Champagne Isses

Author's Note: So... Remember Charles from the lipgloss fic? He's back, and he's fucking his twin brother while under the influence of alcohol. All characters are 21+ so I mean, it's not as taboo as it could be. At least they aren't underage, right? #NervousSweating

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The thing about Charles, or at least, sleeping with him, is that it's always rough. All Gene has to do is push him, press those buttons and get under his skin to light that fire and spur on that temper. It's one of his favorite hobbies, to be honest. He knows Charles wouldn't really hurt him. He's his brother, his twin, and he trusts him.

But, sometimes, after a few drinks, Gene doesn't have it in him. He knows it's easier to inflame his brother, to turn it into a dominance-thing instead of sex, because he knows Charles feels guilty afterwards, and it's easier for Charles to deal with the aftermath if he can convince himself he was punishing his brother and not actually enjoying it himself.

No, sometimes Gene just can't do it. Can't make his brother angry, can't summon the cocky grin he knows Charles hates. Sometimes, only sometimes when he's too drunk to fight, he wants it sweet.

It's about the same for Charles. He always has that fire bubbling just under the surface, ready to respond to Gene's teasing. They're brothers, they're bound to fight. But when he's been drinking, which isn't often, because he knows it makes him weaker than he already is, he doesn't respond with harsh words and cold eyes. He gives in, just a little, his usually rough grip relaxed, his kisses soft.

"Please, Charles!" Gene gasps, turning his head to the side. The room is spinning and his hands are scrambling to find purchase on Charles back, his brother's mouth nearly driving him insane as he kisses along his jaw and neck.

Charles grunts softly and leans closer, pressing Gene gently against the bed. He wraps his arms around him and kisses up until he finds his lips, those perfect lips that fit his like no one else's.

"Say it..." He murmurs through the fog in his mind, feeling like he's trudging through water. He rolls his hips, their naked bodies sliding together deliciously, and Gene wraps his legs around his waist.

"I love you!" He whispers desperately against Charles' lips, his brother's breath hot against his skin. He feels him suck in a deep breath, feels him twitch against his thigh.

"Again..." He groans, reaching up to cup Gene's face in his hands, his thumbs caressing his skin. He peers down into his face, staring into those wide, desperate eyes mirroring his own.

"I love you..." Gene whispers softly, his voice lower than the last time. He means it, too. He loves Charles. Loves his brother, as wrong as it was.

Something flashes across Charles face that Gene can't place, something soft and kind, the expression foreign on his twin's features. Then, Charles moves, his cock so hard it needs no guidance to find its way home.

Gene gasps and arches, his chest pressing hard against Charles'. The pain is bright and exquisite, but he adjusts quickly, the pain dying down into a dull ache that is quickly lost over to pleasure. Normally, Charles would have rutted against him, driving his cock in so deep Gene could nearly taste it on the back of his tongue, but not tonight. Charles is still until Gene stops squirming, until Gene stops hurting.

"Charles..." Gene whimpers, bucking his hips weakly, trying to get Charles deeper inside him, to get him to move as desire coils and burns hot in his belly.

"Gene..." Charles breathes, pressing his forehead against Gene's. He sighs his name again and pulls out until all but the tip is gone, and slides back in slowly, gently. Gene moans when his brother's cock grazes his sweet spot, his arms wrapping around Charles and pulling him close, so close all he can do is move his hips as he rests on his elbows.

Charles rolls his hips, grinding more than actually thrusting, his cock pressing constantly against that little bundle of nerves that makes Gene sob with ecstasy. He whispers praises softly down at his brother, things that are only filthy because they're kin.

Soon Gene is panting, Charles' weight on top of him the only thing keeping him pressed against the bed as his back arches, or tries to, in the throes of their passion. He writhes under his brother, his thrusts still so soft, so slow it's maddening. It's shameful how close Gene is from such light touches, and now he's begging, his words slurring as he pleads with his brother.

Charles just shushes him and leans his head down, pressing his cheek to the side of Gene's head and keeps up with his slow, wonderful pace. His cock pulls out and Gene sobs, feeling empty, and wraps his legs tighter around Charles just as he pushes back in, the only hint that Charles is just as close as he is.

Gene feels it, his balls growing heavy and his cock twitching in anticipation of his release, and he gasps, his blunt nails digging into Charles' back. His brother doesn't even hiss at the pain, doesn't stop as Gene writhes under him.

"I love you..." Charles whispers into his ear, just as Gene begins to tip over the precipice, shivering as a wave of pleasure creeps up and washes over him. A sob tears it's way out his throat, and Charles repeats it, again and again until Gene is spent, his come shot between their matching bellies as he cries, tears running down his face, down to drip off his jaw and slide against his neck.

"B-Brother, please..."

Charles kisses the tears away, gently pressing his lips to Gene's face until his sobs peter out into hiccups, and Charles slides their bodies together one last time, the clenching of his brother's ass finally too much for him to withstand. He comes with a grunt, his eyes squeezing shut as his cock pumps Gene full of his seed, the white fluid leaking out from around him as he presses in as deep as he can, riding out the last of his orgasm.

Charles collapses against Gene, both of them panting, their heads swimming from the euphoria and champagne from earlier. Charles kisses him again, molding their lips together and they sigh in unison. Neither of them would remember this in the morning, and that was fine. It was better this way, in the long run. But for now, they were happy in one another's embrace, and come tomorrow, they'd be happy to forget this ever happened.

The only thing worse than the crippling guilt when they finally realize the next day what they'd done, what they promised they'd never do again, would be having to face the fact that they loved the other, and there was nothing that could save them from it. And so they would push one another away again, they would continue to fight, to scream and to hit one another even though every fiber of their being would be begging them to stop.

That is, until the next time they fall in bed together, drunk and hopeless, and the cycle starts anew...

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Author's Note, again: I forgot to mention they're supposed to be British, but I mean, that doesn't really show up too well in this one. This was just one of those middle-of-the-night ideas that wouldn't go away until I wrote it down.