Angel Lust

by kimbari

Summary:

Quentin loved his little sister so much that the thought of someone else having her made him crazy.

Notes:

• For zeroambi.

"You're my sister and I'm your brother and I love you."
"I'm your brother and you're my sister and you love me."

That was Quentin's mantra. For as long as Katherine could remember, he would tell her this first thing in the morning, last thing at night. She was his, he was hers, and they loved each other.

It was the only thing she could be certain of. Katherine had no memory of the parents who had abandoned her and her brother to the convent, relinquishing custody because they couldn't bear to look at their offspring, genetically defective because they were cousins, as well as siblings. The two of them were presented to prospective parents over the years, couples who were enthusiastic when they saw Quentin's dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty. They knew he was a package deal, and a little girl sounded delightful... until they saw her. While Quentin's disfigurement was hidden by his clothes, Katherine's was her face, one side of which was hideously split. The child tried to show the world only her "normal" side, but horses and adoptive children were always inspected carefully. Katherine's looks were a deal breaker.

So they remained at the convent, together. They didn't socialize with the other children, who teased them about their defects when the nuns weren't around. And no matter how much the two were chided, and sometimes even punished, they kept to themselves. Their world consisted of Quentin and Katherine. There was nothing else.

They were often separated and punished when the nuns caught them in unseemly embraces. The punishments were no deterrent. As they got older, they learned to hide their displays of affection, but they didn't always succeed. It seemed as if the nuns were expecting them to commit a sin, and they were sometimes punished for the most innocent of gestures: holding hands, a hug, a chaste kiss on the cheek. But even when punished and separated, one or the other would always, somehow, find their way to their sibling's bed where they would be discovered in the morning, sleeping with their bodies entwined.

Quentin was 15 and Katherine 12 when he left the convent. He wanted to study medicine, to become a doctor so he could learn how to fix Katherine's face. Money was no object; the two had been well-provided for by their parents. Quentin was an exceptional student. Between that and the money, he was welcomed with open arms to Emory University and later, the School of Medicine.

Katherine accepted the separation as she accepted all things: calmly. She continued to refuse to seek out the company of other children. Her world still consisted of herself and Quentin. She knew where he was. She knew what he was thinking and how he was feeling, hundreds of miles away. The nuns were surprised that she received no letters from her brother, but she didn't need them. Such was their relationship.

Katherine remained at the convent until her eighteenth birthday, when she left to live in England. There she lived an uneventful and sequestered life as she waited for her brother to finish his education and come fix her. Knowing that she was out in the world alone, now Quentin availed himself of every mode of communication at his disposal, but his handwritten letters to her were her favorites.

In due time Quentin, of uncanny talent and now an expert plastic surgeon, moved himself to England. There he continued to learn, and he started work on his sister's face.

The process was years-long, arduous, and painful, hampered by her young adulthood. The surgeries would have been less complicated had she had them as a child, but Quentin persisted. After several years of work, he succeeded in making Katherine beautiful, but at a terrible cost. He himself had endured numerous surgeries, hormone therapies, attempts to correct his congenital defect. Most of them were painful, none of them successful. He was a handsome, adult male who lacked an adult penis. This, plus the suffering Katherine endured at his own hand snapped the slender thread of his sanity, completing his descent into psychopathy.

Like his sexual relationship with his sister, he hid it well.

The two, now adults, separate again. Quentin returned to Atlanta and Kit, newly beautiful, applied for a job in law enforcement in England and got it. Being beautiful didn't hurt her chances; neither did her generosity with sexual favors. She's capable, for all that, and she moved up within the ranks and became a detective.

Kit met Gerald McGraw at work. He was a handsome solicitor who bore not a small resemblance to her brother. Gerald fell hard for Kit and she was quite swept away by him, far and above the other men who wooed her. He asked for her hand in marriage. She said yes. For the first time in her life, Quentin was nowhere in her thoughts.

###

On the second day that would change her life forever, Kit hurried home after work. Gerald was home, waiting for her. Dinner and then a romantic evening in to celebrate their third wedding anniversary had been planned. They'd both been so busy lately that it had been ages since she'd gotten laid. She was looking forward to it.

The last thing Kit expected to see when she walked into her home was Quentin. He lounged, insouciant in Gerald's favorite chair.

"Hi, sis. Nice place you got here." There was something happy gleaming in his blue eyes, something that made Kit's blood run cold.

"What are you doing here, Quentin?" she asked, carefully laying down her purse and briefcase.

