Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 03

Mouse looked at him intently, without blinking. Michael couldn't tell if her temper was building, or if she were coldly calculating what to say.

"Alright, look. First, I don't think it's all that wrong," Mouse said, soberly and with a ludicrous air of confidence. He looked at her in disbelief.

"Do you feel guilty?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, so do I, a bit," she conceded. "That's part of the fun, I think. I've been wrestling with this urge for years. I've thought about it often enough.

"Incest excites me," she confessed quietly. "A lot. Incest with you excites me a lot, lot, lot. Lots of people get excited by what they aren't allowed to do, and a lot of it is, to me, sicker than incest. People pee on each other. People dress in diapers and spank each other. People play sado-masochistic games. Men have sex with men, and women with women, which, by the way, sort of excites me, too."

She paused to gauge his reaction. He definitely perked up.

"I thought you'd like that," she said, smiling.

Mouse went on. "Everyone gets excited by something society won't let them do, by something wicked. Extra-marital sex is the most alluring taboo, and the easiest taboo to break."

That one hit close to home. She watched the blood drain quickly from his face. It was thoughtless of her. She immediately regretted it.

"Sorry. But it's true. It's exciting because it's not allowed. Homosexuality, too. A lot of normal men and women have homosexual fantasies."

She paused again. His face was like stone.

"Hmmmm. Maybe we'll discuss that later, too."

"Definitely not," was his cold response.

"Okay, whatever. Look, incest excites the hell out of me, and you too, it seems. Society doesn't want us to do it just because most people are repulsed by it, but I'm not most people. I've never let anyone else run my life, and you shouldn't let them run yours, either."

Mouse reached over to hold his hand in hers.

"But maybe we've gone far enough. Maybe now we should stop."

"Hey, I didn't start this, you did," she stated flatly.

The truth of the accusation startled him, even though he'd been thinking it for days.

"I haven't been obsessed with incest for years," he countered emphatically.

"No? I think you lie. But either way, I didn't kiss you, you kissed me. Repeatedly."

She paused for only a moment. She slid over beside him, moving her face toward his, putting her mouth against his ear, before going quickly on, incongruously gentle in her tone.

"You put my hands on your cock. You fucked me. You fucked your sister. You picked me up and lowered me onto your cock. You put yourself inside your baby sister and fucked her and fucked her and fucked her. I didn't do anything. I stood there. I didn't lift a finger, until you put my hands on your cock. I didn't even kiss you back until I was ready to explode.

"You fucked me. It was all you. I was drunk and you, you virtually raped me," she finished, breathing the last words straight into his ear.

He felt her warm breath, and the soft feel of her hand on his. He tried to keep his eyes on the road.

"I couldn't help it," he said. To his own ears it sounded like a whine. He took a moment to compose himself better.

"I don't know why I did it, I really don't. Maybe that's why I feel so much more guilty than you. Because I did it, I started it."

He kept his eyes forward, on the road, unable to meet her stare.

Mouse softened.

"You did it because you love me," she breathed into his ear. "You did it because you want me."

"You did it because it excites you," she continued huskily, closing her eyes. "Just like it excites me."

She kissed his neck and his cheek and ear. From there she moved around, kissing every inch of skin she could find. She continued for quite a while, all the time tracing circling patterns on his hand with a fingertip.

"Mouse?" he whispered gently.

"Hmmm?" she answered. She opened her eyes and a fog seemed to lift from them, as if she suddenly remembered where she was.

"Look," she whispered directly into his ears, closing her eyes again. "I've wanted you for years, and I had long ago decided I couldn't have you.

"The best I could do was to flirt with you, and tease you and fight with you," she continued. "Maybe that was my way of fucking you, maybe, right in front of everybody. Every jab, every comment, every insult was another incestuous fuck. It was all I had, so I did it. And I liked it. But I like this better. Much better."

She pulled away, just a bit, to stare intently at him. He cast a quick glance her way, then forced his eyes quickly back to the road.

"I was wrong not to give in," she continued. " You were right. You were right to take me. You were right to make me do it. This is what I wanted, and it was wrong to fight it. I want to love you, and I want to make love to you, and I want to make you come as much as I can.

