u/throwsawaydev

This post is a little different from our hormone fueled fuck fests. But we wanted to give you a fly on the wall insight after what happened that night. Thanks again!

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The lights flicked on with a harsh click. Mom stood in the doorway, her hand still on the switch, her body rigid as a statue. Her eyes were fixed on me, then on Abby beside me, naked and asleep, one arm thrown across my chest. The expression on her face was one I had never seen before. Not anger, not disappointment. Something worse. Something that made my stomach drop through the floor.

“BRIAN! EXPLAIN!”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Abby shot upright beside me with a piercing scream that seemed to crack the drywall. She scrambled backward, dragging the blanket with her, wrapping it around her body in a frantic tangle. Her eyes were wide, panicked, darting between Mom and me and the empty spaces of the room as if looking for somewhere to hide that didn’t exist.

Mom’s jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitching in her cheek. Her eyes were wet, but her voice was ice cold.

“Brian, get dressed and get in the kitchen.” She turned her gaze to Abby, who had pulled the blanket up to her chin, her knees drawn to her chest. “Abby, get some clothes on and get down there too.”

She turned on her heel and walked down the hall. Each step was measured, deliberate, the sound of her shoes on the hardwood floor echoing through the silent house like gunshots.

Abby was still crying. Not the dramatic, performative crying she sometimes did when she was frustrated. This was real. Her shoulders shook with each sob, her face buried in the blanket she’d wrapped around herself. When she finally looked up at me, her eyes were red and swollen, her face splotchy with the kind of crying that leaves marks.

“I need to go,” she managed, her voice breaking. She clutched the blanket tighter around her body and slid off the bed, her bare feet padding across my floor. At the door, she paused, glanced back at me with something between terror and apology in her eyes, then disappeared into the bathroom. I heard her bedroom door open and close behind her, the door clicking softly into place.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands gripping the sheets on either side of me. The room smelled like us... sweat and sex and that faint jasmine scent from Abby’s shower gel. My stomach churned with a nausea that had nothing to do with food.

This was it. The moment I had pushed to the back of my mind every time I kissed my sister, every time I made her laugh, every time I held her and told her I loved her. The moment when the fantasy we’d built crashed into the real world where people had rules and consequences and mothers who walked in on their adult children fucking.

I pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and grabbed the first t-shirt I found. It was some faded band shirt from a concert I’d gone to years ago. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely get the shirt over my head. I took one look at my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. My hair was a disaster. My face was pale. I looked like someone who had just watched his entire life implode, which was exactly what was happening.

The walk downstairs felt like walking to my own execution. Each step was heavier than the last, the creak of the old wooden stairs loud enough to wake the dead. I could hear Mom moving around in the kitchen, the clink of a glass being set down, the scrape of a chair leg against tile.

She was sitting at the island when I entered, her back straight, her hands folded on the counter in front of her. She didn’t look up at me. The pizza box she’d brought home sat unopened beside her, the delivery sticker still on the lid.

“Mom,” I started, my voice catching in my throat. “I can explain…”

“Wait.” She held up a hand, still not looking at me. “Wait for your sister.”

I stood there, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, my hands shoved deep in the pockets of my shorts. The kitchen clock ticked. The refrigerator hummed. Somewhere outside, a car drove past, music thumping through its speakers. Life going on, indifferent to the disaster unfolding in our kitchen.

A few minutes later, Abby appeared at the top of the stairs. She had changed into sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, the hood pulled up over her head. Her face was red and blotchy, tear tracks still visible on her cheeks. She came down slowly, each step tentative, like she was walking on broken glass.

She sat on the stool next to Mom, pulling her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She looked small. Young. Nothing like the confident, take-no-shit woman who had been riding me hours earlier.

Mom looked at me. Her eyes were dry now, but the hurt in them was raw and exposed.

“Brian. Explain.”

I took a breath. Then another. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

“It started around Christmas,” I said, the words coming out in a rush. “After that whole thing with the nude photo on my phone. Abby saw it and... something changed. We started kind of flirting, I guess. Texting more. Sitting closer when we watched movies. It was stupid and I knew it was wrong but it just kept happening and it felt...” I paused, searching for a word that wouldn’t make everything worse. “It felt good. Really good. And then one night we kissed and after that we just... didn’t stop.”

Tears were falling now. I could feel them hot on my cheeks, but I didn’t wipe them away. I deserved this. Every second of it.

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I never wanted you to find out like this. I never wanted to hurt you. I just—”

“It was me.” Abby’s voice cut through mine, sharp and clear despite the tears. She straightened up on her stool, pushing her hood back. “I started it. All of it. The flirting, the first kiss, everything. Brian tried to stop it at first. I pushed. So if you’re going to blame someone, blame me.”

Mom looked at Abby, her expression softening just enough to be visible. “Honey, I just said to explain. I did not place any blame yet.”

The kitchen fell silent again. Abby and I exchanged a glance, a quick, desperate look that contained everything we couldn’t say out loud. I love you. I’m scared. What happens now?

We kept talking. Abby picked up where I left off, describing the night we first slept together, the trip to Phoenix, the countless times we’d been careful, the countless times we hadn’t. Mom listened without interrupting, her face a mask I couldn’t read. She nodded occasionally. Sometimes she closed her eyes, like she was trying to process something too big to fit in her head.

After what felt like hours but was probably closer to forty-five minutes, Mom held up a hand.

“Stop,” she said. “Just... stop.”

We stopped. The kitchen went quiet again, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional sniff from Abby as she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie.

Mom looked at us both, her gaze moving from my face to Abby’s and back again. Her expression had changed. The raw hurt was still there, but underneath it was something else. Something I couldn’t quite name.

