Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 03

"Come on, I'm utterly spent. It's like you're a vampire woman, draining the life from me. Let's go to bed."

He reached his hand out, and she took it and let him lead her up the stairs.

Once there, they separated to pursue their normal bedtime routines. He dragged through his, exhausted, forcing himself to stumble vacuously through each task. Meanwhile, she bubbled around the whole upstairs, going in and out of her room and the bathroom several times, singing, shouting comments down the hall, acting like it was a teenage sleepover.

When he was ready he went to his doorway, wearing simple pajama bottoms without the top, to wait for her. He impatiently listened to her brush her teeth, run the water, and clatter around with who knew what.

He was shocked when she came out wearing a set of overlarge, baggy, flannel pajamas. She beamed another smile at him and blew him a kiss good night, then left him stunned as she spun away, disappearing into the guest room. She closed the door behind her.

It was a while before he gave up, turned out the light and stumbled into bed.

It didn't take long for her to come in. She'd since changed into a simple, green satin slip, one that hugged her curves sweetly. He watched her through half closed eyes, fighting sleep, as she slid under the sheets beside him, placing her head on his chest, and brushing her hands across his ribs.

"Get a good night's sleep, darling," she whispered softly. "I want you to fuck me one more time, bright and early before we leave to catch my plane. One more delicious time."

He was regrettably asleep before she had finished the sentence.

* * *

It was still dark when he drifted out of sleep, looking down to see his cock pulled out of his pajamas, half erect and withstanding a torrent of kisses and licks from Mouse. A glance at the clock showed it was almost half past four.

"What happened to a good night's sleep?" he whispered gravelly, as if trying not to wake anyone up. Goon, he thought to himself. Stupid fool.

She lowered her mouth fully down his shaft as it hardened further.

"I promised you a blow job. I don't want you to complain that you were robbed."

"I haven't gone down on you, either," he pointed out. "Or hardly at all."

"Yeah, " she said, stopping abruptly. "What's with that? Are you a prude?"

"Oh, yeah, I'll fuck my sister, but I won't lick pussy. Right."

"So? What's your excuse?"

"You've never given me a chance. Anyway... I'm too good at it."

"Yeah?" Mouse said, half sitting up, intrigued.

"Yeah."

"How about now?" she offered, swinging her legs toward his head, then running a single big toe erotically across his brow.

"Nope," he answered.

"What? Why not?" she demanded.

He didn't answer her. Instead he lunged at her, held her down, and slowly worked his way inside her. The sudden violence of it caught her off guard, but she took him easily and gladly.

They fucked, then, but in a quiet, passionate and tender way. No more dirty talk, no teasing or play acting. Both instinctively sensed that each needed this last joining to be simpler, more natural, more tender. They kissed, moved, touched, breathed, and panted. It wasn't quiet, they couldn't be quiet, but it was tender and good, a good last fuck for an incredible weekend.

<8 Farewells

Mouse was annoyingly quiet that morning, barely saying a word, and voicing what she did say only in soft whispers. She looked at him a lot, and touched him whenever she could, but her silence was driving him crazy. He tried to draw her out with small talk and questions. He got only curt whispers for answers, nothing more.

When she was packed he carried her bags out to the car, while she watched him soberly from just inside the door. Once everything was in the trunk, he waited beside the car. She showed no sign of joining him. He eventually walked up the steps toward her.

"Coming?" he asked gently, stopping a few steps short of the threshold.

She looked down, then back into his house, then back at him. "Yes," she said tersely, stepping out, pulling the door closed behind her. It locked with a distinctly loud click, the only sound, it seemed, on the earth at that particular moment.

He walked around to open her car door for her. She smiled up at him weakly, then climbed in. He closed the door behind her.

He looked at her worriedly before starting the car and backing out. He continued to glance her way until he knew she still wasn't going to talk. She faced the opposite way, looking somberly out the car window, watching a lot of nothing much coast by.

Ten minutes passed before she sighed, moved over and snuggled up against him. He offered her his hand, which she stared at and held, tracing a path back and forth across his knuckles with a lone finger nail, left, then right, then left again, then up his arm and down again, and back and forth across the knuckles some more.

The tension was driving him crazy, but he didn't know how to ease it.

"Stop moping, you're doing it wrong," he tried, joking.

There was no answer.

"Come on, Mouse. Let's not change roles now. I'm the depressed one. You're the cheerful one. Remember?"

She shifted uneasily, then settled back into his shoulder.

"We have a warehouse in Chicago," he offered, "out in the western suburbs there. They've been messing things up a lot lately. I really need to go have a look with my own eyes."

He felt her head jerk up at that, off of his shoulder, looking at him. She came slowly alive with this, pushing away and sitting upright.

"Well don't think you can stay with me! My apartment's too small, it's only a one bedroom. You obviously won't fit on my couch. People will guess where you're sleeping. They'll talk."

