
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/278927.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Beautiful_Kate
  Relationship:
      Ned/Kate
  Character:
      Ned_Kendall, Kate_Kendall
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Sibling_Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-11-17 Words: 791
****** Graveside ******
by annabeth
Summary
     Ned remembers.
Notes
     written based on the movie Beautiful Kate, in which a novelist
     returns home to make peace with his dying father, and as he stays
     there, memories of his past with his twin sister resurface.
When I visit her grave, the memories flood me like an uncontrollable wave. I
kneel in the soft dirt, brush my hands over the tombstone, which is gritty with
sand and the stone softened by moss and lichen. It's been a long time, but my
body doesn't forget. Time doesn't wash away those memories, doesn't even dim
them in my mind.
I touch the stone, and it's soft like her skin used to be. So unbelievably
soft, just like the moss against the palm of my hand.
I close my eyes and lean against the marker, my cheek cooled by the stone, and
allow everything to come bubbling back up, just allow myself to sink back in
time and feel those things again. Things I'd never felt before. Things I've
never felt since.
Her tongue, moving against mine. Her leg parting mine, knee bent, thigh
grinding up against the erection I wanted to deny, to pretend had never
happened for her.
Beautiful Kate, in all her glory. She wraps her arms around me and kisses me as
if she's been doing it all her life, and in a way, she has; though she's never
done it quite like this until recently.
I tighten my fists in the long strands of her dark hair and mess it up even as
our mouths clash together. I reach down and shove her leg out of the way,
smacking her thighs apart; I don't know how to be gentle. I don't know how to
be loving when this is the furthest thing from love.
I open my jeans. I open her body with my fingers, and then I open her up around
my cock as well. Her lips are soft, swollen; she's juicy within, silken nirvana
clinging to my hard flesh.
She kisses me, and her hands find my back, to claw at me. But she's clawing me
closer, not away. She's so smart, is all I can think. She knows just what to
do: she clenches her muscles around me, and she rubs her breasts against my
chest, and even though we're half-sitting against a fence outside, in the dark,
I am looking into her face.
I don't close my eyes, not even to kiss her; the moonlight settles on the
smoothness of her cheeks and I can see all the freckles there.
I thrust, and our bodies rock. I push against her, and she pushes back, until I
can feel the friction of the fence through my shirt. In front, she separates us
just enough to ruck my shirt up so that her bare breasts, with her peaked
nipples, will touch my own bare skin.
She breaks away from my mouth, but she doesn't wipe at hers. She opens her eyes
and she watches me, stares me down as she starts to come.
The fog clouds over her eyes as her mouth parts, and it starts in her pelvis
first, a wave rolling up onto shore, outwards into the rest of her body, till
she's shaking in my arms.
She's silent as the moonlight as she comes apart against me. And I drag in a
harsh, rasping breath and bury myself within her again, tight to her cervix I
imagine, and allow the last waves of her climax to throb into my own skin and
push me over as well.
It's like she's inside me, the way I can feel her heart beating in my own body.
If someone had said to me, 'this is what it's like to fuck your own sister,' I
would've thought they were crazy.
But there's something about Kate, beautiful Kate, that makes me crazy. I clutch
at her supple bare back and I feel her heart, buried within my chest, begin to
slow.
I open my eyes. And once more, I am propped not against a worn fence, but
against a worn piece of hewn stone, with the name 'Kate Kendall' carved into
it.
In all the ways that matter, I am the reason she's dead.
In all the ways that don't matter, I should've forfeited my own life long ago.
But I live on, and I visit her grave, even though I should stay away. I abused
the trust of a beautiful girl in life. But there is no one to tell me not to
come. No one to say, 'you piece of filth, you shouldn't be allowed within fifty
feet of her, even in death'.
I lean away from the stone and get to my feet.
For as long as I live, it will be up to me to come back, to remember, to suffer
through those moments of pure hell, even in all the pleasure they brought me
when she was still alive.
                                     end.
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