In the end, despite sharing a sinful closeness going much further than what half siblings, or full siblings, or twins even, should have experienced, the man who liked to call himself Berlin remained a mystery.
He could imagine him an artistocrat of olden times, with his five wives - there was this English king who actually married six and sometimes Sergio wondered who the chosen sixth would have been. Siring heirs, fucking tavern wenches and stable boys, possibly thinking of a relative while doing so, getting rid of wife, and starting again. Some would have seen a quest of love in this, but Sergio knew better, it would have been better labeled as Gothic horror.
As a boy, secluded in hospital, he had watched Star Wars, a nerd already. He had been fascinated by this brother and sister finding each other as adults, and being attracted... Mistaking the genetic pull for something else, something more... He had researched it years later, because it interested him as so many topics did - not not not because it might be relevant to him.
At least that was what he told himself, until his brother came home after the first heist they had planned together. Sergio had wanted to come along, but Andres would have none of it. Sergio felt mistrusted, angry at first, but as time went by he started imagining the worst. Andres, dead. Andres, gone. He wasn't sure what would be worse, selfish as this sounded. So when finally the door opened, revealing a disheveled though still impossibly elegant man, he could only whine and run, run toward him and embrace him in a way he wasn't sure two grown up men - he saw himself as such then, ironically - were supposed to. Andres, who was never into displays of affection, public or otherwise, strangely didn't push him back, but even reciprocated. Sergio pondered that he had to be rather under shock himself.
He heard himself speak, with a voice that didn't sound like his at all: "I thought you were dead...". Tears were flowing freely and he hid his face in the man's shoulder, warm and reassuring. His brother didn't react, simply holding him.
"I thought you left me...". He reacted to this, though, pushing him away as he grabbed his chin in his hand.
"Look at me. Fucking look at me! That's what you think of me? That I'm fucking leaving you behind, after all we've been through?". He was angry, madness already dancing in his eyes though at the time Sergio would have refused to acknowledge it. Yes, he had been thinking so, but he couldn't find it in himself to say it. So he avoided his gaze, looking at everything but his eyes, his mouth, then his shirt. Blood. He shivered, a wave of nausea coiling through his body.
"You're bleeding...", he stated in a lifeless voice. Andres frowned in surprise, then looked to his shirt.
"It's not mine, hermanito". At that Sergio's heart skipped a beat, he laughed, felt guilty about what that meant, sobbed and he would never know which brother kissed the other but their mouths met and wouldn't let go. It was awkward, aggressive and unlike anything that should have been chastely shared in family. He could feel Andres' experience, only emphasized by his own lack thereof. He wondered what kind of men groped at each other, their tongues meeting and sparring, after calling little brother. He wondered if he was doing this only to make sure Andres would never leave, would never want someone else even to release the pressure. He could handle it, he could handle him, and while he didn't really phrase it to himself, he wanted to feel and see his release, swallow his moans and lose himself in his eyes, darker than dark.
Sometimes the stress is so high you just need to kill or fuck, his brother had said. He could at least offer him one option, especially if it would save him, Sergio, from that horrible feeling tearing at his heart, at his gut, when Andres was whispering much too close to a married woman or a starry-eyed boy. His victims of choice. A boy that could easily be him, if this wasn't forbidden, if this wasn't beyond the pale even for a killer. He hated what he was thinking of so he focused on Andres' lips still trailing over his, and bit him hard, going for blood, his this time.
"You're bleeding", Sergio commented again, with quite a different tone and gaze.
"Hijo de puta", Andres replied, slightly out of breath.
"Takes one to know one", he said, his tone low, violence present but contained. Not the usual tone he would use, and Andres would know.
"You have no clue what you're asking for. You're just a kid...". He was trying to hurt him, to rile him up. Perhaps he was pushing him to act, finally. Or he was trying to deflect. Sergio liked the idea that this was slightly frightening for the other man, because it was frankly terrifying him, how things had turned. Because normal brothers didn't plan heists, didn't leave a trail of blood and money behind, didn't kiss, didn't lick the other's bloodied lip as a silent apology, didn't grow hard doing so. Sergio - he hoped so - would never be the hand that held the pistol, but he wanted to be there for Andres, he wanted to do everything he could for him... Craved it. So even if brothers, normally, didn't do that, he reminded himself that normal had never worked well for them, and allowed his brother to lead him toward where he knew the couch was. He couldn't see it behind his back, and his eyes focused entirely on the slightly opened red lips, the quick breathing, the burning gaze - huge pupil, he knew what that meant though there was also a possibility that Andres had been snorting powder.
It felt like an eternity until his calves were met with the soft but solid material of the couch. Luxurious feeling. Andres always had great taste in furniture, in clothes, in men. He moaned at the mere idea. Andres shivered from the sound.
"You understand...?". What did he ask? If Sergio understood it was incest? That it would hurt? That he couldn't take it back? That their relationship would change forever? Sergio had a hunch that his brother didn't bother with those considerations usually. He nodded curtly, unable to speak. His heart was beating so strong it hurt, but that was a good pain. Andres caressed his cheek, tender, and Sergio wondered if people would be able to see a change in him, if he would be a real man, after...So yes, he desperately wanted Andres to make him one. He turned his face slightly, kissing his hand, revealing in the sensation. He never had a mother's gentleness, hardly a father's, but Andres was a gift from life, he was everything.
"Do it brother", he all but ordered, the leader he would be one day almost ready to take control, and Andres' eyes darkened, tenderness quite forgotten as he pushed him back onto the couch. He was reminded for some reason of the Fall of the House of Usher, and darkly pondered that the ancient house of Fonollosa wouldn't be faring much better in the end.