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rainbowfic2013-09-28 05:57 pm
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2013-09-28 05:57 pm
Glitter 3, Quill Grey 17: Won't Forget, Can't Regret
Author: Kat
Title: Won't Forget, Can't Regret
Story: Shine Like It Does -- Unnamed AU
Colors: Glitter 3 (What I did for love. - A Chorus Line), quill grey 17 (A synonym is a word you use when you can't spell the other one. - Baltasar Gracián) with Kana's paint-by-numbers (But he held on to my hand, even if it was easier to let go)
Supplies and Materials: Eraser, canvas (Miranda is 22, Charlotte 20, Jack 18), acrylic (Good evening..), stain (We are an impossibility in an impossible universe. - Ray Bradbury), glitter (this picture), glue (An ongoing dilemma in your love life might be based on a basic conflict of values.), pastels (pillow talk), novelty beads (bedroom).
Word Count: 3934
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The Hennessy siblings will do anything for each other. Anything at all.
Warnings: skip
incestual sex, discussion of a consensual sexual encounter that was nevertheless deeply unhappy and unfun
Notes: All of my thanks go to Kelly for cheerleading, talking me down, helping me with scenes, betaing this monster of a fic (even if we do have fundamental disagreements about commas), and basically making this damn near interactive art. It never would have been finished without you.
All italicized dialogue is in Spanish.
"—don't like the way I play poker?" Miranda's voice drifted out from the family room, and Charlotte halted in the hallway, listening. "How about we switch to slapjack?"
"I swear to God, Andy, if you actually hit me..."
"You're the one who's cheating!"
Time to intervene—she needed them anyway. Charlotte went into the family room, scuffing her foot against the floor.
Jack, seated on the floor by the coffee table hunched over his cards, waved a hand at her. "Hey, Carlita," he said.
"Just in time," Miranda added dryly. She sat on the couch, legs crossed at the ankles, her cards held loose like a professional. "I was about to start hitting him."
"I heard," Charlotte said, and both of her siblings jolted, looked up at her. "I need to talk to you."
Jack was on his feet in a moment, tossing his cards to the table. "Carlita, what is it?" he asked, reaching out for her.
Charlotte took Jack's hands for the connection and sank down on the couch. Miranda, half-rising, settled back beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, while Jack knelt at her feet. "What is it, darling?" she asked, soft. "Tell us."
"You won't like it," Charlotte said quietly, and looked down into her lap. She'd thought about this. There was no other way, and it had to be now—Mama and Papa were on location, and when they came back it would be totally impossible. It was close to impossible even now. "It... but it's something I need."
Miranda shifted against her side, and Jack squeezed her hands. "Anything," he said firmly. "You know we'll do anything for you."
She looked up then, into Jack's face, then further up at the smooth white ceiling. She couldn't look at either of them. "I..." She faltered, then gulped a quick breath and blurted it out before she could change her mind. "I need you to have sex with me."
There was a brief, profound silence.
"What?" Miranda asked, finally.
Charlotte flushed, hot and painful. "Never mind," she said, and started to get up. This had been a really terrible idea, what the hell had she been thinking? "Never mind, it was a stupid idea, I—"
"No, hold on," and that was Jack, tugging her back down, while Miranda leaned gently on her shoulders. "It's okay, Carlita, we were just surprised, weren't we, Andy?"
"Very surprised," Miranda said, but she didn't sound horrified or angry. "Did you... you want us to have sex with you."
"No," Charlotte said, her eyes fixed on her hands in her lap and Jack's fingers laced with hers. "I need you to—I—maybe it was a bad idea."
Jack squeezed her hands reassuringly, and Miranda dropped a hand to rub her back. "Start at the beginning," she said. "Why do you need this?"
The beginning. Yes. She could do the beginning. "Do you remember Andrew?"
Miranda tensed beside her. "Yes," she said dryly. "You could say I remember him."
Jack muttered something in Spanish that was both incredibly impolite and hysterically funny. Charlotte smothered a laugh and said, "Yeah, him. He, um. There were things I didn't tell you about him."
There was another profound silence, and then Jack asked carefully, "Did he... Carlita, did he rape you?"
"What?" She jolted and looked up at his face, solemn and worried. "No, no, Jack, I... no, he didn't. I consented. It just... it hurt, it really hurt, and that was the first time I ever..." Her voice faded out.
"Oh, Carlita," Jack said softly, and squeezed her hands.
Miranda was shaking her head slowly, her hair brushing against Charlotte's cheek and shoulder. "I wish I'd killed him," she muttered. "Go on, love."
Charlotte filed that remark away for later consideration and said, "It hurt so much I didn't want to... you know, I didn't want to, and I didn't. There wasn’t anyone I was interested in anyway. But I met TJ last semester."
Jack looked up, probably at Miranda. "Is this someone I gotta read the riot act to?"
"No," Charlotte said, a little startled even though she shouldn't have been. "He's just... he's been really nice to me. We went out and I really liked him and I wanted to have sex with him, I really did, I just... couldn't."
She'd frozen up, every time. He'd touch her and she'd remember how much it hurt and pull back, even though she didn't want to, even though she wanted to push forward. "I wanted to," she repeated. "I did. And he was so kind to me. He always stopped, every time, and he never got mad at me."
