“Hawk tuah spit on that thang!” I yelled, pointing a playful finger at Lee’s crotch. He was sprawled on the couch next to Mark, his boyfriend, both of them engrossed in some cheesy superhero movie. I’d just come back from a chaotic shift at the diner, still smelling faintly of fries and desperation. Honestly, the phrase just popped into my head – some dumb internet thing I’d seen earlier – but the look on Lee’s face was priceless.
His eyes widened, a mix of shock and mortification flickering across his features. Mark, who was usually pretty chill, choked back a laugh, his shoulders shaking. Lee shoved me playfully, a blush creeping up his neck.
“Emma! Seriously? What is that even supposed to mean?” he groaned, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.
“I don’t know!” I giggled, collapsing onto the armchair opposite them. “It’s just… funny! Hawk tuah! Imagine that!” I kept repeating it, relishing in Lee’s discomfort. It was childish, I knew, but moments of levity were rare in our house. Especially since Mom had… well, since everything with Mom and Dad.
See, Lee and I, we’re siblings, technically. But “technically” is the keyword. Lee is… older. Like, forty older. Dad always called me his “surprise package,” which was his polite way of saying Mom had me when she was practically ancient. Ancient for having babies, anyway. And not with him. That was the kicker. Mom had a whirlwind affair with some younger dude, and nine months later, here I was, big boobs and all, shattering their already fragile marriage into a million pieces.
It was never really talked about, not directly. But the tension was always there, a thick, unspoken layer in every family gathering. Dad retreated into himself, Mom became a whirlwind of nervous energy, and Lee… well, Lee became the responsible one, the peacekeeper. He was already grown and gone when the bomb dropped, living his own life in the city. But he’d visit, try to smooth things over, be the bridge between two fractured people. And now, with Dad gone too, it was just Mom and me, and Lee, bless his heart, trying to keep us all afloat.
Tonight, he and Mark were over for pizza and movies, a rare attempt at normalcy. Mom was at her book club – a thinly veiled excuse to escape the house, I suspected – leaving us three to our own devices. Mark, as always, was easygoing and friendly, his arm casually draped around Lee’s shoulders. They were cute together, in a comfortable, settled-in kind of way. It still felt a little weird to me sometimes, seeing my older brother with a boyfriend. Not in a judgmental way, just… different. Growing up, Lee was always so private, so guarded. He never brought girls home, never talked about relationships. Then, boom, Mark appeared a few years ago, and suddenly, Lee was… out. And happy. Which was great, obviously. But still… different.
Later, after the movie ended and the pizza boxes lay empty on the coffee table, we were still hanging out, nursing beers. Mark had dozed off, his head lolling against Lee’s shoulder, soft snores escaping his lips. Lee was idly scrolling through his phone, a half-smile playing on his lips as he watched some video. I was feeling the buzz of the beer, the lingering stress of my shift melting away. And for some reason, my brain decided to revisit the whole Lee-being-gay thing.
“Hey, Lee?” I slurred slightly, the alcohol loosening my tongue.
He looked up, his brow furrowed slightly. “Yeah, Em?”
“So… you’re, like, really gay, right?”
His eyes widened again, this time with a hint of exasperation. “Emma, we’ve been over this. Yes, I’m gay.”
“No, I know, I know,” I rushed to clarify. “It’s just… like, really? Like… you don’t even… like… girls at all?” My brain was struggling to form coherent sentences.
He sighed, setting his phone down. “Emma, sweetheart, what is this about?”
“I don’t know!” I blurted out, a sudden surge of unwanted emotion bubbling up. “It’s just… why? Why not girls? Like, do you hate us or something? Because, you know, girls are… good. We’re… nice. And… curvy.” I gestured vaguely at my chest, instantly regretting it. God, I sounded like such an idiot.
Lee’s expression softened, a hint of something like pity in his eyes. “Emma, it’s not about hating girls. It’s… it’s just who I am. It’s not a choice, okay? It’s just… attraction. I’m attracted to men. In the same way, I guess, that you’re attracted to…” he trailed off, a slight awkwardness creeping into his voice.
