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Her touches had become more casual, in the aftermath.
It began with relief. For all of his failures, that she now knew didn’t seem like the biggest one. He watched her bring their friends back, a Paintress in her own right, Maelle’s confidence and Alicia’s naivety forced into one body, one self. It terrified him, to see her power, and to know how he was the one responsible for it.
Still, there was finally an opportunity to breathe. Renoir would not find them. He would bide his time, as he always did, knowing he was the final opportunity for change. He thought too highly of himself to be anything but. And his Renoir was gone now, his father and mother both left unressurected. Was that what they were? At many times, he did not know.
Maelle now smiled at him more readily, touched his arm or his shoulder when she desired his attention, approached him with warmth and comfort and ease. Had he earned that ease? Verso wasn’t so sure. She now saw him and saw her brother, and he wasn’t that person, but he couldn’t convince her - could seemingly convince no one.
“But you have his memories,” Lune said, disbelieving, when he tried to separate himself from the version of Verso who had played in this canvas.
I’m simply a copy, he wanted to say, but it was too cruel to do when they had all just discovered they, too, were playthings. They couldn’t see it, or accept it. So he just shrugged. “And I have my own, as well,” like it was an answer to Lune’s real question. She was annoyed, scowling at him, but accepted it. Would it always be that easy?
“Our lives in the canvas are no less than the lives of those out there,” Maelle said, a sneer in her voice, a disdain for her own life. His chest ached for her, for him. “We’re not trapped, but we have been treated like caged mice - we’re not anymore. We have power, autonomy! We can stop this.”
He found her one evening, outside of the camp, in the forest where she could sometimes be found journaling or meditating, eyes closed and blade balanced on her knees where she sat cross-legged on the cold forest floor.
“Do you think she’ll just leave us alone?” he said, speaking softly.
Maelle barely flinched. “You’re quiet, but I always know when you’re coming,” she said in a sing-song that made Verso’s shoulders clench. He stood at the edge of the clearing, watching as she stood and stretched, sheathing her weapon and shaking out her legs. She had taken to the outfit that Alicia seemed to prefer, the garment at her waist cinching her there, the boots that reached to her knee, her long, silver hair pulled back out of her face but still hanging in thick crescendos down her back and over her shoulders.
“Do you have an answer to the question?” Verso said. He knew he was being harsh, and that Maelle, despite the newfound confidence, was still fragile at her core. But he also knew, from years of flustered, terrified memories, that she responded to her brother well when he was stricter with her. Because he was kind, Verso reminded herself, swallowing the tension in his throat.
She just looked at him, gaze narrowed, and then she smirked. “You’re worried about her? What for? Miss your playmate?”
He stared back at her, expecting that her face would break and she would apologize for pushing too hard. Instead she just stood unblinking, her arms crossed behind her back.
“She was never my playmate,” he finally said, hoping it would shake her. She blinked slowly, holding her own before giving him a polite half-smile.
“Do you really think so lowly of yourself, Verso?” she said, approaching him with long, slow steps. He resisted the urge to pull back from her, wanting to draw into himself and avoid her. It was useless. She kept creeping closer, her movements brisk enough that if he tried to avoid her it would instead seem that he was running. He did not want to be a frightened rabbit, to show incredible weakness. There was something newly cruel about her, and he thought she might laugh at him if he did. What is there to be afraid of, after all? It’s just Maelle.
He’d always known better, and he’d always known she would find out at some point, and that the discovery would alter everything. Still.
“It’s important to me that you recognize our differences,” he said instead of running off. He’d come to confront her anyway. “The Verso you knew is not me.”
She shook her head. “Maman made you in his image. Isn’t that as good as anything?” She cocked her head, rocked from side to side like she was wobbling. “You love her like Verso did, you love me like Verso did. Don’t you?”
He maintained eye contact, observing her in silence while he could. “Memories don’t make love,” he said, speaking slowly. “The versions of you that I…that I care for - Maelle. You were your own person before this. You were Maelle.”
“And what about her?” she said softly. “Your other sister, the one you kept a secret from us?”
“How could I have explained it? How could I have told you anything? It’s a trick, isn’t it - no one would have believed me. My lies would have been all the worse, if they were the truth.” He scoffed as she waited for him to stop, swallowing again to hold the anger back. “You never would have known me at all, if I’d had to be honest with you,” he said, jutting his chin out at her, his jaw tense.
