Chapter Text
Carmine's in class, sexting her little brother under the desk.
She's mastered the art of poker-facing her way through lectures on weather control. Enduring her teacher's ramblings with flat interest, her arm dangles her phone just out of sight. Carmine types with one thumb, blindly rapping out messages from muscle memory. Then, glancing once to make sure she's not sending gibberish, she hits send.
The wait between their messages is intolerable. She feels so naked. So jeopardized.
Carmine:
cant
im in class rn
send pic
Carmine exhales, breathy, her cheeks toasty. She looks up at her teacher with sheltered, wary eyes that a better teacher would pick apart in seconds. Her classmates are lost in their own worlds. Some are zoned out, some are scribbling notes, some are whispering conspiratorially at the back of the room. And best of all, their professor's spread between so many of them that he doesn't notice Carmine's occasional distraction.
Not even a minute later, her phone buzzes, and she grips it so tightly her fingers whiten.
Kiki:
say u gotta go to the restroom
Carmine's mask almost shatters. She has to stay completely still on the outside, no matter how she shrieks at Kieran in her head.
Hot, angry and impatient, Carmine practically tramples a message out with her thumb, the tension in her cheeks enough to strain her teeth.
Carmine:
are u serious
what did i JUST say
theres like 40 mins left
i sent u pics last night just use those
She takes a long, long inhale, tempering herself to pretend as if everything's normal—as if she's not squabbling with her little brother about hooking up in the school restrooms.
Her phone buzzes again shortly after. She resists the urge to lift it onto her desk and reciprocate with two equally angry thumbs. Her heart's bounding. Her whole body feels flushed. Slowly, anxiously, Carmine angles her phone up just after her teacher strolls past her, finally dropping her gaze to read over Kieran's snide reply.
Kiki:
scared? lol
Ugh. That's it!
Composing herself, Carmine jabs an arm in the air, regretting ever loaning Kieran her old phone.
"Yes?" her teacher asks.
Carmine remembers where she is. Two dozen pairs of eyes burst to life and converge on her. Suddenly, she's on a public pedestal. Suddenly, spotlights blaze down onto her. Carmine acts ever so delicately, disguising herself behind a transparently wide smile, making sure to flutter her lashes. She knows how pretty she can be, and there's never harm in weaponizing it so she can sneak off to fuck her own brother.
"May I be excused?" Carmine says, polite and perfect.
Her teacher nods feebly; even he doesn't have the heart to see his lesson through to the end.
Carmine abandons everything but her phone. Her chair screeches out of place beneath her as she hurries into the empty hallway.
Carmine:
fine
asshole
which one u in
She scrolls a little further up. Small, traitorous throbs warm her clit when she flicks past candids of Kieran's hard cock, follow-ups of cum scattered over his belly like streaks of pearls, and the endless, fiery texts between them. Last night, a late-notice League meeting had interrupted their planned hook-up, so Kieran improvised by sneaking shots up the open leg of his shorts below the table. Carmine had responded with a topless mirror selfie, her modest breasts stunning in the restroom lights' harsh white glow. The night had descended from there, and since, neither have managed to puncture a hole in their day's schedule. She's wanted this. She's needed this, like the air in her lungs. And, apparently, he's needed it just as much.
Carmine's come prepared. She's been bolder today. Donning a short-sleeved, blue uniform shirt, Carmine also wanders the halls in a white skirt with nothing beneath it, just like in Kieran's fantasies. Nobody's had the heart yet to ask about her new style, but she's felt plenty of eyes drawn to her. Sadly for them, her own eyes are reserved for those much closer to home.
Carmine's phone buzzes again, and she grins, exultant.
Kiki:
2nd floor
by bio
She swings down the stairwell, skipping—haring—down the steps' flights.
One turn, another, and then, she breezes below the restroom sign and hip-bumps the door open.
If anyone else is in here, it'll just be an honest mistake.
But they're finally alone.
After all they've said, all they've done, all they've longed for, they're finally here.
Kieran smiles at her with the sheepishness of a little brother who knows he's managed to get under his sister's skin, and with the shining exuberance of a boy who knows he's going to get what belongs to him—just like his championship, just like the ogre that'll be his in time, and just like everything else Kieran feels the world owes him. The despot of Blueberry Academy's a gangly spit of a brat, and Carmine storms up to him with the irascibility of a senior who does not share his enthusiasm for humor at a time like this.