"If I could, I'd go out and fuck you in the street, where everyone can see, but we can't. So I want to do this. I'll fight with you when we're out there, fuck you that way, the way I'm used to, the way I'm allowed to when anyone is watching. Then I want to take you back home and fuck you right, fuck you the way only your little sister can, and get fucked the way only my big, big brother can."

Michael was lost now, totally confused and lost. He thought he understood her, if not himself, but lust clouded everything.

"How long can we keep it up? How long before one of us comes to their senses, and the other gets hurt?" he asked. "How long before we ruin our relationship forever?"

She laughed and kissed him again, and smiled at him. "I doubt I'll tire of you first, not the way you've been able to perform. And I'll work very hard at keeping you interested. I think I can do it."

"I'm sure you can."

She kissed him again. She settled against his shoulder, still tracing circles on his hand.

"And I swear that we will always, always love each other, not matter what happens," she added.

"But what about my guilt?" Michael pushed.

"Enjoy it. It's part of what makes it special. Just know that you're a good person, and you're not hurting me or yourself. Look, how do you feel now?" Mouse asked.

"Guilty."

"And?"

"Excited."

"And?"

"Guilty."

"Yes, yes, I got that part. And?" Mouse pressed.

"Happy?" Michael guessed.

"That's right. For the first time in years, you aren't acting like a depressed dolt. 'Oh, woe is me.' You're happy. You're allowed to be happy! We're all allowed to be happy, and it's not quite right for everyone else to say that you and I can't be happy, just because it turns out that what we want isn't... conventional."

<8 Dinner

Once at their sister's house, as soon as he put the car in park, Mouse leaned over to kiss him. He had expected a quick peck, but she soon made it more passionate. He opened his door in mid kiss and stepped out.

"Mouse!" he barked softly. "Are you crazy?"

"Oh, they aren't going to look out the window," she teased.

"You just get a thrill out of pushing it," he snapped back.

"Yup," she said, with a wide, tight-lipped smile.

He hurried up the walk toward the door before she could get out of the car, using long strides, trying to stay ahead of her. She scurried after him, using two tiny steps for every loping one of his, trying to catch up. She was just in time to grab his hand and give it a squeeze before their father opened the door.

"Oh, look, the 'mother of all battles' has arrived. Or should I say the 'brother and sister of all battles'?" he joked. Mouse made a show of rolling her eyes at him. Their mother cruised in to drag Michael away by the arm, leaving their father to offer his to Mouse. She curtsied playfully, took his arm, put her nose in the air theatrically and glided into the dining room.

They were late, as was always expected when Mouse was involved. Everyone else had already taken their places at the table. Dan and Melanie sat at the ends, with their three kids arrayed between them along one side, boy-girl-boy, with one more chair beside Melanie, for Mouse. The youngest, Rick, had claimed the seat beside the empty chair left for Aunt Mona. He'd always had an obvious crush on her. Mouse encouraged it by blatantly flirting.

If Mouse squeezed onto that side, between Rick and Melanie, then Michael would sit on the opposite side, kitty-corner to her, between Melanie's husband and their father, who was beside their mother who was across from Mouse. It was a typically sensible family arrangement, carefully planned to keep the anniversary couple together and Michael and Mouse far, far apart.

Mouse was still wearing his shirt. Melanie appeared to notice, giving Mouse a cold once over, but that could have been an ordinary sign of general disapproval of her attire. Everyone probably noticed, Michael thought, but no one said anything. They probably assumed she did it to annoy Michael. With it she wore painfully high-heeled red leather boots, white stockings, a red leather skirt, and a red leather tie. The effect was a mix of business and pleasure, sex on bottom and conservative faux masculinity on top.

But the heart of the outfit was underneath, again. It wasn't entirely clear, but to anyone that looked there was probably a red bustier under the shirt, one that stopped just around her nipples. It had the effect of pushing her bust up and out, straining against the tightly tucked in shirt. A red beret, subtle eye shadow and bright red glossy lipstick topped the effect, adding just enough "french whore" to push the ensemble over the top.

The effect was fantastic, Michael thought. She was definitely an artist. Poor Rick was probably dying to get up to his room to jack off.