"But he did dump you," Miranda said, flat and final.
"Yeah," Charlotte said in a small voice. "Just... he said it... he said he didn't think I was ready, and he hated feeling like he was hurting me. It wasn't his fault, Miranda."
"I suppose not," she said, and sighed. "But it wasn't your fault either, Carlita."
Charlotte shook her head. "I didn't think it was, really," she said. "But I thought about it. I really liked TJ a lot, and I trusted him, but when it came down to it I couldn't trust him that far. So I thought about who I did trust that far, and..." She took a deep breath. "You were the only people I could think of."
"So," Jack said slowly, "you need us to have sex with you... because otherwise you don't think you can get over this?"
Charlotte nodded and fixed her eyes on her lap.
For a moment they were both silent, then Jack looked up at Miranda and said, "Better be my room." She cocked her head—Charlotte felt it—and he elaborated, "I have condoms. And lube."
Relief flooded Charlotte, and for a moment she could not speak.
"Of course you do," Miranda muttered, and shook her head. "All right. Tonight, then, Jack's room. We'll meet there at... shall we say one-thirty?"
Charlotte felt so grateful to them both that her knees felt weak, but... "You don't have to come," she told Miranda, looking up at her for the first time. "I know you don't... you don't approve."
"In the abstract, no, I don't." She reached forward, smoothed back Charlotte's hair, then cupped her face. "But I understand, Carlita, and I won't let you do this alone. Either of you."
If she said anything, Charlotte knew, she would cry, and that would be the end of this—and she needed it, more than she could say. She leaned forward instead, into her sister's embrace, and rested her forehead against the spot where Miranda's neck curved into her shoulder.
Jack moved up to sit on the couch behind her, put his own forehead against the nape of her neck, and stroked a gentle hand up her back. "Don't worry, Carlita," he said softly. "We'll take care of you."
--
They were waiting for her in Jack's room, her brother and sister: Miranda in a white off-the-shoulder nightgown, sitting primly in Jack's desk chair, and Jack lounging shirtless on his bed, wearing only boxers—neon green boxers, with electric yellow ducks printed all over them. Charlotte was just nervous enough that the sight of them made her giggle; she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle it, and even that didn't wholly work.
Jack had evidently been hoping for just that result, because he grinned and stretched his arms over his head. "See something you like?"
"Where did you get those boxers?" she asked.
He shrugged one-shouldered. "I don't know. Gag gift, maybe. Egg's got a sense of humor like that."
Miranda eyed his boxers with distaste. "What I want to know is why you're wearing them."
"Neon's in this winter," he said. "Pay attention, Andy."
She only rolled her eyes, and in the silence after Charlotte was suddenly nervous again, half-sick to her stomach. She needed this, she knew it, and they were the only ones she could trust, but if it hurt again, if it was like that, then she'd lose that trust and she'd lose them and—
"Hey." Jack was standing in front of her suddenly, cupping her face in his hands, his eyes soft. He went on in Spanish: "It's all right, Carlita. Don't think so much." He leaned forward then and kissed her.
She was tense at first, for so many reasons—the fear and the hurt and the ingrained knowledge that this was her brother, that this was wrong in so many ways. But Jack just went on kissing her, slow and soft, stroking down her back and her sides with a featherlight touch, and gradually, she relaxed.
After a few minutes Miranda got up and came to stand at Charlotte's back, a warm, solid, reassuring presence. Charlotte relaxed still more.
"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asked, low, also in Spanish.
Jack smiled against Charlotte's mouth, and moved to her neck so she could answer her sister. "Safe," she said honestly, answering in the same language, and gasped when Jack laughed a little, his breath puffing across her skin.
"Good," he said, and slid both hands down to her hips, hot through her nightdress. In English, he added, "Come on, Andy, participate a little."
"I don't actually know what I'm doing," Miranda retorted waspishly, but she lifted her hands to Charlotte's breasts and began stroking in small circles, shifting the fabric lightly over her skin. "I've never had sex with a girl before."
Jack laid a trail of kisses up Charlotte's neck, though he left his hands on her hips. She could hear him rolling his eyes. "You're a girl, don't you masturbate? Just touch her like you do yourself."
Miranda's only response was a few choice words in Spanish. Charlotte giggled.
"See if I ever give you any more advice," Jack mumbled, and kissed the space under Charlotte's ear, open-mouthed. "Are you ready for a little more now, darling?"
She nodded and closed her eyes. Maybe if she didn't see it, it would be easier...
Not that Jack really did anything much. He just pulled her nightdress up until it scrunched around her belly, then rested his hands on her hips again, this time on bare skin. His palms and fingers were slightly calloused, slightly rough, catching pleasantly on her skin whenever he moved them.
"Do you like this?" Miranda asked in her ear, low and gentle. She hadn't stopped stroking, and now she cupped one of Charlotte's breasts and rubbed gently at her nipple. "Does this feel good?"
Charlotte nodded blindly and turned her head to the side. Miranda hesitated briefly, then kissed her, close-mouthed and tender. "It's all right, sweetheart," she crooned after, and kissed her cheek. "It's all right. We just want you to feel good."
"You're doing so well," Jack added, his voice a touch hoarser than usual. He moved his hands around her hips, slow and caressing, and stopped just where her back curved into her bottom. "Can I touch you here? Would you like that?"
