lashings | cora + derek.

cora + derek.

[ it starts in their bathroom. ]

[ derek doesn't jerk off much, and when he does, he doesn't use his hands. it's too — he doesn't like it, doesn't want to be touched, even by himself. he presses his dick between his thighs as he lays on his stomach and squeezes 'til it pops, or mounts the corner of his bed, fucks a pillow with gritted teeth. once he stole cora's vibrator, sniffing it out in her little bedroom, mouth going wet with the scent of it. ]

[ this time it's in the shower, eyes closed as he holds the detachable shower head over his groin, feet shifting apart a little so he can aim the hard spray behind his balls, then back to his dick again. the water is scalding, firm as a physical touch, and derek breathes hard, leans his forehead against the cool tile and closes his eyes, giving into the sensation. ]

[ he doesn't hear the bathroom door. but he hears cora's heartbeat pick up, scents her, and even as he turns with a slack mouth to see her standing there, he comes, streaking his hand and the shower head and the wall with creamy ropes. ]

Shit.

[ he whispers, stares at her, dazed, chest heaving and flushed from neck to navel, not sure what to do or say. he's humiliated, but he associates that with sex. ]

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[ she's quiet when she wants to be. when she'd been little that had come in handy for sneaking down the creaky main stairs when she was supposed to be in bed. now a days it's more about that trademark hale stalking that they all do, and she revels being able to slip in and out of shadows undetected. this time, however, it'd just been to grab her toothbrush.

and maybe, maybe if she'd paid attention, she could have figured out what was going on. maybe — maybe, if she'd even thought he did that she could have picked up the smell of arousal between heat and soap. but she hadn't, and he hadn't thought to lock the door, and standing by the sink gave her a clear line of vision and it feels like her heart skipped a beat, and then leapt back down to suckerpunch her in the gut.

she's quiet and she's quick, so she could run. could run, but her legs feel leadened and a split second later, he's looked over and spotted her. ] Oh — shit, [ she echoes, because shit is right. everything in this bathroom just got incredibly more awkward with the stench of his come hanging between them. her nostrils flare accordingly, and she swallows thickly (which proves to be a mistake, because even as the water swirls around the drain, it's so thick in the air she can taste it). ]

Wow. Sorry.

[ derek blinks at her for one glassy-eyed moment longer, swallowing, and then has to look away. he closes his eyes again, like if he can't see her she won't be able to see him. ]

It's fine.

[ it's not fine. it's the opposite of fine. she's his little sister, and she shouldn't have to see stuff like this. he shouldn't be touching himself, and he definitely shouldn't want her the way he does. their pack had always been casual about nudity and touch and sex, but not — not like this. he wants to swirl down the drain with the hot water. ]

Get out.

[ he doesn't even sound angry — actually, it sounds more like he's begging. he doesn't have anywhere to go, can't bring himself to move for a towel, just has to stand there wet and naked and with a softening dick, smelling like come and shame. he'd hoped to alleviate a little personal tension with a quiet orgasm, but that plan has failed. ]

[ that isn't how it works. he looks away and she can just see more because now her eyes aren't tethered to his face, and he can't see the way they flick to follow all those water droplets making their way down his back, his legs... it's around the back of his calf that she catches herself, and turns her head. the door. there's the door. the door is what she should be looking at and where she should be headed.

there's her toothbrush on the counter, too. cora snatches it and nods in salutations before leaving.

almost leaving, that is. she gets to the door, opens it, and gets a blast of sex-free air that one would think should knock some sense into her — common sense, basic consideration, sibling conduct — but doesn't. because this whole thing has rubbed her. wrong. rubbed her wrong. so she doubles back on quiet feet. ]

Derek... [ she asks quietly. and lets it hang in the air a little too long before carrying on tentatively. ] Are you okay?

[ he can sense the door opening, and his eyes open again as he washes away the last of his come, splashes the water briefly over his face before reaching for the tap. he needs to be wearing clothes right now. ]

[ but she doesn't go. he hears her pause, now that he can't pull his attention from her, is startled when she turns around but not when she speaks. ]

[ he heaves a sigh, like that sort of inquiry is an inconvenience. he can't lie to her, she'll hear it, so he doesn't bother saying he's fine. ]

Can we please talk about this later?

