#poly sinclairs

You sighed, looking into the mirror, gripping the sink tightly with both hands. Jesus you looked like shit. You hadn't been sleeping well the past couple nights, and the bags under your eyes were proof of that. You tried sleeping upstairs with Bo, in the basement with Vincent, and over at Lester's little hut to see if maybe you just needed a change of scenery. But deep down you knew scenery had nothing to do with this. Lifting up your shirt and staring at your belly in the mirror, you knew the real reason. With a shaky breath you grabbed your stomach with one hand, giving it a hard jiggle and watching it bounce up and down. It made you feel sick. Then your hands made their way to your hips and thighs, trailing all the red stretch marks that covered your body. "Disgusting..." You mumbled to yourself. "Absolutely hideous. How could they love you when you look like such a pig." You shot insult after insult to yourself, tears welling up in your eyes and falling down your cheeks.

You couldn't help but look in the mirror and continue to pick out every little thing you deemed "wrong" about yourself. You couldn't remember the last time you were happy about a photo you were in. Lester had found a polaroid camera a few days ago and begged you to let him take photos of you. And how could you say no to him and his cute little puppy dog eyes. He took pictures of you sitting on the back of his truck, laying in the grass, and his personal favorites, several of him kissing your lips and cheeks which caused you to grin and howl in laughter in the photos. But you saw nothing but ugliness. Lester looked absolutely adorable with his lips puckered out kissing you, and giving you a big grin as he watched you lean into him giggling. But you saw your puffy cheeks, and that chin you absolutely hated. Bo always made comments on how gorgeous you were, wolf whistling as you went by, calling you his "sexy mama" like a wannabe Elvis. But you didn't agree with him. How did he think you were sexy when you had these thick red marks on your hips and thighs that were so visible due to wearing shorts. God you hated the Louisiana heat... Bo was the gorgeous one, not you. And Vincent. Oh sweet sweet Vincent. Your artistic boyfriend. He loved to capture your beauty in his art. You were his muse as he called you. But why you? There were so many better muses out there, ones that could give him better art if he wanted. Hell, the wax figures he made looked better than you. They didn't have thighs that touched and flattened out to the size of Texas when you sat. The didn't have bellies that stuck out. Angry and sad tears continued to fall down your cheeks. But then your crying was interrupted by a knocking. "You alright in there, darlin'?" Your breath hitched. Bo. "Tell her dinner is done!" You could hear Lester shout from downstairs. "She probably heard ya'!" You heard Bo shout back, grumbling under his breath. That almost made you laugh. "Darlin'?" Bo asked again, this time concern was lacing his voice. Quickly you pulled your shirt back down. "Yeah I'm alright!" You wiped away your tears quickly, mentally hyping yourself up to hold the rest in. Opening the door you were met with Bo, whose grin quickly fell as soon as he saw your state. "What's wrong?" He asked, cupping your cheek. "Nothin!" You said with a smile. "I'm just gotta run to the store and grab some things." You said as you quickly grabbed your jacket, zipping it all the way up, and putting your shoes on quickly. "Whoa what? Its late, Y/n. Can't whatever you need wait until tomorrow?" Bo said as he followed you down the stairs. "If you wanna try and tell the blood to stay in my body this week, please be my guest." You made up the excuse, hoping Bo would just drop it and let you go. "Well just come eat real quick, then I'll go with you." "No, no, it's quite alright! You boys eat, I'll eat when I get back." You smiled at him. But before you could slip out the door, Vincent walked in the hall. Shit. 'What's going on?' He sighed, very confused as to why you two were not at the table yet. "She's trying to skip out on us." Bo said, making you roll your eyes. 'Why? Do you not wanna eat?' Vincent asked you. "I just need to get out..." You mumbled. "Why? Did we do something?" Lester said as he walked in. Fuck, now you're surrounded. "No! Of course not! I just... Need to get out..." Your voice dropped at the last part. "Just please go eat, I'll be back soon." Your eyes dropped to the floor. God you were probably being such an annoyance to them right now... 'We made your favorite soup,' Vincent tried to coax you to the table. The boys knew how much you loved soup. 'You should eat while it's hot. You always say soup isn't as good re heated.' "I..." You could seem to come up with an excuse.

