don’t stop…”
                He smiled into her skin, still scared, but too turned on to
think about it as he offered one last lick at her before suckling lightly at
her clit, swirling his tongue along with strokes of his fingers inside of her.
She started to spasm, tightening around his fingers, and keening,grasping at
his head to push his tongue harder to her skin. As he hummed with arousal and
approval, she screamed his name, squeaking until she let out a silent yell,
tightening her thighs around him and shuddering as she came, Caliborn enjoying
the sticky feel and taste of her fluids on him.
                When he came back up to look at her, he slid off his boxers as
she kissed him breathlessly, tasting herself on him. Caliborn stroked at her
shaking legs after she calmed down, positioning himself to enter her. He
couldn’t believe what was happening, couldn’t believe what he had just done,
but it was lovely, intoxicating, thrilling to see her lose herself, to feel her
against his mouth and fingers, to watch her become putty under him. He loved
that overwhelmed face, and wanted to see it happen again and again and again.
                Calliope gripped at Caliborn’s sides instinctively as he rubbed
the head of his cock against her oversensitive clit, begging to be allowed to
enter her, to try, to have some sense of release. She looked at him, dark eyes
practically black from his dilated bedroom eyes, and it took every ounce of
strength in her to plead to him, “No, no, not like that—“
                “What’s wrong?” Caliborn whispered, rasped. Neither of them had
done this, gone this far before, and with no discernible reference to anyone
else, Caliborn assumed they were both completely naïve. He wondered if he had
done something wrong. Without his permission, another thought came to him: why
do I care so much? 
                “Sit down, I, don’t want it to be like this…”
                They found themselves switching places, Caliborn sitting up
with a straight back against the headboard. Calliope, body still small and
covered in sweat and the scent of sex, placed a hand at the base of his penis,
earning a long, drawn out sigh as she laid on her stomach, head between his
legs, watching his face change with intense fascination. As she stroked him
with a slick hand using her own fluids, both of them became scared and
intimidated.
                Caliborn wasn’t aware of it (and wouldn’t be for a long time),
but he was exceptionally well-endowed; thick, at leasteight inches long, too.
The two of them realized at the same time that it didn’t look like it would
work.
                “Callie, are you sure…” his voice trailed off as she squeezed
at him.
                “Mmhmm,” she hummed, “I want this.” She let her lips ghost over
the tip of his cock and gave it a small, tentative lick, earning her a
shuddered, shaking sigh of approval. The second lick was longer, swirling
around the tip’s girth as spit pooled in her mouth, making everything wet.
Withdrawing her mouth, she worked him with her hand for a while, squeezing at
him in the spots he responded most to. Caliborn thought it a terrible tease,
and wove a tan hand into her light hair, pushing her mouth onto his cock again.
She licked and sucked at the tip and tried to take his length back into her
mouth.
                She couldn’t. She tried, bobbing her head and adding as much
pressure and spit as possible, but gagged repeatedly, tightening around his
cock. She opened her eyes, and Caliborn saw an image that burned itself into
his memory forever: his twin, his sister, his sweet little Calliope that he
hated so fucking much and yet wanted so badly,with her little polite mouth
stretched out and full of his dick. Her eyes were wide open, looking at him for
some kind of approval, guidance, and the repeated, abortive gagging had made
her eyes well with tears again. It took a singular act of will not to yank at
her hair and make her gag on him, getting him wet with thick spit, again.
Either way, the sight was almost unbearable, and if he hadn’t stopped her, he
would have filled that stuck-up and sweet little mouth full of his seed.
                “Callie…stop…”
                With a pop, she took her mouth away from him, and he shuddered
at the loss of sensation. He pulled her back onto her knees, letting her bring
them to both sides of him, just as she wanted. Calliope put her arms around his
neck for a brief moment, loving the feel of his skin against hers.