“I need to tell you a story,” she said.

Mom folded her hands on the countertop and took a long breath. When she spoke, her voice had changed. Gone was the ice, the controlled anger. What replaced it was something softer, sadder, like she was reading from a story she’d memorized years ago and never wanted to tell.

“I need to tell you a story about your father’s sister,” she began. “Jules. Dad’s younger sister. She died about 8 years before he did. Brain cancer.”

“Aunt Jules was always sick, even as a kid,” Mom continued. “Headaches, fatigue, bruising easily. When she was fourteen, they found out it was leukemia. The aggressive kind.”

Mom’s fingers traced a pattern on the countertop, her eyes fixed on some middle distance between Abby and me.

“She lost all her hair within a month of starting treatment. Went from this vibrant, athletic girl to pale and frail practically overnight. Her boyfriend, this kid she’d been dating since middle school. He stopped coming by. Her friends too. One by one, they all drifted away. Can’t blame them, really. Teenagers don’t know how to handle that kind of thing. But it left her completely alone.”

A heavy silence filled the kitchen. I could picture it too clearly: a teenage girl in a hospital bed, bald and scared, watching her life empty out around her.

“Except for your father,” Mom said. “He was always there. Every day after school, every weekend. He had this... this magical ability with her. Five minutes in the room and she’d be smiling. Ten minutes and she’d be laughing. He’d bring her comics and magazines, or these stupid jokes he’d copied out of a book, or just sit there and let her talk about whatever she wanted. For hours. While all her other relationships fell apart, the one with your dad only got stronger.”

I thought of Dad. The man I remembered was quiet, steady, the kind of person who fixed things without being asked. I tried to imagine him as a teenager, sitting by his sister’s hospital bed, making her laugh through chemotherapy. The image fit, and that made something twist in my chest.

“Jules started to get better. The treatments worked. Her hair grew back, her color returned. But even healthy, she was different. Quieter. She kept to herself, didn’t make new friends. The only time she looked like herself was when your dad was around. They were inseparable. Hanging out constantly, doing everything together.”

Mom paused, her mouth tightening. “And then something changed. I don’t know exactly when it happened. Your father never gave me dates, and I never pushed. But at some point during their teens, the relationship stopped being just brother and sister.”

A gasp came from beside me. Abby’s hand had flown to her mouth, her eyes wide. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t look at anything except the grain of the countertop, because if I looked up I might fall apart.

“They kept it secret, of course. No one knew. Not their parents, not their friends. Jules beat the leukemia, got her health back, but the relationship with your father continued. All through high school, into their twenties. She never dated anyone else. Never showed interest in anyone else. And your father... he tried. Dated a few girls in college. But nothing stuck. Nothing felt right.”

Mom’s voice had dropped to almost a whisper. The kitchen felt airless, too small for the story unfolding in it.

“Jules was diagnosed with brain cancer when she was twenty-three. She fought it for two years. Your father was with her for every appointment, every treatment, every bad night. She died eighteen months before he did. And the whole time, even at the end, they were together. In every sense of the word.”

I heard another sharp intake of breath from Abby. A small, wounded sound. My own chest felt like it had been wrapped in something too tight.

“I found out about it a year after your father and I got married,” Mom said. “Found some letters. Old photos. Things he’d kept hidden. I was going to leave him. Packed a bag, called my sister, the whole thing. But we talked. For hours. And he told me the same thing I’m telling you now.”

Mom looked up, meeting my eyes directly for the first time since she’d started speaking.

“Jules couldn’t have children. The leukemia treatments damaged her reproductive system beyond repair. She was alone in the world except for him. And the only time she was truly happy, the only time she felt like herself, was when they were together. Not as siblings. As something else.”

The word hung in the air between us. Something else. The same phrase I’d used about Abby and me a hundred times in my own head, when I lay awake at night trying to make sense of what we were.

“Your father loved me,” Mom said, and there was no doubt in her voice. “He loved me completely. But he loved Jules too, in a way I could never compete with. Not because I wasn’t enough, but because what they had was... it was its own thing. Something forged in sickness and isolation and a bond I could never fully understand.”

I realized I was crying again. Silent tears this time, tracking down my cheeks without sobs to accompany them. Across the counter, Abby was crying too, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

Several times during Mom’s story, Abby had made these little shocked noises. Little sharp inhales, small gasps, each one hitting me like a physical blow. I hadn’t looked at her. I couldn’t. If I looked at her right now, with this story sitting between us like a live wire, I wasn’t sure what would happen.

But I was thinking about her. About the way she looked at me when no one else was watching. About the sound of her laugh, the weight of her body against mine, the way she knew exactly what I needed before I asked for it. I was thinking about Dad and Jules, about hospital rooms and secret kisses and a love that existed outside every rule I’d ever been taught.

And something in me, something that had been tied in knots since Mom flipped on the light in my bedroom, began to loosen.

“There’s more to the story,” Mom said, her voice softer now. “Personal things. Family things. But that’s enough for now. That’s the part you needed to hear.”

The kitchen felt different. The same fluorescent lights, the same pizza box on the counter, the same clock ticking on the wall. But the air between us had changed. Charged, somehow. Like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

“I’ve had this weird feeling,” Mom continued, “for months now. Couldn’t put my finger on it. Something was different between you two. Abby, you’ve been... present. At dinner, during movie nights. Not in your room with the door closed. Not snapping at every little thing I said. And your style…” She gestured at Abby’s hoodie, the faded band logo visible on the sleeve. “The black lipstick is gone. The safety pins. The whole punk thing you had going. It’s softened.”

