I never planned on spending an entire weekend cooped up in that dusty old family cabin alone with Jess, but here I am. To be honest, I never planned on stopping by our parent’s house this morning either, not when I finally had a day off from the warehouse, but Mom’s voice on the phone last night made it sound urgent. And when Mom’s voice turns that certain pitch—somewhere between pleading and warning—I know better than to ignore it.
So I showed up around eight, still wearing yesterday’s jeans and a wrinkled flannel, hoping to grab some coffee and get whatever this “talk” was out of the way. I barely stepped through the front door when I heard Jess’s shrill voice cutting through the kitchen, something about how I was always “too important” to show up on time. She was standing there by the sink, glaring at me under her dyed-black bangs, arms folded tight over her chest. Eighteen and perpetually pissed off—that’s Jess in a nutshell. She’d never grown out of that teenage anger phase. Meanwhile, I’m thirty-four and don’t have the energy to play her games.
“Nice to see you too,” I said, heading straight for the coffee pot. It had barely finished brewing and was still sputtering that last bit of hot water into the filter. I could feel her eyes on my back, and I tried to block it out, but the tension between us is impossible to ignore.
“What’s your problem?” she shot at me, voice low and venomous. “You only show up when there’s something in it for you. You can’t stand being around me, can you?”
Here we go. First words out of her mouth and we’re already hurling accusations. I snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, Jess. I’m here for Mom and Dad. Not everyone centres their world around you.”
She slammed her mug onto the counter, ceramic scraping the surface. “Oh, right, Saint Marcus. The golden boy who moved out at eighteen and never looked back. You come here and pretend to be the big family man, but you can’t be bothered most of the time.”
I turned around, coffee in hand, and leaned against the counter. “You haven’t exactly made it easy, living here with that sour attitude. I have a life—rent to pay, a job, and I don’t mooch off Mom and Dad.”
Her eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed with anger. “I’m in college. Living at home saves money. Not that you’d understand what going to college even means.”
Before I could respond, Mom and Dad walked in. Mom looked paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes. Dad scratched his chin, trying to hide the frustration etched into his face. They both sighed, and Dad was the first to speak. “Enough. This can’t go on. We’re tired of the fighting.”
Mom crossed her arms and gave us both a long, stern look. “We raised you to be better than this. Jess, you’re an adult now. Marcus, you’re well into your thirties. We refuse to watch you tear at each other every time you’re under the same roof.”
I glanced at Jess. Her arms were wrapped even tighter across her chest, but her eyes had dropped to the floor. The room fell silent for a few seconds before Mom spoke again. “We’ve decided something. You’re both going to that cabin for the weekend. Just you two. No excuses.”
My stomach twisted. That old cabin by the lake, the one our grandfather built decades ago—barebones, no TV, barely any cell reception. I hadn’t been there in years. Jess’s head snapped up, and she looked as incredulous as I felt.
“You can’t be serious,” Jess said. “I have plans with my boyfriend Darren, we was—”
“Cancel them,” Dad cut in, voice firm. “Pack your stuff. Marcus, you too. You’ll leave this afternoon. Work out whatever issues you have. We’re done playing referee.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but one look at Mom’s eyes told me it wouldn’t work. She was done. This was a line in the sand. And the truth was, I was tired, too. Tired of leaving this house with a sour taste in my mouth. Maybe the weekend away, forced to talk without distractions, might do something. Or maybe we’d kill each other. Either way, I didn’t have a choice.
We arrived at the cabin around noon. The drive was mostly quiet. Jess stared out the window, earbuds jammed in, occasionally tucking her hair behind her ear, refusing to look at me. The silence suited me just fine. The key was still hidden in the same place—under the loose plank on the porch. I unlocked the door to a musty smell and stale air. The cabin hadn’t been used much since Grandpa passed, but the old furniture and kitchenware remained intact. There were two small bedrooms, but I had no doubt Jess would claim the one with the better mattress. Fine by me.
It started the way I expected. We moved around each other like two feral cats sharing a narrow alley, ready to hiss and claw if one got too close. We put away groceries Mom had insisted we bring along—mostly canned food and a couple of bottles of cheap whisky and rum. The silence grew heavier, like a thick blanket thrown over a fire.
Eventually, I broke. After we got the fire going in the small stove, after we found some blankets that weren’t completely moth-eaten, I pulled out one of the whisky bottles. It was late afternoon, and neither of us had eaten much, but I needed something to dull the edges of this tension.