"Y/n?" Bo said your name, but you couldn't hear. You body began shaking, breathing becoming quick and unsteady as your hands gripped your hair and yanked on it. Lester quickly went to your side, shushing you as he slowly and softly brought you down to sit on the floor. "Hey hey, shhh, it's okay Love, it's okay. We're here. Take some deep breaths okay? Can you do what Vincent's doing? Breathe with Vinny, Y/n." Vincent sat down in front of you, placing your hands on his chest as he slowly took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out through his nose. You needed to follow him. Do what he was doing. But no matter how hard you tried you couldn't. And that only made you panic more. "Shit!" Bo said as he came down to the ground too. "Let's try somethin' else. What do you see, Y/n?" Bo asked, rubbing his hands up and down your arms too. try and get you back to them. "U-um... I see t-the floor..." You shakily made out. Bo lightly lifted your head up. "How bout now, what do you see now Y/n?" Lester's worried face, Vincent's scared eyes, Bo's concerned grip... "My boyfriends..." You made out. "That's right, Y/n, we're right here. Try and do some deep breaths like Vincent again." Slowly and shakily you were able to finally copy Vincent. Once you got your breathing under control you finally could look up and really see them. See how worried you made them. With tears spilling your eyes you flung yourself into Vincent's open arms, violent sobs escaping you as he rubbed your back and placed his head onto of yours, wax mask lips ghosting kisses across your skull. Bo and Lester went to each side of you, Lester running his hands through your hair, while Bo lightly traced shapes onto your back and legs. "Talk to us, Y/n." Lester whispered. You didn't want to. You wanted to sit there on the floor until it swallowed you whole. But you also knew your boys wouldn't let that. "I fucking hate myself!" You sobbed out. You felt the boys all freeze as they look at each other. "Why's that?" Bo asked. "B-Because! My depression is back and is kicking my ass, my anxiety doesn't seem to ever get better, I feel useless all the time and honestly I think you all deserve better than me! My meds made me gain weight, and not just a little! I gained thirty fucking pounds! I feel and look disgusting! You guys shouldn't have to look at me all the time, let alone date me! And-!" "Whoa whoa whoa, slow your horses." Bo interrupted. "Y/n you are not useless. Far from it. And don't you dare say we don't deserve you. Ever. You don't decide that. You are an amazing girl and we are lucky to have you in our lives. The fact that you put up with not one, but all three of us is frankly amazing." Bo said. "And don't you dare say that shit about yourself. You ain't disgusting, far from it. You want disgusting? Go look at the pit full of corpses, that's disgusting." Vincent pulled away from you, wiping your tears on the back of his sweater sleeve. 'You are gorgeous, Y/n. A perfect piece of art.' He signed. You huffed, looking away from them. "You're just saying that..." "No we aren't," Lester spoke up. "We've seen a lot of people come into this town, but none of them have come anywhere near your beauty." "I gained thirty pounds, Les..." "And who gives a damn? Because I certainly don't, and I don't think these two do either." You looked over at the two who were nodding along with Lester. Bo lightly kissed your jaw. "Wether you gain weight or not we will still love you and find you stunning'." 'This,' Vincents hands trailed your body, making you gasp and blush. 'Is beauty. Might as well call you Aphrodite.' You laughed, a genuine laugh, and lightly shoved the artist, making the boys grin at you. "Alright now you're pushing it!"

You went ahead and bought it. The thought of each of your boys’ reactions made you giddy and a little smug. You hung it in your closet and waited for the right day to come along to bring it out:  a day when you felt especially sexy and particularly devious. A day when things had finally calmed down after a long and busy week in which you all barely saw each other and most definitely had not spent any quality time together.

That morning, you took a few extra minutes getting ready. The stars had aligned for your little plan. Your hair was gorgeous. Your skin was glowing. You looked like a snack and felt like one too. You practically pranced down the stairs despite admonishing yourself to play it cool.

Bo and Vince were at the breakfast table, enjoying a leisurely morning after the hectic week. Bo had his nose deep in a Clive Barker novel, absently sipping his coffee. Vincent was chewing on toast and sketching.

“Good morning,” you say cheerfully, pulling open the fridge and leaning forward just a little to see if there was any orange juice left.

You hear Vincent stop chewing. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you watch him hit Bo in the arm, his eye glued to you.

“What the hell d’you – oh my.” Bo’s eyebrows shoot up and he immediately places his book facedown on the table. “Well good mornin’ to you, doll.”

You flash them a sugary smile as you pour yourself the dregs of the juice. Vinny’s eye is wide as a saucer. Bo is actually licking his lips. “Did you guys sleep well?”

“Sure did,” Bo says. “What d’you have planned for today?  Anything…in particular?”

You perch on the edge of the table, skirt sliding up beneath your ass just a little bit. “It’s supposed to be real hot today, so I figured I’d go through and water all the flowers one more time.”

Vincent is scribbling absently back and forth over his half-finished sketch. “Good plan,” he signs. “Need any help?”

“Nah, I think I’ll be alright. I can manage a hose, you know.”

“Yeah I bet you can,” Bo murmurs.

You smile at him. “What do you have on the list today?”

Bo talks and Vinny signs at the same time.

“Nothin’ much – ”

“Basically nothing – ”

“ – just gonna clean up around the station a little – ”

“ – probably going to do some inventory of art supplies, super boring – ”

“ – definitely gonna be, y’know, a little bit lonely….”

“ – could use some company for sure….”

A giggle almost escapes your lips. “Well, maybe I’ll catch up with you later.” You hop off the table, adjust your skirt, flounce to the doorway and then turn around. All eyes flick back up to your face. “Hey, when does Lester get back?”

