Chapter Text
“We need to talk.”
Courf looked up at his brother from where he was sitting on the couch. “So, talk,” he murmured, pulling his legs up and curling them underneath him.
Jehan sighed and sat on the opposite end of the sofa, as far away from Courf as possible. He was silent for a few moments, his jaw clenched as he searched for the right words.
“Are you just going to sit there and stare at me?” Courf asked exasperatedly, raising his head again to glare at Jehan.
Jehan swallowed and closed his eyes briefly before speaking. “What happened yesterday morning can never happen again, Courf.”
“Yeah, I know,” Courfeyrac sneered, his arms curling around himself. “What, is this just a lecture about how fucked up we are?”
“I’m serious, Courf,” Jehan hissed, glaring at his twin. “This can never happen again. We’re not going to fuck up our lives with this. I won’t let you.”
“Me?!” Courf yelled, getting to his feet and standing above Jehan. “You were in my bed.. You kissed me. Don’t pin this on me.”
Courfeyrac stormed out of the room with the fury of a tornado and left Jehan sitting alone.
---
A month later, Jehan was straddling Bahorel’s thighs in the back of the older boy’s beat up car. Their lips fused in a bruising kiss, moans and gasps filling the small space. Jehan lifted his hands from Bahorel’s shoulders to tangle in his messy, loose mohawk.
Bahorel bit down gently on Jehan’s lower lip, pulling a long groan from the younger boy.
“Yes,” Jehan hissed, his fingers pulling on the locks twined around them. He felt Bahorel’s hands slowly sliding up and down his thighs, sending shivers through his body. He pulled away slightly, only to lick a stripe up the smooth, sienna skin of Bahorel’s neck, his teeth grazing the flesh.
“Fuck,” Bahorel moaned, tilting his head back to give Jehan more room. His hands came up to cup the younger boy’s ass and Jehan froze.
His mind flooded with the memory of Courfeyrac’s hands on him, pulling their hips together.
No.
Jehan growled and rocked his hips back into Bahorel’s hands and then forward, determined to not let that disgusting, stupid, horrible mistake ruin this.
Bahorel moaned at Jehan’s sudden eagerness, his hands squeezing the younger boy’s cheeks and pulling them even closer. Jehan’s hands started wandering, leaving Bahorel’s hair to glide over his body, coming to rest on his hips.
“Jehan,” Bahorel panted, his words cut off as Jehan kissed him again. “Jehan, wait.”
“No,” Jehan muttered, grinding down on Bahorel’s lap, eliciting moans from both their throats.
“Jehan,” Bahorel grunted as the pale boy pressed himself even closer. Bahorel removed his hands from Jehan’s ass and wrapped them around his wrists, “Jehan, stop.”
Jehan pulled back, panting, his swollen lips parted, his green eyes boring into Bahorel.
“Slow down, OK?” Bahorel murmured, one hand coming up to curl around Jehan’s neck.
Jehan nodded jerkily, averting his eyes from Bahorel’s intense gaze.
“Hey,” Bahorel hummed. “What’s wrong? You’re not usually like this.”
Jehan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that were inexplicably rising. Flashes of his brother kept burning in his head, echoes of his moans, the look on his face when Jehan said he loved him back.
“Jehan? Hey, what’s wrong? Jehan?”
Jehan opened his eyes and saw Bahorel looking at him, concern covering his face. He carefully wiped a tear from Jehan’s cheek before saying, “I’m taking you home, OK?”
Jehan nodded, whimpering softly as Bahorel kissed him gently.
All he could think about was how much better Courfeyrac felt against his lips than Bahorel did.
---
The drive back to Jehan’s house was short and awkward and Jehan went straight to his room, grabbed his hidden pack of cigarettes, and slipped out of his window to sit on the roof.
In his haste, he didn’t notice his brother already sitting there, puffing on his own cigarette, until he spoke.
“How was your date?”
Jehan jumped, almost losing his footing. “Jesus fuck, Courf! Warn a guy,” He snapped, sitting down a good foot away from his brother.
“Sorry,” Courf said, taking a long drag. “I repeat, how was your date?”
“It wasn’t a fucking date,” Jehan muttered around his cigarette before lighting it.
“Are you sure? Because you’ve been going out, with him, at night, multiple times a week, for a month now. Don’t tell me he’s fucking tutoring you.”
Jehan sighed, smoke billowing out in front of him. “We’re just messing around, it’s not serious.”
He saw Courfeyrac tense out of the corner of his eye. “What you mean by ‘messing around’?”
“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?” Jehan sneered, spitting venom.
“Yeah, I would!”
“Why, so you can wank to it?”
“Fuck you!” Courfeyrac yelled, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m still your brother.”
“Are you?” Jehan glared at Courf, who simply returned the look. They scowled at each other, daring the other to speak, to say aloud what had changed between them, for what seemed like an hour.
“Like I said, it’s not serious,” Jehan murmured, turning away and taking another drag.
“Until it is.”
“Or it isn’t,” Jehan hissed.
