You walk home just a little after sunset, drenched in sweat and exhausted, feeling like some kind of half-human fuck-golem. You really need a shower.
You left Whitney lying naked and totally fucked-out in the grass under the bleachers, babbling something inaudible, cum pooling underneath her. Rose had left you with enough pent-up sexual need to go four times with Whitney -- but that was your limit. You're not superman.
Of all the rooms in your house that don't have locks and really should, the upstairs bathroom ranks first. You swing open the door to find your older sister Cerise sitting on the toilet, chin on fist.
"Get the fuck out," she says, nonchalant. "Occupied."
You ignore her and look yourself over in the mirror above the sink. Your face is caked with grime from Rose's dirty socks. You look like you did a bad job of scrubbing away blackface.
"You smell like foot cheese and pussy," Cerise says.
"A person with a bedroom like yours shouldn't be complaining about that" you say, running a wet washcloth over your face. "Glass houses and such."
"Seriously, Alabaster. I'm on the toilet. Can you wait half a fucking minute to use the sink?"
"Nope." You glance over at her for a moment and then resume wiping off your face. "Anyway, why the sudden modesty? I'm surprised you're not streaming this live on the internet. You show them everything else you do."
"I'd just prefer it if you didn't wave the results of your latest perverted experiment with Whitney right under my nose," Cerise says.
You step away from the sink and take off your shirt, throwing it in a nearby hamper. "This one wasn't with Whitney," you say, winking. "It was with Rose."
"What."
You unbuckle your pants and pull them down. "Rose fucked me. She has some weird thing with feet. Crazy girl, that one."
"You fucked ROSE?" Cerise is more upset over this than your sudden disrobing.
"No. Rose fucked me. Try to pay attention. I didn't ask her to do it." You kick off your boxers. Naked, you kneel down and turn on the faucet of the bathtub. You hold a hand underneath the stream to monitor the temperature. "And plus, it was just a blowjay."
"Rose Mallory is the devil," Cerise says. "You fucked the devil. I can't believe you!" She grabs a hairbrush from the nearby countertop and chucks it at you. You deflect it, turning your face away. When you look back, she chucks a can of hairspray at you. You bat this away as well.
"Fucking chillax," you say. "I'm a victim of rape here. What I need right now is support and understanding."
"Like fuck you are! What you need right now is to get your dick kicked in!" She tosses a can of Axe body spray at you.
You pull the mechanism in the tub to activate the shower. Cerise finally stops throwing things at you, realizing for the first time that you intend to bathe right now. She quickly grabs a wad of tissue and wipes her pussy, flushing. She jumps to her feet, trying to tug her pants and her shirt off at the same time.
The result of this spastic haste is to send her tumbling face-first into the wall opposite the toilet. She lands with a concussion-worthy thud.
"Whoa there, cowpoke."
"Oooof-- fffff--" Cerise fights against gravity to stand, using the wall for support, pants still around her feet. She steps out of them and rubs her forehead where she banged it. "I have dibs on the shower, you skeezy scum-fucker. You'll have to wait."
"No way--" you say. Cerise cuts you off by kicking you in the shin, forcing you to jump back.
She pulls her shirt off next. Big surprise: she's not wearing a bra. Now she's as naked as you.
Fights over who gets to use the shower have happened since time immemorial in the Soliloquy house. The water heater supplies maybe 10 good minutes of hot water. For the next hour after that, anyone who wants to shower has to do so in ice until the heater catches back up.
Cerise's kick was a brilliant maneuver in the war for shower-control. With her path cleared, she leaps into the tub and pulls the pebble glass door shut behind her.
[ ] Fine. Let her have the shower if she wants it.
[X] Sho ga nai. We'll have to shower together.
You grab the shower door's handle. Cerise tries desperately to hold it closed from the inside, but with nothing for her to grip on her end, it's a losing battle. The door slides open past her flattened palms with the squeak of glass against wet flesh.
She stomps her feet, sending her tits jiggling. "God! You are such a little shit!"
You step into the shower over her protests and shut the door again.
This is far from the first time you've shared the shower, but it's been a few years. It feels a little strange.
You stand underneath the showerhead, staring at nothing in particular -- but from Cerise's perspective, you realize, it must look like you're staring directly at her naked body.
