9 comments/ 67402 views/ 30 favorites Little Things Ch. 02 of 04 By: nomennescio Part 2 of 4. I strongly recommend that you begin with part 1, as the sections of this story are not meant to be independent. ----- Morning comes with the pale glow of dawn in winter, and I awaken with both a feeling of rested satisfaction and a vague sense of guilt. David - his name is on my lips before I can even think about it. Last night. Jesus, that was not what I had in mind, not at all. I mean, I'm not sure what I did have in mind, but it damn sure didn't involve me getting so worked up I have to run off and finger myself. Fuck. It doesn't mean anything. It can't. It's just biology, right? I haven't gotten any in a while, I get a cute guy feeling me up in the dark...the body reacts. Nothing deeper than that. Just a situation that I shouldn't have gotten myself into. The real trick is going to be facing him today, after what happened. Talk about awkward. It's just a damn good thing I wasn't drunk, or it probably would have been about a thousand times worse. Breakfast is indeed an uncomfortable experience. We sit silently on opposite sides of the kitchen table, gamely spooning cereal into our mouths while the clock ticks steadily on the wall and Marie makes the occasional quiet comment about the unexpected snowdrift. I don't look at David. I can't - when my eyes touch on his, a rush of embarrassment colors my cheeks, and I have to look away. God, what a stupid idea it was. 'Feel my legs.' Just like me to screw things up. We don't say a word to each other until after breakfast, after Marie heads out, and even then, it's David who speaks first. Hesitantly, as I sit facing carefully away. "Ah...are we still set to head out to the town today?" "Sure." My voice is unnaturally high, chirpy through a throat tight with discomfort, and even to my own ears my laugh sounds nervous. "No reason we wouldn't be, right?" "Right." A low note in the word, and a long pause. "Um. Should we take the truck? Or we could take your car too, or walk, or...I guess it's probably pretty cold out to walk, and I dunno how far it is, but..." "No, that's, um." I shake my head weakly, my gaze brushing upon David for a brief moment, long enough to note the anxiety painted on his face. "The truck's fine, we can take the truck, I can drive, that's...it's fine. You know, whatever, it's good." "Okay." Quiet, again, as I stare at the refrigerator, trying to memorize its exact proportions. Counting the ticking of the clock. Five. Six. Seven. He speaks again. "When do you think we should..." "Now." I hop to my feet, muscles taut with nervous energy. "Now's good, right? No reason to wait, get out in public, you know, see the people, see the town. It probably will be cold, though. You bring any warm clothes?" Old protective instincts kick in, and I glance at him, appraising. "Have you showered?" "Y-yeah," he stutters lightly over his answer, his own eyes dodging away. "That's - yeah, I've got a jacket, and I showered last night, after...um." "Good." Purpose. Something to distract us. That can only help, right? It's the work of a minute to grab a long tan trenchcoat from my closet, buttoned up tight with a dark grey scarf, and then we're crunching through the couple inches of snow to the family truck. Stepping up into the cab, me in the driver's seat. I start the engine and flip on the heating, giving it a few moments to warm up, and that's when he says it. "I'm sorry, Sam." Soft and fairly woebegone, looking away from me, out into the light blanketing of snow. Shit. I did not want to talk about this. I don't even want to think about it right now. But my vague irritation that he's bringing it up is overpowered by a deeper exasperation that he's apologizing. Letting go the gearshift, I give him a pointed look. "Sorry for what, exactly?" "For last night." He gestures vaguely with one hand. "For-" "For doing what I said you could do?" I cut him off quickly. "Hell, what I told you to do?" He shakes his head curtly, shaggy blonde locks waving with the motion. "You only said to because of how I said I felt. It's still - I shouldn't've..." A weak, perturbed sigh escapes his lips as he tries to put his thoughts in order. "I shouldn't do something to you that you don't like, just because I do." I snort quietly at the absurdity of this. "Christ, Davey, I did like it. That's the whole problem." "You..." His mouth quirks up as he glances at me, skeptically. "No. I mean, you ran off, you..." "Yeah - because I liked it. Because you had me about ready to..." I shake my head without finishing the sentence. "It's complicated. I wanted you to do what you did, but I didn't want to like it, and when I started to like it I didn't want it. Um." A bit of a laugh struggles out. "That didn't really make any sense at all, did it?" David manages to chuckle as well, somewhat wryly. "Not a lot." "Right, well..." We need to work this out. I need to work this out. "Look, it was just a bad idea. Finding out...what I found out yesterday, it was a big shock. I wanted to give you something. To give you myself, kind of." A half-hearted smile curves my lips, vanishing swiftly as I move on, struggling to put words to what went wrong. "But that's not really something we can do. I'm your sister, for fuck's sake. Even if you've somehow got this crush thing on me, I can't be attracted to you, and I can't act like I am." "No. No, of course not." His voice is hollow as he looks away, and I wince at the stab of pain in his expression. "Jesus, I didn't mean it like that. You...hey." Trying again to smile, I grab for his unresisting hand and give it a gentle squeeze. "You're a wonderful guy, David. You're sweet, and you're funny, and you're sensitive, and you've got, let's be honest, a rockin' bod." I try a hopeful little laugh at that. When he he doesn't join in, I push onwards. "And like that's not enough, you're also about the most decent, the most honorable guy I've ever known." Not until the words leave my mouth do I really realize how true they are. No one else compares. "Last night, I was...I don't know. I was mixed-up and horny and I wasn't thinking straight, and if you had pushed I think I'd have done something we'd both really regret right now. But you didn't. That matters, that's important." My tone drops to quiet simplicity as I give him a serious look. "I can trust you. I do trust you, probably even more than I trust myself. I feel safer with you than I do with anyone else." A quiet moment. "You're an amazing guy. If you weren't my brother, I'd be all over you." "But." He speaks it dully, morosely. As though calling for the headsman's axe. "But you are." Damn it, why does he have to string it out? I don't want to have to hurt him like this. "You are, and that's...we can't ignore that, we can't move past it. I don't even...god dammit, David." A surge of anger, hot and undirected. I'm angry at him. At myself, at I don't even know what. "What would you even do if I did feel the same way, huh? Ask me out to the fucking prom?" He shakes his head ever so slightly, but I press on, a hateful snarl in my voice. "What, then? Ask me to be your girlfriend? Or would we just be secret fuckbuddies, is that it?" "Sam..." So quiet a plea, a touch of hurt aching in its heart. So hard to believe that he can be this meek, this unassuming. A star quarterback with the personality of a Dickensian schoolboy hero, all soft honesty and pitiful dignity behind a front of meat and muscle. Absurd. I can't sustain my anger; it