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"You're doing great," Florence moaned into Gawain's ear as if she wasn't taking the lead, as if his body wasn't simply moving with the pace that she set for him. She'd taken the lead. She had to. Gawain didn't understand even the beginnings of what he was doing as he touched his sister, but she was there to patiently guide him through his first time. Through their first time. He lay on top of her with little sense of how to move so tenderly. Training wasn't usually so intimate. Didn't involve being so gentle. Was Gawain even supposed to be this gentle? Florence's fingers digging into his back made him think otherwise, but he didn't know for sure until she whispered, "You can go harder," into his ear. She was the one guiding him through all of this.
They were alone now. More than ever before, it was only Florence and Gawain, trying to master the magic their parents had won wars with. Their parents were gone. Nobody else would show them the way. Nobody could. In ways they had been afraid of, brother and sister now clung tighter to each other, and beneath every clumsy motion forward was some hungry attempt to get closer to her. To feel her. He was inside of her, body grinding against hers, his lips coming so close to meeting with hers and simply accepting that this love was as much familial as it was romantic, but he held back from it. He shouldn't have. There was so much in him that he tried his best to handle, so much that he wanted to let loose.
"It feels good," was all he could say.
Florence offered a growing smile. "It does," she said. "And I'm glad it's with you." Florence was only slightly better adjusted in this situation, if only because she wasn't thinking about this in terms of keeping the two kinds of love she felt for her brother separate. Reading the nervousness in his face, kissing him was something she held back from only out of uncertainty about if he was comfortable with it. But she invited him in, fingers lacing in between his. "This isn't just about the magic. I want t--"
Gawain kissed her. He wasn't sure what he was doing or why he was, but even the slightest glimpse of intimacy was enough to pull him in, to convince him that she wanted this too. Gawain locked lips with his sister, interrupting her but for good reason, and Florence's response made clear that she was happy to be interrupted. She squeezed tighter at him, free hand pulling him down harder against her body. She moved with fitful need, with a desire rumbling harder through her. It was the confirmation Florence and Gawain both needed, reassuring them that this love wasn't one of practicality, and that pretending otherwise was a mistake. He came inside of her to seal the deal, and the chaos of their voices building up was everything both of them needed.
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Gawain wore confidence well. Once they began to understand one another, it was easy. Florence was hunched over the bed, clinging the headboard and holding steady while his confident thrusts worked with a determined and hungry pace that hit her in just the ways she needed them to. Guided by experience, Gawain didn't know any hesitation in fucking his sister, his tight hold on her hips giving him the leverage to pull her back, starting in with the beginnings of a roughness that didn't care if her hair become a handle or if his hips became too forceful.
The nervous little brother unsure if he was too rough was gone. In a way, fucking Florence had become training, and with the utmost certainty in his actions, egged on by her relentless moans, he didn't shy away from treating it like training. From getting rough with her, albeit by clutching her hair instead of a practice sword, and in using his teeth as a weapon instead of his kicks. With a deep plunge forward, he sank his teeth into her shoulder, felt the muscles tense and the whole shoulder try to struggle and rise up against him.
"Gawain!" Every cry of her brother's name only drove him further along. That was what she wanted. "Harder." She pleaded with simple words. Basic little blocks of sound and demand that were at once easy for him to understand when in this hard state of pounding at her like he was an animal, but also easy for her to organize her thoughts into as he fucked her dizzy.
A sharp pull back at her hair made Florence hiss, but it was only so he could get her head upright and accessible for a kiss. A kiss he imposed upon her harshly, but all in the name of something that they both found pleasure in. His tongue was forceful, but that all mingled with the rest of his roughness perfectly; nothing about Gawain was gentle in ways that it didn't have to be. Not when he knew what he was doing. Not when he knew that fucking her harder and quicker could melt at her composure and coax from her all the sweetest of noises. Physical dominance was something that came easily to him, and no matter how powerful Florence's magic was, he held this over her, and he used every bit of that leverage in railing her. The louder she called his name, the more she fed into his ego, the more she reinforced his dominance.