"Face forward, asshole," Cerise says.
"Oh, please," you groan. "As if I haven't seen everything you've got to offer." Cerise puts her hands on your shoulders and bodily guides you through a 180 so that you face the wall. You sneer. "You're about due for another waxing, by the way."
"I don't want to hear about it from you. Ever hear of manscaping? It's not just for gay guys anymore. And you're a faggot anyway, so."
You glance down at the rim of the tub on your end. There isn't any body wash or shampoo. You try to turn around to grab the bottles from where they sit on the rim at the back, but Cerise forces you forward again.
"How am I supposed to clean myself?" you complain.
"Christ. You're absolutely hopeless."
You hear the clack of an opening shampoo lid and the splurt of Cerise dispensing it into her hands. Wordlessly, she starts lathering your hair from behind.
"Did you go mental?" you ask. "I'm not one of your--"
"Shut up. When was the last time you washed your hair properly?"
All ten of her fingers massaging your scalp feel weirdly soothing. As if they're working in tandem and yet separately. You close your eyes and decide to roll with it. She tilts your head under the stream and rinses your hair for you, too.
You bask in the steam and warmth all around you. The intimate contact makes the shower feel somehow more comforting, even if the person standing behind you is your own sister. Your mind is beginning to feel fuzzy.
When Cerise dispenses a handful of body wash and starts soaping your back, you don't protest. She doesn't say anything, either.
And when she snakes her arms under yours to soap your front, you still don't protest, but you become acutely aware of three facts.
One: her breasts are directly against your back, the nipples poking your shoulder blades.
Two: you're harder than you've been at any point in recent memory.
Three: there's no way she's not aware of these previous two facts as well.
Cerise's hands start high, around your collarbone, and slowly work their way down, tracing lazy ellipses. She rests a chin on your shoulder. Involuntarily, the two of you sway a little, like two dancers holding each other in reverse.
"I really can't believe you're fucking Rose."
"I was telling the truth when I said it wasn't consensual."
There's a long pause as Cerise lathers you more than is strictly necessary. Her wandering hands are to your ribs now.
"What you have with Whitney is consensual, though."
"Sort of."
"I thought you'd be a virgin forever. How does a loser like you get so many girls after him?"
You force a laugh that sounds fake even to you. "Well, I couldn't let you out-slut me."
"Fuck you. And don't come crying to me when you get the clap."
You bicker like this even now, but there's no force behind it. Cerise's hands are at the bottom of your stomach. She could brush her fingertips against your erection with a simple re-angling of her wrist. It suddenly occurs to you that you've been staring into each other's eyes intently for at least the past few minutes.
[X] Kiss her.
[ ] Do nothing.
You do it without thinking. You just close your eyes and lean into it.
For how long -- ten seconds, a minute, three? -- Cerise returns your kiss.
She tastes like cherry, fittingly.
Your tongues slip over one another and explore the other's mouth. You feel her whimper into you, and you breathe it deeply.
But then Cerise's eyes bulge open with the realization of what the two of you are doing. She shoves you forward, off of her, flings the shower door open and flees. Her wet feet patter across the bathroom tile and escape down the hall. You hear the muffled sound of her bedroom door slamming.
You can't think straight -- you're half delirious. Your vision is blurred with lust. You fall to your haunches and jerk yourself off underneath the running water, your orgasm mind-bending and toe-curling even though you left four loads inside Whitney less than an hour ago.
Just a few seconds later, the water heater's 10-minute supply gives out. For a minute or so you sit in the rushing, freezing water, your skin tightening up and turning to gooseflesh, every trace of Cerise's warmth leaving.
You shut the water off and weakly stand. You shuffle out of the bathroom without even bothering to towel yourself off.
In the hall, you knock on Cerise's door. No answer. "Cerise," you say softly. No answer. You try the handle but it's locked. "Cerise!" you call again, leaning your forehead against the jamb. No answer.
You head for your room, still stark naked. Passing by, Mom happens to see you from the bottom of the staircase. "Alabaster!" she cries, hand to her mouth. You ignore her as you slip into your bedroom.
You collapse in bed. But sleep won't come. You toss and turn for hours. The steady buzz of Cerise's most powerful vibrator lasts all night and deep into the early hours of morning.