"Ohmigod," Alex says under her breath, as her hand flies to her mouth. Really? After almost eighteen years of relatively uneventful, nearly-peaceful co-existence, she catches him beating off to porn twice in the same week? OK, granted, this time the situation was a little more contrived than the last, and could potentially, to an outside observer, be construed as being entirely her own goddamned fault...but still, c'mon! Seriously? Seriously?

Utterly transfixed, Alex watches her big brother grip his cock tightly in his fist and rhythmically stroke it up and down, amazed by how tautly swollen and angry red it looks. Maybe it's just the angle, or the flickering light from the candles and the monitor, but somehow it looks bigger than she remembers, more imposing. A tiny bead of translucent-white precum oozes its way out of the tip as she watches, and Alex runs the tip of her tongue between her lips, feeling herself overcome by the urge to lick it off.

Just then, a particularly urgent moan suddenly erupts from the speakers of the Macbook, one that Alex could swear she's heard before. Frowning to herself in puzzlement, overcome with curiosity but unable to take her eyes off the towering erection growing out of Justin's fist, she tiptoes across the room as fast as she can manage, without making an undue amount of noise. Not paying attention, she misses stepping on the circle of flower petals merely by chance, then stumbles a little when she reaches the ring of sea salt, remembering at the last second to step over rather than through it, to avoid breaking the circle. She hisses a curse through her teeth as she stubs her big toe against the bedpost, but again Justin is thankfully too busy to be paying attention. Limping slightly, she makes her way along the edge of the bed, until she's practically standing right next to him, then leans forward and turns her head to one side, until her head is almost directly in front of his, so she can see what he's seeing. (And this is usually about the point where Justin would tell her, in his overly-patient, 'my sister is an idiot' voice, that she makes a better door than a window—har-dee-har-har—but given that she's invisible, the reverse is actually true, for once.)

It takes a long moment for Alex to tear her gaze from the silhouette of her brother's hard member, bobbing up and down ever so slightly as he pumps it in his hand, so slowly and steadily that it practically hypnotizes her. Eventually, though, she does allow herself to focus on the wide, bright screen behind it, and cocks an eyebrow as she's greeted with a strangely familiar sight...

A particularly orgasmic moan erupted from the TV, then, drawing both their attention to it. But as Justin watched the heavily-tattooed, blonde Asian girl grind furiously against her partner in unbridled (fake) ecstasy, Alex had found herself watching him. Because there was something about the intense look in his eyes, and the determined set of his chin, that had seemed awfully damn familiar...

"Oh, wow," she'd blurted out, as the reason why suddenly clicked home. "I get it. You're just not watching this stuff to get off. You're actually studying it, aren't you?"

Even as his spine stiffened, Justin's eyes slid shiftily towards hers. "No, I'm not," he oh-so-obviously lied.

"Ohhhhhh, Justin...!" Alex had groaned into the palm of her hand as she brings it up to cover her face, her tone dripping with equal parts exasperation and affection. "Only you could turn porn into homework."

"I so am not!" Justin said defensively.

"Uh, yeah. You so are," Alex said, her voice muffled by her palm. She'd furrowed her eyebrows as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're trying to see how you measure up to other guys, the only way you can. And hopefully trying to pick up some tricks along the way, right? I'll bet you've even been taking notes, haven't you? Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong."

"I'm...you...shut up," Justin said lamely, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Alex had sighed. "For the love of Christ, every time I think you can't possibly get any lamer..."

Alex slid her hand down her face until it had cupped her chin, and began tapping her index finger against her bottom lip as she quietly scrutinized him. Justin watched her uneasily out of the corner of his eye and began to lean away from her, ever so slightly, clearly recognizing her 'formulating-an-evil-plan' expression when he saw it. Then he'd flinched as, nodding once to herself, Alex reached down to snatch her beer off the table and upended it, shotgunning the remainder of its contents all in one go.

"Right, let's do this," she'd finally burped, tossing aside the empty can, oblivious to Justin's wince as it landed on the floor with a clatter. "First things first: take your boxers off. Let's get a good look at what it is you're working with."

