This was wrong.
So wrong.
They both stared at each other, shocked, disgusted, and—dare they both think it—a little excited, as the realization dawned upon both them.
My sister, Dipper told himself, over and over again in his head, as though he were trying to fully validate it, my sister just kissed me, and I kissed her back.
It wasn't even a little peck on the cheek, a kiss born out of sisterly love—it was a full out kiss on the mouth, on the lips. Out of some strange romantic desire...
What the hell is wrong with me? he screamed, silently, to the entire world, and to himself.
Mabel, who had initiated the kiss, said nothing, her cheeks a pair of rosebushes. She knew very well that what she just did to her brother was just so…illicit.
This is all crazy, Mabel told herself, the thought distant and cloudy. I'M crazy.
It came out of the blue—they were both toiling over another one of their board games, and then…it just came over her.
Mabel swallowed, looked to the floor, saw the board and the little game pieces, scattered about on the aging wooden planks.
She felt filthy, when she did that, and oh so guilty as well…but…but she knew…he knew, they both knew that they wanted it. She knew Dipper had wanted her lips from the very moment she cupped his cheek and leaned in to perform this immoral act. They both knew they desired each other when their bodies pressed together, their hearts raging furiously in their chests as they embraced. It was so scandalous…
The feel of Mabel's hair, Dipper recalled, so long and so lush, her scent—perfume and bedcovers, nail polish, leaves and wood.
And Mabel remembered the feel of her brother's skin, soft as silk, his breath shaking and uneasy. An aroma of petrichor and old books, pine needles, ink.
The caress of cheek, the slide of tongue across teeth, fingers tangling in damp hair, on damp skin.
A hesitant hand moving up a skirt, stroking that area, the inside of her thigh…
Fingers, tentative and afraid, but adventurous, trailing underneath his shirt, to his soft chest.
The strange feeling within her, blooming like a flower, that wonderful, moist feeling…
The feel of it against the fabric of his pants, the pressure; it felt so strange, but so good…
They had nearly done it, they both realized. In the silence of their room, the void of quiet only to be filled in by the soft tapping of rain on the windows and roof, like a thousand tiny fingers, the twins realized that they had nearly done it.
And so they continued to stare, both trying to comprehend what they had just done, and what would come of it.
And silence reigned, until, at last, eventually, thankfully, one of them spoke up.
"…why?"
It was Dipper. All of his feelings, summed up into a neat little package, a single word. His voice sounded weak, tremulous, as though he had not spoken for a thousand years.
"I-I don't know," Mabel answered softly, and this was truth—she did not know why, not at all.
"I don't know either."
They both were unable to comprehend. And perhaps it was best to leave it at that.
"Well," Mabel murmured, looking to the lamp. "To sleep."
"To sleep," repeated her brother, almost mindlessly.
The sound of rain ruled once more, and, Mabel, suddenly feeling very cold, swaddled herself in her sheets and turned off the light, her brother following suit.
And the game pieces rested silently on the floor.
