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This is another Porn Battle fic that I'm posting over here. If you prefer, there is the original link.

Fandom: Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly
Pairing: Mio/Mayu
Word Count: 579
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: masochism, incest, angst
Disclaimer: I own neither Fatal Frame nor these characters, nor is this in any way intended to suggest that I do.

Mio never wanted to hurt her sister. Never wanted to, and yet she did. The first time was an accident, one moment of carelessness that changed their lives forever. But for all the times after, she couldn't even claim that excuse.

She wouldn't have done it had Mayu not begged her, staring up at her with eyes wide and vulnerable, even scared. Wouldn't have done it even then, perhaps, had there not been the first time to make up for, a penance still owed no matter how often she'd been told she was forgiven. How could Mio look at the twin who'd never run again and refuse her anything?

She couldn't. So she bowed her head, did as Mayu asked. In the dark, where it was just the two of them in the bed they were perhaps too old to share, she pulled her sister's hair, slapped her face. Left bruises shaped like teeth marks on small, delicate breasts; watched scarlet welts spread over a pallid stomach as though it were someone else's fingernails doing the scratching.

“Yes, Mio,” Mayu cried, and held her tight. “Harder.”

Sometimes, though she never told anyone, she even enjoyed it, wanted to hurt the twin who could be such a heavy burden. She hit harder then, sometimes drew blood. Mio could only hope Mayu didn't notice or, if she did, that she misunderstood.

After, Mayu would be quiet, sleepy and sated. She'd wrap herself around Mio and nuzzle her neck, calmer than she'd ever been. “Don't ever leave me,” she'd whisper, every time without fail, the words
inextricably intertwined with actions Mio already regretted.

“I won't. I promise.”

The words echo in Mio's memory as she spreads her legs and slides cool fingers between them, rubbing hard enough that the pleasure borders on pain. There is only one girl in the same bed where once there were two and it is her own skin she scratches, her own nipples she twists until tears come to her eyes. It hurts, and Mio never liked being hurt, but she doesn't stop. “Harder,” she whispers, and tries to pretend it was someone else who said it, someone who enjoyed being touched like this as much as Mio hates it.

She can't forget what she's done. She can't be forgiven. Even as her body shudders, pleasure and pain giving way to inevitable release, Mio can't forget, can't erase the memory of a fragile throat in her hands. Mayu had looked at her so trustingly, then closed her eyes in absolute surrender. But it was Mio who had submitted; Mio who had given in when she should have refused.

How could she have done it? No matter how many times she relives it, revisiting that moment over and over every time she closes her eyes, she still can't answer the question.

Blindly, Mio stares at the window she never closes, hoping for one more glimpse of a crimson butterfly, fragile sign of the only absolution she'll ever receive.

She hopes, but is unsurprised when the window remains dark and empty. She raises her hands back to still-sore breasts and begins again, punishing herself as endlessly as she relives that night, as caught in time as the Lost Village once was. Perhaps she never really left at all. Perhaps she's become just another ghost. Mio can hardly bring herself to care. No, that's not true. She cares; she wants it to be true. It's only what she deserves.