"You've got to be kidding me, Mouse."

She giggled at him. "Just a little. But the walls are really thin there. I can hear every whisper anyone makes, and I know they can hear me at night.", she said with a cute little conspiratorial half wink. "They will absolutely know what's going on. We'd be sent to prison. And even if they didn't have the nerve, I couldn't talk dirty. That they would hear for certain, every delicious, entertaining word. That means no 'fuck me brother' or 'nail your little sister' or my personal favorite, 'nail your incestuous baby sister whore to the bed'. Nothing," she ended, arousing herself enough to move her hand to his thigh.

"Okay, the company will pay anyway. I'll get a room. One with thick walls. But I don't think it can be in the city. Maybe. I'll see."

"I'd rather drive out to see you, there," Mouse agreed. "Far from my place. Then I can make all the filthy noises I want," she rallied, leering provocatively.

They drove a while longer in silence, but a more comfortable silence.

"It must be nice being a vice president," Mouse commented. "You're such a catch. I can't believe that bitch wife of yours let you get away."

"Yeah, what a catch. A big, fat, balding man in his 40s who's struggling through a midlife crisis by fucking his kid sister. Some catch."

"Sounds like the perfect man to me," she chirped, leaning over to hold his arm and lean on his shoulder once more. "Glad I can help," she added, then kissed him gently on the cheek. She slipped her hand up inside his shirt to play with his chest hairs.

"As part of this supposed midlife crisis, could you get a new car, a convertible?" she suggested hopefully. "I'd like something a little classier looking to ride in when I come visit again."

"Golddigger!"

"Hey, I'm a whore, remember? A whore's got to be paid for her time."

"Incestuous whores don't. They do it because they love it."

"How would you know? How many other incestuous whores have you had? I'm sending you a bill as soon as I get home. And I want a good tip, too."

"You've already had the tip. And more."

It struck him that their dirty banter would probably shock and bore anyone listening. It was all so adolescent. But he liked it. Loved it.

Her hand started to make it's way down, yet again, toward his crotch. She caught herself and jerked back, knowing there was no way to finish. Michael was grateful, because he didn't think he could even get an erection again for at least a month.

"And then there's phone sex," he added out of nowhere.

"That sounds fun, but old fashioned. Let's use web-cams for Internet video sex."

"Hmmmmm."

"I can even record it, and watch it later. Show it to my friends," she teased, or so he hoped.

He glanced at her to see if she was serious. He still wasn't sure.

"What I really want to do... I'm going to wait a while. You know, a reasonable period of mourning," she said, twirling a strand of his chest hair round and round, then pulling so it hurt.

"Then I'm going to date a guy named Michael," she elaborated, "and bring him home. I'll call you before we start, and leave the phone on, and let him fuck me. I'll let you listen, and I'll scream 'Michael, oh, Michael, oh yes Michael' the whole time."

"I thought you said the walls were thin." He felt a sudden, painful wave of jealousy at the image of Mouse with another man, even if it was just a fantasy for his sake, or so he hoped.

"I'm not a nun!" Mouse exclaimed. "If they can't take one-night-stand sex, they can move. You think I'm kidding. Just wait."

"Mouse, I certainly know that you are not a nun."

* * *

They were mostly quiet the rest of the way, but her mood had improved. They navigated the airport easily enough, eventually making their way to her gate.

This was it. They stood toe-to-toe, little Mouse running her finger in figure eights on his shirt front, then looking up at him with a smile. It had occurred to him that their parents or Melanie could easily show up to see her off, so the public affection made him palpably nervous.

"No regrets?" she asked, a slight falter in her smile betraying a hint of uncertainty.

"No regrets," he answered firmly, meaning it fully. "Honestly. None."

He was rewarded with her beaming smile. He bathed himself in it.

Mouse took a quick glance around, then dared to give her brother a public, longish, maybe-maybe-not un-sisterly kiss. When she broke it she looked at him and almost laughed, he looked so frightened. Seeing him that way, she lost all restraint. She reached up to kiss him again. This time she quickly pushed her tongue into his mouth before pulling away, all before he could panic completely.

"Dork," she said, scowling.

"Slut," he countered, with feeling.

They glowered at each other a moment. Neither knew which broke into a smile first.

She grabbed his hands, pressing a piece of paper into his palm. She pressed the tips of two of her fingers first to her own lips, then to his, holding them there as she backed away. Abruptly she pulled them away, turned and strolled to the gateway.

Mouse handed the attendant her boarding pass. She glanced back at Michael, beaming a smile, then waved and scurried through the gate, and was gone from sight.

Michael opened the paper in his hand. It was a cartoon picture of a mouse standing on a man's thick hand. The mouse was wearing lingerie and high heels, with long eyelashes and lipstick. Going over the top as usual, she had also added pubic hair and nipples. Its eyes were half-closed in ecstasy above a little mouth set in an "o". There was only one written word.

"Squeak."