“You like it?” Tracy giggled.
He looked down. His hand was still clutching her creamy smooth leg. He released it as suddenly as if it had burned him. He blushed again.
“It’s a l-leg with no hair on it,” he said.
“I didn’t just shave there. Feel,” she said, and moved his hand up her leg onto her thigh.
“Tracy,” he pleaded, “stop.”
“Why? It’s a leg.”
“We shouldn’t – I don’t think it’s appropriate – ”
“I’m not telling you to touch my pussy you fricking dweeb. I’m just showing you my leg. GOD.”
She threw his hand off of her altogether, withdrew her legs from his lap, and stood up off the couch. She growled in frustration and pointed an angry finger at him. She was in nothing but her laundry day underwear.
“Look,” she snarled, “this is EXACTLY why I’m trying to get us back to normal. Because you can’t even touch my fricking leg!”
“It’s not the leg that’s the issue,” Seay began to retort.
“Shut up. SHUT up,” she stuck her finger in his face. “I don’t care about your fricking issues. I care about Us. TEAM Us. And as far as I’m concerned, I’m the only showing up to fricking practice anymore.”
“H-hey,” Seay said. He moved her finger out of his face. He sat forward as if to stand up. Then he realized how hard he was. He stayed seated. “I showed up. Earlier! W-when I washed your – your – ”
“Tits?” Tracy said. And she suddenly pulled down the front of her bra. Her brown nipples were hard pink at the tips.
Seay clapped a hand to his eyes.
Tracy pried it back off.
He swatted her hand away.
She slapped him.
“Look at me,” she said.
He did, but up at her face, not any lower.
“Fricking LOOK at me!”
She slapped him again.
“Stop that!” he yelped, and rose to get away from her. He wheeled around the arm of the sofa. He banged his knee on the side table. He spluttered an obscenity and stumbled toward the ladder up to their room.
“They’re just boobs!” she whined, and went after him.
“Don’t come up here,” he begged her as he clambered uncomfortably up the ladder with one throbbing knee.
“It’s my room, too!” she huffed, sounding like a sister half her age. “Seay! Don’t!” He was using his feet to try and stamp on her fingers, keep her from climbing any higher than halfway up. Her breasts had been returned to their faded back bra cups, at least, he noticed with some relief. But from this angle, he could still see sort of down into the cups. The real problem was still very much afoot. He stamped again and crunched knuckle. “OW, SEAY, WHAT THE FUCK!” she screamed, and dropped from the ladder, cradling her hand. Her face went red with anger and embarrassment. She started tearing up. “Fuck,” she said again. She usually tried not to swear. But this hurt. This hurt more than it should have. Why was he treating her like this? Was she really so gross to him? Was she the asshole simply for trying to get Team Us back together?
Was there no way back to normal?
“S-sorry,” Seay muttered. He peeked out over the top rung. His sister wasn’t even looking at him. She was looking down at her hand. He’d gotten her finger pretty good. “I got your finger pretty good,” he muttered.
Tracy began to cry.
“I told you not to come up,” he reminded her.
“I told you,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said. “I really am sorry.”
But she wouldn’t stop crying. And then she went and curled up in a ball on the sofa. She sat with her back to him and glared at fucking Elmer Fudd as he sang “The Fountain In The Park” to himself while she waited for her stupid face to stop crying. She waited for the fucks inside her to soften back into fricks. And when finally she turned to look, Seay wasn’t there anymore gazing sorrily at her from atop the ladder. He had retreated into the loft.
“Seay?” she called.
“Don’t come up here,” he answered.
“I’m done being mad.”
“That’s good. But also. Please d-don’t come up here right now.”
Tracy smirked to herself. She fished the remote out from between the cushions. She clicked off the TV. She turned around and knelt against the back of the sofa, and peered up at the loft railing. She listened to the silence in the cabin.
“Please turn the TV back on,” came Seay’s voice a moment later.
“I’m done watching,” said Tracy.
“Listen,” he sighed audibly. “You know what I’m doing up here. I’m asking you for privacy. Please just, like, turn the TV back on. And stay down there. I don’t care if you don’t want to watch it, that’s fine, but like, it’s just super weird without the noise.”
“No, I’m good,” Tracy said. “I think I might tuck in for the day.”
“It’s not even six.”
“I could use a nap.”
“I’m asking you nice. Please don’t come up.”
But of course she came up.
“Hi,” she said.
Seay had the covers back up over his funny business.
“This is stupid,” he told her.
“Yeah,” she shrugged. She started unhooking her bra. “It is.”
“Trace – can you – are you seriously – after all that?”
“Yep,” she sang, and slid the straps down off her arms, pulling the cups away and freeing her supple young breasts again. They were so soft-looking. His hands, under the sheets, remembered how they felt to hold. To cup. To squish and squeeze. Covered in soap suds. Slick with hot water. How her nipples hardened, turned into pencil erasers, and how the brown skin of her areolas, too, raised up like goosebumps.
