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The bakery is tucked away in a forgotten corner; a narrow, hole-in-the-wall kind of place. The storefront is recessed into the alley, hidden from view by two larger buildings on either side. Its brown, weathered brick exterior is nondescript. It would be forgettable, if not for the green and white striped awning that hangs over the entrance. It's a comfortable place, filled with the warm, sweet aroma of fresh bread. The walls are lined with rows of baskets, each packed with rustic, hearty loaves. Pastries, cakes, and pies fill the polished display, and the shelves behind the counter are stocked with colorful tins of tea leaves. Andrew can't afford any of that, though. He's got to make the money stretch, so he only ever goes there to get day-old bread. That's fine by him, since that's when it's cheapest. And he has to admit, the bread is still damn good even after a day or two. The walk to the bakery always seems to do him some good. He's a creature of habit. It keeps him sane, having some sort of structure in the mess of his life. He's a creature of habit and he's here again today, on his way to the little bakery just before closing time to pick up some cheap bread. The streetlights have just turned on, washing the streets in their orange glow as twilight falls over the city. Andrew walks the familiar route through the neighborhood, idly puffing away at a cigarette. He's in a strange mood this evening. Anxiety prickles his skin like an itch he can't quite reach, and he's restless and fidgety. He keeps picking at the loose threads of his sleeves and twisting the frayed ends around his fingers. He keeps thinking about...well, everything. He hasn't stopped looking over his shoulder since fleeing his childhood home with his sister. It's been exhausting. So he walks to the bakery again with the hope that his comfortable routine will keep him grounded. The walk is a short one and before long, he's standing in front of the narrow building. Instead of the usual soft glow of light spilling out from the door, he's greeted by darkness. He frowns, confused. The bakery is closed. Andrew's heart sinks. He doesn't want to go home. As much as he loves spending time with Ashley, he can't stand being cooped up in that tiny, cramped space, staring at the same four walls from sunrise to sunset like a caged animal. He starts to turn back, shoulders slumped with disappointment. But as he turns to leave, a light flickers on in the alley beside the building, followed by the creak of a heavy door on rusty hinges. The back door, he realizes. Andrew hesitates for a moment, but his curiosity gets the better of him. He sneaks around the corner, down the alley and to the back entrance. A young man makes startled eye contact with Andrew. He's got sandy blond hair sticking out from under his cap, freckled skin and big brown eyes and he looks like a deer in headlights. He's standing by the door with an apron tossed over his shoulder, a disposable lighter in his hand, and a joint between his lips. Andrew recognizes him as the baker's son. He can't be more than twenty, but there's a certain weariness in his expression that's at odds with his youthful appearance. "We...we're closed," he mumbles. A slight flush reddens his cheeks. "We close early on weekends." "I figured," Andrew says in reply. "Looks like it's not just the bread getting baked here, huh?" He nods toward the unlit joint. His green eyes narrow with a sly, knowing look and he doesn't hide the amusement in his voice. The guy—Adam, if Andrew remembers correctly—stands astonished. After a tense silence, he chuckles and shrugs. His mouth forms a sheepish smile around the joint. "Guess you caught me," he replies, visibly relaxing when Andrew returns his smile. "You got a light by any chance? Mine's dead." He holds up the lighter and flicks the trigger with his thumb. It sparks uselessly, doesn't produce a flame. Andrew pulls his lighter from his pocket and flips it open. Adam takes a few quick steps forward and cups his hands around Andrew's as he leans down to light the joint. The warm, flickering glow momentarily illuminates Adam's face, softening the tiredness on his features. Deep and slow, Adam inhales. The orange ember burns brighter and crackles almost inaudibly. He holds the smoke in his lungs for a moment, then tilts his head back and exhales a blue-gray cloud that twists and swirls in the air above their heads before slowly dissipating into nothingness. The smoke leaves behind an earthy, herbaceous scent that takes Andrew back to bittersweet memories from another life. It brings back the late nights with people he no longer sees. Crowded basements where the air was thick with smoke and stale sweat while some friend-of-a-friend's band played their set. He recalls parties he'd attended with Julia on his arm, the two of them laughing and smiling together while the rest of the world blurred and faded in the background. Back then, the warm, numbing haze of THC had almost convinced him that he could really love her, that he wasn't longing for his sister, replacing Julia with Ashley every time he closed his eyes and brought his lips to hers. Adam extends the joint to him, holding it out in offering. Andrew's eyes are fixed on it, watching it burn. He knows he should be keeping himself sharp. But damn, he wants that high. He wants the soft, foggy buzz that smooths out the edges, dulls the anxiety that's been scratching away at his insides. He wants the calm, the numbness, the escape. What a sucker I am, he thinks, accepting drugs from some guy in an alley. He takes the joint between his fingers and brings it to his lips. Andrew lets the hot, harsh smoke fill his lungs. It feels good to have that familiar taste on his tongue again. He holds for a few seconds and then exhales, slow and easy, and feels his body relax as the smoke drifts off into the cool evening air. "It's homegrown. My cousin grows it in his basement," Adam says, chuckling as he takes the joint back. "Good stuff, huh?" "Either that, or my tolerance has gone to absolute shit," Andrew responds. The pleasant, dreamy fog that he craved is starting to settle in and the corners of his mouth twitch into a lopsided smile. "So you come out back to take a load off, huh?" Adam shrugs. "When my dad's not around. Yeah." He takes another hit and hands the joint back to Andrew. "Not a fan of the family business?" Andrew notes the way Adam's mouth twists in annoyance when he mentions his father. He takes the joint and brings it to his lips again. "My dad won't cut me a break. He had to fall back on the family business when he was my age and now he wants me to suffer with him." Adam sighs again and leans back against the wall. "What about you? I see you here all the time. What's up with the hot goth girl who follows you around like a puppy? Is she, like... your girlfriend or something?" Andrew bristles at that comment. It's