#ive had this in my drafts since november might as well just post it lol

[gaiuskamilah]

my brother's keeper

crimes of passion | M | 1.1k words

relationships | vasili thorne & sebastyan thorne, background f!trystan thorne/nb!main character (will rose, he/him)

warnings | character death, graphic depictions of violence

In which Vasili Thorne kills a brother in the name of Drakovia.

[read on ao3]

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Duty was the one word that rang through Vasili’s head, has been almost all his life. The garrote felt like a dead weight in his gloved hands. There was a slight tremor in his fingertips as he mindlessly fidgeted with the weapon, thoughts preoccupied with the price he was about to pay.

Sebastyan. Duty now demanded for his darling little brother, Sebastyan.

Eight years ago, duty demanded for Juliana. Vasili’s beautiful Juliana—taken from him by none other than one wretched Trystan Thorne. Trystan never was satisfied. The gift of the crown in her lap, the world at her fingertips, and she could never see it as the blessing that it was, as the opportunity to serve and fulfill duty in the most honorable of ways. It was a competition ever since Vasili was born, and Trystan did nothing but take and take and take. In the end, even Juliana, Vasili’s Juliana, Trystan took for herself. 

Juliana’s death had been incidental. The glitter wasn’t for her. But duty worked in mysterious ways, and in a haze Vasili awoke to find himself with the syringe at his beloved’s throat. He held Juliana as she died. Her eyes, once full of love and admiration for him, only held accusatory betrayal.

But her death was a gift, a promise. 

It was easy to frame Trystan. The death of Juliana Georgescu, a beloved Drakovian countess, at the hands of Princess Trystan? The same Princess Trystan who refused to keep herself in line, who neglected her duties? Not even their father’s favor could save her from something so scandalous as murdering Juliana.

Or so he thought. 

One pesky cult and Detective Rose had the king and queen recalling his sister back to Drakovia. The trial for Juliana’s death recommenced, and Vasili’s luck was starting to run out.

Nadja had failed in where Vasili needed her. In turn, he sliced Nadja’s throat open, stabbed her for good measure, and left her in Trystan’s room for the spoiled princess to find. But the work was sloppy, and the only thing that happened next was the start of an investigation by Trystan’s run-of-the-mill American detective. The crown wouldn’t even allow for a Drakovian’s death to be investigated by a Drakovian, no, it had to be Will Rose and his ragtag team, because Princess Trystan always got her way. 

Pfaugh! It made Vasili sick. 

He wanted to humiliate Trystan, wanted to take everything from her, wanted to make her bleed. In due time, he will, but as of now—

Vasili hid in the shadows of the opera box where he’d soon meet Sebastyan. Vasili steeled himself as he waited. This was different from the previous two—Juliana’s murder was a true crime of passion, a spur of the moment. Nadja’s took longer, but Vasili felt little sentiment for the lawyer that wasn’t disappointment. She was a means to an end, and since she failed once, at least her death could be used for something. 

The doors swung open and it was with bated breath that Vasili watched Sebastyan walk into the opera box. The younger walked up to the open balcony and leaned on the railing. It was always a habit of his, ever since they were children—Bas would take in the sight of the world below him before coming down and taking his seat. 

With Sebastyan’s back turned, Vasili quickly strode over to the other side of the opera box. He pressed Sebastyan’s body against the rail, holding his brother in place with his own weight and the metal and concrete. “I’m sorry, Bas,” said Vasili, just loud enough for Sebastyan to hear. 

“Vasili—”

Vasili cut Sebastyan off as he wrapped the garrote wire around his brother’s throat and strangled him with expert hands.

The wire dug into the exposed skin of Sebastyan’s neck and cut right through his carotid artery. Blood spurted from the wounds and it was with both agony and sick sense of satisfaction that Vasili strangled the younger. Sebastyan thrashed under him, but Vasili was stronger. He held Sebastyan in place and pulled—the wounds on his neck were deep, and Vasili was certain there was no going back now. It would be only a few minutes before Sebastyan would leave him forever. With quick hands, Vasili untangled the garrote wire from around Sebastyan’s neck, and turned the younger man around to face him.

Sebastyan stared back at him with a look not unlike Juliana’s all those years ago. The younger prince spasmed in his older brother’s hold as blood continued to flow down from the wounds on his throat. His white tux, almost always pristine and proper, was stained red by the blood. Holding Sebastyan flush against himself, Vasili pushed Sebastyan’s hair out of his eyes. 

“Shh, Bas, shh,” Vasili hushed, his voice soft in an attempt to soothe Sebastyan, much like he did when they were children. Sebastyan’s blood and spit spurted from his mouth, specks of it falling onto Vasili’s face. “This is for Drakovia. Drakovia will thank you, she will remember you. We will remember you.”

Vasili cupped Sebastyan’s face with a gloved hand and silently lamented the fact that he couldn’t feel his brother’s skin under tips of his fingers, that this had to be done with the blasted latex just to make sure Vasili wouldn’t leave too much of a traceable mark. He wanted to hold his little brother properly, wanted to let Sebastyan know that he was treasured and adored by the same person who spilled his blood out on an opera box floor. He wanted to let Sebastyan know that his death would mean something. 

Sebastyan let out a choked sound as Vasili pressed his fist against Sebastyan’s neck. The gloves were just thin enough to allow an indent of his signet ring. “I will see our plans to fruition, I promise. Drakovia loves you, and she will love you even more, sevenfold.” Vasili pulled his fist away and ran a thumb over the new indent on Sebastyan’s skin, one in the shape of the Drakovian royal crest. Drakovia’s — Vasili’s — mark. Vasili pressed a kiss on Sebastyan’s forehead. “I love you. I will love you, forever.”

Vasili watched as the last light left Sebastyan’s eyes. With a shaky breath, he shut Sebastyan’s eyes closed when the younger finally fell pliant in Vasili’s arms. Pure grief washed over Vasili as he held Sebastyan in a hug for what would be the final time. Then, he steadied himself, careful to not let his emotions get the better of him. The voice of his brother’s blood cried to him from the ground, from their bloodstained clothes, from Vasili’s gloves—there would be time for it later, when the prince’s death would be revealed to the rest of their kin.

For now, Vasili placed his brother’s body on one of the opera seats, wiped the blood off of Sebastyan’s mouth, and disappeared before Trystan could find him. 

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tags: @choicesficwriterscreations

#playchoices #choices #crimes of passion #vasili thorne #sebastyan thorne #trystan thorne #my writing #ive had this in my drafts since november might as well just post it lol