"Yes," she whispered, and he smiled against her neck, licked at the edge of her jaw.
She tensed again when he slid his hands down to cup her bottom in earnest, even though she knew it was coming. Andrew had grabbed her bottom hard, left handprint bruises. God, what a great ass, he'd groaned, and slapped her there every time he thrust.
Miranda kissed her cheek again and settled her arms lower, around Charlotte's waist. "Hush, sweetheart," she said. "It's only us. We have you. Not there, Jack," she added, in English.
Jack, kissing his way down Charlotte's collarbone, mumbled something in the affirmative, and slid his hands back to her hips, then a little down, stroking high on her thighs. "How about here? Is that better?"
"You don't have to stop," Charlotte said a little weakly.
"Yes, I do," Jack said firmly, and let his thumbs slide to her inner thighs. "Do you like this?"
She nodded, but did not open her eyes. She didn't want to see this necessarily, but she wanted—she needed to feel it.
He was so gentle. Andrew hadn't been gentle. Andrew had stripped her efficiently and pushed her down on the bed and... and fucked her. Charlotte hated that word, but it was the only one that fit. He'd fucked her and hadn't cared how she felt. Jack touched her like she was something fragile, porcelain or glass.
"Are you ready for a little more?" Miranda asked, soft in her ear.
She nodded again and blinked her eyes lazily open when her sister tugged at her nightdress, pulled it over her head, and dropped it on the floor. Miranda still wore her own nightgown, but Jack had gotten rid of his boxers somewhere and was half-hard, his hands still on her hips, his eyes on Miranda, questioning.
"Time to lie down, I think," Miranda said in answer, and between the two of them they maneuvered Charlotte to the bed. They never left her alone, never strayed from their positions: Jack in front, Miranda behind, and Charlotte in the middle, protected, loved.
In the end, Miranda braced herself against the wall and settled Charlotte between her legs, pulling her back to rest against her breasts and belly. Jack grinned suddenly and knelt between Charlotte's legs, resting his hands on her knees now, rubbing circles at the insides. "Is this all right, Carlita?" he asked, and pressed a kiss to one knee, just above his hand.
"Yes," she said, and he grinned again, wider, and slid his hands up her thighs, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake.
"You're very beautiful," Miranda murmured in her ear, her long, elegant hands slipping back to Charlotte's breasts. "You always have been. I want you to remember that."
Charlotte shivered, caught between Miranda's voice and Jack's hands, Miranda's fingers and Jack's mouth. All at once it was too much for sight again; she closed her eyes and whimpered softly.
Jack's hands froze, less than an inch from her vulva. "All right, Carlita?" he asked, worry clear in his voice. "Do you want to stop?"
"No," she managed, and lifted her hips a little, encouragingly. "No, please don't stop."
"So I can touch you here?" he asked, and drew a finger down the crease between her leg and hip. "Is that all right?"
"Yes," she said, a little more emphatically. Jack laughed; then she felt him kiss her just above her pubic hair, open-mouthed and tender.
When he touched her further, stroked slowly down through her labia, it made her shiver all over. Miranda tightened her arms around her, kissed her neck.
"All right?" Jack asked, still stroking, soft and smooth, the way he sometimes petted skittish animals to calm them down. "Do you like this?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good," he said, and kissed her inner thigh. "Can I move up a little, sweetheart?"
She opened her eyes and found herself staring up at the ceiling. "I..."
"He won't hurt you, beloved," Miranda said softly, and stroked a thumb over one of Charlotte's nipples. She leaned into view, kissed the arch of Charlotte's cheekbones. "It will feel good, I promise you. Won't it?"
"Wonderful," Jack agreed and kissed her other thigh. "I'm very good at this."
"Braggart," Miranda said.
"All right," she said, breathless, and squeezed her eyes shut.
It felt like lightning along her bones, sparks dancing under her skin. Jack's mouth spread electricity everywhere it touched, light shocks at first then suddenly intense. It felt like—she'd touched herself before, but it never quite felt like this.
"That," she started, and moaned, surprising herself. Jack laughed against her, and for a little while she gave herself up to the feeling.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Miranda observed dryly, some time later. Charlotte opened her eyes and looked down.
Jack, who really did look like he was enjoying himself, gave her one more broad lick, then grinned up at them both, his chin and lips glistening. "I am," he said. "It's my absolute favorite thing to do. Giving or receiving, oral sex is the best thing on God's green earth."
When he bent down again and curled his tongue over her clitoris, Charlotte was very much inclined to agree. A little later, he did something involving two fingers and a trick of the tongue, and everything went white.
When she could open her eyes again, the first thing she saw was Jack, licking his lips and looking insufferably pleased with himself. "Happy?" he asked, warm and sweet, his tone contrasting with his expression.
"Yes," Charlotte said and blushed furiously. "That is... that was..."
Jack's expression went dark for a heartbeat before he smiled, slick and not remotely sincere. "An orgasm, yes," he said. "You should have more of them. They're pretty fantastic."
"I can attest to that," Miranda said, but an undercurrent of fury ran through her voice. Charlotte sat up, twisted to see her sister's face, and blanched a little at the anger she read there.
"Andy," Jack said, warning, and Miranda forced her face into a smile.