not Adam's fault—anyone would find Ashley attractive. She's all porcelain skin and delicate, soft curves, with an ethereal sort of beauty that he can't quite put into words. And when she looks up at him through those thick, dark lashes of hers, he feels his heart clench and his blood rush south. So he holds back his annoyance. He knows Adam's just trying to make conversation. And even in his addled state, Andrew hones in on the opportunity to spin this in his favor. Adam has taken special interest in the two of them, so it's not too much of a stretch to assume he might be a useful ally down the line. "Yeah... Something like that," he starts, injecting a casual ease into his tone, "I guess it's a little complicated." "Complicated how?" Andrew knows he's hooked him. Andrew hesitates for a moment, pondering just how much he wants to divulge. But then he reminds himself that a half truth is the easiest form of deception. It's something he's mastered. He's had a lifetime of practice, after all. "My parents never liked her much," Andrew begins, "She's not the kind of girl they want for me, you know? So they weren't really thrilled about us being together." He sighs the long-suffering sigh of a noble martyr. "And both of her parents are, unfortunately, dead. So I'm kind of all she's got. We knew that if we were going to stay together, we'd have to go off on our own." There. It's a version of the truth. Technically. "Goddamn. Like Romeo and Juliet," Adam says. He stares down at the glowing cherry at the end of the joint, watching it sizzle while he processes what he's just heard. "Yeah, I guess so," Andrew replies with his usual nonchalance. He offers a small, rueful smile and a little shrug. "It's not so bad. We've got each other." Romeo and Juliet are probably the only the only star-crossed lovers he can name, Andrew thinks scornfully to himself. They make small talk and smoke some more until the words run dry and the joint has burned down to a nub. The silence that stretches between them isn't as awkward as Andrew expected it to be, and he's too high to give a fuck about making small talk anyway. He feels his brain turning to mush and his words starting to slur together. He's already forgotten what he meant to say several times already, so it's probably better to skip the idle chatter. And for his part, Adam seems content to just stand there quietly for a while. Eventually, Adam speaks again. "You're not going to tell my father about me smoking back here, right? I'd owe you one. I could hook you up for a decent price." "I won't tell." Andrew replies, his lips curving into a mischievous smirk. "But I could use that hook up, if you don't mind. Got any on you right now?" "Only pre-rolled. Would that be okay?" "Sure." They make the exchange. Adam reaches into his back pocket to fish out a small tin that once held breath mints. Andrew hands over a few crumpled bills and plucks one of the pre-rolled joints from the tin, stashing it in his box of cigarettes for the walk home. They exchange quick, quiet goodbyes and then part ways. With a pang of guilt, Andrew realizes that he's been out longer than he said he would be and Ashley will likely be pissed at him. But the cozy, heady high is enough to quell his remorse, at least temporarily. He ambles over to the convenience store and buys himself and Ashley some snacks, since the bakery was closed, and he somehow manages to complete the purchase without revealing his inebriated state. He then starts off down the street and back to the shithole he and his sister call home. The walk back is a pleasant blur.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Slumped onto the threadbare loveseat, Ashley pretends to watch the television while she waits for her brother's return. She's trying her best to ignore the anger, the agitation and the nagging, persistent voice in her head trying to convince her that Andrew has abandoned her, left her all alone, and he's never coming back. She gives up on the variety show playing on the screen, sighing in frustration. She picks up the remote and turns the TV off, cutting off the host's voice mid-sentence. She sets the remote aside and glances at the clock. Andrew should be back by now. It's already past dusk and the sun has set, leaving Ashley with nothing but the weak glow of the bedside lamp for illumination. By this hour, she usually has her brother all to herself. By now he should be sitting next to her on the loveseat, maybe with an arm around her shoulders or his fingers in her hair, or if she's lucky he'd let her sit on his lap and curl up against his chest while they wick away the quiet hours of the evening until he carries her off to bed. The bed where she falls into his embrace; where he'll kiss her, undress her, touch and caress her, love her, fuck her to sleep and hold her until morning. Ashley aches with emptiness, a hollow, gnawing hunger deep inside of her that only her brother's love can sate. She tries to think of things that make her feel better. Before she can get too far down that rabbit hole, the lock clicks and the door swings open. Andrew stumbles into the room. Light spills in from behind him, illuminating his silhouette and framing him in a streetlight halo. With a start, Ashley sits up and straightens herself on the loveseat. She looks up. Her gaze meets her brother's. "You're late," she says, trying her very best to look and sound indignant, like she wasn't pining for him the entire time he was gone. Which, admittedly, wasn't that long, but it felt like ages. "Sorry," He replies, sounding a little rough. He closes the door behind him, and the room is cast into semi-darkness again. While he sets his shopping on the table, Ashley watches him. It's obvious, immediately, that something is off. He moves slowly, with deliberate care, as though each action requires more concentration than usual. His posture seems a little more relaxed—uncharacteristically so—in a way that raises her hackles and sets her on edge. "Are you going to tell me where you've been?" She demands. "Or do I have to guess?" Andrew doesn't respond right away, busying himself with the contents of the bags instead. She waits patiently. "The bakery was closed," he starts, his tone flat, rehearsed, "so I went to the convenience store across the street and got you some snacks instead." He keeps his back to her, as if to avoid the scrutiny of her eyes. Ashley huffs. She gets up and stalks over to Andrew's side and stands there, arms crossed, as she watches him rifle through the bags, lips pursed in a scowl. "Okay. Fine. But why were you gone so long, then?" Her fuchsia gaze burns with accusation. He finally turns around to meet her stare. His voice is edged with irritation. "What's with you? Jesus, Ashley, I go to the convenience store all the time!" "Yeah, but it never takes this long for you to get back, and you don't come home smelling like a fucking poetry slam, either." Andrew glowers