“Lester?” Bo says flatly.

“Late, I think, very late,” Vincent signs.

“Oh, okay. Good to know. Bye guys.” You give them a little wave.

The morning passes with a shocking number of chance encounters. Something is broken in almost every building you visit, and Bo simply must fix it today. Similarly, Vincent informs you he needs to do a spot check of wax figures to make sure they’re holding up alright, and wouldn’t you know it, there are flowerbeds nearby every single one.

Watering flowers is hard work, and you can’t possibly be blamed for the sheen of sweat that glistens on your face and arms, nor the number of times you are required to bend over a planter box, nor the fact that you filled the watering can too full and splashed a little water on your bodice and Bo missed his aim with a hammer and smashed his thumb.

When the heat of the day rolls around in the mid-afternoon, you decide to break for lunch and head back up to the house. The twins are nowhere to be found. You are halfway up Main Street when the rattle of a familiar truck engine reaches your ears.

You turn around and beam at Lester, who is quite literally hanging out the driver’s side window. “Hey stranger!”

“Hey yourself,” he says, parking the truck in the middle of the road. “You look – well, now – that is a mighty fine dress.” He blushes.

“Thank you!” You give him a twirl.

His mouth is actually hanging open. He quickly closes it and swallows hard. “Y’know, I would…I’d offer you a ride, but…how ‘bout I just walk you home instead?”

“I would love that.”

Lester climbs out of the truck and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. He is remarkably clean, nothing but a few bloodstains below his knees. He offers you his arm, which you gladly take.

“Don’t you need to move the truck out of the road?”

“Nah, it’ll be fine. Nobody comes here anyway. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, just watering flowers. It’s hot today.” You toss your head, fan yourself.

“You’re damn right. Been workin’ up a sweat, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Geez.” He cannot take his eyes off you. “Where’re Bo and Vincent?”

“I’m not sure. They’ve been hanging around all day, but I haven’t seen them for a minute.”

“Yeah I’ll bet they have. You’re prettier than a field o’ phlox, honey.”

You squeeze his arm. “Thank you, Les.”

He stops at the edge of the yard. “Hey listen. Lemme go change outta these clothes, then why don’t you and I sneak over to that lil meadow on the east side o’ town?  Do a little catchin’ up.”

“That sounds lovely.” You start towards the house.

“Ah-ah, why don’t you wait here?  I’ll just be a minute.”

You frown innocently. “But Lester, it’s hot.”

“Well I’ll grab you a drink and bring it back out with me. I jus’ don’t want you gettin’ sidetracked is all.”

“Okay I guess.” You shrug your bare shoulders.

“Be right back, sweet pea.” Lester kisses your cheek, immediately turns bright red, and practically leaps up the front steps and into the house.

Today has been quite the success so far, you think as you kick at the edge of the lawn with a sneakered foot. You’ve been in Ambrose and involved with the Sinclairs for a good while now; it’s nice to know you can still fluster them when you feel like it.

You wait around for a fair few minutes before the front door opens and Vincent steps out, beckons you. “Hey angel, why don’t you come inside?  I’m almost done with lunch.”

“Aw Vinny, that’s so sweet of you. But I told Lester I’d wait for him to finish changing.”

“C’mon, you know he’ll be a while. He’s got no concept of time.”

“You’re right about that. I am pretty hungry.”

You climb the stairs, step inside. Vincent shuts the door. Your eyes fall on Lester, who hasn’t even changed yet, standing next to Bo, who has his arms crossed over his chest. Vincent comes up behind you, weaves his strong arms around your waist, holds you against him. You furrow your brow in mock bewilderment. “What’s going on, guys?”

“You’ve been a regular little cocktease all day, that’s what,” Bo says.

“Me?”

“Yeah you.”

“It ain’t fair,” Lester pipes up.

“Prancin’ around all day lookin’ like that.”

You can’t help but smirk and shrug. “Sorry.”

Vincent drops his hands to your hips, pulls you a little closer. You feel a half-established erection pressing against your ass.

“Well, lucky for you, we’ve all come together and decided on a solution,” Bo announces, moving leisurely toward you. “You wanna put on a show, darlin’?  We’ll let you put on a show.”

A thrill shoots through you. “Well I suppose that’s only fair.”

“More’n fair, I think,” Bo says as he squares up in front of you.

The first press of Vinny’s lips to your neck sends chills down your back. Bo takes your chin in his hand and bends to capture your mouth. You feel Vincent suck at the thin skin behind your ear, relishing the salt of your sweat.

Already your brain begins to fray with the input of so many sensations at once. You put one hand over Vincent’s, grip Bo’s shirt in the other, and have almost forgotten there are three Sinclair brothers when you feel a gentle brush of fingers on your left thigh, then your right, and then Lester’s hands are beneath your skirt and sliding your panties down. You wonder where he can possibly fit in this arrangement for only a second before you feel his tongue on your sex.

