LKH-AB: Between the Between Title: Between the Between Fandom: LKH: AB Spoilers: Up to Cerulean Sins Warnings: sex in various permutations, but nothing explicit Disclaimers: Characters and world belong to LKH; the ficlet is mine. Dedications: For ref, my Forrester audience of one =)
Becca had her first orgasm when she was a few weeks shy of 14, and it was pristine. She had been alone, fully clothed; she hadn't even been touching herself. She was simply stretched out on her hotel bed, watching some Japanese game show with the volume turned down; Edward had a job into Tokyo, so he'd brought Peter and Becca along. He and Peter were sharing a room, of course, with Becca right next door. She heard things through the wall, naturally—talking as well as moans and groans. For the most part, she ignored them, turning up the volume on her TV or her discman to give them a measure of privacy. That night, however, she turned the volume down low, set the remote control on the writing desk, and went still.
Her eyes drifted shut when she heard the first creak of their mattress. As their rhythm increased, Becca bit down on her bottom lip, feeling vaguely wrong. She knew she shouldn't be listening, but it was so similar to watching the Japanese game shows: she had no idea what was really going on, trapped as she was on the other side of some invisible barrier, so it was left to her imagination to translate. Thanks to the internet, she had some notion of what gay sex entailed, but seeing the pictures on her monitor and hearing it next door were two very different things.
Okay, Becs, time to stop being a perv, she chastised herself. But when she moved to swing her legs over the mattress so she could retrieve the remote and distract herself with TV, she felt a wetness creeping down the inside of her thighs. What the…? She knew she didn't piss herself; after accompanying an assassin for a while, she knew all too well what urine smelled like—some of Edward's marks lost control of their bladders and bowels before they lost their lives. She was also well acquainted with the feel of blood, so she knew it wasn't her period making an early appearance. Experimentally, she rubbed her legs together and felt a tiny spark deep in her groin, white-hot and fuzzy.
Oh.
Clamping one hand over her mouth and gripping the headboard with the other, Becca stretched back out, listening to the escalating passion in the room beside her. She did her best not to moan when the tiny sparks became full-fledged fires, burning her up from the inside out. Her heels dug into the mattress; her hips alternately arched up against nothing or thrust down against the bed, her legs squirming this way and that. She was overheating and wanted desperately to get her pyjamas off, but she didn't dare leave her mouth uncovered. Instead, she writhed against her bed, managing to worm her tank top halfway up her back. The matching shorts stopped just short of her hips, and when she managed to look down her body, she could see the wet stain at the juncture of thigh and groin. Hoping her mattress wasn't squeaking noticeably, she moved to the rhythm she could only hear, letting her imagination fuel the fire that was making her melt. When the orgasm hit her completely, she bit her fingers hard enough to draw blood and it seemed to take a lifetime for her to catch her breath.
When she realized what she'd done, Becca felt her face flush and she leapt off the bed, checking the sheets. Mercifully dry, which was more than she could say for her pyjama bottoms or her legs. Taking a shower at that hour of night would be suspicious, so she soaked a facecloth and wiped herself clean, gasping when the wet cloth touched her. Hurriedly, she changed into her second set of pyjamas and stuffed the damp ones into her laundry bag, hoping her father wouldn't ask why she was doing an early batch of laundry the next day.
*
Climaxing in tandem with her brother or father became a game to Becca. She'd strip to avoid the laundry issue, but she always restrained herself somehow. Sometimes she'd lie face down and bury her head in the pillow as her hips thrust uselessly against her bed. Sometimes she'd place something hard just between her legs and let it slide against her as she writhed. She often handcuffed herself to her bedpost, careful to keep the keys safely in reach, so she wouldn't have to deal with the awkwardness of asking Edward or Peter to unlock her—alone, nude and aroused. The restraints weren't meant as a punishment or a means of self-discipline; they raised the stakes for her somehow. The times when she sandwiched herself between her bed and a simple sheet nearly drove her to the brink, the cool cloth rubbing enticingly against her breasts and abdomen. Other girls got hooked on drugs or alcohol; Becca had a different but equally dangerous way to get her high. She didn't fantasize about being with either or both of them; the idea disturbed her, in all honesty. Yet in the act of witnessing, of secretly sharing, she got closer to them somehow.
When she finally decided to have sex with another person, it felt wrong somehow. She knew she had no problems coming, yet she couldn't manage it with any of her boyfriends, no matter how gorgeous or skilled they were. She either had to fake it or wait until Edward and Peter were having sex. She'd even considered putting a bug in their room to tape them, but she knew better: they were both assassins and would easily find anything she planted, no matter where she hid it. Girlsex was better, if only because she felt more comfortable telling her girlfriends about her particular quirk and most of them happily accommodated it.
When she found the small recording device behind her headboard a few months later, Becca was only indignant for a moment. It was secrets and sharing, she knew, the same tenets that kept the family safe.