“Gonna shower,” I said. “Feeling woozy.”
“Sun, insufficient food, too much wine. Told ya,” he observed.
“Uh huh. Olly?”
“Yeah?”
“Seriously, I think I need some help getting upstairs.”
He was by my side immediately, concerned. “Shan, you OK?”
“Feeling light-headed. Just a bit, but don’t particularly want to fall downstairs and bleed everywhere again.”
“Once was enough, thanks,” he grumped, and I laughed at the memory of my tumble at age seventeen and the drama it had orchestrated.
“It could be exciting. Think of the ambulance ride, the emergency room, the new and interesting people,” I teased him.
“Can it, Shannon. Seriously, not funny.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Take my arm, you crazy wench,” he said, exasperated but grinning in spite of it.
“You say the most flattering things,” I laughed, but I was grateful for his solid presence beside me as we climbed upstairs.
“I’ll be OK from here. Thanks.” I hugged him; kissed him gently on the cheek. “My hero.”
“Call me if you feel dizzy, OK?”
“Will do. I’ll leave the bathroom door open. No peeking.”
Olly shook his head and stalked off downstairs; I leaned against the wall and watched him for a moment. Then I stepped into the bathroom and cranked open the shower. As the room heated up I loosened my hair, then I stripped out of my clothes and folded them over the towel rail for afterwards. I stepped into the shower and let the hot water sluice over me. I reached for the soap, intending to wash myself.
But something was wrong.
I watched the water, confused. Sparkles of light danced in my vision, and before I knew it I was slumped on the shower floor, water spraying in my face.
“Olly… Olly… OLLY!” I screamed. I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs, and he appeared in the doorway.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Help,” I cried.
He lunged into the shower, turned off the water and got his arms under my shoulders. He dragged me out into the bathroom proper and wrapped me in a towel, then held me to him.
“Shannon, Shannon, talk to me. Talk to me, sis.”
“OK… I’m OK…” I gulped. “Fuck… fuck, Olly, I have no idea what happened.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Think it was the heat?”
“Think so.”
“OK. Let me get your clothes.”
“No,” I cried, clinging. “No, no, no, don’t go, please, please just hold me…”
He wrapped his wiry arms around me and cradled my head against his chest, rocking slowly back and forth. “Shh, shh, Shan, shh, you’re OK… you’re OK…”
It was some time before I’d let him go.
.:.
He slipped my arm behind his neck, and lifted me into his arms, my face nestled into his neck. He carried me, silent, down the hallway to my room, where he put me gently down on my bed. “Shift,” he whispered, and as I did he pulled aside my crumpled duvet and sheet for me, then pulled them over. He sat, staring down at me.
“What?” I asked, tired.
“Waiting for my heart to start again,” he answered, softly. “Haven’t been that scared in a while, Shan.”
“Sorry. Sorry for scaring you like that.”
“You have to take better care of yourself, Shan. You have to. Do it for me if you can’t do it for yourself.”
“Olly, please. It wasn’t intentional. I just forgot to eat lunch, and I’ve had a busy day and too much sun.”
“Mm. Well. I’m going to drag my futon in here so I’m within reach.”
“Olly, don’t be daft. It’s a double bed, there’s space enough for you in it.”
“It’s your bed, Shan.”
“And I’m saying there’s space in it for you. Olly… that frightened the fuck out of me. I’d… I’d really appreciate it if you were close enough to touch, tonight.” I swallowed.
He nodded. “I’ll be with you shortly, OK, Shan? Just going to wash the smoke off me and get my PJ’s.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I replied, shivering. “Please be quick though, I don’t feel well.”
Olly was true to his word; I’m sure he was exhausted and would have loved a proper bath or shower, but he was back in under five minutes, wearing his tatty old linen sleeping trousers and carrying two bottles of water. I wriggled over and he slipped under the covers.
“Well, this brings back memories,” I observed after a brief silence.
He snorted. “Bit different at our age than when we were twelve, Shan.”
“Not really. You’re still my best friend and my best slave,” I smiled.
“I’m going to be staying a while,” he said, apropos of nothing.
“Why?”
“To make sure you’re well.”
“Olly,” I protested.
“Stow it, Shannon. I’m bigger, uglier and a metric fuckton more stubborn than you are.”
“Well… I wasn’t going to protest much, you know. It’s nice to be around you again, and I won’t say no to you being around more.”
“Mm.”
I rolled away. “Night, Olly. Love you.”
“Love you too, Shan. Sleep now. Wake me if you need me.”
.:.
Something did wake me; some subtle strangeness. I lay, eyes closed, listening, trying to work out what it was.
Olly’s breathing was odd; it sounded slow and deep, different. And there was something else; the soft rasp of moving fabric.
I rolled onto my back, faked a sleepy murmur, and then lay, silent as the grave, listening. Olly took a soft breath, and I felt him shift alongside me. I waited, curious, and after some time I felt him moving again. Strange, rhythmic sub-vocal sounds, the rustle of fabric… I turned my head slightly, opening my eye a sliver.
