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Sex right after a shower defeats the purpose of the act, but they would make do. At most, it is only a small setback.
It’s not like they couldn’t take another one immediately afterwards. While his sister is prone to laziness—the chip crumbs perpetually scattered across her floral-print bedsheets are proof enough of that despite Stelle’s objections—and strange habits, she, paradoxically enough, values her hygiene.
Rather good for March and the rest of their friends really considering Stelle’s raccoon-like fondness for trash cans.
Here on the Astral Express, there is only room for one animal-esque mascot character, and as fluffy as Stelle’s hair is, a bit reminiscent of a Pomeranian’s behind in Caelus’s opinion, his sister is nowhere near as cute as Pom-Pom or even the average raccoon.
Pointedly, Caelus ignores his own tendencies. Considering the current location of their tryst, his bedroom, Caelus is allowed some leeway. At the very least, his room doesn’t have empty soda bottles lying around or crumbs for Peppy’s visits.
Call it the big brother tax as it were. Who cares if they’re twins or both amnesiacs?
They’ve flipped the coin, four out five as Stelle demanded, and according to the laws of luck and gravity, he is the older of the pair.
A soft hmph comes followed by a light smack on his head, Stelle’s doing.
“Hurry up,” she demands. Unlike her normal, bland expression—a near-mirror of his own according to March—Stelle’s brow is furrowed, messy hair doubly chaotic and a perfect match for the state of her room. “We don’t have all day. Just move.”
As to emphasize her point, Stelle shifts, arms coming to wrap loosely around her brother’s neck. Pulling him closer, she rubs herself against him, soft, supple breasts sliding along an equally wet chest. With every slight movement, the bed creaks beneath them, noises joined by Caelus’s groans.
Hands moving to grab at her hips, Caelus retorts, wincing as she clenches around him. While they have fucked before—a bit too much if Dan Heng’s pointed gazes are anything to go by—he would never get used to her impatience.
Fitting as it may be for a younger sister to be spoiled, Caelus doesn’t particularly care for the way that she pulls at his hair, gray-colored strands bunched in-between her fingers. Accompanied by the teeth sinking into his shoulder, a sharp sting which elicits a hiss, the sensations cause him to inadvertently buck, burying himself deeper inside of Stelle.
“J-just like that,” she gasps, jerking his head backward in her agitation. Much like a raccoon, for better or for worse, Stelle is mischievous, quick to learn and quick to complain. “Come on. You can do better, Caelus.” Another tug, painful as the last. “Big brother.”
Under normal circumstances—what could they even consider to be normal for them?—Stelle would never call him that. More of Clara’s thing as it were. Cae, Caelus, and a number of other variations but not big brother .
That moniker, more often than not, is reserved solely for these couplings.
Rather weird fetish, excessive even for his sister, but Caelus, sardonic as he may be at times, couldn’t complain all too much. Not without being a hypocrite.
He is still inside of her, and that has its own implications, its own oddities and social taboos attached.
“Big bro—“
Stelle chokes as Caelus’s grip tightens, hips thrusting forward. Leaning forward, he plants a sloppy, brief kiss upon her lips, tongue eagerly met as it probes inside of her mouth: along the teeth, the fleshy walls of her cheeks, everywhere that it could reach.
“As my little sister, shouldn’t you listen to me more?” Caelus murmurs as they separate, a thin strand of saliva connecting them. Almost like a spiderweb underneath a lazy, searching palm, it quickly dissipates. “Good sisters—good girls—should listen to their brothers. You need to grow up well.”
Stelle shudders, little squeaks drawing a familiar heat to his chest. While he doesn’t necessarily mind his sister’s normal expression—it matches his after all, perk of being twins—there is a certain novelty to seeing her like this, fresh and appealing no matter how many times they’ve coupled.
It is an expression reserved solely for him as it were, and cynical as he may be, Caelus could appreciate that.
With a sigh, Caelus moves, thrusting once more as to rub against her G-spot, motion drawing a sharp trill and another tug on his hair. Rough as they are, Caelus could already feel the oncoming headache, thrum intermingling with the high of sex and the heady stench of sweat.
“Well?” He winces as she pulls.
“Y-yes.” Stelle moans as Caelus bucks. “But”—her expression turns defiant—“that isn’t fun, is it? A little sister should also be cute too, and it’s your job as my older brother to teach me.”
Cuteness is more of March's forte, but Caelus doesn't comment upon it. He couldn't.
Not when Stelle shifts, bouncing once on his lap, a small smile forming as Caelus groans. His hands would leave a mark on her hips by tomorrow, a perfect complement to the purpling bruise on his shoulder, an aching, blooming burst of violet upon snow.
“Good brothers are supposed to guide their sisters, aren’t they?” Stelle bounces again, gasping. Incensed as she is, heat emanating from her slender figure alongside the chitter of noise, Stelle wouldn’t last much longer.
Though, to be fair, Caelus is certain that he’s much the same. Tight as Stelle is and with consideration to everything else, it is, in his opinion, fairly unsurprising.
“Well?” She mocks, a repetition of his earlier question. “Shouldn’t they? Or have you’ve abandoned your little sis—“
With a kiss, Caelus silences her, clamor swiftly morphing into a needy, muffled whine. Her nails dig into his back, digits still tangled in his hair. To his pleasure, he feels her legs wrap around his waist, soft yet toned body a pleasant sensation upon his flesh.
As they are currently, neither of them would last much longer.
Thus, when he begins moving in earnest, pace frenzied yet no less welcomed, Stelle soon follows, flesh meeting flesh in that distinctive thwap.
“B-big brother.” Her words come in-between kisses, a desperate, whiny plea and repetition—one met with a call of sister and a violent shaking of his hips, every thrust drawing forth a well of sounds. Rather fortunately for them (and for their friends on the Express), the walls are thick.
Perfect for their activities.
Not the most mundane of fetishes, but he could play along for her.
Stelle is his sister after all, and aren’t big brothers supposed to spoil their younger siblings from time to time as well?