"Don't you worry, Carlita," she said, and kissed her hairline again. "It's nothing to bother you. Don't you worry."
Which was all right for Miranda to say, but Charlotte knew her sister, and she knew what Miranda could do when she looked like that. "What are you going to do?"
Miranda shook her head. "Don't worry about it," she repeated firmly. "Not now."
Charlotte opened her mouth, and Miranda leaned forward, kissed her open-mouthed, slow and affectionate.
Jack fiddled around in his bedside table and produced a bottle and a strip of condoms. He dropped the latter on the bed by Charlotte's hip, hesitated over the former, and stroked through her labia again, making her shiver, before he dropped the bottle back in the drawer.
"She doesn't need it," he explained when Miranda looked at him sharply, and held up his fingers, glistening, before he put them into his mouth and sucked them clean. He hesitated again, still kneeling at Charlotte's feet, and put a hand on her knee. "Do you want to go further, Carlita, or do you want to stop?"
It was a reasonable question. Theoretically she'd gotten what she needed—she'd had sex without pain, she hadn't been afraid. But... but what Jack had done had no resemblance to what Andrew had done, and she still flinched away when she thought about that, about the pushing and the grip and the pain...
"Yes," she blurted before she could think more. "I need more, I—I—"
"Shh," Miranda said, and put a gentle finger over her lips. "It's all right, sweetheart."
Between her legs, Jack rolled on a condom, slowly, hissing with effort. Then he rose on his knees, spread her legs a little further, and edged closer until his hips pressed against her inner thighs, his erection just touching her labia, and she—
She froze.
Ghost pain raced along her nerves, stiffened her back and arms. In her mind Andrew grabbed her hair again, and her hips, shoved into her and hissed yeah, yeah, so tight, and—and Miranda was stroking her hair, coaxing her back against her chest; Jack cupping her face, kissing her mouth.
"Shh," Miranda murmured. "Shh, it's all right, darling, you're here, it's us."
Jack pulled away from her mouth, stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs. "It's all right. It's just us. We won’t hurt you. You're safe. It's just us."
Charlotte opened her eyes and realized that Jack was brushing tears off her face—she'd cried a little and hadn't even realized it. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"No, no," Jack said, and kissed her again, gently. "Don't apologize. Do you want to stop?"
She shook her head, mute, and reached behind her to catch at Miranda. Her sister took and held her hand, hard, and Jack took her other hand, brought it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.
"Ready?" he asked again, and she nodded, kept her eyes on Jack this time. He leaned forward, concentration in the furrow of his brow, took himself in hand and pushed gently forward, and.
And.
It didn't hurt.
It felt very strange, that was certain, but it also felt—good wasn't the right word, it was too small for this. Everything was too small for this. She clung to her siblings' hands, and closed her eyes, and rode it out.
Jack pulled out afterwards, breathing hard and still hard; he kissed her quickly, then grabbed a bathrobe and left abruptly. Charlotte felt too limp to care, but hurt hovered just on the edges of her mind—was it, was she that awful? Then Miranda leaned forward and kissed her jaw.
"Don't worry," she said softly, and put her arms around Charlotte's waist. "He'll be back in a moment. Are you all right?"
She nodded and turned her face into Miranda's shoulder. She'd done this her whole life, when she'd skinned her knee or been dumped or when Andrew... when Andrew. But it felt different now in a way she couldn't quite quantify. Not better or worse, just different.
Jack returned a few minutes later, looking nearly as wrung out as she felt. He'd cleaned himself up, and he held a wet washcloth, which he held out to her with a cocked eyebrow.
Charlotte took it, almost shyly, and cleaned herself up as best she could, then handed it back. Jack made a perfect three-point throw into his laundry basket, then collapsed on the bed beside Miranda and Charlotte, eyes heavy.
"I don't know about you two," he said, "but I'm beat."
Was that it? A startled little giggle escaped Charlotte. Were they just going to go back to how they'd been?
Miranda hummed deep in her chest, then said, "We'd better, I think. Lie down now, Carlita, it's all right. We'll take care of you."
Jack smiled up at her and opened his arms.
--
Jack's alarm went off at eight in the morning, false church bells ringing through the room. He groaned, and it echoed under Charlotte's ear—she was half on top of him, she realized, her ear pressed to his chest. Miranda, the only one of them still dressed, curved close to her back, her hair falling over Charlotte's neck and shoulders, one hand resting on Charlotte's hip. Jack had an arm under them both.
He slapped at the alarm with his other hand and turned over, dumping Charlotte onto the bed, then throwing his free arm and a leg over her. Miranda mumbled something uncomplimentary when he kicked her in the side, then cuddled closer.
Charlotte lifted her head just a little, and met Jack's eyes, half-open and still tired.
"All right, Carlita?" he asked, and yawned.
"Yes," she replied, and smiled, shy. "Thank you. I... I got what I needed."
He leaned forward, kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose. Before, it would have been casual—now it was oddly intimate, and affecting. "Of course you did," he said softly. "We take care of you. We always will."
"I know," she said.
Jack kissed the top of her head. "Good. Now go back to sleep, it's Sunday."
They had church—but not today, Papa and Mama weren't home, they could skip. She wouldn't have to go to confession, to say... but she could think about it later.
