Chapter Text
Jean and Courfeyrac Prouvaire were not your average set of twins. They’d been close their entire lives; when they were babies, they had to share a crib at night or they’d both start crying and screaming, and they wouldn’t stop until they were next to each other again. When they grew older, started school, they held hands everywhere they went, to the point that their teachers demanded they be placed in separate classes.
Jehan and Courf, their preferred nicknames, weren’t identical, but people had no trouble discerning that they were twins, or at least brothers.
Courfeyrac had curly, dark brown hair that he wore in a shaggy mess around his face. He was loud, charming, able to hold a conversation with anyone and everyone. He was older than Jehan by two minutes, a fact he bragged about incessantly.
Jehan was quieter, more comfortable with small groups of people he knew. He had long, wavy, strawberry blonde hair that he usually wore in a loose braid draped over his shoulder. He was two inches taller than Courf, and he often joked that the height difference made up for their two minute age difference. His lips were thin compared to his twin’s; Courfeyrac’s own were full, his bottom lip stuck in a permanent pout.
Their similarities, though, captivated all who met them.
Their noses were the same, sharp slopes that rounded off softly. The curl of their lips when they smiled, the dimples that appeared in their left cheeks, those were the same. They shared a laugh; a deep chuckle, followed by an almost evil sounding cackle. Their eyes were the same captivating, forest green that showed their emotions more than anything else did.
To outsiders, it was obvious that they had that weird, twin connection. They often had entire conversations without saying a single word; they finished each other’s sentences; they had a language that belonged to them and them alone.
And it was so much more than what people saw.
---
Age fourteen
“No, you hang up first!... I’m not hanging up before you, so you might as well…Oh, come on, Monique, that’s cold!”
Jehan clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to punch his brother in the face. It was bad enough that Courf was spending most of his time either with his girlfriend, or talking to her, or talking about her, but then he had to go and be the most obnoxious asshole about it.
But it was more than that, and Jehan knew it.
Courfeyrac sighed and sprawled out on the couch next to Jehan, his phone call finally ended. “She is adorable.”
Jehan rolled his eyes. “She is rude, is what she is.”
Courfeyrac sat up and frowned. “You met her once!”
“Yeah, and within ten minutes, she’d insulted my clothes, my hair and-“
“You do dress horribly, though,” Courfeyrac interrupted.
“Fuck you, you wear shutter shades and tank tops with armholes big enough for a baby elephant,” Jehan sniped.
“If you’d just let me plan your outfit for just one day…” Courfeyrac trailed off, his voice high and sing-song.
“Shut up,” Jehan muttered, standing up and quickly walking to his bedroom. Once the door closed behind him, he leaned against it, his eyes closed, and slowly slid down until he was sitting. Tiny tears fell onto his cheeks as jealousy clawed at his ribs, his throat, poured from his mouth in a ragged cry. The words Courf had said just a minute earlier echoed in his head.
“If you’d just let me plan your outfit for just one day…”
Something Jehan hated swirled in his belly at the thought of Courfeyrac doing the exact opposite, ripping his clothes off until-
Jehan quickly opened his eyes and reached for the nearest notebook.
---
Courfeyrac sat on the couch, staring at where Jehan had been sitting just moments earlier. He sighed, feeling badly for insulting his brother; he honestly loved how Jehan dressed. He was unique, wearing what struck his fancy and not caring about what others said. Courfeyrac admired that about his twin; it was a trait he himself had always lacked.
Courfeyrac buried his face in the couch cushions. Things with Jehan had been weird for a few months and he didn’t know how to behave around him anymore. He wanted to act as if everything was fine, like nothing had changed. When he did, however, it felt wrong. He thought about Jehan all the time, and not always as a brother should.
And, God, he hated himself for it.
He’d asked out Monique to distract himself, give himself something else to focus on. If anything, though, going out with her made things worse. Her hair was the exact same color as Jehan’s, and when they kissed, he often found himself imagining that he was kissing Jehan and not her.
A shaky sob shuddered out of Courfeyrac’s chest. God, he was fucked up.