It was funny. Last night he would have been fuming at her choice of clothes, angered and jealous that she could dress that way for other men, while no one dressed that way for him. Tonight, she was dressed that way for him.

In fact, other nights she might often have been dressed that way for him, too. He just didn't know it. But tonight he could look at the hint of the bustier underneath, and the tight skirt hugging her ass, with a tantalizing offer of sex in the opening below the hem. It was all waiting for him, if he could just get through dinner and the subsequent after dinner coffee with cream and small talk. Then it would be a quick race to get home.

Michael really wasn't sure how he was going to survive an evening of teasing and torment. And he couldn't wait to try.

* * *

Melanie watched Mouse and Michael carefully. She would have been doing that anyway, just to keep things under control. There was no way she was going to allow open warfare in her own house. But something else was going on this weekend, something strange.

Michael and Mouse weren't like oil and water. They were more like thunder and lightning. It wasn't that they didn't mix, but rather that when they did, there was always turbulent noise and bright flashes of light and tree splitting bolts of violence, all from the terrible forces they unleashed. Everyone had to run for cover.

Just now, Michael was somberly fiddling with his food, in the self absorbed, introspective way he had. He didn't realize that Mouse was looking at him the whole time, with soft concern settled on her face.

She had such a crush on him, Melanie thought to herself, and he on her. They'd always had. Neither of them recognized it, but Melanie did. Mouse constantly admired and chased after Michael. Her teasing was obviously a backhanded way of flirting. If he really annoyed her that much, she could just avoid him.

Michael was a little harder to read. He did avoid her as much as he could, but Melanie could hear the admiration in his voice whenever he talked about her, when Mouse wasn't around to hear it for herself.

Melanie could understand Mouse's attraction to him. She felt it somewhat, herself. His sober, sad demeanor could be sexy, in a way. Physically, he wasn't good looking in a classical sense, but he had a tender strength about him, something that made him seem to be both a protector and in need of protection himself. Every woman wants someone strong that they can still mother, Melanie thought. And his eyes were so warm. And, according to Mouse, he was pretty well hung, too.

Melanie shook off that line of thought, before it went too far. Michael was her brother, and Mouse's brother. He made a decent model for a fantasy man, but a model only. Michael himself was out of bounds to her, just like he was for Mouse, no matter how much they were attracted to each other.

If either of them realized it, Melanie thought with a smile, they'd both die. What a couple they'd make. They really would make a great couple. For about two days, before it imploded, Melanie added to herself, her smile widening further.

"What's so funny, dear?" her mother asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Oh, nothing, nothing, just happy to be around family," Melanie lied, quickly putting a bite of food into her mouth to avoid having to say more.

* * *

Dinner was the usual family affair. Michael couldn't say anything without a snide comment and a grin from Mouse. Mouse couldn't say much without a grumble or cough coming from Michael. Mother kept trying to steer the conversation into safer waters, navigating the sibling storm that always brewed around them.

All in all, though, they were more civil than usual. Melanie noticed. She also noticed that they seemed to make a lot more eye contact than usual, and every time they did one or both of them would have just the faintest trace of a smile. Michael didn't totally avoid Mouse the way he usually did. He even let her sit beside him, on the arm of his chair, after dinner. Later, they stood side by side, almost touching, as they all raised their glasses in a toast to their loving parents, Mr. and Mrs. Castillo.

At one point Melanie mentioned to Michael that Nancy, the woman from the party, had asked about him. He coldly shrugged it off, saying he wasn't very interested. She hadn't expected a lot, but she thought he should give it a chance. He firmly declined.

Before leaving, Mouse went upstairs to use the bathroom. Michael followed her soon after, and that piqued Melanie's interest. She made a show of going to the kitchen to get more coffee, but instead took the back route up the stairs soon after her brother. Near the top she could hear them whispering. Mouse giggled some, and Michael snapped at her. That sounded normal. She couldn't make out too much of the conversation, only scraps.

* * *

"You're not playing the game well, Michael," Mouse said teasingly.

"What's that mean?"

"I mean you're acting differently."

"Things are different! It's really hard not to..."

"Look, we've done this for years, for all our lives," Mouse interrupted. "We're good at it. I insult you, I try as hard as I can to get under your skin. I succeed easily. You get mad and sulk. Then you make a lame attempt to get even. You don't just sit and quietly take it, you certainly don't laugh with me. Come on, put some feeling into it. We hate each other, remember?"