“Like we aren’t.”
Jehan froze, his heart seizing and tearing itself apart at Courf’s words.
“What are we, Jehan?” Courf whispered, a strange plea, asking for acceptance and denial, love and rejection all at the same time.
Jehan took a final, long drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out and standing. “We’re twin brothers, “he said, surprised at the clarity and strength of his voice as his body trembled and threatened to fall apart.
He slipped back into his room and left Courfeyrac to the night.
---
Courfeyrac fell back onto his mattress, his fingers clutching the fabric of Combeferre’s shirt and pulling the older boy to settle between in his spread legs.
He leaned up to capture Combeferre’s mouth in a filthy, wet kiss and moaned when the blonde boy tugged on his curly hair. Courfeyrac slid his hands to the hem of Combeferre’s shirt, the tips of his fingers brushing over the sliver of skin there.
Combeferre shuddered above him, and dragged his tongue up Courfeyrac’s neck, his own hands running along Courfeyrac’s sides.
“God, ‘Ferre,” he gasped as the older boy pushed their hips together. Courfeyrac’s hands drifted to Combeferre’s ass, pulling him even closer, and both boys moaned at the pressure the movement put on their hardening cocks.
Courfeyrac whimpered as the memory of Jehan on top of him suddenly filled his brain. In a matter of seconds, his heart froze and his lungs, his lungs couldn’t fill and he was drowning, stuck between his brother and his best friend and he couldn’t---
“Hey, Courf, have you seen my—“
And suddenly, the warm body above him was pulling away and Courf opened his eyes and saw Combeferre sitting on the bed next to him, blushing furiously and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and Jehan was in his doorway, his eyes wide, mouth set in a white line.
Courfeyrac sat up, straightened and smoothing his clothes, and mumbled. “Um, what—what did you want, Jehan?”
The younger twin was silent, his eyes darting between the two boys on the bed in front of him, trying to make some sense of the scene. “N-nothing,” he stuttered after a few moments. “Nothing important, I…” He took a few steps back, out of the room.
He turned and ran, not even bothering to close the door behind him.
---
The second Jehan was safely behind his bedroom door, he screamed. It was a weak cry, soft and watery, more of a sob than anything else. His entire body felt shut down, his organs had taken the afternoon off.
This can’t be happening
He supposed he deserved this. He had wanted this, for Courfeyrac to move on, get past this disgusting lust they had for each other.
If he can do, I can.
He hadn’t expected it to be so painful.
He fell to his knees, doubled over, buried his face in his hands. He was going to be sick, he knew it. His breath was shallow, his chest heaving, his lungs struggled to function.
Is this what he felt?
It took a while, but Jehan eventually stood and grabbed the pack of cigarettes and notebook hidden between his mattress and the wall before jogging out to the hall.
The door to Courfeyrac’s room was still open, and the two boys were still in there, on opposite sides of Courfeyrac’s bed. When Jehan passed by the door, Courfeyrac stood.
“Jehan, where are you going?”
“Grantaire’s,” Jehan called back, not stopping, just continuing down the stairs and out of the house.
---
Grantaire watched Jehan write furiously in his notebook, the younger boy still holding the bowl in his left hand, dangerously close to spilling the charred herb resting in the hollow.
“Jehan, are you done?”
Jehan nodded, his loose hair flying and he held out the glass pipe.
Grantaire took it and carefully lit up. “Dude, you’re gonna cramp if you keep writing like that, “ he sighed, smoke clinging to every word.
“Gotta get it out,” Jehan mumbled, threading the fingers of his free hand through his loose hair.
Grantaire bit his lip. “Anything I can help with?”
Jehan paused, his eyes clenching shut. “No,” he said, just a hint of remorse in his voice.
“Are you sure? It can’t be that bad, can it?”
Jehan shook his head. “It’s terrible.”
Grantaire sucked in another toke, buying time as his mind tried to connect the few pieces he had. “If you need someone to listen, I’m here. I won’t judge you, you know that, right?”
Jehan looked up at Grantaire and nodded, a tiny, genuine smile pulling at his lips. “Thanks, ‘Aire. Ugh, pass me that soda, I’ve got crazy cottonmouth.”
---
It was dark when Jehan returned home.
He went straight to his room, the last remaining effects of the drug in his system making him drowsy.
He did not expect to see Courfeyrac waiting for him on his bed.
“Jehan,” Courf started when his brother entered the room.
“Ugh, go away,” Jehan groaned, not even thinking twice before he pulled his smoky shirt off. “I’m tired, Courf.”
“We need to talk,” Courf said, averting his eyes from his brother’s half-naked body. “Wait, are you high?”
Jehan laughed and tugged his jeans off. “Mmm, just a little.” He grabbed the closest pair of pajama pants and pulled them on. “It doesn’t matter because I’m going to bed.”
Courf reached a hand out, his fingers brushing along Jehan’s arm. “Jehan, we need to talk.”