Charlotte settled into her brother's embrace, her sister warm against her back, and closed her eyes.
Title: Won't Forget, Can't Regret
Story: Shine Like It Does -- Unnamed AU
Colors: Glitter 3 (What I did for love. - A Chorus Line), quill grey 17 (A synonym is a word you use when you can't spell the other one. - Baltasar Gracián) with Kana's paint-by-numbers (But he held on to my hand, even if it was easier to let go)
Supplies and Materials: Eraser, canvas (Miranda is 22, Charlotte 20, Jack 18), acrylic (Good evening..), stain (We are an impossibility in an impossible universe. - Ray Bradbury), glitter (this picture), glue (An ongoing dilemma in your love life might be based on a basic conflict of values.), pastels (pillow talk), novelty beads (bedroom).
Word Count: 3934
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The Hennessy siblings will do anything for each other. Anything at all.
Warnings: skip
incestual sex, discussion of a consensual sexual encounter that was nevertheless deeply unhappy and unfun
Notes: All of my thanks go to Kelly for cheerleading, talking me down, helping me with scenes, betaing this monster of a fic (even if we do have fundamental disagreements about commas), and basically making this damn near interactive art. It never would have been finished without you.
All italicized dialogue is in Spanish.
"—don't like the way I play poker?" Miranda's voice drifted out from the family room, and Charlotte halted in the hallway, listening. "How about we switch to slapjack?"
"I swear to God, Andy, if you actually hit me..."
"You're the one who's cheating!"
Time to intervene—she needed them anyway. Charlotte went into the family room, scuffing her foot against the floor.
Jack, seated on the floor by the coffee table hunched over his cards, waved a hand at her. "Hey, Carlita," he said.
"Just in time," Miranda added dryly. She sat on the couch, legs crossed at the ankles, her cards held loose like a professional. "I was about to start hitting him."
"I heard," Charlotte said, and both of her siblings jolted, looked up at her. "I need to talk to you."
Jack was on his feet in a moment, tossing his cards to the table. "Carlita, what is it?" he asked, reaching out for her.
Charlotte took Jack's hands for the connection and sank down on the couch. Miranda, half-rising, settled back beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, while Jack knelt at her feet. "What is it, darling?" she asked, soft. "Tell us."
"You won't like it," Charlotte said quietly, and looked down into her lap. She'd thought about this. There was no other way, and it had to be now—Mama and Papa were on location, and when they came back it would be totally impossible. It was close to impossible even now. "It... but it's something I need."
Miranda shifted against her side, and Jack squeezed her hands. "Anything," he said firmly. "You know we'll do anything for you."
She looked up then, into Jack's face, then further up at the smooth white ceiling. She couldn't look at either of them. "I..." She faltered, then gulped a quick breath and blurted it out before she could change her mind. "I need you to have sex with me."
There was a brief, profound silence.
"What?" Miranda asked, finally.
Charlotte flushed, hot and painful. "Never mind," she said, and started to get up. This had been a really terrible idea, what the hell had she been thinking? "Never mind, it was a stupid idea, I—"
"No, hold on," and that was Jack, tugging her back down, while Miranda leaned gently on her shoulders. "It's okay, Carlita, we were just surprised, weren't we, Andy?"
"Very surprised," Miranda said, but she didn't sound horrified or angry. "Did you... you want us to have sex with you."
"No," Charlotte said, her eyes fixed on her hands in her lap and Jack's fingers laced with hers. "I need you to—I—maybe it was a bad idea."
Jack squeezed her hands reassuringly, and Miranda dropped a hand to rub her back. "Start at the beginning," she said. "Why do you need this?"
The beginning. Yes. She could do the beginning. "Do you remember Andrew?"
Miranda tensed beside her. "Yes," she said dryly. "You could say I remember him."
Jack muttered something in Spanish that was both incredibly impolite and hysterically funny. Charlotte smothered a laugh and said, "Yeah, him. He, um. There were things I didn't tell you about him."
There was another profound silence, and then Jack asked carefully, "Did he... Carlita, did he rape you?"
"What?" She jolted and looked up at his face, solemn and worried. "No, no, Jack, I... no, he didn't. I consented. It just... it hurt, it really hurt, and that was the first time I ever..." Her voice faded out.
"Oh, Carlita," Jack said softly, and squeezed her hands.
Miranda was shaking her head slowly, her hair brushing against Charlotte's cheek and shoulder. "I wish I'd killed him," she muttered. "Go on, love."
Charlotte filed that remark away for later consideration and said, "It hurt so much I didn't want to... you know, I didn't want to, and I didn't. There wasn’t anyone I was interested in anyway. But I met TJ last semester."
Jack looked up, probably at Miranda. "Is this someone I gotta read the riot act to?"
"No," Charlotte said, a little startled even though she shouldn't have been. "He's just... he's been really nice to me. We went out and I really liked him and I wanted to have sex with him, I really did, I just... couldn't."
She'd frozen up, every time. He'd touch her and she'd remember how much it hurt and pull back, even though she didn't want to, even though she wanted to push forward. "I wanted to," she repeated. "I did. And he was so kind to me. He always stopped, every time, and he never got mad at me."
"But he did dump you," Miranda said, flat and final.
