Alfred
I woke up alone after the first night. I blinked up at the stucco and felt my strange, new body, sticky and naked and quietly aching.
"Arthur?" The name was thrilling. He was still my father, but I wasn't a child, and he allowed me to use his real name.
He didn't answer.
I got to my feet and walked to the bathroom. I pushed open the door and saw Arthur in a pair of pajama bottoms, sitting on the toilet lid, his head buried in his hands. He looked up at me briefly, his expression agonized, and then he looked back down.
"Alfred," he croaked. "Alfred. Oh, God…"
"What's wrong?" I knelt in front of him, tried to meet his eyes.
What do you think is wrong? You just slept with your father. Incest. That's what's wrong.
"Oh, God," Arthur repeated. "I'm so sorry, Alfred."
I felt a flutter of annoyance, and I grabbed Arthur's wrist. "What are you talking about? I said thank you. I meant it. Look at me."
I kissed his wrist, but he pulled it away and still wouldn't look. "What I did. It's wrong." I thought I saw his eyes for a moment, but they were quickly hidden. "Oh, Christ, you're so young. I shouldn't—I shouldn't have—"
That made me angry. I grabbed both his wrists and forced them down. "What do you mean? I'm sixteen and I can make my own decisions. You didn't force me into this! You didn't make me do anything! I wanted this."
He stared at me, and his eyes were wet. That made my stomach twist. That was strange.
Why is this getting to you? You saw your father grunt and grit his teeth as he fucked you, why is it that seeing him cry is so strange?
I kissed him. He went pliant under my lips, and I thought that everything was all right again. I pulled back, pressed my forehead to his. "I love you."
"It's wrong."
"I love you."
"Alfred—" I kissed him again. That made him stop. He couldn't argue with that, if it made him feel half as good as it made me feel. One of his hands hesitantly rested on my back. I pushed closer to him, tried to get more contact.
He sighed. "You need a shower."
"You need a shower," I retorted.
A smirk flickered in the corner of his mouth and he walked over to the tub on the side of the room. He turned on the water, and then looked at me and paused. He hesitated a few moments, and then took off his pajamas. I took a sharp breath, felt my fingernails dig into my palms.
He stared at me. I got to my feet and walked over to him, held his wrist, and pulled him into the water with me. I smiled and wrapped his arms around my back as lukewarm water cascaded onto us.
He picked up a washcloth and soaped it up while I watched. He held out my arm and started to wash it, his eyes fixed on the little soapy circles he made. "No one can ever know about this."
"I know." The cloth made its way up my arm to my chest, gently scrubbing my sore, bruised skin. The soap stung slightly when it slid between my legs, but I made myself not react. I smiled. "I swear. I won't say a word to anyone. Ever."
"Not even your brother."
I nodded seriously. I didn't like lying to my twin, but I knew that I could do it. He sighed, rubbed the cloth on the back of my neck. "We can't keep this up forever."
"Why not?"
"Alfred…"
"I told you." I wrapped my fingers around his arm. "I love you. I really, really love you, and I want to do this. I won't let anyone find out. You love me too, right?"
His mouth was open, searching for words. He stalled by soaping up the dishcloth again, and then pressing it to my other arm. "You're my son."
"I know I am."
"You're my son," he repeated, as if talking to himself. "You're my baby boy…"
I stepped back from him and crossed my arms across my chest. "I'm not a baby," I said crossly. "You know that, right? You remember. Look at me."
He did. His eyes slowly trailed my body, and then came back to my face. "Yes," he whispered. "But…" He shook his head. "Alfred, I'm your father. I held you when you were just a newborn."
"Like you did that much holding," I muttered, still angry. "Isn't that why mom left? Because you couldn't be bothered to come home from work enough to take care of your family? Isn't that it?"
He looked away to hide his pained expression. I felt instantly guilty and reached out to touch his arm. "God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I reached forward and pulled him into a tight hug. He tensed, and then relaxed against me. His fingers buried into my wet hair.
"I love you," he said in an agonized whisper. "I love you so much. It's wrong, and I can't stop it."
"Don't." I rubbed his back slowly, buried my nose in the crook of my father's neck. "Stop thinking so much."
He held my hair more tightly. "I love you."
"Arthur."
I made myself stay silent as he washed every inch of me. Then, he kissed me, without me having to make the first move. I let him hold me and touch me, as slowly as he wanted.
His eyes were shut, but I didn't let it bother me. If he was making do, I would as well. As long as I had this, it was okay.