I looked at Abby properly for the first time since Mom had started talking. She was still crying, but quietly now, tears tracking down her cheeks without sound. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, her face bare and vulnerable. She looked nothing like the girl who’d dyed her hair black at sixteen and refused to speak to anyone for a week.

My thoughts were racing so fast I could barely track them. My heart was pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape. What happened next? Grounding? Kicking me out? Calling some kind of family therapist who specialized in exactly this brand of fucked up? Every possible outcome flashed through my head, each one worse than the last.

Mom looked at me. Her eyes, so similar to mine in shape and color, held mine with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

“Brian,” she said. “Do you love your sister?”

The question hit me like a physical blow. Simple. Direct. Impossible to dodge.

“What?” The word came out smaller than I intended, barely more than a whisper.

“Your sister,” Mom repeated, her voice steady. “Do you love her?”

I turned to look at Abby. Really look at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face splotchy from crying, a strand of hair stuck to her damp cheek. She looked terrified. She looked beautiful. And as I held her gaze, something in my chest unknotted itself completely. The panic receded. My heartbeat slowed. My mind, which had been screaming in five different directions since Mom flipped on the light, went quiet.

I gave her a small, cautious smile. The kind you give someone when you’re about to jump off a cliff together and you both know there’s no going back.

“Yeah,” I said. “I really do.” The words came out steadier than I expected. “She’s the one I think about all day. The person who really gets me. And if something happened to her…” My voice caught. I swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I would do. I really don’t.”

Abby wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. A fresh tear escaped and tracked down her cheek, but she was smiling through it. A wobbly, fragile thing.

“I love you too, dummy,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Mom looked at us both. Her expression was complicated. The hurt was still there, and confusion, and something that might have been resignation. But underneath it all was a warmth I hadn’t expected. A recognition.

“I’m not sure that I will ever understand it,” she said quietly. “But I can tell that you both mean it. You are both adults, and even though I’m your mom and should be appalled...” She paused, took a breath. “Just know that I love you both. No matter what.”

She reached across the counter and took my right hand in hers. With her other hand, she found Abby’s left. The three of us sat there, connected across the kitchen island, a circuit completed.

“This is very close to the same conversation I had with your father and Jules,” Mom said. “Years ago. In this very kitchen, actually. Different countertops. But the same feeling.”

I squeezed her hand. Abby squeezed back.

“I won’t stop you,” Mom continued. “I can’t. You’re adults. But I need you to keep this a secret around Greg. He’s... he’s important to me. And I think he’s going to propose at some point. This would be a lot for him to process all at once.”

We both nodded. Greg was a good guy. Straightforward, kind. The type who’d probably have a heart attack if he found out his girlfriend’s adult children were sleeping together. Keeping our relationship under wraps around him wasn’t just reasonable, it was necessary.

“Protection,” Mom said, her voice shifting back into practical-mom mode. “What are you doing?”

Abby spoke up. “I have an IUD. Got it last year for period stuff. My doctor said it’s more effective than the pill.”

Mom nodded, then turned to me. “And you?”

“Umm,” I said. “Nothing. But honestly, Mom? I’d get a vasectomy if that’s what it took. I’m serious.”

The words were out before I’d fully processed them. But as soon as I said them, I knew they were true. I would. For Abby, for us, for whatever this was becoming, I would.

Mom looked at me, her eyes searching mine. “Is that really what you want to do? At twenty-two?”

“I’d move to Rhode Island,” I said. The words kept coming, unstoppable now. “Or whatever East Coast state allows relationships like ours. That’s how serious I am about this. About her.”

The kitchen fell silent. Mom’s hand was still holding mine, her grip firm. Abby’s fingers had intertwined with mine under the counter, out of Mom’s sight, a secret within a secret.

“I believe you,” Mom said finally. “Both of you. And that’s... that’s enough for now.”

We talked for several hours. Or Mom talked, and Abby and I listened, and sometimes we talked too, in fragments and half-sentences, the way people do when the ground beneath them has just shifted and they’re still finding their balance.

Mom told us more about Dad. Not about Jules this time, but about the man she’d married. His steadiness, his quiet humor, the way he could fix anything with his hands and a little patience. She told us about the early years of their marriage, how she’d struggled with the knowledge of what he’d had with his sister, how they’d built something new together despite it. Not to replace what he’d lost, but to exist alongside it. A second life.

“I love you both,” she said again, her voice firmer now. “And if you’re happy… really, truly happy, then I can learn to be happy for you too. It might take time. There will be days where this feels impossible to understand. But I’m your mother. My job is to love you, not to judge you.”

Something loosened in my chest. Not all at once, but in stages, like a knot being carefully untied. Across the counter, Abby’s face had settled into something close to peace. Her tears had dried. Her hand was still in mine under the island, her thumb tracing small circles on my palm.

And somehow, just like that, everything felt... normal. Not the old normal, the one where Abby and I tiptoed around each other with stolen glances and racing hearts. A new normal. Messier. More honest. The kind of normal where your mother knows you’re sleeping with your sister and has decided, against all odds, that it’s okay.

It was surreal. The kitchen looked exactly the same. The same dishes in the drying rack. The same magnet holding the same takeout menu to the refrigerator. But the air felt different. Lighter. As if the truth, once spoken, had taken up less space than the secret.

The pizza sat on the counter, untouched and long cold. Mom noticed it at the same time I did.

“Food,” she said, like she’d just remembered humans needed to eat. “We should eat.”

I picked up the box and carried it to the oven. Preheated to 375, slid the pizza in on the middle rack. Twelve minutes, maybe fifteen. Enough time for the cheese to melt again, for the crust to crisp back up. Simple mechanics. A task that required no emotional processing whatsoever. I was grateful for it.

