Caffeine Dreams And Celtic Gods

So, no shit, there I was...don't all the good stories start that way? Anyway, there I was, in the tiny coffeeshop where my brother worked. We laughed at the militant feminist, and cracked dirty jokes with the ageless parts-broker in the battered red hat. My brother, Iggy, played 80's techno-pop and light industrial on the tinny boombox atop the cooler -- Gary Numan, Machines of Loving Grace, New Model Army -- and I danced on the rubber no-slip mat in front of the counter. It was late October, shortly before the Dots played New Orleans, and despite the weather, I was still wearing the lace gown I'd worn to my dancing job. Every boy in the joint was sweating, and every jealous eye was on Iggy. Well, all but one, but he couldn't see past his heads-up display. Damned uber-geeks and their new toys. However, Granola-of-Borg became vitally important to the evening as it progressed.

Time passed, and it was nigh unto two o' clock when Iggy and I chased out the last geeky coffeehounds to the dying strains of some old Gary Numan tune. Well, all but Granola and his girl, the Wunderkunt. Granola had offered to give us a ride home, if we liked, and seeing as (god only knows why) it was snowing, we were quick to accept his generosity.

Iggy swept up and mopped the floor, while we listened to Information Society; Granola played the old Stryder machine in the corner, I danced, and Wunderkunt told some stories about an erotic fiction writer's group she had belonged to, 'back in the day'. I undulated almost unconsciously while I listened to Wunderkunt's story, my long black hair brushing the backs of my knees, as I went for the occasional unsupported dip backwards. I had just recovered from one of these ankle-grabbing experiences, when I saw my brother about three inches from my face, murderously gripping the mop handle.

"Why, ani-chan, what's the matter, my love?" I asked, mildly perplexed, but distracted by his perpetual musky scent -- a blend of leather, unfiltered cigarettes, and pure human pheromone.

"If you don't quit dancing," he replied through clenched teeth, "I swear to god, I will have to beat my penis against the counter."

I pressed closer to him, feeling his jagged breath on my skin. "Promise?" I asked, as he stalked off to the back of the shop in murderously black defeat. I smiled sweetly, and gestured for Wunderkunt to go on, as she had been speaking at length about the joys of Andan's arse, and I absolutely _had_ to know more.

I rapidly discovered that, as hot as Andan's arse might be, I could not keep my thoughts in the moment. I kept flashing back to the bizarre masturbatory image of my brother beating his wang against the coffeeshop's counter. It was ludicrous, of course, but at the same time, strangely compelling. I'd seen what Iggy kept (poorly) hidden in those old black BDUs, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted all 8.25 inches of it anywhere it would fit me. If I had a circumference more precise than 'slightly larger than a Kennedy half-dollar', I would have calculated the diameter of that divine flesh, and relished every moment. After all, when one has fifty digits of pi at one's disposal, all things are possible.

Unfortunately, my mathematical manipulations turned me on even more. Every whirl, dip, and swish I executed was met with the hungry glare of my now nearly-feral brother. He had finished mopping, and was waiting for the floor to dry before he walked on it; he leaned behind Granola, and pretended to watch the game.

As I swung my slim hips to the next poppy love song, sung by some bishounen with the voice of an angel, I delicately flitted across the floor, setting my toes in the tiny dry spots that had begun to appear, and soon found myself at Iggy's side.

I leaned over and whispered in his ear; I'd suddenly had an idea...

"Ani-chan," I began, "obviously, we won't get what we want if we go home, ne? And that would be so distressing to both of us...to have so close an opportunity for mutual profit, and not to embrace it..."

He cut me off, snarling. "Well, what the fuck else are we going to do? In the snow?"

"Shh..." I stroked his side, a calming gesture. "Here's how I figure it: We'll ask Granola if we can use the back of his...vehicle. After all, Ani, the man drives a military transport."

He rolled his eyes. "Do you want everyone to know what we're doing?" He was viciously exasperated.

"You think the rest of them _don't_ know? With the way you look at me? Did you not see them looking enviously at you? They _know_, Iggy. And not a one cares past the end of his cock."

"Fine." He sulked, distressed that for once, I understood the situation better than he did.

I turned to Granola, and touched his shoulder lightly, brushed my breasts against his back. "Hey, Granola? Iggy and I have a weird favour to ask..." I paused, and he made a small inquisitive sound, so I continued. "We want to borrow the back of the 'Mog for a couple of hours. Is that OK?"

Granola groaned as his character died again, and then turned to face us. "Well, it's really cold, and there's no heat in the cargo compartment. Look, why don't you two come back to my house instead. Wunderkunt and I will catch a few hours of sleep, and then I'll drive all three of you home. She needs to be somewhere in the morning, anyway."

Iggy and I looked hopefully at each other, and I swear, our faces glowed. "Fantastic," Iggy put in, before I could say another word. He threw himself over the counter, and slithered into his leather jacket while packing his cds. I have never seen a man move that fast. Or one look so geeky and sexy at the same time. As he rippled into the worn motorcycle jacket, lithely twisting to gather his belongings, his long red hair spilled across the black leather like copper serpents. He grinned wolfishly before he realised that his pants weren't on straight, and the grin slid off as he turned around and cursed. When he turned back around, he was sleek, industrial, and ready to go, like a finely tuned machine with burnished steel trim.