at her, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, but he says nothing. He pivots sharply but Ashley grabs him by his sleeve before he can take a single step. "No." She yanks him back around and forces him to face her, her gaze locked with his. "You don't get to walk away from me when I'm talking to you. You're not allowed to just leave, Andrew. We're not supposed to leave each other. That's the only rule, remember? Now, don't fuck with me. I can smell it on you." Exasperated, Andrew heaves a short, sharp sigh. "So what? I ran into the guy from the bakery. He offered, and I accepted." "I knew it. You went and got high. And you left me here waiting for you." Ashley sneers. "Just like old times, huh?" "I'm allowed to have a life and do things," Andrew snaps, snatching his arm back and wrenching himself free of his sister's grasp. "I don't need your permission. I didn't need it then and I certainly don't need it now. So can you please calm down and back the fuck off?" Ashley takes a step forward and shoves Andrew square in the chest. The force isn't much, but it's enough to make him stumble. "And why would I want to do that?" Her voice takes on a dangerous edge. "I'm not the one ditching you to get high with the bread boy." Andrew catches himself with a hand on the countertop behind him. His face twists with a scowl. "His name is Adam. And I can't believe you're jealous of him." "Whatever! He's still a nobody. Who cares what his name is?" Ashley snarls, jabbing her brother in the chest with a pointed finger. "And I'm not jealous. I'm pissed!" Glaring down at her, Andrew takes Ashley by her wrist and pulls her hand away from his chest. "Ashley. I wasn't there to hang out with him, or to get away from you. I was just being polite." Andrew's expression softens a little as he continues. "Having people on our side can only make things easier." The strength of her brother's grip on her arm sends a thrill through her. It's the first physical contact they've had today, and the sudden closeness is almost enough to derail her train of thought. Almost. "I don't like you being polite. Not unless it's with me." Ashley folds her arms across her chest and looks away from him, her lips pressed into a sullen pout. She knows she's being unreasonable, and that her behavior is childish, but she can't seem to stop herself. Andrew is hers, and she doesn't share. "I know you don't." Andrew cups Ashley's chin in his hand and tilts her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes. He presses a tiny kiss to her forehead before he continues, "But I'm not going anywhere. I'll always come back to you. I chose you, remember?" He punctuates his last word with another kiss, this time to her cheek, before pulling her against his chest in a tight embrace. The reassurance she finds in the closeness and warmth of his body is enough to placate her. For now, at least. Her hands find their way to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as she clings to him. "And for what it's worth," Andrew adds, resting his chin atop her head, "I'd rather get high with you, if I thought you'd enjoy it." Ashley rolls her eyes, though she knows Andrew can't see her. "Really?" She asks, "Are you sure you wouldn't have more fun with Bread Boy?" "Adam. His name's Adam." Andrew sighs. "And yes, really." Now, that's quite a proposition. One that piques Ashley's interest. "Okay." Andrew pulls back from the embrace and raises an eyebrow. "Okay...?" Her full lips twist into a mischievous smirk. "Yeah. Okay. I'll do it. I'll get stoned with you. That way, if I like it, you can stop spending so much time with that bakery brat." It takes a moment for Andrew's brain to process this information. "Why did I expect anything less from you?" He laughs in spite of himself. "You're such a fucking idiot." "Hey, if it'll keep you off his dick..." She says with an impish giggle. Andrew's cheeks flush. "That's not—" He drops it, apparently unwilling to argue the point. "You know what? Fine. You're on. How about we do it right now?" "What, like, now, now?" Ashley's eyes widen. She didn't actually think he would take her up on her offer, but he's already digging something out of the back pocket of his jeans. Andrew's lips curl into a mischievous grin. "Yeah. No time like the present, right?" He flips open his pack of cigarettes and plucks a slim, tightly-rolled joint from inside. "Are you ready to put your money where your mouth is, or what?" "Fuck yeah, I'm ready," she declares. Her eagerness is palpable. She's never even smoked tobacco before, let alone pot. It's not exactly a habit she ever intended to pick up, but the prospect of doing it with Andrew is exciting. "Where are we doing this? Here?" He scoffs. "Hell no. You want to get us kicked out?" He returns the cigarette pack to his pocket, then moves toward the living room window, pushing it open and stepping through the frame onto the fire escape. "It's nice out here. Come on." From the landing outside, he beckons and offers Ashley his hand, which she takes without hesitation. The rush of cool night air greets her when she steps out onto the narrow platform. It's just crisp enough to raise goosebumps on her skin, and Ashley finds herself rubbing at her arms to fend off a shiver while she adjusts to the slight change in temperature. Andrew takes a seat on the slatted floor of the fire escape and pulls Ashley down to sit beside him, their backs resting against the cool brick wall. There isn't much to look at out here; the streets far below them are mostly deserted, and the overcast skies above offer little in the way of starlight. Even still, the atmosphere is perfect. It's the company that makes it so. Once he's settled in, Andrew reaches into his pocket for his lighter. "Ready?" She nods. With the thin white joint pinched between his thumb and forefinger, Andrew brings it to his lips and flicks the lighter's flint wheel. He dips his head forward. The small flame dances in front of his face when he touches it to the twisted end of the rolling paper. It catches quickly and burns bright orange. He draws a slow, measured breath, causing the smoldering paper to blacken as it burns down toward his lips. He holds the smoke in his lungs for a moment before letting it out. A small, wispy plume drifts toward the sky as Andrew's head lolls back against the wall behind him. Ashley's eyes never leave his face as he does this. She can't help but admire his features—his sharp jawline, his full lips, the way his dark hair falls effortlessly around his face. His gaze is cast down at the joint in his hand, but she doesn't mind. She loves the way her brother looks, especially when he doesn't know she's watching. After a few minutes of silence, Andrew passes the joint to Ashley. She takes it gingerly and eyes it with suspicion. "How does it feel?" Ashley asks, more as a stalling tactic than out of actual curiosity. What if she hates it? What if it's not for