Meek as a...

She had to fight to get that lie out. She'd damned well met the guy for her, a long, long time ago. She just couldn't have him, in everyone else's eyes but her own.

"Why with Michael? Why not with all of us, or something else?"

"Because now he's divorced, and he's got no one but family. No one but you and Mom and Dad. And me. And he's hurting."

Melanie started to speak, and then stopped.

"And maybe not too long from now, that's all I'll have, too. You and Mom and Dad and Michael. Especially Michael."

Melanie took her time cutting her fish into several pieces, selecting one, and moving it to her mouth with her fork. She chewed with slow patience.

"You'll find the guy for you. I know thirty is scary, and you're panicking, but you know you have tons of guys chasing you. You just have to stop sabotaging things by dating the wrong kind of guy."

By that, Mouse knew, she meant older men. If she knew the real, sordid truth, she'd gag on her dinner.

"Maybe," she said, noncommittally.

"So what do you expect to do for Michael?"

Mouse stared at her incisively.

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning you have nothing in common. You never have. You're too different, in age, in demeanor, in outlook, lifestyle, everything. You see everything and do everything differently. You don't have a lot to give him, except for maybe an occasional, brief and no doubt bizarrely entertaining and meandering conversation."

Want to bet, Mouse thought, as Melanie continued.

"And I know you. Eventually you'll get bored. He'll get used to having you around, maybe acting more mature and supportive than you really are, but in the end you'll be you, you'll get distracted, and just stay in Chicago and let whatever you think you're doing dwindle away, and he'll be left with less than he started with. But with one more scar of rejection to deal with."

"None of that is true, and you know it," Mouse said. She tried to keep most, but not all, of the rising anger she felt out of her voice. She hated having Melanie say such things about her and Michael, even if Melanie didn't know the whole truth of their relationship. "He's always been my brother, and he's been there for me more than you know, and I appreciate it way more than you can know."

Way, way, more, Mouse thought, and now she showed that appreciation to Michael in ways that Melanie could never, ever guess. Or so she hoped.

"I've been a little pest to him. I'm the first to admit it. He started calling me Mouse for a reason. I earned it. But that doesn't mean I can't also be the sort of sister to him that I should have been, or be, or that you think you are."

That nasty barb hit home, if only a bit. Melanie bridled, clearly angered by the accusation, but too in control to let it get the better of her.

"I don't know why he still calls you Mouse," she said, staring into her plate. "You looked the part when you were a kid, but aside from the pest part, you certainly never acted like one, then or since. It's certainly not your nature. You've never been meek."

"I just want Michael to be happy. I want to be happy, too. This is as much for me as for him. It's as much selfish as generous. And I think maybe a part of fixing that is what I've been ignoring my whole life. I need to grow up and move on, and be a proper sister to him, instead of just a needy, spoiled brat."

Mouse had caught the movement across the room out of the corner of her eye. Michael was coming back. He almost on top of them by the time she'd finished the sentence.

"Fine. Go ahead," Melanie said. "I don't entirely believe you, but if you believe you, go ahead and try. Just don't complicate his life. He needs fewer complications, not more. And I'll be ready to cut you off at the ankles if I think you're messing him up."

That was all Melanie could get out before Michael was in ear shot. Mouse glared at her. Even though most of what she'd presented was a twisted, fabricated lie, she still broiled at the veiled accusation, at the idea that she wasn't true to her word, or worse, that she was selfishly doing something that would hurt Michael in the end.

It was just like always. Melanie thought she had a monopoly on her little brother Michael. Being the oldest, and with her particular personality quirks, she thought she knew what was best for everyone. Big Sister Melanie was everyone's mother, Michael's and hers both, since as long as she could remember.

Mouse went back to her meal, fuming just a little, but feeling energized, too. She was giving Michael something Melanie never could or would. She was for Michael what no other woman ever could be. None of them were his little sister. None of them loved and wanted him the way that she did. Certainly none of them could be both at once.

Mouse stared at Melanie as she chewed her food in angry substitute for a loud argument. Melanie stared back, finally starting into her own meal, as Mouse defiantly imagined sitting in Michael's lap and kissing him passionately, right here, right in front of their sister and everyone in the restaurant.

Mouse hated being told what to do.

* * *

It had happened so quickly. On the way home, she and Michael had quickly gotten into an argument, right there in front of Melanie. It was nothing big, but Mouse had carefully picked all of the wrong things to say, like an insane soldier purposely jumping from one detonator to the next in a well laid minefield.

She'd actually planned the whole thing out, in a way, days ago. It served a purpose. It put Melanie off guard, almost certainly confirming what she already believed, which was that any attempt at reconciliation by Mouse would fail, and in the end Melanie would be there to pick up the pieces, and have little brother Michael all to herself to mother and control.

At the same time, it served another need as well. Mouse liked it when she and Michael fought, and she liked it when they fucked afterward in silly, spat-fueled anger.

Melanie quietly drove while they bickered. She could see the gears grinding in Melanie's head, as she discounted everything Mouse had said to her, mislead as always by the way that she and Michael interacted. Melanie couldn't understand, and wasn't supposed to.

All the way home, Mouse got her brother more and more pissed, filling him with a passion that would soon feed her own needs, when she would make it all up to him, and more. It hadn't taken much. Melanie had barely driven away, no doubt with a satisfied grin, when Michael and Mouse were at each other, but in a different way than their big sister ever could have guessed.

Mouse had already spent the night in an outfit she'd concocted at work, a clinging, flesh colored yarn-mesh minidress, with a matching beret and leg warmers, sporting a hem and neck line designed to almost show whatever she shouldn't, while hugging her hips and breasts in pleasing, eye drawing curves. No one could slut strut, as she and her friends had termed it, the way Mouse could for any man, but especially the way she did for her sweet brother Michael.

