Fostered Care

Shaun arrived home that afternoon to find Christine reclining on the sofa and watching a movie, dressed in basic house clothes -- loose short shorts, cut-off tank top, no bra and probably no panties; her hair was wet, she must have had another shower, probably after a big exercise session or something. "Hey sis," he greeted.

"Hey bro," Chris greeted in kind. She had already forgotten her kinky indulgences in his bedroom barely an hour prior; she had long ago learned to quickly put such things behind her, all the better to maintain a nonchalant façade for Shaun. "So who was the lucky gal today? Was it Erin?"

Shaun stopped. "How do you know these things?" he asked.

She grinned at him. "I know you too well, my dear," she told him. "So did you get your rocks off, good and proper?"

"Well, yeah," he admitted, simply. "But what was I supposed to do? She gave me the eye -- who am I to refuse a lady?"

"Erin is no 'lady'," Christine muttered.

"Oh Chris," Shaun scolded her, moving to the kitchen to fetch a drink. "Do tell me you're not jealous of my attentions to Erin."

"Oh but I am," said Chris, making it sound like a joke. "If only it could be me..."

Shaun shook his head at her, grinning at her joking tones, and he tossed her a can of drink too. "You do like to pry though, don't you? You don't hear me asking about you and Peter, do you?" Christine's smile disappeared; Shaun picked up on it right away. "What's wrong? What did he do?"

"He tried it on," Chris said, quietly.

"WHAT? I'll fucking kill him!"

"No, it wasn't like that," Chris quickly placated him. "He had a go, but I told him no and sent him packing, he didn't get anywhere. He didn't hurt me, Shaun -- I'm fine."

"Well, still," Shaun simmered; he realised he was crushing the can in his hand, so he took a quick sip from it before it spilled over. "Nobody does that to my sis. I'll smash him one for you."

"I appreciate it, Shaun," she told him, with a smile, "but please don't. I don't want you to get into any trouble."

"Trouble? I'll snap him in two! He won't be any trouble for me," Shaun said, as a simple matter of fact.

"I know that," Chris said, rolling her eyes. "I'm more worried about when Peter comes out of his coma and sends the cops after you."

"Better make sure he doesn't wake up then," Shaun replied, with a wink; she realised he was joking around, so she gave him a smile. He sat down next to her, and she snuggled up under his arm for a hug.

"I appreciate it, you know," she told him, softly.

"Hmm?"

"I appreciate you sticking up for me. You always have, you've always been there for me, and I've always appreciated it. I'm not sure if I ever told you before."

"Oh, don't worry about it," he dismissed, squeezing her a bit tighter. "That's what a good brother does: he sticks up for his little sister."

"Hey: I am older than you, you know."

"Yeah, but you're shorter than me too, so you're my li'l sis, says I. And I'll always stand by you, because that's what a good brother should do." 'And what he shouldn't do,' he thought with a pang of guilt, 'is think about his little sister while he's fucking some other girl he doesn't really like. God, I'm a terrible person.'

Chris didn't hear his thoughts, but she found his spoken sentiments really lovely and touching. She was about to tell him that she loved him -- something she told him often, every chance she got -- but a car door slammed outside and he leapt guiltily to his feet. "It's just mum, home from work," she said.

"Yeah, but... well, you know." Shaun had really taken their mum and dad's 'talk' with them very seriously, and he seemed to live with the perpetual fear of raising their suspicions or meeting their disapproval -- whenever he and Chris were home alone, Shaun made a point of being at the other end of the house before their parents got home, and so he moved quickly to his bedroom.

Chris sighed; that brother of hers sure did get uptight sometimes. * * * Safely shut away in his bedroom, Shaun sighed in relief. It felt nice to sit with Christine on the couch and have a little snuggle, just like old times, but he could only imagine how that would look if Therese walked in on them alone like that. He couldn't bear to imagine the look on his mum's face if she saw that.

Alone in his bedroom, he decided he ought to be doing something, anything; if his mum was to walk in on him, he didn't want it to look like he was hiding from her. What to do, what to do... 'well, maybe it's time I did some tidying-up,' he thought. 'She's always bugging me to clean my room, I'm sure she'd like that.'

