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On the morning of their 18th birthday their steward, one of the few people allowed into Ianthe and Corona’s room, casually asks if the two of them want to consider separate bedrooms now that they’re finally adults. Corona is off trying on dresses for their party which is probably why she feels safe making the comment. The general public think of Coronabeth as Ida’s little darling but the staff know what she’s really like.
“Perhaps,” Ianthe says, sifting through the necklaces in Corona’s jewelry cabinet. Corona will throw a fit if she picks something that doesn’t suit her but she’ll also throw a fit if Ianthe outshines her. Being her sister is a bit like throwing chemicals into a vat at random and seeing if they’ll combust. “We are getting older. I’ll bring it up with her.”
When the steward leaves Ianthe smiles to herself. There was absolutely no way that'd go well.
The party of course goes perfectly: they have too many highly paid, experienced planners involved for anything else. Corona dances with a dozen different handsome marriage prospects and even intercedes when a woman asks Ianthe to dance, which suits them both very well. Babs spills a drink on himself. It’s an excellent evening.
Near the end of it after many speeches and a couple sips of wine, Ianthe let’s herself out onto the balcony. The night is wonderfully cool and her tolerance for loud noises is rapidly fading.
Corona follows her out a few minutes later like Ianthe knew she would. Her ridiculous hair is artfully messy after an evening of vicious dancing. Their dresses are of similar styles, no sleeves and lace along the back, but of course Corona fills hers out much more.
“I was going to wear that,” Corona says, tapping on the necklace dangling from Ianthe’s throat. She had her first drink early in the evening and was already happy and tipsy when Ianthe arrived, which is likely the only reason she’s getting off so easily.
“Oh, were you?” she asks innocently.
Corona’s fingers slip beneath the necklace, tracing Ianthe’s collarbones. She steps forward then and pushes Ianthe to the edge of the balcony, out of sight from the ballroom.
“It would’ve suited me better,” she says, and then she leans forward to kiss her like she has a thousand times before.
This time however Ianthe presses a finger to her mouth. “No, darling. I think not.”
Corona blinks at her, tipsy and owlish. “The crowd’s thinned out. If I’m quick no one will see.”
“I don’t think so.” She examines her finger, aiming for a casual air. There’s a smear of red lipstick across it. Corona must’ve just reapplied. It would’ve stood out against Ianthe’s pink lipstick horrendously. “You intend to get us caught one of these days.”
“Maybe I do,” Corona says with a smile.
“We aren’t children anymore. No one will giggle and call us sweet if they see us together.”
Corona groans. “You’re being so severe. It’s really ruining my birthday. Tell you what, kiss me once and I’ll call it even.”
“No,” Ianthe says. And then in a more serious tone she adds, “you know we can’t go on like this. It’d be better to stop while we’re ahead.”
“Stop what?” Ianthe doesn’t dignify that with an answer. She just crosses her arms and waits for a few neurons to fire. The soft stupid smile slips from Corona’s beautiful face. “Absolutely not.”
“Corona, don’t be stupid. You’re the crown princess, you and I are going to be in the public eye a lot more now. We can’t afford rumors floating around that we’re boiling each other’s clams on the sly.”
“I don’t care—I don’t care if it’ll be more dangerous!” Indignation flushes her cheeks an alluring red. “We’ll be more careful, we’ll only be together in our bedroom!”
“Sweetie, I said don’t be stupid.”
“For how long?!”
Ianthe shushes her. Coronabeth has a way of making her bosom heave that’s horribly distracting but Ianthe had been expecting it and refuses to look down. “Oh I don’t know. Perhaps once our parents die it’ll be safe to—“
Corona takes two steps back, screws her eyes shut—her lids are dusted in gold, the elegant whore—and begins screaming at the top of her lungs.
That immediately gets the attention of everyone who remained in the ballroom and Ianthe grabs her arms at once. “Shut up, shut up,” she hisses, “oh you dumb cow, stop making a scene!”
Corona screams louder and begins stomping her foot as well. It’s a testament to her divinity that she still looks attractive even now. Or maybe a testament to Ianthe’s depravity.
“Okay! We’ll talk about it!” She turns Corona around so she’s the one hidden by the curtains and kisses her quickly. As soon as Ianthe starts to lean in Corona stops wailing and kisses her back. Her stupid, beautiful mouth is tacky, her lips as soft as usual. “God, please don’t do that again.”
