Gaydas Touch
[WARNINGS: This is a derivative work of fiction, and the characters belong not to I. If you have a problem with fictional representations of incest, I STRONGLY advise against reading further. Thank you.
Note: Hi! These are my words, I first blurted them on the Elsannafervor tumblr based on the "Texts From Last Night" drabble challenge. First is the TFLN prompt, followed by the ficlet. As said in the description, each chapter is a separate work and they are all different modern AUs; none of them have the same basic plot. Anyway, here you go! -Jess ]
(213): She's like the King Midas of sexual confusion. Everything she touches turns to gay.
Yeah, I know she's my sister. I know we're only supposed to be sisters and that's it. Thing is, ever since Elsa came out one morning at the breakfast table, leaving my parents' jaws slamming into the floor… she's all I can think about. Isn't that weird?
By itself, it is. Much weirder is the fact that it got so much worse when she started touching me. A lot. Not even in a sexual way, either! Maybe in her mind, it was just freeing that her identity was out in the open now, and so she stopped holding herself in check the way she used to. I never thought about it before, but she was almost touch-phobic before she came out. Now? Hair-brushing, hand-holding. Massages everywhere – and I mean everywhere. I'm practically jumping her already, and she doesn't think of me any way except as her sister. This is utter torture!
Her smell lingers in the air every time she leaves my room. I'm dropping subtle hints that I wish I knew what made that particular scent, but she hasn't caught on. Most importantly, she hasn't caught on that I want to know so I can go buy some of my own, if it's a perfume or body spray or lotion or whatever it is, and rub it on myself, my bed sheets, my walls, my ceiling.
But I think she's starting to figure it out. She offered to step on my back one night while I was complaining about being sore, and I let her. The noises I made… were not platonic sisterly noises, and barely qualified as pain-relief noises. For the first time, she looked a little uncomfortable when she left. But not mad or sad or scared, just like… unsure, I guess.
Hang on, that's her knocking now. She says she wants to borrow me for a few hours to help her with some henna. Who knows how this will go?
~ o ~