drains out of me with a low sigh. "It just doesn't work." I speak distantly, staring into the blank stucco walls of the building. "It's like I said yesterday. A feeling like that doesn't go anywhere. So I can't feel that way about you." "You can't?" He asks quietly, his gaze resting half on me. "Or you don't?" "It's the same thing." Still looking away. I can't bear to look into his eyes, not right now. He shakes his head. Here he has confidence, here he has certainty. "I don't think it is." He's so large, filling up the space beside me. A little world unto himself. If I could disappear into that world... "Sam, I have no idea what we'd do, if you felt like I did. But I hope that you could tell me the truth, if you do or you don't." His voice catches, then comes again, rough and deep. "Don't I deserve that, at least?" Damn it. It's not fair. My mouth works wordlessly, hoping for an easy answer that doesn't come. The truck rumbles on, patiently burning through gas, waiting for our detente. I can feel David's eyes on the side of my face, staring, imploring, demanding. Calling me. I foolishly risk a glance, only for my gaze to be ensnared in a prison of gentle blue, clear and vivid. Shining like crystal, like pools to another world. "I don't know." I hardly realize for a moment that I've said it, that I've stammered it out. But I have and it's...it's an answer, as true as anything else, and I cling to it. "I don't know, okay? I can't tell you what I don't know." My eyes take the opportunity to break away, fleeing back to the windshield, and I speak at a pace that rapidly becomes frantic. "I mean, shit, I thought this was going to be a pretty ordinary visit, you know? Then all of a sudden I'm finding out that my brother, my best friend, has had a crush on me for the last five fucking years, and I'm looking at you in a whole different way, and like an idiot I figure it'd be a great idea to tell you to feel me up and it was good, okay? It was way better than I wanted it to be, and...and I don't know, you're my brother, and I love you, and I can't say I don't feel anything back, but you're my brother, and jesus christ David I've had like barely a day to adjust to any of this and to figure anything out about how I actually do feel, you know? Okay?" One hand climbs to clasp at my temples, and the last of my breath escapes in a exhausted sigh. "Of course." David bites his lip, such chagrin visible on his face that he looks almost physically pained. "Of course, you're right, I haven't even given you a chance, you haven't had any time, I...I'm sorry." I have to smile a bit, rolling my eyes in faintly amused exasperation at the familiar refrain. "Look." Trying to regain control over the conversation. "What I do know - however I feel - is that we can't do what we did last night. We can't. We're not some pair of hillbilly kids in the middle of Bumfuck, Arkansas, you know? We're better than that." Managing to look him in the eye now, quietly appraising. "You understand? Whatever happens, we can't do anything like that again." He'll understand, he'll agree - I know he will, for all the injured disappointment I see poorly hidden in his features, the hopes swiftly raised up and then dashed to the ground. He'd walk on hot coals if I asked him to. But as his lips part to answer I briefly wonder what might happen if he didn't. If he shook his sculpted head, said no, that he wanted me too much to hold back. That I would be his to touch, to feel, to caress, to squeeze...if he reached out right now and grabbed me, ran his strong hand up my leg. Would I like that? I shouldn't. It wouldn't be like him. But... "I understand." His voice sounds, sad and low, and my heart drops a fraction of an inch, the little wondering of my imagination quashed. Of course. It was a silly idea - that's not who he is. I wouldn't care for him if it were, if he were some smouldering near-rapist more concerned with his own lusts than the feelings of those around him. It's just that...no. Nothing. I grab for the gearshift, push the truck into reverse, and start us out of the driveway when David speaks again, a hesitant voice spurred into action by some deeper drive. "Just, Sam...what can we do?" "What?" Putting back on the brakes, I look over at him uncertainly. Unsure of what he means, of what I want him to mean. "Um, you know, as brother and sister." Pink on his cheeks now, softly glowing. I'm still not sure just what he's getting at. The direct approach is usually the best. "What exactly do you mean?" Slipping the truck back into park, I fix him with an inquisitive eyebrow. "I mean, can we..." Silence, hesitation. He swallows. "Can I still give you a hug?" I almost laugh, thoughtlessly, tension snapping at this innocent request. "Jesus, Davey, I thought you were..." A little shake of the head. "I mean, yeah, of course. You always have." He half-smiles, a slight curve on solid, salmon-pink lips. "Can we hold hands?" His voice steadier, smoother, pushing forward. "Well..." It's my turn to hesitate - but only for a moment, returning then his awkward partial smile. "Sure." There's a long pause, longer than I'd expect. He keeps looking at me, his strong jaw set, his breathing controlled. I only recognize that he's screwing together his courage when he moves, his hand sliding slow and deliberately forward to rest atop mine on the gearshift. I could pull away before contact, but I don't - he settles down, his palm warm and rough and powerful on the back of my hand. Squeezing it softly. That gently irresistible compression, the feeling of his strength around me. I can hardly even see my hand under his... But he's still looking at me, while I've been staring at his hand on mine. Wordlessly, I turn to meet his gaze; his lips part once, twice, before he speaks. Carefully enunciating - I can barely hear the tremble of uncertainty in his voice, the fear he's trying to hide. "Can we kiss?" "David..." It comes out a faint rebuke, but I don't know that I mean it. A kiss. My mind flows back over old memories, across the span of years, back to the brightness of childhood. How old was I? Eleven, twelve...deciding I was just about grown up, that I needed to know how to kiss. I stole my mother's lipstick, painted it crudely upon my lips, convinced it was a necessary element. Posed David just so, his head tilted up, and made him stand in stillness while for something like ten minutes I practiced at kissing him, figuring out how to avoid bumping noses, how to hold my lips, when to close my eyes. By the end his face was smeared with red, but when this was inevitably noticed he joined with me to pretend that the two of us had both just been trying on makeup. The excuse earned him a hefty load of extra chores from our disgruntled father, but he never complained, never revealed the truth. Nothing like that since, of course. Not exactly, anyway. Pecks on the cheek on his birthday, or when I came home to visit. The kind of kiss you don't think about, a burst of ecstatic emotion squeezed into action. Do those count? Where is the boundary, the line between sisterly affection and unhealthy attraction? "I don't know." An answer to the both of us. Or a lack thereof. Hedging my bets. I struggle to smile past my jangling nerves, feeling still his hand on mine, his presence beside me. "Let's not worry about this right now, okay? Let's just...head out. You've got a town to see. Everything else, we can figure it out. Later." He stays quiet for a time, still looking at me, and I can feel the