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Molly can control time, not the desire for her own sister

For what we receive, we swear to you, Brighde. We swear together, as mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts, nieces, wives and widows, to protect the lands and the people of Ireland against her foes. Where shelter is sought, we will offer it. Where aid is sought, we will deliver it. Where vengeance is sought, we will wreak it. For as long as our chests take breath, we swear. We swear together.

-- The Maids and Matrons of Clan Macallan, c. 720 A.D. (translation of first verse, others lost)

~*~*~Part 01 -- 15 years ago~*~*~

It was going to be a horrendous crash, the kind that would make the evening news anchors pause after they reported the story out of polite respect for the victims' families. A yellow bus full of elementary school children was headed up one way of the winding mountain road in northern Maine and a propane tanker was coming down in the other direction, swerving wildly as the driver struggled to keep his truck under control on the ice-slicked asphalt.

And it was all happening in dreadful slow motion.

We were safe though. Or should have been.

My mom, my younger sister Tabitha, and I were driving along on a separate road above it all with a clear view of what was about to happen below, well out of harm's way. That all changed when Mom saw what I'd already seen.

She mashed the brakes of our trusty old Datsun and she turned to look at me. Her eyes blazed greener than the Irish hills on a midsummer's day. She'd never looked more beautiful.

I knew what she wanted to do. "No Mommy! It's too far!" I gasped.

She nodded. She knew too. "I love you, Molly. Promise you'll take good care of Tabitha."

As the first hot tears streaked down my face because I understood what was about to happen, I swore the most powerful oath I knew. Gram had taught it to me the opening just the week before. I'd practiced well and the old Gaelic flew true from even my young lips.

"Geallaim óm' chroí istigh, le gach buille, gach trá, gach sruth, le gach a bhfuil agus a bheidh ionam," I swallowed, feeling the magic gathering and tightening in my chest, "go dtabharfaidh mé aire do Tabby."

It was an old promise, a mighty promise, and Mom's eyes were wide even before I finished. She smiled proudly and touched me on my wet cheek. Then she leapt from the car without another look back.

To save the children on the bus. Other people's children. And yet leave her own.

Honestly, it's usually some damn children that do us in.

Mom did what she had to do, what she had always forbid me to do, and when it was over, everyone on the road below was a little confused but very safe and alive. Except Mom.

I was ten years old at the time. I could barely reach the Datsun's pedals but I drove my six year old sister Tabitha home. Along the way I tried to explain to her that even our amazing Mom couldn't come back from what had happened. And when we got home, I had to tell Dad that he was a widow.

So, basically, it sucks being a Macallan girl. But then it always has. Well, for the last thirteen centuries anyway.

~*~*~ Part 02 -- Now~*~*~

The pledge I gave my mother in the car fifteen years ago is called a heart promise. Only one can be given, truly given, in a Macallan's lifetime. It's a powerful thing, even in our strange family. That's why Mom was so surprised when I vowed it.

A Macallan can't undo a heart promise, or break it. Even if we want to. It binds. It guides. It steers. I'd made my promise and I would be its servant for as long as I lived. So my vow that day in the car was what my Mother had asked for and more.

In English, my promise that day meant roughly, "I promise with my whole heart, with each beat, each ebb, each flow, with all that I am and will be, I will watch over Tabby."

It was a big pledge, especially for a ten-year old, but I never regretted giving my heart promise away to my little sister. Not once.

I was already mostly awake one night and reliving the day in the car when I felt a familiar weight press down into the bed behind me. I had known who it was as soon as she came in the front door twenty minutes ago. My sister has always walked on her heels. For a petite girl, she sounds a little like a water buffalo.

"Hi Tabby," I muttered into my pillow and peeked at my alarm clock through one eye. It was a little after 4 am. She'd used her key to slip into my one-bedroom apartment in the wee hours of the morning again. Not a big deal, she knew she was welcome to crash whenever she wanted.

"Dammit," my sister's giggle gave her away completely, "there's just no sneaking up on you is there? What if I were a rapist? Would you have waited here quietly in bed to get ravaged?"

"A rapist wouldn't have detoured to use my shower first, genius."

"Hehe, I could have been a very hygiene-conscious rapist."

I smiled in the dark. My sister had always been funny. "I suspect they're pretty rare."

I felt her hand searching across the bed and come to rest on my hip. She scooted herself towards me.

"Couldn't I have been your boyfriend sneaking in for some midnight luvin'?"

It had been several months since my baby sister and I had talked last and she was out of date on my personal life.

"Don't have a boyfriend anymore," I grumbled

"Ick. Girlfriend?" Her second question sounded almost hopeful as her hips curled behind me until we were spooned. Her thighs were bare and her cool skin made me shiver when they met the backs of my naked legs.

"Nope, don't have a girlfriend either. That's your thing not mine, kiddo."

"You could have one if you wanted. A girlfriend, I mean. You're smart and cute. I bet you could find a hot, talented chickie without too much trouble. One that might get you seriously..."

"Tabitha," I cut her off. "I'm okay, sis. Really." It was too late at night for her old argument. My bisexual sibling was pretty sure that regular old heterosexual women were either ill-informed or narrow-minded. As far as she was concerned, I was both.

I felt more of her cool, bare skin press into parts of my back that weren't covered by my comfy little chemise and I sucked in a breath. "Are you... Tabby, are you naked, honey?"

"Nope." She snuggled into me tighter and wrapped an arm around my waist.

"What do you have on?"

"Panties," she admitted.

"Yeah, that's close enough to naked to qualify."

Tabby giggled brightly. "Don't be such a prude, sis. My stuff's all dirty and I didn't want to rummage through your pajama drawer without asking. Besides, you know this is way warmer."

I let out a long slow breath, not wanting to fight. I wanted to sleep. "Fine... just maybe quit wriggling so much against me, Tabs?"

"Sorry, can't help it." She giggled again then forced herself to settle. "It's so nice and toasty in here with you. Don't you miss snuggling like when we were little?"

"Yeah," I confessed. Those were less complicated days.

For about ten years, from when she was three until she was thirteen, Tabitha had snuck into my bed in the early morning to curl into me. She used to press her ear to my chest to listen to it beat. She'd match her breathing to mine too. Eventually, it would lull her back to sleep. Mom and Dad were grateful for the peace and quiet in the morning. Of course, her little warm body next to mine usually put me to sleep too.

Tabitha would have kept up those morning visits if I hadn't put a stop to them. Why? I had my reasons.

That morning, spooned into me from behind, Tabitha fell asleep long before I managed to. I lay in my own bed for about an hour listening to her breathing and feeling her heartbeat thud against my back. Her breasts were mashed into me from behind and her warm breath tickled my neck. It even smelled nice, like cinnamon. Tabby was a TicTac junky and had been for years. She said she always wanted to be "smooch-ready" if she met someone worth kissing.

Dammit. I'd been doing fine right up until I thought about her and kissing. That tipped me right over and my body responded. I pressed my lips together tightly, powerless to stop the warmth unfolding in a very inappropriate place.

