It wasn't natural, the way she'd glistened in the complicit morning that was cut out mostly by the blinds a kinder brother had set. Kitato, like the devil Nahoya saw him as now - not for evil but for his clearly demonic hold on the girl - leaned into her treasure coat. Kit stuck her sternum with his weapon tongue, and scooped up with the sharp thing what must have been her skin and heart itself. What a creative way to enjoy her, that Naho had never thought of. He wanted to eat her sheen now, also. It was profoundly tilted that the man who shared her bed should be wanting for something off her body that his brother took freely.<br/><br/>Kit followed her details with his fingers. His hands were leading her along, and he was as ecstatic about her willingness and desperation to dance as the yet unseen audience. He huffed out some admiration and confident delight when her shorts were off, and that taut smile between the pinch of her thighs aimed at him, unprotected. Was it out of comfort and freedom, or could he think she was this girl, dressing with him in mind at night? He'd sent her off with enough taunt for it to be conceivable, yesterday. An all-eating ego, which was a key difference between the one who got to see her up close, unshackled, and the one who relied on the walls for secrecy, now.<br/><br/>The villain had seen his clear self in her washed eyes, and let her take in his form while she was possessed by the length that had been her teacher whens he should have been his. He thought she was finally taking some responsibility, in the narrow cut of her fever cover. Kitato loved her for it. But his love was exactly the opposite of the kind that cures a cold. He was drawing from her, enjoying her friction. His hands led her, and his hips met her, eager to see what her motions looked like on their own. It was regrettable she was so weak, or he was sure the show had been different. Not that he wasn't becoming fond of having to help her. When she said the name he'd taught her, it was too much.<br/><br/>Naho cried quietly, holding his mouth and his crotch. His face was taking up the dent of the frame he sought comfort from while he watched her try to movie with Kit. In that bed, Nahoya would do everything for her, afraid to hurt her, still. Kit didn't care in that way, and Rei was responding to it like she'd been starved. Miserably, he heard their voices. A killer's instincts, and she was encouraging it. How reckless to use her illness like this, and also masterful.<br/><br/>Kit's growl, that only bubbled through his chest when she was near, broke louder when she agreed to die, a millennium's worth. A commanding hold on her hips and a dangerous rise of his into her. Naho heard the rhythm clearly and Kit hissed, frustrated at its lacking frequency. The youngest wanted more. Soon he laid her on her back and followed as he had her fall. He was sitting straight, one of her legs held up to his chest and shoulder, hugging it to him as he thrust into her, her body turned toward the door now. It was a sordidly practical way of fucking someone. She was defenseless for his taking.<br/><br/>Naho had hidden in panic first when they flipped, but then couldn't resist looking in again, a string of saliva having stuck to his lip during an angry, lonely breath. He didn't know how his own member had come out, or why it was that he squeezed and petted to calm it while he stared at the love of his life be hammered by his little brother. Sometimes he was too afraid of taking in air, and sometimes he was sick too, like her, with some high temperature, and didn't care. Either way his hand became relentless in copying Kitato's expert pace in her.<br/><br/>Kit, left to his own choices now that she had a hard time refusing or reciprocating, became her monster. Her slick body was perfect at this angle. He wanted to see her try to crawl away, or dig her hands in to try as uselessly to help in her own murder. He became her antagonist, and bullied her harshly. He turned his head to where her leg was kept against him, and bit into her shin, as though his teeth would help keep her in place when he gave her what he knew to be her favorite, but at this new pressure point. From their first embrace, he'd been the commander of her peaks, after all. He looked down at her with the kind of assumption of on owner at an oblivious servant that had Naho shiver for an inexplicable reason, and paint the frame in what was usually kept neat and contained in latex. Shameful, forgotten provider, sidelined from this boiling game.<br/><br/>"Who am I, Rei?" Kit asked and pushed as though he meant to unset her intimate joints from their sockets, no matter if she had or was having her rapture. He wouldn't slow until he was satisfied. He really was some kind of nightmare, towering over poor Rei, Naho thought, trying not to give himself away with his breathing. When had his brother become this beast? And why was Rei making herself the perfect fit for his pleasure?<br/><br/>If she said something viable, Kitato would sign her while groaning triumphantly, as though that was a reward she'd been longing for. What a horrible way to treat a weakened woman. And how much worse that Nahoya had watched and helped himself to it.