...which was more or less how she'd wound up seeing his cock the first time around. Or, at least, the first time since Mom had last bathed them together, when she was three or four. And it had definitely gotten more impressive with age. Oh, he'd put up a fight at first—there'd been a brief little game of tug-of-war with his boxers, which she'd naturally won, just as she would the wizard competition one day. Then, once she'd literally beaten the pants off him (ha!), one thing had pretty quickly led to another, and...well, here they are.

Shaking off the memory—not to mention the smile it puts on her face—Alex blinks and frowns in confusion as her attention returns to the present, and the scene in front of her. It's definitely the exact same porn he's watching all right, and not just something similar with the same, ahem, "actress". (And yes, the air quotes are totally necessary. Chick couldn't fake-orgasm her way out of a wet paper bag. She's seen more convincing performances in tween sitcoms on Disney Channel, for Christ's sake.) But the first time she'd randomly caught him spanking it to this, he'd been watching it on late-night cable TV. Had he actually liked it so much that he'd tracked down it down on DVD?

Nope. No way. Not a chance. There was absolutely no way on God's green Earth that Justin Russo had actually walked into one of those sketchy little stores in the East Village—the ones with the whited-out windows and the red neon signs proclaiming '18+ ONLY' and promising private viewing booths, which he refused to so much as look at when he passed them in the street, lest he should spontanously combust from embarrassment—much less that he'd actually purchased something from one of them. What would Captain Jim Bob Sherwood say?

And yet, there's no denying the DVD case lying open on the bed next to him. Or the familiar, heavily-tattooed Asian blonde woodenly "unh-unh-unhing" all over the screen of his Macbook as she takes a nine-inch dick up the pooper, while Justin strokes his own (not quite so large, but still impressive in its own right) cock, in counterpoint to it. Alex has never made a habit of getting caught red-handed, but it's happened to her enough that she can recognize it when she sees it. And if this was a Scooby-Doo cartoon, this is about the point when Justin would be hauled away by the cops, muttering about how he would have gotten away with it, if not for those meddling kids...

Jesus. Justin buying porn. Watching porn. Beating off to porn. And all of his own free will. Just a week ago, the thought would have never occurred to her. Shaking her head, Alex manages to tear eyes away from the illicit activity on the screen (and that which is silhouetted in front of it) just long enough to glance at her brother's face in utter disbelief.

And then she does a classic double-take as she realizes that he's not even paying attention to the DVD as he strokes himself. Instead, he's looking down, off to his left, fiercely preoccupied with something sitting on the far side of the bed, hidden from her view.

"What the f—?" she mutters in her confusion, then slaps one hand over her mouth, eyes going wide over it as she remembers a second too late that she's not supposed to be here. She holds her breath for an anxious second, but once again, Justin is way too involved in whatever it is he's gawking at to have heard. Exhaling slowly in her relief, Alex backs away from the bed, then slowly tiptoes towards—and then around—the end of it. Careful this time to avoid both the ring of seasalt, and the other bedpost, she creeps as slowly and quietly as her impatience will allow. In the dimness of the room, she's barely able to make out what exactly he's looking down at: a bunch of glossy little rectangles laid out on the Star Wars bedspread next to him.

Wait, so hardcore porn isn't enough for Justin to get it up? He needs something more? Man...just how much of a pervert is he?

The glare from the computer screen reflected on the glossy surface of each of the little rectangles makes it impossible to see what they are, at least not until she's right on top of them. And as Alex creeps steadily towards them, her mind races, wondering what they could be. Dirty pictures of Vampire Barbie? Nah, that's not it—vampires can't be captured on film. Clippings from mom's Victoria's Secret catalogue? No wait, Max had beaten him to it. She'd tripped over that in his room that last time she'd gone to wake Max up for school. (And it had stuck right to the bottom of her foot, ugh!)

Pfft, wait a second. Knowing Justin, it's probably just something humiliatingly lame and dorky. Like autographed postcards of Calico Woman, or borderline racy Magic: The Gathering cards, or something. Overcome with curiosity, Alex practically sprints the last few steps to the side of his bed, every pretense of stealth completely abandoned. Grinning wickedly to herself, convinced she's about to uncover the single greatest piece of blackmail material known to man, she looks down, and...

Oh. Oh, holy shit!