As Tabitha began snoring, I fought my horrible arousal. I also fought the urge to sneak a hand down between my legs to relieve it. As sick as it may sound, I'd done it before when she held me like this in bed. My baby sister is an insanely heavy sleeper.

But this time I just pressed my lips together more tightly, denying myself the pleasure and the release of masturbation. It was a good punishment.

You see, I'd missed Tabitha more than I could bring myself to tell her. I'd missed her terribly. I don't just love my sister. I'm in love with her. It's been like this for years now. And I hate myself for it.

I won't claim the Irish invented self-loathing, but I think we can all agree that, as a people, we've perfected it nicely.

~*~*~Part 03~*~*~

Grá rúnda. In Gaelic it means "secret love."

That's what Gram would have called this awful thing I struggle with whenever I'm near Tabitha. I had fought it, denied it, and raged over it. Even had myself a few good, long "why me God?" cries over it. Lately, I'd focused on accepting that I loved my own sister in every way: physically, emotionally, mentally, psychically, and spiritually.

All of those important -ally's.

It pretty much sucks. I mean, seriously, how much more taboo does it get than homosexual sibling incest? You know, without involving farm animals. I wouldn't wish my life on anyone.

When I woke later that morning, my chemise had ridden up in the back. As I'd feared, with Tabitha snuggled so perfectly into me and with so much of her bare flesh against mine, I'd been having the most ridiculously graphic sex dreams.

There'd been hours of kissing and licking and stroking and sucking. I'd never even seen a strap-on dildo outside of a porno film, so why on god's green earth did Tabitha make me dream of using one with her? Giving and taking? My head is a sick place and getting sicker.

I sighed and rolled over carefully to face Tabby, my only sister, my best friend, my heart's true and tortured desire. She was especially pretty like this, sleeping, and lit by the soft morning light creeping through my window.

I'm not in love with Tabitha because of the way she looks. Still, it doesn't hurt that she's gorgeous from head to toe. My little sister is prettier than me in every way; I've always thought so and the boys growing up had more or less shared my opinion. They'd been stopping to look at Tabby even before she hit puberty. Her big, bright green eyes, delicate nose, perfectly straight, white smile and gorgeous blonde hair guaranteed it.

Actually, Tabby's hair had always teetered between blonde and light brown depending on the season. She was off-schedule with her light hair now, it was mid-January, but she'd spent the last two months in the warm Nevada deserts. As proof, she even sported a few bright platinum highlights that contrasted nicely with her tan. It wasn't just her color that was pretty though, Tabby's hair was shiny, incredibly heavy and thick, and silky, silky smooth. She could make a living doing salon commercials.

Me? I inherited Gram's wild auburn curls and ivory skin. The only commercials I'd ever be able to land would be ones for Irish Spring soap. Trouble is, I can't whistle worth shit.

But Tabby... oh Tabby. When puberty hit her, and it slammed into her like a freight train, what men did around my sister went from funny to ridiculous. Who could blame them? Almost overnight, her legs lengthened into sleek, mini-skirt quality limbs. By age thirteen, she was complaining about her large, round breasts, already twice the size of mine at seventeen, because they made gymnastics harder. She shut up about them at fifteen when she figured out they were chest-mounted man magnets.

Don't get the wrong idea, Tabitha was more than just pretty. She was funny and tender and sweet and thoughtful and incredibly, absurdly sensitive. She was also open and honest and free and brave and she'd always been just, well, good in a way little sisters usually aren't.

When she was eleven, Tabby rescued a squirrel with a broken leg and hand-fed the little thing until he recovered. But even when he was all patched up, he didn't want to leave. So "Sqeakers" scampered around our house and slept in her dresser for the next six years. He followed Tabby everywhere. And when he finally died at the ripe old squirrel age of eight, Tabby cried for an entire month straight. I missed the little guy too. He was a small, furry, breathing example, living proof, of how Tabby is so many things I'm not. So many things I'll never be. She touches people and everyone loves her. Even bushy-tailed rats.

I think Squeakers may have left his mark on Tabitha too. My sister had become a talented nature photographer. One of her pics even made the cover of National Geographic last year. At just twenty-two, apparently she's the youngest photographer to manage it. Yep, Tabby is talented too.

Most of me is proud of my kid sister. A tiny part is jealous. That leaves a couple of parts left over to lust after her. Yeah, they're my naughty parts.

I sighed and watched Tabby sleep, enjoying the chance to just stare at her freely without concocting some lame excuse. Her mouth hung open a little and it made me smile. I used to tease her about it when we were growing up, calling her "mouth breather" so cruelly that I'd actually made her cry a few times before I finally stopped. There's no cruelty like sibling cruelty.

Sleep-tousled Tabby has always been my favorite. It was all I could do not to kiss her right then. It would have been so easy, just press my lips to hers, flick my tongue between them, gently trace along her mouth the way I'd wanted to for longer than I can remember.

Oh Tabs, my little grá rúnda.

I had to hold my breath when her arm, the one that had been wrapped around my waist while we slept and later slid down around my hips when I turned over, tightened around me. In her sleep, her hand unwittingly cupped my butt gently and she used it to pull herself closer to me, face-to-face now. Her much larger breasts pressed into mine and her nose blindly found the crook of my neck. Her warm, moist breath puffed into my throat. She wriggled a little, then settled again.

Jesus, she was killing me today.

Still, I reached up behind her and cupped the back of her head, scratching lightly beneath the hair at the top of her neck. She responded with a few lazy sighs before her breathing became even and regular with deep sleep again.

It may sound crazy, but generally speaking, I'm not a lesbian. By that, I mean I'm not really attracted to other women. I'd actually checked, hoping in some perverse way that I was just into girls and that Tabby merely happened to be the most attractive girl near me. Once, I even lured Tabitha's prettiest cheerleader galpal into my bedroom as a last, desperate test.

Her name was Kendra and she was openly gay and beautiful in a dark-haired, smoky-eyed, olive-skinned kind of way. She'd been giving me come-hither looks for years, so when I shut my bedroom door behind her and asked if she'd help me figure something out, I barely had time to ask her to kiss me before she did it.

Kendra's lips felt wonderful, and she smelled nice, a little like apples. Plus, I very much liked the way she sighed dreamily halfway through our smooch. But it didn't move me. Not the way I'd hoped. Kendra was gorgeous, not to mention an amazing kisser, but my body didn't respond to her. Not like it responded to my own sister.

"Nothing?" Kendra finally asked, opening her deep, dark bedroom eyes and looking up at me hopefully.

I smiled lamely, "Nope, sorry."

"Don't be," she smiled too and squeezed my arm, "you're a good smoocher. It was fun for me. If you want to make this some kind of annual lesbo check-up, let me know? I won't tell Tabby." One corner of her mouth curled up for a naughty smile. "She'd just be jealous anyway." Before I could ask Kendra to explain, she slipped back out of my bedroom.

It became plain what Kendra meant later because, on top of everything else, it turned out that Tabby liked girls and that she and Kendra weren't just studying in her bedroom. Marvelous. One more thing for me to picture -- the two of them rolling around, naked, hot and sweaty.

Tabby's renewed stirring brought me back to the present.

"Mmmm, tell me Molly?" my cuddling sister sleepily whispered into my neck.