her, and she ends up looking like an idiot in front of the most gorgeous man who's ever lived? Andrew chuckles at her hesitation. "Nice. Like everything is softer. It's kind of hard to explain." She tentatively mimics Andrew's motions. She brings the filter end to her mouth and feels the heat on the pad of her thumb when she inhales the searing smoke. It scorches the back of her throat, causing her to cough, eyes watering as she thrusts the joint back toward Andrew. "Whoa," Andrew chuckles, catching it before it can fall, "easy!" "Oh my God," Ashley wheezes, "You're telling me people do this for fun?!" Her lungs are burning and her voice is hoarse. She isn't even sure if she'll be able to speak until the sensation fades. But, little by little, it does. And when it finally does, she notices that the whole world seems less sharp than it had only moments ago. As if someone dialed down the contrast until all the edges are blurred. Next to her, Andrew blows a billowing whisp from another deep draw. "It gets easier. You think you can handle another?" He asks, extending the joint back toward her. Ashley purses her lips at that. She's not entirely sure how she feels yet. "It burns," she mutters, and immediately cringes inwardly at how petulant she sounds. So much for being cool. Andrew doesn't seem to mind, though. "Hmm. Well. There's another way to do this, if you're willing to try." He sports a playful little smirk, and there's a mischievous spark in his eye that Ashley finds disarming. It's a look he only gets when he has something she wants and he knows it. "What other way?" She asks, curious. Andrew stretches his legs out in front of him and pats his lap. "Come here." The weed is already doing something to her brain, because it takes a moment for Ashley's mind to parse the instructions, and another for her body to obey. She slides onto Andrew's lap, straddling him. Andrew's lips meet hers for a too-quick kiss. "Open your mouth and breathe in when I exhale, okay?" And then he takes another long, practiced hit and brings their open mouths together again. For the span of a heartbeat, their lips almost touch. He exhales, and Ashley breathes in. Ashley breathes deep, sucks in the smoke from her brother's lungs. It's a different experience than her last. Better, even. This time, it doesn't burn. It's soft and warm and smooth. It doesn't fill her lungs with fire or make her cough. This time, Ashley holds the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds before it seeps out in a smooth stream. When she pulls away from Andrew, she can feel it spreading through her veins, lighting up her nerves. An expectant smile on his face, Andrew watches her intently, taking note of the changes in her expression and demeanor. "Feeling good yet? How's it hitting you?" He asks. It takes a moment for Ashley to remember how speaking works. Her tongue feels thick and clumsy in her mouth; her vocal cords are reluctant to obey. When she finally does speak, her words are slightly slurred. "Andrew, I..." Andrew hums, prompting her to continue. There's a strange flutter in Ashley's chest. She can feel her face splitting into a wide, goofy grin. "I think I'm high," she says. Andrew starts laughing. It's a stilted little giggle, not his usual sharp, snarky snicker, and she recognizes it immediately as Andy's laugh, not Andrew's. He never laughs like that when he's sober. She likes it. Ashley watches her brother with rapt fascination while he sucks in another lungful of smoke and leans forward to blow it into her mouth. She feels a sense of calm wash over her as she breathes it in. The gesture is so profoundly intimate. It feels almost ritualistic, a solemn and sacrosanct exchange of more than just plant matter and air. It strikes her that this is such an Andrew thing to do—to take the worst of something onto himself for Ashley's benefit. They repeat the ritual a third time and a fourth after that. They pass the smoke between them in a string of almost-kisses, each one more charged than the last. By the time it burns down to nothing, Ashley feels like she might float up into the sky and get lost among the stars, and she twists her fingers into Andrew's shirt as if it's the only thing tethering her to gravity's pull. She can feel herself leaning in toward him. It's as though there's a magnet inside her, drawing her inexorably toward Andrew. He doesn't move away. Instead, he meets her halfway, their mouths colliding in a kiss that tastes of smoke and anticipation. Andrew's hands find their way up under her shirt and start to roam. Ashley sighs happily and leans into the sensation. Her head dips down to rest on his shoulder. His touch lacks its usual precise, methodical quality; it's more meandering, more exploratory, like there's no real goal in mind. Just a desire to touch her for the sake of touching. The heady, disorienting sensations have Ashley moving on instinct, grinding her hips down against the shape of him growing beneath the rough denim that separates their bodies. The friction draws a loud, needy sound out of her that stops both of them in their tracks. Andrew's hand stills, resting idly just below the wire of her bra, while the fingers of his other dig sharply into the curve of her waist. "Ashley." Ashley nods, understanding. This isn't the place to do this. The low hum of distant traffic reverberates through the tight canyons of brick and plaster and it reminds her of how easily they might be seen by any passerby. How exposed they are to the intrusion of prying eyes. A shiver runs down her spine. She pulls herself away from Andrew's lap and stands, swaying slightly as the world spins around her. She steadies herself on the railing until she can find her balance. Andrew stands up as well. He moves slowly, carefully, like he's not entirely sure of his own movements. His hand finds hers, fingers interlocking. He tugs her toward the window, back to the safety of their apartment. Before she steps through to the other side, Ashley looks back over her shoulder at the city below, at the golden lights of countless windows speckling the darkness. She wonders how many other people are looking out of those windows at the same moment, seeing an unassuming pair of lovers standing on a fire escape, fingers entwined. Andrew's voice draws her attention back to reality. He's already halfway through the window, one leg up and the other down on the floor. He looks back at her with a smile. "Coming?"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