A hopeless moan escapes your throat and Bo breaks your kiss. You open your eyes and note with satisfaction that his face is flushed beneath that smug expression.

“I sure do love seein’ you flustered, darlin’.”

“Right back atcha, sugar,” you say.

Oh, but he does love a spitfire. He seizes your lip with his teeth, running his thumb over your collarbones. Vincent slips the straps off your shoulders and continues his adoration of your skin. Lester, ever the dark horse, already has you unsteady on your feet with long, slow licks. You weave your fingers through his hair and arch your back as Vinny’s deft hands slip beneath the fabric of your dress to cup your breasts.

When you cannot possibly hold yourself up any longer thanks to Les’s ministrations, they disentangle themselves for a brief, heartbreaking moment so you can weave to the couch. You ease yourself back against Bo’s chest, let him hold your wrists in place around his neck, all but trembling with anticipation as Vincent positions himself at your entrance.

“Now darlin’,” Bo murmurs in your ear, “I don’t want poor Les feelin’ all left out here. So why don’t you keep your eyes on him while Vin makes you feel real good, alright?” You nod desperately, lock eyes with Lester, who winks at you. Bo cups your jaw, thumbs your lip. “An’ I’ll be right here, makin’ sure you know what a good job you’re doin’, what pretty sounds you’re makin’. Does that sound okay, doll?”

You open your mouth to respond and Vincent, ever the opportunist, picks that moment to ease himself into you, all the way, an inch at a time. The whine this elicits from you is positively wicked and you hear Bo chuckle against your temple.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so much fun.”

As Vincent picks up the pace, hands running over your legs, you do your best to keep your gaze fixed on Lester, whose hungry expression leaves you feeling a whole new level of naked. All the while Bo pours a steady stream of praise and filthy commentary into your ear, rutting against your backside as his twin draws a series of sinful sounds from your lips.

Eventually Vincent trades Bo and Bo trades Lester, and you have the unique and genuine pleasure of experiencing the techniques of each one of them in quick succession. Somewhere along the way you are lost in oblivion, your body electric, lavished in kisses and caresses and admiration from all sides.

When at last you are spent and so are they, Bo brings you a glass of water, Lester plants a tender kiss on your brow, and Vincent carries you up to bed.

You had finished all the housework a lot earlier than normal, since you couldn't sleep last night. You were now sitting by the window still watching the rain come down. You've always loved the rain, finding peace in the noise, smell and feel on your skin. You were hoping the rain would at least try to make you feel better but all you felt was pure emptiness. Wondering if going outside to be in the rain might help, except you can't find the energy to move your body so you just sit there as the thoughts take hold of your mind once again.

Bo had noticed something was off about you. He couldn't quite tell what it was and he didn't know how to talk to you about it so he was just waiting until you came to him. He wondered if either of his brothers could tell there was something off too, he's sure Vincent does. Bo heads down into the basement to see if you've told him anything.

"Hey Vince, have you noticed Y/N acting... strange lately?"

Vincent nodded slightly, I don't know what's wrong with her, she hasn't really been coming into the basement a lot lately.

"Oh, ok thanks" turning around, going back to the house Bo gets out his phone calling Lester to ask the same question. Lester tells him that when he asked if you wanted to go on a ride in the truck with him you declined while looking weight down, you just told him you were very tired. Bo thanks his brother and hangs up. Now he's even more worried about you, Bo walks up to your bedroom gently knocking the door. "Hey Y/N you alright darlin?" When you don't answer, Bo opens the door to find you sitting on the floor looking out the window, your legs up to your chest with arms wrapped around them.

Bo walks up to you slowly sitting on the floor next to you. Your eyes fixed on watching the rain, refusing to meet his eyes knowing as soon as you look at him you will shatter.

"Baby" Bo started in the softest voice you've ever heard him use. "Baby, hey can you tell me what's wrong"

Vincent and Lester had come into the bedroom joining you and Bo on the floor. Vincent reached out slowly rubbing your back. "Y/N, we're here for ya. We just wanna help" Lester said trying to get you to talk.

"I just wanna make sense of it all" you said almost in a whisper

"Need to make sense of what darlin?" Lester said

"How was I supposed to know I'd feel nothing in my bones. Been putting on a show for everybody but me" you spoke so quietly Bo almost would have preferred you to be yelling and screaming at him. He could handle that. None of the brothers are very good with emotions. None of them really knew what to do. They just hoped that being there and talking, offering comfort would be enough.

Bo pulled you into a hug, you didn't move to wrap your arms around him like you normally would but as soon as your head hit his shoulder everything built up inside you just exploded. Your body racked with sobs, you hands came up grabbing ahold of Bo's shirt. Vincent took off his mask, wrapped his arms around your middle from behind and pressed his forehead into your neck trying to give some skin to skin comfort since he couldn't use words. Lester joined the hug as well "it's ok sweet pea, it's gonna be ok"

"Breathe sweetheart it's alright, we got you" Bo trying to calm you down.