weight of his gaze. The words he wants to say. But moments pass, and before too long he shakes his head wryly, a smile taking root on his lips - forced at first, but swiftly becoming genuine. "Yeah. Yeah, let's go see the town." His voice settling down somewhere closer to calm, sounding with a gentle overtone of happiness that resonates brightly in my heart. His hand still rests on top of mine, closed just on the edge of tightness; it takes a raised eyebrow from me and a glance in the direction of the gearshift before he realizes, lets go with a laugh and a slight, affectionate squeeze. I shift back into reverse with a swiftly beating heart and a nervous mind, but beneath it I feel...I don't know. Tingly. Energetic. The excited energy of an uncertain future. It's that kind of buzzing tumult that fills me as I pull out into the street. Headed for downtown, aiming for the day. --- In the end, there isn't all that much to see. I wander with him haphazardly around the shopping district, such as it is, showing off the stores and the eateries with largely ironic theatrics. Fancier storefronts than back home, perhaps, and shinier products, but the ultimate feel of it isn't much different. Or maybe I'm just used to it by now - David himself seems halfway dazzled by the modest signs of neon, and by the traffic that keeps roaring past us despite the snow. We have lunch at a little Mongolian grill that I fell in love with two years back; I helpfully point out the bar across the street that doesn't check IDs too carefully. It's on our way out, afterward, that David's eye catches the lights and posters of the town theater, a few stores down. A bit of a grin spreads on his lips as he reads over the titles, and he gives me a light jab in the side, our old and friendly way of grabbing each other's attention. "Hey, is that one of those new 3D places?" I smirk back, crookedly. "I think all these places are 3D, actually." "Hah." His laugh rings out quick and spirited as he shakes his head. "You know what I mean. With the glasses and everything?" "Yeah, actually." I nod, with less than total enthusiasm. "They put it in like a year ago; I went with a bunch of friends to see My Bloody Valentine right after. It's not really that great, though. Kind of a gimmick, just tossing a bunch of stuff at the audience for no reason." "Well, still." Glancing from me to the theater and back again. "It seems kinda cool." I shrug, and it's a few more moments of quiet timidity before he asks, "I don't suppose you want to see that Avatar movie, do you? I mean," he hurries to add, "I'd pay for your ticket and everything." I have to giggle a bit. Oh, this guy. "You really don't need to do that, Davey." "I sorta want to." A little smile, soft and self-conscious. "Hmm." I probably shouldn't let him. But, hell...I mean, if he really wants to...it's just movie tickets. And it's not like he's going to demand a return on his investment. "Okay. But I'm paying for the popcorn." "Great!" Gently enthusiastic. His grin goes wide and slightly goofy, shining with teeth just off-white, and I can't help laughing. He really does have an adorable smile. Treading off towards the cineplex, a gentle drift of snow begins to fall just as we push through the wide glass doorway, into the warm and welcoming interior. Ten minutes later, we're sitting side-by-side in a darkened theater, sporting a couple pairs of polarized glasses and sipping unreasonably-sized sodas while we wait for the movie to begin. I'm not expecting much; haven't had a taste for hollywood blockbusters for a while now. And once it gets started, I'm not disappointed. Lots of sound, lots of action; stock characters and cheap attempts at emotion. The effects are impressive, of course, but the story feels like a carbon copy of Pocahontas. Oh, well. It's a popcorn flick. With that thought, I grab another handful out of the bag in David's lap and settle in for the long haul, contenting myself with the occasional whispered snark. "I wonder if they're going to get together," when the obvious love interest shows up. "How the hell do they sleep in that," with the first appearance of brightly-glowing nighttime flora. And just helpless giggling at 'unobtainium.' The people in front of me don't seem to appreciate it much, but David returns at least an amused chuckle each time. I only realize the awkwardness as it pushes towards the climactic romantic scene. It's still stupid, still a cliché - the girl hesitant, afraid to speak the interest that shows in her every action. The man unwilling to settle for any but his chosen love. The trees glowing lambently, like moonlight in the darkness, as they kiss. It's so transparently manipulative, I should be insulted. Hell, I am. But I also feel a little ache, a faintly painful force in the beating of my heart. Their feeling, their love, their desire for each other. It's a fantasy, yeah, a mindless image, but I can't avoid a quiet wanting, that I had someone to love like that. To love me like that. Someone. Little Things Ch. 02 of 04 I can feel him there in the seat beside me, with whatever subconscious sense it is that speaks such things. His presence, pressing at the back of my mind, a shadow in the periphery of my vision. I wonder what he's thinking, feeling right now. The same thing? That we could be... I glance in his direction, hoping to gauge the expression on his face. But his eyes are already there, waiting for me, dimly visible in the flickering reflected light of the onscreen figures writhing against one another. Watching with a gaze slow and softly wistful, his mouth a low, silent line. It would be a scene to tear at my heart - if it weren't for the silly pair of glasses perched on his nose, turning the moment from mournful to bizarrely comic. I have to bite at my lip to keep from giggling again, and as his eyes rest on mine, a tiny, self-aware smile curls on his lips. I must look just as ridiculous, myself. A beat passes, our eyes still fixed, and suddenly the absurdity is too much. I snort with laughter, giggling madly as David tries unsuccessfully to stifle his own snickering, each of our struggles driving the other further over the edge. Here, at the movie's emotional climax, we hardly less than howl with mirth, until at last the concentrated glares and chorus of shushing from our fellow attendees brings back some measure of sanity. Even then it's a struggle, half-quiet giggles sneaking through like escaping prisoners. Somewhere along the line his hand catches mine, or mine his, and I feel the connection, the warm delight in our fingers closing together. We stay like that, with linked hands, for the rest of the movie, speaking a silent code in tiny squeezes. Each one a short exclamation, translated by our knowledge of the other's thoughts, by a raised eyebrow or an amused grin. He admires the wide and impossible landscapes; I poke fun as the characters flatten into caricature. And in the times between I just sit, and let the film pass by, and absorb the pleasant pressure of his hand around mine. Only after the movie's formulaic ending do we separate, linked hands pulling tight and reluctantly parting. Laughter, as we push open the double doors into the lobby. "God, what a piece of shit." More amusement than vitriol in my voice. The movie, at least, is a safe topic of conversation. He shrugs, and demurs with enlightened unconcern. "I kinda liked it." "Really?" Faintly incredulous. I could tell he wasn't as down on it as I was, but still. "Jesus, it was