Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5515202.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Crimson_Peak_(2015)
  Relationship:
      Lucille_Sharpe/Thomas_Sharpe
  Character:
      Lucille_Sharpe, Thomas_Sharpe
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Bloodplay, Underage_Sex, Pre-Canon, Yuletide_Treat,
      Yuleporn, Canon-Typical_Violence, Post-murder_sex
  Collections:
      Yuletide_2015
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-24 Words: 1765
****** Murder Most Foul, Strange, and Unnatural ******
by furchte_die_schildkrote
Summary
     Lucille and Thomas cling to one another in the wake of their mother's
     murder.
Notes
     Happy Yuletide!
     A few notes: I am doing a handwavy age-up, bringing Thomas and
     Lucille to around 14/16, and I tried to avoid any specific age
     references. This is my first go at a sex scene, whoot whoot! I am
     probably fudging the amount of blood that would be present here.
There was blood on the doorknob.
There was blood on the doorknob, on the set of keys left in the lock, and it
was from Lucille's own hand. A wave of horror broke over her. The sight of
evidence of her crime on something outside of herself brought reality crashing
into what had been, until now, a vile, horrifying nightmare. She caught a sob
in her throat. As Lucille struggled to force herself into some semblance of
composure, the world spun around her, and visions of the killing seemed to
blend with the present—the slashing knife, the spray of blood, the
uncharacteristically fierce fight her sickly mother gave her, the cracking of
bone as the fatal blow hit its mark.
In an instant, the spinning world snapped to a halt, and a chilling clarity
washed over her mind. She pushed open the door to what had become Thomas's
bedroom once their mother found them together.
For a moment, she just stood in the open doorway. Blood dripped down her face.
It mingled with her dark hair, stained her nightgown a deep, glistening
scarlet. Red-tinged water dripped down her fingers. She was frozen—shaking. Her
face was determined, yet on the verge of shattering into either hysterics or
exhaustion. Her right hand grasped at the handle of a knife that was not there,
that was left lodged in her mother's skull.
Thomas sat in a chair by the window, staring out the window as waves of fog
roll in from the woods around Allerdale Hall. As the door swung open, his
shoulders seemed to sink down as he raised his head slightly toward the sky.
Lucille watched as his breath grew rapid and shallow, as he drew his focus back
into the room—small, subtle changes that would have been imperceptible to
someone less familiar with him. As she stepped toward him, he kept his gaze
stubbornly turned towards the window, as if trying to deny his sister's
presence.
Lucille continued towards him—each step cutting through the maddening
silence—until she stood by her brother's side. He still did not move his head
away from the window, but the quivering cringe that broke out across his face
told her he could see her and the state she was in.
She turned her attention out the window, where the fog had built up so thickly
that not a thing could be seen. It was as if the fog had enveloped their home
and the world outside had ceased to exist. Lucille smiled at the thought.
“Is she gone?” Thomas asked hoarsely. He knew she was. Of course she was.
“Gone,” Lucille echoed. She looked back at Thomas, and his eyes grew wide and
scared. A wave of guilt seared through her. She turned away, fighting back
tears. Her breath hitched for a moment, and then the words came flooding forth.
“I am sorry, Thomas, I truly am, to see you hurt like this, but I couldn't—what
else could I—she was going to take you away, and I couldn't, please—“
Lucille let out a strangled gasp as she felt Thomas reach for her hand. Their
hands locked together, fingers intertwined. The still-wet blood on Lucille's
hand now stained his as well. She looked back to him and saw that he had
finally turned his head up towards hers. His face was still marked with a wide-
eyed terror, but it was also softened by a look of relief.
“Thank you,” he said.
And with that, Lucille collapsed to her knees. She buried her head in her
brother's lap and sobbed—not from sadness or guilt, but from an exhausted,
twisted sort of joy. They were free. They were safe. He was hers. Lucille's
arms wrapped around his waist in a desperate embrace. Her fingers dug into his
back. Thomas leaned down slightly and wrapped his arms around the back of her
head and shoulders, as if he were trying to return a fraction of the fierce
protection that Lucille had given him from the day he was born.
They remained frozen in this position for what felt like an impossibly brief
eternity, until Lucille's sobs began to slow. Her manic relief began to fade
into a dizzy sort of calm, as she allowed Thomas's familiar presence to comfort
her, as let herself get lost in him, his smell, his touch, the curve of his
back, the way he gently stroked at her hair. It was then that Lucille realized
that her brother was hard—had already been hard when she first laid her head in
his lap. She looked up at Thomas, and he let out a soft gasp. The blood on his
sister's face was smeared from his trousers—smeared onto the crotch of his
pants—but it still covered her, except for where tears had left their tracks.