I poured two glasses and held one out to her. She looked at it suspiciously, eyes flicking up to mine. “What’s this for?” she asked. Her tone was still sharp, but less hostile than before.
“Can we just—relax for a second?” I said, trying my best not to sound condescending. “Look, I don’t expect us to be best friends. But we’re stuck here. Let’s have a drink.”
She rolled her eyes but took the glass. We tapped them together, a hollow and reluctant cheers, and took a sip. The stuff tasted cheap and rough, but it did the job. Slowly, the hard lines on her face eased, and I felt my shoulders slump.
We talked, haltingly at first. Made fun of how dusty the cabin was, and joked about Grandpa’s old rocking chair that squeaked with every nudge. Eventually, we graduated to talking about Mom and Dad, and how they seemed perpetually disappointed in how we got along. She said they put too much pressure on her to follow in my footsteps, to succeed academically and financially. I laughed at the idea that I had done something special—I just got a decent job and moved out early. Nothing glamorous. But to her, it felt like a shadow she had to live under.
As the sun dipped behind the trees, we moved on to more drinks and started to let down our guard. Jess told me how she felt suffocated at home, how Dad always asked why she couldn’t be more independent. How Mom always hovered, nagging about her friends, her choices, her future. I admitted how guilty I sometimes felt for leaving early, for missing out on being a supportive older brother. How the age gap never really gave us time to be close. When I was heading out the door into the world, she was still a kid in the backyard. We never really caught up to each other.
Hours passed. I couldn’t say we’d solved anything, but the shouting seemed far behind us. There were uncomfortable truths and heavy silences. She cried a little—just a few tears she tried to hide with a sniff and a scowl. I confessed I wasn’t sure how to talk to her; I never knew what she needed from me, and that it was easier to stay away than to screw it up.
We finished the first bottle of whisky and moved on to the second. The fire crackled, and the wind outside had picked up, rattling the loose shutters. We found an old deck of cards in a drawer and played a half-hearted game of poker, laughing at how neither of us remembered the rules exactly. The mood was different now: we weren’t close, not really, but we weren’t enemies either. Something about the quiet isolation, the fact that we had no one else to vent to, had stripped away some layers of resentment.
At some point, it got late—late enough that I could feel the weight of the alcohol pressing on my eyelids and twisting my thoughts. Jess stood up, weaving slightly on her feet. Her cheeks were flushed, more from the booze than the fire, I think. She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing it down, then pointed a finger at me.
“I’m gonna change,” she said, her tone lighter, her old hostility melted into a kind of tired, tipsy camaraderie. She turned and took a step toward the back bedroom. Then she stopped and looked over her shoulder at me, narrowing her eyes playfully. “There better still be some whisky left when I get back, Marcus.”
I raised my hands in mock surrender and smirked. “I’ll try not to drink it all, Jess.”
Moments later, she came back into the living room, wearing nothing but a long, faded T-shirt that hung loosely off her shoulders. The kind you’d find stuffed in a drawer, half-forgotten, probably something our dad left here ages ago. Her legs were bare, and I could almost feel the chill creeping in through the cracks in the walls.
I raised an eyebrow, looking up from my seat on the couch. “You’re not cold like that, Jess? It’s bloody winter outside.”
She shrugged, crossing her arms as if to keep in her body heat. Her cheeks were still flushed, though now I wasn’t sure if it was the booze or embarrassment. “I’ll manage,” she said, trying to sound tough. The wind rattled the shutters again like the cabin was objecting to her wardrobe choice.
I nodded at the whisky bottle on the low table. “Still some left, like I promised.” I poured a bit into her glass and held it out, the amber liquid catching the firelight.
“Good,” she said, padding over the worn rug in her bare feet. She took the drink, eyed it for a moment, and then settled into the armchair, pulling her knees up and tucking them under the oversized shirt. There was something almost childlike in the way she curled into that chair as if all our years of distance and arguments had peeled back, leaving just a tired girl and her older brother.
We sat there, the silence not quite so heavy as before. The flickering glow of the fire danced over the rough walls and the old furniture, pulling the room into a gentle sway. It felt a far cry from the morning’s bitter words and the years of resentment behind them.