Michael looked down at her stern expression. He bent to give her a quick peck on the lips. She responded readily. As soon as he stood up, she reached up to wipe the lipstick traces from his mouth.

"Oh, that would really do!" she scolded. "You're a wreck at this, you know."

"Sorry," he skulked.

"That's the idea. Stick with that. Droop your shoulders and act perpetually sorry. It works for you. And don't keep moving next to me! It's out of character, and worse yet it's killing me. I keep wanting to pounce on you right then and there."

* * *

There was long period of quiet before Mouse came out of the bathroom, followed by Michael. At that moment, Melanie pretended to be just reaching the top of the staircase. Mouse smiled at her as they passed, calling back to Michael. "Come on, meathead, the party will be so dull without you." Then she quick stepped down the stairs, while Michael rolled his eyes at Melanie, patiently following Mouse down. Melanie stood there, trying to sort out the meaning behind the bits and pieces she'd overheard.

* * *

The entire evening had seemed to pass slowly, tormentingly at the time. Every moment was filled with thoughts of sex and secrecy and subterfuge, creating a tension that made them both feel they were about to burst. One moment he was worried about what Melanie might be thinking, the next he was fighting an erection as Mouse stared at him meaningfully. After that she would take a verbal jab at him, and he'd try hard to stay in character. Stay in character, as if he was playing himself in a movie. The whole thing was tedious.

And yet, when it was finally over, it felt as if the dinner had flown by, so they were walking out the front door seemingly in the same moment they had entered, as if nothing at all had transpired. He stepped out into the crisp, summer night air first, obviously more eager to get home, or more willing to show it. That certainly wasn't out of character, he thought, although he did wonder where his earlier apprehensions had gone.

Right now he felt no shame, only anticipation, in trying to get alone with Mouse.

He was a few steps away before he realized that she wasn't right behind him. Not wanting to be too far from her, he stopped and turned on the walkway, waiting there for her.

Mouse lingered at the door, kissing Melanie and her mom on the cheeks, giving her dad a big, long, tight hug and a smile, telling them all she'd be home again as soon as she could, sooner than usual. She said she missed them all very much, and was getting lonely in Chicago. Mom told her she could always move home, making Mouse roll her eyes.

"You always say that, Mom."

"Yes, but you've never acted homesick before," her father replied gently.

That appeared to catch Mouse off guard. Michael thought she might actually cry. Obviously, he wasn't the only one acting out of character, although in all of the complexities of the night, neither he nor Mouse had realized it. The smile she wore now was forced, but she beamed at them all nonetheless. Mouse abruptly turned to scamper down the walkway, her eyes locked firmly on the ground ahead, while her parents echoed a chorus of "have a nice flight" and "keep safe" and other standard goodbye pleasantries.

* * *

When they first sat in the car, Mouse took a deep, audible breath. She turned her head to him, keeping her shoulders squared to the front. "Well, that's over," she exhaled.

He was looking thoughtfully out the front windshield himself. Without turning to her he started the car and put it in drive, while answering tersely, "yup."

Minutes ago he had been dying to touch her and to have her touch him. But now he was suddenly despondent, feeling sorry for her, sorry for himself, knowing how lonely she really was, and knowing how lonely he'd feel again this time tomorrow afternoon, when she was on the plane flying home. A little more than half a day from now everything would change. Again.

He felt like Cinderella after midnight. Actually, he felt more like the pumpkin.

Mouse didn't let the somber mood last long. She easily sensed where his head was at. She slid over to nuzzle his shoulder, then nibble on his ear and his neck. "Are you ready?" she whispered, breathing the words into his ear. The moist warmth of her breath hit him. "I thought of so many things to do to you tonight, could you tell?" He didn't turn to look, but he could sense her grinning. Her tongue flicked his ear, then bit the lobe gently, and then her hand was tracing it's way up his thigh to his crotch.

"I still feel guilty, Mouse," he cut in.

"Mmmmm hmmmm?" she replied, only half listening, tracing lines towards his crotch with a single fingernail, but teasing him and herself both by constantly stopping short and starting over.