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*

It didn't used to be so quiet here.

Allison notices Diego, pinch-faced and silent, turning down another upstairs corridor, his steel-toed boots clanking. Probably to find Mom. He hasn't exactly been the cheeriest soul in this mansion. She had to step between another verbal fight with him and a defensive, doe-eyed Vanya.

Even when she's completely infuriated with her, even when Vanya sells their secrets and their lives and pretends she is the victim in all of this… Allison can't help but be protective. The youngest of them.

She just wishes Vanya didn't put up so many walls. Not at this age.

Luther's and Allison's bedrooms were on the second-floor of the northern wing. They had been practically attached to the hip as children, as teenagers, sneaking around, eager for another set of clumsy, hot kisses. The other bedrooms up higher and spaced out. Vanya's bedroom the furthest from everyone.

Dad

Allison's teeth worry on her lower lip. He really did his best to isolate Vanya. The bastard.

Pogo says Vanya disappeared this way, mumbling about a headache, and Allison veers straight for Vanya's bedroom door. They can talk. Not about anything in particular, just… talk. Talk things out.

Allison raises a hand to knock, and then hears a small, whimpery noise. She pauses, hovering by the entrance cracked slightly open and keeping quiet, Allison's nose crinkling. Most of the bedroom's layout seems familiar. Scroll-back chairs and high, quilted divans in neutral colors, with dark grey stained oak legs and oak door frames. Bohemian rugs and patterns, chestnut-brown and gold and rich, vibrant red.

There's farmhouse-style pendant lights overhead. Oil paintings hanging on the walls of realistic-looking fruit baskets and countryside fields. A grape-colored ottoman with Vanya's shoes resting on the expensive, dusty velvet. Twin bay windows cascading with morning sunlight. Vanya glows in it.

She lies motionless on a collection of sheets, arms spread apart. Primrose and organdy and symphony blue against Vanya's alabaster skin. Cushions and ornate throw-pillows in coral and turquoise. India yellow.

Vanya breathes out, in, out, slow and ragged, her eyes firmly closed. Allison's lips part when the other woman quickly shoves her hand up to her wrist underneath her trousers, reaching, Vanya's arm-muscles tensing visibly. The pure, semi-horrified astonishment of what Allison is witnessing tingles up her spinal-cord and the back of Allison's head. Oh god… god, she needs to leave. Now.

Another whimpering noise.

Vanya… she sounds lovely, breathless and achy, full of wondrous sensation.

Shamefully, Allison doesn't make herself look away, gazing over the thin line of Vanya's jaw. Her arm pulls back, and without opening her eyelids, Vanya unbuttons her trousers, making it easier to touch herself.

When those pale fingers clench, Allison feels her own balling into a fist, quaking.

Allison's swollen lip releases from her teeth when someone else taps on her shoulder, pulling Allison from her trance. Diego's inquisitive expression would be adorable if not for the deeply conflicting situation she's in. He opens his mouth, and Allison smacks a hand over Diego's lips, giving him an overly pleading look.

That's when Vanya's whimpers turn to a loud, pleasured moan. Allison's face warms. She can feel Diego press in closer on instinct, breathing heavily, taking a moment to peer inside the bedroom as well.

Vanya's hand returns between her legs, while her opposite hand slides up her essex-green jumper, wrinkling the fabric. There's a little bit of softness to Vanya's abdomen, as well as the old surgery scar from her burst appendix when they were eight, and more, more gorgeous skin. Vanya fondles over her breast, as if unsure of what she wants, before licking, drooling copiously over her index finger.

Allison finally tears her eyes from the sight, as Vanya fingers herself. Diego hasn't moved, stunned and wide-eyed, Allison's hand on his mouth dropping. This is all kinds of wrong and yet, she can feel herself throbbing with arousal. Her golden-brown coils shift when Diego palms comfortingly over Allison's neck.

He's just as much enthralled by this secretive and lewd display as she is. Fuck.

Not even a display — they're fucking spying on Vanya masturbating. They're going to hell, Allison tells herself repeatedly. It doesn't matter if Diego just got back from saving a litter of kittens.

The door behind them swings open, banging against the corridor-wall.

Five strolls out, and before he can even think to blink, Diego and Allison cram their hands over his mouth, urging him back inside the room and shutting the attic-entrance's door behind them. He muffles out a shouting, enraged cry to Allison's fingers and Allison waits for her fears to be fully realized.

But, of all things, she never sees Vanya. Or hears her call out for anyone.

"What the hell—" Five sneers, when their hands lower. He materializes one of his portals, walking into it, not bothering to hear an explanation. Allison glances at a somber Diego, biting down her lip roughly.

So much for the quiet.

*