“But you can’t ever know that.”
“I know it well enough. I know you. I know how frightened you were. I know how ready you were to throw your life away. And now - just more of the same.”
“You could never have known how I would have reacted - you never told me!” she shouted, her voice disappearing into the vastness of the woods. He knew their voices would not wake any of the others at basecamp. Nothing ever did. “You simply can’t know, no matter your calculations. Perhaps I would have understood, Verso - perhaps I do now! You don’t believe me, you don’t understand me. Can you imagine how much that hurts?” Her voice croaked at the end, and pity gathered in him like a wave. Sympathy rocked through him, almost painful, and he shook his head, avoiding her gaze, tears stinging in her eyes that he could see even in the dim light of the forest, trees shrouding the moon. “Verso. I just want things to be - I just want us to have what we used to have. You’re no less him than I am her; perhaps we have additional memories, additional truths, but are we really so different than we were? Please. I just want you to understand.”
“Maelle.”
“Alicia,” she said, pressing her hand over her heart. “Verso, please.”
And yes, it was true, he had heard that voice before, that pleading tone, the pain in her as she tried to get through to him. And yes, despite everything he said, Verso’s memories were his, even if he did not live those moments. Cradling his sister in his arms as she wept with frustration, telling her There’s nothing wrong with you, and the ache of anger he felt knowing how beloved she was. But she could not see it. What fifteen-year-old could recognize their power, the love that shaped them? What child could see that they were beloved, and accept it? It was nothing new. She was not unique. Verso had been bitter too, had felt lost in the chaos of their blistered childhood, of their mother’s doting and their father’s distance, how he treated Clea with strict cruelty and gave Alicia only his love, love she could not see, could not accept.
She was coming closer, and she held out her arms and wrapped them around him, familiar and warm. She rested her head against his chest, raised her palms against the broad spread of his back. It was like instinct for him to meet her where she was, to let his arms embrace her. He listened to her breathing, unsteady and fast, felt her chest raising which each heavy breath. She had begun to weep in earnest, her body heaving, and he clung to her as the memories hit him again, barbed-wire reminders of her pain and her earnestness.
“You left me,” she whispered, “you left me, you left me, you left me!” She was still clinging to him, her fingers digging into his shirt, holding him more tightly than his Alicia ever had. “Why would you ever choose that? What were you thinking? I hate you, Verso - I really hate you.” She sobbed again, pressing her damp face to him. She then pulled back, quickly, and turned her face up to stare at him. He stared back, blankly. He didn’t have an answer for her.
He did not expect her to grab his face, to yank him with all of her force down to her level. Her lips were hard as they smashed into his, their teeth clicking painfully with the viciousness of her rage. The wetness of her cheeks pressed against his, leaving her tears on his skin. She tasted like mucus and salt, pushing her tongue into his mouth as the shock of the change left him teetering.
“Please,” she said when she pulled back, her hands now in his hair, holding him snuggly in place. He tried to pull back, but the tension in her was fierce, and her glare juste intensified. “It’s all been too much.”
Verso’s mind, once racing, went suddenly very blank. “I’m your brother,” he said, shocked by the steady solemnity of his own voice.
She shook her head, her movements so rapid and chaotic now that he almost couldn’t keep up with her. “No, you aren’t - you just said you aren’t! That’s her, isn’t it? The version of me Maman made, so delicate and pretty and hidden and quiet! She’s nothing like me. Do you love her?”
He closed his eyes. Answering would just dig himself into a deeper pit. He lifted his hands to her arms and squeezed, gently. Don’t make me do this, was all he could think, but he could not speak. He looked at her, saw Maelle, saw the desperation in her, and he saw his sister, and he saw the memory of his sister as someone he had always loved. He touched her face, inexplicably. She leaned into it, nuzzling his palm, turning her head to kiss it, her face still damp as she cried.
“I just know,” she said against his skin, “that if we don’t, I’ll never know, and I’m…I’m afraid. Verso. I’m afraid.”