He lay next to me, on his back, eyes closed, right arm moving gently under the covers. I suddenly realised what he was doing, and the shock nearly made me call out. Somehow I didn’t. Instead, I lay there, heart thumping, listening to him as he slowly stroked himself. He shifted a leg slightly, arched a bit, and a bit more. The note of his breathing deepened. Then, he stopped, turned his head towards me; watching me for a moment before he slipped out from under the duvet and snuck out of my room. The bathroom door clicked softly closed.
I let out a shuddering breath, and squeezed my legs together as I realised how aroused I was. I slipped my hand under the waistband of my pyjamas and snuck a finger down to myself, over the short-stubble of my shaven mons to my slick, tingling lips and clit.
I stroked my index finger along my slit, feeling the damp heat of my entrance against my fingertip. I hadn’t masturbated in a long while; but the need to do so had taken hold of me. Hardly thinking of the possibility of being caught out, I started to touch and caress my clit with my right hand while I slowly worked my left index and middle fingers into myself.
My vagina spasmed tightly down on me and I whimpered – it had been an age since I’d felt more than a passing, peripheral need, and this, this aching urge, was something I’d almost forgotten.
I teased around my clit, thinking of Olly touching himself, lying in bed next to me, hard and throbbing. I opened my legs, pushed into myself, spread myself, arching backwards, lifting myself up off the bed as I ground down against my hand.
I visualised Olly, imagined him hunched over, cock in hand, thrusting and stroking himself to climax, and I stepped up the tempo of my play; urgent now, desperate in my need to finish before he came back, because I knew that if he came back before I found release I’d never be able to sleep.
I felt my pussy throb once, then again. I gasped a quick breath. I drove my fingers hard into myself, arching my hips up against my hand for extra depth. I struggled for another breath, then another as I pressed and teased my fingertips against the front of my vagina.
I felt myself rising, rising, plateauing… and then, just as I heard the sound of the toilet flushing I managed to drive myself over, curling my fingers over in me, spreading myself, groaning as my belly spasmed and my muscles contracted on my slick fingers.
“Oh, oh, oh…”
I bit my lip, trying to muffle myself, trying not to give myself away.
Slowly the spasms subsided; slowly I unwound myself; took a shuddering breath.
Footsteps in the passage.
I barely had time to pull out before he slipped back into the room. I lay still, heart hammering, as Olly climbed slowly back under the covers. I paused, silent, for a moment – then I rolled onto my side, away from him, and sighed softly, pretending to be asleep.
“Shannon?” he whispered; I didn’t answer, and that seemed to satisfy him, because he gently wrapped his arm around me, and pulled himself in until we were spooning.
The sensation of his slowly softening cock against me kept me awake and aching long after he’d begun to gently snore.
.:.
“Good morning,” came the quiet whisper, and I rolled over, brushing the sleep out of my eyes.
“Hi,” I smiled, groggy.
“I’ve got breakfast on the go downstairs,” he said. He stroked my fringe gently out of my eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” I yawned. “Strangely so.”
“You were a bit restless last night. Think your body was letting you know it was unhappy.”
“I dreamed someone was spooning me. Was that you?”
“Guilty as charged,” he said, blushing. I pretended not to notice.
“It was nice. I felt warm and safe.”
“You were. You able to stand?”
“Yeah. I feel OK. Not dizzy… just… wrung out, you know.”
“Yeah.”
I pulled back the duvet, and Olly helped me stand. “You want some clean clothes?” he asked, and I shook my head. “These are OK, thanks.”
“Shan… um… you need a bra,” he offered, blushing more.
I glanced down, saw my hard nipples showing through the thin cotton of my top, and laughed. “Olly, I’m sure you’ve seen girls smuggling smarties before. It’s nice to not be constricted all the time. But if it bugs you I’ll put something on.”
“No, no,” he protested, “I don’t mind.”
“I’m sure,” I grinned.
“I surrender. Come. Take my arm.”
Olly led me downstairs and sat me down at the kitchen table. “Here,” he said, putting a small plate of bacon and scrambled eggs in front of me.
“Wow. This is a luxury,” I said, glancing up at him. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“Scared me to death.”
“Are we still on this?”
“We’re going to be on this till I’m sure you’re OK, Shan. Eat your bacon,” he added.
I watched him for a moment.
“Are you coming to join me?”
He put his own plate down and sat down next to me. “Happy?”
“Deliriously so,” I teased. “Thanks, Olly. You know my buttons.”
He coughed on his toast, and I grinned to myself, deciding that I liked this new power I had to destabilise him.
I snuck glances at him as I ate, watching him, watching the way he in turn snuck glances at me. Thoughts of last night came back to me, and I dallied with a slice of toast, staring out the window.
He’d been playing with himself. Masturbating in bed, next to me. And the knowledge had aroused me almost beyond my ability to control myself. I was curious what had driven him to do that; Oliver is a private boy; the thought of him fooling around somewhere where discovery was a possibility didn’t sit well in my mental map of him.
He quietly washed up the breakfast dishes and the shrapnel from the prior night, while I sat, nursed a cup of coffee and watched him. And as I watched I pondered, and as I pondered I started to consider how to get inside his head; how to uncover what had possessed him last night.
I wanted to fuck with his head in the way he’d just so thoroughly fucked with mine.