"Yeah," Charlotte said in a small voice. "Just... he said it... he said he didn't think I was ready, and he hated feeling like he was hurting me. It wasn't his fault, Miranda."
"I suppose not," she said, and sighed. "But it wasn't your fault either, Carlita."
Charlotte shook her head. "I didn't think it was, really," she said. "But I thought about it. I really liked TJ a lot, and I trusted him, but when it came down to it I couldn't trust him that far. So I thought about who I did trust that far, and..." She took a deep breath. "You were the only people I could think of."
"So," Jack said slowly, "you need us to have sex with you... because otherwise you don't think you can get over this?"
Charlotte nodded and fixed her eyes on her lap.
For a moment they were both silent, then Jack looked up at Miranda and said, "Better be my room." She cocked her head—Charlotte felt it—and he elaborated, "I have condoms. And lube."
Relief flooded Charlotte, and for a moment she could not speak.
"Of course you do," Miranda muttered, and shook her head. "All right. Tonight, then, Jack's room. We'll meet there at... shall we say one-thirty?"
Charlotte felt so grateful to them both that her knees felt weak, but... "You don't have to come," she told Miranda, looking up at her for the first time. "I know you don't... you don't approve."
"In the abstract, no, I don't." She reached forward, smoothed back Charlotte's hair, then cupped her face. "But I understand, Carlita, and I won't let you do this alone. Either of you."
If she said anything, Charlotte knew, she would cry, and that would be the end of this—and she needed it, more than she could say. She leaned forward instead, into her sister's embrace, and rested her forehead against the spot where Miranda's neck curved into her shoulder.
Jack moved up to sit on the couch behind her, put his own forehead against the nape of her neck, and stroked a gentle hand up her back. "Don't worry, Carlita," he said softly. "We'll take care of you."
--
They were waiting for her in Jack's room, her brother and sister: Miranda in a white off-the-shoulder nightgown, sitting primly in Jack's desk chair, and Jack lounging shirtless on his bed, wearing only boxers—neon green boxers, with electric yellow ducks printed all over them. Charlotte was just nervous enough that the sight of them made her giggle; she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle it, and even that didn't wholly work.
Jack had evidently been hoping for just that result, because he grinned and stretched his arms over his head. "See something you like?"
"Where did you get those boxers?" she asked.
He shrugged one-shouldered. "I don't know. Gag gift, maybe. Egg's got a sense of humor like that."
Miranda eyed his boxers with distaste. "What I want to know is why you're wearing them."
"Neon's in this winter," he said. "Pay attention, Andy."
She only rolled her eyes, and in the silence after Charlotte was suddenly nervous again, half-sick to her stomach. She needed this, she knew it, and they were the only ones she could trust, but if it hurt again, if it was like that, then she'd lose that trust and she'd lose them and—
"Hey." Jack was standing in front of her suddenly, cupping her face in his hands, his eyes soft. He went on in Spanish: "It's all right, Carlita. Don't think so much." He leaned forward then and kissed her.
She was tense at first, for so many reasons—the fear and the hurt and the ingrained knowledge that this was her brother, that this was wrong in so many ways. But Jack just went on kissing her, slow and soft, stroking down her back and her sides with a featherlight touch, and gradually, she relaxed.
After a few minutes Miranda got up and came to stand at Charlotte's back, a warm, solid, reassuring presence. Charlotte relaxed still more.
"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asked, low, also in Spanish.
Jack smiled against Charlotte's mouth, and moved to her neck so she could answer her sister. "Safe," she said honestly, answering in the same language, and gasped when Jack laughed a little, his breath puffing across her skin.
"Good," he said, and slid both hands down to her hips, hot through her nightdress. In English, he added, "Come on, Andy, participate a little."
"I don't actually know what I'm doing," Miranda retorted waspishly, but she lifted her hands to Charlotte's breasts and began stroking in small circles, shifting the fabric lightly over her skin. "I've never had sex with a girl before."
Jack laid a trail of kisses up Charlotte's neck, though he left his hands on her hips. She could hear him rolling his eyes. "You're a girl, don't you masturbate? Just touch her like you do yourself."
Miranda's only response was a few choice words in Spanish. Charlotte giggled.
"See if I ever give you any more advice," Jack mumbled, and kissed the space under Charlotte's ear, open-mouthed. "Are you ready for a little more now, darling?"
She nodded and closed her eyes. Maybe if she didn't see it, it would be easier...
Not that Jack really did anything much. He just pulled her nightdress up until it scrunched around her belly, then rested his hands on her hips again, this time on bare skin. His palms and fingers were slightly calloused, slightly rough, catching pleasantly on her skin whenever he moved them.
"Do you like this?" Miranda asked in her ear, low and gentle. She hadn't stopped stroking, and now she cupped one of Charlotte's breasts and rubbed gently at her nipple. "Does this feel good?"
Charlotte nodded blindly and turned her head to the side. Miranda hesitated briefly, then kissed her, close-mouthed and tender. "It's all right, sweetheart," she crooned after, and kissed her cheek. "It's all right. We just want you to feel good."
"You're doing so well," Jack added, his voice a touch hoarser than usual. He moved his hands around her hips, slow and caressing, and stopped just where her back curved into her bottom. "Can I touch you here? Would you like that?"