I cleared my throat. “Look, Jess, I know this weekend is forced, and it’s not like all our problems just vanished because we shared a drink.” I looked down at my own glass, swirling the liquor slowly. “But… I’m sorry. Sorry for not being there more, sorry for not trying harder to understand you instead of just judging you.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded, her eyes focused somewhere near the floor. “I’m sorry, too,” she said quietly, her voice a tone I wasn’t used to from her. “I’ve never given you a fair shot. I always assumed the worst… I guess I was angry at a lot of things, and you were just the easiest target.”
The wood in the stove popped, sending sparks into the darkness beyond the window. For a moment, we listened to the wind and the low crackle of the fire.
I raised my glass, just slightly. “To… trying, I guess?”
She met my eyes, and for once, her gaze was warm. She mirrored the motion with her own glass. “To trying,” she echoed. We touched the rims lightly, the faint chime barely audible over the wind.
I leaned back, and she shifted in her chair, the old T-shirt rustling against the worn fabric. Outside, the winter night pressed in, but inside, there was at least some hint of thaw—between two siblings who had finally started talking instead of shouting.
We were both more than a little drunk by then—her cheeks pink from the whisky, my own head buzzing with a warmth that pressed in behind my eyes. The night outside had grown pitch black, and the wind that rattled the shutters earlier now moaned softly around the eaves. Inside, the old stove’s fire was down to embers, casting a sleepy orange glow across the wooden floorboards.
Jess hiccupped softly, her shoulders quivering under the thin shirt and what was left of her bravado. She hugged her knees closer to her chest, and I noticed a faint shiver run through her. Despite our earlier tangles of pride and resentment, we were just two people now—two siblings a long way from home, tired, drunk, and half-frozen. It made me feel protective, in a way I hadn’t in years. Maybe I hadn’t deserved to feel that way before, given how distant I’d been, but here we were.
I reached out, grabbed the worn blanket draped over the back of the couch, and stood up, swaying a little as the blood rushed through my head. The floor was uneven, or maybe it was just me. Jess looked up at me from under her lashes, suspicious at first, but too exhausted to voice it. Without a word, I settled back down on the couch and gently pulled her in, tucking the blanket around both of us. The fabric was scratchy and smelled a little musty, but it was warm enough.
She let out a resigned sigh, and I heard another soft hiccup. “Just… don’t go snoring in my ear,” she mumbled, voice thick with fatigue and alcohol.
I smirked at that. Even half-asleep and tipsy, she had to get in one last jab. “No promises,” I said quietly. She rolled her eyes, and then turned so her back was to me, and I could feel the subtle trembling as she tried to find a comfortable position. We adjusted awkwardly at first—elbows bumping, trying to fit two grown people onto one small couch. Eventually, I settled behind her, my arm draped loosely over her waist, careful not to make it weird. Just sharing warmth. She was shivering.
I felt her tense slightly as my arm settled over her waist, the fabric of the old T-shirt soft but thin beneath my hand. The moment stretched out, charged with a nervous uncertainty neither of us dared to name. This kind of closeness had never been our thing—certainly not lately. Not after years of biting remarks, slamming doors, and all those tense family dinners where we barely acknowledged each other.
But the silence of the cabin and the tenderness of this moment were different. We were both vulnerable right now: tipsy, tired, out of our element. The old grudges seemed distant. There was no Mom or Dad to run to, no busy schedule, no escape. Just the sound of the wind outside and the slow crackle of the dying fire.
After a few uneasy heartbeats, she relaxed into it. Her shoulders eased down as if surrendering, no longer braced against a fight. I could feel the subtle shift in her breathing, the tension seeping out of her limbs. We were two people sharing warmth in a cold place. Siblings, after all. And I realized, a bit guiltily, that I should’ve tried something like this a long time ago—not necessarily this close physical contact, but just… comforting her. Letting her know I was there, that I cared.
Her hair smelled faintly of smoke and something else—maybe the shampoo back at home, maybe just the old wood floors. With my other hand, I tucked the blanket tighter around her shoulders. The stove’s glow dimmed further, and the shadows spread their fingers along the log walls.
“Get some sleep, Jess,” I said softly, my breath close to her ear. There was no snark left in my voice, none of the posturing that usually came so easily. It was just a gentle suggestion, an older brother’s quiet plea in the darkness.
She didn’t answer, but I felt her breathe a small, content sigh. One of her hands slipped out from beneath the blanket, finding mine where it rested on her waist. It didn’t linger—just a brief, tentative pat that could’ve meant anything: thanks, comfort, maybe even forgiveness. Then she was still again.
