Wants and Needs

As always, all characters in the story are above the age of 18.

CHAPTER 6 - A BETTER SISTER

I feel like I'm going mad.

Two realities coexist in my mind that are fundamentally incompatible with each other. No person should be able to hold both thoughts at the same time.

On the one hand, Sylvia's challenge -- the challenge I've agreed to -- feels wrong on such a profoundly visceral level that it makes me recoil. It gives me occasional bouts of nausea. It sends my heart into a panicked frenzy.

But on the other hand...

It's been three days, and the idea of seducing Chris has lodged itself firmly in my brain. I've never been the kind of sister who's there for him when he needs me. Sure, I bought him Cosmic Quest and I've been doing all the chores, but that doesn't make up for the entire time I spent being a dick to him.

That's just not what big sisters do.

And while there's something off about Syl's task, I do have to admit there's a certain sense to it. What college guy doesn't need a sexual outlet? It's basic biology.

If I helped him like that, it would also be further optimization. I would get to be selfless in my own time, too... even if I do have to admit that the prospect is a little daunting.

But it's selfish to be daunted by altruism. Come on. If I get my brother to fuck me, It'll just be another example of me being selfless, the way I've always tried to be lately. The way I should be.

I find myself studying my brother from across the living room. He's hunched over his laptop, probably reading lecture notes for his own classes. His brow furrows in concentration, and I notice the tension in his shoulders. Poor guy. College stress is hard enough without adding sexual frustration to the mix.

"You look tense," I say, moving to sit beside him on the couch. Not too close. Not yet.

Chris barely glances up. "Just this assignment. The professor's infamously assholeish about it."

"You should take a break. Maybe we could watch a movie?"

I slide a little closer, letting my knee brush against his. A tiny jolt runs through me at the contact. Not a pleasant jolt... at least, not exactly. I'm not attracted to my brother, in any way.

But the warm, fuzzy feeling of doing right by others is motivation enough. That, and the pretty, pretty colors I see whenever I close my eyes...

He shrugs, still focused on his screen. "Maybe later."

I need to be more strategic about this. I stand and stretch, making sure to arch my back just enough that my shirt rides up. "I'm going to make some popcorn. You sure you don't want to join me?"

This gets his attention. Chris has never been able to resist food cooked by others. "What movie did you have in mind?"

An hour later, we're halfway through some action flick I chose at random. The important thing is that we're sitting side by side on the couch, a bowl of popcorn between us. Every so often, our hands brush as we reach for kernels simultaneously. I make sure it happens more often than it needs to.

"Sorry," I say the fifth time it happens, not sorry at all.

Chris shifts uncomfortably. "It's fine."

When the popcorn is gone, I remove the bowl and slide closer, until our thighs are pressing together. I can feel the warmth of him through my jeans.

"Is this okay?" I ask, gesturing vaguely at our proximity. "I'm cold."

"Uh, sure," he says, but I notice he's gone rigid beside me.

I rest my head against his shoulder, and for a moment, my resolve falters. It's like the whole world lurches, skipping out of sync for a second. What am I doing? I'm teetering on the edge of a precipice, and if I do this, there will be no going back...

But then, the pretty mist closes in, and the world seems fine again. That's just like old Phoebe, to find any excuse not to be kind to other people. I don't want to be that person anymore. This is normal. My behavior is totally normal.

Over the next few days, I keep finding excuses to be around him. I ask for his help reaching things in high cupboards, even though I'm perfectly capable. I brush my fingertips against his arm when I talk to him. I wear shorter shorts and lower-cut tops when I know we'll be alone in the apartment.

It's all just to make him comfortable with me, to build up to my offer to... help him, so to speak. That's all.

I don't get why Syl is so endlessly amused every time I send her an update about my progress.

"Do you think I'm dressing differently lately?" I ask Chris one evening as I join him on the couch. I'm wearing a tank top that shows more cleavage than I'd typically be comfortable with.

Chris keeps his eyes firmly on the TV. "I don't know. Maybe? I don't really pay attention to what you wear."

I feel a flash of disappointment, then remind myself that this is a process. "Well, I'm trying to be more comfortable with myself. More confident."

"That's... good, I guess."