"Cubicle, now," Carmine hisses.
"You caved fast, sis," Kieran snickers. "I whistle, and you come running. Tables really have turned, huh?"
Carmine shoves him; Kieran stumbles. For all his grandeur, he's still just a kid. He's still human, despite what he'd have the League say. Only a week ago, Carmine had torn down the stupidest board in his room brainstorming up monikers for his reign: Kieran the Invincible, Kieran the Almighty, Kieran the Loyal. She'd crumpled it up and hurled it a clean ten feet away before she'd even begun to taste him. Today, it feels much the same, with few lessons learned, and just as little self-awareness between Kieran and the spectacular difference in height between Kieran the Almighty Pain in Carmine's Ass and herself.
"Hey!" Kieran yelps.
Carmine herds him towards the furthest cubicle like a force of nature, circling one arm snug around his.
"In here, champ," she snorts, slinging him into the vacant stall. When she's worked up, it's terrifying how strong Carmine can be.
Kieran steadies himself on the toilet roll holder. "You said you were gonna respect me!"
Carmine's already peering back towards the exit for any other students. They're not in the comfort of his dorm room now: they're in public, and the riot of Carmine's heart is enough to remind her of how much peril constantly surrounds them. She lingers on the shut door, watching it critically for movement. After a moment longer, she turns back towards Kieran, who's been tugging on his big sister's sleeve.
"Sis," he says, with those awful, wide, woeful eyes.
Even alone, Carmine's voice is a shrill whisper.
"Oh, my god, what?"
Unlike someone, she actually wants to keep their secret.
"You said you were gonna treat me with more respect!"
Carmine pulls an incredulous face, then draws the cubicle door shut, and latches it for good measure.
"Sit," she tells Kieran, nodding at the toilet behind him.
Kieran inspects it. He turns back to Carmine, frowning.
"You sit," Kieran mutters.
Carmine scoffs. "You're such a fucking loser," she says, ramming into him.
Kieran collapses onto the toilet lid in a commotion of sprawled legs and blundering arms, his face alight with shock. He's too offended to even answer her back, as he regains his bearings and hauls himself to sit upright on the lid's very edge. He struggles to speak. Any retorts he has die in his throat when Carmine brushes out her gorgeous, thick locks with a hand and struts up to him. Her astounding height forces her brother's neck to crane further and further back in awe at this sculpture of womanhood before him, until the restroom's one dingy overhead casts her in a near-holy silhouette that leaves Kieran agape.
Pleased with his eventual concession, Carmine whirls around. Her short, white ruffled skirt floats up with her, and Kieran's glimpses his sister's plump ass. It's bare—all of her is, down to the flash of dark, fluffy pubic hair at the front. Everything except her top, which she keeps neatly wrapped up in the uniform's standard blue.
Carmine twinkles with pride at Kieran's dumbfounded stare.
"Champion's orders," she twirls a length of hair. "Personally, I think our champ's kind of a dick, but..."
She drops one foot onto the toilet lid beside Kieran, then leans in, flaunting her long, waxed-smooth legs. From her shins to her thighs, her skin glistens. So, too, do Carmine's gold eyes, and the subtle but sincere curve of her smile that stows her love for him behind such a cold, sarcastic veneer.
"... I dunno. Sometimes, he's okay, I guess."
Kieran sways forward in a daze. Carmine's lips—every bit of her, really—exudes an impossible magnetism that she loves to conceal with thorns. Kieran leans in, stealing a quick, pecking kiss from his sister, and at the sudden warmth that dances across her bottom lip, Carmine breathes out, almost wounded from the weakness it's drawn from her. Her seduction subsides. That tenuous air of majesty she'd given off succumbs, and in its place is a high-school girl hopelessly roasted alive by desire. Kisses are different to them. They always have been. Kisses are special, secret, intrusive moments of real emotion, and it's that realness that cuts through Carmine's barbed exterior. Her cheeks are charred, her eyes are beacons of vulnerability, and her voice is plundered from her lungs, and for a moment, she's petrified by the simplest brush of her little brother's lips.