"Yes," she whispered, and he smiled against her neck, licked at the edge of her jaw.
She tensed again when he slid his hands down to cup her bottom in earnest, even though she knew it was coming. Andrew had grabbed her bottom hard, left handprint bruises. God, what a great ass, he'd groaned, and slapped her there every time he thrust.
Miranda kissed her cheek again and settled her arms lower, around Charlotte's waist. "Hush, sweetheart," she said. "It's only us. We have you. Not there, Jack," she added, in English.
Jack, kissing his way down Charlotte's collarbone, mumbled something in the affirmative, and slid his hands back to her hips, then a little down, stroking high on her thighs. "How about here? Is that better?"
"You don't have to stop," Charlotte said a little weakly.
"Yes, I do," Jack said firmly, and let his thumbs slide to her inner thighs. "Do you like this?"
She nodded, but did not open her eyes. She didn't want to see this necessarily, but she wanted—she needed to feel it.
He was so gentle. Andrew hadn't been gentle. Andrew had stripped her efficiently and pushed her down on the bed and... and fucked her. Charlotte hated that word, but it was the only one that fit. He'd fucked her and hadn't cared how she felt. Jack touched her like she was something fragile, porcelain or glass.
"Are you ready for a little more?" Miranda asked, soft in her ear.
She nodded again and blinked her eyes lazily open when her sister tugged at her nightdress, pulled it over her head, and dropped it on the floor. Miranda still wore her own nightgown, but Jack had gotten rid of his boxers somewhere and was half-hard, his hands still on her hips, his eyes on Miranda, questioning.
"Time to lie down, I think," Miranda said in answer, and between the two of them they maneuvered Charlotte to the bed. They never left her alone, never strayed from their positions: Jack in front, Miranda behind, and Charlotte in the middle, protected, loved.
In the end, Miranda braced herself against the wall and settled Charlotte between her legs, pulling her back to rest against her breasts and belly. Jack grinned suddenly and knelt between Charlotte's legs, resting his hands on her knees now, rubbing circles at the insides. "Is this all right, Carlita?" he asked, and pressed a kiss to one knee, just above his hand.
"Yes," she said, and he grinned again, wider, and slid his hands up her thighs, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake.
"You're very beautiful," Miranda murmured in her ear, her long, elegant hands slipping back to Charlotte's breasts. "You always have been. I want you to remember that."
Charlotte shivered, caught between Miranda's voice and Jack's hands, Miranda's fingers and Jack's mouth. All at once it was too much for sight again; she closed her eyes and whimpered softly.
Jack's hands froze, less than an inch from her vulva. "All right, Carlita?" he asked, worry clear in his voice. "Do you want to stop?"
"No," she managed, and lifted her hips a little, encouragingly. "No, please don't stop."
"So I can touch you here?" he asked, and drew a finger down the crease between her leg and hip. "Is that all right?"
"Yes," she said, a little more emphatically. Jack laughed; then she felt him kiss her just above her pubic hair, open-mouthed and tender.
When he touched her further, stroked slowly down through her labia, it made her shiver all over. Miranda tightened her arms around her, kissed her neck.
"All right?" Jack asked, still stroking, soft and smooth, the way he sometimes petted skittish animals to calm them down. "Do you like this?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good," he said, and kissed her inner thigh. "Can I move up a little, sweetheart?"
She opened her eyes and found herself staring up at the ceiling. "I..."
"He won't hurt you, beloved," Miranda said softly, and stroked a thumb over one of Charlotte's nipples. She leaned into view, kissed the arch of Charlotte's cheekbones. "It will feel good, I promise you. Won't it?"
"Wonderful," Jack agreed and kissed her other thigh. "I'm very good at this."
"Braggart," Miranda said.
"All right," she said, breathless, and squeezed her eyes shut.
It felt like lightning along her bones, sparks dancing under her skin. Jack's mouth spread electricity everywhere it touched, light shocks at first then suddenly intense. It felt like—she'd touched herself before, but it never quite felt like this.
"That," she started, and moaned, surprising herself. Jack laughed against her, and for a little while she gave herself up to the feeling.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Miranda observed dryly, some time later. Charlotte opened her eyes and looked down.
Jack, who really did look like he was enjoying himself, gave her one more broad lick, then grinned up at them both, his chin and lips glistening. "I am," he said. "It's my absolute favorite thing to do. Giving or receiving, oral sex is the best thing on God's green earth."
When he bent down again and curled his tongue over her clitoris, Charlotte was very much inclined to agree. A little later, he did something involving two fingers and a trick of the tongue, and everything went white.
When she could open her eyes again, the first thing she saw was Jack, licking his lips and looking insufferably pleased with himself. "Happy?" he asked, warm and sweet, his tone contrasting with his expression.
"Yes," Charlotte said and blushed furiously. "That is... that was..."
Jack's expression went dark for a heartbeat before he smiled, slick and not remotely sincere. "An orgasm, yes," he said. "You should have more of them. They're pretty fantastic."
"I can attest to that," Miranda said, but an undercurrent of fury ran through her voice. Charlotte sat up, twisted to see her sister's face, and blanched a little at the anger she read there.
"Andy," Jack said, warning, and Miranda forced her face into a smile.
"Don't you worry, Carlita," she said, and kissed her hairline again. "It's nothing to bother you. Don't you worry."