So he got into it, and he began sorting his 'dirty' clothes from his 'not quite dirty yet' clothes and his 'I think mum just washed these and she'd probably want them in the wardrobe' clothes. After twenty minutes of that task and nowhere near finished, he took a break and started making his bed for a bit of variety; fluffing out the sheets, he was surprised to see a white pair of underwear float free.

'I didn't know I had white grundies,' he thought, with a curious frown for the mysterious pair. He bent down to pick them up, and dropped them nearly straight away -- they were wet! What's going on? Hang on... are those...?

He couldn't believe what he saw. It was a pair of Christine's knickers. There was no denying it -- they were girl's briefs, and they were white like most of Chris's underwear; when he had picked them up he had grabbed them near the crotch without thinking, and now he was dealing with the realisation that there was a pair of his sister's underwear, freshly moistened, recently nestled amongst his bedsheets.

'Well...' he thought. 'I guess... I guess I'd better give them back.' But how did they get here? When did they get here? They weren't in his bed this morning or last night -- he would have found them if they were. Chris had been home alone after she had sent Peter packing; what had she been up to? Had she been in his room? If she had -- why did she leave her knickers in here?

He had to discuss this with her. Didn't he? What if he did -- what would she say, how would she react -- would she deny it, would she think he had been stealing her undies? What if he didn't talk about it with her -- he would be stuck forever wondering why her undies were in his bedroom, in his bed, moist at the crotch... His mind barely flitted over the possible explanations, prompting a sudden swelling in his pants. Ah crap.

First thing's first: he had to stop thinking like that. Then he had to hide the offending garment. Then he had to find an opportunity to discuss this with his sister. In private.

'Oh man,' he thought again, gingerly picking up the knickers and slipping them into a pocket, valiantly defeating the urge to sniff the smell of Christine's moistened crotch; he imagined he could smell them even at arm's length, a sweet smell, an awfully enticing smell... 'Oh man,' he thought again. 'What the fuck is going on?' * * * Along came dinnertime, and with Chris's underwear secreted in his pocket, Shaun tried to act natural. Bill got home from work just in time for the meal, and he asked everyone about their day, remembering all the details they had told him the night before: he asked Shaun about his Physics assessment, which Shaun reported as going better than he'd expected; Bill asked Chris what she got up to this afternoon with gym class off -- she said she came home and studied, an outright lie that made Shaun grin derisively, even despite his troubling thoughts. She glared at him in reply, but their dad was busy hoeing into mum's famous meatloaf so he was blind to their silent exchange.

Dinner was proclaimed a resounding success by all, to Therese's quiet pride, and Shaun and Chris were deemed the dish-scrubbers for the evening. Therese and Bill brought them all the plates off the table and then they went to watch TV, giving Shaun his chance to speak privately with his sister as they scrubbed at the pots, pans and plates.

"Listen, Chris," he began. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she said.

He reached into his pocket, and she boggled to see him holding a pair of her knickers. "I found these today."

"Where?" she asked, taking them from him; as she asked she foresaw the answer, and a knot of nerves formed in her stomach.

"They were in my bed," he whispered, looking over his shoulder to assure himself they were safely alone.

"Really?" she asked, not knowing what else to say, trying to stall for time while she thought ahead, tried to think up an explanation.

"Yeah," he nodded, seriously. "And Chris, they were... they were..."

She looked at him. "They were what?" she asked, in a small voice.

He couldn't say it. He simply couldn't bring himself to say, "Chris, your panties were in my bed, and they were wet" -- he loved her too much to do that to her, to put her in that position, and quite frankly he was afraid to learn the reason for their wetness. He shook his head instead. "How could they have gotten there?" he asked. "Can you imagine what mum would have said if she'd found them there? Your undies, in my bed?"

"She would have flipped right out," Christine agreed. "And she would have told dad, and we would have copped another 'talk'."

"And that's if they didn't run my arse right out of the house -- they'd think I'd stolen them from you, or... or..." Or they'd think something else, that he couldn't even bring himself to say.

"Shaun, they would never think that, they would never kick you out," Chris assured him, seeing what he left unsaid, her heart thrilling at the forbidden concept. "They love you too much, Shaun -- we all do."

"Well, maybe," Shaun replied, unconvinced that dad wouldn't throw his sorry arse to the kerbside. "But your knickers, Chris: how could they have gotten there, in my bed?"

