So...this update took a few eons to get done, my apologies for anyone who actually got invested in this. My life got crazy for a while. It still is crazy, but I was feeling inspired. This is a fairly lengthy one, but covers a lot of ground for Eli and Clare.
Also, I half-lied about the smut. It's near smut? Either way, there's going to be some sort of smutty goodness in nearly every chapter from here on out. It'll be a gradual thing.
Anyway, without further ado, here's the sixth chapter. I'll love you forever for reviews. They really do inspire me to update.
I wake up to an empty bed, besides my body taking up half of it. Just eight hours prior, I know Eli was next to me. I can still feel his lips peppering my skin with kisses, his breaths coming out in short pants as my fingers threaded through his hair.
It wasn't a conventional night for sibling bonding, to say the least.
A part of my brain keeps telling me it didn't happen, that my subconscious conjured it all up merely to torture me. It wouldn't be surprising. I roll lazily out of bed, pushing my wild bedhead curls out of my face.
When I stumble out of the room, I make my way through the living room and into the kitchen. Eli isn't there, only a pot of half consumed coffee remaining in the sink to show he was in there at all. My feet shuffle out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. The door is ajar when I reach it.
"Eli?" I call out hesitantly, prodding it forward until I see that there's no one inside.
It's not like Eli to leave without scribbling out a note first, at least not recently. And especially after last night, I hope he'd be extra vigilant about it.
It makes me worry so much less when I see a note reading, "Out for coffee – I'll get you a tea." or "Impromptu play rehearsal, call my cell if you need me." But there's no note on the fridge, the counter, his pillow on his side of the bed. As if he upped and left.
And then it occurs to me – he probably did.
My chest feels like it's imploding as I sit myself on the futon in the living room, cursing its pointy coils silently as I seat myself on it.
I should have known better. His leaning forward to kiss me that first time must have been a fleeting urge, something he came to regret. It wasn't like I could blame him. And if it hadn't been for my own severely stifled feelings, it never would have happened. How hard would it have been to push him away? To simply say "no"?
Rational thought clearly wasn't in my grasp at the time. It rarely ever is when it comes to Eli. No one distracts me quite like he does, stealing my attention in a way that makes me worry I'll never get it back.
But if he somehow found it in himself to leave for good, I'm terrified as to what I'll do next. What could possibly be my next move? There's no one else to stay with. Living in a shelter sounds overwhelming and hardly enjoyable. I've yet to make any friends in the city and there's no way for me to get back home. I'm not even sure what constitutes as "home" for me anymore. Somehow I convinced myself that this was it, but over the course of one night, that certainty has slipped from my grasp.
When I bought the flowers, the woman at the register smiled at me, as though I was about to go make something worthwhile out of my day. As if she had the sincerest faith in me that I couldn't even try to emulate.
She didn't know the task that lay before me, how daunting and probably impossible it would be. I watched as she wrapped the bundle of roses carefully, pink paper lining the sides.
I hoped twelve would be enough, a dozen. Enough to tell her how much I regret being rash, but in the same breath, how I wouldn't take it back even if she demanded I did. I'm sorry, but not enough to wish it hadn't happened. I'm just selfish enough to want to keep this memory locked away in the recesses of my mind. That same tendency is what makes me not regret seeing her touching herself that day, and the same one that makes me determined to keep her with me.
As I walk out of the shop, each step feels like a march to my death. Even placing myself in the driver's seat and starting up my car seems like I'm subjecting myself to punishment. Clare could react any way at all, I can't anticipate it.
I'm still wearing her first kiss on my lips. And her second, and her third. I lost count of how many times our mouths met last night. Though the awareness that it never should have happened is very prevalent in my mind, I like dwelling on how we both worked our way into my room, how I coaxed her mouth open and showed her what a real, deep kiss is. How her body felt like a feather on top of mine. How she whimpered, feeling our bodies pressed together. These were things I'd dreamed about shamefully since she arrived, and they were actually coming to pass. How could I not bask in the thoughts, however impure and nearly toxic they were?
I never claimed to be a saint, at least. I'm not breaking my own code of conduct. But Clare, this is terribly out of character for her. She could be feeling an array of emotions right now, among them guilt. In a way, I'd rather her be angry at me, for letting it happen than blame it on herself and have to bear that burden.
I find myself zigzagging a bit in traffic, then attempting to regain my bearings. My eyes shift over to the passenger's seat, the flowers sitting on it. I hope against hope that giving her this superficial, hardly thought out gift will convey my apologies, and somehow enable us to move past this. Or better, dive in further.