She knew it. She knew she was giving him a big head, but as his big cock filled her, she just didn't care. Gripping the headboard for stability, meeting his kisses, letting him bite her or pull at her or grope her... Whatever he wanted to do to her inevitably brought on satisfaction more potent than she cared to resist. All Florence felt and saw was pleasure, and her brother being right here with her, the two of them navigating their relationship perfectly to their mutual enjoyment, and with that in mind, there was no way anything here could go wrong.
So every time he slammed forward and filled her, Florence felt only fulfilment and warmth. Felt only his cum filling her. Felt his teeth dig into the back of her neck. Felt the kind of hazy joy that made her want to stop worrying about anything. Nothing could go wrong here. It was perfect.
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Confidence had become the worst part of Gawain. "This is what I deserve," he groaned, fingers dug into Florence's hair as he guided her along her cock for the harshest facefucking he'd ever given her. There was no warning for it, no moment where he showed the slightest control or restraint in how he touched her. He hadn't even asked, just yanking her down to her knees and slamming into her mouth, catching Florence off guard and leaving her now to struggle against him. To push at his hips and his thighs in a desperate attempt to push him off, if only to get him to slow down and talk this out first. He didn't talk. He only twisted his hands in her hair. "Stop fighting this. It's what I've earned."
Florence's hands did fall weak, but less because of his command, and more from the shock of his words, from the absolute gall of his desire to speak so blatantly about her. She looked up at her brother, wondering how heh ad become so power mad, wondering how to deal with this. She could have sworn the word 'slut' was on his breath as he slammed forward again. He was out of control, all of his arrogance focused on this one singular moment of pure greed, a merciless aggression he wanted only to wear her down with, and he didn't care about stopping.
This wasn't the first time Gawain fucked her mouth. She even enjoyed it, usually. But Florence felt like this time, things were just wrong. Different. A certain love wasn't in the way he held onto her, and he moved with his own pleasure in mind but acted in a way that left her unsure he would take care of hers. Which was a problem, because the arousal swelling between her legs wasn't something she could easily ignore. Even now, when he was at his worst, he could make her ache for him. It brought her shame.
Gawain didn't pay any attention to her. His eyes were closed and his head was rolled back, hips hands doing all the work and the rest of him simply accepting it. All of his worst impulses had come to roost, and all the things that Florence had watched him slowly succumb to were now in their bedroom. He seized pleasure from her, abandoning anything mutual or affection for the empty joy of getting off, and he raced toward that goal without restraint, not holding anything back and not being afraid to cum directly down her throat. "Swallow," he commanded, and his grip in her hair twisted once more, which left her only doing that.
Yanked back from his cock, Florence gasped for air. "Why?" she asked, hands bracing once more against his lap, this time trying to fight against the inevitability that he might pull her back down.
"You should say 'thank you' instead of asking me questions," Gawain snarled. "The hero of Dalmore comes home to you every night, and has to keep his love a secret. Do you know how many women would fawn over having a hero come home to them? Do you think I couldn't find some whore who would do exactly what you just did?"
Of all the things Gawain had said, those words cut deepest. His attitude, his pride, even the idea that he was owed her body, could not have hit Florence with the same intensity as his claim that any other woman could have taken her place. Florence had made so many excuses for Gawain, had time after time tried to believe in him. In that moment, faith slipped away from her. "Thank you," she said with molten, bitter resentment. He'd forced himself on her, then disrespected her. She didn't know how, but she was going to make him see better, and it would not be a gentle process.
The very next day, she was able to offer the king of Dalmore an arrangement that would secretly accomplish just that.
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Stripped bare of his confidence, Gawain shifted forward. Not exactly by will. The grip in his hair guided him over the edge of the bed. "I deserve it," he said. He could barely remember the last time he felt Florence's intimate touch. It felt so miserably long ago that his skin reeled at the touch, even a squeeze of his thigh making his cock plead and throb. But she wouldn't touch his cock. He couldn't blame her for it. "I'm so sorry."
Gawain's apologies had spilled forth from his lips a hundredfold. Laying bare the shattered remnants of his pride, he presented himself to her, and Florence had long awaited the day. Long awaited the chance to drive her strap-on into him and seek to dominate him just as he once dominated her. A firm thrust drove much of her in, taking Gawain's virginity and making him hiss in surprise. "What does all that strength get you now?" she asked, easing her hips back and thrusting forward again.
