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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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.

What, because you'd rather finish that first?

[ she lets him past her, but since cora can't seem to leave anything well enough alone (she doesn't let go; it's a flaw those who don't have much acquire, they hold on to everything they do have, be remaining family or humiliation experiences or unfortunate conversations) and follows him. ]

[ she stalks after him, right up to his bedroom, and he turns in his doorway to glare at her despite the fact that he'd ignored her sharp comment. ]

Go away.

[ because — yeah, actually, he's like to rub off on something, or else have a cold shower, and it's none of her business which. ]

[ she follows him closely — too closely, perhaps, because he rounds on her and they're nose to chin (which is decidedly too close) and cora has to take a step back. not too far, of course; she gets a hand on the door frame so if he was to slam the door, he'd crack a few of her fingers.

a deep frown graces her features; bitter and angry because he's pushing her away when all she wants — ] I just want to help, Derek!

[ he wants to say that he doesn't need help, but he doesn't like lying to her. and he's — he's in a certain state of mind right now, that means all he can think about is the ways in which she might assist him. ]

You said it yourself, it's normal.

[ probably wanting to fuck your little sister isn't normal, but the pack lines are blurry in derek's head and something about her scent, female and familiar, always screams mate rather than family to him. ]

[ he's right. she'd insisted it was normal, that he should be fine doing it; should feel fine doing it, and not embarrassed or anything if anyone else knew. mortification and shame that she could have sworn was supposed to be indignity and anger make her think he hasn't truly taken her words to heart. so she stays. perhaps under the allusion that she wants to help; that she can help in some way. and not just that she's stubborn and wants to be near him. ]

Yeah, it's normal when you're not humping a dryer. Or when you buy your own sex toys. [ that might be a pointed jab, and the flash of petulant frustration may display that she hasn't had the chance to get off properly since he stole it. but that doesn't matter, right? because she's being selfless, right? and helpful. yeah! ]

What are you not telling me?

[ that little comment just makes derek more embarrassed, and he turns away from her, but doesn't try and stop her from following him into the room, thinks it's pointless to slam the door. if he really wants her out, he'll literally throw her out, but it hasn't quite come to that yet. he's just agitated. maybe he should have gone out the front door instead of into the enclosed space of his bedroom. ]

I don't like touching it.

[ he admits to the wall, shoulders a tense line. ]

I have to find... other things.

[ and he knows that's weird, thanks. repressed, even. at least he's masturbating at all, right? ]

[ that...may have not been exactly what she was expecting. she didn't know what she was expecting, but that was not in. though perhaps in hindsight it could have been deduced. shower head, laundry machine, vibrator... his strange masturbatory habits make more sense now with that little bit of information. she just doesn't know...why.

well, obviously the why has something to do with intense sexual repression. she'd totally called it. but childish i told you so's could wait until later.

cora's brow knits and she purses her lips as silent confusion washes over her features. ]

That's... [ weird. ] Why?

[ derek shrugs, self-conscious. he can hear the bemusement in her tone, reads it as judgement. ]

I just don't.

[ he folds his arms, tries to ignore his dick. ]

Now could you get out?

That's not an answer, [ she pushes cheekily, even as he demands as leave again. they're of the same mind; in agreement that if he really wanted her gone, he'd remove her bodily. and she'd struggle and scratch and her eyes would flash beta yellow, but then she'd leave because that'd be a sure sign he didn't want her there. until then he might still subconsciously want her company — want someone to talk to, someone to yell at him, or comfort him, or whatever he needed. help him. help him.

they're not the palest complexioned family, and any blush she has barely colors her ears. ]

Do you like it better when other people touch it?

[ he can't believe they're talking about this, scrubs a hand over his face while he tries to come to terms with it. ]

Yes.

[ he admits, because the sensation of a hand on his cock is a good one, just not something he likes to replicate himself. ]

[ she's admittedly confused. she does not share his complex and does not know how deep it goes, nor can she hazard guesses as to how it manifested. she could probably ask how he feels about it, but no longer trusts him to be honest with her. she is not impressed with his emotional constipation, either, but has gotten over most of her disappointment with her brother at this point and is looking to accept him on a more personal level. a family one.

though maybe not the conventional family way. not judging by how her mouth goes a little dry and she must put conscious effort into making her tone businesslike. ]

Is that what you need?

[ something small shifts in their conversation here; a weight settles into her words and blankets her chest like heavy anticipation. ]

[ derek turns then, looks at her, startled and vulnerable like he was when she first walked in on him. ]

You're my sister.

[ he points out, which is nowhere near a no. but he can tell what she's offering, can hear it in her tone and the way her heartbeat speeds up. his own is matching it, and he clenches and unclenches his hands. ]

I can take care of it, Cora.

By fucking a pillow? [ it's half taunt, half defensive because that sounds a lot like the beginning of a rejection that he doesn't mean and is just going to end up hurting both of their feelings. he's thrown sister at her, and she throws pillow fucker right back, but it's not hard to determine which one of those is less socially acceptable.

she's too graceful to scramble, even conversationally. but there's something of a backtrack. ] I know you can. I was just asking if you... — wanted to. It's different.

[ of course he does. but what derek wants doesn't really matter much to derek. ]

Do you want to?

[ it's an intense question. he has no idea why she would — can't ascribe the motivations to her that he would someone else, someone not pack. if she was a stranger he'd think she wanted to use him, or was attracted to his looks, both of which are turn-offs. but cora just... wants to be in his space. wants to help. he remembers the way she'd stared at him. ]

I'd rather touch you.

[ he admits. somehow that seems a little less worse to him. the idea of pleasuring her, cora praising him, his dick incidental and neglected. ]

[ she just wants to help; to help and be close and touch (she always wants to touch in one way or another now a days; this is just a different sort of touch). and this was one way to get that. his question is more weighted than hers, and cora stares him in the eye for a good long time before nodding.

belatedly, she realizes she's agreed, and is in this now, and doesn't think him far enough out of denial or whatever river he was swimming in to move it much past talk; to make an actual move. so she does.

the shirt she'd wanted laundered was still wet and dirty, and it's a relief to strip it off over her head with a perfunctional, business air about her movements. they're quick, a little nervous, and in a second her shirt is crumpled on the floor. beneath she's a thin, plain grey bra, and without the hem of the tee-shirt obscuring the view, he can see just how low on her hips her sweatpants ride. it's suddenly cold in the room, and she stands up straighter in response to the chill. ] It can go both ways, [ she announced boldly. the reality if what they're thinking of doing is setting in, and her pupils dilate in arousal, and her nipples threaten to perk through the material of her bra. excitement thrums in her veins, intensified in knowing it's not supposed to be there. ] It's supposed to.

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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i have tears in my eyes

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