My first ever twincest, trying to make it at least a little realistic. I'm not a real fan of the pairing, but this just popped into my head.

Wrong

It was wrong. I knew it was wrong. I knew she knew it was wrong. It was disgusting, horrible, awful and wrong. So why did it feel so right?

It started out so innocently. A kiss, an experiment. Two ten-year-olds, a game of truth or dare. Nothing more. So innocent. So easy.

How had it ended up so twisted and dirty? How had it turned into his monster of a secret?

"Ryan," she said quietly, and I looked at her; really looked at her. Her hair is mussed and tangled, her lipstick smeared across her cheek. She was beautiful. I was disgusted with myself. Her eyes burrowed into mine, searching for something as she grabbed my face with both hands and really looked at me.

"Ryan," she repeated, her face contorted in a less-than-perfect look of confusion. "Why are you crying?"

I turned away, not able to look at her any longer. My heart ached. How on earth had we ended up like this? My whole life felt like some twisted soap opera, with a vindictive writer who liked to mess with my feelings.

"Why are you crying, baby?"

Her voice was smooth like velvet, sweet and loving. No one knew her like this but me. No one knew how wonderful and beautiful a person she was when she let her defences down. I was the only one she let herself trust, the only person she let herself depend on. But it was wrong. It was just so wrong.

"I'm crying because I love you," I said, meeting her eyes once more. She smiled; she has a brilliant smile.

"I love you two, Ryan," she whispered, pulling my face to meet hers in a gentle kiss. Her fake nails dug slowly against my scalp, and she buried her hands in my short hair. It was wonderful, perfect. But it was wrong.

I broke the kiss and rested my forehead against hers, breathing heavily. If I didn't do this now, I would lose my nerve. If I didn't say this now, it might never get said.

"I love you," I repeated, keeping my eyes closed so as not to see her reaction, "But I don't want to."

I felt her pull away from me, and I opened my eyes. She clutched the pink sheets to her chest protectively, her eyes looking at me strangely. Fearfully.

"Ryan—" she started, but I interrupted her.

"No, let me finish." She closed her mouth, her eyes wide. I rarely went against her, and when I did, it meant something. "I don't want to love you, Sharpay. I don't want to because it's..." I looked into her eyes, but held my resolve. "It's wrong. I don't want to do this anymore. I can't do this anymore."

The tears began to spill down my cheeks against, burning trails of anger and sadness on their way down. She didn't say a word, but the look in her eyes told me enough. I was hurting her. I was breaking her. How could something that was right feel so wrong? I had to stop this, didn't I?

"Sharpay, I'm sorry—" I started, but she cut me off this time. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes were angry.

"What, I'm not... am I not good enough for you?" she demanded, her voice only wavering a little. "What did I do wrong?" She was searching for a reason when there wasn't one, blaming herself for something she had no control over, as she always tended to do.

"Nothing, Sharpay, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why are you doing this? Why are you...?" She broke off in a sob, clutching the sheet tighter against her thin frame. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and all I wanted to do was gather her up in my arms and apologise, kiss it all away, make it better. I wouldn't allow myself to do that.

"You're my fucking sister, that's what's wrong! Don't you understand? What would people think if they found out?" She recoiled from my words.

It was something we never talked about. When we kissed, made love, slept together, we weren't brother and sister. We were lovers, nothing more. But it had to be put out in the open. It was eating me alive.

"I don't care," she said quietly through her tears, "I don't care what anyone thinks. I love you."

I put a hand on her shoulder, and she nuzzled it with her cheek. I felt her tears against the back of my hand and felt guilty. But she didn't mean it. I took my hand away, and she made a very sad mewling sound and the loss of contact.

"So if I were to go out there and tell everyone— the entire drama club, football team, everyone— that we're together, you wouldn't care?" She stopped her sniffling and looked at me, dumbfounded.

"But Ryan, you can't do that!"

"Why not? You said you didn't care what they think."

I was being spiteful and nasty, and I knew it. I was hurting her. But I couldn't stop once I started. It was like releasing an animal from a change. I had been tightly wound for too long, and now it was all coming out. Everything. No secrets.

"I can't have a healthy relationship because of you. I can't even look at another girl without comparing her to you. And this—" I motioned between us. "This isn't healthy. Please, Sharpay. I need you to see how wrong it is. Please, Sharpay."

"But Ryan, I love—"

"Please." I was begging by this point, my resolve breaking. If she didn't at least acknowledge that what we were doing was wrong, I couldn't keep this up much longer. I felt myself itching to touch her, to kiss her to... no, I had to remind myself. No.

"I'm sorry," she said, reaching out and touching my face. My eyes fluttered shut. "I'm sorry. I just..." She paused. "I love you too much to let you go."

I felt her lips brush mine, and they started to move of their own accord. My hands reached out to touch delicious skin, skimming her back, dancing along her spine. She pushed me back into the plush pillows, her mind made up, and my mind made up for me. She had won, again. I wouldn't be able to stop her if I tried.

No matter how wrong it felt, Sharpay always got what she wanted.

Always. No exceptions.