"Nothing!" The beast Gawain was nowhere to be found. This was a different Gawain, whose hair was tight in his sister's clutches, whose head moved about with whatever demands she had in mind for him as her hips wound up for this pleasure. A Gawain seeking forgiveness, and ready to be stripped of any and all pretense so he could be given the humbling he deserved. The first time in forever that they touched, their reconciliation, and it was a moment where Florence held all the power in her hand. "My strength is nothing beneath you."
"Your strength is everything with me," she replied, her stubborn hips driving forward, making him gasp and clutch at the sheets. She should have tied his hands back. "How many 'whores' did you find on your travels who could do what I did? How many threw themselves at your feet? You walked out of this bedroom on top of the world, and you crawled back into it pleading. I'll never forget that, and you shouldn't, either."
Gawain tried to say he never would. Fingers in his mouth silenced him. Without hesitation, he sucked on them, accepting whatever she wanted from him, doing his best to submit and to perform without a worry in the world. He felt the burn of his need for forgiveness, the desire to respect and to relish her. His sister. His lover. The witch who cursed him. The love of his life. He'd been humbled and brought low where it mattered most, but his disrespect in the bedroom had to be punished. He understood it. The pleasure that came from her stubborn and steady thrusts was only the silver lining to everything about his rapid descent into submission.
"I could put you on a leash. If you wish to be an animal, I can treat you like one. Remember that." Florence felt the potent thrill of domination push her hips forward. She understood how this power became too much for Gawain at his worst, understood the thrills that became too much for him. Her hips didn't shy away from leaning into it. This was to be a rare treat, and indulging as hard as she could when it came wasn't so wrong of her, was it? No, this all felt reasonable. All felt right.
The fingers withdrew from his mouth, but a firm tap on his tongue made the muscle tingle. He didn't understand why, but he continued to take this, moaning without words through the pleasure of being fucked by his sister, the humbling bliss of being claimed and of being in this submissive position bringing him closer to understanding. His strong body was only worth so much against a will like Florence's, and the reminders of that hung over him each time he felt the grind of her body against his, felt the size contrast in the way she felt upon him. It was maddening, pushing him toward the most confused and baffling orgasm of his life.
When he came, it was all over the sheets. He groaned and heaved, head yanked back sharply, spine arching upward. It was the first meaningful release he felt like he'd had in forever, and she had ignored his cock the whole time to remind him of exactly what he was due. He couldn't do anything but accept it. "What do you say?" she asked, fingers caressing his throat.
Gawain tired to speak, and he couldn't. His throat clenched up with each word he attempted. Her spell robbed him of his voice, briefly, until she let go of his head, until she let him sink face-down into the bedding, and that was when he knew. It was a final, twisted joke. "Thank you," he said, and Florence drew out of him.
Only then did she finally give his lips the kisses she had waited a seeming eternity for, and with tears in their eyes, they held each other close, and reunited with an emotionally naked need for one another they hadn't felt since their first night together.
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Florence wasn't surprised when Gawain became too soft with her. In truth, he had every reason to be, and she knew that there was no good way to broach the subject. He'd been too forceful and cocky and gone too far, and she'd punished him for it first with the curse, and then when he came crawling back to her again with her strap. It was only natural he'd end up scared by it. She should have seen it coming, actually. She'd even cursed his tongue briefly to make him feel the burn of his past words. It told Florence two things. One, that she was a frightening good dom capable of instilling divine fear into a man if she had to. Two, she'd gone too far, and she needed to fix it.
Grabbing his wrist, she brought his hand up to her throat and pressed it there, making clear her desires with two words. "Punish me."
Gawain froze up. Florence couldn't believe the hesitation flashing across his eyes, while also being oddly relieved by it; he really was a better man now. He thought about the mixed signals, about the things he'd done that she'd punished him for, and he tried to spit out some good response to it. He had none. He was stuck in a confused state of weird, foggy panic, wondering what to say and how to properly express this right. "You want me t--"
"Punish me," she said again. Firmer this time. Florence stared up into his eyes with absolutely no calm or control. "I went too far. I had to, but I wronged you too. I took mine frustrations out, so now, do what you need to do to me, so that I can get over my guilt."
Their reunion had not gone as planned in so many ways, and now Gawain was faced with a clueless, shaky realization of what Florence wanted, and where she wanted him to be. How much of his confidence she'd wanted stripped away. It was clearer now. It was right. She still wanted the beast, but the beast she'd created. Not the beast he'd created.