We ate at the island, the three of us on stools, paper plates balanced on our knees. The pizza was good!

Pepperoni and sausage from the place down the street that Mom had been ordering from since I was in elementary school. We talked about ordinary things. Abby’s classes. My job. Greg’s car, which was still in the shop. When she thought he would propose.

And then we weren’t talking about ordinary things anymore. We were talking about Dad.

“It’s eerie,” Mom said, picking a mushroom off her slice and examining it before eating it. “How much you’re like him. Not just looks. The way you are with Abby. Protective, but not smothering. The way you make her laugh. He had that same quality with Jules. Could pull her out of a dark mood in seconds.”

I thought about Dad. The quiet way he moved through the house. The patience he had with broken things like toys, appliances, my childhood moods. I’d inherited his hands, his height, the slight crookedness of his smile. But this, this ability to be someone’s anchor, someone’s safe place… that was new. That was a legacy I hadn’t known I was carrying.

“I didn’t realize,” I said. “Any of it. He never talked about her.”

“He couldn’t,” Mom said simply. “It hurt too much. Even after she was gone, even after we’d worked through it together... some things stayed private. Some griefs are too big for words.”

Abby was quiet, listening. Her knee pressed against mine under the island, a point of warmth and contact that kept me grounded.

“He would have understood,” Mom continued. “About you two. Not approved, maybe. But understood. He knew what it was to love someone you weren’t supposed to love. Someone the world said was off-limits.”

The word hung between us. Off-limits. The phrase that had defined every moment Abby and I had shared since Christmas. The boundary we’d crossed without looking back.

“We’re not hurting anyone,” Abby said. Her voice was small but steady. “That’s what matters, right? We’re not hurting anyone but ourselves if we stop.”

Mom reached across and squeezed Abby’s hand. “That’s exactly what matters.”

The evening wound down slowly. We finished the pizza. Mom made some tea. Chamomile for her, peppermint for Abby, black for me. We moved to the living room, settling into our usual spots on the couch. Mom in the middle, Abby to her left, me to her right. The TV stayed off. We didn’t need it.

We talked about practical things. Boundaries. Privacy. What would change and what would stay the same. Mom asked questions. Respectful ones, the kind that assumed we were adults making adult choices. We answered as honestly as we could.

By ten o’clock, we were all yawning. The emotional marathon of the day had caught up with us. Mom kissed us both goodnight. Abby on the forehead, me on the cheek, and headed upstairs to her room. We heard her door close. The house settled into its nighttime rhythm, creaks and sighs and the soft hum of the air conditioning.

Abby and I sat on the couch for a while longer, not speaking. Her head was on my shoulder, her hand in mine. The same position we’d been in a thousand times before, except now everything was different. Now the secret was out. Now we existed in the light.

“What happens tomorrow?” Abby asked quietly.

I thought about it. About work, about Greg, about the careful dance we’d have to perform around other people for the foreseeable future. About the weight of what we’d chosen, and the strange, unexpected grace of Mom’s acceptance.

“Same as today,” I said finally. “We get up. We live our lives. We love each other.” I squeezed her hand. “Just without the hiding.”

She smiled against my shoulder. A real smile, tired but genuine. “I can work with that.”

We sat there until the clock in the hallway chimed eleven. Then we went upstairs together, not to my room or hers, but to our separate doors. A small concession to the new normal. A boundary, freely chosen.

I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, and thought about Dad. About Jules. About the parallel lines of our lives, separated by decades but running in the same direction. I thought about Mom, about the strength it had taken for her to sit in that kitchen and tell us the truth instead of the easier version. I thought about Abby, laying in her room next door, and the future stretching out in front of us, complicated and messy and ours.

For the first time in months, I fell asleep without a single secret keeping me awake.

The blaring of my phone’s alarm cut through my dreams like a knife. I groaned, reaching blindly for the device that was ruining my peaceful sleep. 6:30 glowed back at me from the screen way too early for a Saturday. I slapped at the screen until the noise stopped, then flopped back onto my pillow with a sigh.

I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling as my brain slowly came online. The house was quiet, which meant Mom hadn’t come home last night. She was probably still at Greg’s place, she’s been spending a lot of time over there. The thought made me smile. It had been a while since I’d seen her this happy.

I forced myself to sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My water bottle sat on the nightstand, half-empty from the night before. I drained the rest in one go, then tossed my legs over the side of the bed and headed for the bathroom.

My morning routine was simple. Piss, splash some water on my face, brush my teeth. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to tame the worst of the bedhead, then reached for my deodorant. The mirror reflected a face that looked more awake than I felt. Dark circles under my eyes from playing games online with friends until 2:30 since Abby had gone to Sierra’s yesterday.

Speaking of Abby... my phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up to see another text from her last night. She’d been sending me selfies all night, trying to distract me from gaming with the guys. The latest was of her in Sierra’s bathroom, making a ridiculous face at the camera with her tongue sticking out. The caption read: “Thought you might miss this beautiful face.”

I laughed, sending back a quick heart emoji before setting the phone down. Last night had been pretty boring without her around. I’d spent most of it playing Apex with the guys, followed by a couple hours of Valheim before calling it quits around 2:30. Nothing too exciting, but it had kept me from thinking about how empty the house felt with both Mom and Abby gone.

I headed back to my room and pulled on a pair of gray gym shorts and a faded blue t-shirt with the logo of some random tech conference from three years ago. My running shoes were by the door, laces already tied from my last workout. I grabbed my gym bag from the closet, checked that my water bottle, earbuds, and gym pass were inside, then headed downstairs.