Corona harrumphs and then storms back into the ballroom in a flurry of blond curls. With a sigh Ianthe wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. Predictably Corona’s lipstick is all over it.
Corona keeps up appearances for the rest of the night but doesn’t look at Ianthe. They’re lucky their parents both go to sleep early and that the staff is well passed being startled by her behavior. Babs shoots her a questioning look when Corona leaves the dregs of the party first but he doesn’t look worried. It’s not like any of this is unheard of.
Back in their room she finds Corona sitting at her dresser, heels kicked carelessly across the floor. She’s removing her jewelry with such obvious anger that one of her earrings breaks as she throws it down. She’s never been particularly talented at hiding her emotions, it was part of how this all happened. When Corona wanted to kiss her it was obvious and when Corona wanted more that was obvious too. Ianthe obliged her in this as she always did.
Corona’s necklace clatters loudly as she takes it off. She pulls her hair over one shoulder and then simply sits there—a demand in her straight posture. Ianthe rolls her eyes and crosses the room to unzip her dress.
Corona steps out of it and then storms off to the bathroom in her underwear, using the typically neglected lock. It looks like Ianthe will have to use a different bathroom for herself.
By the time Ianthe is done and back in their bedroom Corona is still in the bathroom, shower running suspiciously. Ianthe can hardly apologize to her through the door. She finishes changing and gets into bed.
Ianthe means to feign sleep but its been a long day, and Corona takes forever. She doesn’t wake until she feels a dip in the other side of the bed, and then she simply keeps her breathing even and her eyes shut to see what’ll happen.
Corona however isn’t fooled.
“You’re so horrible to me,” Corona says softly. When Ianthe opens an eye she sees her trembling lip; an image of wounded virtue. She’s wearing her fuzzy robe that she likes to brood in but she took the time to fix her curls.
“Oh dear.” Ianthe yawns. “How so?”
Corona strikes her across the face: with her fist, not anything as gentle as her palm. That certainly wakes her back up.
“You vile, stinking afterbirth.” Corona crawls over her, menacing and seductive in a way she’s always managed well. “You anemic little parasite.”
Ianthe grins and spreads her legs wider so that Corona slides between them. “My love, you wound me.”
“Not yet I don’t,” Corona says icily. “I wish I’d eaten you in the womb.”
A shudder runs through her. Unable to hold herself back she rucks up her nightgown and gets a hand into her panties. “Perhaps you did. Mother told me they had to turn you around a few times before you were delivered.”
Corona’s hands wrap around her throat, her pretty face contorting in anger. Ianthe squirms but doesn’t fight back. She wonders how long Corona can keep going, if she could kill Ianthe like this. It’d certainly be her preferred way to go. If she focused for a second she could convince the muscles of Corona’s throat to collapse too and they’d die together.
She moans aloud, rubbing slow circles over her clit. Corona’s eyes flick down to where Ianthe is touching herself and she lets go with a disgusted noise.
Ianthe laughs breathlessly. “Why’d you stop, Daddy?”
“You don’t deserve to get off after what you said.” She pulls back to grab something behind her on the bed. Ianthe hums at the sight of the strap on. They haven’t used it in a while. Usually the burden of topping goes to her because she always does the real work in their relationship while Corona reaps the spoils. Such is her lot in life. Ever since Ianthe learned to manipulate her own genitalia that’s been their go-to. She suspects that Corona is going to use it on her but instead Corona slips in over Ianthe’s legs and moves her around until she can tighten the harness. Ianthe isn’t thrilled since this keeps her from masturbating like she’d prefer.
Ianthe makes an effort to roll them over but Corona pushes her back down roughly, rudely showing off her very attractive physical superiority. She’s a little confused as to where this leaves them when Corona throws off the robe and grabs the strap by the base.
“I could’ve just—“ she can’t help but say as Corona shuts her eyes and guides the toy inside, thighs spread wide over Ianthe’s, none of her glittery jewelry, just her sweet skin and her hair falling gracefully down her back.
Ianthe knows what her sister wants right now but she ignores it in favor of grabbing at her waist. Predictably Corona responds by slapping her across the face and ordering her to keep her hands down. The switch to slapping might mean she’s getting less angry.