They retreat into their tiny bedroom, fumbling through the dark until they find the bed and collapse onto it in the very position that started it all—Andrew slouched against the wall with Ashley on top of him. And they stay like that for a while, holding each other close, sharing their breath and their mouths, and reveling in the simple pleasure of being together. Ashley's eyes drift shut while she focuses on the sensations. She can feel the clothing on her skin, and it's almost overwhelming. It stifles her. She wants it off. All of it. It seems as though Andrew is on the same wavelength, judging by the way his hands immediately seek out the hem of her shirt. The black fabric bunches around her shoulders before it's drawn up over her head and discarded unceremoniously on the floor. In spite of his inebriation, Andrew manages to hook a finger onto the clasp of her bra and deftly undo it. It's an impressive feat, given his current lack of coordination. But he's always been good with his hands, and his hands are all over her now, undressing her, exposing her. And then his mouth is on her tits before the fabric even hits the floor. Each miniscule sensation feels impossibly broad, as if Andrew is touching her in every place at once. It's dizzying, disorienting. She can barely focus on one feeling at a time before another floods in. When she looks down at him, Andrew's face is pressed up against the soft swell of her chest, and he's rubbing his cheek against her. Ashley can feel him mumbling something into her skin, but she can't quite make it out. It's probably not that important, anyway. What is important, she thinks, is how goddamn beautiful Andrew is when he's like this. He's always gorgeous, with his long, unkempt hair, his angular features, his lean, slim body. But there's something different about him now that he's so helplessly unguarded, so vulnerable. Ashley giggles to herself; a combination of Andrew's ticklish kisses and her own thoughts. It's just so funny! Andrew is always so serious, so above it all, and now here he is, drooling all over her tits in a needy stupor. It's nice to see him needy. It's nice to be needed. He blinks up at her then, his face still smooshed up against her chest, and gives her a slow, inquisitive look. "Wha'sso funny?" He slurs into her cleavage. And Ashley would tell him, if she could string the words together. "You're pretty." She giggles, instead. She hopes Andrew will understand her. She hopes Andrew knows what he means to her, and what she's feeling. His eyes widen at the compliment, and then he smiles up at her in that lazy way he always does. He knows. "You're pretty, too," He whispers back at her, his voice cracking with a hint of vulnerability. "Let me taste your dick." The words slip out of her mouth without any hesitation, and they surprise them both. Andrew's shoulders quake with laughter but he looks interested. His eyes linger on Ashley's full, soft lips. "Uh. Sure, I mean. That sounds fun. We could, um. We could do that." There's some awkward maneuvering while the two of them shed their clothes. Ashley is forced to wriggle clumsily out of her shorts and panties. Andrew slams his head into the wall behind him when he tries to take off his shirt. They hear the footsteps of a neighbor in the adjacent apartment, likely investigating the source of the loud thump. They freeze for a moment, and then the footsteps become distant and the two of them share a conspiratorial laugh. It feels nice to laugh. And then the two of them are naked and eager. Ashley thinks her brother looks good all sprawled out on the white sheets, like some kind of great lazy wildcat with his green eyes half-lidded and his chest rising and falling with each slow, even breath. It makes her cunt clench tight around its own emptiness. She gives him a moment to admire her naked body before sliding herself down his torso until she's level with his cock. She's familiar enough with it by now, but it's still a sight to behold. His erection juts proudly from a nest of wild, pitch black hair. The deliciously red tip is wet with a pearl of pre-cum, and his balls hang heavy between his thighs. It's an exquisite sight. Her hazy thoughts come to a halt as she contemplates her brother's dick in front of her. She wants to savor the moment for as long as possible, so Ashley takes her time, wraps her fingers around the girth of him, and slowly begins to stroke his shaft. The weight of him feels good in her hand. He's warm and thick and his foreskin glides silkily beneath her fingertips. She teases the tip of him for a while, slowly, idly, letting his excitement build. Andrew watches. He leans back, his long, gangly body propped up with one arm beneath him and his other hand fisted into his tousled waves of dark hair. His eyes lack the usual sharpness of sobriety, but they follow Ashley's every movement with intense focus. "Are you gonna do it, or just keep jerking me off?" The way he says it isn't particularly cutting. If anything, it sounds like he's genuinely worried. His mouth twists into an uneasy frown. Ashley rolls her eyes. She wants to tease him some more, but he looks like he's on the verge of passing out. His face is flushed and his breathing is stilted. His jaw clenches with each slow pass of her hand. So she gives him a final tug, then guides his tip to her mouth. The head of his dick is swollen and hot against her lips as she kisses it softly, almost reverently, before taking it into her mouth. The bitter salt of him fills her mouth and overwhelms her senses. He tastes good. He feels good. Ashley presses her thighs together to alleviate the ache building there as she begins to suck him. The sensation of Andrew's eyes on her is palpable, electric. His gaze feels every bit as real and tangible as the gentle pressure of his palm cradling the back of her head. His fingers weave through her hair, tugging slightly. "God, you look so good doing that," he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "So, so pretty." She pulls back and looks up at him with a thin strand of drool dribbling down her chin. "Yeah?" She says softly, and she can feel the goofy grin forming on her face. She reaches up to wipe away the saliva, pink eyes locked with his. He nods in response. "Yeah." Ashley smirks, her ego preening under the praise, and dips back down to resume the blowjob. Her eyes drift shut. She wants to focus on the feeling of his dick sliding into her mouth. The warmth, the texture of his skin on her tongue, the soft pulse flowing through him. It feels like her senses are being flooded with information and all of it is equally exciting. The sound of Andrew's breathing becomes increasingly ragged. He's so gone, so completely gone on both the drug and on her, and he looks so fucking beautiful with his flushed skin, the light sheen of sweat clinging to his brow and glistening in the dim light, and his face slack with pleasure. Inch by perfect inch, she sinks her mouth onto her brother's cock, bobbing and hollowing her cheeks around him until his hands flex, white knuckled, into the sheets. He's close. A look of absolute agony flits across Andrew's features when she pulls off and nuzzles her face into the tender flesh of his sac. His cock twitches violently in protest at the loss of her mouth. A thin, glittering strand of precum slides down his length and over his balls, pooling