It had been two days since Jane visited and treated Pietro's wound. Two days of lazing around the house. Of Wanda carrying her brother from his bed to the living room to wherever else he may need to go. Of being alone with his thoughts. Somehow it had only been two days, yet it felt like two hundred years.
At this time, Pietro lay stiffly in his bed, stubbornly crossing his arms. The mindless drone of the television filled his ears, but he didn't really listen. His eyes wandered, occasionally resting on an object of interest, then moving onto the next. There was his bookshelf, occupying most of the left wall, it filled with hundreds of books on every subject imaginable. Beside his worn copy of The Hobbit was a bouquet of sunflowers. He didn't remember that being there when he was first plopped down in his room.
The speedster smiled, knowing his sister must have put them there. She was always looking out for him, even when he was being a pain in the ass—which he recognized was quite often. He sighed, a scolding thought flying through his head.
"You're such a jerk. Why does she put up with you?"
He bit his lip, hoping the pain would rush the negative thought away. It didn't work. Instead, more arrived, this time in droves.
"You're such a burden on her."
"You always get in the way of her happiness."
An image of the great Captain America popped up in his mind. Wanda clearly cared for him—how couldn't she? He was handsome, strong, and the perfect gentleman. The question was, why couldn't he let his sister get close to Cap? He knew he would treat her right—he'd love her, keep her safe, and make her smile when she was sad.
Yet, whenever he thought of Steve holding Wanda in his arms, rage boiled up in Pietro. He knew that he was in love with his sister—more than just the familial love that most siblings held for each other. He had known for years that he did, and had come to accept it, though he was deeply ashamed of it.
The bright yellow sunflowers seemed to mock him now, each petal showing that Wanda did love him, but not in the way he truly wanted her to. He turned his head away, choosing instead to look at the television, but it couldn't possibly occupy his mind for long. Again, he was attacked, the pour of harsh thoughts like a river overflowing.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he muttered angrily to himself, shaking his head frantically. Maybe he could toss the thoughts out of his head? He hoped they'd spill out his ears. It worked in cartoons, why not now?
He was interrupted by a knock on his door. Pietro stopped moving and tried to look as bored as possible. Wanda popped her head in through the now-open door. She smiled warmly, her cherry red lips spreading into a pleasant grin.
"Hey Petey. I see you're up. Hungry?"
The speedster tried not to look at his sister for too long—seeing her beautiful form would only bring the thoughts back, but so much louder.
"Yeah, I could eat," he said nonchalantly.
"I'll make something real quick. Any requests?"
Pietro gulped and faced his sister, trying his best to ignore his now rising heartbeat. "You don't have to dote on me just because I twisted my ankle, you know, Wands?"
The witch's smile was only gone for a second, but it was long enough for Pietro to feel like jumping out a window.
"It's what big sisters are supposed to do," the witch winked.
"You're only three minutes older!" Pietro said a little too loudly, "That isn't enough time for you to say you're my big sister."
Wanda laughed, her melodic voice reminiscent of a lovebird's song. Pietro could feel his cheeks redding as he watched her.
"I think it does," she smirked, skipping over to her brother's bedside.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Pietro muttered.
"Don't be such a sour-Pete," Wanda scolded, leaning over to kiss his forehead.
The speedster's heart rate now raced, seemingly challenging his body of how far it could go before he had a heart attack. He bit his lip and looked down at his hands.
"I'll check up on you later," Wanda said, slipping out of the bedroom and closing the door.
Pietro sighed, running his hands through his white hair in anguish. She just had to give him a kiss. Yes, it was an innocent one that was on the forehead, but he longed for so much more. Perhaps that kiss could be the start, her lips softly embracing Pietro's face—his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and then his lips. They would caress each other, moving slowly. The kiss would transform into something much deeper as he slid his tongue into her mouth. She'd taste like strawberries—freshly picked and bursting with juice. His hands would pull at her shirt, drawing his sister closer to him, only intensifying the embrace. Her hands would go down Pietro's chest and tug at his jeans and—oh.
Looking down, back in reality, the mutant now saw that his imagination had gone a little too wild, and had given him an erection.
"Not again," he gasped, again pulling his hair. "Damn it, every time."
He debated on whether or not he should enjoy this unwanted happenstance, or do the right thing and ignore it. He spent a good five minutes weighing his options, and once he made up his mind, there was another knock on his door. That made his decision for him. Grabbing the nearest pillow and placing it over his crotch, he again pretended to be interested in the television.
Wanda came in, two cups of tea in her hands. The blue cup, big and short, was Pietro's. Wanda's was a tall, skinny, red cup. She smiled at her brother, handed him his tea—a calm green chai—and then took the spot next to him on the bed. He gave her a shy smile, trying not to see her when he looked at her. Actually looking at her would make his problem worse.
"Do you mind if we watch Downton Abbey?" she asked, blowing on her drink.
"Uh, yeah, sure," he tried to respond—which probably came out as a couple strained grunts.
The prim and proper show was just what Pietro needed to get rid of his erection. There was nothing hot about old rich people bitching at their servants for putting the wrong fork in the wrong place on the table. And the tea helped even more.
He had started to doze off some when he heard a loud buzz. Someone was at their apartment door, and wanted in? The twins didn't really have friends, except for the Avengers. Wanda had plenty, but they never came over to see her. They knew her annoying brother would be there, and that was a deal breaker.
As Pietro sleepily mused at who it could be, Wanda got up from her spot and answered the door. The speedster was the one who usually opened the door for guests—after deciding whether or not they were worth spending more than five minutes with, but with his leg, he remained in bed. He hoped it wasn't someone stupid. Or worse, a man trying to woo his sister. He would get out of bed to stop that, even if it did hurt.
Pietro turned the TV off, and tried to listen in. It was a male voice, that much was clear. He began to position himself so that he could get out of bed—mainly by rolling out of the bed and onto the carpeted floor, but he quickly deemed doing that unnecessary.
Wanda again appeared at the door, looking a bit uneasy.
"Hey, Pete, Agent Coulson is here to see you."
Pietro sat up straight again, confused. Why would he want to see him? And why would he make a house call?