"It must be strange."

"Hm?"

"Being in a café that is not your own."

"Har de la har har."

Cayen looked across the table at her brother Montjoly, who appeared self-satisfied, which is to say, like himself. The younger Aleva sibling had on a lacey top and pencil skirt with a pair of patent leather heels, and was leaning back in his seat against the wall behind him. He said it was nice to dress up once in a while. The unspoken 'for you' was assumed by both of them.

"It is true, non? You are either hovering around your store or living above it. When is the last time you went out for pleasure?"

"Well, last week Glire /did/ invite me over for dinner." Cayen's eyes twinkled. "I think you might be able to learn a thing or two from her."

"Unlikely. I have taught her all she knows."

"Really! It must be her own refinements that result in stews that aren't overseasoned, then."

Montjoly rolled his eyes, and took a sip of his latte. This stalling tactic was considered a point for the elder Aleva in the grand tally of their sibling rivalry.

"Perhaps it is the fault of the palate and not that of the chef," Montjoly ventured after the sip, and immediately regretting it.

"Oh brother, I will spare you the obvious riposte about your palate."

Montjoly took another sip. "You are enjoying teasing me," he says, switching into French.

"Of course!" Cayen replies, following suit. "Why wouldn't I? It hasn't gotten boring in fifteen years. I bet your cheeks are warm now."

"--Ah, that may be true but your words are not why." Montjoly glances away. "It is your neck."

"My neck?" 

"Yes."

Cayen brought her hand up to her neck and looked down at herself; she wore a pastel yellow blouse with the top button undone, and tan slacks. Sure, you could see her collarbones, and the little necklace that bore her name in a bubble of glass, but that had never been something Montjoly had been particularly attracted to in the past.

"Why my neck?"

Montjoly looked back, and the cheshire-cat grin on his face told Cayen that she might be in trouble. "Because I am remembering how it looked after I fucked your breasts and covered it in cum."

For a long, agonizing moment, Cayen forgot which language was dominant in Rainside.

Then she took a sip of her tea.

"Oh, je m'excuse," Montjoly continued. "I thought we were bantering."

"We are bantering." Cayen said, glancing around surreptitiously, and dropping her voice. "You are taking a large risk by speaking so frankly in public. Even if it is in French."

"I am willing to take that chance."

"Clearly."

"The chance of someone knowing enough French to follow this conversation is small. Nobody in the cafe knows either of us. Maserati has already gone home. I believe I have all the freedom I wish to talk about how you rubbed yourself off to your pearl necklace."

The words 'pearl necklace' were in English.

Cayen gave Montjoly a pure how-dare-you look, sipped her tea, and made a decision.

"You are going to eat those words."

"I doubt it. I will be quite full with pie."

"You wanna bet?"

Montjoly grinned. "Yes," he said. "I believe I do."

"The usual terms?"

"Yes. Though perhaps with an IOU for me since you would be unable to perform my winnings in public."

"And not for me?"

"I do not plan on losing."

"Interesting." Cayen leaned back in her seat. "At any rate, you may have enjoyed giving me the pearl necklace--" this phrase was also in English "--but not as much as you enjoyed licking my pussy that one time," she shot back. "Do you remember? We were seventeen. You were so enthusiastic that you humped the bed and made a mess of my sheets."

"Are you saying I /shouldn't/ have enjoyed you so much? I would have thought that you would consider it a compliment that you could make someone come with your pussy no matter what it is rubbing up against. Besides, if we are talking about making a mess of bedding I seem to remember you stealing my pillow to masturbate with it and then putting it back hoping I would not notice."

Cayen laughed. "All these years and you still think I hoped you /wouldn't/ notice."

"Oho! So the sister admits that she wanted her brother to wake up with an erection after spending the night wrapped in the perfume of her--"

Montjoly abruptly stopped talking.

"Brother?"

Cayen noticed that Montjoly was looking over her shoulder. "Oh." She said, and tried to return to a neutral expression.

"Also, not brother. Sister."

Cayen stuck her tongue out at him.

The waitress walked up. "Hi, anything else for you two?" She asked.

"May I ask what you have for pastries today?" Montjoly replied.

"Sure. We have apple pie, banana cream pie--" At this, Montjoly and Cayen simultaneously gave each other meaningful looks, which the waitress, thankfully, missed. "--coconut cream pie, key lime pie, cherry danish, cheese danish... stop me if there's anything that sounds good."

"I might have the key lime pie. Cayen?"

"The apple pie, do you know if the crust is made with butter?" Cayen asked.

"Uh... you know, I'll have to check that."

"Would you? Thanks, I'm lactose intolerant."

"Ah, okay. I'll see what we have that's dairy-free for you."

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

"And I'll be back with your key lime pie in just a second."

"Thank you." Montjoly said.

The waitress left. "Aren't you glad boys' cream has no lactose in it?" he says with a grin, switching effortlessly back into French.

"As much as you are that girls' cream doesn't either," she replies in kind. "speaking of which, take your pill. I'm not going to come take care of you no matter how much you yowl at me over the phone if you get sick."