Somehow, the transition was easy. One push of his body. One shove of his hips. He forced his body physically between her legs, and the fingers around her throat tightened. He was inside of her instantly, his body holding hers down against the bed. It had been so long since the last time he was properly inside of her like this that her body bucked upward, but he was too heavy, too firm. he held her down, kept her powerless now in the face of his worst attentions. They'd had sex since she pegged him, but it was softer. Calmer. Not like this, but this was what she needed.
"It's time for me to get my apology," he growled, hips pounding forward with the single-minded passion and fire of someone who was finally able to take charge and finally able to get what he wanted. It had been too long for him, too. Touching Florence with a distinct fear of being 'too rough' had frightened him. Now, he felt like he was ready, like his body was working as it was supposed to again, and his every wild, unrepentant slam down into her was a desperate return to form.
Florence tried to gasp out the needy pleas of apology that she had been holding back for so long. She couldn't. His hand was too tight. her own hands remained on him, gripping his wrist tightly, fingernails dug into his skin. She didn't try to pull him away. She wanted him to keep it there, and her grip was a desperate reminder of that fact. This was her penance, the way for her to feel all the things she needed to feel, to find catharsis in surrender and accept her desperate attempts to find his forgiveness. she knew she had it. She knew this wasn't necessary for him. But it was necessary for her, and the harder he fucked her, the more confident Florence was that she'd be able to forgive herself.
Even if he didn't need to do this, Gawain found it easy to give in to, easy to throw himself headlong into the madness of. His body was prepared, burning with greed and fire. His hips missed this, but the burning thrill of hammering down into his sister from above, in finding this familiar place open to him once more, was everything he needed. He'd held back for fear she didn't want this anymore, but the way she twisted beneath him said differently, and the desperate, deep relief of fucking her like he used to, of going all out and making clear his dizziest desires, was something he couldn't be without. All this time and all this work, just so they could get back to this.
It was where he belonged.
The fingers squeezed just a little bit tighter. Florence’s expression of ravenous fire and lust was as drastic as it could get, cheeks red, eyes starting to dizzily fade. If he pushed her to the limit here, she wasn't sure she'd have been angry. Cathartic pleasure swelled through her, and even without much to do but grunt and slam forward, overwhelming her body, imposing upon her his sharpest will. His fingers released, and she let out unearthly howls of joy, sucking down shaky breaths in the brief moment before he squeezed back around her.
"You don't get to pass out," he growled. 'You have to be awake for this. You have to feel all of it." This wasn't allowed to be that simple. Not for Florence. For Gawain, everything fell perfectly back into place. His hips slammed down with the same ferocity and fire he was used to, btu without all the worst impulses, without the attitude and the smugness. He was simply dominating the woman who mattered most to him, fucking her and giving her the punishment, she craved. It was for her pleasure as much as his, and the senseless thrills of plunging forward left no time for her to think clearly. It was all back to normal, and the glimmer of his old life was everything he needed, all at once, until he could take no more.
If sentencing Gawain to long periods of ashamed wandering away from her meant the first time he came back and fucked her like a beast would make for the best orgasms of their lives, then maybe Florence needed to punish him again. The pleasure burned them both up, Gawain all but howling as he slammed down into her, as he came inside of her with no restraint or care, and Florence had never been happier to be pinned beneath him, the grip on her throat driving her mad with joy. She clawed him up enough to make him bleed a little bit, but his hand didn't waver, squeezing only as tight as it had to get her off. His control was immaculate while she left hers in pieces.
The Gawain that Florence wanted most was home. His hips slowed to a halt, and he hung over her panting, aching, clearly ready for more but gathering his thoughts and considering how to have her. It had been so long, and she knew there were so many ways he could take her that he'd long missed. That she'd long missed. There was a time where this was about coping with loss and about understanding the magic they inherited. That time seemed so quaint and so distant now. This was about more. This was about love, and about balancing one another out as people.
"Be this," was all she said. It may as well have been a desperate, wordy screed on how much she missed him and how lonely it had been without him.
"Be mine," he said in turn, rolling her down onto her stomach, hands pinning hers to the bed, and she knew it was good for just as much.