“What is there to talk about?” Jehan snapped, moving to sit cross-legged on his bed. “I’m messing around with Bahorel, you’re messing around with Combeferre and that’s that! There’s nothing to discuss.”
Courf sat next to his twin and crossed his arms. “That’s a lie and you know it.”
Jehan whined, a frustrated noise, and tangled his fingers in his hair. “I don’t want to talk, Courf,” he pleaded, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
“I’m sorry you saw ‘Ferre and me today, I…I know it hurt. I’m sorry.”
Jehan hunched forward, letting his hair curtain around his face, hiding the tears streaming down his cheeks. He wiped his face quickly before looking up at his twin. “There’s no need to apologize, Courf. It doesn’t matter whether it hurt or not.”
Courfeyrac shook his head and carefully slid his hand up Jehan’s bare arm, over his shoulder. He slowly tucked his twin’s strawberry blonde hair behind his ear before cupping his cheek gently. “It matters to me, Jehan. I don’t—I don’t want to hurt you.”
And then Courfeyrac was leaning forward, guiding Jehan into a soft kiss… And Jehan found he couldn’t fight it, couldn’t pull back, couldn’t shove his brother away, demand he leave.
So he leaned forward, deepened the kiss, fisted a hand in Courfeyrac’s messy curls and it was good, it was so good.
And then reality hit him a like freight train.
He shoved Courf away, watched his brother’s face fall as their lips parted and it was enough to make Jehan turn one hundred-eighty degrees and lunge forward, pushing Courfeyrac against the footboard of his bed as he climbed into his lap. He curled a hand around Courfeyrac’s neck, yanked him up into another kiss.
“I hate you,” He panted against Courfeyrac’s lips.
I love you, too.
“I know.”
Courfeyrac’s hands wandered over Jehan’s bare torso, raising goosebumps on his pale skin. Jehan tugged at the hem of Courfeyrac’s shirt, pulling it over his head before crashing their lips together again.
Jehan pressed their naked chests together, shivering at the skin to skin contact and rocking his hips forward.
Courfeyrac moaned into his mouth and panted. “So, we’re gonna do this again?”
“Shut up.”
“You were so vehement that we were never gonna do this again.”
“Shut up,” Jehan hissed, tugging harshly at Courfeyrac’s thick curls and fusing their mouths together again.
He pressed himself even closer to Courfeyrac’s body, pressed their clothed cocks even closer, and God, it felt so good.
“I love how you taste,” Courfeyrac breathed, his hips pushing up against Jehan’s.
Jehan responded with a hard slap to Courfeyrac’s face, turning the boy’s cheek a bright red. “Stop,” he growled, his hips finding a rhythm with Courfeyrac’s.
“No,” Courf panted, dragging his teeth down the smooth skin of Jehan’s neck. “No, I love you and you’re gonna hear it.”
Jehan slapped him again.
Courfeyrac laughed lowly. “I love it when you hit me.”
Slap
“I love your skin.”
Slap
“I love your hair.” Punctuated with a cruel tug on the long locks.
Slap Slap
“I love watching you writhe on me.”
Slap
Courfeyrac splayed a hand across Jehan’s back, urging him to speed up his thrusting.
They grinded, thrusted, humped, desperately for what seemed like an eternity, lost in the pleasure they made for each other. They kissed messily, biting at the other’s lips, tongues. They dragged blunt fingernails across backs, shoulders, arms, leaving pale pink and angry red streaks everywhere. They made a mess of precome in between themselves, dampening their pajama pants and smearing over their stomachs.
“Is that all you love about me?” Jehan panted, looking his twin in the eyes.
Courfeyrac shook his head and leaned up to whisper in Jehan’s ear, “I love how you stop breathing when you come.”
And Jehan stopped breathing.
His back arched and he threw his head back as his entire body tensed and shook and writhed. His hands clutched at Courfeyrac’s shoulders and oh God, he was soaring and he never wanted to come down.
And Courfeyrac watched, moaning and grasping Jehan’s hips as they jerked erratically against his own, and then he was coming too and Jehan felt so good against him. Skin was all he could feel and his eyes rolled back and he moaned against the sharp line of his brother’s jaw.
And then Jehan finally, finally, sucked in a breath, and a broken cry of pleasure fell from his lips and he was collapsing against his brother, clinging to him, shaking with the aftershocks. Tiny whimpers fell from his mouth and Courfeyrac just pulled him closer and kissed whatever skin he could reach.
It was nice, Courfeyrac thought, to hold his brother, kiss him through the aftershocks, stroke his soft skin, feel his heartbeat.
He knew it wouldn’t last long.
And after a couple minutes, Jehan shoved Courfeyrac’s chest, pushed his arms away, and pulled back.
“Get out,” he muttered, running a shaky hand through his messy, disheveled hair.
Courfeyrac smirked. “You’re not going to hit me again?”
Jehan snarled and the sound as he backhanded Courfeyrac echoed in the silence of the room.
Courfeyrac licked his lips, a small grin playing over them as he stood, awkwardly walked to the door, and left Jehan in silence.