The house felt different. It was lighter, quieter, and emptier. I grabbed a protein bar from the kitchen cabinet and ate it in three bites, washing it down with a swig of orange juice straight from the carton. Mom would kill me if she saw that, but she wasn’t here to catch me.

My car started with its usual jingle sound. I’d had the Kia for about three and a half months now, since the insurance payout from my accident, but I still wasn’t used to how different it felt from my old Honda. The steering was tighter, the acceleration smoother. It was a nice car, even if I still missed my first ride.

The drive to the gym took about ten minutes. The streets were mostly empty, just the occasional early riser walking their dog or heading out for a morning run. I pulled into the parking lot, relieved to see only three other cars. Saturday mornings were usually pretty dead, which meant I’d have my pick of equipment.

The check-in assistant, a college-aged guy with a man bun and bored expression scanned my card without looking up from his phone. “Have a good workout,” he mumbled, the words clearly on autopilot.

“Thanks,” I replied, already heading for the locker room.

Stashing my bag in a locker and tucking the key into the pocket of my shorts. My AirPods went in next, the noise cancellation immediately cutting off the generic pop music the gym piped through their speakers. I opened my Audible app and selected the latest Dungeon Crawler Carl book: A Parade of Horribles. Jeff Hayes’ voice filled my ears, immediately transporting me to a world of dungeon levels, explosions, and talking cats.

The treadmill section was empty, all twelve machines waiting patiently for someone to use them. I chose one in the corner, set it for a light warm-up pace, and started walking. The story picked up right where I’d left off yesterday, with Carl and Donut facing off against some new threat. Hayes’ narration was as incredible as ever, his voice shifting seamlessly between characters, adding depth and personality to each one.

After a half-mile warm-up, I increased the pace to a jog, then a run. The miles clicked by as Carl and Donut navigated the latest challenge, their banter keeping me company as my legs began to burn. By mile three, I was fully immersed in the story, my body moving on autopilot as Hayes’ voice carried me through the dungeon.

Five miles later, I slowed to a walk, letting my heart rate come down gradually. My shirt was soaked with sweat, my legs pleasantly tired. I grabbed my water bottle from the cup holder and took a long drink, then wiped my face with the small towel I’d brought.

The weight area was my next stop. I loaded a barbell with a moderate amount of weight and positioned it across my shoulders for squats. Ten reps, rest, ten more, rest, and a final set of twelve to finish. My quads were burning by the end, but in that good way that meant I’d actually done something.

I moved on to the rowing machine next, setting it for a thirty-minute steady state. The rhythmic pull-and-release was almost meditative, my body falling into the familiar pattern as Hayes continued the story in my ears. By the time the machine beeped to signal the end of my session, I was drenched in sweat but feeling great. There was something about a morning workout that just set the tone for the whole day.

I headed for the showers, grabbing my gym bag from the locker on the way. I turned the water as hot as I could stand it and let it beat down on my sore muscles, washing away the sweat and fatigue of the workout.

Ten minutes later, I was dressed in clean clothes, my hair still damp but shaken into some semblance of order. I checked my phone as I walked back to the car, surprised to see a text from Abby that had come in about twenty minutes ago.

“Hey! Just saw you’re at the gym on Find My. Any chance you could give me a ride home? Sierra’s mom needs her car today.”

I smiled, already typing back a response. “Sure thing. How long do you need me to stall before picking you up?”

Her reply came almost immediately: “If you could give me like 20 mins that would be great. I’m still packing up my stuff.”

“No problem. Want anything from the coffee shop?”

“Duh. You know what I like.”

I did know. A matcha latte with vanilla and an extra shot, topped with whipped cream. Simple enough. I got in my car and pulled out of the parking lot, turning toward the coffee shop that was conveniently on the way to Sierra’s apartment. The morning was shaping up to be better than I’d expected. A good workout, a few new audiobook chapters, and now coffee with Abby. Not a bad start to the weekend.

I pulled into the coffee shop parking lot with fifteen minutes to kill before heading to Sierra’s. The morning had warmed up nicely, the Arizona heat a distant memory as I settled into the comfortable spring weather of home. I parked in a spot with a good view of the entrance, then leaned back in my seat and opened Reddit on my phone.

My home page was a mix of gaming memes, tech news, and the occasional 3D print video,the usual Saturday morning scroll. I clicked on a thread about the latest Steam sale, adding a few games to my mental wishlist as I scrolled. Meanwhile, Jeff Hayes continued his incredible performance in the car, his voice shifting between Carl’s gruff determination and Donut’s prim exasperation with seamless precision. The man was a genius.

After killing about ten minutes in the parking lot, I figured it was time to grab the coffee. The shop was busy but not packed, the morning rush having died down to a steady trickle of caffeine seekers. I joined the line, checking my phone one last time before slipping it into my pocket.

When I reached the counter, the barista. A girl with purple hair and multiple piercings, gave me a tired smile. “What can I get for you today?”

“Medium black coffee, room for cream,” I said. “A large matcha latte with vanilla, extra shot, whipped cream. And one of those almond croissants.”

She nodded, tapping my order into the system. “That’ll be $14.27.”

My order came up a few minutes later, the barista calling “Brian” in a voice that cut through the ambient chatter. I grabbed the drinks and pastry, careful not to spill as I made my way back to my car.

The drive to Sierra’s apartment took about ten minutes. She lived in a complex on the east side of town, not far from the community college where she and Abby took most of their classes. I pulled into the visitor parking and texted Abby that I’d arrived, then settled back to wait.

She appeared a few minutes later, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair pulled up in a messy bun. She spotted my car immediately and jogged over, her face breaking into a smile when she saw the coffee cup holder.