I slide closer to him, until our sides are pressed together. "You know, it's okay to look. I'm not going to be offended."

Now he turns to me, confusion written across his face. "Err... What are you talking about, Phoebe?"

"Nothing," I say quickly. "Just that I'm your sister. You don't have to pretend I don't exist as a woman."

"That's... weird, Pheebs. You're being weird. What are you saying?"

I'm blowing this. I need to back off and reevaluate.

"Sorry," I say, moving away slightly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

That night, I lie in bed thinking about my approach. The problem is that I'm not being direct enough. Chris needs to understand that what I'm offering comes from a place of genuine care. It's absolutely what any loving big sister would do if she were as enlightened as I am about the needs of others.

I think.

The next morning, I catch him in the kitchen before he leaves for class. I'm wearing just a T-shirt and panties, my usual sleep attire, but I've picked the tightest, shortest T-shirt I own.

"Morning," I say cheerfully.

Chris nearly chokes on his cereal when he sees me. "Jesus, Pheebs. Put some pants on."

"Why? We're siblings. It's not like I'd wear more clothing at the beach. No need to make it weird, little bro." I reach past him to get a mug from the cupboard, making sure my body brushes against his as I do.

"That's not--" He stands up and steps back quickly. "Look, I don't know what's going on with you lately, but you're acting strange."

I pour myself some coffee, considering my next words carefully. "I've just been thinking about how much pressure you must be under. College is stressful, and you're always working so hard."

"Okay..."

"And I know guys have... needs." I take a sip of my coffee, watching him over the rim of my mug. "Physical needs. And you don't have a girlfriend, so..."

Chris's face goes through a fascinating series of expressions, finally settling on horrified understanding. "Phoebe, what the fuck? What are you getting at?"

"I'm just saying, I could help you with that." I try to make my voice sound casual, matter-of-fact. "It wouldn't mean anything. It would just be me helping you out. Taking care of you, like a big sister should."

"That is NOT what big sisters do!" He's backing away from me now, his breakfast forgotten. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but this is seriously messed up."

"Is it, though?" I set down my mug and step toward him. "We're both adults. It's just physical release. And it would be just between us. No one would know."

"I have to go to class." Chris grabs his backpack and practically runs for the door.

I sigh as it slams behind him. This is going to be harder than I thought. But I'm not giving up. After all, I'm doing this for him, not for me. What kind of sister would I be if I didn't follow through on something that would clearly benefit him in the long run?

That evening, Chris avoids being alone with me, staying in his room with the door firmly closed. That's fine. Our parents are home anyway, so I couldn't try anything regardless.

But when I next get an opening...

I know what I must do.

***

The next time we're alone, I knock on the door to his bedroom. Now or never.

"What?" he says through the door.

"Can I come in? I want to apologize."

There's a long pause before he says, "Fine."

I open the door to find him sitting at his desk, pretending to be busy with homework. I perch on the edge of his bed.

"I'm sorry about the last time," I say softly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, bro."

"It's fine," he mutters, still not looking at me. "Let's just forget it, okay? And, like... never, ever bring it up again."

"No, it's not fine. I crossed a line." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "But I want you to understand where I was coming from. I've been thinking a lot lately about how selfish I've been my whole life. Always putting myself first, never considering what other people might need."

This gets his attention. He turns to face me. "What are you talking about? You're not selfish." He looks briefly away from me, frowning. "Well, okay, not lately. I'll grant that you've been plenty selfish in the past."

"Exactly! That's the point, little brother. I'm trying to be better now. More giving."

"Is that why you bought me Cosmic Quest? Some kind of... weird AF atonement?"

"Correct." I lean forward, looking earnestly into his eyes. "And I noticed how stressed you've been lately. I just wanted to help."

"By offering to--" He can't even say it.

"By offering to give you physical release, yes. Because I care about you. Because your well-being matters to me." I reach out and place my hand on his knee. "It wouldn't be for me. It would be for you. I know you have needs, and as your big sister, it's my job to take care of you."

He shakes his head vehemently. "No, absolutely not. This is insane, Pheebs. You're my sister! We can't do... that."

"Look, it's your choice. I simply wanted to let you know that the option's on the table." I give his knee a gentle squeeze. "Just think about it, okay? No pressure. I'm here if you want my help, but I won't bring it up again if you don't."