The slamming of the front door jerks me from my panic-filled reverie. My head turns and there he is, looking as guilty as ever as he wanders in. When I look at him now, I can't see his eyes clouded over in desire, or love the way his chapped lips brush against mine. I can't even feel the guilt of knowing we kissed and we shouldn't have. That we were wrapped up in each others arms for hours on end the night before, lying in his bed. None of that matters with the fury coursing through me.
I rise from the futon, tears staining my cheeks and more rolling down to ensure that he'll know how angry I am. How absolutely betrayed I feel. "So you thought you could just leave? Did the guilt bring you back? Or are you here to pack up your things?" My thoughts come flooding out in a stringed manner, each enraged word slipping into the next. I can barely articulate when this perturbed, my lips quivering with adrenaline as I approach him.
At first he says nothing, his face dropped into a distinct frown. I don't like his frown. I like his smirk, his grin. The way his expression exudes nothing but confidence when he laughs. But I hope he's feeling bad now. I want to see his lips curl into a grimace as I chew him out. He deserves it.
"You have nothing to say?" The tremble in my voice is unmistakable, and I take a step closer to him. He's holding one arm behind his back. Reaching for it, I pull it out from behind him viciously, a bouquet of roses in his hand.
My brows furrow and my eyes feel like they're burning now because I'm confused. He isn't supposed to have flowers. He's supposed to have a suitcase or a letter telling me I need to leave. He's supposed to be calloused and unfeeling, just like he always has been. But now he has roses and I'm not sure what they're for. I'm not sure where I fit into this.
It's like he's thinking the same thing as he looks between his hand and my face, his lips then pressing into a thin line while he thinks.
"These flowers are either to say I'm sorry for making out with you all night and it'll never happen again if you don't want it to, or I loved last night and I need more of it." The uncertainty etched into his tone leaves me taken aback, because it's not like him to be so unsure. This is the most vulnerable I've ever seen him, and I find myself falling in love with yet another layer of this man. This man I share blood with, but barely recognize more often than not.
Before I know it, I'm closing the distance between us, taking the bouquet from his hand and tossing it on the floor. They're a nice sentiment, but the nicer sentiment were his words, more so the latter part. My lips are on his in a heartbeat and it feels more natural than breathing, more routine than my own pulse drumming beneath my skin. Last night he taught me the technique, the basics. And today, I intend on mastering the skill.
His body hesitates for the briefest of seconds before his hands are gripping my waist so similarly to how they did last night, his feet shuffling forward to press me against the wall opposite the door.
His mouth is hot and tempting, a sensation I'd been craving before last night but downright yearning for since getting a taste of it. His lips move slowly against mine, not overly eager, as if he knows we have all the time in the world. It's torturous. My hand moves to the back of his head to press his mouth closer to mine, and with a tug of his hair I earn a moan from him.
Slowly caution starts getting thrown to the wind as his hips roll against mine. I can't tell if this is merely a reaction to being aroused or if it was intentional, but I lack the reason or the desire to question it. Whimpers leave me without my permission, my anger ebbing away as I feel him smirking against my lips. It's sexy and he's sexy, and I want nothing more than to submit myself entirely to him and his will.
My body is jerked away from the wall and we're both taking clumsy steps into the bedroom, my feet maneuvering backwards carefully as he guides me inside. The same steps we took the night before but less tentative. It's becoming muscle memory, this short journey to the bed.
My back opens the door and once we're inside I hear it slam shut, his leg jerking back to kick it. We're alone in the house as always so this is unnecessary, but I think we both know that it adds to the appeal of this. The suspense. The risque nature of it.
He breaks apart for a second to rid himself of his coat which I only now realize he's still wearing. I hate the distance between us as his lips hover over mine, his arms moving hastily and almost violently, ripping the jacket off his own arms.
Feeling his warm breaths hit my lips brings something up to the surface within me, my hands moving to clutch his shirt. I pull him closer to me as he stumbles forward, our lips meshing in a klutzy but entirely addictive way.
We both regain our composure, my hands moving back to his head, gripping his hair as he tips me back, lowering me to his bed. This is familiar and feels like deja vu, things progressing in a very similar fashion to how they did the night before. But now the kisses are needier and the breaths exchanged between us say more.
His body hovers slightly above mine but I need him closer, pressing my hands to his back to pull him flush against me. My legs separate, allowing him to lie comfortably between them, and that harsh throbbing I've come to associate with him makes a return. He indulges it, his hips thrusting against my core. Even through my clothes I can tell he's getting hard. It still amazes me that I can affect someone as headstrong and stoic as Eli. More so, because I'm the very last person who should be able to get to him in this way.