“You’re the best,” she said, throwing her bag into the backseat before sliding into the passenger seat. She immediately reached for the pastry bag, pulling out the croissant with a happy sigh. “I’m starving. Sierra’s mom made some weird health food breakfast that looked like it came from another planet.”

I laughed, pulling out of the parking lot as she took her first bite. “What was it?”

“Some kind of... I don’t even know. Green mush with seeds on top? Tasted like lawn clippings.” She took a sip of her matcha, closing her eyes in appreciation. “This is so much better.”

I paused my audiobook and handed her my phone. “Your turn to pick the music.”

She grinned, already opening Spotify. A moment later, she was playing some older Death Cab for Cutie songs. I turned it up a notch, my ears were craving some indie tunes.

“So,” I said, raising my voice slightly to be heard over the music, “how was the sleepover? Sierra still dating that guy from her psych class?”

Abby nodded, breaking off another piece of croissant. “Yeah, though I think they might be on the rocks. She spent half the night complaining about how he never texts her back, but then her phone would ding and she’d drop everything to answer.” She rolled her eyes. “It was exhausting.”

“Sounds like it,” I agreed. “At least you got some decent sleep, though. My bed felt weird without you there.”

She smiled, reaching over to squeeze my thigh. “Aw, did you miss me?”

“Maybe a little,” I admitted. “Though your selfie spam did help.”

“Good. Mission accomplished.” She took another sip of her matcha. “So what’d you get up to? Probably spent the whole night gaming with the guys, right?”

I shrugged, turning onto our street. “Some Apex, some Valheim. The usual.” I paused, then added, “I also worked on that next update for Reddit.”

Her eyes lit up immediately. “The one about Phoenix? Did you include the shower?”

“Maybe,” I said, trying to keep my expression neutral despite the heat rising to my face. “You’ll have to wait and read it like everyone else.”

She pouted, but I could tell she was secretly pleased. “That’s not fair. I should get early access, as the subject matter.”

“I’ll think about it,” I promised, pulling into our driveway. “But no promises.”

We gathered our things and headed inside, Abby leading the way with her key. The house was exactly as I’d left it. Quiet, slightly messy, and smelling faintly of the pizza I’d had for dinner. Home sweet home.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Abby announced, dropping her backpack by the stairs. “I swear Fred’s fur is embedded in my clothes. I can still smell him.”

Fred was Sierra’s cat, a massive orange tabby with a personality to match his size. The thought of Abby covered in cat hair made me smile. “Go for it. I’m gonna chill in my room.”

She headed upstairs while I went to the kitchen. I filled my shaker cup with water, added a scoop of creatine and a serving of my Gamer Supps powder. The flavor was officially called “Guacamole Gamer Fart 9000,” though it tasted more like green apple than anything else. I shook it vigorously, then took it with me to my bedroom.

My desk was in its usual state of organized chaos. Controller balanced precariously on the edge, empty water bottles lined up like sad soldiers. I moved the controller to a safer location, then settled into my chair and opened Reddit.

The homepage had refreshed with new content, most of it the usual weekend fare. I clicked on a thread about desk organization, curious if there were any good 3D printing ideas I could borrow. My printer had been gathering dust for a few months, and I was itching to get back to it.

I was halfway through a particularly interesting post about cable management when my bedroom door opened. I glanced up, then did a double-take that nearly made me spill my drink.

Abby stood in the doorway, completely naked, her matcha in one hand and a towel in the other. Her skin was still pink from the hot shower, water droplets clinging to her shoulders and the curve of her breasts. My mouth went dry at the sight.

“Thanks for the breakfast and the ride home,” she said, crossing to where I sat. She leaned down, pressing her lips to my forehead in a kiss that smelled like her fancy shower gel. “You’re the best big brother ever.”

I set my drink down carefully, trying to ignore the way my body had immediately responded to her presence. “No problem. That’s what I’m here for.”

She smiled, taking a sip of her matcha. “Actually, I have another favor to ask.” She set her cup down next to mine, then met my eyes with a look that sent a jolt straight to my groin. “I really need to cum. Like, right now.”

The words hit me like a physical force. One second I was sitting in my chair, the next I was tossing her onto my bed. She let out a surprised squeal that quickly turned into a laugh as she bounced on the mattress.

“Well,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows, “that’s one way to answer.”

I was already moving, launching myself onto the bed between her legs. My hands found her thighs, spreading them wider as I lowered my head toward the center of her desire. This favor, at least, I was more than happy to grant. Already leaning down to press kisses along the soft skin of her inner thighs. The smell of her body wash filled my nostrils, something expensive with jasmine and vanilla but underneath it was that scent that was uniquely Abby, musky and sweet and driving me crazy.

“Someone’s eager,” she teased, her fingers finding my hair as I continued my upward journey. Her thighs were soft beneath my lips, slightly damp from her shower, and they trembled as I got closer to her center.

I reached between her legs, my fingers finding her already slick with arousal. “Someone’s ready,” I countered, circling her clit with my middle finger while my other hand slid beneath her to cup her ass. “Very ready.”

She moaned, her back arching off the bed as my finger made contact with her most sensitive spot. Her free hand moved to her breasts, fingers pinching her nipples in that way I knew drove her wild. The sight of her touching herself while I worked her with my hand was almost enough to make me lose control right then.

“You have no idea,” she gasped, her hips pushing up to meet my touch. “I’ve been thinking about this since I woke up. Sierra’s couch is not comfortable for... you know.”

I laughed against her thigh, then moved higher, my lips brushing the very edge of her folds. “Poor you. All that frustration...”

Before she could respond, I bit down gently on the soft flesh where her thigh met her hip. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her yelp in surprise. She jerked beneath me, her hand tightening in my hair.