As quickly as her facade drops, Carmine regains it.
"C'mon," she whispers, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, "gotta get back to class."
"R-Right," stammers Kieran, wriggling out of his shorts. Soon, they heap at his feet with his boxers. His cock springs up, swollen and stiff with the insatiable fires of adolescence. Its otherwise-flawless skin is speckled with small, sprawling veins, and at its base is a teeny-tiny freckle that seems to run in the family. Her Kiki's grown since their first night together, with the first downy black blooms of hair scattered sparsely above, not yet mature enough to rival his sister's. Best of all, it wafts an almost pathetic haze of cum, both hours-old and new pre, and at that guilty, rich, musky flavor, Carmine can only imagine what Blueberry's little despot has done to himself over her body.
Carmine drools onto one hand. She rubs her fingers between her legs until she's slick for him, then half-straddles Kieran—and groans at how cramped the school's cubicles are. With much difficulty, Carmine balances one hand on the cistern, while the other slams into the cubicle's furthest wall for purchase. She lowers herself onto Kieran, their heat connecting in a blaze of familiar anticipation. Kieran secures the base of his cock; it pricks upright, twitching. Carmine feels for him. Her spit-soaked cunt glides across the helm of his cock first, then, awkwardly, she falls onto him whole. She engulfs him like fury itself, her body quivering in short, livid grasps, and she groans so powerfully into Kieran's neck.
For once, there's no repartee between brother and sister. They're quiet now, revelling their own passions, their moans trembling and raw with unbridled lust. Their focus is utterly one-sided, their pleasures inconsiderate and crude, and at first they take from each other, and only take, their half-naked bodies clashing together in a clumsy melee. There's one direction, one urge, one incentive, one thought, and Carmine rides him with a hectic indulgence. They masturbate with each other's bodies, too brisk, demanding and choppy for it to be sex. Kieran gropes into his sister's hips, jerkily rocking her up and down, while Carmine ruts onto her brother's cock with lid-rattling intensity. Her hips stroke up and down fervently, the pace fractured by a desperate and feral need just to feel her brother inside her, at any angle, any depth, as long as it's him and only him.
They pant in sync with the raps of Carmine's ass as it plunges noisily into Kieran's lap, each by the other's ear. Kieran's breath runs like flame across her temple, while Carmine's much mouthier, chewing on Kieran's earlobe, his neck, gnawing at her brother's manic pulse while her own skyrockets with it. Her nails rake profane tallies into the cubicle's far wall. Every time he thrusts up into her, and she grinds down onto him, a shameful, incomparable heat punctures through her head to toe. Kieran kneads into Carmine's hips, but but there's no time for touching, or sweet, sultry whispers, or restraint. Carmine writhes, brisk, frenetic, the smacks of every impact all part of the same, snappy, savage flame. There's no time. No time to stop, no time to slow down, to kiss each other, to love each other. The seconds that pass aren't gifts, but threats, growing louder and louder until they wake the entire school to their secret.
Kieran's hands slip. They glide up Carmine's back until he embraces her, every fiber of his scrawny arms caging his sister against himself.
Carmine whispers, unusually delicate. "You close?"
"Yeah," Kieran replies, just as quiet, just as unguarded. His thighs stiffen and push up against Carmine's wet, burning cunt.
As if on cue, the restroom door swings open, and the siblings tighten together. They count at least four chatting voices, worsened by their echoes. Carmine clenches her teeth, equally irate and terrified; Kieran's much the same, with that extra weight of gold on his Champion's crown to fear loss just that little bit more. But he's also so, so close, and it feels like they're stranded in the center of a tightrope. One wrong breath, and their world will become ashes. So they hold it in, both of them. They don't dare breathe. They don't dare move. If they could stop their hearts too, they'd chill their own blood. Carmine feels every unbearable inch of her brother hilted inside her, and Kieran feels the vulnerable, raw, seizing heat of his sister locked jealously around him.
"It's the oldest trick in the book," one of the boys says, smugly. "Just tell a teacher we accidentally sniffed some of my Gloom's honey, and they lose their shit!"
The others laugh.
"We don't even have a Gloom," another sniggers.
Carmine's lifts herself with all the patience and passion in the world. Her eyes shut, her focus complete.