I stand and move toward the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. "I just want you to know that I'm offering this out of love, and nothing else."

I close the door behind me, hoping my words will sink in. After all, isn't that what true selflessness is? Giving someone what they need, even when they don't realize they need it? I'm just being the best sister I can be.

Besides, it's my fault if he's so reluctant to pick me up on this offer. Given how common the trope is in porn, it's obvious that most brothers would just jump at the chance if they were offered sex by their sisters. If he doesn't, it must be because I've been super abrasive to him for so long. He's used to headstrong, selfish Phoebe. No wonder he doesn't know how to react to this situation.

But he'll learn.

I'll make sure of it.

***

It's been almost a week since I made my offer to Chris, and I'm starting to see small changes in his behavior.

The way he doesn't immediately leave the room when I enter anymore. The quick glances when he thinks I'm not looking. The slight flush when I brush against him "accidentally."

It's progress. Slow and steady, but progress nonetheless. I have to admire my own persistence here--there's something almost audacious about continuing to pursue this goal when he's been so resistant. But I know it's what he needs, even if he doesn't fully realize it yet.

Of course, every time I falter, I have... incentives to continue. Sylvia's always ready to spur me on. But even more relevantly, it's addictive, this feeling of generosity, the way my body rewards my own selflessness.

And I'm expecting a big reward, this time. With our parents away on a trip, Chris and I have the place to ourselves until Monday morning.

I've planned this carefully, wearing loose pajama shorts and a thin tank top without a bra. Nothing too obvious--I don't want to scare him off--but enough to make him notice. When I wander into the living room, he's already on the sofa, watching some sci-fi show.

"Mind if I join you?" I ask, standing in the doorway.

He looks up, and I catch the momentary flicker of his eyes over my body before he adjusts his gaze. "Sure."

I settle next to him, not quite touching but close enough that he can feel my presence. For the first fifteen minutes, we just watch in silence. I let him get comfortable with me being there, let the tension ease from his shoulders.

"Want some popcorn?" I ask.

"No thanks."

"How about a drink? Beer? Soda?"

He sighs. "I'm fine, Phoebe."

"Just trying to take care of you," I say lightly. "That's what big sisters do."

Chris shifts uncomfortably. "Can we not start this again?"

"Start what?" I ask innocently. "I'm just sitting here watching TV with my brother."

He gives me a skeptical look but turns back to the screen. I wait another ten minutes before I make my next move, shifting position so that my leg presses against his. He tenses but doesn't pull away. Progress.

"This show is pretty good," I say, leaning closer to him as if engrossed in the plot. "Who's that character again?"

As he explains, I let my head rest against his shoulder. He stumbles over his words but continues, his body gradually relaxing against mine. This is the most physical contact he's allowed in days.

"Thanks for explaining," I say when he finishes. "You're so smart about this stuff."

"It's just a TV show, Phoebe."

"Still. I like listening to you talk about things you're interested in." I look up at him, my face now just inches from his. "I don't think I tell you that enough."

He swallows hard, and I watch his Adam's apple bob. "Thanks, I guess."

I stay in that position, my head on his shoulder, for the rest of the episode. When it ends, he makes no move to get up or put on the next one. We sit in the dim light of the menu screen, the moment stretching between us.

I put my hand on his knee, just like I did a week ago in his bedroom. He doesn't immediately push my it away, which I take as a positive sign.

"This is so messed up," he says, but there's less conviction in his voice than before.

"Is it?" I let my hand drift slightly higher on his thigh. "Or is it just two people who care about each other, one of them helping the other out?"

"But you're my sister."

"And as your sister, I want what's best for you." My hand inches higher still. One inch at a time. "I've looked it up, you know. It's not actually that uncommon. And it's only weird if we make it weird."

I can feel the heat from his body now, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Most tellingly, I can see the beginnings of an erection straining against his sweatpants. My eyes flick down to it, then back to his face.

"See? How can it be weird, if your body's reacting like that? It's perfectly natural."

"This is wrong," he says, but he makes no move to stop me as my hand moves higher.

"It's only wrong if it hurts someone. Is this hurting you?" I ask, my palm now hovering just inches from his growing bulge.