"Tell you what?"

"You know... the story... the long version."

Again? "That's a bedtime story. For when you go to bed. Not when you wake up. And aren't we getting a little old for this?" I chided.

"Never too old for faerie tales," she huffed, sounding a little less than her actual age. "Please?"

"Fine," I caved and took a deep breath for the story Tabby never got tired of.

"Long, long ago in a little village on the windswept coast of northern Ireland, there lived a heart-achingly beautiful young woman named Hannah Macallan. In fact, she was the most beautiful girl that anyone had seen in a thousand years. Her skin was as fair and as flawless as moonlight on a still lake. Her long, blood red hair gleamed like rubies. Her eyes were the deep green of the lushest hills and, speaking of lush, her body was a man's fantasy made real -- tiny in those places men like, round and full in the other places men like too."

Tabby snickered, "I think you added that last part. But keep going," she added hastily when I gave her a short look.

"But human men aren't the only ones with fantasies. Faerie men have them too and Hannah's beauty was enough to touch even a fae heart. As it happened, when she was born, Hannah's first cry attracted the great faerie prince Bertolas who slipped invisible into the midwife's hut to see her. For good or ill, he fell in love with Hannah right then.

For Bertolas, Hannah's scant nineteen years passed like snapped fingers and yet still he barely managed to wait it. On her birthday, he went to her and he wooed her, singing songs older than mortal ears and offering her tokens of his admiration. He was, like all his kind, beautiful too. They soon fell in love, deeply in love.

But before she would marry him, Hannah begged the fairy prince to promise that he would be faithful to her until she died. She could not bear to share him. It was an almost impossible thing to ask of a faerie. They live and love freely by nature, seeking beauty for beauty's sake. And yet for Hannah, the prince devised a way to change even this. He gave Hannah her promise, and better. He forged a mighty oath in old faespeak that bound his whole heart like cold iron.

Hannah and the fairy prince were wed soon after. His promise held and he loved her and was faithful to her, not only until she died, but forever after. Bertolas lives still and honors her in his heart. That was how strong their love was, how strong his oath was.

Hannah bore her beloved husband beautiful daughters, half-fae, and many were touched by magic. Stronger still than his own fae blood, the prince's oath was in them too. Hannah's daughters were from then on known as oath-takers, promise-makers. A Macallan would never break her pledge. It was like they couldn't. A Macallan woman's word was very nearly her life.

For fae kind, a human that could be trusted to her word was a special thing. It meant bargains could be struck, secrets shared, pacts made. Over generations, with what they learned and with good hearts, the Macallan family did great deeds for mortals and fae alike. And in time, even Brighde, Great Mother of all the Isles, came to the Macallans because, every once in awhile, even a goddess has a favor to ask. It took all the clan to grant it, and still only the firstborns could carry Brighde's immense boon - seasamh in aghaidh ama."

"Standing against time," my sister whispered.

"Yes. And with it, the Macallans defended all the Isles against the dangers Brighde sensed coming. And Eire knew peace. The End." I scratched my sister's neck. "Happy?"

"Your version is way better than Gram's."

"You mean you didn't like, 'Somebody fucked a faerie and now we're all fucked too, so suck it up and quit crying'?'"

We both laughed hard enough that we were wiping our eyes afterwards.

"Good old Gram," Tabby sighed finally.

"Yeah. Hey, how about some coffee?" I changed the subject quickly.

Not because Gram's death still hurt. In fact, she'd gone out like I wanted to someday. Seriously, you piss off a grumpy old Irish woman at your own peril. Trying to hijack her 747 and crash it into a shiny white federal building full of innocent people had made her mad.

No, the real reason I was eager to get out of bed right then was that Tabby's last several fidgets had rubbed her nipples against mine again, sending tingles up and down my spine that felt so good they nearly hurt.

"Wait... awww... Molly..." Tabitha whined, patting the warm spot on the bed I'd fled too quickly for her liking.

But I was already wrapped in my robe and toeing into my slippers. "How about French toast for breakfast?"

"Oooh, with..."

"...cinnamon." I finished for her. "Trust me, I know how you like it, sis." I leaned down to peck her forehead and tugged up the blanket that was drifting dangerously down her tempting chest as she sat up. Her smooth, lightly tanned shoulders were trouble enough. "Get up when you're ready and come let me mother you a little. Just put on some more clothes, okay?"

"Heh, for French toast I'd put on a ball gown." She grinned as I left and flopped back down on her back.

I padded into the kitchen and made the batter for the French toast. I let half-a-dozen thick bread slices steep then made coffee and started slicing some strawberries. It had probably been awhile since my vagabond sister ate anything healthy. When that was done, I heated a pan and started cooking.

"Tabby?" I called several minutes later when I was halfway through.

No answer. Meh, she'd probably fallen back to sleep. I finished cooking.

"Tabby?"

Still no answer.

I nuked a bottle of maple syrup to take the chill of from the fridge then filled my coffee cup and drank my way halfway through it. I picked up a fork and put it back down.

Finally, I'd lost my patience, "Dammit Tabitha, breakfast is getting cold!"

Still nothing. It wasn't that big of an apartment, she had to have heard me. Was she okay?

"Fine," I sighed and closed my eyes tight, gripped the smooth edge of my breakfast table, and kicked off my slippers.

Don't ask me why, but it's easier when my feet are bare, easier still when they touch water. In the olden days, many a Viking ship had turned right around and paddled for home after they learned what a line of Macallan women waiting for them in the surf meant. The doors to Valhalla wouldn't open for a Norseman who died between heartbeats without a fight. So I understand the symbolism of the water, but not the mechanics.

It's kind of embarrassing to admit, but I've just never been that good with magic and Gram didn't have enough patience to drill it into my thick head. The word for "moron" in Gaelic is óinseach and she yelled it at me a lot.

Understanding wasn't required for what I was going to do next, it was just a matter of being an eldest Macallan daughter. And I was one. Lucky me.

Sitting in my modern little American kitchen on the hills of San Francisco, I listened for a funny rubbing sound, a very, very old one that I've heard running behind my ears since the day I was born. Turns out that it's just the small, constant friction of the world going by. Mom and Gram had to explain to me when I was little that we were the only ones that could hear it.

Luckily, I didn't have to wait long. I heard what I was hoping for almost right away; a little knot on what I had always pictured as a giant silk rope that's constantly sliding by. Flaws in the rope, like the one coming, made a slightly louder rubbing sound as they draw nearer.

When it got came enough, I gripped the little knot, in my head, not with my hands, and pulled hard on a few looser threads that I could feel, just enough of them for the space of my apartment. I had only a little piece of that giant rope, but when I gripped the threads tightly it was like a sudden tug-of-war with a championship sumo wrestler.

For a few moments it was me against my little corner of the world. My stomach rolled and my head pounded as I heaved mentally. Finally the threads came free. They stayed with me, unwinding reluctantly from the silk rope as it continued its constant sliding.

I opened my eyes and everything, everything, was frozen.

I can stop time. Mom could too. And Gram. And her mom. And hers. Hers too. And so on, back to a little village on the windswept coast of northern Ireland where fae things once dwelled. And part-fae things like Macallans.