"That's the best part!" the first boy snorts, splashing sink water onto his face. "They're so freaked out, they don't even think it through!"
Kieran widens up at her, his hopeless eyes saying, "What are you doing!?"
"Maybe we should go catch a Gloom," suggests the third boy. "Y'know, cover our asses?"
The trickle of the running faucet covers Carmine. Her breath trembles by Kieran's ear as she fills herself on him again, excruciatingly steady. 'Shut up,' she thinks, touching her forehead to Kieran's, trying somehow to transfer it to him. The thought grows, as does Carmine's temper, and the voracity of her body as she arches with grinding precision and care, every inch of movement a new, life-threatening danger. Kieran looks at her with wide-eyed dismay, so Carmine grips a hand over his liability of a mouth. 'Just shut up, and cum.'
"Vileplume's pretty ass against the Elite Four though," chimes in the second boy. "Except Lacey."
The siblings' eyes meet. They transfix. They don't waste a breath. Carmine mounts him, her features hard, determined. For Kieran, it's too much. He agonises under her, wanting to wriggle and whimper. While the other students chat away, brother and sister fuck furtively a hair out of earshot, protected by a few flimsy dividers. Kieran's breath escapes his nose in sniffly, panicked would-be moans. Carmine glares, and it doesn't seem like she'll stop glaring until she's claimed every ounce of angsty, adolescent spunk built up inside him. The only better feeling than her little brother shivering inside her is the sense of superiority it brings—and even better than both is Kieran's cum flushing, hot and helpless, inside her. Carmine sags fully onto Kieran's lap, burrowing her fingers through the black grove of her hair to tease the pearl of her clit. Her hand strafes there, each motion subtle yet focused on her pleasure and hers alone. Her fingers' flirtatious breeze swells hot inside her, and not long after, Carmine swallows her brother up in an orgasm that's so potent it feels nearly vindictive. Every beating, lustrous, taut muscle inside her pushes Kieran close to tears from how he has to bite down on his tongue and simply endure.
Kieran bites into Carmine's hand. His breaths collapse into broken, staccato twitters of air that Carmine has to fight shut. She seats herself in his lap with a resolute squish, her cunt snatching up every last fleck of cum he drains into her. Every shot is thick, vigorous, and licks inside Carmine like liquid flames. Were it anyone else, ravished would be the right word for how she feels as Kieran fills her, despoiled and dirty as she hangs on to him and he to her, their moans mute, their sinful satisfaction kept in their eyes. Everything they want to say, everything they want to do, does not—cannot—leave the penetrating blaze of their eyes, and they hold this moment right where it is.
"Fuck it, we've got time." The first boy echoes out. "Besides, I'm gonna fail if I don't get my PokéDex numbers up for this semester."
"You're gonna fail 'cause you're always ditching class," replies one of his friends, and there's laughter again.
"Like you're any better," the first boy spars back. "Come on. I didn't skip so I could hang out in the toilets."
The boys' chatter fades. Only when the door creaks shut can the siblings breathe again, and breathe they do, gasping in relief. As their come-down sets in, so does the ice-water of reality, dashing their thoughts with the absurdity of their situation. Carmine slinks off her brother with a begrudging groan, and all that precious, pearly warmth spills onto Carmine's thigh. Kieran begrudges it too, his half-slack cock now mired in their incestuous juices.
He watches Carmine pass him to reel out some toilet paper.
Kieran's voice is sheepish, unsure; she finds it nostalgic, somehow.
"Can I see you tonight?"
He makes it sound like they're boyfriend and girlfriend.
Strangely, Carmine doesn't hesitate. She dabs at her cum-laced thigh with the tissue.
"Sure," she says, distant, pretending like she's better than him.
"You promise?"
Carmine snorts. She folds the sodden tissue up, and tosses it into Kieran's now-vacant lap.
"Yes," she says, sneering, "I promise I'll see you later."
Once back on her feet, Carmine whirls around and unbolts the cubicle door. Satisfied, she doesn't say a word, nor does she turn back. She leaves Kieran to succumb to the afterglow alone, skipping elatedly back to class. She settles back under her desk and tries to ignore the faint, musky odor that follows her—as well as the fresh, white teardrop that runs down her thigh.