[ or never, for preference, but he just wants her to let him dress. he gives up and ignores her as he grabs for a towel — the nearest one, one the hook beside the shower, is hers, and he wraps that around his waist for modesty while he grabs his own from the hook behind the door, starts to dry off. ]

We could.

[ but they're not going to. her tone and the stubborn way she shifts her weight to plant her feet firmly on the tiled floor state that pretty firmly. he's missed out on six years of pigheaded little sister conversational tactics. and while this might not be the most appropriate or opportune time to get it, he is going to get it.

she doesn't stand in his way when he moves to cover himself. it's a small bathroom, and she has to step somewhat further from the door to let him get his towel, but darts under his arm to stand in his way; to effectively body block him from escaping the bathroom and the conversation and lean casually against the door. ]

You know, I got to the fifth grade. [ she'd made it to the sixth grade, actually. you know, before the fire and her impromptu flight from the country. it had been the end of her official education, and while cora was plenty smart, most of it had been self taught or street smarts. but the point was the fifth grade. ] And we talked all about — that. [ here's an awkward gesture towards her towel. ] And it's fine. You don't need to worry about it.

[ derek towels over his face so she can't see his expression, takes a slow breath before dropping to rub it over his chest, trying to feign disinterest in this conversation. but his heartbeat has gone rapid, fingers tingling. ]

I get it, you're not a kid, you know what sex is.

[ he figures that's what she wants to hear, even if it makes his ears pink to say it. he simultaneously hates that lack of innocence and is glad he isn't currently fielding questions about where the white stuff came from, or something else equally inexperienced. ]

[ she's probably also aware that most guys tend to prefer to use their fist. ]

Do you do it?

[ he already knows the answer, so he figures it's a harmless question, something to make her realize how awkward and embarrassing this is to talk about so she'll shut up and leave him alone. ]

[ he's right, she's not a kid. hasn't been one in a long time. virgin, either. and while she's no affinity for sex (she gets bored of it quickly) she knows it. she knows boys, though; it didn't take long into puberty to become familiar with the scent of arousal. it's the same induction she probably would have gotten living at home, but with strangers she couldn't corner and interrogate. didn't care to interrogate, didn't care about.

it's unfortunate for him that she begrudgingly cares. that she picks something strange and sour out about him that urges her to push and push.

it's also unfortunate for him that she tries to imitate their late mother in talia's prolonged absence, and has little to no body shame. nudity and sex do not define her or each other; he should know that. and she also owned a vibrator that had disappeared and magically reappeared not smelling like her anymore; he should know that, too. ]

Don't ask stupid questions. [ pointed, pointed gaze. ] I've never used a shower head before.

Edited 2013-09-29 10:53 (UTC)

[ sex absolutely defines derek. kate argent taught him that his body is a weapon, and his entire life is about making sure that he's the one wielding it. ]

It feels good.

[ he retorts, still flushed, digging through the box of bathroom things for his hair gel. obviously it felt good: she'd watched him come from it. ]

[ he's never been so glad for a refractory period in his life, because remembering it, his dick twitches like it wants to get interested again. thank god for the towel (though it's her towel, and now it's going to smell like her and him mingled.) he presses his mouth into an unhappy line, fists the tube with controlled gentleness and gets a palmful of gel to work through his damp hair. ]

I don't want to talk about this.

[ she also knows it feels just fine done the normal way. there wouldn't be such a thing about it if it didn't. girls were the ones who traditionally liked shower heads (that was one weird thing about this interaction already) because guys liked to fuck into something tight, and with their fists they could. girls liked titillation and gentle stimulation, and she feels like she might have learned much more about her big brother than she'd ever wanted to.

that wouldn't make her backpedal, but she's not getting anything else from him right now. ]

Fine. Wash my towel.

[ and she leaves. but later she's backwashing into their orange juice (it's her orange juice now) and he's come in to grumpily raid their minimally stocked cupboards, so she asks. ]

Are you repressed?

[ derek is comfier now that he's dressed in tight jeans and a henley and has gone for a run and put memories of the bathroom incident behind him. he decides it's not going to be weird with cora so long as they don't talk about it, ever. ]

[ so of course, she talks about it. ]

[ he's making himself a peanut butter sandwich, with a lot of peanut butter, when she asks him, and his knife accidentally goes through the bread, like a wound. ]

What?