just, like...cliché piled on top of cliché." "Maybe," he grants, "but the effects, the visuals...they put it together really beautifully, you know? It was an experience. I almost felt like I was there, especially with the 3D stuff." There's a box by the door to dispose of the cheap plastic glasses; we toss them in as we pass by, and step out of the theater. The snow is coming down more thickly now, and there's already some accumulation from the time we were inside. I tug pointlessly at my coat, hoping it will keep me warm enough. "Besides, cliché isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, it just...works." "Blech." I stick out my tongue at him playfully, in mock disgust. "This isn't one of those times. You could figure out exactly what was going to happen from the moment Lady Catsmurf showed up." Smirking in satisfaction as this elicits a laugh. "Seriously, you'd have to work to come up with a more generic and obvious plot. Take away the CGI world and the orchestra blaring sappy music and you'd see how silly it is." We pass before an undeveloped lot, the ground inside still an even carpet of undisturbed snow, and I grin with sudden inspiration. "You know what? I'll show you." Brown fur-lined boots sink into the deepening white as I fairly scamper into the lot, an uncommon cheer in my heart. Then, turning to face David once again, I drop into a feral pose, knees bent and hands low, barely grasping at the uppermost layers of snow. Fuck, it's cold; should have worn mittens. No matter. An intake of breath, and then I dramatically declare, "I am Noble Savage Warrior Woman, attuned to the spirits of nature!" Still on the sidewalk, his figure faintly occluded by swirls of falling snow, David blinks in vague confusion. "Um?" Man, I thought he'd catch on faster. I drop out of character a moment to give him an exasperated look and a pointed command. "You need to be Good-Hearted Man from Civilization." "Oh!" Now he steps in after me, and I gotta admit, strikes a pretty good heroic pose. One shoulder forward, his head upturned as though staring up into the heavens, though his eyes still rest on me. "Uh, I...need your stuff." "How dare you tread upon our sacred lands, outsider!" And without any more warning, I toss at him the snowballs I made while crouched in the snow. One goes wide, but he sputters with surprise as the other shatters on his cheek, exploding in a puff of white. "Hey, wait-" I don't give him a chance to ask questions. Scooping up more of the powdery drift, I dance forward with a flurry of flung snowballs, pelting David until at last he laughs and begins to fire back. And for a time we engage in a running snowball fight, capering like children around the empty lot as we wage a frozen war. It's a minor delight, this, only slightly marred by my increasingly numb fingers. I don't let it go on long enough to become tiresome. The opportunity comes when one of David's snowballs hit me in the head - I take a dive, suddenly collapsing to the ground, my face plunging into the frigid snow. Keeping still. I can practically hear his momentary hesitation, waiting for me to get back up. Then the questioning call, "Sam?" Boots crunching toward me, slowly at first, but accelerating to a jog. "Are you...oh, god, Sam, I'm sorry, I..." I have to stifle a giggle as his hands first brush upon my back. Not very nice, maybe, teasing him like this, but he's always forgiven me. Then he grasps solidly, lifting me from the snow, turning me in his arms until we're face-to-face. I can see the worry evaporate from his features, replaced by an exasperated relief as he notes my open eyes and mischievous grin. But it's my line. I try to keep my teeth from chattering. "You master our ways so fast, outsider. Perhaps you are one of us in spirit." We're so close, I hardly have to murmur. "Yeah, ah..." he chuckles softly, "Maybe so." "It must be." A laugh in my voice as well. "For I would be mad to love outside the tribe, and yet..." Alarm bells ring suddenly in my head, forethought delivering a warning far too late about the role I've taken up. All the little intimacies of this moment abruptly pulse in my consciousness. How I rest, laying half on David's knee, supported by the strong arm which encircles my back. How his fingers curl possessively upon my shoulder, his other hand just barely touched at my midriff, subtle but distinct through my thick coat. His face hovering above mine, hardly a foot away, beaming down with those beautiful blue eyes. His hair carries a sea of snowflakes - it sparkles like diamond, bright and brilliant in the diffuse winter light. It's past the time of second thoughts. I'm already speaking, the words that grabbed my mind to mock the movie we just shared, but I fear that too much of truth inhabits my tongue. Pushing me to say what I should not. "And yet, you make me feel such things..." The smile fades slowly from David's face, supplanted by the look of quiet longing which is growing all too familiar. He knows, just as I, that this was more than just a playful line. I can feel the muscles of his arm as it tightens beneath me, uncertain, his big fingers squeezing. "Samantha..." His lips barely shape my name, and something of a shiver runs down my spine at the sound of it. It has the feeling of a prayer, a hymn, an incantation. I should be creeped out. I should be. But I can't stop staring at his mouth, at his lips, strong and defined, but paled almost into whiteness by the cold. Barely parted - I can see his breath, a ghostly trail escaping every few seconds. And a sudden hunger in me as I imagine how it would feel to share that breath, to have him press those lips to mine. A kiss. "There's so many different kinds..." Murmuring, again; whispering in the wind and cold. I'm not even entirely aware that I've said it until the quizzical look falls across David's features, and he intones a soft 'What?' "Um. Of kisses." I swallow, fighting back a shiver. Not sure if it's the cold or my nerves. We've slid together, closer now, six short inches of space between our eyes. His chest like a rock wall against me. "I mean, there's pecks on the cheek, and then there's making out. There's kisses on the forehead, on the forehead, on the neck; there's closed-mouth, open-mouth, tongue...they all have their own meaning, their own feeling." God, I hope I'm not babbling. "How do I know which are okay, which we can have?" "I don't know." A whisper, a soft shake of the head - David kneels there, holding me in his arms, his fingers caressing with an exquisite gentleness at my shoulder. His eyes speaking of an infinite patience. Of course. I sigh a little. It's up to me to figure out the boundaries. There have to be boundaries, have to be rules, some line in the sand to keep us from going too far. Or at the very least, to tell us when we have. One of my hands clasps loosely at his forearm; the other rests upon his back, slowly tracing out muscles through his heavy woolen jacket. Rules don't have to be exact, don't have to be perfect, as long as you have the right idea. As long as you stop the big things, it doesn't matter so much if some of the little things get through, right? "One second." A low inhalation. It sounds reasonable, in my head. "That'll be the rule. We can kiss, but not for longer than a second." A moment's pause. His hand shifts upward minutely on my abdomen. "Are you sure?" I briefly wonder if he's asking about the permission or the limitation. I suppose it doesn't matter. "Yeah." Barely spoken, with scarcely