Once the tears slowed down, Vincent signed what's going on in that pretty head of yours?

In a shaky voice you replied "I don't think I can do this anymore. Lyin' awake another night, wondering why I'm still here? I'm not special, there's nothing even remotely interesting about me. I'm just a burden. Would you even miss me? I'm not pretty, I know that. There were other girls in the group that I came here with that were so much more gorgeous than me yet they're all wax and I'm still breathing. Most nights, I feel like I'm dying fast and living low at least that's how it feels when I can't sleep"

The three men stayed silent for a moment as you wiped your eyes with your sleeve trying to stop stray tears rolling down your face.

Vincent reached up to cup the side of your face, running his thumb across your cheek. Removing his hand he signed Y/N you are not a burden. We all love you so much.

"Vincent's right, you've made our lives so much better." Lester assured you

"Babygirl" Bo gently grabbed hold of your chin so you were looking directly at him. "You are the most interesting and gorgeous person I, we have ever met. There's also a shit ton of special things about you. So don't you dare even for a second think that we would be better off without you." He was trying to hold a stern expression but you could see his eyes were beginning to tear up.

You could feel your own eyes begin to water, only single tears rolling down your face as your body was too tired to cry anymore. Vincent carefully scooped you up, walking across the room placing you on the bed. He laid down on his side beside you kissing your cheek before resting his head on your chest and wrapping his arm around your middle. Bo joined in doing the same as Vincent lying on his side beside you kissing your cheek before lying his head on your chest and arm around your waist. Lester kissed your forehead then very carefully positioned himself to lie on your belly.

"We need you sweetheart. Of course we would miss you"

You run a hand through Lester's curls then wrap an arm around each twin. You smile as you kiss them.

Been puttin' on a show shapeshiftin'

First fic after not writing anything for about four and a half months also first one of 2023!

I don't know how I feel about the ending I had no clue how to do it 😅

That evening, he went straight to his room, making sure I followed. Leaving me to stand awkwardly by the door, he fiddled with the record player, until something jazzy, with lazy vocals, something rhythmic and seductive, filled the room. I dared a few steps inside. He walked around me, movements swift, overly familiar with the space, and opened the adjoined bathroom, the sage green one. Gestured me inside, handed me a razor and pulled at the waistband of my skirt. I raised my eyebrows in confusion. Pulling my hand in between us, flattening it, and using the end of the razor to write something letter by letter.

‘Shave. Down there.’

“You want me to- what?”

He sighed and retrieved a sketchbook from his nightstand, with a pencil. “I need a nude model. So I’d like you to shave there.”

I blinked. “I’ve never shaved before.”

We stared at each other for a beat. He handed me a tub of shaving cream. It never occurred to me that he’d shave, or perhaps have a beard underneath the mask. “Go against the grain. Take your time.” And with that, he shut the bathroom door.

.

After shaving, showering, and drying myself off with a threadbare towel, I stood still, staring at the door. Since he had specified to shave down there, I left my legs and armpits hairy as they were. What would be worse; coming out nude, or undressing in front of him? The power he had over me made my head swirl.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I ignored his eye on me and headed to sit on the bed, as he usually drew me sitting down. He sat in the only chair in the room, by the room covered with old toy cars on the window sill. He flipped the page he was working on over, starting a new one as soon as he saw me. Perhaps he did art at university. Perhaps he was very used to seeing nude women. He stood up as I tried to sit in a somewhat modest position, and leaned his knee on the bed. He loomed over me, even more frightening than before, and I willed my hands to stay on the duvet. To not react with fear or defensiveness. Gentler than before though, his hand pushed my shoulder until I leaned back, and he helped my legs up on the bed until I laid down. A shudder travelled through me from the warmth of his hands. It was still September, but the evenings cooled down considerably. He noticed, his gaze quickly shooting up to mine, before resuming his movements to position me. His fingers slid along the skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Shoulder to elbow, to wrist, then onto hip, over the roundness of me there, his breath hitched, and it was then that the movements could not be considered professional by any stretch of the imagination. He kneaded hip and thigh, digging in his fingers, testing softness, firmness, where the bones were hidden. The mask showed nothing of his expression, but his breath was heavy as it echoed against the wax.

In a desperate attempt to distract him, to place something in between us, to do anything at all, I leaned up and reached for the sketchbook. At the same time as I brough our faces closer by reaching for it, it occurred to me, clear as day, sharp like being pricked by a needle. Those wandering hands, that heavy breathing; I could use it. I could survive this place. At least until others come, until I steal the keys to Bo’s truck – until something goes well for me. The thought was quickly squashed as Vincent gripped my wrist with a large hand, stopping me from flipping it over to the side he was drawing on, and it was just as clear that if he wanted anything, he would have it.