Corona sinks down on the strap in her own time which is fairly quickly because her sister was too pretty to learn patience as a child and rides the strap with the same furiosity that she’s ridden Ianthe’s cock. They own vibrating toys that could be used together with the strap but Corona clearly has no interest in her pleasure. Corona leaves her to watch the toy slide in and out of her enviously, her lip bitten between her teeth and her hands on the bedding. She’s very lucky that Ianthe is so indulgent.
“'Stopping while we’re ahead',” Corona hisses. Figures the first time she remembers something Ianthe’s said it’s this. She leans back on Ianthe’s thigh so the view is even better when she gets her fingers on her clit. She’s never had any trouble finding her own while Ianthe has considered rearranging her own internal anatomy to help Corona find it.
“Do I get to—“
“No.” Corona stares down at her venomously as she plays with her own breasts, teasing her nipples into tight nubs. It’s downright cruel. She knows how much Ianthe likes her tits.
Ianthe starts to lift a hand towards them. “You’ll have a better time if—“
Corona grabs both her wrists and pins them to the bed as she fucks herself harder onto the strap. She’s getting sweaty now which she usually hates because she insists she looks like a drowned rat even though they both know she just glistens. She’s so furious and worked up, more grunting with angry satisfaction than moaning with pleasure. Without the (very much desired) distraction of sexual stimulation Ianthe can’t do much more than lay there and appreciate the sight she makes.
Well, that and the occasional rebellious movement just to get Corona to hold her down harder. Corona always gets so wet when she's being mean and the sounds of her being fucked might be Ianthe's favorite noise in the universe.
“You just said that…to make me angry,” Corona pants.
“Oh sweetie,” Ianthe says with a laugh. She plants her feet and thrusts up into Corona just to hear her gasp, “you aren’t just figuring that out, are you?”
Corona bears her teeth and scratches down her wrists with her pretty manicured nails. Ianthe moans and fucks up into her again. When she doesn’t get any real chastisement she keeps going.
“You didn’t,” Corona says between open mouth pants. “You didn’t mean it?”
Ianthe starts laughing. “Are you seriously asking me that? Stupid wretch. You can be so childish.”
“Childish?!” Corona grabs a handful of her hair and yanks. Ianthe winces and leans up uncomfortably as she’s pulled.
“And easily worked up,” she adds.
“I hate you,” Corona says, like the easily worked up child she is. She pushes Ianthe’s face away from her, shoves at it with a hand while she rides her. “I don’t know how I stand you. If you ever try that again I’ll slit my wrists in our bed.”
Ianthe licks at her fingers with a smile. She can tell by the more frantic way she bounces that she’s getting close. She's always hated that Corona can come so easily. She could stand to be a little less perfect. “Are you going to leave me to fuck my way across the galaxy all alone?”
“Shut up, shut up.” Her head falls back, grip on Ianthe’s hair tightening. “I’d kill you first—I’ll kill you first.”
“Fuck, you’re so romantic.” She really can't stand to be still any more, grabbing the back of her head to kiss her, letting her sister moan out her climax into her mouth. The hand in Ianthe’s hair rips out a few strands.
She lets Corona shiver and moan in her lap for just a moment before she maneuvers them over so Corona’s on her back. She fucks into her at a slower pace, drawing the strap all the way out before bringing it back into her again. Corona makes a lazy contented noise and wraps her legs around Ianthe’s waist.
“How, darling?” Ianthe asks, kissing her face. “How’d you do it?”
“Hmm? Ah.” Corona arches up into her. She thinks Corona might be too preoccupied to think but she surprises Ianthe by saying, “I’d drown you in my blood, of course.”
Ianthe nearly giggles.
“I mean it,” Corona says sleepily sometime later, head putting Ianthe’s arm to sleep. She’s still completely naked which is probably as close as she’ll get to admitting she’s no longer angry. “Get married to someone if you want to, you’re not leaving me.”
Ianthe is in a fairly good mood for a woman who never got to come that night. She doesn’t want to think about what a mess she’s making of her panties. If she falls asleep it’ll be a miracle. “Yes dear, I heard you.”
“And you can’t love your future spouse more than me.”
“How could I possibly?” Ianthe says quieter. She kisses Corona on the forehead. “Happy birthday, my love.”
“Yes, thank you.” With that Corona rolls onto her side. When Ianthe doesn’t leap at the chance to spoon her she grabs Ianthe’s arm and pulls her into place.
“Anything you’d like to say back?”
“Nope. Go to sleep.”
Ianthe kisses the back of her neck with a happy sigh. “Selfish bitch.”