More unspoken words: If we don’t what, exactly? But he knew what she meant. Verso, too, had always known; the real Verso had known that his little sister admired him more than a little girl should admire her older brother, that she sought to impress him at every turn, that she wanted nothing more than for him to praise her, to remind her that even if she was not a talented paintress now, she could be. She had never acted on her desires in her youth, had kept them fizzling below the surface as puberty ravaged her, as she was bullied, as her sister disdained her.
“I know,” he finally said, his voice thick. She tangled her fingers into his hair again, stroking, and gently pressed her mouth to his. This time he kissed her back. She moved against him, slipping somehow closer in his arms. The cold of the dense forest seemed to dissipate with the touch of their bodies. Verso listened to his heart beating, the thud of it pulsing through his ears. He often had wondered if he was real, if anything could be said for him anymore, for his place in the world, in this reality. He had, for so many years, wished to give it up. The Verso he was born from would have hated him, though; would have hated his weakness, would have hated him for giving his sister what she wanted.
“Please,” she said again, a simple plea without any specific ask. She touched his belt, tugging at the ropes that held him together, the buttons and ties and various pieces of fabric over his chest. She pushed her hand into his pants, sighing as Verso’s breath caught, her warm palm against his cock through a thin layer of fabric. She squeezed, curious, and then laughed. “I never thought…” She stopped, catching herself from admitting something too dangerous. “Please.” Again, like it was all she needed to say to explain herself and what she wanted.
Numb, now, Verso let her guide him. She undressed slowly, discarding pieces of fabric into a messy pile onto leaves and sticks and dirt, like none of it meant much to her. Her smile was ghostly now, her eyes red and glassy, but relief was radiating off her warmly, leaving Verso unable to pull back. She laid down on the ground, and, her voice soft, said: “Kiss me.”
Stupid, he thought. Stupid and naive and pathetic. He crouched beside her, where she was nearly naked, her small breasts covered by her hands as if she needed to protect her modesty, her pants undone but her boots thrown to the side. Her body quivered, whether with anticipation or with the cold he did not know. He tucked his hand to her face, and felt she was hot as she leaned into him again, seeking that comfort as she always had. His heart quickened again, and Verso met her demand, kissing her small mouth and letting her move against him. She deepened the kiss, forced their tongues together, licked at him like she wanted to reach the very back of his throat. He supposed that wasn’t really so unlikely, after all. She had never done anything like this before; or, at least, it was all he could believe. When would there have been opportunity? Maelle hated everyone but Gustave, avoided other children her own age, distanced herself from adults and worked at her best alone. She was learning, and laughing as she did so, pushing her body closer to his until she was in his lap, where she took his hand and pushed it between her legs.
She was hot. Her clit was already swollen where his index finger brushed against her, arousal making her wet and hypersensitive as he ground the heel of his palm against her, reaching back to her cunt. She guided the tip of his fingers inside of her, the stretch divine and searing against his cold fingers. His cock throbbed as he thought of the heat of her, how good it would feel to be inside of her, how tight she would be, the sounds she might make.
“Maelle,” he whispered, hating himself in that moment.
“Shh,” she said. She was naive no longer it seemed, as she rocked against his hand, chasing her pleasure. A simulation of desire. He pressed his fingers inside of her, rubbed the tips of his fingers against the textured insides where he knew she would be extra sensitive. She whined and bucked against him, whimpering, and he kept doing it, staring at her face. It was hopeless. He would not be able to say no to her. She clung to him, desperately, riding his hand and pleading with him to Don’t stop, oh please, Verso, I need, endless in her whimpering. Had she ever touched herself like this, he wondered? Was this her first crest into orgasm? That seemed impossible - at least, for what little knowledge really had of Maelle at least. Perhaps the Alicia of his long-lost reality had done so in boredom, when she had nothing better to do after lessons that left her frustrated. He would never have known.
Still, she panted and whined and jerked against him like she had never felt anything like it. Her body quivered and clenched and her felt her begin to flutter against him as she stiffened, her body releasing all the tension and arousal that had been hiding behind her anger, her loss, her frustration.
“Oh,” she said, “hah.” She shook as she came down, her entire body vibrating. He kept his fingers inside of her, feeling the final aftershocks, the tiny little twitches of her muscles. She didn’t ask him to move. He waited until she was catching her breath to move again, stroking the tender flesh he knew would be almost too much. She winced, glanced at him, smiled. “It’s too much,” she whispered.