“Jesus, Brian!” she cried, though there was no anger in her voice. “Warn a girl next time!”

I chuckled, giving the spot a soothing lick. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.” Then, before she could respond, I buried my face between her legs, my tongue making firm contact with her clit.

The taste of her exploded across my tongue. Clean from her shower but with that underlying musk that made my cock twitch and harden in my pajama pants. She was already so wet that my first stroke slid easily from her entrance to the top of her slit, gathering her arousal. I focused my attention on her clit, flicking my tongue rapidly across the sensitive bud before sucking it gently between my lips.

Abby’s reaction was immediate. Her thighs tensed on either side of my head, her hand pressing firmly against the back of my skull as she guided me exactly where she wanted me. “Right there,” she moaned, her voice already taking on that breathless quality that told me she was getting close. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

I had no intention of stopping. I kept at it, alternating between broad, flat strokes of my tongue and more focused attention to her clit. Her free hand continued to work her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples between her fingers. The dual stimulation had her breathing coming in short, sharp pants, her hips rocking against my face as she chased her release.

I could feel her getting closer, the tension building in her body, her inner muscles beginning to flutter around the finger I’d slipped inside her. Just as I thought she might tip over the edge, I pulled back, raising my head to meet her eyes.

“Let’s 69,” I suggested, already moving to strip off my clothes. “I want to taste you while you taste me.”

She didn’t need telling twice. As I hurriedly removed my shirt and pajama pants, kicking them to the floor, she positioned herself above me, her knees on either side of my head. The view was incredible! Her pussy hovering just above my face, pink and swollen and glistening with her arousal.

I reached up, guiding her down until she was seated firmly on my face. Then I straightened my tongue and pushed it as deep inside her as it would go, feeling her inner walls clench around me in response. At the same time, my thumb found her clit, rubbing it in tight circles that matched the rhythm of my tongue.

Above me, Abby took my cock in her mouth, her lips wrapping around the head before she began to work her way down the shaft. The wet heat of her mouth was almost too much to bear after the visual feast I’d just enjoyed. I had to force myself to focus on the task at hand, on bringing her as much pleasure as she was giving me.

Her technique was, as always, impeccable. She took me deep, then pulled back to swirl her tongue around the head before diving down again. Every few strokes, she’d hum deep in her throat, the vibration traveling straight up my shaft and making my toes curl. I responded by redoubling my efforts, my tongue fucking into her as deeply as I could reach while my thumb continued its attention to her clit.

It didn’t take long for Abby to reach the edge. Her thighs began to tremble on either side of my head, her movements becoming less coordinated as pleasure built within her. I felt the exact moment she tipped over, her body going rigid, a muffled cry escaping her as her orgasm crashed through her.

She dropped all her weight onto my face, her pussy grinding against my mouth as she rode out the waves of her climax. I kept my tongue inside her, gentler now, helping her through the aftershocks until the sensitivity became too much. She lifted herself slightly, giving me room to breathe, but didn’t completely remove herself from my face.

“Fuck,” she gasped, her voice slightly hoarse. “That was...”

I didn’t let her finish. Instead, I grabbed her hips and flipped us over, positioning her beneath me on the bed. My cock was rock hard, jutting out from my body and begging for attention. “I need to fuck you,” I managed, the words coming out rougher than I’d intended. “Right now.”

Abby’s response was to reach between us, wrapping her hand around my shaft and guiding me to her entrance. “Then what are you waiting for?” she asked, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

I needed no further encouragement. I pushed forward, feeling her body open to accept me. The tight, wet heat of her enveloped me inch by inch until I was buried to the hilt, our bodies joined in the most intimate way possible.

We both gasped at the sensation. For a moment, I stayed perfectly still, letting her adjust to my size, enjoying the feeling of being completely inside her. Then Abby began to move, her hips rocking in small circles that made us both groan.

“That’s it,” I murmured, bracing myself on my forearms above her. “You feel amazing.”

She smiled, her hands finding my ass to pull me deeper. “So do you. Now stop talking and fuck me.”

I complied, pulling back until just the head of my cock remained inside her, then thrusting forward with enough force to push her further up the bed. The new angle allowed me to go even deeper, hitting spots that made her cry out with each thrust.

We found a rhythm together, our bodies moving in perfect harmony. Abby’s legs wrapped around my waist, her heels digging into the small of my back as she urged me on. Each thrust drove me deeper, the headboard knocking softly against the wall with each impact.

After a few minutes of this, Abby suddenly pushed at my chest. “lay down,” she said, her voice tight with desire. “I want to ride you.”

I didn’t need telling twice. I carefully pulled out, then lay on my back as she positioned herself above me. She reached between her legs, guiding my cock to her entrance, then slowly sank down until I was fully inside her.

The view was incredible—Abby above me, her breasts bouncing with each movement, her face flushed with pleasure. She started with small circles, grinding herself against me, then gradually increased her pace until she was bouncing up and down on my cock with enough force to make the bed frame creak.

“God, you feel so good,” she gasped, her hands braced on my chest for leverage. “So fucking good inside me.”

I reached up, cupping her breasts and thumbing her nipples. The dual sensation had her moaning louder, her movements growing less coordinated as pleasure built within her. I could feel my own orgasm approaching, a tightening at the base of my spine that grew with each downward thrust of her hips.

Just as I thought I might tip over the edge, Abby changed positions again. She turned around, presenting me with the incredible view of her ass bouncing on my cock. Each upward movement revealed her asshole, the ring of muscle contracting with each bounce before disappearing again as she sank back down.

The sight was so erotic that I felt my control slipping. My hands found her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as I tried to hold on just a little longer. But it was too much. The visual of her taking me like this, combined with the tight, wet heat of her around my cock.

