Note there are some references to my Wormholes works in here. You don't need to read those, but consider this story loosely in the same world, though not at the same time.
Chris felt the beat jumping up through the floor and into his chest. He cast his eyes around the room; the one good thing about their recent move to the city was the incredible club scene, and the range of beautiful women who subscribed to it. Even if there was only one venue near home, it offered hope. He breathed deeply, stood straight, and readied himself to offer his whole being to anyone who found him appealing. No, he readied himself to search for the perfect woman. He could do it. He was a prize. He-
'Want a drink?' The young woman next to him shouted in his ear. He turned to her. Just shorter than his respectably average height, dark hair framing her face, slender, luminous brown eyes. He knew most men would fall at her feet in worship.
He batted her away, flailing like he had done for most of the last twenty years.
'Sarah I swear to
God
if anyone thinks we are together I will literally die, right here and now. I won't have to try. They won't have to tell me. It will just happen'.
'So no then? Suit yourself'.
His sister turned back to the bar, and Chris bit his lip. He knew he was being unfair, but tensions had been running high with their unusual living situation. They both had wanted to blow off steam, and he knew she was just as human as he was - she was surely looking for some pretty boy to hold hands with. He refused to allow himself to think any further along those lines.
A moment later she joined him, passing him the rum and coke he would have asked for if he hadn't been feeling so ornery. 'Thanks', he muttered. He leaned in to let himself be heard. 'Thanks, and sorry. I'm a little wound up'.
Sarah leaned back and spoke directly into his ear. 'You mean being stuck with your sister all day, every day hasn't transported you to a field of delights? I'm
shocked
'.
Chris let out a wry chuckle, and just caught the sight from the corner of his eye of one of the most perfect women he had ever seen looking at him. Looking at his sister, leaning into his ear, talking to him, making him laugh. He saw her turning away. His laughter turned into a dry moan.
He started after the stunning redhead, but too quickly she was gone, lost in the hundreds dancing. He put his face in his hands and let out a scream of frustration, safe in the knowledge that the pounding music and crowds would mask this too as it slipped through his fingers.
Sarah came to stand beside him. 'She get away?'
'Don't they all'. Chris muttered. 'Come on, let's dance'.
Tempers had flared at home recently, but the pair were able to cut loose, at least a little. They danced together more like friends than siblings, and for a while Chris forgot how irritating she could be, and Sarah forgot how much space he took up. They poked fun at one another for their awful dance moves, and managed not to get too annoyed when the crowd pushed them together. Eventually, the need to find a partner became too much. They split, and hunted alone.
The rest of the night was a blur of dancing, drinking, hunting and finding nothing. Hours and too many drinks later, Chris could dance no more. The night had wound down, and the remaining singles had paired off. The crowd cleared, and he saw Sarah swaying to the music and the booze coursing through her system, eyes searching, as hungry and as lonely as his own. He staggered over to her, put his arms around her shoulders, and together they half stumbled, half walked towards their nearby home.
* * * * *
Chris woke the next morning to a comfortable warmth draped across him. His brain began its boot sequence:
PRIORITY ONE
PENIS: CHECK
PRIORITY TWO
ORGANS: CHECK
BLOOD: CHECK
LIMBS: CHECK
PRIORITY THREE
SINGLE LIFE: CHECK
SINGLE DURATION: EXTREME
COMPANIONSHIP: CHECK
RUNNING COMPANIONSHIP SUBROUTINE:
SOFTNESS: CHECK
WARMTH: CHECK
LIKELIHOOD OF FEMALE: HIGH
RUNNING ERECTION SUBROUTINE
FAMILY: CHECK
ABORTING ERECTION SUBROUTINE... FAILED
His conscious mind came alive around shortly after Sarah's; more than enough time for her own rage module to become fully enabled. Cheeks red with fury and the warmth of the bed, she tore into him.
'You sick
fucker
, Chris'.
'Why are you lying on top of me! You've never done that before!'
'It's a small bed'.
'We've been sharing it for six months. You know which side is yours'.
'Stop trying to distract me. Get your dick out of my side'.
'You're on top of me'.
'Excuses!' She sprang off the bed to her feet, loose purple top covering her to mid-thigh. She lambasted him for a few minutes more, hands on hips and nipples firmly pointing through her shirt. Chris was unprepared for the next life, and so chose not to mention her own unavoidable physical reactions. Sarah strode across the room - all two steps of it. She squeezed into their tiny bathroom, and Chris flopped back onto the bed as he heard the shower start up.
Not for the first time, he wondered if they had made the right choice. He and Sarah hadn't thought too carefully about their parents' offer to send them to university in the big city, and to get them a place of their own. He should have thought more carefully about his family's finances. He was grateful, surely. With Sarah just barely in the same school year as him, and now in the same year at university, they never had a chance to build any kind of savings buffer between the two of them, but somehow they made it work. Just. Somehow, they got an incredible deal on this tiny flat, wedged on the corner of a much larger building. They got it added to the mortgage on their own home, a deal so inscrutable their broker simply asked them to take it and question it no further while visibly scratching his head. And so, when it came time to move in, the siblings were buoyed by the idea of their own space, even if it meant cooking on a hotplate, or having a sink literally in the shower, or having space for one tiny TV, on the wall, between the light switch and the single grubby window. They felt great. Right up until the first night.
Chris had tried his best to be a good brother. The bed was surprisingly modest in size, maybe even a king, but most of the remaining floor space was taken up by a low sofa. He nobly volunteered to take it, at least for the first night. Nay, the first week. His resolve lasted fifteen minutes.
The furniture had come with the house, and apparently this particular item had been bought at the cobweb and spring emporium. Or possibly the cactus and sandpaper store. Either way, he knew sleep would be impossible, and there was literally no room on the floor.
'Sarah. Saaaaraaaaah. Sarah'.
'What do you want Chris'.
'Are you awake'.
'No, I'm a skilled sleep conversationalist'.
'That will do. I can't sleep on this sofa'.
'Grow up, big brother'.
'I'm serious'.
The silence stretched out for a moment.
'Fine', said Sarah, 'I'll take it'.
'I don't think you should. I don't think anyone could sleep on this. I don't think anyone should
sit
on this'.
'Don't be a baby, I'll show you how it's done'.
Two minutes later, they had agreed to share the bed.
'Just like when we were kids', said Chris.
'If you jab me with your elbows I will poison your coffee'.
'Yes, just like when we were kids'.
The shower squeaked off, bringing Chris back to the present. He shut his eyes and rolled over to the wall, giving Sarah the privacy she needed to get dressed. 'Sorry', he muttered.
'Don't worry about it. You couldn't help it'.
Chris felt his eyebrows raise at Sarah's relaxed tone, but was happy the uncomfortable moment was firmly in the past. He stood from the bed they had never been able to afford to replace. He padded over the tiny bathroom, scrubbed off the funk of the night before, and set about his day.