They had grown up together. And this year had changed everything. Never for the better. Always for the worst.
They were seventeen today. And tonight, the games would begin.
However, Ryan Evans was not aware of this, as he stood beside his sister for the picture to be taken. There was always such a fuss every birthday, because they shared it. But Ryan had this idea his mother and father (especially their father) appreciated his sister more than him. How could they not?
The photographer bent down once again, and Sharpay beamed at the camera, pouting her lips, and teasing her long blonde hair.
Ryan just smiled, and it was clear Sharpay was the bell of the ball.
"My little strawberry!" Mr. Evans boomed – he was blonde, too, like their mother but was balding slowly over the years. Fortunately, high metabolisms were inherited from their father, and they had not got the rounder shape of their mother, which she was constantly thinning down to her own perfection.
Sharpay laughed, jumping up and down, in her red gown – tight around her chest (she said) but still the most amazing and expensive (Mr. Evans said) dress she could buy.
Mr. Evans could her in a tight hug around her waist. She was Daddy's little girl, and always will be, despite every credit card she exceeded, or speeding tickets she received over Spring Break.
He slapped Ryan between the shoulder blades, and gave him a would-be affectionate look, but Ryan knew too well that this was Sharpay's night.
Sharpay linked arms with Ryan and their proceeded into the dining room, where twenty of their father's closest friends already sat.
The joined them, and the meal began.
Thirty minutes into supper, Ryan became restless. All their father spoke about was work (he was a bank president), and Ryan could no longer consume his words. Things faded, and he could not see the point in listening to something he didn't care about. Sharpay distinctly rolled her eyes, and many guests noticed with a chuckle. Mr. Evans began to laugh again, saying loudly: "That's my little girl."
Disgusted, and embarrassed, Ryan turned his head to Sharpay pleadingly. He wanted to leave.
"Daddy, can we go to bed?" Sharpay offered, but she knew the answer. It was always the same answer.
"Of course, sweet pea."
Ryan stalked off, Sharpay right behind him, up the stairs to the lounge. Sharpay took of her stilettos – which had cut into her toes – and sighed tiredly.
"I wish I could hate him too, you know."
Ryan didn't realise it was Sharpay's own voice until he turned to look at her in the false glow of the television screen.
"But he'd cut you off," Ryan added. He knew the story all too well; Sharpay, as she was the older twin, would inherit the trust fund Sharpay was promised. Ryan had been promised the company, which he'd never wanted in the first place.
He wanted to be a performer; not a man in tight suits suffocating in his own boredom, and spending each day at meetings in cold, harsh skyscrapers. And Sharpay wouldn't even be there.
Sharpay shrugged at Ryan half-heartedly, though he spotted tears in her eyes.
"I hate this place. The people here."
Ryan didn't like how she spoke at odd hours of the night. Ever since Gabriella became Minnie, she had doubted herself more, and kept distant to everyone else at school. Ryan followed her, though. He promised her he always would.
"Don't say that," Ryan whispered. "What about me?"
Sharpay simply stared at him, the TV ignored (Scooby Doo, and they didn't even like the show), and the dinner voices from downstairs far off and oblivious to their pain.
"Do you want to play…a game?" She asked, moving closer to Ryan and turning a sly eye at him.
Ryan didn't follow. The sorts of games teenagers played were either violent or stupid. He had no idea what she meant by 'games'. She hated anything to do with children nowadays.
"Okay," he said in a small, nervous voice.
Sharpay led him by the wrist to her bedroom, and they sat together on her bed, the springs of the mattress squeaking under such pressure.
"You let me do anything to you, and not react, and you can do anything to me in the second round," she explained the rules with a hand on her brother's knee, and he felt himself begin to sweat under his suit.
Ryan had noticed the way he felt in these situations lately – any bodily contact like brushing fingers or bumping elbows resulted in a flutter in his stomach, and a chill in his spine. It wasn't a natural feeling, for brothers to have.
But he couldn't help it. He wanted to win this game.
"Okay," he said again, his heart fluttering against his ribcage.
Sharpay instantly pushed him lightly in the chest, and his head fell back onto her soft velvet pillow, and took of his hat with a single flick of her finger.
What was she about to do? Ryan clutched the sheets at his sides, and waited.
She removed his shoes, and leant close to his face. She lowered herself slowly to brush her lips against his collarbone. He flinched, before remembering the rules. He must lay still and take this in with ease.
But this was near impossible with Sharpay.
She moved her hands to his jacket, removed it (threw it aside with his belongings on the floor), and began to unbutton his shirt – and slowly, it was removed.
She kissed his chest in a long line, all the way down to just above his belt.
Ryan's stomach bucked involuntarily, and he heard himself whimper as Sharpay threw the shirt aside, and started on his pants.
There was already a slight bulge in the fabric, and it began to strain more once she removed the belt and unbuttoned Ryan's pants, and lowered them past his knees.
She seemed to smile more, and took the waistband of his boxers (they were striped blue, and were becoming more strained against the bulge) in her hands.
She began to lower them, anticipating the moment, and Ryan cringed. This was probably the most humiliating moment in his life, because he had no idea whether his penis was the ideal size. He had no idea whether it was even normal.
But as the boxers united with the pants below his knees, Sharpay smiled broadly, and looked down on his genitalia with glee.
"Oh – big boy! Big boy!" Her voice was both patronizing and ravenous. She laid a finger slowly on Ryan's stomach, and slowly drew it along his penis and Ryan had a sudden sense of longing inside of him. He wanted this more than life itself.
She was careful not to touch the tip, just to keep him waiting. It was obvious she was still in charge, and winning the game.
She gave him a pouting look, asking if she could touch again.
"Sharpay, please be careful," Ryan said pleadingly, just as Sharpay clutched the small sack below. She rubbed it between her palm and fingers, and Ryan groaned softly, sweat running down his forehead.
The anticipation was killing him. He closed his eyes in the mixture of pain and pleasure, until he felt Sharpay's soft lips on his penis; slowly kissing along it like it was someone's hand.
Ryan opened his eyes, just as Sharpay took his penis into her mouth, sharply sucking it. It was too intense to handle – Ryan could her himself yelling.
"Oh, GOD! Sharpay, please – please -!"
She sucked harder, gliding him up and down in her mouth, savoring him with a mischievous grin. Ryan lifted his hand and rested it of her soft head, entwining her long bands with his fingers, pushing himself further into her.
He was still yelling. He could barely hold on. The wet, and the warmth were overtaking him.
"Sharpay – I think I'm gonna – I'm gonna -!"
Sharpay slipped him out of her mouth, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, just as Ryan rolled over, not caring if she saw his rear end, and ejaculated, whimpering to himself with disappointment.
Sharpay wasn't pleased. "You lost."
Ryan, clutching himself, turned his head to the side to give her a sharp glare.
"Get out of my room," she hissed, and pushed him off the bed with a sharp nudge.
Ryan blew it. He'd lost the first round.
Please review, as in - no flames because you don't agree with this pairing. I warned you clearly before.