He avoided her eyes as his face flushed a bright scarlet. His breathing had
grew fast again, like it had when Lucille first stepped into the room, though
there was more weight to his breathing now. This time, arousal hastened his
breaths, not shock or horror. All while keeping her eyes locked on his face,
Lucille took one hand from behind Thomas's back and ran the tips of her finger
up the length of his cock. Even through his several layers of clothing, Thomas
shuddered and gasped, though his eyes still avoided hers, as if he were
ashamed. It was an unusual reaction, but today was an unusual day.
Another day, Lucille may have simply continued their almost chaste embrace, or
else used her mouth on him until he was shamelessly begging her to finish him.
Today, as the mess of emotions stormed about in her, she needed something else.
Her fear and shock and horror and twisted relief all converged into lust. She
pulled him down onto the floor, pushed him against the chair, and straddled
him, grinding against his cock through his trousers, clutching at his back and
the back of his neck with clawed fingers. She roughly kissed at his neck, while
unbuttoning his vest and undershirt, pulling and tearing at them when the
buttons would not cooperate. Thomas rocked back against his sister's hips, not
quite in line with the rhythm she set.
Thomas reflexively kissed Lucille on her forehead, but then pulled away,
frozen. His mother's blood stained his lips a deep scarlet. He pushed himself
against the chair, away from Lucille, as a look of helpless horror washed over
his face.
Lucille sighed and gave her brother a reassuring smile. She should have known
this would be too much for him. Stroking her clean thumb along his cheek and
resting her bloody hand on his should, she said, “It's alright, Thomas. We
don't have to kiss. I understand.”
The helpless look on his face mixed with shame, as he struggled to respond.
“I want to,” he finally said, with a voice barely above a squeak. He reached
out to put his own hand on Lucille's blood-soaked cheek and shuddered slightly.
Lucille leaned forward, kissing him deeply, her entire body pressed into his.
Thomas returned the kiss, sucking and nibbling lightly at the edge of Lucille's
mouth. He curiously licked at the blood that now colored his own mouth. As his
kisses moved messily from her mouth towards her cheek and jaw and neck, letting
his face graze against hers to bloody his own face, Lucille reached down
finally to undo his trousers just enough to let his cock out. She pumped her
hand up and down the length of it several times, and he thrusted back against
her fist. His eyes shot up and he let out a gasp when she first touched him.
His shallow breath lengthened into weak moans as she continued working him.
His hand moved down towards her breast, first allowing his hand to trail down
the blood-soaked nightgown, watching Lucille's face light up in arousal, and
then moving both hands under her the edges of the nightgown to untie the
drawers underneath. Not bothering to pull the drawers down, he moved one hand
to grasp at the small of her back, and moved the other hand between her legs.
He slid a finger inside her, thrusting slightly, savoring the slickness that
had built up already. He trailed his fingers closer to her front, tracing rough
circles. Lucille buried her face in the crook of Thomas's neck as he made her
squirm. When he finally withdrew his hand, Lucille saw that his hand had also
gathered blood from her crime, now mixed with her own slickness. She kissed him
with a wild and savage ferocity, and then guided her brother's cock inside her.
Thomas began thrusting up, shallowly and erratically. He pushed her against the
wall to their side. The back of Lucille's head smacked against the wall, though
the sharp shock of it somehow morphed into pleasure as it blended with the
feeling of Thomas thrusting inside her, fucking her in earnest now, with the
feeling of his hands holding her so tightly she knows they will bruise her,
with the feeling of his teeth grazing against her collarbone. The burning
pleasure of it all consumed her, as did the image of her brother, her lover,
marked in the blood of the murder she had committed, like some twisted
variation on the Mark of Cain, which bound them to one another while also
marking them as outcasts, both blessed and doomed to walk the earth with only
each other for comfort, company, and love.
Lucille gripped Thomas even more tightly, letting her nails rake down his back.
She felt whole body clench with electric pleasure as she came. Thomas came
almost immediately after, spilling out into her.
Lucille gently pushed Thomas back against the chair, wrapped her arms around
his shoulders, and let herself slouch down into him. She let her head rest
against his chest and listened as his racing breaths and heartbeat slowed to a
calm and steady pace. Looking over herself and her brother, their disheveled
appearance, their torn clothing, the scratches and bruises that were beginning
to appear, Lucille found herself smiling at how clearly their other crime was
written all over their bodies. The two leaned against the chair for nearly an
hour, resting against one another, buried in each other. Whatever horrors they
had faced today, whatever trials lay ahead of them, Lucille took comfort in
knowing that they would face them together, bound together by sin and love,
ready to tear apart anyone who dared threaten them.
 
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