“Can I see your drawings? You’ve drawn me almost daily, but I’ve never seen any of those,” my voice was thin, the lisp worsening as my mouth felt foreign and dry so close to him. Close enough to smell the wax, his heat, to see the coarse white dog hairs on his t-shirt. “Please?”

He searched my face, eventually sat back, tucking his legs underneath him. He grabbed one of my legs to throw over his lap, then picked up the paper with a last look at me, and flipped through it until he decided on a good one. Holding it out for me to take and I did.

It was me, yes. One of the earlier days, I wore the same clothes as I came there with, my hair in a single, messy braid – must’ve been the first week. Why did that stick out? Vincent’s style was naturalistic, realistic, but seemingly more lifelike than I was in all my flesh and blood. My expression was serene, looking away from the spectator, eyes averted, face relaxed, almost smiling.

“Do I really look like this?” I mumbled. It wasn’t a judgement, of either his art or of me, just the realisation that he has had opinions on my body since the moment he set eyes on me. “Sorry. You’re really good. Do you have a formal education in art?”

He shook his head, watching my reactions. He flipped to another page, one by the window in the kitchen,  the light illuminating my figure like a baroque painting. His warm hand returned to rest atop my knee after each time he flipped a page. Another, one where I had no idea he drew me; more of a sketch, also in the kitchen, reaching up to take something from a cabinet. A homely scene. Another in the basement, on his table, this time with an incredibly detailed background, including Jonesy at the foot of the workbench.

Couldn’t help a fond smile at her head laying on her paws, “you’ve drawn Jonesy too.”

On I looked, and as he flipped through the pages, more confident as I commented idly as he did so. Me, me, me. Page after page. Some had details. Pages of just my hand with my rings, of just eyes, eyebrows, different positions sketched out quickly and messily. The ones where you could barely tell it was me were my favourite.

“The way you draw me, the shadows… It reminds me of Rubens, or was it Caravaggio? I believe it’s called chiaroscuro, the contrast.”

His eye shot up to mine, fingers ghosting over the page. He nodded slowly. A new page, he pressed hard on the pencil as he wrote something down. “How do you know?”

“I took a lot of art history courses back home,” I said, feeling the memories of my previous life choking me. Yet it felt like I could speak more freely now that he’d shown an interest in hearing what I have to say. “It feels strange to see myself drawn… Like I can view myself from your eyes. See what you see when you look at me, even if you try to be objective.”

He flipped to another page, an intricate one, a portrait. His hand didn’t return to the warmed up spot on my knee, instead he traced the features of my face on the paper. Eyebrow to nose to lips. With a certain hesitation he brought his other hand up to my face, and touched me, featherlight, following the path his other hand invented.

Even without words, that spoke of something, a feeling, so instinctual that it preceded language entirely. I averted my gaze. He traced the outline of my lips, letting his thumb linger after his pointer finger had already left to feel my jaw. A sigh escaped me, he shuddered, pressing his eye closed briefly, the blue disappearing between dark lashes, and pulled away suddenly – leaving me cold on top of the duvet. Grabbing the sketchbook and pencil, he briskly walked out the door, letting it clatter noisily against the frame. I slept uneasy, not daring to leave or wander about. Awoke with wrists tied to the bedframe without any sign of either of the brothers.

.

Bo was right about the visitors that were coming. They came just after lunch the next day, during which I was barely able to eat, stomach filled with dread instead.

First, they lingered outside, exploring the town, then the gas station. When we heard them come nearer, Bo looked up from the hood of the car and smiled at me, his crow’s feet made it feel genuinely reassuring. Just follow along. Breathe deep.

“Hey there, we’re looking for a mechanic? Could you help us?” The man that stepped forward was young, in his early thirties at most, dark hair, wore pilot sunglasses. The sleeves of his light blue button up were rolled over his elbows, showing hairy underarms.

“Ya found one,” said Bo, straightening up and turning to him. The look he sent me was intoxicating. “What do you need?”

The man came closer, taking off his sunglasses and clipping them to his shirt pocket. “Hi, yeah, our car broke down, just down the dirt road from the 35.”

“Do y’know what’s wrong with it?” asked Bo, he grabbed a rag and wiped his hands clean, before tossing it.

“No, not very car savvy,” said the man. “It just won’t start. We weren’t having any trouble before, and we always check up with the garage before going on long trips.”

“Guess we’ll have to check it out then,” said Bo, looking back at me with a grin. “Darlin’, will ya mind the shop while I’m gone?”

With the most casual nod, he threw me the keys. The trust, the familiarity, how was he so good at this? It made me lightheaded. The other people had gathered and we went outside. They were just a young woman, and another young man.

“Yeah, he can help us,” said the man in the button up to the rest.

“Name’s Bo, by the way.” Bo leaned on the door to the garage and motioned to me. “And that’s Katyusha, my assistant at the shop.”

The visitors looked to me and made their own introductions. There was the first man, Thomas, the woman’s name was Sylvie, the other man, blond, was Baxter.

“So, you’ll take me to your car, then?” Bo asked Thomas. “See what can be done to get you on your way.”