a nod, unwilling to risk breaking eye contact. I've forgotten the cold; there's a warmth inside me, an electric tension tingling in the air. I wouldn't be surprised to see a spark jump across and shock us both. Seconds tick by silently, but still the moment holds. Both of us knowing what's coming, but waiting for the other to begin. David's hesitation, his trembling uncertainty, is printed on his face in flaming letters; his tongue emerges briefly to wet lips dried from the chill, he leans down an inch...then stops. Fear in his still-open eyes, fear of - I don't know what. Inadequacy. That I won't like it. That he won't like it. I don't know. I don't usually instigate kisses, don't usually have to. But right now...my mind goes back again to a decade past, to my systematic practice in our shared bedroom, and a little smile quirks itself into being. Reaching up, my hands slip around behind his back, and I lift myself up close - my eyes closed - a fraction of an inch away, faint heat from his face bathed upon my skin - his lips, there. Contact. A spike of cold, and then a surging inner warmth. His mouth, solid, pressing into mine. His breath flows out, and I drink it in, greedily, so suddenly starving for this thing from his center, from his soul. One second. I jerk back - not truly wanting to stop, but...I have to. That's the rule. Already breathing slightly heavily, cold air filling my lungs. My eyes flicker open late, and I see the softly delighted smile on David's lips. The joy in his eyes. "That..." A note of laughter falls from his throat, helplessly. "That was nice." I can only agree, one hand absently stroking at the back of his neck. "It was very nice." And I smile back at him, foolishly, exuberant giddiness radiating out from a swiftly beating heart. Silly. This is so...but it was nice. Thrilling - a sparkle of excitement in my chest, like holding a secret that no one else knows. "Again?" David's knees shift beneath me as his voice sounds, deep and hopeful. His teeth peeking out whitely from his smile. I do want to. But the circumstance isn't the best. "Not right now." And a quick huff of laughter at the crestfallen look in his eye. "Just not right now, I said. I'm freezing my ass off out here. Let's head back to the apartment, huh?" Pushing up to my feet, I extend a hand backwards for him to take as he follows. A wave of satisfaction washing through me when he grabs hold, cresting in an open grin upon my lips. Hand in hand, we walk back to the truck. There are a few moments to think on the drive back. To consider what this means, what I feel. It's hard to avoid the obvious conclusion, that I am feeling a certain...attraction, towards David. I glance over at him, sitting tall and upright in the passenger seat, and my heart flutters a bit, as if to confirm. Crazy. Crazy, no matter what he himself might feel. I mean, he's still a kid, basically. More or less. I need to be the reasonable one, keep us from getting into too much trouble. And this...this is a whole new kind of trouble. I mean, so it's a crush. A psychological thing. I've taken a few psychology courses - probably I miss home, subconsciously, and he represents home, and so the feelings are kind of transferred, displaced, something like that. I can't remember the right term. And it becomes sexualized because...hm. I don't really know. The main thing I remember from my classes is that the human mind is weird as hell. But I'm sure there's some reason for it. There has to be. So what do I do about it? It's not like I can try to avoid the guy, not when I'm about to spend two weeks with him for the winter break. I wouldn't want to, even if I could. Besides...he's had months at a time with no contact, and it doesn't seem to have helped him much. Another notion slowly takes shape, wriggling its way in from the back of my mind. If avoidance isn't a solution...then maybe indulgence could be. Just let it play out, get it out of my system. Out of his system, too, maybe - I mean, David must have had me up on one hell of a pedestal these last years. Must have imagined a host of impossibilities, that I'm a lot of things I'm really not. If he actually had me, if we had some kind of pseudo-relationship...he'd get over me quick enough. Everyone else does, after all. The pieces are settling into place in my mind as I pull into the parking lot. What I said and thought before still stands; we can't do anything big, can't do anything real. But little things - a kiss, an embrace, a look, the surface features of romance...there's no harm in our pretending at them, not really. It's like a game. Make-believe - what if we weren't brother and sister, but were dating instead. Once, long ago, we all but lived in such fantasies...if not quite the same as this. The pirate queen and her loyal first mate. Wonder Woman and Wonder Man. The swashbuckling explorers Sam and Davey, descending into untamed wilds in search of savage tribes...we built worlds, running around the fields and woods of home. Who's to say it's wrong, if we entertain one more dream? --- A few minutes later, and I'm explaining this idea to David as we relax and warm back up in my room. "...so that's how it'll work." I'm stretched out on the bed, my head resting on a pillow; he's perched on the corner, looking half over his shoulder at me. "We can't kiss for longer than a second. We can't go under each other's clothes. And we can't tell anybody." My eyebrow raising to accentuate this point. "But if we keep to that, we can...pretend. Pretend like we're going out, or whatever." It sounds suddenly absurd, laid out plainly in everyday words. Another stupid idea. I bite at my lip, uncertainly - David hasn't said much yet. "What do you think?" He sniffs, shakes his head...but there's a smile on his face. Wry, and a little bashful. "Heck, if you want to, I'm not gonna say no." "Well...good." Laughter, brief and slightly nervous. "So. Um." A piercing silence. The stage is set - but I'm feeling pre-show jitters. "We had a good date. And now here you are, back at my place. In my bedroom." I shrug my shoulders, wriggling back a bit against the blanket. "On my bed." "Yeah..." He draws the word out slowly, his voice high and anxious. Not quite looking at me, now. But his shyness actually makes me feel rather more assured. It's just David, after all. Or, I shouldn't think just, but...it's David. I can be comfortable with him, no matter the circumstance. "You could join me," I observe quietly. "Lay down next to me." Not a command. A suggestion, a possibility. "Should I?" His eyes dart over to me, a bright but worried blue. "Is that what..." "Yeah." I slip into his silence with a crooked grin. "That's what fits, right now." And watching, as he gives a tiny nod, turns and crawls up the bed to my side. Lies back, looking up at the ceiling. My bed's just a queen - to fit, he has to squeeze up beside me, his shoulder pressed to mine. No great stretch of propriety. Yet. "It's..." He speaks after some delay, his voice self-conscious, uncertain. "I like the, the color here, of your room." The walls are painted in a white just barely tinged with yellow - I don't know the hue's actual name. "It feels warm, you know? Good in winter. Um, now, that is. Since it's winter now." An awkward half-smile. "Well, I didn't pick it. Like that when I rented the place." I roll my eyes, affectionately amused - and slightly perplexed. This is flustered, even for David. He wasn't like this last night...not to this extent, anyway. "You seem a little