"Now, what kind of welcome is that? We haven't seen each other in years, I at least expected a hug." And he got up to collect it.

Kit accepted the embrace. Some thing was wrong, there was an "offness" in the house (in her house) that made her nervous.

"Did you miss me, Katherine?" he said softly into her ear. She loved it when he called her Katherine, and his hands wandered as they always did when he embraced her, when he whispered in her ear. And she was getting aroused as she always did when he did that.

But not as much as she would have been if she hadn't had Gerald. Gerald, her husband, who should have been immediately in evidence. Gerald who had probably already met her brother.

As if he'd read her mind, Quentin whispered, "I met your husband, Mrs. McGraw." Kit pulled away.

"Where is he?"

Quentin shrugged, still insouciant. "I sent him for some wine."

"We have wine, quite a decent cellar as a matter of fact." There'd be no need for Gerald to run an errand.

"Yes, well, I saw your collection and it wasn't up to my stratospheric standards." Quentin smirked. "He was quite amenable to my request. Anything for a guest, wot?" He imitated Gerald's British accent, the accent she herself had acquired during her sojourn in England. The sound of it in Quentin's mouth set her teeth on edge. Enough of this bullshit.

"Why are you here, Quentin?"

"What, I can't visit my baby sister?"

"You haven't visited me in five years..."

"So you decided to fall in love and get married, because I haven't visited you?"

Ah, here it was. When she married Gerald she knew that her unstable brother would not be pleased, but there had been an entire ocean between them. Quentin was obviously busy doing God knows what in the States, too busy to check on her the way he had when she first moved to London. She dared to imagine that she'd never see him again.

Where was Gerald?

"I told you, he went to get us a pint or two."

"I thought you said he went for wine," Kit returned.

Quentin's grin faltered for a second. Then he recovered. "I hope he's getting both."

Kit made a move toward her bedroom. Quentin stopped her. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you."

She drew a shaky breath. "What did you do, Quentin?"

"I think you know." His amiable grin had fled. Kit left the room at a run, surprised she could even move. Her knees felt like they were made of jelly.

She stopped at the bedroom door and stuffed her fist in her mouth to stifle her scream.

Gerald lay spread-eagle across the top of their bed, his throat slashed down to his spine. The moment she'd seen Quentin sitting in his chair, she'd known that her sweet husband was no more.

"Did you honestly think I would share you, Katherine?" His voice was a bitter cold wind. "With anyone?"

Her entire body slumped from the weight of grief. "No," she said in a tiny voice. "You're my brother and I'm your sister and I love you," she sobbed.

"You remember." Quentin slid his arms around her, pressed himself against her back and she could feel It. He was wearing It. "There's nobody but me for you, Kit," he said, hands wandering once again, cupping her breasts, caressing her belly, gathering up her skirt and diving between her legs. And again it aroused her as it always did. Gerald lay unmoving on their bed, their place of rest and pleasure now red and squishy with his blood. She stared at the body as her brother fondled her, and became more aroused by the minute.

"That's my girl," he murmured as his probing fingers encountered her slippery, swollen pussy lips. "You always get so wet for me, so fast."

She moaned as he caressed her clit. "Good?" he asked and she moaned again. "Good. I'm going to fuck you now, baby sister. I'm going to fuck you right on this bed, right next to your husband. He can join in if he wants. Do you think he wants?"

Kit's arousal vanished. "I-I... don't know," she stammered.

"Of course he does. I mean, how many husbands get to see his brother-in-law fuck his wife."

"Then stop talking and fuck me, damn you!" Kit ground out. Whatever horror awaited her, she wanted it over.

"I want a threesome," Quentin said, and now there was menace in his voice. "I want you to suck Gerald's cock while I fuck you from behind."

"No!" Kit said, revolted.

"Yes," Quentin said.

"You want me to blow a corpse!"

"No, Katherine. I want to you to show the late Gerald McGraw how much you love him."

"He's dead," Kit said dully as Quentin began undressing her. "He won't know."

"But I will," Quentin said, tossing her blouse across the room. "And I know you want to please me... and yourself. I know how much you like to suck cock. My deepest regret is that I never had one to offer you -- and no, the dildo doesn't count." He pushed her toward the bed. Naked now, Kit ached from his attention, craving release yet still affronted by his demand.

"Quentin, please..."

"Climb on the bed and take your husband's cock into your mouth, Katherine. You know you want to."

"No, I don't."

"Are you going to fight me, kitten? I like it when you resist." He smiled. "That would really make my evening, talk about a wonderful welcome home!"

"I..."