Thomas nodded. Sylvie grabbed his arm. “Don’t you want me to come along, baby?”

“No need for that, honey,” was all he said. Bo sent me a look. 

I spoke, clearing my throat. “I can take you both up to the house for something cold to drink? It’s hot out here.” To punctuate my point I wiped the sweat from my brow.

Baxter was quick to agree. “Yeah, sounds good. It’s not far I hope?”

“Not at all.”

And so we split up.

.

Once at the house, I let the two roam, to get ice from the fridge and glasses from the cupboard.

“The town seems nice,” said Baxter, lingering in the kitchen. “Quiet, though.”

“Yeah,” I answered with my back to him, “most folk are out of town at this time of year. But we like it just fine.” I handed him the cold glass of lemon water with a smile. Condensation made the glass slippery, or was that the sweat of my palms.

We moved to the living room, where Sylvie snooped around. She was looking at the various stuff stacked on the drawers and the coffee table. At least it was all clean and neat. I set the glass down for her too, sank into a wooden chair, leaving them to sit on the couch.

“So, you and the mechanic guy, you two together?” asked Baxter. He seemed younger than Thomas. Sweet face, freckles, blond curls.

“No, not at all. I just help out at the shop sometimes, so he can do his thing. But it’s not like we get many customers out here.” The glass was chilly in my hand. I should do something, anything for this moment to stop and for my nerves to calm down. Unfortunately t was much easier to keep my voice steady, than it was when dealing directly with the twins. “Where were you three headed?”

“Just on a journey to see as much as possible. We have all taken as much time off as we could get.”

“No destination?”

“We’re going east, to the coast. We’re visiting some landmarks. Planning on going via Baton Rouge too.”

Sylvie nods. “We heard about a festival up there? Perhaps we’ll check it out. Is there a bathroom here? Excuse me.”

I pointed her the way and she disappeared. Baxter shifted closer on the couch, our legs were almost touching from how wide he spread himself out.

“What’s that on your wrists? Are those scars?” he asked, even daring to point. Reflexively, I rubbed the marks.

“They’re old,” I said, but immediately knew my tone was off. “The heat makes them… seem worse again.”

He gave me a look that very much felt like balancing on the edge of a cliff, but whatever he said was interrupted by a scream. He shot up, and I pressed my eyes closed for a second before getting up too.

“Was that-?” he asked.

I shrugged, holding a wrist tightly, to soothe the memory of the ropes. He grabbed my arm and pulled me along the hallway to where he saw Sylvie go. He tried a door, then looked back at me. At that look, his posture fell.

“What is going on?” he asked, disbelief and fear settling over his features. I realised then, how my face was scrunched up in fear. He grabbed my hand and looked closer at the marks, and I could not help myself. Tears filled my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” was all I was able to say, voice barely a whisper. Baxtor released his grip on my hands, instead pushing me to the wall by my shoulders, gritting his teeth.

“What kind of trap is this?” he hissed. I only shook my head, shocked by the quick change in his demeanour. Despite knowing better, despite it being a bad idea, the hope that these tourists could be my rescue dissipated like a drop of water on a hot pan. The door behind him opened soundlessly, but when he noticed my stare, it was too late. A blade pierced his chest, stopping short of mine by just five centimetres. I wiped my tears, clearing my vision and found myself face to face with Vincent’s chest. He hummed softly and rubbed my arms. The rough texture of his jumper against my cheek was comforting. Safe. Shock overwhelmed me and there was little to do but cling on to what I knew – who I knew.

.

Waking up was painful. The room was a proper bedroom, Vincent’s. There was a glass of water on the nightstand, a note underneath. The sheets smelled like him, like wax and the particular way Vincent smelled like a man. Vaguely of laundry detergent. The curtains were drawn, but the bits of light that shone in through the cracks were enough to make my head pound. Quickly scribbled letters read: ‘there’s breakfast in the fridge, I’m in the basement. Avoid Bo.’

These words were casual, but at this time, it was best to take them as instruction. Breakfast was a banana, and even that felt like a terrible decision, and down the stairs I went. Bo was nowhere in sight, thankfully.

Vincent was working on a sculpture. He heard me approach and looked up. Hands darting to pen and paper. His handwriting was as familiar as the sound of my own voice.

“How are you feeling?”

I shrugged. “Headache, but I’m fine. Didn’t see Bo. How… how did everything go?”

With a bounce in his step, he moved over to a cabinet with medical supplies, took out two bottles. He handed them to me, and I examined the labels. Painkillers.

“Thank you,” I said, took one out of each, put the bottles back. “Is there some water?”

He was writing again. “Bo kept the girl, but she stabbed him. He’s in a bad mood. Other than that, all is well.”

At times like these, his masked face was frightening. No emotion. The warmth of our closeness on my skin as he guided me next to him at the workbench. It was Baxter.

Vincent continued writing. “He was going to hurt you.”