“Boys,” I finished for him, nodding sagely. “Yeah, boys. With… willies.” Again, my brain was offering up the most ridiculous and unhelpful things.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Right. Boys with willies. And I like boys with willies too. Just… in a different way.”
“But… have you ever… like, tried?” I persisted, pushing further than I probably should. The beer was making me bold, and maybe a little stupid. “Like… with a girl?”
Lee’s smile faded, replaced by a weary sigh. “Emma, really? This is… a bit much, don’t you think?”
“No, no, I’m just curious!” I protested, waving my hands defensively. “Like… you never know, right? Maybe you’re just… missing out! Maybe you just haven’t found the right girl yet. Maybe… maybe you just need to experience it once, you know? Just to be sure.” The words tumbled out, fueled by alcohol and a bizarre, misguided sense of… what, exactly? Sisterly concern? Drunken curiosity? Something else, maybe, something I didn’t want to examine too closely.
Lee just stared at me, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just looked at me with those steady, serious eyes of his. Then, he shook his head slowly, a weary smile returning.
“Emma, you’re drunk. Let’s just… drop it, okay?” He reached out and gently squeezed my hand. “Go get some water, alright?”
He was right, of course. I was being ridiculous. And rude. And probably embarrassing myself. I mumbled an apology, grabbed my beer bottle, and headed to the kitchen, feeling a flush of shame creep up my neck.
I filled a glass with water, taking slow, deliberate sips. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of the refrigerator. I glanced back at the living room, the soft glow of the TV screen illuminating Lee and Mark huddled together on the couch. Mark was still asleep, completely oblivious to our awkward conversation. Lee was back on his phone, but I could see him glancing over at me every few seconds.
My gaze lingered on him, a strange mix of emotions swirling within me. Guilt for being so nosy, embarrassment for being so clumsy, and… something else. Something darker, something… curious. The beer was definitely talking now, whispering dangerous ideas in my ear. Lee had dismissed me, shut me down. But the thought, once planted, was stubborn. Just to be sure. The words echoed in my mind, laced with a perverse kind of logic.
I took another gulp of water, but the dryness in my mouth didn’t go away. Instead, it seemed to spread, settling in my throat, in my chest. My heart started to beat a little faster, a nervous flutter in my stomach. I knew I should just go to bed, forget about the whole stupid conversation. Forget about the weird, intrusive thoughts swirling in my drunken brain.
But… I didn’t. Instead, I found myself drifting back to the living room, drawn by some irresistible, reckless impulse. Lee was still on the couch, still scrolling through his phone, Mark still deeply asleep beside him. The lights were dimmed, the only illumination coming from the TV screen and a small lamp in the corner. The air was thick with the quiet intimacy of the late night, the hushed breathing of sleeping bodies, the unspoken connection between brothers and boyfriends.
I stood there for a moment, watching Lee, feeling a thrill of something forbidden course through me. The beer had dulled my inhibitions, amplified my recklessness. He hadn’t said yes, hadn’t encouraged me in any way. He’d told me to drop it. But he hadn’t pushed me away earlier, when I’d joked about… about his willy. He’d just blushed and laughed. And he hadn’t pushed me away just now, when I’d asked all those stupid, intrusive questions. He’d just sighed and told me I was drunk.
He hadn’t said no. Not really.
The thought solidified in my mind, a dangerous, intoxicating idea. Just to be sure. Maybe he did need to experience it. Maybe he was just too polite to say yes. Maybe… maybe I could show him.
Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the couch, my steps slow and deliberate. Lee glanced up as I approached, a question in his eyes. Before he could say anything, I knelt down beside him, my heart pounding in my chest. He was wearing sweatpants, loose and comfortable. I could just make out the faint outline of… My breath hitched.
“Lee,” I whispered, my voice thick with alcohol and adrenaline. “I… I want to show you.”
He frowned, confused. “Show me what, Em? Go to bed, you’re tired.”
Ignoring his words, I reached out, my hand trembling slightly as I placed it on his thigh. He stiffened instantly, his eyes widening in shock. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the tension in his muscles.
“Show you… what it’s like,” I mumbled, leaning closer, my breath hot on his ear. “With a girl.”
