Pairing: Erica Albright/Tyler Winklevoss, Erica Albright/Cameron Winklevoss
Fic Title: the finish line
Rating/Warning(s): NC-17 / sex, polyamory, implied incest
Genre: Romance, Character Study
Special Rec: 8/30
Why This Must Be Read: Erica never interacts with either of the Winklevoss twins in canon, but this author made me believe in her relationship with both Cameron and Tyler in this piece. In the little that we saw of her in the movie I just adored Erica and she's written so perfectly here; seeing the twins through her eyes was fascinating. Everyone should read this story because it's hot, and thought provoking, and because Erica likes guys who row crew.
She sleeps with Cameron first.
(First. This is when Erica knows just how deep she has dug herself in. Cameron's considerable weight on top of her, his hips rutting against hers, and she is thinking about his brother then, just for a flickering moment, how she is sure she'll know Tyler's weight on top of her too, the thick press of him inside her.)
Cameron shows up at her door late, trails in behind someone else from her house because he doesn't dial her number from the phone box outside and there's no other way inside. He just knocks on her door and smiles when she opens it, leaning against the frame in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a thin white shirt. He follows her in, too, wordlessly as his heel connects with the door to push it shut.
There's a conversation between the door and the bed, a few stray minutes of chatter, a conversation where she asks questions and he dodges them, gives her the edges of what might be truth, but what she's pretty sure might be lies. Because between them, Cameron lies and Tyler tells the truth, even when they're saying the exact same thing. Cameron lies to protect, buffers the truth that Tyler gives freely because his brother's caution gives him liberty to.
Then Cameron's hands are slipping under the edge of her sweater, pulled off before he unbuttons and peels off the layers beneath. He's been drinking; she can taste the bitter aftertaste of beer on his tongue, but he's not drunk, still clear and levelheaded, his fingers quick and sure on the snap of her bra, unhooking it. After, he touches the skin between her shoulder blades with the tips of his fingers. It feels weirdly intimate, and she shivers, feeling the smile on his face that blooms against her cheek.
She's never realized how small her bed is until they're both on it, until she watches his body swallow up the space, hands braced on either side of the frame like it's nothing.
"I want you," he says, and this she believes, this she knows is true because she can feel him hard against her thigh, through his jeans and whatever he wears beneath.
It's not what she expects: it's hard and rough and quite possibly the best sex Erica has ever had. He goes down on her first, his mouth and hands on her cunt, and it's not the first time a boy has ever done it to her, it's just the first it's felt like he knows what he's doing, so fucking good instead of awkward. He responds eagerly when she tangles her fingers in his hair and tugs, needing more pressure, needing another finger inside of her, like he appreciates the pain her hands invoke. Later, when he's inside of her, he asks her first before he holds her down, gathering her thin wrists in his hand when she nods, out of her mind with want.
Erica doesn't invite him to spend the night and he doesn't stay. She doesn't feign sleep when he slips out of her bed, and he does her the courtesy of not trying to sneak out either. Reaching down for his boxers, Cameron tugs them up his legs, pulling on his jeans when he finishes.
In the dim light, she can see a smattering of pale freckles along his shoulders and down his back, and unconsciously reaches out to touch a concentration of them on his lower back. He moves into the pressure, unsurprised, before he looks over his shoulder at her with a lazy smile.
"I've got a technical row in four hours," he says, sliding his shirt over his head. It's obscenely wrinkled, mostly from being caught underfoot when they were making their way onto her bed earlier. "I have to get some sleep."
"Okay," she replies, silently grateful. The sex was messy and her thighs are still slick with it; she's desperate for a shower.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he says quietly, palming her bare hip before standing up and letting himself out.
In the morning, she finds the tied-off condom on the floor by the wastebasket near her bed.