                Caliborn used his hands to steady her, trying his best to
soothe her as she guided herself on top of him. Calliope choked out a sob as
she started, feeling something hard and hot penetrate her. Caliborn wanted to
look at her face, wanted to see her eyes shut and mouth twist, but he couldn’t
stop staring at the sight of his cock being slowly sheathed by tight, wet heat
and pressure as Calliope’s groin went flush against his. He gripped at her,
gasping at the sensation, and she embraced him in kind, breasts pressing
against his chest.
                When he felt his cock push against and breaksomething in her,
they both opened their eyes and stared at each other, both hissing at the
sensation like snakes. Calliope’s eyes were full of tears, and he kissed at her
cheeks, kissed her mouth, getting the taste of her tongue, her slit, and salt
in his mouth all over again. She clutched at him desperately, trying not to
weep. His hands stayed at her hips, not forcing her to bob on him, but swayed
her until she was willing to move.
                “Does it hurt?” he asked.
                “A little,” she lied. He knew how much it had to hurt from the
grimace on her face. “Are you okay?”
                “Yeah,” he managed to huff out, overwhelmed and practically
speechless. “You feel so good…”
                “You do too,” she replied, letting her head rest against his
shoulder. He brought his arms around her, attempting to cradle her, helping her
to find the speed and angle she wanted.  Something in his stomach turned as he
felt himself move inside of her, a combination of fear and vulnerability, a
trace of anger and lust and love-- was it love? Caliborn couldn’t understand
why people cried over it, fought for it, did so much in its name, but this…this
had to be something, had to be that elusive thinghe could never identify, never
place, never explain.
                Her pace was slow, but the pressure and intimacyof it made
Caliborn feel close to coming as soon as she started. This was what she wanted:
her straddling his lap, him holding her, watching as she bought him the edge,
as she brought herself over the edge, not two parts at war, but two people
wonderfully equal, moving together as if one with each imprecise, needy,
clinging, and noisy step.
                In that moment, they were fully part of each other, fully
equal, one filling the void in the other, in every sense. Calliope saw in her
brother’s closed eyes and face peace,and when Caliborn opened his, he saw for
the first time the look of his sister desperate, aggressive, daring. Was this
what he had wanted? Had he wondered about it too?
                “Fuck, Callie, I—“ he huffed, catching a hand in her hair as
she had learned to steady herself as she rode him, faster and faster…
                “Do it, do it, please,” she begged, commanded. He knew he was
close, knew he was going to come.
                She wrapped her legs around him tight, bringing her arms around
him, and muttered with such sincerity, “I love you…I love you so much…” That,
and the look of ecstasy mixed with tears in those green eyes was finally enough
to push him over.
                Caliborn felt himself come, spilling himself inside of her she
seized up around him, kissing him senseless as he came back from his whole
world turning white. He fell back, slipping and slinking down onto his side,
with Calliope laying similarly to look him in the eyes, his arms pulling her
close.
                “I really dolove you, you know,” she whispered after an
eternity of silence. Caliborn’s only response was to run fingers through her
hair and let her press into him. As the post-orgasmic haze left him, he knew
something in him had changed. He suddenly became cognizant of his own
mortality, his smallness, the magnitude of the world -- and it crushed him,
threatening to swallow him up like a black hole. He looked at her as she
rested, so peaceful and spent and pleased, and knew that it was her fault.
                She was the most powerful thing in his life, and it threatened
him. More than that, he knew he would never, ever share her.
===============================================================================
                The next morning, he awoke before she did and watched her,
looming over her face as she did with him the night before. It felt right,
fitting, justified.Calliope opened her eyes and smiled as Caliborn wordlessly
brought his mouth to hers and kissed her, softly, sweetly, and slowly, hands
clasped softly at her shoulders in honor of the last night. He never once
closed his eyes, and when she finally shut hers in a blissful trance, he made
his move. His right hand came gently to her throat, and his left pinched her
nose shut. He never stopped kissing her, even as her eyes opened and his right
hand pressed down to crush and squeeze her throat.
                She was his first everything: first friend, first enemy, first
hatred, first love, first lover,first murder.
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