“I’m gonna cum,” I managed, my voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Abby, I’m close.”

She immediately lifted herself off my cock and spun around, taking me into her mouth without hesitation. The sudden transition from her tight pussy to her hot, wet mouth was almost enough to make me come on the spot. She bobbed her head up and down, adding more and more suction with each movement.

Her hand wrapped around the base of my shaft, stroking in time with her mouth. The sensation was incredible. Her mouth on the head of my cock, her hand working the shaft, her tongue swirling around the sensitive spot just beneath the tip. I braced myself against the headboard, my hips lifting involuntarily as pleasure built to an almost unbearable level.

And then it hit me. My orgasm crashed through me with the force of a freight train, intense enough to make my vision blur at the edges. “Fuck!” I gasped, my hand finding the back of Abby’s head as I came.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she took me deeper, swallowing around my cock as pulse after pulse of cum shot down her throat. I could feel her throat working, taking every drop, not missing a single one. The sight of her like this, taking all of me, completely focused on my pleasure, pushed me through one final, powerful wave of release.

When it was finally over, I slumped back against the pillows, completely spent. Abby sat back on her heels, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of her mouth. A tiny drop of cum escaped from the corner of her lip, and she casually wiped it away with her finger before sucking it clean.

“Good?” she asked, her voice slightly hoarse.

I couldn’t help but laugh, reaching for her and pulling her into a kiss. “Better than good. That was...”

“Amazing?” she suggested, settling against my side.

“Something like that,” I agreed, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. My body felt pleasantly heavy, muscles relaxed in the aftermath of our activities. This, right here, was perfection.

We lay there for a moment, both of us trying to catch our breath. The room was quiet except for the sound of our gradually slowing heartbeats and the soft hum of the air conditioning. My body felt pleasantly heavy, muscles relaxed in the aftermath of our activities.

Abby reached for her matcha on the nightstand, taking a long sip before setting it down again. She turned to me, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, and leaned in for a kiss. “Now that’s how to start a lazy day,” she said, pulling back slightly. Her hair was a mess, falling across her face in damp strands, and there was a slight redness to her cheeks that had nothing to do with makeup. She looked thoroughly debauched, and the sight made me want to start round two immediately.

I forced myself to focus on her words rather than the tempting curve of her breast just inches from my face. “Definitely beats the gym,” I agreed, running a hand up her side to cup that very breast. “Though my legs are going to be sore tomorrow for entirely different reasons.”

She laughed, the sound bright and carefree. “Mom said she was going to hang out with Greg most of the day,” she continued, settling more comfortably against my side. “So this means we can just chill. No interruptions, no worrying about being too loud...” Her hand traced a teasing pattern on my chest. “We’ve got the whole house to ourselves.”

The thought was appealing. A lazy Saturday with Abby, doing nothing but watching TV, maybe ordering food later... it sounded like heaven after the whirlwind of the past few days. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

“I should wash my face,” I said, reluctantly disentangling myself from her embrace. “Be right back.”

The bathroom was cool after the warmth of the bedroom. I splashed cold water on my face, then dried off with the hand towel hanging by the sink. My reflection looked... happy. Relaxed. The dark circles that had been under my eyes that morning were gone, replaced by a contented glow that no amount of sleep could have provided.

When I returned to the bedroom, Abby had pulled the covers up to her waist and was scrolling through her phone. The sight of her like that, casual and comfortable in my space, sent a fresh wave of warmth through my chest.

“What are we watching?” she asked, patting the space beside her. “I’m thinking something mindless. My brain is too fried for anything complicated.”

I grabbed the remote from my desk and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up over both of us. “How about that new anime? The one with the kids and the demons?”

Abby wrinkled her nose. “Too depressing. I want something fun. What about that Rent-a-Girlfriend one”

I nodded, already pulling it up on Crunchyroll. “that’s fine. I may fall asleep. I’m beat.”

We settled in to watch, Abby’s head on my shoulder, my arm around her waist. The show was exactly what we needed. Light, funny, with just enough plot to keep us interested but not so much that we had to pay close attention. Within minutes, we were both laughing at the main character’s disastrous attempts to impress his crush.

Halfway through the third episode, I felt Abby’s breathing slow, her body growing heavier against my side. I glanced down to see her eyes half-closed, fighting a losing battle against sleep. I reached for the remote, turning the volume down slightly.

“You can sleep if you want,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t mind.”

She made a noncommittal sound, her eyes drifting fully closed. “Just resting my eyes,” she mumbled, but within seconds, her breathing had deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep.

I smiled, adjusting the blanket to cover her shoulders. The show continued to play, but my attention was divided between the screen and the weight of Abby against me. Her hair tickled my chin with each breath, her chest rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm. It wasn’t long before my own eyes began to grow heavy, the combination of our morning activities and the comfortable bed pulling me toward sleep.

The last thing I remembered was the main character making some disastrous mistake that made his crush upset. Then I was out, drifting into dreams filled with green tea and warm skin and the sound of Abby’s laughter.

---

The room was dark when I woke up, the only light coming from the TV, which had switched to a screensaver of drifting colors. I blinked, disoriented for a moment, before the events of the morning came rushing back. Abby was still asleep beside me, one arm thrown across my chest, her face peaceful in repose.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, squinting at the bright screen. 5:17. We’d been asleep for... I did a quick calculation... almost six hours. No wonder my stomach was growling. I’d skipped lunch completely, too caught up in other activities to think about food.

Carefully, so as not to wake Abby, I extricated myself from her grasp and sat up. In the corner of my vision, I could see someone standing in my doorway. The lights turned on, it was Mom.

“BRIAN! EXPLAIN!”