He draws out mewls and whimpers from me, sounds I never even thought I was capable of making, let alone in the company of my brother. But with the way his body moves against mine, there's no helping the way my back arches into him.
We don't share any words because that would taint this moment, bring us back to a reality where things like this can't happen. Inside the four walls of his bedroom, we can ignore what rules and regulations surround us. In here, there's no telling what could happen.
There's no fight on my part as my shirt and pants are stripped of me, and I watch with hungry, inquisitive eyes as he rids himself of the same articles of clothing. This is uncharted territory for me, with anyone. He can tell and that's why his touches are safe, careful. Still, I can see the urges sitting not far behind his somewhat subdued gaze. The lust is unmistakable and I wish he'd quit this ruse to try and mask it. With the two of us only in our undergarments, I'm thinking we've passed the point of no return.
"I shouldn't like seeing you this way," he mutters against my neck, breaking our unspoken agreement to keep quiet.
I shake my head, my hands tracing over his shoulder blades. "But you do. And I do. And neither of us can help it." Finding reason in this absolutely unreasonable and immoral situation is proving to be difficult, but I won't let him be discouraged. My hands smooth over his back, trying work out whatever stress he's harboring.
His body shivers above mine as his hands slide down my frame, then gripping my hips. I wish I could reach into his mind and grab the doubt, simply casting it aside. As though it was a solid, tangible thing that I could help him be rid of. But as I turn my head to look at him I see the concern written all over his face, and there's no way to pull him out of this reverie. I know him well enough to know that at least.
"Eli, tell me what you're thinking."
Her question all but sucks the air out of my lungs. I wish I wasn't coming up empty on a reply but I most definitely am. I'm thinking that I love the body heat being exchanged between us, I love how my cock keeps brushing against her through my boxers, how I want to bury myself in her. How ridiculous this urge is becoming with each passing second. I'm caught between ignoring my own conscience and continuing on, or shoving her clean off me and attempting to forget this ever happened – even if I know it's far, far too late for that.
"I've felt this way about you from the moment you walked in the goddamn door, Clare. I didn't stand a chance against it."
She doesn't divert her gaze at all as she waits for me to continue, and I can't help but marvel at the patience this girl possesses. We're polar opposites in that respect; I barely even have enough patience for myself to explain this, but I know she deserves an answer.
"Maybe it was even there before you moved in, I'm not sure. I can't say I remember much about my childhood but my most vivid memories were always with you. I usually chalk that up to us being siblings but..." I trail off, still coaxing the right words out of my head.
"But?" she repeats, urging me to continue on.
"But at times I wonder if our bond was always meant to be stronger than it is on average for siblings. I just- I'm making no sense, don't listen to me." I can feel myself growing more discouraged and just as I anticipated, Clare's not about to let me drop this. I try to roll off her but she locks her legs around my torso, holding me there.
"You're all I have," she says quietly, with a vulnerability that makes me want to shield her from every threat for the rest of my life. "Even back then, when we were all still a family, you were always there for me. Mom did the best she could, I know. But when things got bad,"
I cut her off, curling my arms tighter around her frame. We both know what she's referring to, and even though I was there to defend her through it all back then, I feel like I still need to be here to chase those thoughts away. I know how they plague her sleep, depriving her of a restful night regularly. "I know, Clare. I know."
She shakes her head, her eyes beginning to pool with unshed tears. "You were the only one who ever believed me, even before the evidence was staring everyone in the face. You believed me without question."
Bringing one of my hands to her face, I kiss her forehead, leaving my lips there for a few seconds before I pull away. "Why would you lie about something like that? Of course I believed you, Clarebelle." I feel her trembling slightly beneath my weight as I tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "It's over. He's never going to touch you again. I promise."
The weight of the letter I received is weighing even heavier with this talk, the mere mention of my father, however indirect, intensifying the guilt I feel for hiding it from Clare. If I don't respond soon, I know he won't hesitate to start legal action to get her back. That's how he's always been; efficient to a fault. It's a damn shame we never took legal action ourselves once what he'd been doing to Clare came to light. I remember urging my mom to make a case of it, and even Clare. But my mom was still in shock over what she'd been denying for years, and Clare too traumatized to be making decisions like that. It sickens me to this day, knowing she endured that for years and it only came to an end when I caught him attempting it.
I feel so weak for not being able to protect her. For failing to preserve her comfort and safety while under the same roof. It was torture, staying in her room each night and feeling her shake in my grasp as I stayed there, making sure our father didn't try anything with her. At that point, he knew all too well what I was doing, and didn't dare attempt a thing with her.