nervous, Davey." I keep my voice gentle. Quiet, my hand seeking out his in the crush between us. "Didn't you have dates like this with Sarah?" Not exactly appropriate, of course, bringing up other girls right now, but... "No," he shakes his head firmly - and then pauses right in the middle of it, reconsiders, nodding faintly. "Or, well, yes. I guess, kind of. It wasn't quite..." His mouth keeps moving, slowly, as he tries to find the right words. "I didn't care, with her. Or, you know, I cared, but it wasn't really important. With you..." I can see his throat tighten, his Adam's apple bobble down as he swallows. "When it's just you and me, that's one thing. But if this is a date...I don't want to screw it up." Ah. "I see." A sympathetic smile curls my lips, and I reach across with my right hand, rest it lightly on his chest. Let it sit, rising and falling with his breath. "Then maybe you should still think of it as just you and me. I mean, that's what it is, right?" "Right. Yeah." He agrees weakly, and then releases a long exhalation. Trying to relax - I can feel it, in the shifting muscles of his chest. The tightness, the slight shallowness of his breath. It tugs quietly at my heart. His worries can be adorably pitiful at times, but I wish I could free him from them. Or maybe I'm the one being crazy now by not feeling worried. I don't know. "Well." My hand sliding further, tracing up his pectoral muscle, grasping at his shoulder. "I think you owe me a kiss." "I do?" Faint surprise. Honest. I have to laugh, a little bit. That honesty - you can totally tell he's innocent, inexperienced, whatever you want to call it. He doesn't play the game, doesn't subscribe to the artful lie. Just...reacts. "Yeah. You do." A touch. My fingernails running down the side of his arm. We took off our outer clothes coming in; he's just got on a plain white t-shirt, pulled tight around his chest. Blue jeans. White socks. "I kissed you, remember? You need to return the favor. Fair's fair." He turns, propped up on his elbow to face me, and for a moment I don't breathe. Waiting. Anxiety, hesitation, still scurry about in his eyes, shadows in a sea of blue. But my thumb rubs warmly at the back of his other hand, and gradually, a smile breaks onto his face. Fear falling away like a shattered layer of ice. A note of laughter, and of agreement. "Fair's fair." Little Things Ch. 02 of 04 My heart sparks faster as he leans in, his weight now partially on top of me. Solid. Real. The scent of his body heavy in my consciousness, a fragrance quietly masculine, like sandalwood and new-mown hay. God, when did he get so...so earthly? So physical. Until these last few days I hardly even noticed he had a body. Now it's a constant presence in my mind, an inescapable awareness. A pull, like iron to a magnet. He's paused again, inches away from me, but it doesn't look like his usual nervousness. Half a smile on his lips, the left side crinkled up in softly self-conscious amusement, joy...he looks so damned adorable when he really smiles. His powder blue eyes dancing on my features. His mouth parts to speak, his head shaking ever so slightly. "You're beautiful, Samantha." I laugh once, lightly. No, I'm not. But it feels good to hear him say it. "Guess you're getting the hang of what to say on a date, anyway." Soft, with a bit of a smirk. Then he's moving forward, and I close my eyes, hold my breath, my lips barely parted. Astonishment, somewhere in the back of my mind, at how much I want this, at the hunger for his touch that pounds in my heart. My nerves quiver at the sensation of his lips not quite brushing upon my skin, close enough to feel his breath as it emerges warm and moist from his lungs. Slowly moving up, until at last he lays a gentle kiss upon my forehead, a bloom of delight radiating outwards from the point of contact. Laughing again, as the wave of almost giddiness sweeps through me. I'm not surprised when he holds to the limitations I've set, pulls back after just a second has passed. But he doesn't entirely retreat. Instead his lips drift back down, touching once and again for brief moments upon my skin. On the bridge of my nose. On my cheek, beneath my eye. Then on my mouth, and I feel again the electric crackle of contact, inhaling his breath. My tongue sneaking out to taste of his lips as simmering heat trickles down through my center. The tickling of arousal at my chest. God, I just want... Time, again. He stops, pulls away, and as his lips leave mine I struggle with a little stab of regret. Wishing that it didn't have to end, not yet. But it's swept away as my eyes open and my gaze falls upon his small and cutely nervous smile. Hope and worry dancing back and forth in his expression. "Did you, um..." He speaks, softly. "Was it okay?" I have to laugh, shake my head - he can tell it's not a denial. "Now where did you learn to kiss like that, Davey?" I murmur, a bright current of joy shining from my voice. His gaze darts shyly away, but I can see the corners of his mouth shoot wide in a delighted grin. "I dunno. It just kinda felt like the right thing to do." His eyes wander sheepishly back. "I mean...feels like forever I've wanted to kiss you like that. I just didn't really think I'd ever get the chance." He's resting on his side now, next to me, while I still lay on the bed - I send up a hand to quest the path of his body, starting lightly clasped at his jawline, tracing down his neck, his chest... "You know," my voice playfully teasing, "If this were a real date, that would sound awfully stalkerish. Major 'don't.' You're not supposed to let on that you felt anything before you made your move." My hand pauses at his stomach, fingers tracing at his abdominal muscles. "What else have you wanted to do?" "Uh, well." A touch of cold panic suddenly flashes in his eyes, strains in his voice. "I don't, um. Nothing. Or, you know, not nothing, but - we can't, you said, so it doesn't matter." And all at once, he's lifting away, sitting upright on his knees instead of laying beside me. I feel a faint loss in the separation. Pressing too hard... Ah, David. "Embarrassing, huh?" I give him a crooked grin. "There's a difference between talking about it and actually doing it, you know. I'm curious." My eyes rest on his, lightly expectant. "You're not going to shock me. I know there's more in guys' heads than just hugs and kisses." "Still, though." He shakes his head, averts his gaze in faint chagrin. "You don't wanna hear..." "I'm telling you right now that I do." Raising an eyebrow pointedly, I hit him with a fairly coercive stare. A silence, his to fill. And he tries, I'll give him that - his lips parting between crimson cheeks, sounding the beginning notes of words. Striving to speak. But the seconds pass with little progress, and he shakes his head again, lets go a brief laugh, nervous and apologetic. His eyes falling to the bedcovers, seeking the floor. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised. "I guess we never talked much about sex stuff, did we?" Greater sympathy in my words, now, allowing him this way out. "Not really." His voice relieved, grateful at the slight shift of topic. "Um. I guess you always told me when you went out to the overlook with one of your boyfriends, but...I kinda tried to avoid the subject." A self-conscious smile flickering on his lips. "You shouldn't," I remark quietly. My hand laying limp now at his chest. "I mean, not because of me specifically, but just...you need to be able to talk about it. Tell a girl what you like, all that." His shoulders rise in a half-hearted shrug, and as they do, a notion begins to take root in my mind. Maybe I can actually do some good for him with this game, this fantasy, whatever you want to call it. Get him used to what it's like, to be in a physical relationship with someone. Get him past some of his hangups. Once we're done with this, once he's found someone real...it'd help him, if he could speak his mind a little more freely. "Let's practice." A bit of a smirk. I can start small. "How often do you masturbate?" "What?" David sputters, taken aback, his eyes nervously shocked. "I'm...I don't..." "You don't masturbate?" My eyebrow lifts, skeptically amused. Yeah, right. All guys do. "Well..." He swallows awkwardly, his face a study in scarlet. "Okay, yeah. I do. But that's-" "So how often?" I interrupt, press the point, peering at him inquisitively. "Every day, every other day?" As a question to stretch his comfort zone, I think it's a good one. And I feel myself a certain fascination, beside, to know the answer. But his response is sadly expected. A long silence, a shake of the head. An apologetic quirk of the lips. 'Sorry. Too much,' spoken without words. I'm not going to let him off the hook that easily, though. Not for this - we're supposed to talk, supposed to tell each other everything, that's who we are. I mean, yeah, until right now 'everything' didn't quite extend to the finer points of self-pleasure, but...still. "How about this." A bargaining tone. "I'll answer the questions first. Then you have to." The quiet of a few moments. "So, how often for me...probably about once a week, on average." A pause. "Really?" His voice has just that touch of breathlessness - intrigued, while trying not to sound like it. And funny, the sparkle of satisfaction in my heart, hearing his interest. "What, were you expecting more often? Or less?" A bit of teasing in my tone. "I wasn't really expecting..." He hesitates a time, shrugs. "I don't know." Seconds tick by again, in silence. I have to remind him of his responsibilities. "So?" Prodding him lightly with my knee. "How about you?" "I..." He bites his lip, breathes out slowly through his nose. Trying to collect himself. Or, perhaps, to lose a bit of the blush that's filling every square inch of his face. "Jeez. I mean...maybe every three or four days. I guess." He looks away as he says it - but afterward, his eyes dart to mine. Trying to gauge my reaction. "There. Not so hard, is it?" An encouraging grin. Slightly excited. And a little thought slipping in - mechanics, the practicalities. "Where do you do it? Or where did you, when I was still at home?" Curiosity. "I never caught you in the act, so you must have been pretty secret about it." He stays quiet, looking at me - I'm about to poke him again when I remember I said I'd answer first. "Right, uh. I didn't really do it so often when I was at home, but it'd be in our room, when you were out, when I knew I'd be alone for a while. Tried to be pretty sneaky myself." I give him a self-conscious smirk, while he sits, gazing at me with rapt interest. "Around here, well. It's pretty much just right on the bed." "Right here?" He breathes his fascination, his eyes darting about to take in the queen-sized bed with a new interest. His palm dropping to run flat and open on the outer covers, an exploration slow as a loving caress. I nod back, feeling again my heartbeat hasten fast and deep, a ticklish smile flitting on my lips. He's imagining it. He must be; I can see it in his eyes, distant and unfocused. Envisioning me on the bed, as I've been so many times, fingers slipping up between my legs, seeking out my center. Languid touches building to explosive release. I've always felt faintly pathetic at having to resort to getting myself off; now, with David's interest, I feel almost sexy, talking about it. Thinking about it. "Ah." He drifts gradually back to reality with a shake of his head, quite a flush still burning on his cheeks. "I guess I, um. Now that I have the room to myself, I usually do it in there, or sometimes in the shower." The words seem to come a little easier, as he accustoms himself to sharing these details. "But before you left...I actually headed out into the woods to do it." "Out in the open?" I raise an eyebrow, surprised. "Weren't you afraid of somebody seeing you?" "Terrified." He chuckles softly. "That's why, though. I didn't really have much time in the house alone, and even when I did, I was always afraid that somebody would come home early and catch me. So I'd go out maybe five minutes into the forest, to this little grove...kinda enclosed. Thought I'd be able to hear, first, if anyone came close. Don't know if I really could have or not; nobody ever came near." A wry look flashes across his face. "Far as I know, anyway." "Yeah," I snicker softly, "Maybe you were putting on a show for all the girls in town, huh?" But a tingle of excitement aches tightly at my breast, despite the lightness of my words. The thought of him standing out there in the woods, back braced against a tree as he pulls his cock from his pants and into the cool, wet air. Of his strong fingers wrapping round, slowly stroking at his organ, almost casually...of it growing tall and stiff in his hand, thick and tempting. It's enough to spark a familiar touch of wetness down at the juncture of my legs, the faintly manic energy of arousal. I've always had kind of a thing about guys jacking off, a quiet fascination. My one perversion. Well, maybe not my only one, but...yeah. I try to shake it off, settle down a little. Halfway succeed - it's still there, in the back of my mind. Teasing me. "I usually just run on imagination." My eyes rest on his as I speak, my tone more casual than I feel. "Or memory. Thinking about guys I've been with, or ones who've caught my eye. Sometimes just imagining a situation; some handsome stranger runs into me on my way back to the apartment, and we end up fucking in a stairwell." A flickering smile, and sudden worry - I don't want him to think I'm a slut. "Not that I'd do really do that. It's just...anyway. How about you? I guess guys usually need something a little more visual, right?" "I..." He hesitates only briefly now, before nodding. "Yeah. I found an old Playboy, kept in a garbage bag stuck in a branch, until it finally just fell apart. After that...well, you know the computer in the den. I've been using it to look up pictures, or stories. Trying to kinda hold them in my head until I get somewhere safe." He swallows slowly, his gaze flashing away. "Um, and sometimes I just think about...imagine, uh...you. You and me, together." A nervous thrill arcs through me, hearing this confession. "Jeez, you creep." My voice teasing, my lips curved in an indulgent grin. "You're not supposed to tell a girl that. Who the hell wants to hear that you jerk off thinking about them?" But I do. I mean, I shouldn't - christ, I shouldn't - but it's such a delightful rush. That I'm the one who fills his thoughts, who turns him on. It's a powerful feeling. Sexy. Dirty. Both. "Hey, wait," as another realization noses into my consciousness. "Your shower last night. Did you...?" I raise an eyebrow questioningly, electing this time to avoid too blatant a phrasing. It's clear enough to convey the meaning; David's blush deepens, and he silently nods. Jesus, right there in our bathroom. It's too easy to imagine. His beefy body filling our little shower, streams of water cascading down