The ride up to Granola's was cold and jarring. Apparently he hadn't replaced the shocks, and the forty-year old German models were no longer doing their jobs. Not that we minded. I looked deep into his eyes and saw a flash of fear quickly choked out by lust. I slid my cold hands into his jacket, and pressed my face against his neck. Iggy quichly moved us to a more comfortable position; I wound up straddling him, face to face. His green eyes were full of wonder, as I drew my hand out of his jacket, and laid a finger across his lips. He almost looked younger than me for a moment, as he reverently slipped his hot lips around my icy fingers and began to warm them, two at a time, with his soft, scalding tongue. I gasped at the temperature difference, and he glanced up guiltily. My smug smile quickly reassured him. Despite the cold, I could feel him starting to get hard again under my left leg. I moaned and gripped his back as he slid one hand up over my breast, and squeezed gently. The 'Mog stopped short, and I grabbed an overhead equipment rack, as we slid toward the end of the bench.

I stood up just as Wunderkunt opened the door and announced our arrival at the mystic house of Granola. Sure enough, the man had a dumbterm in the bathroom, so he could check his mail while on the john. I was so jealous, but not nearly as jealous as when I saw the living room floor. The nearly 20x20 living room carpeting was more than 2/3 covered in Lego Mindstorms components -- the Legos you build working robots with. I gaped speculatively at the spread, and Granola announced that we would have the room for three hours -- yes, the one with the legos. Iggy and I grinned and stuttered our thanks.

We ogled the legos for a few more minutes while we shed our jackets, set down our bags, and placed a two-liter of Mountain Dew on the table in the breakfast nook. We discovered some pillows, and settled in a corner of the living room across from the fireplace. I took his face in my hand, and wordlessly kissed him. He turned his face away, and pulled his shirt off in a single smooth motion, and his beautiful hair tumbled past his bare shoulders. He laid me down on the pillows, and his large hands felt good on my tiny body. Iggy stood up for a moment to take off his heavy gear belt, and with all the light in the room behind him, he was as stunning as any god of Ireland. I looked up at him, scuffed tank boots first, his worn BDUs bulging at the crotch, the luscious expanse of his pale, thin chest (which was just as well-muscled as his long, strong arms, despite its circumference), his jutting collarbones, slim throat with rust stains from the steel necklace, and oh god, his face. Framed in lank, wavy copper hair, his face was perfect; from the impishly sparkling green eyes, to the slightly bent twice-broken nose, to the thin but sensual red lips, and almost pointed chin. Cuchulain the hero had nothing on this boy, and unlike his ancient counterpart, I had Iggy all to myself.

As he knelt before me, I started to rise, to kiss him again, but he shook his head, and smiled thoughtfully. I lay back down, and he spread my legs and laid his tongue to me. His hot, soft tongue felt even better between my legs than it had on my fingers or in my mouth. I moaned softly and writhed as he flicked, pressed, and caressed me with his warm, wet mouth, and he slid two fingers up into my mouth. I sucked and licked with a desperate passion as he licked and nipped at my soft flesh. I had begun to drift laterally in the space-time continuum, when he slipped his fingers out of my mouth. I returned to myself with a start and a mournful moan, and he looked up at me, his face dripping with his spit and my honey clear up to his eyes. He smiled wickedly at me, and began teasing me with the fingers I had been sucking moments before. As I arched, eyes rolling wildly, he slammed the two fingers into me, and laid his mouth to me again, ravenously. As he pounded and sucked, I could feel the honey running out of me in rivulets that passed down into his hand, into the crack of my arse, and straight down to the pillow below me, making a warm, wet puddle. Suddenly, he pressed with his thumb between his fingers and his tongue, and I gasped and convulsed in ecstasy. He slid his fingers out and I shuddered. Iggy slid up next to me, and wrapped me in his arms. I gazed up into his eyes in awe, and he looked warmly down at me, and stroked my face with his dry hand.

I reached down and unbuttoned his pants, feeling his cock spring free into my hand. I always loved that Iggy never wore underwear. I looked up at him like a little girl asking for a puppy, and he twisted around to pull his boots off. In moments, he was on his knees, and I was bowed over his lovely cock, teasing the delicate soft flesh over what I was convinced was a hot steel core. I laid my tongue along his length and undulated it, causing a rippling suction. He was astounded I fit it all in my mouth, but the astonishment vanished in a soul-rending cry of ecstatic despair as I began swallowing, compressing the head of his cock, which lay in my throat. He pulled my up, suddenly, but gently, and I laid a finger across his lips as I slid up into his lap. I held his cock in one hand, and with the other, I gripped him for leverage, so that I could force the whole thing into me. I had never wanted anything more than this moment.

"Ani," I said, and we locked eyes as he slid into me, tearing my delicate tissues with his huge size.

"Imooto," he breathed, and kissed me deeply.

In that moment we became one. It no loger mattered whose what was where, whose heartbeat that was, because it wasn't one of us anymore, it was one thing composed of the two of us. We explored this sensation, and realised that we were thirsty. Without a word or a hesitation, he swept me into his arms (our arms?) and strode across the precariously Lego covered floor to the Mountain Dew on the table, which we drank gratefully, before returning to our pastime. Again, he laid me down, folding my legs up over his back, and he pounded into me harder and faster, as my fingernails flicked and danced across his skin. He lowered his lips to mine, and we breathed the same air. There would be no separation, I thought, except to be born again from each other's backs. I could feel Iggy's cock swelling more and more inside me, and together our breath grew short and gasping. We were coming...but whose body...he (I) shot into me (him?) and the strong pulse made us howl. We spoke with the voice of god.

Iggy sat up, and took me with him. I sat in his lap, and we panted and stared into each other's eyes. "Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood," I rasped, "The way it was always meant to be."

He quoted _Dead_Girls_ at me: "The consummation of a marriage made in hell between Lilith and her consort, the Morning Star."

"You'll always be my Morning Star, my love, my brother."

At this point Granola walked in. We were horrified, but he just looked at us like we had clothes and said, "Hey, I'm going to make some tea before we get going, do you want some?"

We nodded, dumbfounded. This man was unflappable...damn good thing he was on our side.