[ yes. he's absolutely repressed, because he's locked sex away. and everyone, everyone knows what he did. how kate was crazy, and he still gets trembly-furious when he thinks about how she used him, how soft her hands were. jennifer had used him too. he can't trust his body. ]

No.

[ it's stupid to take a run after a shower, but she has plenty of things to judge him for — and while his priorities are pretty close to the top of the list, in the priorities subsection, his bathing and exercise decisions are low down.

their diet could stand improvement too. but so could their communication tactics.

and so could his lying skills because she picks up that one instantly. ]

Are you lying? [ she's offering him an out that doesn't come with a side of shame at being called out by his little sister. are you lying? yes you are, let me count the ways i can tell. ]

[ derek throws her an unimpressed look instead of answering, because obviously he's lying, but he's not about to admit it. ]

[ after a moment he turns back to the sandwich, cuts it neatly in half and plates it. he likes to do small, decorous things that separate the human from the animal. ]

How can I be repressed? I was—

[ he can't actually bring himself to say jerking off to his little sister, which is probably kind of repressed. he communicates it with his eyebrows instead, as he takes the plate over to the table. ]

[ it's a mark of something deeply familial that she can interpret his eyebrows. it goes both ways in that he can probably tell just how fed up with him she is already by the exaggerated eyeroll she throws his way.

she follows him to the table, but doesn't sit down. instead she invades his personal space; leans on the table a little too close to him and stares with big, unblinking eyes. ]

Would you rather be having sex? [ admittedly, cora's been dancing on the line of nosy since the very beginning , and has just seriously stepped over the line. but she doesn't care. she's in this for the long, annoying haul because she can't shake the feeling that something is incredibly, awfully wrong here. ] Is that what you were thinking about?

[ derek looks up at her, startled-vulnerable, and then looks away just as quickly. he has to put his sandwich back on the plate, ball his fists so she doesn't see his hands trembling. ]

[ he doesn't think about sex when he masturbates. he thinks about — other people's scent, sometimes, the way they smell when they look at him and feel aroused, the way they smell when they've just been having sex. he thinks about the sensation of pleasure and pain, of being somewhere warm and far away. sometimes he watches porn, but it doesn't really do anything for him, isn't immediate enough. mostly he just closes his eyes and gets doesn't think about anything until he comes. ]

[ right now he's thinking about cora, right up in his space. he wants to bare his throat to her. ]

No.

[ to both questions. ]

See? [ she implores with an attempt at gentle. her gentle is sharp and tainted, though, and comes out as condescendingly sweet. ] That's probably a little repressed.

[ not that cora's any sort of psychologist. she might have read things about it on occasion, but basic humans knew denying themselves things they wanted or needed didn't do much good. they didn't even need advanced senses or acute insight into micro tics to know something was up.

his hands are balled, knuckles tight, and she thinks he might be angry but... no, no... that's not it. upset, maybe. but that hadn't been her intention — not really, anyway — so she sighs, sets aside the orange juice jug and reaches a hand for his wrist to offer an unspoken hey, it's okay. ]

[ derek flinches, first — he's in that kind of headspace — but then lets her touch him, turns his hand over, wrist up, which is about as significant as baring his throat. he's closed his eyes, though. he can feel the first warm tingles of an erection, doesn't know how to stop it, wants to pretend it isn't happening, that he's not aroused by his little sister touching his hand and talking about sex. ]

I still don't want to talk about this.

[ that's probably a little repressed too. ]

Why not? [ she grips his wrist, first. wraps her hand around it and squeezes tightly. then releases him; unfurls her fingers but keeps them draped across his skin because she can feel the rush of blood in his veins and likes it. there's something off in it, too — it's so fast, but she chalks that up to embarrassment for the time being. ]

Fifth grade, Derek. I know you did F.L.A.S.H., too. It's all natural. [ and it was probably as awful and full of inappropriate laughter as when she had taken it. but he's meant to laugh, to lighten up at that. and when he doesn't, she tries a less jovial approach. a serious one for her oh so serious brother. ] And -... I'm kind of worried about you. Should I be worried about you?

You shouldn't be worried about me.