Nifty huh? Yeah, right up until it kills you. It's how my mother died. It's how we usually die. There are strict rules. Break the big one -- no fucking with the whole rope of time -- and you pay with your life. That was part of the promise our family made to Brighde, Great Mother of Ireland, eons ago in exchange for the power of seasamh in aghaidh ama - standing against time. And in the Macallan family, promises are a serious thing.

I shook my head to clear it, let my stomach settle, and trotted off to find my only sibling to see if she'd managed to hurt herself somehow or if she was just being a brat and ignoring me. I'd probably be ticked either way. And because I know Tabby a little too well, I brought the bottle of warmed maple syrup with me on my search. Odds were good that I'd get to use it.

I pushed open my own bedroom door and found my kid sister still tucked cozily in my bed.

Damned brat. Like everything else, she was motionless. Her eyes were squeezed shut but it didn't matter, she couldn't see me either way.

This may sound crazy, but, exactly as I expected, she was masturbating. Yep, masturbating.

Both of Tabby's arms were under the sheet that was tented between her spread knees. Her face had that unique, mixed look of concentration and bliss.

"Jesus, Tabby," I muttered. I'd been catching her like this since... well... for a very long time. My kid sister had a ridiculous sexual appetite and wasn't above a little self-served snack now and then to tie her over until her next nookie session.

Usually, I would slip back out of the room and leave Tabby to her privacy, but sometimes, like today, I'd treat myself a little and mess with her. I could only go so far though because there were promises about that too. Strong promises. Blood promises.

In a few steps, I was standing next to my young sister lying comfortably in my bed. Her small lips were parted, nostrils flared, cheeks flushed a light pink with her excitement.

"What is it with you and touching yourself in my bed, girlie?" I wondered out loud as I leaned closer to her. She couldn't hear me either.

She'd be nude under the blankets. My fingers toyed anxiously with one corner of them. I hadn't seen Tabitha naked in a couple of years.

In high school, with three varsity sports plus gymnastics on the weekends, Tabby's body had been insane, almost impossible. The same girl isn't supposed to have six pack abs and perfectly round, C-cup breasts, but Tabitha did. She'd looked like some sort of cartoon supergirl. The high school boys were practically beating each other to death just for the privilege of taking her to the movies.

Her body had softened a little bit since high school. She'd given up sports in college to focus on her studies, majoring in photojournalism. Her body changed, becoming less chiseled and more natural, more feminine and, to my eyes when I got my last peek back then, even more attractive.

We'd shared a bathroom one weekend at the beach during her senior college year a couple of years ago. She was so casual about her naked body while pulling her bathing suits on and off, wandering around naked. It had been hard not to stare.

I don't look bad in a bikini. I'm long and lean with narrow hips, a respectable tush from running, and small, high-set breasts, but I'm definitely not shaped like Tabby's fit and luscious hourglass. Not many women are.

I wondered what she looked like now and fiddled with the edge of the sheet a bit. I only had to lift it to see, but the sheet felt heavy. It was weighed down by your conscience.

"Oh Tabby, we're getting a little old for these games, kiddo." I said it to myself more than her.

"These games" were complicated because the first promise Mom and Gram bound me to was an oath when using the family gift: never to do ill to family. We'd even shared blood in the oath and that fed more magic into it. A blood promise is nearly as strong as a heart promise, breaking it is torture.

Touching Tabby in a sexual way without permission definitely qualified as "doing ill to family" and I'd never figured out a way to ask permission. It would be an awkward question, "Hey sis, mind if I feel you up a little while I'm using the ole' family gift-slash-curse?"

Still, I could have a little fun. I dribbled a bit of maple syrup onto a finger and dabbed it at my sister's lips. They were soft and warm. I dipped into the syrup and did it again, painting a good sweet gloss on her lips that she'd taste later. She'd know I did it. She had gotten used to my pranks over the years. Besides, the sensation of my finger on her lips, in fact any touch sensations that happened now, would catch up with her the moment time restarted.

I let my syrupy finger linger at her lips, feeling wronger as I lingered longer. The blood in my veins tickled its oath-warning. I ignored it and pressed a fingertip into her mouth so she'd taste maple the moment she woke up. It was even hotter and softer inside her mouth; small too because her lips were barely parted. My thoughts, already teetering on the sexual, tumbled deeply into the gutter as I brushed her little tongue with my fingertip. My blood tingled a stronger oath-warning.

How many men? How many men had she had in her mouth? I knew she swallowed, but then again I did too. We'd traded that sordid bit of truth one night a few years ago over a good bottle of wine, sitting in front of my fireplace.

And how many women? How many women had she pleasured with these lips, this tongue? She'd openly admitted to liking girls that very same night after we'd polished off a second bottle of wine, "S'not so bad, Molly. You just need to find the right girl and get a little brave." She'd said it with the same sweet smile that I imagined her using to lure men and women into her bed.

A little brave. Yeah. Sure. I sighed and pulled my finger from Tabby's tiny, warm mouth. I'm not brave. Not like Tabitha, anyway. And I have promises to keep. My blood stopped tingling.

I backed away from the bed, savoring one last look at my pretty sister from my bedroom doorway, and made a mental note to change my sheets before going to sleep tonight. Tabby tended to leave a bed more than a little soggy when she masturbated. Even worse than I did.

I was back in the kitchen and sitting in my chair when I let go of the silky time threads. They had already starting tugging at me with increasing urgency, pleading to be released. They needed to rejoin their rope. It was time to let them go.

When everything restarted, my stomach lurched then quieted.

I sipped coffee and heard my sister giggling loudly from the bedroom as soon as she realized what I did to her. Then there was quiet. Then there was some very soft moaning.

A couple of minutes later, I heard the bathroom sink running and that made me smile. Well, at least she had enough sense to wash her hands before she came to the breakfast table.

"The maple syrup was a nice touch," she chuckled as she bounced happily into the kitchen and took her seat, pouring syrup onto her stack of French toast.

"Thanks, I thought so too." My eyes flicked down her body then back up. "And nice lingerie," I added tartly.

She'd finally rummaged in my pajama drawer. The slinky pink babydoll she was wearing was mine and it looked better on her, naturally. The light color softened her tan and the fabric clung to her hips and chest like a second skin. She was naked under it. Her nipples poking at the front and the absence of any panty line at her hip made that clear.

My sister grinned and apologized for her pilfering through a mouthful of French toast, "Sorry, but I've missed girlie clothes. It's been nothing but fake, polyestery stuff for the past two months camping in the desert. And you've got a killer lingerie drawer by the way."

"Fine, at least you can't ruin that with your superhooters," I needled. Her chest had stretched out some of my favorite sweaters when she borrowed them while we were growing up and, like a good sister, I never let her live it down. "Make you a deal Tabs, I'll forgive your mooching if you eat some of these strawberries. There's these things called vitamins in them and they're good for you, sis."

"Okay, mom," she rolled her eyes even as she munched happily on a chunk of strawberry. A drop of juice slid from the corner of her mouth and rolled down a little before she lapped it away quickly with an agile dart of her pink tongue.

