We were in yet another dingy hotel room barely fit for the cockroaches, owning only whatever we could transport in the old beat-up station wagon.
But at least we still had each other.
I sighed with a saddened weariness as I noted the lone bed, large enough for us both but clearly about as old as the well-trampled carpet. The once-white walls were definitely stained with decades of dirt, smoke, the unblinking glare of sunlight, and -- I guessed -- dried streaks of well-aged semen. The table by the window appeared to be made of a hard plastic, not actual wood, a fact which cheapened the hotel room even more. I noticed several significant rips in the faded orange curtains, one rip significant enough that if the lone overhead light was turned on, we would have no privacy at night unless we went into the bathroom.
The bathroom was not much better. The faucet at the sink was dripping slowly. I could not identify the growth around the drain in the bathtub. Water stains dotted the bathroom ceiling along a specific line, indicating a leaking section of pipe.
But after nearly four months on the run, not knowing where we were heading but deathly certain that we needed to run, this was as good a "home" as any, at least for the next few days.
"I'm not sure I like that smell," he commented, closing and securing all five locks on the door to the hotel room.
I finally set my duffel bag on the floor beside the bed, fatigue already getting the better of me even though the sun had yet to set.
"Hey, sis."
And that was the reason we were running: blood.
I straightened up and leaned into my big brother's hold, trying to fight back the tears which almost continually tore at my heart: tears of love, yet tears of fear.
"How much longer can we run?" I asked in a nearly-choked whisper, trying desperately to hold the tears at bay. I clutched my protector, my companion, my confidant, my lover.
"The question really is, where can we run to where we will truly be safe? Short of smuggling ourselves out of the country or finding a private island in the middle of the Pacific, I don't know that we can ever truly stop running."
His realism broke the dam, and the tears gushed forward, staining his old t-shirt. I could smell him, as well as the sweat and the grime which had accumulated upon him over the past few days since we had last been able to afford a hotel room, and somehow the scents mixed together into a wonderful calming concoction. Yet I could not complain, for I looked and smelled the same.
"We should eat," my big brother suggested. "I thought I saw a greasy diner about a block up the road."
I shook my head. "We don't know when either of us will get work again. We'd better save the money. If nothing else, we'll need gas to get out of this town."
He nodded, then kissed my forehead. Instinctively, my lips sought his, and for a moment, my life was filled with nothing but love.
...forbidden love.
It was indeed an interesting contrast that a place such as this could exist directly across the street from a small church. It was even more interesting that we were here and not there. We were indeed damned, and we had no one to blame but ourselves.
My stomach growled softly, and I blushed slightly in embarrassment. "Shall we try the vending machine in the hallway?"
He nodded solemnly. "I guess we don't have a choice. Our snack food is all gone."
"Not quite. I believe I still have a small bag of animal crackers in my duffel bag. Besides, I don't think I'd trust anything from the machine, given how the room itself looks and smells."
"Well," my forbidden lover noted, "at least we won't be 100% hungry tonight."
*****
As the sun set, the activity in the hotel increased dramatically. As we cuddled upon the hard bed and tried to forget our relative hunger, the sounds of passion slowly grew in number and in volume. It was strange -- the sounds filtering through the thin walls at once disgusted me yet also aroused me. The solid length of my big brother was nestled against me, clear evidence of how the sounds were affecting him, even though he made no attempt to be sexual with me.
In time, however, my arousal was growing to an extent that I needed some relief. Due to my period, it had been over a week since my last orgasm, and the length of time combined with the unmistakable sounds of sex caused my desire to overflow my body.
"It's been so long..." my big brother finally whispered softly as the natural light faded.
"I know," I whispered in return, kissing his chin.
"We should," he said, "because it might be our last."
He always said that, but it was always true. Each minute we spent together could well have been our last minute together, at least in this reality. We were both keenly aware of the consequences if one or both of us were found.
"At least I can feed you," he said softly, a hand moving to my chest and gently stroking a breast. "At least you won't be so hungry."
He had done that for me several times since our flight had begun. While I have never truly enjoyed the taste of his love, it had provided me with some sustenance and lessened the hunger.
"Take that cock, bitch!" I heard from across the wall, a gruff male voice growling with dominance. Barely a heartbeat later, I heard the unmistakable sound of someone gagging -- likely the "bitch" in question having difficulty taking an erect penis into her throat.