Which was all right for Miranda to say, but Charlotte knew her sister, and she knew what Miranda could do when she looked like that. "What are you going to do?"
Miranda shook her head. "Don't worry about it," she repeated firmly. "Not now."
Charlotte opened her mouth, and Miranda leaned forward, kissed her open-mouthed, slow and affectionate.
Jack fiddled around in his bedside table and produced a bottle and a strip of condoms. He dropped the latter on the bed by Charlotte's hip, hesitated over the former, and stroked through her labia again, making her shiver, before he dropped the bottle back in the drawer.
"She doesn't need it," he explained when Miranda looked at him sharply, and held up his fingers, glistening, before he put them into his mouth and sucked them clean. He hesitated again, still kneeling at Charlotte's feet, and put a hand on her knee. "Do you want to go further, Carlita, or do you want to stop?"
It was a reasonable question. Theoretically she'd gotten what she needed—she'd had sex without pain, she hadn't been afraid. But... but what Jack had done had no resemblance to what Andrew had done, and she still flinched away when she thought about that, about the pushing and the grip and the pain...
"Yes," she blurted before she could think more. "I need more, I—I—"
"Shh," Miranda said, and put a gentle finger over her lips. "It's all right, sweetheart."
Between her legs, Jack rolled on a condom, slowly, hissing with effort. Then he rose on his knees, spread her legs a little further, and edged closer until his hips pressed against her inner thighs, his erection just touching her labia, and she—
She froze.
Ghost pain raced along her nerves, stiffened her back and arms. In her mind Andrew grabbed her hair again, and her hips, shoved into her and hissed yeah, yeah, so tight, and—and Miranda was stroking her hair, coaxing her back against her chest; Jack cupping her face, kissing her mouth.
"Shh," Miranda murmured. "Shh, it's all right, darling, you're here, it's us."
Jack pulled away from her mouth, stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs. "It's all right. It's just us. We won’t hurt you. You're safe. It's just us."
Charlotte opened her eyes and realized that Jack was brushing tears off her face—she'd cried a little and hadn't even realized it. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"No, no," Jack said, and kissed her again, gently. "Don't apologize. Do you want to stop?"
She shook her head, mute, and reached behind her to catch at Miranda. Her sister took and held her hand, hard, and Jack took her other hand, brought it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.
"Ready?" he asked again, and she nodded, kept her eyes on Jack this time. He leaned forward, concentration in the furrow of his brow, took himself in hand and pushed gently forward, and.
And.
It didn't hurt.
It felt very strange, that was certain, but it also felt—good wasn't the right word, it was too small for this. Everything was too small for this. She clung to her siblings' hands, and closed her eyes, and rode it out.
Jack pulled out afterwards, breathing hard and still hard; he kissed her quickly, then grabbed a bathrobe and left abruptly. Charlotte felt too limp to care, but hurt hovered just on the edges of her mind—was it, was she that awful? Then Miranda leaned forward and kissed her jaw.
"Don't worry," she said softly, and put her arms around Charlotte's waist. "He'll be back in a moment. Are you all right?"
She nodded and turned her face into Miranda's shoulder. She'd done this her whole life, when she'd skinned her knee or been dumped or when Andrew... when Andrew. But it felt different now in a way she couldn't quite quantify. Not better or worse, just different.
Jack returned a few minutes later, looking nearly as wrung out as she felt. He'd cleaned himself up, and he held a wet washcloth, which he held out to her with a cocked eyebrow.
Charlotte took it, almost shyly, and cleaned herself up as best she could, then handed it back. Jack made a perfect three-point throw into his laundry basket, then collapsed on the bed beside Miranda and Charlotte, eyes heavy.
"I don't know about you two," he said, "but I'm beat."
Was that it? A startled little giggle escaped Charlotte. Were they just going to go back to how they'd been?
Miranda hummed deep in her chest, then said, "We'd better, I think. Lie down now, Carlita, it's all right. We'll take care of you."
Jack smiled up at her and opened his arms.
--
Jack's alarm went off at eight in the morning, false church bells ringing through the room. He groaned, and it echoed under Charlotte's ear—she was half on top of him, she realized, her ear pressed to his chest. Miranda, the only one of them still dressed, curved close to her back, her hair falling over Charlotte's neck and shoulders, one hand resting on Charlotte's hip. Jack had an arm under them both.
He slapped at the alarm with his other hand and turned over, dumping Charlotte onto the bed, then throwing his free arm and a leg over her. Miranda mumbled something uncomplimentary when he kicked her in the side, then cuddled closer.
Charlotte lifted her head just a little, and met Jack's eyes, half-open and still tired.
"All right, Carlita?" he asked, and yawned.
"Yes," she replied, and smiled, shy. "Thank you. I... I got what I needed."
He leaned forward, kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose. Before, it would have been casual—now it was oddly intimate, and affecting. "Of course you did," he said softly. "We take care of you. We always will."
"I know," she said.
Jack kissed the top of her head. "Good. Now go back to sleep, it's Sunday."
They had church—but not today, Papa and Mama weren't home, they could skip. She wouldn't have to go to confession, to say... but she could think about it later.
Charlotte settled into her brother's embrace, her sister warm against her back, and closed her eyes.