He doesn't answer, which I take as permission to continue. I let my hand rest lightly on his erection, feeling it pulse under my touch through his sweatpants.

"Oh," I say softly. "You're already so hard. All that pent up stress..."

His breath catches. "Phoebe, we shouldn't--"

"Shh," I soothe him. "Just let me take care of this for you. You don't have to do anything."

I begin to rub him through his sweatpants, slow, gentle strokes. His eyes close and his head tips back against the sofa. I watch his face, fascinated by the play of emotions--desire, confusion, shame, pleasure.

Not that this is about me. It doesn't do anything for me, really, I'm not into this kink at all. This is about him. About meeting his needs as unselfishly as possible.

"Does that feel good?" I ask, increasing the pressure slightly.

He nods, eyes still closed, as if not seeing me makes this easier to accept.

"I can make it feel even better," I say. Before he can respond, I slip my hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, wrapping my fingers around his bare cock.

His eyes fly open. "Fuck! Phoebe, this is so wrong..."

"Does it feel wrong?" I ask as I begin to stroke him properly, getting a feel for his length and thickness. I've serviced enough cocks lately that it probably qualifies as a statistically relevant sample size, and my brother's dick is pretty average to my touch.

But of course, it wouldn't be very selfless to tell him that, would it?

"You're so big," I say, because I know that's what guys like to hear. "And so hard."

He makes a strangled sound in response.

I focus on my technique, varying the pressure and speed, paying attention to his reactions to learn what he likes best. When I swipe my thumb over the head, collecting the precum leaking there, his hips buck involuntarily.

"You like that?" I ask.

"Y-yes," he admits, the word barely audible.

"Good. I want to make this good for you." I use the slickness to ease my movements, my hand gliding up and down his shaft in a steady rhythm. "This is what big sisters are for. Taking care of their brothers."

He moans, his eyes squeezed shut again. I can tell he's trying not to think about who's touching him, just focusing on the sensation. That's fine. Whatever helps him enjoy this.

"It's okay to let go," I encourage him. "No one's home but us. You can be as loud as you want."

As if given permission, he moans more openly as I increase my pace. His hips start to move, thrusting into my hand. I can tell he's getting close.

"That's it," I say. "Just feel good. Don't think about anything else."

I'm saying this to him, but in some way, it feels like it applies even more to myself. I'm not thinking about anything else. I'm just feeling.

Not in a sexual way, of course. I'm feeling the glow of giving to others, of making people's lives easier and better. The glow's never been this warm. I need to apologise to Syl for agreeing to her challenge with insufficient enthusiasm. This is the most selfless thing I've ever done.

The best thing I've ever done.

His breathing becomes ragged, his movements more desperate. I tighten my grip slightly, focusing my attention on the upper third of his cock where he's most sensitive.

"I'm--I'm going to--" he stammers.

"It's okay. Go ahead." I work him faster. "Come for me, little brother."

With a groan that seems torn from deep within him, he erupts, hot spurts of semen coating my hand and his stomach. I stroke him through it, easing off gradually as his body relaxes.

Insane to think about. I've just made my own brother cum, with my hand.

I can't decide why it's insane, though. Is it insane that I've done it? Or that I've only now done it, at Sylvia's prompting, when I should have been worrying about his stress for some time like a responsible sis?

For a moment, we stay frozen like that--me with my hand on his softening cock, him breathing heavily, eyes still closed. Then reality seems to crash back in. He jerks away from me, yanking his sweatpants back up and covering himself.

"Oh my God," he says, looking horrified. "We actually--I actually--"

"It's okay," I say soothingly. "It was just a handjob. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? Phoebe, you're my sister!"

I shrug, trying to keep things casual. "And now I'm a sister who's helped her brother out. That's all."

He stares at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. But the flush on his cheeks, the way his eyes keep dropping to my lips, to my breasts visible through my thin tank top--these tell me he's not as repulsed as he wants to appear.

"I should..." He stands abruptly. "I need to clean up."

"Of course," I say. "Take your time."

As he practically runs to the bathroom, I sit back on the sofa, a satisfied smile playing at my lips. This was a significant step forward. Yes, he's conflicted now, but the physical barrier has been broken. Now it's just a matter of helping him become more comfortable with the idea.