It made me wince. Even when she doesn't mean to be, Tabby is sexy. She doesn't realize it because it's natural for her, like breathing and walking.

Brighde help me.

"You're going to make some guy, or some girl, very happy some day, Tabby," I nudged her knee with mine.

"Mmmm... why not both?" she mused playfully, stuffing more French toast into her face.

We caught up over breakfast. No news for me as usual, I was still grinding out life as a junior associate at a big law firm. The partners thought I could do miracles, which was partly true -- just not the kind they thought. You can have the answer to a lot of legal questions if you can steal twenty minutes here and there without anyone knowing. Yeah, yeah, it's cheating, but I'm a lawyer. Turns out that it's okay when we cheat. We call it advocacy.

Tabby, meanwhile, had spent the late fall in the high Nevada deserts, chasing wildlife and men. Oddly, I realized, she hadn't mention any women. In fact, come to think of it, she hadn't mentioned any for awhile now.

"You off girls now, sis?" I asked out of the blue.

My question brought her up short and she twitched her nose as she looked at me, "Nah, just, I dunno... getting more selective I guess. Boys are for fun, Molly," she sighed, "but girls... girls are for love. There's something so much more intimate about... "

"Whoa," I stopped her with a hand on her arm, a heat already spreading across my cheeks the way it often did when she talked about girl-girl things, "wait 'til I've had a drink or two to go into the girl-on-girl details, huh?"

She smirked as she rose from her chair with her already empty plate. "Fine, then wanna go drinking tonight? We'll pick up some of your local talent. When's the last time my prim and proper sister had herself a little naughty, naked fun time?"

I laughed in spite of the jab, I'd always liked the way my sister put things. "I'm fine, Tabby. I don't think I have the same kind of needs you do. Besides, work keeps me busy. And happy."

She patted my shoulder then picked up my breakfast plate too. "You do, Molly. Have needs, I mean. I promise. The Eire fire burns on in you too, sis. I can tell. It's just buried under... I dunno... something." She fiddled with a few of my curls. "How about we stay in for a movie night then? I vote for pizza and wine. Red, please. I can fetch movies."

"Mmmm," I considered, "sounds a bit better. All right."

~*~*~Part 04~*~*~

We spent the day working. Tabby started in on two months worth of dirty laundry and attacked her giant e-mail inbox. I logged into the server at my firm for some much-needed document review.

By late afternoon, we were both antsy from being inside all day and I decided to lure Tabby out for a run on the wicked San Francisco hills.

"We'll go slow, I promise," I lied blatantly, "I know you've been jogging perfectly flat desert trails the last few months. C'mon, don't be a sissy."

The sissy thing always works. Even my goody two-shoes sister has enough pride to rise to a challenge. We dressed and stretched on my front porch. I watched Tabby bend forward limberly to clutch her toes, and tried not to look too long at her easy flexibility.

Tabby would not only be gorgeous naked, she'd be bendable and twistable in bed too, you could just tell.

Brighde save me.

She looked up at me so quickly I was worried she'd heard what I was thinking. "You're running outfit's super cute, Molly. I bet the guys on your street appreciate the view."

"View?"


"Of your butt, silly. You've always had a good tush for running shorts. All sleek and sporty. I think I've been getting a little hippy lately."

"Hippy?" It made me smile. "You're not hippy. Besides, trust me, when you run, nobody's looking at your hips, sis. For the boys, it's all about those boobies." I hopped up. "C'mon hippo, let's get started already." I pulled her to her feet.

"Hey," she prodded my shoulder with good humor when she was up, "I was trying to be nice."

I trotted off a few steps, "Pfffh, nice is for wussies. Move it."

I led her on my longest loop, a ten-mile torture test I hadn't braved in months. It was even worse than I remembered. By the time we staggered back, I was panting so hard I could barely talk and Tabby looked like she was about to throw up. We were both dripping with sweat but at least I could stand up without swaying. It was a petty victory but at least I could beat her at something.

"Shower," Tabby wheezed, falling through my front door onto her knees as soon as I opened it. I watched her heart-shaped rump wriggle a crawl towards the bathroom. The way my sister's ass flexed and moved so tautly, it looked... squeezable. Yeah, really squeezable.

I shook that ridiculous thought from my head and followed her exquisite body as it continued dripping sweat onto my hardwood floor with her crawling.

"Please.... cold shower," she begged. "For the love of Brighde, I thought the desert was bad."

"We've got way more humidity. Plus, these fucking mountains the sick bastards insist on calling hills. And don't take Her name in vain."

"Whatever, I think I kinda hate California now," she whined weakly.

"Beats Maine," I argued, "Remember freezing our butts off for seven months out of the year growing up?"

"My butt was a lot smaller then. And right now, I'd kill to freeze for awhile," she gasped.

"Good point." We reached the bathroom together and I leaned into the shower stall to turn on the water for her.

I burst out laughing when Tabby started crawling right into the shower with her clothes on.

"At least take your sneakers off, you little dope," I snatched her ankles and slipped her Nikes off before they got wet.

"Get in here with me," Tabby groaned after she stuck her head under the water, "this feels awesome."

Meh, what the hell, I kicked my shoes off and joined her. She was right, it felt fantastic. The icy water made my skin tingle.

This was the kind of silly, spontaneous thing that my little sister was good at. I'd missed her.

We sat together in the shower stall, side by side, with our backs to the cool tile and let the cold water rain down on us. Tabby's head lolled onto my shoulder as we sat there, slowly catching our breath. It was a nice sister-bonding moment that made my heart swell sweetly.

She asked a question so softly I barely heard it, "Molly? How come you moved so far away?"

"Work." It was a simple answer and even mostly true.

"That the only reason?"

Careful, just a partial truth now. "No, I dunno, I guess maybe I needed to strike out on my own a little."

"You didn't do it because you were mad? Or tired of looking after me? It felt like you ran away from me."

"No, honey."

"Promise?"

"Promises are serious things for us, Tabby, you know that."

"I know. Still, promise?"

I sighed and chose my words carefully, "Yes, Tabby. I promise that I didn't move away because I was mad at you or tired of you."

No, dumbass, it was because I loved you a little too much. And not in the right way. Those last two thoughts echoed in my head so loud they hurt my ears.

"Thanks," she kissed my shoulder, "I love you, you know."

It made my heart twist in my chest. "Oh Tabs, honey, I love you too."

She nodded into my shoulder. "I know. But we don't say it enough, I think. I just felt like saying it. After Dad goes it's just you and me. It's starting to sink in."

"Mmmmm," I pursed my lips at the sad thought, "the last of clan Macallan."

"Aye," she agreed in a really bad Irish accent, one more appropriate for a cartoon leprechaun fleeing from kids who were after his breakfast cereal. It made us both chuckle and I threw an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer.

We sat quietly for awhile before she stifled a bigger laugh. "Okay, I have to say this... your white jogbra is completely soaked through and I can totally see your nipples."

I did my best to shrug it off even as I felt them stiffening more because she was looking. "They're nipples, sis. You have 'em too." But they began to push out against the wet white fabric of my jogbra even more. Just super.