He started to say something, to protest, but I cut him off, my hand moving higher on his thigh, closer to… He sucked in a breath, his eyes darting to Mark, still sound asleep beside him. The room was silent except for Mark’s soft snores and the frantic pounding of my own heart.
My fingers found the elastic waistband of his sweatpants, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before dipping underneath. He gasped, a low, strangled sound that was barely audible above the TV noise. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t push me. He just froze, staring at me with wide, shocked eyes.
And then, I did it.
I lowered my head, my mouth finding him through the soft fabric of his underwear. The taste was faintly salty, faintly musky, a surprisingly arousing scent that sent a jolt of electricity through me. He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through my lips. His hands clenched into fists, gripping the couch cushions tightly.
I moved my mouth, exploring him through the fabric, teasing him with my tongue, my teeth. He was definitely reacting, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body tense and trembling beneath me. He still hadn’t pushed me away. He was saying “Emma, no,” in a low, strained whisper, but his body was telling a different story.
Emboldened, I reached for the drawstring of his sweatpants, pulling gently. He didn’t stop me. With a slow, deliberate movement, I lowered his pants, revealing him, fully aroused and throbbing, to my eager gaze. He was bigger than I expected, thicker, harder. My mouth watered instinctively.
He was saying “No, Emma, we shouldn’t,” his voice hoarse and desperate. But his hands were still gripping the couch cushions, his body still rigid with anticipation. He wasn’t pushing me away. He was letting me do this.
And I did.
I took him into my mouth, sliding him in deep, feeling the satisfying fullness against my tongue, my throat. He gasped again, louder this time, his back arching off the couch. His hands moved from the cushions, gripping my hair, not pulling, but holding, guiding.
I started to move, my head bobbing up and down, taking him deeper, feeling his breath hitch and shudder with each stroke. He moaned a low, guttural sound of pleasure that sent shivers down my spine. He was saying “Emma… Emma… stop, ah fuck suck it,” but his moans were betraying him, his body arching and bucking against my mouth.
I could taste him, salty and potent, the taste of forbidden fruit, the taste of taboo desire. His hands tightened in my hair, pulling me closer, pressing him deeper into my mouth. He was no longer saying no. He was just moaning, gasping, lost in the sensation.
The rhythmic bobbing of my head, the wet, slick sounds filling the quiet room, the feel of him throbbing and pulsing in my mouth… it was intoxicating, exhilarating. I felt a surge of power, a forbidden thrill that made my blood rush in my ears.
He was close, I could feel it, hear it in his ragged breathing, the tremors shaking his body. He groaned again, louder this time, a long, drawn-out sound of release, and then he came, hot and thick and pulsing in my mouth. I swallowed him down, the taste sharp and intense, the feeling overwhelming.
He collapsed back against the couch, breathing heavily, his body still trembling. I pulled away, my mouth wet and slick, my cheeks flushed, my heart pounding like a drum. He looked at me, his eyes glazed, his expression a mix of shock, shame, and something else… something I couldn’t quite decipher.
Mark stirred beside him, shifting in his sleep. Lee’s eyes widened, snapping back to reality. He pushed me away gently, his movements jerky and awkward.
“Emma,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “What… what did you do?”
I just shrugged, a nervous giggle escaping my lips. “Just… making sure, Lee. Just making sure.”
He stared at me, his expression a mixture of disbelief and something akin to horror. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, shaking his head slowly, repeatedly. He didn’t say anything else. He just looked at me, a silent, bewildered question in his eyes.
And I knew, in that moment, that things were irrevocably changed. The air in the room had shifted, become thick with unspoken tension, with the weight of what we had just done. The silence stretched between us, heavy and pregnant with consequences. The night, once filled with easy laughter and brotherly affection, was now tainted, shadowed by the awkward, intoxicating act we had just shared.
I knew I should feel guilty. I knew I should apologize. But all I felt, strangely, was… a strange, reckless sense of satisfaction. And a flicker of something else, something darker, something that scared me a little, but also… excited me. The secret we now shared, the taboo we had broken, hung in the air between us, a heavy, unspoken promise of something more, something dangerous, something… forbidden. And in the quiet darkness of that late night, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next.