on the skin. Ashley is hypnotized by the sight. Her pussy is begging for attention, for something to milk, for a thick, warm cock to fill it up. Andrew looks down at Ashley like he wants to say something but the only thing that escapes him is a long, shaky breath. "Shhh." Ashley gently strokes his thigh to calm him. "I've got you. You're gonna be inside me soon." She murmurs her reassurance, a little distracted, into the sweat-damp skin of his groin. And that's what does it. The heat of her whispered breath on his balls is what finally makes him snap. Ashley tries to pull away but it's too late and it's happening too fast and all she can do is sit there, slack jawed and bewildered at the thick, milky ribbons of cum spattered across her nose and cheeks. For a moment, Andrew looks back at her, just as bewildered, and then the fog lifts and his face reddens and he starts to panic. "Shit, I'm sorry." He looks mortified. "Shit." "It's fine," Ashley says, wiping away the sticky mess with the back of her hand. She can feel a giggle building in her throat. "It's not a big deal. We can do it later. I'm sure you've got enough in you for another round." She bites her tongue to keep the laugh from escaping. "It's not fine. It's embarrassing." Andrew collapses backward. He groans, covering his face with his hands. "Fuck." It's not often that she gets to see her brother so flustered. She wants to reassure him, to comfort him. But she can't help it—she laughs. It feels nice to laugh. Andrew peers at her through his fingers with his green eyes narrowed. "You think this is funny?" "Isn't it? Look at us." Ashley crawls up the bed and curls against his chest. "We're a mess." She giggles. The tension drains out of him. Andrew sighs and drops his head onto the pillow. "Hey... Can I... You want me to help you out in the meantime?" His voice is low and quiet, barely more than a whisper. "Or..." His eyes flit hungrily over her naked body. They linger on her breasts, her thighs, and the secret place between them. She can't help but shiver under the intensity of his gaze. It's a good kind of shiver, though; a delicious, tingly, anticipatory feeling that sets her skin on fire and her cunt aching. "Yes." She says it like a prayer, with her eyes fixed on his face. And then Andrew scoots away from her and motions as if to sit up. But Ashley pushes him back down. "Not tonight." She grins at him. His brow furrows with confusion. "Use your fingers instead." She instructs. "I can't kiss you if your mouth is busy, right?" He's happy to comply. The softness of Andrew's lips against hers has Ashley melting. His kisses are slow, lazy, and sloppy. She can feel his tongue darting out to meet her own, and it sends shivers down her spine. Her body is on fire, burning from the inside out with want, with need. She needs him to touch her. She needs his long, clever fingers curling inside her. There's love in every stroke of his hands, she can feel it in the way he touches her. His fingers trace the curves and angles of her body like they're mapping a path through a strange and unfamiliar land. She wants him to memorize every inch, to commit it all to memory and keep it there forever. But Ashley can't think about forever. Her entire world is now. On instinct, she reaches out to grab his wrist, guiding him lower, lower, until Andrew takes the hint and slides his hand between her thighs. He rubs her with a cupped palm at first, his fingers splaying out, spreading her open, before sliding his middle finger back and forth along the groove of her slit. He spreads the wetness over her swollen lips and tender little bud. It's frustration and relief all at once, and Ashley can't help but groan into his mouth. He teases her for a while, dipping a finger inside just enough to make her hips buck before pulling out again and going back to rubbing her clit. Ashley breaks the kiss with a breathy whine. "Inside," She says, her voice soft and pleading. "Andrew, I need you." She's begging now, pleading with him to touch her, to make her come, to make her feel something other than the room tilting around her. There's no place for pride here, not when she's so desperate for his touch. "Put your fingers in me." Andrew hums and presses his forehead against hers, his breathing shallow. His eyes are glassy and unfocused. He looks just as wasted as she feels. "You really want me that bad, huh?" He teases, his fingers still moving torturously slowly. He draws Ashley into another kiss and swallows whatever she was going to say in response. Finally, mercifully, Andrew plunges two fingers into her slick, waiting entrance and she's coming before he can even get them all the way in. She can feel her pussy greedily squeezing Andrew's fingers as if trying to draw them deeper. She gasps and writhes. Her back arches off the bed. Her nails dig into his forearm and leave crescent-shaped indents in the pale skin. "Fuck," she breathes, "O-Oh my God, yes." She's a puddle of ecstasy, floating on a cloud of bliss. Andrew pumps his fingers in and out to coax a few more aftershocks from her. It works. He watches her face, his eyes darting over every detail, every expression of pleasure, of relief, of release. "Just keep going," she pants. "Don't stop." It's too much, it's overwhelming. She can barely handle the sensations coursing through her. Overstimulated, Ashley throws her arm over her face to blot out her sight and tries to focus on the feeling of Andrew's fingers rhythmically fucking her. It feels like her body is on fire, nerves burning with every stroke of his hand. The firm press of Andrew's thumb against her aching clitoris, rubbing in slow circles, sends Ashley spiraling. She's on the edge of another orgasm and this one is even more intense than the last. She can feel it building up inside her, a pressure that's been mounting since he first touched her. She feels like she could lose control completely, like she might explode into a million pieces if she lets herself go. It feels like she's teetering on the brink of an abyss, a sprawling, infinite nothingness that threatens to swallow her whole and she's ready to throw herself into its depths. It's terrifying, it's exhilarating, it's everything. Her body shudders and writhes. Her mind is gone, her senses are gone. The world narrows down to just her and Andrew and the bed, and the sweet, sweet friction of his fingers buried deep inside her. And then, blissful emptiness—vast, dark, endless. When she finally surfaces from the blackness, she's lying on her back with her brother still at her side. Concern is written all over Andrew's face. His arm curls protectively around her, holding her close to him. She can't remember blacking out or even closing her eyes. "That was...a first." Ashley's voice sounds strange to her own ears, like someone else is speaking through her. It's thick and husky, laced with satisfaction and exhaustion and the heavy torpor of chemical bliss. "You sure you're okay?" Andrew asks. His fingers dance lightly over her skin, tracing patterns on her collarbone. He sounds so gentle now; tender in a way that reminds her of when they were children and he would comfort her when she cried. "You kind of...went away there for a minute." Ashley nods slowly. She can feel herself drifting again. "Yeah, I'm fine." She smiles lazily up at him and reaches up to brush a strand of his unruly black hair away from his eyes. "I came so hard I caught a glimpse of the afterlife. So, more than fine, I guess? Can't really complain about that." "You're a little scary sometimes." He chuckles and scoots closer to her, kisses her, and rests his chin on top of her head. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. "You know, the French have a particular euphemism for the climax—La petite mort—which translates to 'the little death.'" It takes some effort to follow along with his rambling. There he is, Ashley thinks. There's the pretentious fucker I know and love. Andrew's fingers idly trace the soft angles of Ashley's jaw as he drones on. "Because you can see the exact moment a person is released from consciousness, and it resembles the moment of death. I don't think it was meant to be this literal, though..." She gazes vacantly at him while he carries on, until the last gossamer strand of her patience snaps and she pulls her weight onto him and straddles his lap. The sudden shift shocks him into silence. "I can't believe you're giving me a French lesson while my cunt is still dripping." She wraps her arms around his neck and leans in to bite at his earlobe. His cock is trapped in the tight space between their bodies, and Ashley can feel him stirring back to life underneath her. She grinds her hips against him, teasing him. "You goddamn dork. You'd better fuck me senseless." Her words light a defiant spark behind his green eyes. "Plenty of women would find my academic interests sexy." He shoots back, rolling his hips to meet hers. He's hardening quickly beneath her. "Antiquated French colloquialisms are the stuff of romance. You're just too uncultured to appreciate it." "I guess I'm not one of those women, then." Ashley smirks, raking her fingernails lightly down his chest. Her skin tingles with the delicious buzz of anticipation. Her heartbeat pulses hot and insistent between her thighs, where Andrew's erection throbs against her. "Your body begs to differ." He hooks his arm around her waist and drags her up the length of him until the tip of his cock grazes her swollen clit. Ashley sucks in a sharp breath. Her eyes flutter closed. She can feel the heat radiating off Andrew's body and smell the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and smoke. It's intoxicating. She's intoxicated. And she's hungry, desperately hungry for more of him. "You're—" She stifles a gasp as Andrew thrusts forward and rubs the tip of his cock against her soaked entrance. "You're so lucky. Lucky we both inherited Mom's crazy sex drive. Otherwise I wouldn't put up with your shit." She hoists herself up just enough to reach down and take his stiff member in her hand. She gives it a few quick pumps before lining it up with her pussy. Before she can slide down, Andrew grips her by the hips and holds her in place. "Ah- Not yet, not yet." He feels around blindly for something on the bedside table. Ashley can hear him sliding the little foil packet across the wood. "Fuck that!" She whines, seizing his arm before he can tear the wrapper, "Just put it in me." "We've talked about this before." Andrew chides, trying to pry his arm free of her grip, "We can't keep risking it." "So don't. Pull out! Fuck!" Ashley reaches for his cock again but Andrew seizes her, gripping her wrists firmly above her head. "Please," She pleads, wriggling desperately above him, "I need you. All of you. Just you. No condom." "You really want to put my timing to the test? After you got a surprise facial less than an hour ago? You really trust me that much?" His tone is lighthearted, but Ashley detects a hint of genuine concern. Ashley peers at him mutely. He's right, and she knows it. But she's too horny, too high, too lost in the moment to possess a single shred of reason. Right now all she needs is him, her big, sweet, handsome brother. She needs him to fuck her, to make her feel full and complete. "Yes, I do. Because you almost always pull out in time." She looks directly into his eyes, her gaze unwavering. She means every word. She trusts him. She knows he'll never hurt her. "When I'm not totally fucked up, yeah, maybe. But right now, I dunno... I can't trust myself not to slip up and put a baby in you." Those words send a surge of heat and wetness to the depths of her pulsing cunt. She tries to bite back the little moan that escapes her throat, but Andrew hears it and his eyes go wide with surprise. He releases her wrists and holds his hand against her face, thumbing at her lips. "You like that thought, huh?" It's a thought that makes her heart race. Andrew could knock her up. He could flood her with his hot, virile cum. He could lay claim to her womb, fill it with new life, and then no one could ever question his love for her—not while her belly swelled with his child and her tits grew heavy with milk—while her body became a testament to their loving union. It's all she can think about as she sinks down onto him, taking his rigid length all the way into her hot, tight, silky depths. "O-Oh. Oh, fuck. Okay." He gasps, gripping her hips and holding her still for a moment. "This is. This is really happening." "Fuck yeah, it is." Ashley moans. She starts to move her hips, slowly and rhythmically. She feels so full, so whole with him inside her. They are meant to be together, two halves of a perfect being, joined at the hip, united by blood and by sin. The way he moves in time with her, it's clear that Andrew feels it, too. He digs his fingers into her thighs while she rides him. His bruising grip is a delicious ache that drives her wild. "Is this really what does it for you?" It's an honest question, free of judgement or teasing. His voice is soft and inquisitive. Ashley feels a strange twinge in her chest. She doesn't know how to answer him. She lets her head fall forward and nods into the crook of his neck, her cheek pressed against his damp, heated skin. She closes her eyes and loses herself in the sensation of his hands on her body and the slick, wet slide of him deep within her, the satisfying stretch of being filled. She circles her hips in a lazy, tantalizing grind, savoring the delicious tension that's building inside her. "You want it, too, right? The risk... The idea of it?" When she finally looks up to meet his brilliant green eyes again, she finds a look of insatiable hunger that sparks a current through her body. It's all instinct, it's all want. Andrew grabs the flesh of her ass in greedy fistfuls, guiding her body against his with a feverish