Bleeding Proof by cytryne  

His hand cupped her breast. Swollen as it was, what would otherwise fit neatly in his palm spilled out through his fingers, heavy and aching. She glanced down and cursed under her breath at the swell on her chest as he pushed the handful up higher. Her thighs clenched but could only move so much spread wide as they were.

Tyelko huffed at her. He massaged the breast just this side of too painful and Atarincë inhaled sharply. After so much teasing, it was all she could do to keep her dignity, quiet her voice as the stimulation went straight tothe mess in her cunt.

"Look at this," her brother sneered, shifting slightly to pull his fingers out of her. They curled against her walls on the way out, and Atarincë bit back another moan. The thick, slightly painful, wrong feeling of something being clawed out of her followed, dripping and pulling. She squirmed.

Its wrongness only added to the dizzying need. The thought of what Tyelko would make of it pushed her to bear down, to force the congealing blood to break away in one final sickening slide like a newly birthed red black stone. It fell onto the cold chair between Tyelko's thighs, impossible to hide. She should want to. Her pride demanded it, and yet—Atarincë rocked her hips backwards instead of down, leaning back into Tyelko's chest to show the way blood had smeared across the curls at her thighs in a matching display.

Ilcalamë's chair creaked as she leaned closer. She rested her chin on her hand, other down the front of her own dress already, and made no notice of Atarincë's gaze. Distant. Like she was above her, too good for her to touch even as she took her pleasure from her desperation.

Atarincë shifted on Tyelko's lap again. Her cheeks heated, chin lifting to look above Ilcalamë in return, but her eyes refused to focus. She was so empty.

Tyelko made a noise of disgust. He lifted the fingers that had just been inside her into the air and spread them wide. They were coated in shiny bright red blood, the slick of arousal only barely visible under how much she bled.

"Disgraceful." He massaged her chest with his other hand as he spoke, pressing deep into the sensitive tissue. "Wasting our father's blood on your own selfish whims. Spilling all over."

He pinched and twisted her nipple cruelly and Atarincë whined, a voiceless, reedy noise of desperation as she pushed her breast forward into his hand. The sting plucked her nerves like a wire. It felt cold against her overheated body, relief and worse at once. She bit her hand a second later, mumbled curses muffled by it, but the damage had been done.

"Failing in your duty like a common whore. Where is your pride?"
Tyelko wiped the blood onto her thigh with another noise of disgust. Atarincë's eyes were drawn to it, unable to look away from the way it glinted against the candlelight. It was sticky, rapidly cooling in the air, and her.

Her father's blood. Her blood, her indelible proof of genius, laid on her like it was meant to be shameful.

"You should make her eat it."

Ilcalimë said in the distance, her chair squeaking again, but Atarincë could barely hear them over the rushing in her ears. Her stomach clenched tight at the thought as more blood dripped down her thighs. His own covered arousal pressed into her back like a brand. She would stain it too in blood.

Tyelko forced his fingers inside her in one quick shove. Her mind scattered, moaning into her hand again at the noise, but she had to—had to—

"—yours? I've—had a son—"

"I have borne a child," Ilcalamë corrected. She rested a hand on Atarincë's chin, sticky with her own release, tilting it up to look at her standing next to her. "You have not. Shall we fix that?"

Chapter End Notes

Alas, one baby only for them :(
I love Ilcalamë. I need to write more fics with her.

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