Tracy watched her brother watch her take her bra off.
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
“What is?” he asked, not looking up.
“If you want to look. Or even touch them. I really don’t care. I want you to get over them.”
He winced, and managed to meet her gaze in earnest as he challenged her in her own court. “But actually, you do care.”
She blinked at him. She’d meant to smirk, but instead her lips stayed still, and just her eyelids moved. She wasn’t sure how to correct him. So fine, she cared. She cared if he touched her boobs. Or more accurately, she cared if he didn’t want to. So instead of smirking, she just looked at him, laying there, staring up at her face. Not looking at her boobs but at her face.
“Okay,” she frowned. “I do care.”
Seay wasn’t sure how to respond. He still had his cock in his fist. It was getting sweaty, fast, under the covers. Egads, did these sheets ever need to be changed. Shoot, had they remembered to transfer the wet clothes to the dryer, earlier? He couldn’t recall. He couldn’t do much of anything with his brain. There were boobs in his field of view. It was taking every ounce of cognition he had in him to keep his gaze from faltering. He gazed, steady-on, into his sister’s eyes.
They were blue and clear and messy with feeling. They were his sister’s. His Tracy’s.
“Can I take off my panties?” she asked.
“W-what?”
“If I admit I care,” she said, and hooked her thumbs into her panties, “will you just finally look?”
“I don’t – th-that’s not what I was trying to – Tracy. For real?”
“Look, I’m going to warn you. I shaved, okay? Not to freak you out. But it just gets kinda iffy down there, with all the heat and humidity, you know? It’s better for the odor when I shave.” Presently, Tracy pulled open the front of her panties and peered down inside. Seay couldn’t see what she was looking at from this angle. He watched, rapt, just the same. “Itchier,” she frowned, and reached in to scritch-a-scratch what sounded like something soft and freshly shaved inside her underwear, “but significantly less stinky.”
“You don’t have to ex-,” he gulped, “explain.”
“Yeah I do,” she scoffed, and let her panties snap shut against her pelvis. The sound was cute. “Or else you’ll think I did it for you, like some kind of creepy, rapey twin from some porno.”
“They actually tend to wax,” Seay said. He blushed. He gulped. “P-porn stars.”
“Yeah?” Tracy smirked. “Well. That sounds like fun and all. But the razor was all I had to work with today, so,” and off they went. She tugged her panties down. She stepped out of them. She left them where they were. She stood – or, well, stooped – and gave her brother a second to cope.
Seay was coping. He was coping the best he knew how. This wasn’t the first time he had seen his sister nude today. It wasn’t even the second. But it was the first time in many a Hobbit summer that he had seen her bare, pale pinkish vulva. Just as the image landed on his occipital lobes, she knelt, crawled, and found her way back into her own bed. She pulled up her covers, just like him. And she laid there, clutching them to her chest, and squinting at him. Her chest rose and fell quickly. So did his.
“Okay,” she giggled once, breathlessly. “I, um, admit I’m feeling a little weird about that.”
“D-don’t,” Seay said at once.
Tracy blushed. She blinked at him. Her eyes went fully and completely wide. But only for a second. Then she squinted at him again. And she started to crack up.
“Yeah?” she giggled. “So we’re okay then?”
“W-we’re okay.”
“Wow,” she laughed. Once more, that incredible lifting, anti-gravity feeling of much-, much-needed psychic relief. Of safety.
“You really shaved. Like. Everything.”
“Well. I probably still have a little hair in, like, my butt crack? But otherwise, yeah. Yeah. Hey, I did my pits, too,” she said, and lifted her arm to show him. She was sweaty and already a little stinky from their walk, not to mention her sweat turned kind of sour whenever she was feeling especially anxious.
report Seay blinked at his sister’s bare underarm. Speaking of things he saw all the time. A million, billion times he’d regarded his sister’s regularly shaved underarms without feeling much of anything. But this million-billion-and-first time hit different. His cock, still trapped in his grip, throbbed. He squeezed it. It begged for more than just a squeeze. Practically whimpered there, under his sheets.
“But so yeah,” she said softly, beaming at him. “That’s everything I shaved.”
“I, uhm,” Seay faltered. “I feel bad. I didn’t even shave my face today.”
“That’s okay,” she giggled.
“Hey, Trace?”
“Yep?”
“You’re like… well. Never mind.”
Seay thought better of what he was about to just up and say to his own twin sister’s face.
“What?” she said. “What?” she said again. She egged him on.
“It’s nothing.”
“Say it. Saaaay it.”
“No.”
“I’ll let you look again.”
“That’s not what I – damn it. You don’t even -.”
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