determination. "I want this, Ashley. I want to." He murmurs airily. He bucks up into her pussy to match her tempo. "You have no idea how bad. I want to come inside you. Deep inside." A bead of sweat rolls down Ashley's neck and into her cleavage. Andrew laps it up. His tongue is warm and smooth against her skin. "Breed me." She pants, the words escaping her lips before she realizes what she's saying. "Please. Do it." Of its own volition, her hand drifts to her lower abdomen, just over her womb. Ashley imagines that she can already feel the tiny life growing inside her. A small rippling shudder passes through her body— a tiny foreshock of a climax that doesn't satisfy her and only whets her appetite for more. She feels it in the pit of her stomach and down to her toes, and it makes her quiver and brace herself against the headboard for leverage. Beneath her, Andrew watches in awe. "Holy shit." His hands slide up her sides, stopping just shy of her breasts. "Just from the thought of being pregnant? That's... Wow." Ashley can only nod, her voice failing her. There's a strange lump forming in her throat, a mixture of shame and longing and a desperate desire for more. She wants Andrew to fuck her until she's screaming, crying, coming. As if he's reading her mind, Andrew grips her hips and flips Ashley onto her back. She lands with a startled gasp, glossy black hair fanning out around her like a halo of tangled curls. "I'm going to fill you up until you're leaking," he warns her, "I'm going to pump you full of my cum. 'Gonna make you a mother." Andrew presses his weight against her and pounds his thick cock into her with renewed urgency. He nips at her neck and shoulder, taking the delicate skin between his teeth. Caught in the throes of bliss, Ashley can barely form a coherent thought, let alone a response. Her mouth opens and closes uselessly while Andrew drives into her. She can only whimper and moan. The sounds of their lovemaking fill the air: the soft slap of flesh on flesh, the quiet murmurs of pleasure, and the squeak of the old bed beneath them. The headboard knocks against the wall in a steady rhythm. The neighbor from earlier is pounding angrily on his side of the wall. Andrew takes it as a personal challenge, redoubling his efforts to please Ashley with an enthusiasm bordering on violence. With every out stroke, he slides against the most sensitive, hidden part of her before thrusting himself back in to the hilt, where her needy cunt grips him and coaxes him toward ecstasy. They kiss. It's deep and messy and full of promise. She clings to him and digs her nails into his back. Andrew whispers things to her, sweet, filthy things. Praise and adoration spill from his lips and pour over her like honey. He tells her how beautiful she is, how badly he wants her, how good it feels to be inside her tight, perfect pussy. She's losing control now, slipping away from reality and into pure sensation. She arches her back and moans long and low, grinding her too-sensitive clit against Andrew's pelvis. She's chasing the feeling that's building inside her, the pressure that's coiling tight in her core. Andrew stills. "Fuck-fuck-fuck-!" The vulgar mantra is barely audible, muffled by Ashley's hair, but she can feel his face pressing into the curve of her neck and his mouth moving with the words. Impulsively, Ashley locks her legs around his waist to prevent his retreat. But to her surprise, he doesn't even try. He plunges forward again, driving deep, and then Ashley can feel her brother's dick pulsing and flexing. Each twitch is punctuated with a fresh gush of his warm, creamy release right into the depths of her. The sensation is exquisite. In that moment, time stands still. All sense of self, all desire for anything outside this perfect union melts away as Ashley joins him in euphoria. Her orgasm is a torrent of sensation that roils through her body, leaving her trembling and weak in its wake. She hears Andrew gasping and whining softly while she milks him through his final involuntary thrusts. She strokes his hair and cradles him against her, grateful to be joined with him for one brief, beautiful moment. They lie in hallowed silence, still joined, until Andrew's softening dick forces them to part and even then, they remain intertwined. Ashley's fingers trace abstract patterns in the thin sheen of sweat that coats Andrew's back and shoulders. A great heaviness settles into her limbs, and she feels like she could fall right through the mattress and into oblivion. But Andrew's arms wrap around her, and Ashley knows she can't fall while he's here to catch her. They drift in and out of consciousness while time stretches on and on and the lazy minutes blur into what could be hours. There are no words that need to be said, no thoughts that need to be spoken. Their bodies have done the talking for them. The warm, dreamy languor slowly begins to dissipate, and focus comes more easily. Ashley's mind feels clearer but her mouth feels unbearably dry. She sits up and reaches for the bottle of water on her bedside table. She takes a long sip and relishes the feeling of it trickling down her throat. She offers the bottle to Andrew, and he takes it gratefully. Their eyes meet for a moment, and Ashley feels a spark of recognition. She almost winces at the recklessness of what they've just done, but the feeling subsides quickly. Later. Later there will be time to mull over the potential consequences, and to talk Andrew down from his now-inevitable freakout once the post-coital bliss fades. There will be time for damage control later. Ashley accepts the bottle back when he offers it. She drinks deeply, letting the cool water soothe the dryness in her throat. She smiles weakly at her brother, offering a silent apology for leading them both down this path. Andrew smiles back, and the world seems a little less terrifying. He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Ashley's forehead. "Well? Was it worth it?" Ashley grins. "Absolutely. You can keep your little friend, I guess." She says it with all the charitable benevolence of a mother allowing her child to keep a found kitten. "Though I would appreciate a little more notice the next time you decide to fuck off and get high instead of running errands." "Heh. Yeah. Sorry about that. We still need to buy some bread." Andrew gives her a sheepish smile. "How about this: we sleep in late, take a shower—together, obviously—and then go down to the bakery. And, to make it up to you, I can get you whatever sweets you want. Sound good?" Ashley yawns contentedly and nestles against his chest. "Sounds perfect," she sighs. "And maybe I'll even say hi to Bread Boy while we're there. Just for you. Now go to sleep, lover." Andrew says something in response, but Ashley is already drifting off into the soft embrace of sleep, and she doesn't hear it. In her dreams she cradles a tiny infant with piercing green eyes. She smiles in her slumber.