his chiseled chest, rivulets collecting in the furrows of his musculature. The sheen of his skin, tanned and glinting with soap suds. His cock hanging down, pendulous and heavy, half-erect from our recent misadventure on the couch. I can just see him there, dutifully washing up - and then hesitating, as his hand brushes upon his organ, making it bobble upward, hungry for attention. He'd glance around the cramped room, peer out through the shower curtain to make sure the door was locked before trying anything. Then slip his hand around, slowly stroking at that tumid, veiny flesh...close his eyes, brace one hand against the wall as it rises up proudly to its full height. He tugs faster, his breathing heavy, a grimace of deep, masculine satisfaction crossing his expression as he slides towards his release, his hand pistoning furiously around that fleshy shaft. Then it hits - his balls tightening against his body, his cock twitching as it spits a thick, gorgeous stream of cum to splatter on the tiles of the shower. Jet after jet spurting forth, ropey strands laid out chaotic as a Pollack painting... Fuck, I'm turned on. I shiver a little, feeling the lace of my bra tight against stiff and sensitive nipples, the familiar flowing heat down between my hips. A haze of warmth behind faintly glassy eyes. Primitive hunger down somewhere beneath my belly. Imagination isn't enough; I need something more. Something real. No real thought, before I speak. "Show me." A murmured command, quiet but intense, with my mind left scrambling behind to rationalize. Technically, we wouldn't be touching each other... David looks shocked, not quite believing his ears. Not knowing what to make of my words. "I don't..." He fairly whispers back, stunned. "What do you mean?" "I mean show me." A mild flush descends on my own cheeks, but I stick to my guns. Committed. I can't turn back now. Or I don't want to. I don't know. The voice of lust still murmurs in my mind. "I want to see you do it, see you masturbate." He's shaking his head from my first words. Fear stamped into his expression, staring out of his eyes. Desire barely visible behind it, held in chains - I would never recognize it, if I weren't so familiar with his ways. "Sam, that's...I can't." His voice is pleading, the tone of quiet terror he always has when pushed beyond the edge of comfort. "Talking about it, that's one thing, but actually...in front of you, I couldn't. I can't." My lips twitch towards a little smile, touched with sympathy, peaked with exasperation. Tight with my own excitement. "What are you afraid of, Davey?" Want pounding in my heart, pushing me to push him forward. "It's just me. Just us. Right?" "Yeah, but..." His head still shakes faintly, his eyes fixed weakly on the bedcovers. "You'd see, um...me, you'd..." "David." My voice drops, firm and pointed. "If there's one of us who should be comfortable with showing off their body, it's you. Fuck, I still haven't lost my freshman fifteen. And you, these days you're built like..." Biting my lip, I just breathe a moment, letting my gaze trickle down across the sculpted expanse of his physique. "Besides...I want to see." My eyes narrowing a touch, emphasis on the word. Unfair of me, maybe. But he so seldom goes against my wants. Silence. Immobility. He stares down with an air of helplessness at the sheets in the space between us, refusing to raise his eyes to mine, unwilling now to risk either denial or agreement. God, he's such a delicate soul, so meek and gentle - withdrawal, his only way of standing up for himself. I can't just demand, even if he would obey. No. Instead... "What about this." A warmer smile curving my lips, my pulse racing at the notion circling in my head. "What if I gave you something to get you going? A little show?" His eyes venture fearfully upward, touching barely on mine. Skittish as a wild fawn. The words come, cautiously questioning. "What do you...?" "I mean this." And with sudden determination, I grab hold of the bottom of my shirt, pull it up and off in a single, smooth motion. Leaving me sitting there in my bra and jeans, my heated skin tingling in the cool air of the bedroom. My stomach clenched tight, the mingling of nerves and my own arousal. I can feel his gaze on me, a piercing warmth, and it carries with it a soft rush of pleasure. Not done. Not yet. A deep breath, and with faintly trembling fingers I reach back, unhook the clasp of my bra. Letting it fall off on its own, prosaically tumbling to the bedcovers as if unaware that its removal has any significance. Revealing myself to David, for the first time since such things had meaning. It feels like a first time; my insides gently ache with the same tense uncertainty, the pleasant sense of daring and excitement, that I experienced years ago, in my first fumbling afternoon of sexual exploration. An acute awareness of my body on display, feeling every little imperfection. The tiny bulge at my abdomen, above the waist of my jeans, that no amount of exercise quite seems to fix. The mole at the side of my chest, almost under my arm. The left breast that I swear is just a little smaller than my right...fuck, I know I'm no model. I just want to be enough. I could almost believe I am, from the way he stares at me. His lips barely parted, breathing slow and deep, his eyes darting between my face and my chest, sliding across my breasts in a caress so solid I can almost feel it. And the desire I see in his expression...oh, I could drink it, I could bathe in the warm radiance of his gaze. A smile presses at my mouth, quivering delight. "See anything you like?" Self-conscious teasing, threaded through the words. His head barely shakes, a look alike to wonderment. His lips open and close again, wordlessly. It's some seconds before he finally speaks, his voice a deep melody of want and worship. "It's...you're beautiful, you..." Trailing off again. My smile spreads, a blossoming of joy at the words - and a piercing power in the beating of my heart, as I note the burgeoning bulge at the top of his jeans. "Is this the kind of thing you thought about? That you imagined?" I hardly more than murmur the question, my breathing quick and slightly shallow. My left hand creeps up, grasping at my breast, squeezing with an aching slowness...my thumb brushing, pinching at the proudly peaked nipple, sending electric sparks shooting through my nerves. Not even sure if I'm doing it for his sake, or for the sheer pleasure of the act. Either way, David's eyes are wide and dumbly staring as he nods his answer. "Then show me." A velvet command. And a thrill of almost wicked joy as - slowly, hesitantly - he moves to obey. My ears prick to the soft, metallic snicker of his fly unzipping, and I watch intently as he somewhat awkwardly adjusts his seating on the bed, ending up kneeling with knees doubled and spread wide. As the waist of his jeans drops, boyishly simple tighty-whities slip into view, the shape of his organ outlined obscenely beneath the taut fabric. He pauses now, weakly, his hand hesitating at the elastic band of his briefs. Ready to loose his manhood from its confinement. His eyes probe at mine, bashful and inquiring, and I can almost hear his question in my head. Are you sure? His imagined voice solicitous, worried. Are you really sure? And for a moment, I wonder. This is pretty out there, pretty crazy. But...fuck. It's within the rules I set, right? I'm not going to be touching him. I'm just going to be watching. Just to see. Just this once.