“Really?” he said softly. She nodded, but closed her eyes, her hips rolling down to take the length of his fingers deeper inside of her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him close. He breathed in the smell of her hair, the sweat behind her ears. He pumped his fingers inside of her in slow strokes. She made low, desperate sounds in response. She didn’t repeat herself, didn’t ask him to withdraw, didn’t pull away or react in despair or dislike.
Verso moved now slowly, like his body was so heavy and sinking into the very earth. He knew that he could not take back what had just transpired between them. A wave of emotion overcame him; anger, fear, denial. He dragged his fingers out of her and she shuddered then blinked, trying to look into his face with full clarity. His movements quickened. He was afraid the moment would end, that she would jerk out of his grip. Her hand rested on his shoulders as he undid the opening of his pants, pushed fabric aside and removed his cock from the undergarments. She stared at him, speechless, and sat forward, tempting him further.
He guided her by her hip, drawing her closer. Maelle stiffened as his cock brushed against her, and, heart in his throat, Verso positioned them so her cunt lined up with it. “Oh,” she said, her voice cracking on the single syllable. She winced as he took her, pushing her down by her hips so that her knees buckled. She craned her neck, gasping and choking as he filled her, his cock stretching her cunt more thoroughly than his fingers had been capable. Her thighs, thick with muscle, quivered against his hips. She ducked her head as if to hide, but there was nowhere for her to go except to gather closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, possessive in a way he had never been before, bottoming out inside her.
“It’s too much,” she said again, a spear of truthfulness in her tone. He tucked his free hand against her cheek, cradling her head. She was breathing hard.
“Relax,” he said, stroking a hand through her hair. “Give yourself a moment to adjust.”
She looked back at him, her eyes cloudy, but beneath it was an instinctual fear he didn’t think Maelle had ever felt before. Her fingers clenched against his shoulders, nails digging into him through fabric. He rocked his hips, lifting a knee to better support her, and she made a soft broken ah, like the sensation was something brand new.
Verso supposed it was.
He touched her with certainty now, seeking the same level of pleasure and comfort she had sought from him. If he was angry, it didn’t matter - he couldn’t express it if he wanted to. Each nudge of his cock inside her made Maelle gasp and jerk, her cunt fluttering around him as the pressure built. He knew she was feeling him as much as he was feeling her, the raw reality of what they were doing to one another suddenly at the forefront of his mind. He rested a hand against her lower back, squeezing her closer, and she let out a ragged sound; though it wasn’t quite a sob.
But still - he knew that it was the only thing they had, and he held onto it, held onto her, tried to envision where he ended and she began but could not. They had been tangled, cruelly, and these were the consequences they would both have to face. He held her so tightly he could feel her losing her breath; and it didn’t stop him, didn’t make him less angry or her less afraid. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to her shoulder, and she, in turn, dropped her head to his, her breathing heavy and his somehow even, though his heart was thudding against the warmth of her skin.
“Verso,” she said, and cried out. He had lost track of her, hadn’t been aware she was reaching the height of another orgasm until he felt her clench around him, her body rejecting him at the same time as it tried to keep him tight to her. The realization of her fall pushed him over the edge too, and he tumbled there with her, forcing his cock deep as he could in their position as he came into her. The force of his orgasm stalled him, and he held her tight again until she was pushing against him, squirming and overwhelmed, trying to slip free.
“Maelle, Maelle, Maelle,” he said in a quick whisper, shushing her with a finger over her mouth as she writhed in his arms. His expression was blank as he looked at her, and held her arms, and knew that he was stronger than her. She was only just realizing so, and her fear spiked across her face, twisting her mouth and wrinkling her forehead. He kissed her, and she relaxed, easing into him, her body still quivering from exertion and fear in equal measure.
“Maelle,” he said again, softer now, more soothing. He gently lifted her off his lap. She scrambled to dress herself, then slowed, visibly regaining her composure.
The ensuing silence didn’t scare him. He followed in her footsteps, redressing and brushing a hand through his hair. She didn’t look at him, much as he tried to force her to by staring her down.
Later, he might wonder if he had broken something that could not be pieced back together. In the moment, though, he knew he had won, and took the sick pleasure for what it was.