I stared at the back of her head, at the way the firelight traced a halo around her hair, and thought about how strange and sad it was that this, now, was the first time we’d let our guard down in each other’s presence in so long.
Then I felt my loins stir, I was pressed up tightly to my sister and felt myself getting hard. My crotch pressed against her ass and she just had panties on and her t-shirt.
“Naughty,” that is all she said.
I groaned softly as her ass wriggled back against my now fully erect cock, my hands reflexively gripping her hips. “Jess, Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, “What are you doing?”
She just giggled, a low, throaty sound. “Feels like you’re enjoying it,” she teased, her voice husky from the whisky.
I couldn’t deny it. The heat of her body, her soft curves pressed against me, the way she moved so tantalizingly slow… it was almost too much to bear. But we were siblings. We couldn’t…
Could we?
She seemed to sense my hesitation. Reaching back with one hand, she grabbed mine and guided it underneath her shirt, leaving it on her bare breast. Shit, she had no bra on.
“Wait,” I managed to choke out, even as my hips pushed forward of their own accord. “We can’t… I mean, I can’t…”
She turned her head, looking at me over her shoulder with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Can’t what, big brother?” Her voice was a sultry purr, dripping with innuendo. “Can’t make love to your baby sister? Besides, you’re still playing with my tits, do you like them.”
“Mmm, I do like them,” I admitted, my voice rough with desire. “You’ve grown up so beautifully, sis…”
I leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her neck, tasting the salt of her skin and the lingering whisky on her lips. Jess let out a breathy moan, arching back into me. Her free hand found my dick, stroking it through my pants with a sure, eager touch.
“Please, Mark,” she whispered, “Fuck me. I need you.”
I couldn’t resist any longer. With a low growl, I jerked her panties down past her ass, baring her to me. I reached around, guiding my aching cock to her slick entrance. We both moaned at the contact, at the blissful stretch as I pushed inside her from behind.
“Oh, Jess,” I breathed, my voice ragged with pleasure. “So tight…”
She writhed beneath me, her hips rolling back to meet my thrusts. I gripped her hips, holding her steady as I pistoned into her, each stroke sending shockwaves of ecstasy through both of us. The cabin’s old wooden floorboards creaked beneath us, a primal, rhythmic beat that echoed our shared passion.
I pounded into her with increasing urgency, the head of my cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside her with every thrust. Her ass cheeks clapped against my skin as I groaned as I pounded into her.
Jess threw her head back against my shoulder as I took her spooning position, a string of curses and moans tumbling from her lips.
Her body twitched and convulsed as the first wave of her orgasm crashed over her. “F-fuck, Mark,” she gasped, her voice hoarse and raw. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop. Ahhh Mark fuck me harder.”
The couch creaked and squeaked as I pumped in and out her twat, my cock buried deep inside her as I drove into her with wild abandon. The heat of her sex enveloped me, milking my shaft with every powerful stroke. I leaned over her, my chest pressing against her back as I sealed my lips to the side of her neck, nipping and sucking at her pulse point.
Jess’s cries grew more urgent, her whole body tensing as the second climax built inside her. Her nails dug into my arms as she pushed back against me, meeting my thrusts with equal fervour. “I’m… I’m gonna… Ahhh!”
And then she came again, harder this time, her inner walls clamping down on me like a vice. I groaned at the sensation, feeling my own release barreling towards me. One final, brutal thrust and I was over the edge, my cock pulsing as I emptied myself deep inside her.
We were panting as we were still tightly pressed together, my softening member still nestled inside her warmth, our chests heaving in sync as we tried to catch our breath. After a long moment, I pulled out slowly, my cum leaking out of her stretched pussy to trickle down her thighs.
Jess rolled over, a sated but somewhat dazed look on her face as she gazed up at me. “That… was Mmmm, Mark, better sex with you than Darren,” she whispered, her voice thick with post-coital bliss. “I never knew making love to my big brother could feel so good.”
I chuckled, knowing she was only half-joking. “Well, we’ve certainly got a lot of catching up to do, haven’t we?”
She grinned, reaching up to play with a lock of my hair. “I’d say that’s an understatement. But for now, let’s just enjoy the afterglow, okay?”
“Sounds perfect to me, sis.” I curled around her again, pulling the blanket tighter as we settled back into the couch, the fire still crackling softly in the hearth. For the first time in years, we felt truly at peace with each other. And as we drifted off to sleep, entwined in a tender embrace, we both knew that our forbidden bond was here to stay.