"DO IT!" Quentin roared. Kit moved to comply.

She climbed onto the bed. Most of the blood was above Gerald's waist, but it was wet below, with another bodily fluid. His bladder had let go at the moment of death, she could smell the piss as well as see that his cock was hard. Angel lust. My poor angel. Giving Gerald head had been her favorite sexual activity; his flavor was unique, his semen delicious. Kit had loved him. Quentin had given her so much all her life. And now, because it wasn't him, he took from her the only other person she had ever loved.

She couldn't hate him for it. He was her brother and she loved him.

She unzipped Gerald's fly and withdrew the surprisingly rigid cock. She looked back at Quentin, who nodded in approval. She turned back to her dead husband and swallowed his cock. The corners of her mouth turned down as she encountered the flavor of his urine, but the taste was soon gone as she let her eyes slip closed and began to fellate him. Far off she heard Quentin's moan of pleasure, and even farther off she felt him take her hips in his hands and thrust hard into her, impaling her with his rubber dick. It was painful, despite her arousal and she sucked harder, trying to distract herself from the short-lived pain. Now, now this was turning her on.

The dirt and metal smell of spilled blood was everywhere as Quentin thrusted, and thrusted, and thrusted. She knew he could and probably would come. He'd often pleasured her with his micropenis and seemed to find gratification in using it. But Kit also knew that he preferred the big dick, even if it wasn't attached to him.

His thrusting jarred her, forcing her into a complimentary rhythm, up and down, back and forth. Kit wondered when the rest of her husband would start to stiffen. Her brother suddenly changed his pace and began to slowly pump the dildo into her, reaching around to caress her clit, and it got to be really good in a hurry. She moaned in pleasure around the penis in her mouth, the vibrations of which would have been greatly appreciated by the owner of the penis had he been alive. As it was, Quentin was not only reaching around, he was watching her, his blue gaze hot with lust.

"That's right baby sister," he hissed. "That's good... like when we were little..."

She turned her gaze to meet his. Her prick-stretched mouth was shiny at one corner, the shape of her late husband's glans showed clearly in the skin of her cheek. Quentin began to rapidly stroke her clit and she pushed back against his quickening thrusts, faster, faster until she came, her cries muffled by the cock in her mouth. Quentin finished in a frantic flurry of thrusts and a triumphant yell.

Panting, he gently pulled the late Mr. McGraw's penis out of his sister's mouth. Kit fell away from him, onto her side, sobbing.

"There, there, sis." Quentin comforted her, but the reality of what had happened, Gerald's death, sent her crawling to the edge of the bed where she vomited over the side. Her brother watched sympathetically as she retched until there was nothing more to bring up. "It's okay, my love," he whispered. He straightened his clothes, went into the bathroom and ran a bath. When the tub was full he picked her up and deposited her in it. "Take all the time you need, baby," he said tenderly, and blew her a kiss. Kit sat lumpishly in the steaming water. She sat without moving until the water turned cold.

She came out wrapped in a fluffy white robe and stopped in her tracks; her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Quentin had done away with the mess in the bedroom. Kit wasn't sure how or what he did, but the room looked as if nothing but sleep and love had ever happened there. There was no sign of her husband's corpse. Quentin entered the room, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Where's Gerald?" Kit asked tiredly, her mind sluggishly trying to figure out how she was going to keep her brother out of jail.

"Never you mind, kitten," Quentin said cheerfully. "I'm a surgeon. I know how to make a body disappear."

"Good," Kit returned. "With no body, there's less chance of you ... or someone," she amended, at Quentin's meaningful look, "taking the rap for this." She studied the now-pristine bed.

"Don't worry," Quentin said. "I'll do my part, and you'll do yours." He looked at her, flipped the towel over his shoulder, then cupped her chin in his hand. He examined her face closely. "Beautiful," he mused. "I can barely see the scars, and I know where they are. Damn good work!" He grinned. "Who fixed your face, Katherine?"

Kit offered a tremulous smile. "You did."

"Yes, I did. And wouldn't I do anything for you?"

"Yes, Quentin, you would." She felt a sudden, aching burn in her chest. Gerald... She didn't let it show on her face.

Quentin sat on the bed and pulled Kit into his lap. "Can I tell you a secret?" he whispered in her ear.

"Of course you can," Kit said, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Gerald isn't my first," he whispered. Then he said aloud, "I have a mission."

"And what might that be, Quentin?" Kit asked, putting on an interested face to hide the fact of her indifference. Quentin hated indifference.

"I am going to prove that beauty is a curse on the world."