[ that's the truth, or it is the way he means it: that she shouldn't have to be, that it's not her responsibility. he worries about her, not the other way around. he wants to shake off her hand and leave the conversation, but the simple pressure of her fingers feels like a restraint. ]

[ he looks up at her, looks her in the eye. his own are clear and green, shadowed with the weight of all his secrets, the things he'd done. she's beautiful, and derek hasn't known familial love in so long, hasn't even seen her in six years. it's confusing. ]

Cora...

[ he breathes it unhappily. ]

Just leave it alone. This is weird.

[ he finally pulls his hand away, pushes back his chair, grabbing his sandwich. he can take it upstairs and eat it, maybe work out until this itch under his skin is gone. ]

[ there's a long, heavy silence in which he gathers his plate and the remaining scraps of dignity, and makes a swift escape from their conversation. hurt and a little bit of resentment flicker across her features briefly, but cora resists throwing anything but a clipped — ]

Fine...

[ — at his retreating shoulders.

it's not fair of him to tell her she isn't allowed to worry about him and then just go on to make her more concerned when he runs away. but she lets him go; gathers her orange juice and resolve, and goes to take a shower herself. ]

[ he's careful, after that — but not careful enough. the next time she catches him is about a week later: first wednesday of the month, when according to the chore roster, derek does all their laundry. ]

[ he's got his groin pressed up against the machine, jeans unzipped but not pulled down, just loose around his hips as he grinds his bare dick over the white plastic. he hadn't meant to. he hadn't meant to, but he'd leant in and felt the vibrations, not as localized as cora's vibe but still so good, and realized with hot ears that it was giving him a hard-on. ]

[ it's the least successful masturbation ever. the machine is too hard and the vibrations don't go where he wants them, and his balls hurt when he tries to thrust, slapping against the side-panel. he screws forward desperately, but can't come from this, and his teeth are gritted with the frustration of not knowing what else to do now that he's got a raging boner. ]

[ there's nothing sexy about chores. they're dull, but have to be done. she doesn't take delight in blasting music and skipping around with a broom, rather just dons ratty sweatpants and pj shirts so the rest can be washed, and does the dishes. or the laundry. or the sweeping. or whatever else was her turn to do, but this week it's dishes and he's on laundry, and she's bored.

the entire kitchen is included in dishes, and she wipes down the counter before moving to the sink and filling one half with soapy hot water. there's a couple pots and plates and mostly a lot of cups and spoons, and she's lazy and not used to domestic deeds, and doesn't check to see if there's water in the second pot she washes and it splashes. and there were remnants of food — stew, or canned chili or something — in the water, too. and then there's food and water all over her shirt.

and it's really gross and cora decides it warrants a break, so she dries her hands and wanders down to the laundry room to see if he's throw in the dark load. ] Hey, Derek, can you — [ but instead, she walks in on her brother trying to throw a different sort of load and — ] Oh my god.

Fuck!

[ derek's breath goes tight in his chest, and he practically leaps away from the machine, tugging his zip up over his erection and narrowly avoiding a something about mary incident that definitely would have taken care of his problem. instead he gets a wash of shame, which mostly just makes it worse. ]

Sorry, I—

[ he doesn't really have an explanation, trails off, pink and furious again. ]

[ fuck is right. there's a whole lot a of fuck running through cora's mind right now. fuck i just walked in on my brother masturbating. fuck that's twice now. fuck he was humping the laundry machine. fuck i just got a good eye-full and now i might be blind. ]

Oh my god, [ she repeats, looking back and forth between his flustered self and the violated dryer. ] Are you serious right now?

[ also, seriously? "not repressed", eh? but she'll get to that. ]

[ derek's scent is equal parts sex and shame, his heartbeat thunderous. he wants to say that it's not what it looked like, but it's exactly what it looked like. he doesn't really have anything to say. ]

[ at least this time he's dressed, and he can abandon the laundry: and does, making to shoulder past her, go shut himself in his room. ]

I'll finish this later.

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HAHA OOPS get out stiles

threesome wut wut!

mm yes pls

recruit lauren

HAHA haha no

we'll hold auditions

no no i'll pass on sharing our incest thread w anyone else ever ty

i'll keep you my dirty little secret

yes ty

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I HAVE A TIMESKIP PLANNED unless you have anything

I HAVE NOTHING! timey wimey it!

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ugly laughter

i have tears in my eyes

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