Disclaimer: I do not own Wizards of Waverly Place. Not even a little bit.
~~ Rainy Nights and Red-Blue Lights ~~
Every time it rained, Alex found the word 'petrichor' running through her head.
Justin had taught it to her on a wet day last spring, when he noticed her smile as she breathed in the scent of a fresh rainstorm. It had been another one of his annoying 'look at me, I'm so smart' moments that she hated so much, but still … she liked the word. So she kept it.
It was always the last concrete thought she had before she would let her mind go blank, as she sat curled up on the big chaise under her bedroom window on a rainy evening. She would sit like that for hours, with the blinking red and blue glow from the diner across the alley the only light in the room.
She would usually stare out the window, or more accurately at the snaking trails of water onthe window, but sometimes she would just close her eyes and listen to the steady beat of rain. It was quiet and calm and pretty much everything not Alex, but she loved it anyway. It was the one time she could let herself just be– not scheming, not preening, not being derisive and witty or mocking and indifferent, but just sitting and being. Not Alex Russo, the Great and Sardonic, just … her.
She was in the midst of one such quiet episode when she suddenly felt a large, very warm hand squeeze her bare knee.
She jumped at the electricity shooting up her leg, and glared at the culprit. "Justin! That's not funny."
He just grinned stupidly at her, though the intermittent light made it look a little deranged."Um, yeah it is. In fact, it's hilarious."
She turned her eyes back to the window. "Well, I'm not laughing."
"You're not supposed to."
Alex glared at him again, hoping that maybe he'd get the hint and leave.
"Did you know that the sensation you just felt is equivalent to an eighth of an orgasm?"
Apparently not.
Wait –
"What?"
Wide-eyed, Alex quickly slid away from her brother, giving herself at least a few feet of distance. Any further and she'd fall off the chaise.
Justin looked uncharacteristically calm. "Yeah, I read it on the internet. Squeezing your knee like that gives you a tiny orgasm."
This was really not something Alex wanted to hear from her brother.
"And why," she breathed unsteadily, "are you trying to give your sister an orgasm?"
She wished her cheeks weren't quite so hot. Alex Russo was not the kind of girl who blushed. She was the kind that usually turned an embarrassing situation around so that the other person was embarrassed. Which is what she was trying to do right now, except it didn't help when her face was bright red and the other person was still grinning like an idiot.
"An eighth of an orgasm, not a full one." Of course he had to correct her. "It's not a sexual thing, it's just a funny biological response."
"Okay, first of all, an orgasm –" she cut his protest short with narrowed eyes, " – even an eighth of one – is definitelya sexual thing, and second of all, it's still not funny."
Alex surreptitiously moved a little further away from her brother, sitting on the edge of her bed now. This was definitely not normal, not even for her and Justin.
"Alex, why are you being so weird?"
While Alex was baffled to the point of silence at her brother thinking she was the one being weird in this situation, Justin seemed to ponder his own question. Then a devious smirk crawled across his face which she did not like at all. Especially not with half of his face in darkness and half dramatically lit in blues and reds, all James Bond, gentleman assassin-like. It made him look kind of … dangerous. Which was definitely not sexy. Wait, why had that possibility even come up?
She stared at the blinking red 'B' on his ear. It didn't really help.
"You know what? It doesn't even matter. What matters is that you are weirded out." He was still smirking, the stupid dork. "This could be fun."
What really alarmed her was that Justin took this moment to sit next to her again.
"It's not every day that I can fluster the great Alex Russo." He chuckled and God, what was wrong with him?
"Pssh," she tried, "I'm so not flusteded."
Her breath hitched as she felt his soft hand slide over her knee again. He didn't squeeze it though, and she didn't pull away.
Her pulse was pounding and her face was hot and tingly. She wasn't really sure why she wasn't jumping up and leaving – all she was doing instead was trembling. Alex Russo was trembling.
What was worse was that it wasn't even out of fear.
His hand slid gently along the hot skin of her thigh. She turned to look at him, a question in her eyes. It died when she saw the look in his.
She flicked out her tongue, trying to restore some moisture. "Justin …"
He placed his other hand on her hip and rubbed just under the hem of her shirt.
Her skin was scorching hot where he touched her, and the heat was spreading like an out of control wildfire. It burned and spread and burned until her whole body was ignited in a feverish haze.
She stared into blue-red-black eyes and her breath caught. All she could hear was pounding – pounding rain and pounding heart – and she could still feel his hands all over, and now the fire inside her was eating up all the oxygen in the room. She was burning hot, blazing hot – hot hot hot and she knew this was her brother and it was weird and it was wrong but she was just so hot she thought she might die.
She had to cool down, she couldn't – couldn't breathe, or maybe she had to burn it all up, had to … She –
Through the heat, and the dark, and the red-blue light of a New York night, she reached for him.
"Alex!"
There was a flood of white light and she jerked up with a sharp gasp.
"Hey Rip Van Winkle, it's dinner time."
Justin.
With a sudden wave of nausea, Alex realized what had happened.
She had just had an erotic dream. About her brother.
"Hey, are you alright, Alex? You look kind of flushed."
Oh my God, oh my God, say something.
"I'm … fine."
Okay, well. It was a start.
Justin peered at her suspiciously, then seemed to decide it wasn't worth it. "Come on, then."
He reached a hand out to help her off the chaise, but she hastily scrambled up on her own. She didn't think she could ever touch him again without spontaneously combusting. Why had she ever decided she liked rainy nights? She should have known that so much quiet time would just lead to disaster.
He gave her a 'whatever' look and started out the door, assuming she would follow him.
Which she did, until he started speaking again as he disappeared down the hallway.
"Hey, you'll never guess what I read on the internet today …"