“I tricked him. Them. Bo- he took me to the shop to help.” The desperation in my voice made me sick. Did Vincent know of Bo’s plan to use me to draw victims like a spider in a web?

His hair tickled my shoulder, he pulled me closer, away from the sedated man. His hand on my chin to make me look at him, but I closed my eyes instead. Another tug. Fingers moved to my throat, grazing the pulse points. I shivered, then opened my eyes.

His blue one looking directly at me. He was braver than the day before. The kill, or the sculpting, seemed to invigorate him. We were closer than I thought, I was almost pressed against his woollen jumper.

“You did well,” he wrote on the little scrap of paper from his pocket. The way his fingers trailed over my cheek, lips, neck, could almost be considered affectionate. He drew letters on my underarm, “You were so good, for me.”

And I saw it without even seeing his face, his eye was enough. Pupil blown wide with desire. And I felt it too, as something that crawled under the skin where he touched me. Perhaps it was there the day before, as it seemed to have warmed him considerably too. His gaze so lazily taking me in, lingering on my lips just too long. The little movement of his head, forward, closer, his hand curling around my neck. I whimpered. That one little movement, instinctual, of baring my neck, of angling my head, that little glance at the wax lips – it was all he needed. Slammed me into a cabinet nearer to the bed, hips grinding. His apron was gone in an instant. Scrambling behind me to get something from the cabinet. A syringe. He was quick to grab my arm to hold me still. Fuck-

“No, please, Vincent, you don’t need to do that. I’ve been so good, I’ll be good for you…” Wrong words. The neediness in my voice sickened me. “I know you want to touch me, I want to touch you too. To feel your hands, your skin… Please, Vincent.”

The syringe clattered to the floor. Immediately his hands were on me, he was panting. Fingers dug harshly in the soft skin of my hips, he kneaded his way up to my breasts. I pressed myself to his chest, experimentally trailed my fingers under his jumper. His skin was feverishly hot. He pulled a leg to his waist, leaning me back against the cabinet. Breaths against my ear. His groin pressed against my heat. He was hard as he moved against me. I hiked up my skirt, hissed at the harshness of his zipper. The hand I had around his neck for support, he pushed down, fingers digging so hard they’d leave bruises. Papers scattered around as he pushed me on the surface, legs spread around his hips.

He whimpered when my hand found the button on his jeans. This is what he wanted, right? This is what he kept me for. The pounding behind my eyes made it hard to think. I wrapped my fingers around his cock firmly. He was painfully hard, velvet length leaking precum. His broad hand angled my head up to his, looking him in the eye. The pressure on my throat increased as he gripped it tighter. Eyebrows scrunched together from desperation and guilt.

His hips and my hand created a rhythm. I licked my dry lips, not daring to look away from him. The fierceness in his eye scared me more than the tightening hand around my throat. Hard to tell which moans and pants came from which throat. His eye fell shut and his hips stuttered, before a mess of cum spurted over my bare leg. It dripped lazily on the floor and the wax nose of Vincent’s mask bumped my cheek. His hand on my neck stayed, although its grip loosened with each of his shuddering breaths. I stroked him through the aftershocks until he softened. He released my neck, took hold of my cum-slick hand and intertwined our fingers.

“Did that feel good? I just want you to feel good,” I breathed and another low grumble escaped from under the mask. Jolts of something new sparked through me. I pleased him. He pet my hair, made soft sounds and rubbed his mask against my cheek. I did well. That thought, both exhilarating and sickening, carried me into the night.

.

The new wax statue found a place in one of the houses. The other victim was not deemed worthy, for whatever reason. They sent me to clean the old lady’s house, check the mechanism, dust the knickknacks on the cabinets and coffee table. Bo’s fury was resolved when his stab wound healed. It was shallower than he made it out to be.

A threshold had been crossed when it came to my involvement. They let me out more easily, some nights Vincent took me up to his room. He found it difficult to keep his hands off me, even at the most domestic of times; greeting me with a squeeze of the shoulder or a hand on my back. Bo got more physical too, but he preferred to shove me out of his way, to back me into cabinets, to grab me and to yell when he had his moods. Secretly, I thought he did so to scare me on purpose. To not forget my place, and perhaps to indirectly protect Vincent. To make sure I wasn’t a disappointment.

I Only Have Eyes for You (and You, and You) Dancing in the kitchen with all three of your boys

A Matching Set of Spoons Midnight cuddle puddle

The Sundress A little friendly competition in which you are really the winner

Never Again Obligatory we-almost-died-but-we-didn't fic

Four's Company Good thing you have so many holes, darlin'

Part of the Family You decide you'd like to contribute to the family business, but it ends up being too much for you. Your boys make sure you're okay.

Blurb: Taking Care of Sick Sinclairs

Novelty Mugs Watching a thunderstorm in good company

Wet Dream You're in Bo's bed and at the mercy of Vincent

A Place for You Cuddling the twins after a long day