Montjoly scoffed, but reached behind him for his purse. He pulled out a small lactose enzyme pill, which he swallowed with a sip of his coffee. "If I yowl at you over the phone it is not because I am sick, unless it is lovesickness."

Cayen laughed. "Montjoly Aleva, using the L word in broad daylight. How many girls have you brought into your bed with professions of love?"

"Not many," Montjoly said softly, glancing away again. "Just the one."

That stopped Cayen cold. "...Montjoly." She looked down. "I..."

The grin returned. "Most of them remember I love them after I say it the first time. I am not sure why you do not."

Cayen's face contorted into outrage, then badly tried to hide a smile, and after finally catching up to the sheer audaciousness of what Montjoly said, she socked him in the shoulder.

"Ow! What kind of society is this that someone can assault their brother in public but not kiss him?"

"Just moan and tell me you want more and I'm sure someone will say something."

Montjoly rubbed his shoulder. "You first, mixsieur." He looked over Cayen's shoulder again. "Here comes the waitress."

Cayen took this opportunity to do something lewd and complex with her tongue while her back was to the waitress, and Montjoly very carefully didn't react to it. "Here's your key lime pie," the waitress said cheerfully. "I checked, and nope, the apple pie's got shortening in it, no butter, you're good to go."

"Excellent. I'll have a slice of that, please."

"No problem. Hey, uh, do you mind if I ask you two something?"

Cayen and Montjoly exchanged another look. "Okay."

"Are you two siblings or dating?"

"Why choose?" Montjoly replied in French, and Cayen nearly socked him again.

"We're brother and sister," Cayen replied with a straight face. "Why?"

"Oh, it's just -- like, you two have this chemistry. I don't often see siblings act like that towards each other. You two must have been close all your life."

"Not all our life, but yeah, we've been pretty close for a while. We were separated for a few years early on. I guess we wanted to make up for lost time."

"We do have what you might call a healthy rivalry with each other," Montjoly said. "But it is always good-natured."

"That's great," the waitress said, grinning. "Anyway, sorry for intruding. I'll be right back with your apple pie."

"No problem. And thanks."

The waitress left again. "You really want to get caught, don't you." She says, without heat.

"You must learn to read people," Montjoly replied evenly. "I would not have said it if I thought the waitress could understand me."

"You always were overconfident," she says, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, and dropping her voice, code-switching back into French. "It always made me feel so good when I made you beg."

Montjoly licked his lips. "Is that what gets you off when we fuck?"

"No. You have ten fingers, a cock and a tongue, and they usually get me off. Your begging just makes it better."

Montjoly took a bite of his pie, and Cayen grinned. And slipped off her shoes. "We should take a walk after I finish my pie."

"Oh? Why is that? Are you in such a rush to be back to your tea shop?"

"The sooner we get back, the sooner I can fuck you," she said. "But no. I wish to take advantage of a certain anatomical advantage I have over you."

"Really? What is--" Montjoly fell silent, as Cayen began to rub the top of her foot up Montjoly's calf.

"You get visible erections, and I don't."

Montjoly carefully didn't react. "And you accuse me of wanting to get caught."

"We're in the corner of the cafe and there's this cute little tablecloth hanging down," she said. "The only other person who would know what my foot is doing would be a person sucking your cock, and if so, I am about to hit them in the back of the head."

The waitress returned with Cayen's pie. "Thank you." she said sweetly, accepting it, and when the waitress left, dug in with a fork, her foot slipping up into Montjoly's skirt.

"Cayen."

"Yes, brother?"

"Please stop groping me."

Cayen immediately withdrew her foot, but her grin remained. "Did I go too far?"

Montjoly looked downcast. "No. Just far enough."

"Far enough to what?"

"...Far enough to... to win. I concede."

Cayen looked satisfied, smug almost, and took another forkful of pie. "And what does winning mean?" she asked.

"...That you get to hear me beg."

"That's right." Cayen looked around. "Beg me to stay here a while after my pie is done. In English. You don't have to say why. But do it."

"...Please, can we stay here a while longer? The atmosphere is quite nice and I'm-- I'm having fun."

Cayen paused. "Could you say that last part again, brother, I think I misheard."

"You did not mishear. I am having fun. And I am not just saying that because you won."

Cayen looked down at her pie, but a little smile crept in. She reached down with her left hand. Montjoly did the same. They held hands under the table for a few moments.

"Me too." They let go. "When we do leave," she said in French, "I think I'm going to go home with you."

"With me?" Montjoly replied, switching back into their native tongue.

"Mmhmm. Your bed is nicer."

"Ah, that was not just a tease, before?"

"Oh no. I was not joking about the anatomical benefits. Just because I don't have anything sticking out doesn't mean I'm not turned on. When we get to your apartment I am going to fuck you senseless."

"I see." Montjoly shifted in his seat.

"Besides, I thought I'd make a mess of /your/ sheets for once. I am eager to see if you can still get yourself off by humping the bed with your face in my pussy."

Montjoly delicately cleared his throat, and continued in French. "You are going to have to stop teasing me to test that theory. Otherwise I am not going to be able to leave until the café closes."

"Mm..." Cayen thought about this. "Beg me for mercy, then."

"Fous le camp."

Cayen's laughter rang out.

"Good enough!"