Charmed [2018] Fic: Hear your voice every time that I'm talking

[peppermintpuppet]

Title: Hear your voice every time that I'm talking
Fandom: Charmed [2018]
Relationship: Macy/Maggie, implied Macy/Maggie/Mel
Warnings: Sibling Incest
Rating: E
Notes: Takes place immediately post season one episode 2. Admittedly all I have seen so far.......

It’s been - so long, for her, okay. It’s been too long, and it has driven her insane—this whole witch thing is batshit crazy and utterly overwhelming. It doesn’t make scientific sense, she can’t study it, she can’t poke and prod and dissect it with her agonizing scientific mind--it’s the worst and best thing that has ever happened to her. It feels like her life before her sisters was incomplete; there was always a hollowness there, always something missing, a slowly-spreading rot that Mel and Maggie cut out for her, allowing her true soul to surface. It’s been so long since she’s—with anyone but herself.

 

“It’s just— ugh,” Maggie continues, “all I could hear him think about was my boobs. Just over and over again. ‘Boobs. Boobs. Boobs.’”

 

“Men,” Macy says, a soft laugh. Maggie doesn’t tell her to turn away when she takes off her shirt to change into her nightclothes, because they’re sisters so it’s fine. Macy doesn’t stare, doesn’t think about the same thing. Maggie’s actually so, so beautiful, it’s almost horrifying how beautiful she is. Macy had imagined what her sisters looked like before she knocked on that door, but she wasn’t prepared for how much they both look like her, she wasn’t prepared for their beauty, their purity even in their flaws. She really does love them.

 

“I know, right?”

 

“Is… there  any time you touch someone and your powers don’t… act up?”

Maggie shrugs. She pulls on a tight, baby pink t-shirt with a deep red heart pattern. It’s almost comical. “I mean,” she says, and her laughter is so disgustingly innocent, “I can tune it out when it’s you. Or Mel. But for anyone else, it’s pretty much terrible.”

 

She sits down on the bed next to Macy, gives Macy a stare that is either entirely naive or intentionally alluring. Macy cannot decipher it. She either doesn’t understand -- or she understands too much. Her eyelashes, thick and long, bat in expectation or fatigue.

 

“I… imagine it’s pretty frustrating not being able to get off without it being one of—”

 

Macy stops herself, but it wasn’t an accident and they both know it; she’s testing the waters, she’s trying too hard, it’s been too long. She’s insane. She repeats it in her mind, on repeat: she’s insane, she’s insane. It’s been too long, and that’s driving her insane. That’s all. She doesn’t actually want—

 

Maggie looks genuinely offended. “What?”

 

“Um, I didn’t mean--”

 

And she gives a nervous laugh. “It’s okay. It was kinda funny, actually.”

 

“Funny? How?”

 

“I mean…” she looks directly at Macy now, her stare neverending, her angelic face fluttering. “We didn’t grow up together or anything so it wouldn’t be weird. I don’t think it would really count.”

 

Macy gives a cautious nod. “And we’re barely sisters. Like I said… it’s different for me, right?”

 

“Right. And it’s been too long for me, too long since I had sex with someone whose mind I couldn’t read.”

 

“We barely know each other. We’ve only known each other for, like—”

 

“Yeah,” Maggie says, her hand closing over Macy’s. Macy feels so comfortable in her sister’s touch, wonders if Macy provides a solace to Maggie in the absence of her mother, a break from the grief. She hopes she can provide some relief—her lips, her mouth, her words, it doesn’t matter. “Too long.”

 

Macy moves her hand to cup Maggie’s face. Another test, and Maggie passes, her eyes drifting down, waiting for Macy’s next move, for further instructions.

 

“Are you going to kiss me?” Macy asks. “Because I can just—”

 

And Maggie— oh. Maggie does it, she pulls her sister closer—still in her day clothes—-kisses her with a passion that says: yes, Macy comforts her; yes, Macy is loved too. She gives a slight, soft moan against Macy’s mouth, tugs at her hips.

 

“Macy,” she breathes, “I want to—”

 

“Just lie back,” Macy instructs, her voice firm. 

 

“But—”

 

“Just do it,” Macy orders, and then: “Please.”

 

Macy takes a moment to shed her shirt, and then peels Maggie’s own shirt off of her, kissing down her collarbone, lips rolling over flesh as Maggie’s hands grip close over Macy’s skin. At a pace that is way too slow, her fingers trace down Maggie’s breasts, down her stomach, underneath her pyjama pants and lack of underwear, over her clit in small, spreading circles as Macy kisses every inch of her sister she can get to, desperate for the connection, desperate, desperate.

 

“Ah,” Maggie breathes as Macy’s mouth closes over her nipple, her right hand curling a finger just inside, “Macy—”

 

“Shh,” Macy says, moving away to breathe a faint I don’t want Mel to hear us. 

 

“We should do this again,” Maggie whispers, “when she’s not—ah—-here.”

 

Macy kisses her on the mouth again, tries to get as close as possible, tries to merge their bodies. 

 

“I wish she was here,” Maggie breathes between touches. “Power of three and all.”

 

“Yeah,” Macy replies. “Me too.”