After they kill the witch, the townsfolk take them in, grateful for what they've done. Hansel and Gretel refuse to be separated; Gretel makes Hansel stand outside the privy door and talk while she does her business, and she does the same for him. When their benefactors put them in separate beds, she creeps across the floor to curl up with him and he turns instinctively into her warmth.
There's a motherly lady mourning her own lost son who helps Hansel when he takes ill and teaches him how to handle the sugar sickness, and Gretel decides that no one else is ever going to hurt him again, not as long as she's around.
They don't know much more about witches than they did before, but they know that fire will kill them, and that no other children should go through what they've gone through, so when rumors reach them of a missing child in a town to the east, they set out with nothing but a pair of hunting knives strapped to their legs and a pair of dueling pistols on their hips.
They win, of course.
They convince other witch hunters to take them in, train them, and they cut a wide swath through the countryside, burning and beheading as they go.
When they're fourteen, girls start chasing Hansel. He barely notices and Gretel chases them away, silly geese more concerned with frolicking in meadows than the hard business of hunting witches. The last thing Hansel needs is a distraction when they're learning to fight.
They're fifteen the first time they see the ocean, and after they've beheaded a sea witch and burned her body, the fisherfolk throw them a party. Gretel dances with the boys all night and when one of them leads her away from the bonfire, out towards the sand and the rolling surf, she lets him.
He puts his hands on her hips and his lips on her lips and sudden warmth blossoms through her, and she understands, now, why those silly girls follow Hansel around. He cups her breast through the soft cotton of her shirt and pushes his tongue into her mouth, and she analyzes and catalogues each touch the same way she learned the knife and the gun. Gretel figures it's just another set of skills that might come in handy.
The next time she has a bath--Hansel started leaving her alone to bathe about a year ago, his face flushed and his eyes downcast (though he leaves her an extra gun on the floor beside the tub)--she touches herself the way the boy had, breasts and lips and hips, and then down between her legs where all the heat is centered. She explores the slick folds at the apex of her thighs and finds the small nub that makes her whole body hot and tight, and she rubs it until she's swamped with pleasure and the bathwater has cooled to lukewarm.
She's definitely going to have to explore this further, and preferably not by herself.
They're well away from the sea the night she rolls Hansel over and straddles his hips. He looks up at her, sleepy-eyed and trusting, and says, "What?"
She presses her lips to his, slips her tongue into his mouth, and lets out a soft moan at the heat flooding under her skin. She can feel his mouth curve into a smile against her cheek when she turns her head to breathe.
She rolls her hips and he moans in return, his hands skimming over her back and up under the nightshirt she wears to rest warm and familiar on her back. She takes one and puts it on her breast, arches into the rough brush of his palm against her peaked and aching nipple.
"Yeah?" he asks, his gaze warm and curious. He brings up his other hand to cup her other breast.
"Yeah," she answers, covering his hands with hers and moving against him while pleasure arcs through her from her breasts to her quim.
She can feel the hardness of his cock against her through his drawers, and then the spreading warmth when he comes as they rock together. She's still aching for satisfaction, though, and so she sits back on his knees and pulls up her nightshirt so she can finger herself while he watches, wide-eyed and hungry. He slides his fingers beside hers, the calluses catching against slick skin, and she thrusts against their joined hands, her breathing loud and harsh in the silence.
"Gretel," he says, leaning forward to kiss her, and her climax rushes through her like a wave.
He peels off his sticky drawers and does a perfunctory job cleaning himself up before they both drift off into sleep. She keeps a leg slung over him, and wakes sometime before dawn to his cock nudging against her quim. She opens her eyes to see him watching her, and she smiles.
"Let's do this," she says, wrapping her hand around him and learning the feel of him, cataloguing what makes him gasp and moan her name. She can feel the wetness rushing between her thighs at the sounds he makes, and the heat curling low in her belly.
She guides him inside of her slowly, savoring the stretch and the friction. Hansel holds completely still beneath her, his eyes closed and his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his breathing coming in short hard bursts through his nose. She waits until he's fully sheathed inside her and then tightens around him. His hips jerk up as if she's struck him with lightning and his eyes fly open, apologies falling from his lips.
"It's okay," she says, rolling her hips the way she had the night before. He falls into rhythm with her, because he always does, because they're two parts of the same whole, and nothing will separate them. He touches her as they move, and she can't catch her breath, heat and pleasure stealing it from her until they're gasping into each other's mouths, praying for the pleasure to crest and break.
"Gretel," he says, "wait." She stops moving and lets him pull out so he can spill himself on her belly and thighs.
She's glad one of them had the presence of mind to think of it; she hasn't yet learned the secret of not getting pregnant, but she's going to have to learn it soon, because there's no way she wants to stop doing this now that they've started. She sits up, leans back and brings herself off above him again while he watches, his fingers rubbing his come into her skin. She licks his fingers when she's done, tastes the two of them mingled together, the way they ought to be, and smiles.
She curls up with her head on his shoulder afterwards, and he wraps an arm around her to hold her close and presses warm kisses to her cheek, her hair, her lips.
"If anyone finds out," he says finally, "they'll separate us."
"They can try," she answers fiercely. He kisses her, all thrusting tongue and teeth, and they get distracted for a little while, exploring the bodies they know so well with hands and lips and tongues. Once they've reached satisfaction a second time she says, "Maybe you should go with a village girl once in a while. Let them believe what they need to believe." She doesn't say she'll let the occasional boy grope and kiss her, but she doesn't think she has to.
Hansel grumbles unhappily but as time passes, she notices that every once in a while he'll take some grateful girl or woman home and come back to her smelling of sex. Gretel doesn't care, as long as he always comes back to her, and he always does.