"Yeah... but yours were always prettier," my sister said matter-of-factly, still watching my chest.

Her random compliment caught me off guard, "Really?"

"Mmmhmm, I've always thought so," she said as she finally stopped studying my chest to lean forward and pull off her socks. "But my toes are way cuter." As proof, she wiggled them and looked at me with a sweet smile, "See?"

I had to admit, they were adorable. "Yeah."

"Ever sucked on someone's toes before, Molly?"

Where did she come up with this stuff? "Eh, no. Can't say I have."

"You know, that's one upside of branching out into girls, sis. You can lick places on a girl you wouldn't want to go anywhere near on a guy."

"Yeah, well, I'll have to take your word on that, Tabs."

"I know. Just sayin'." She reached down and started wrestling with her tank top, "Hey, help me off with my top? It's stuck to me like glue and I can barely breathe between it and the bra. You're lucky you don't have to double-bag your chest when you're running."

Sports, I thought ruefully, the one consolation for the small-breasted. "Yeah, lucky me."

I pitched in to help her peel off her sopping pink tank, revealing a gray jogbra beneath that pushed her breasts up and together into a cleavage that could have sold bras for Victoria's Secret. She dropped the pink top to the shower floor with a wet splat.

I forced my eyes down off her breasts, now heaving a little after her struggle to get her top off, and admired her smooth and perfectly tanned stomach as it rose and fell too. She'd gotten her navel pierced since I'd seen her last. A delicate little gold butterfly decorated her taut belly.

She caught me looking and fiddled with the small charm. "Like it?"

"It's very pretty."

"It's a monarch butterfly. I picked it out special. They migrate you know. Like birds."

"Yeah, really far, right?"

"Mmmhmm, but it's really the timing part that amazes me."

"Timing part?"

"Well, somehow each one of these little guys knows when it's time to come together. And then they just do. There's no confusion, no hesitation. They don't just know who they're supposed to be with and where they're supposed to go... they also know the hard part... the damn when."

She looked down at her stomach and toyed with her charm then looked up at me again but with an expression I couldn't read.

"Lately Molly, who I belong with doesn't seem that hard anymore. It's when it's supposed to happen that I can't figure out." She gnawed her lip and sighed.

"And so you had someone stab you through the belly button with a gold butterfly to help you think more clearly?" I sassed her.

Tabby opened her mouth to defend herself but hesitated and shut it with a tender smile. She scooted back next to me to rest her head on my shoulder again. "Yeah, I guess it sounds kind of silly doesn't it?"

I felt bad about teasing her. "Did it hurt? I really do like it. Maybe I'll get one too."

Her voice brightened a little but still sounded tired, "I'd like that very much, Molly. Very much. Then we could both be butterflies."

Her sweet thought hung in the air as we sat together, letting the frigid water rain down on us. Tabitha pressed her closer leg against mine and I watched as our thighs started to lift into goosebumps, her bronzed skin against my porcelain white.

"Hey, Moll?" she finally broke the comfortable silence, "Would it freak you out if I took off my bra too?"

Jesus, of course it would. "Go for it, just be careful when you unleash those things in this confined space. You might accidentally knock one of us unconscious."

"Har dee har har." Tabby stood and I admired the way the muscles in her stomach and legs flexed and twisted smoothly as she did it. She fingered the bottom of her bra and looked down at me slyly. "So, ready to see them?" she teased.

My answer was more sarcastic than I intended, "Pfffh, how many men have you asked that question?"

"Thousands," she shot back, "and, not to brag too much, but I haven't had a complaint yet."

With one determined wriggle, Tabby jerked her gray jogbra up and off. My sister's spectacular breasts bobbed free, round and glistening under the cold water. They were gorgeous orbs of firm, perfect breast that thrust straight out from her chest. Strike that, I had breasts. Those... those were tits, I thought giddily. Jesus, they'd easily overfill my hands and were covered in an even, flawless tan. Tabby had definitely been sunning topless. The light pink of her tiny nipples was a tempting contrast against her slightly bronzed skin. Her areolas were puckered tight and her nipples were long and hard.

And suckable.

Ouch, bad thought. I swallowed and forced myself to look away as my sister, now wearing only a small gray pair of jogging shorts that clung to her hips, turned to duck under the water.

"Soap?" she asked blindly, eyes closed against the shower spray.


But I was still a little distracted from her strip show, "Huh?"

"Soap, sis. I need some soap."

"Oh, right. Sorry," I snapped out of my daze and rummaged in the soap dish, then reached up to pass her the slippery bar.

She didn't take it. Instead, she turned a little more to face away from me, "Actually, feel like washing my back?"

"Sure." I levered myself to my feet. Even Tabby's back was pretty. It was smooth and tanned with enough muscle here and there to be both fit and feminine.

I rolled the soap bar over and over in my hands for lather then began sudsing my kid sister's sleek back. I'd never washed her before, even when we were little. It was nice to touch her in this way, tender and a little sensual without being sexual.

In time, my soaping turned into a massage, white suds dripping onto Tabby's little gray jogging shorts then streaming down her tanned legs in milky streams as I kept kneading her back. She didn't move to stop me. In fact, she sighed and took a few steps forward to lean herself against the shower wall while I worked on her. She groaned softly into the tile every once in a while when I found a good spot and dug deeper.

I kneaded my sister's beautiful back for a long, long time, sinking my fingers into her exquisite, lightly tanned flesh over and over. I finally stopped only when I realized my own hands and forearms were getting sore. More importantly, my body was screaming its depraved hunger, a wicked heat coiling and uncoiling deep in my belly.

I backed away from her and she sighed dreamily. "Wow, that was awesome. Thanks so much, Moll." She spun slowly to put her back to the shower spray to rinse off the thick layer soap I'd spread on her. It put her smiling face right in front of mine. More importantly, it put my hands directly on her breasts.

I sucked in a breath as they filled my palms. Round. And firm. So firm. Hot in some places, cool in others where they'd pressed against the shower tile. Her nipples, thick and hardened, dug into my hands.

Tabby didn't even blink. And she didn't pull away. She just smiled softly. "Uh, I can wash those myself, sis, but if you really..."

"I'm getting out," I blurted awkwardly, palms finally flying off her chest and backing away.

But her bright green eyes locked on mine, almost pleading. "I'm sorry I teased you. That was mean. C'mon, I'll do your back too."

"Just... just take your shower, kiddo." With shaky hands, I quickly wrung some of the water from my hair and opened the shower door to step out.

Out. That's what I needed. I had to get out. And away. My head was spinning. I hadn't had lurid thoughts like these while I was awake in awhile. A mental movie of Tabby shuddering and groaning with my face in her lap was running in full Technicolor with THX surround sound in my head. Jesus, I swore I could taste her. She'd be tart, lemony. Tabby's skin had always been that way. Her little blonde honeypot would be that way too. I knew it.

"Sis, wait," Tabby caught my arm, "if it's me you're worried about?"

I could only shake my head. No, she wasn't the problem. "Please let me go, Tabby." I meant more than just this shower. God help me, I couldn't even look at her.