Once they were home she added a little wiggle to a mischievously sexy glance full of longing and hesitation, spiced with a touch of apparent, playful fear. His sweet little sister looked timidly his way, achingly inviting him to conquer her sudden shyness. His anger melted away. He took control, and he took her the way that she needed him to. She loved it when he filled his needs, and hers, by forcibly and so inappropriately taking it from her.

Now she had him again, inside of her, pummeling her with the awesome power of his so familiar body. They became one inform again, moving in frenzied, combative unison, trying to force pleasure onto each other, and so to take even more joy from the experience.

This was their last night together for a painful stretch. Tomorrow she'd have to return to Chicago again, to work, to designing clothes, to dancing, and to her friends her age, in a life utterly without him. This was their last chance, for weeks or more probably months, to enjoy each other's warmth and touch.

She breathed in his unique, personal, manly scent. His hands delighted her by roaming over her body in and endless quest to feel every part of her at once. He forced her down into the bed with his harsh thrusts as she raised her mouth to meet his, savoring that deepest, most loving and erotic of kisses. It was the forbidden incestuous kiss of the wonderful, protecting older brother who fucked her rhythmically into the mattress.

Through the kiss an unwelcome thought again intruded. What if this kiss, and this joining, were the last? As hard as she tried, the thought couldn't be banished. It brought her down from the highest of highs. She couldn't stand it. She never knew when he might come to his senses, or think he was coming to his senses. She never knew when he might call her and say that it all had to stop.

"Fuck me, Michael. Fuck you baby sister," she pleaded in an excitement raised pitch, the squeal of a desperate, lust crazed slut.

She arched her back, writhing in a way that she knew drove Michael crazy. It moved his cock inside of her in amazing ways, while giving him a twisting, morphing, erotic feel for her body that had to make him appreciate her that much more. No other woman could give him what she did, she was sure of it, and she would always make sure of it. She would be a whore for him. She wanted to be a dirty, begging whore for him, and only him. She would be anything he wanted, whenever he wanted, in order to keep him for herself.

Incest was hard. With Michael it was wonderful, and perfect, and meant to be, but it was also a fountain of doubt, and torment, and guilt, and uncertainty. She knew she handled it better than him, and she tried to guide him through it. She had always been stronger than him, in some ways. She'd always been more rebellious and free.

He'd always been in chains. For him, he'd had to please Mom and Dad. He had to please Melanie. He had to please his boss and his friends and everyone else. He was strong in that way, that he could sacrifice himself for everyone else, but it put him in chains. He had a drive to always, always do the right thing. He had to please everyone before he pleased himself.

He even had to please her. She'd always known that. Above and beyond everyone else, he'd always had an insurmountable need to please her.

But what would happen when pleasing her meant doing the wrong thing?

She smiled to herself. She could never be sure. He was so important to her, that she'd never, ever stop worrying. But she at least in this brief moment knew that he would never leave her. If anything in the world could make him do the wrong thing, for the right reasons, it was his love for her.

* * *

Michael tossed his keys carelessly on the counter. The echo of their brief, tinny clatter seemed louder now. The whole house seemed empty without her. He hadn't even reached the edge of the airport when he was already planning another trip in his head to Chicago.

He had even played whimsically with more permanent arrangements, as ridiculous and ultimately unworkable as the idea might be. He toyed with the idea of asking her to move back home, or of transferring to Chicago.

There was a paper left on the table. She'd done that once before. The memory of the confusion and excitement of that note set his neck and back hair on edge. Michael felt a small smile tugging at his mouth. He always felt down, but vibrantly alive, whenever he and Mouse separated. He felt lonely with her gone, but energized and younger in the afterglow of her visits. Everything, every sight or sound or memory, seemed more crisp and clear to him.

The paper had one of Mouse's trademark cartoons, quickly scribbled in one corner, no bigger than his thumb. It showed a sexy little mouse, with comical lips and eyelashes, and the most meager of feminine figures. This time the mouse precariously balanced a huge heart, as big as itself, against its chest, while struggling to keep from toppling over itself. The words on the page were brief, and so very typical of Mouse:

Mikey,

I don't know why this is so hard. At this point there is nothing that I shouldn't be able to say to you, and share with you. You and I are one like no lovers in the world ever have been or ever could be. We are special together in a way that no one else can ever understand.

But it's always been hard for me to say I'm sorry. I am sorry for all the times I've hurt you, but you have to know that every bit of pain I ever caused you was a caress. Every nasty comment or vicious barb was a plea to get you to notice me. Every sting was in fact a passionate, loving, unquenchable kiss, because I love you and I have always loved you, in the right way, and in all the wrong and improper ways, no matter what anyone in the world says or thinks.

I know you know all of this. But I like writing it. I could never bring myself to say I'm sorry to your face, but I am.

I love you.

And I hope that Melanie finds this before you do.

Love, Joey

P.S. Melanie, if you're snooping around Michael's house and you find this, it serves you right. I hope your heart is pounding now in a mix of panic and rage. And yes, in case there's any doubt, he fucked me last night with a beauty that you can't begin to imagine.

*

From the Author:

This story is a snapshot of some of the events that happen to Mouse and Michael. It happens at some point after Book 2 and Before Book 4 of the Mouse stories.

If you haven't read Mouse, and you enjoyed this, then you should start from the beginning with Book 1 of Mouse, and read all seven books to learn how they stayed apart, came together, struggled through the stigma and complications of the choices they made, and where they finally wound up.