Christine thought, for barely a second, before an answer presented itself. It was a lie, and she didn't want to lie to him; she loved him, and part of her wanted to tell him the truth, part of her wanted to explain how she sometimes masturbated in his bed and thought about him because she loved him and she wanted him and she couldn't help it but it was okay, it was only natural because we're not really brother and sister because you're adopted, but that doesn't matter because we'll never do anything together because we know we shouldn't and we're strong enough to fight it, we can fight the urge -- can't we? But she couldn't say that, she didn't have the courage to say it -- what if his answer was 'my God, you're disgusting, get away from me...' Or what if he said 'no, I can't fight it... I don't want to fight it... I want to be with you...' What then? Could she have stayed strong, could she tell him no? She didn't know if she could; she couldn't risk it, so instead she said, "Peter must have done it."

Shaun blinked. "Peter..." he said, as her answer sunk in; he reeled as it hit home, as though he had been dealt a bodily blow. "Peter?" was all he could say.

She nodded, sadly, feeling the formation of tears. "He... he must have got them... he must have thrown them in there just after I sent him packing. He must have tried to get you in trouble."

"But..." 'But they were wet,' Shaun thought. 'Peter got you wet? And then he got your undies off you? And only then did you send him home? Did you really send him home -- or did you...' He had to look away for a second, so he could blink away tears of his own: tears of jealousy, outrage, hurt.

"Shaun..." she said; his back turned to her nearly broke her heart, and she tried to get him to turn back. "Shaun... I sent him home. We didn't do anything. We didn't! I swear! Shaun, look at me -- I swear it!"

Shaun looked at her, and saw the truth in her eyes, the desperate honesty -- she'd done nothing with Peter, he knew it now, and he took relief in it, and she was relieved like never before as she saw him accept her word. "I'm sorry, Shaun," she told him, as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She was sorry to have disappointed him, but she was sorrier to have lied to him -- she wanted him to know how she really felt, she was desperate for him to know, but she was afraid to tell him and she hated herself for it. "I'm so sorry..."

Shaun said nothing; he merely grabbed her and held her in a hug, soothing and comforting as Christine cried hard. As they held each other, Bill walked in on them. "What's going on?" he frowned.

Shaun jumped, but Christine held him tight; she would not let him go, she would not let him step away and look guilty. It was okay. They were doing nothing wrong, dammit. "Oh Dad," she sniffed. "I broke up with Peter today."

Bill's face fell. "Oh honey..." he said, and Shaun caught on to Chris's ploy -- so far as their dad knew, they were hugging because Chris was upset over the break-up, and Shaun was merely comforting her like a good brother would. Bill came over and joined in the hug for a little while; "Oh Chris..." he said again, "I know it hurts now, but the hurt will pass with time. I promise it will."

They broke it up, and having reassured his daughter, Bill turned and fixed Shaun with a look of pride. "You're a good man, Shaunie boy," he told him. "You're a good man, and a great brother -- it's great to know that you'll always be there for your sister. You do yourself proud, mate."

"Thanks, dad," Shaun mumbled -- he didn't agree with Bill's assessment, but he wasn't about to speak up.

"I reckon," their dad told them, "that a time like this calls for ice cream. Whaddaya say?"

Christine smiled, and laughed a little through her tears. "Sounds good, dad," she said.

"Okay then: I'll finish these dishes, and you kids can serve it up. I want to see big scoops in big bowls -- and don't forget your mother!"

Shaun and Chris voiced an affirmative, and as Bill got into the dishes they shared a look. Christine reached for Shaun's hand, her face asking if he was alright, if they were okay; Shaun grasped her hand and held it shortly, giving her a nod. They were fine.

Christine sighed happily, and went to grab some bowls from the cupboard. As she did, she shuddered with reaction and relief. How close was that? How lucky was she? If she hadn't thought any quicker, if the truth had come out... oh, if only he could know! She wished he could know how much she loved him, how she yearned for him, how she only wanted to hold him and be with him... But he couldn't know. He could never know. It was too dangerous. If the truth had come out, it could have blown up in her face, and destroyed their friendship, their siblinghood, their family, forever. And she would do anything, say anything, tell any lie to avoid that risk.

She sighed again, silently railing at the unfairness of the universe. If only things were different... * * * Another day came. Chris got to the shower first, yet again; she waited, and waited, and waited extra-long, but Shaun didn't join her in the bathroom that day. She was silently disappointed; she loved starting out her day with a bit of low-key flirting and mutual perving. It was always a bad day when she missed out. But Shaun seemed to need some space, so she glumly accepted it and got out of the shower.