She shrunk a little but still kept hold of my arm. "Sis, this stuff doesn't make me uncomfortable. Really. Besides, I guess I just figured... I mean... you know... you've touched me before haven't you? When you do your time freeze thingie you must have at least once—"

"Never." I lied firmly, looking down at the floor like it had the answers to my self-loathing.

"Never," I repeated, more softly. Maybe if I said it enough I'd believe it too. "Mom and Gram made me promise not to do things like that when I use the gift. Not to family. It was... it was a blood oath, Tabby. I broke one of them once. I'll never do it again."

I had to lie to her about touching her. I couldn't tell her that she was the reason I'd dared to break a blood promise. That I'd briefly cupped one of her tempting young breasts way back when. I'd been too curious to stop myself.

Violating the blood oath had twisted my guts viciously as soon as I did it.

I had barely made it to the bathroom. I was vomiting for hours afterwards, sweating and shivering with fae fever, muscles twisting and knotting brutally on the linoleum floor of the little bathroom we shared growing up. It had literally been torture because that's what it was supposed to be. In clan Macallan, any promise was a serious business, blood promises even more so. I knew it. Tabby knew it too.

Her eyes widened, guessing at what I must have gone through. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, sis. I've always felt bad for you. Mom and Gram were so much harder on you since you're the oldest." She let me go.

"S'ok," I sighed, "I learned my lesson."

"I bet you did." Her already soft expression somehow softened even more as she watched me back away. Her tender, sympathetic look only made me want her more. As if that were possible.

That's when I realized I was out of the shower and standing in a shallow puddle from what was dripping off my own body. It wasn't much but it meant my bare feet were touching water, which meant it would be easier. I closed my eyes, listened and got lucky: a knot. I didn't even stop to think. I was tired of thinking. I just seized a few threads and heaved.

Everything stopped.

My topless sister stood motionless in the shower. The shower's falling water droplets all around her were paused in midair, glimmering and glittering in the light. It meant my already gorgeous sibling was surrounded by hundreds of sparkling diamonds. It was heart-achingly beautiful.

I couldn't fight my own ridiculous needs. Not anymore. I needed relief, was going to go crazy without it. I leaned back against my little bathroom sink and spread my feet. I stared, unblinking, at Tabby as I slid a hand into my soaking wet jogging shorts and pressed two fingers into my own folds. A groan slipped out at the first brush against my clitoris. It was swollen and tight with need and I was juicy to the point of being sloppy. It was going to be a knee-shaker of an orgasm, I could tell already.

"I'm so sorry, honey. I'm failing you again," I whispered, apologizing to my sister for the way I was about to use her.

I drank Tabby in. Her delicate angel's face with her thick, wet and now dark blonde hair plastered to one side. Her perfect body. Her honest sexuality. All of her. I pictured kissing my sister's lips, nibbling at her neck, dropping to my knees and licking at the dripping undersides of her large, round breasts, nipping at her puckered nipples, reaching around to cup her beautiful heart-shaped ass and digging my fingernails into it, then lapping my way down her flat, tanned belly, tugging those little jogging shorts down to her knees and pressing my lips to her...

That was enough. "Guh huh huh," I whimpered and came.

The orgasm that swept through me was a welcome and fiery wind, boiling my blood, burning away the ravenous, incestuous hunger. My eyes squeezed shut all on their own as I rocked into my hand and shuddered. I had to clutch the sink's counter behind me to keep from falling over while my knees buckled with the force of the glorious and much-needed release.

Holy crap. Yep, I was right, a total knee-shaker.

"Fuck," I panted, head hanging limply as the cum's heat drained away almost as quickly as it came. I gave myself a couple of minutes to recover. Then, with one last longing look at my sparkling, near-naked sister, I let my threads go and let time restart.

I smiled lamely at her as she started moving, slowly at first, like moving through hot wax, then sped up as time accelerated to full speed. "Finish your shower sis. I'll hop in when you're done, okay?"

She just nodded and watched me go. I could practically feel the pity coming off her in waves. She was still thinking about the pain of breaking a blood oath. She didn't know what I'd just done. That I'd masturbated over her half-naked body while she couldn't do a thing about it.

Fuck, I hated myself a little more than I did yesterday.

~*~*~Part 05~*~*~

As Tabitha suggested, we had pizza and wine for dinner, splitting a large pie and a decent bottle of pinot. We changed into pajamas and, with our bellies full of hot cheese and alcohol, Tabby cracked open a second bottle while I set up the DVD player. The rentals Tabby had picked up while I waited for the pizza to be delivered held a couple of surprises.

"'Desert Hearts'? 'Bound'?!" I looked at my sister in disbelief. "What is this? Lesbo night?"

"Ooops," Tabby giggled and shrugged, "I didn't realize. I was a little distracted. A very cute girl at the movie rental store recommended them."

I could only shake my head. "Yeah, I'll bet she did. What was her name?"

She smiled. "Becky. Why? Want her phone number? She gave it to me." Tabby's smile widened into a playful grin. "She's a little young for you if you ask me."

"Nobody asked you."

"Fine, Becky's shift finishes at ten," Tabby continued, "We could call her and invite her over. She seems like fun."

"Very funny," I snorted.

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, "maybe I'll give her a call tomorrow then. See if she wants to do some..." she drew out a suggestive pause, "...sightseeing with me." Then she had the nerve to bat her pretty green eyes innocently.

Something new and awful twisted in my chest. Jealousy. Marvelous.

"Sounds like a good idea," I said tersely. "So how about a fire in the fireplace during our lesbian movie fest? I know it's a little warm for it here, but it's January, dammit, and I'm kind of in the mood."

"Oooh, that would be awesome. I'm parking my butt on the floor then." Tabby plucked a pillow off the couch and plunked herself down on the thick rug while I got the fire going and shut off the lights.

I laid down on her other side, leaving her closer to the fire, and handed her the DVD player's remote because I felt guilty about being cranky. "Here chickie, little sisters get remote privileges tonight."

Tabby took it with a smile. "Sweet, now we're going to watch the girlie sex scenes in slo-mo. Maybe you'll learn something."

Super. I held my tongue. "Blanket?" I offered instead.

"Big enough to share?" she asked, eyes already glued to the TV screen as previews started.

"Yep." I flung it over both of us then settled in for what I fully expected to be roughly three hours of girl-on-girl torture: in the movies and on the floor with Tabitha.

"Molly? Thanks." She crossed her nearer leg over mine as Bound started. I'd seen the movie, so at least I knew what I was in for. Even I had to admit that Gina Gershon was ridiculously smart, hot and dirty.

"Thanks for what?" I said absently.

"I dunno. Everything. Letting me crash here whenever I want. And all the stuff you helped me with growing up because Mom wasn't there and Dad was clueless and Gram was so weird."

"I'm not sure I was all that helpful. As I recall, we figured out the big things together." A silly memory came rushing back that made me chuckle, "Remember locking ourselves in the bathroom and trying to work out what to do with maxipads?"

"Oh shit," Tabby grinned, "that was funny. I was pretty sure I needed one too. What was I, like nine?"

I chuckled again. "Yep. And there was no definitely convincing you otherwise. I really tried."