But there were days that I wasn't home, or the two of them were coincidentally left alone in the house for whatever reason. Finding out later that something happened and I wasn't there to help her, that guilt will never quit haunting me, or diminish in any respect. Seeing how it's shaped her now makes me ashamed of myself. I failed her as a brother, as a friend. Which is why I know I definitely don't deserve her in this way, as a lover.
That doesn't stop me from wanting her for myself so desperately though.
"H-he's never coming back, right? I can stay here with you and we'll never see him again?" she asks, her hands shaking slightly as they grip my shoulders.
"Never. I'm keeping you safe from now on." I promise, mentally whipping myself into shape as I state it with conviction. Letter or no letter, I'm never letting that bastard see Clare again, let alone live with her. I'd end him with my own two hands before I let that happen. He doesn't even register to me as my father anymore. He hasn't in a very long time.
She closes her eyes and smiles, a small one, but with that sincere gentleness that I know means she believes me. Opening her eyes again, it seems to dawn on both of us that we're still in just our underwear, and I'm still lying on top of her with a very prominent erection pressing against her leg.
Clare chuckles and I follow suit, my eyes never leaving hers as a bright blush adorns her cheeks. "Do we have to stop meeting like this?" She gestures to my mostly bare body laying atop hers, and my smile widens to a grin.
"Technically, this never should have happened but I'm sure you're well aware of that." I lean forward, bumping my nose gently against hers. I keep realizing that even though Clare and I have been making leaps and bounds in terms of physical intimacy, we aren't as familiar with each other in general as most siblings are. It's something I want to change, even though I know that should have happened years ago. Most things with Clare thus far seem like making up for lost time, which is something I have no problem whatsoever doing.
"We're already in too deep. You know that just as well as I do." Brushing the back of my hand against her cheek, I watch her eyes flutter closed for a second, then opening as my hand withdraws. "If we stop, I'll always be fighting the urge to touch you, or kiss you." I say honestly, swallowing the lump in my throat. "But if you think we should stop, we will. I'm never going to force something on you. This got far more complicated than I ever anticipated."
She doesn't even hesitate as she shakes her head, her curls moving a bit against my pillow as she does. "I don't want to stop, please." she spits out, her mouth curling into a shy smile as pauses. I smirk to her, lifting a brow as I wait for her to continue on.
"This doesn't make any sense, I know. I've never even had a real boyfriend, at least a serious one," She bites down on her bottom lip, trapping it between her teeth in a way that makes me twitch with desire. "But I want this – you."
Sucking in a shallow breath, I attempt to collect my thoughts."This isn't going to be easy, Clare. We can't have titles for ourselves outside of brother and sister, you know that. We can't act like this in public at all. And then there's the fact that you're still in high school..." The more I think about this, the less feasible it all seems.
Wearing her best pouty face, Clare taps my nose with her finger, jerking my attention back to her. "You get discouraged so easily, mister. We can make this work, so long as we're careful. And no one's better at being sneaky or using their con artists ways than you."
I can't fight back the grin threatening to work its way on to my face, my lips already curling up. This girl knows how to get under my skin too easily, in ways I never thought anyone could. Imogen never succeeded in making me smile this much, not even when she tried her hardest. Clare's the only one capable of evoking such a strong reaction from me in every way possible, and for that reason, I know I at least need to try.
"...fine." I relent, earning a giggle from her. "On one condition." At this, she quiets down, peering up curiously at me as she waits.
"We don't date other people. Just you and me. Deal?"
Clare takes a moment to consider, and then tilts her head. "But there were so many boys I wanted to date! There go my chances of meeting someone dreamy at this new school." she laughs, and I don't feel bad at all when I tickle her sides, only quitting once I have her screaming in a fit of giggles for me to stop.
Once we both pause, I roll off of her, sucking in a deep, content breath.
"I never thought I'd be with a college boy." she mutters thoughtfully to herself, staring up at the ceiling.
"I never thought I'd be with my sister." I deadpan back, earning a half glare, half smile from her.
She turns on her side, then climbing on top of me, straddling my waist. "Can we resume that intense kissing? I feel somewhat ripped off." Clare muses, her body lowering to mine, her full chest pressing flush against me.
I lean in close to her, my lips grazing just below hers before I say, "I owe you. These lips are all yours, along with the rest of me."
I can't say I know what I've gotten myself into, but there's no turning back now. I've always been one to seek out trouble, and I'm finding that Clare is no exception to this rule.