Shaun loved starting his day with the sight of Christine in the shower too, but he held back, doing everything else in his morning routine until she left the bathroom before going in for his shower. It wasn't that he needed space; rather, he felt he should leave Chris some space. He felt he had been thinking unseemly thoughts about her too often of late, so he decided to back off. It was bad enough he was thinking about her while fucking someone else, but with the discovery of the misplaced panties, he had found himself putting unseemly intentions upon Chris; he was appalled to find himself thinking that Chris may have been in his room, may have been in his bed, lying naked, touching his things, touching herself, getting herself wet, deliberately leaving her undies behind as a hint, to tease him, to work him up, to let him know what she was doing and how she wanted him... No! She was his sister, for fuck's sake! Sisters don't do that! Especially not Christine. 'Get a grip, man!' he berated himself.

He left the house a bit later than Chris, and caught a different bus in to school, getting there a tiny bit late for his French class. Now here was a welcome distraction: French was a favourite for Shaun, mostly because his teacher -- Ms Tiann -- was a feisty young thing, sexy and exotic, of a Vietnamese background. She had a great figure, slim and lithe; her legs long, her breasts large for her frame; her skin possessed of that lovely honey-coloured sheen that her race were blessed with. She was forever giving Shaun sultry looks on the sly, flirting with him so subtly that, most of the time, he thought he was imagining it; not, however, when she leaned right over his shoulder to check his work, her head nestled right up next to his, and he could smell her, feel her heat, sense the electricity between them. He sometimes fancied that she was only waiting for him to turn eighteen, so she could legally have her wicked way with him; but he knew it was more complicated than that, she was his teacher and he was her student, and that sort of dalliance was greatly frowned upon by all.

"Monsieur Shaun!" Ms Tiann scolded, as he strolled into class ten minutes late. "You are late, garcon!"

Shaun blinked. "Jes suis... desolet?" he tried.

"Don't you go and think you can Frenchify your way out of this," she returned fire. "I'll see you for detention at lunchtime, Monsieur Shaun!"

"Damn," whispered Brad, as Shaun took his customary seat next to his mate and Ms Tiann got back to her lesson. "What's up her bum?"

"I dunno," Shaun replied, sotto voce. "But if she's taking suggestions..."

They tried not to snigger, but they failed, again raising Ms Tiann's ire. "Monsieur Shaun!!"

"Desolet, jes suis desolet," Shaun decried, hands raised. * * * Lunchtime rolled around, and for Shaun it brought detention; he walked into Ms Tiann's classroom to find her alone. "I'm the only naughty boy today?" he observed.

"That's right," she confirmed. "Take a seat, thanks." He did so, and couldn't help but notice as Ms Tiann went to the door, shut it, and locked it.

"So, Monsieur Shaun," she said, sauntering over to his desk like a cat on the prowl: Shaun could almost imagine a fluffy feline tail trailing behind her, twitching playfully. "You think you're pretty cute, don't you?"

Shaun blinked. "I'm sorry?" he said.

"I said: you think you're pretty cute," Ms Tiann repeated herself, and as she walked towards him Shaun tried his best not to notice how long, how smooth and silken her legs were, or how short her skirt suddenly seemed to be, or how many buttons appeared to be undone at the top of her shirt -- noticing those things on a teacher wasn't necessarily a wise move. "Don't you?"

"Aww, gee," he replied, as she took a seat upon his desk. "Well," he added, unable to wrest his eyes from the long, smooth legs that were almost in his lap, "I guess I'd say I'm about half-decent, I suppose --"

"Don't lie," she said, simply; her hands were behind her on the desk as she leaned back a little bit, fixing him in the eye, seemingly daring him to look at her perky breasts as they strained against her button-down top. "You back yourself, don't you? You're pretty self-confident; pretty popular with the ladies..."

She seemed keen for an affirmative answer and not interested in modesty, so Shaun modified his approach. "I've had a few wins in my time," he allowed.

"So I hear," nodded Ms Tiann, with a growing grin. "Your reputation precedes you among the faculty, Monsieur Shaun. We all know about your little dalliances, your extra-curricular activities..."

Shaun blinked -- they did? "Oh," was all he had to say to that.