Tabby found my hand under the blankets and squeezed it gently, "I wanted to be like my big sister. Like you." She squeezed it again. "I always have, Molly. You know, I wish I could..."

"No Tabby," I stiffened, "never wish for the Macallan curse. Save your wishes for something better."

"...but that wasn't what I was wishing for," she said softly.

"Good. Watch your movie."

"'Kay," she turned onto her side and scooted down to rest her head on my chest. Her cheek felt hot against my breast even through the fairly thick, cotton button-down pajama top I was wearing.

"That's my boob your head is on, Tabby."

"Yep," she said simply, "and it's an excellent pillow."

"Small pillow," I grumbled.

"True, but a good one all the same."

"Very funny." I stroked her head.

"Wasn't jokin'. And keep petting please." She arched her neck to push her head into my hand like a needy cat.

I ran my fingers Tabby's silky, perfect hair and watched as Gina and Jen Tilly traded lusty, hungry looks on screen. It made my heart beat faster and, with her ear to my chest, Tabitha must have heard my pulse quicken.

"Heh, admit it, sis, this is hot. You don't have to be gay to say this is hot."

"Fine. It's hot. Happy?"

"Very. Phase one is complete," she chuckled darkly. "You'll be a raging lesbo by summer. I can't wait to tell Dad."

I laughed, hard, and Tabitha's head bounced on my chest. I was still laughing when she asked her quiet question out of the blue, "Didn't you ever want to?"

She'd lost me completely. "Want to what?"

"Touch me? You know, when you do the time-thingie?"

The bottom of my stomach dropped away. "Jesus, Tabitha."

I tried to sit up but she pressed her head harder into my chest and she squeezed my hand, the one she still held beneath the blankets.

"It's okay, sis..." she said quietly still looking at the TV, "...tell me. And no fibbing. I'll know. You're a terrible liar."

"Pfffh, I'm a lawyer. I'm an excellent liar."

"No, Molly, no you're not. Not to me anyway. Not as good as you think." When her head turned over slowly to look up at me she was very close. Her eyes were wide and glittering in the firelight. Flecks of gold danced against deep dark green. "And don't change the subject, Molly."

She licked her lips and my heart skipped several beats at her closeness, the dim light, the combined warmth of her and the fire, and the forbidden girlie romance unfolding on the screen.

"Tabitha, I..."

"I would have," she interrupted gently, "Wanted to. Touch you, I mean. And I don't mind if you do." She nibbled her lip uncertainly and tugged our joined hands to her belly, stroking herself, "And if you ever want to..."

I jerked my hand away from hers and her pretty eyes hardened around their edges, her lips shrinking to a straight line.

She sighed. "You know what Molly? You're making this kind of hard."

She slid upwards, closer, and her eyes were locked on my mouth. I could feel her breath on my face. Everything in me, every bone, every muscle, and every sinew screamed, "no fair." I honestly wanted to cry. Her. Here. Like this. It was too much. My desire for my own sister, my own flesh and blood, rose up like a tidal wave and loomed over me.

Like a coward, I closed my eyes and listened for the old rope, praying for an escape. I heard only perfectly smooth sliding. There were no little knots. No threads. Nothing for me to hold. Nothing to tease apart. It meant there was no escape there either. Not without daring to grip the whole rope. And that was forbidden.

I had no refuge left.

"What are you doing Tabs?" I whimpered, barely daring to open my eyes again.

"Being brave. For you." She brushed her nose against mine and a thrill shot through me.

I didn't think it was possible, but her eyes glittered even more. She smiled as she closed the last half inch between us. That's when Tabitha's lips, my own sister's lips, pressed softly into mine.

Sweet Brighde. I was undone. All the resisting. All the self-hatred. All the secret wants heaped high around me and mortared fast with my taboo urges. It all fell with one damn touch of my sister's perfect lips.

Tabby's kiss was sweet and warm and tender. I groaned weakly into her mouth and the sound encouraged her; she worked her lips into mine more eagerly. My sister was an outstanding kisser. I had no clue where my lips ended and hers started. It was everything I'd ever hoped for.

Her lips closed carefully around my lower one and pulled softly, playfully. It made me groan again, this time from somewhere very deep in my chest. It seemed like forever came and went before my beautiful sister backed her head away slowly and fixed her very green eyes on me again. They were smoky, sultry slits.

"See now, smartypants?" Her voice was huskier than I'd ever heard it and she had a way of making 'smartypants' sound suspiciously like 'dumbass.'

I swallowed. "Yeah."

"Okay, you and me? We're both going to quit fighting this... this thing that's been killing you for years... killing us..."

"How did you..."


"I'm your sister, Molly. Did you really think you could hide how you felt from me? I used to think it was just my body... that you just kind of lusted after what happened to me at puberty."

"Don't be silly, I don't care how—"

"It's okay," she cut me off yet again, "I understand it's not just physical. But you know what? Even back then, when I thought it was just a body thing? I was really flattered. I never said anything because I didn't want to embarrass you. I figured you'd just kind of get over it with time, lose interest eventually."

She paused and searched my face. "But you haven't have you?"

I barely shook my head.

"Good because," she glanced away uncomfortably and when she looked back, her eyes were soft and honest, "because neither have I. I want you too, Molly. And I'm getting tired of playing games. I'm tired of waiting for you to come find me when I'm masturbating. Tired of hinting. Of flirting. Of stealing snuggles and begging for you to touch me. Mostly, I'm just tired of not being with you the way I want. The way we both want."

She drew in a long slow breath. "I'm going to say this out loud because you won't. You look a little out of it too so I'll even use really small words," she smiled and paused to kiss my nose then nipped at its rounded tip and pulled back to look at me tenderly.

"I am in love with you, Molly Macallan of clan Macallan. And I don't think it's just in the little sister way. It feels like the big and romantic and hot and sweaty way. Do you understand?"

My mouth had gone bone-dry so my answer came out as a hoarse whisper, "Yeah."

"Good girl," she smiled again, "now, kiss me like a grown-up. That junior high school smooch was nice but... well... we're both adults now. C'mon sis, how about you start with just a little tongue for your little sister?"

"Jesus, you're kinda sick," I choked out an amazed giggle.

"Uh uh, I'm naughty. And trust me, there's a difference. For the love of Brighde, why on earth do you think I've been kissing girls for the past several years? I was practicing, dummy. For you."

Ooh, that did it. "Quit taking Her name in vain, you little..." I cupped the back of her head and mashed my lips into hers. I drove my tongue into her mouth and twisted it around hers hungrily. She tasted like red wine and pizza with a hint of cinnamon TicTac. Perfect. I'd never had anything so delicious.

Tabby's lips pulled into a bigger smile as we kissed, obviously happy that she was getting what she wanted -- what we both wanted. She let me have my fun for awhile, exploring her willing little mouth, teasing me with quick strokes of her incredibly talented tongue that resonated between my legs. Then her tongue spun and wrapped itself almost completely around mine so limberly and so expertly that I half-coughed and my eyes went wide in surprise. Her eyes were open too and looked very amused.

My sister's tongue was... was long. Insanely long. She flicked at the sensitive roof of m

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