Sweaty bodies writhing against each other, crying out for more touch, more taste, more bite, teeth piercing on salty flesh, fingers gripping, stroking, clenching, cries of pain, pleasure and frustration.

They realised after this they'd be damned to hell.

More slap, more grip, more grunts and grinds, flesh upon flesh, fingers leaving marks like traces of their possession, marking territory, as they had done many times before.

Creasing the sheets as they rolled around the bed, thrusting deeper inside one another, panting desperately for their release until it finally hit them, shuddering with irregular thrusts, they collapse on top of each other.

Breathing heavily and wrapping their arms around each other, they lay there in each other's company, as they had done when they were screaming newborns seventeen years previously.

"Mum's going to kill us," Cole panted.

After a second of silence, Dylan turned over and looked deeply into his brother's eyes, "She doesn't have to know,"