---
A few days later, Friday evening, Jehan was packing a small overnight bag when the phone rang.
There was a family dinner planned the next day at his and Courf’s aunt’s house, a huge, three-leveled home. She and her husband lived two hours away, and so the twins and their parents often stayed the night after a family gathering.
“I’ll get it!” Jehan yelled as he jogged down the stairs to the living room.
“Prouvaire residence,” he panted, his sprint leaving him breathless.
“Hey, it’s Monique, is Courf there?”
Jehan paused, his fist unconsciously tightening around the phone. Before he even realized what he was doing, words spilled from his mouth. “He is, but he’s busy right now. He’s taking care of his warts.”
“Warts?”
Jehan smirked and continued, “Yes, he gets terrible warts, has to use that freezing stuff almost every week. He’ll be finished soon, if you want to wait.”
“Oh, um…no, thanks. Will you tell him to not call me back?”
”Of course,” Jehan replied, a sense of deep satisfaction filling his chest. “Have a fabulous weekend, Monique.”
“Heh, you too.”
Jehan ended the call just as Courfeyrac entered the room.
“Hey, Jehan, who was that?”
“Monique,” he replied, starting up the stairs to finish packing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Courfeyrac demanded, his brow furrowed in annoyance.
Jehan shrugged and slumped against the wall, facing his brother. “Slipped my mind, I guess.”
Courfeyrac stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, breathing harshly through his nose. “What did you say to her?”
“Does it matter? She doesn’t want you to call her back, so that’s that.”
“Fuck you, Jehan.” Courfeyrac spat, crossing the short distance between him and his brother.
They stood there, faces just inches apart, breathing hard, challenging the other to do something.
Courfeyrac’s hands hovered in the air above Jehan’s arms. His fingers trembled and his breath hitched in his throat. He leaned forward ever so slightly and--
Jehan was the one who moved first, pulling away and walking back up the stairs without a word.
---
Things only got worse when they arrived at the dinner.
The ‘so-do-you-boys-have-girlfriends-now?’ question was asked, of course, and it promptly sent Courfeyrac into a foul mood for the whole night.
And then they were told they had to share a room and a bed, due to the current remodeling of most of the guest rooms.
The twins laid there, squished together in the tiny single bed, both trying, futilely, to fall asleep.
Jehan shifted in an attempt to get comfortably and Courfeyrac shoved him hard enough to push him off the bed.
“What the fuck, Courf?” Jehan yelled as he landed painfully on the wood floor.
His twin didn’t answer, just turned so his back faced Jehan.
Jehan growled, climbed onto the bed and launched himself at Courfeyrac. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He hissed, his limbs flailing as he tried to hit his brother.
“Me?” Courfeyrac cried, his own hands pushing at Jehan. “You’re the one who fucked everything up with Monique!”
“Shut up,” Jehan snarled, his hands curling into fists as he pounded them against his brother’s chest. “Just shut up!”
“No!” Courf shrieked, gripping Jehan’s wrists and stopping his blows. “Fuck it, Jehan, I really liked her!”
Jehan froze, his nostrils flared as anger flooded his veins. He ripped one of his arms from Courfeyrac’s grasp only to slap his brother’s cheek harshly.
“Don’t lie to me, Courf,” he spat, his voice low and furious. “She has the same hair color as me.”
Jehan slapped his still thrashing twin again, harder this time. “You were only with her because she reminded you of me.”
Courfeyrac stopped moving immediately, his face unable to hide his shame and guilt, telling Jehan his assumption was correct. His full bottom lip trembled, his eyes were watery, avoiding Jehan’s own gaze, and he inhaled shakily. “Jehan…”
And at the same exact moment, they realized they were both hard, clothed cocks resting against the other’s thigh.
Jehan jerked away almost violently, but not before he slapped Courfeyrac again, even harder, the sound echoing in the sudden silence, as if he was punishing his twin for their shared reaction.
Jehan laid on his side, back towards his twin, and breathed a harsh, “don’t fucking lie to me, Courfeyrac.”
Neither boy slept that night.
And if Jehan heard Courfeyrac softly sobbing behind him, well…that wasn’t his problem.