Issing in Dreams

Thank you to Raconteuse, Lara_Blackadaar, PacoFear, DesmondAndromeda, and Allyourbase for their editing, advice and encouragement.

The central characters in this story are over 18.

Her face, as she tumbles to my bedroom floor, is a mask of pure surprise. It's replaced by outrage as she springs back up at me.

"Hey!" Her growl is distorted by the sudden movement. Before I realise it, she's on top of me again, pinning me to the bed. Her features flush as she glowers down at me. "Why'd you do that?"

I'm desperate to have her off me, but I don't dare repeat the idiocy that spilled her in the first place. "I- I don't know. I'm sorry."

Anger ebbs from her features, but the hurt is still evident. "Grant, why've you been such a jerk lately?"

Silence.

Leaning forward, she places her palms at either side of my shoulders on the bed. Her hair is a shimmering curtain. It screens us from the rest of the world, creating an intimacy that I both fear and cherish. My gaze has nowhere to go. "Emma?" Now

my

voice is distorted. Husky.

"What?"

"Would you mind getting off me?"

Confusion tangles with the hurt I see clearly on her face. For the sake of self-preservation, she's learning to mask her feelings a little, but not from me.

Never from me.

"Why?" Before I can answer, she hurls another accusatory query. "And why'd you bail on me after school today? I musta waited by the fence for half an hour before I realised you weren't coming."

I see her mouth is trembling, but I don't know how to answer.

I've never lied to her. We promised each other we never would. But if I don't want to lose my only friend in the world, I'd better start now. And it

has

to be something she'll believe.

My mind is still barren of excuses when her voice breaks the stillness. "You didn't let them get to you, did you?"

Some of our classmates at the nearby high school have taunted us regularly about our inseparability. I, in particular, receive no small ration of shit for holding her hand every day on our walks to and from school. I've been to see the principal more than once for losing my temper when some knuckle-dragger teases us about incest.

"No, sis. They haven't gotten to me." And that much was true; they hadn't. I love her more than anything on this planet and there's no way I'd let anyone come between us.

"Then, what is it?"

I lower my eyes and exhale. "Nothing."

Her eyes narrow and her mouth forms a tight line. I can scarcely believe it when one of her fists crashes into my shoulder. She's never,

ever

struck me, other than playfully. "You treat me like a stranger and call it '

nothing

'?"

Emma sits up and folds her arms. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"I can't tell you."

At that, she sits up slightly, her palms on my shirtfront. I wonder if she can feel the violence of my heartbeat.

"I can't believe you said that. You can tell me anything."

It takes a minute before I can collect myself to respond. "Not this. You'll think..." I can't finish. The words won't come.

"I'll think what?"

"I can't, Em. I just... can't"

She does the worst thing imaginable. Stretching out, she lays her torso atop mine, wraps her arms around my shoulders and neck. She nuzzles into my throat and murmurs, "You can tell me

anything

. Doesn't matter what it is. You can tell me."

I'm petrified. If she shifts even slightly lower, she's going to understand exactly what my problem is. She'll know what a freak her brother is. It tears at me to imagine my sweet sister turning away in disgust. A whimper slips out of me..

She doesn't move from my throat. "Grant. You're scaring me."

I try to take some deep breaths. Calm myself. When I've found my voice again, I ask quietly, "Emma? Could you leave me alone for just a little while? Please? I'll talk to you later if you still want, okay?"

"Absolutely not. I'm not budging till you tell me what's wrong."

"Emma."

"Nope. Uh-uh. No way. I always thought we could tell each other

any

-thing. You telling me I was wrong? What changed?"

"It's just this one thing. That's all. I promise. Let it go. Please."

She slides off me to rest beside me on the bed, though her leg is still draped across my middle. My gratitude for the space between us vanishes when her hand starts smoothing back and forth across my chest. She means it to be soothing. It's not. "What 'one thing'? Whatever it is, you're making a bigger deal out of it than it is. Just spit it out. You'll feel better once you get it off your chest."

When I fail to respond, her hand shepherds my face to meet hers again. "Grant, do you really want us to start keeping secrets from each other?"

"No," I whisper.

"Talk to me."

I take another deep breath and let it out in shudders. I lower my eyes again, so I don't have to see her revulsion. "I, I've been having, um, dreams."

When a minute or two passes without me elaborating, she asks gently, "What kind of dreams?"

"Umm... about you."

Is it my imagination or do I feel a sudden tension in the leg she's left sprawled on me? I glance reflexively down. She hasn't changed out of her school skirt, which is bunched up rather high on her thighs. Wrong place to look just now. But as I quickly shift my gaze, I become intensely aware there is no right place. No part of her that won't remind me of those damned dreams. Those damned, glorious dreams. And I am excruciatingly aware of her warmth and weight of her leg.

I'm suddenly conscious of the stillness in the room. I look into her eyes, dreading what I'll see there. I can't read her expression and all I can think is, "Have I lost my best friend?"

That's what I'm wondering when she drops a bomb into the silence. "Me too."

I can scarcely credit my hearing. When I'm sure she said what I thought she did, I reply, "You don't know what kind of dreams I mean."

Her tongue runs across her lips and I realise my own are dry too. And my throat feels positively parched.

Is that her trembling, or is it me?

I'm desperate to look away, but mesmerised by her eyes. Her soft tones are intense in the hushed room, "As scared as you are, it's easy to guess what you dream of."

She doesn't make me wait long before she presses on, "In these dreams, are we kissing?" I nod in mute agreement. I'm pinned to the bed, not by the weight of her body, but by the force of her gaze.

"Do we touch each other?" I almost gasp at the words spoken aloud, but I manage to nod again.

"Do you ever...?" I feel and hear her inhale as if girding herself to continue. "Do you ever... touch yourself when you wake up from those dreams?"

My first thought is that I can't admit that.

Never.

But then understanding dawns that, in a way, she just did. Unbidden, my mind's eye conjures a picture of Emma with her skirt pulled up, her hand in her panties, rubbing herself. Her eyes are closed, mouth gaping in ecstasy, back arched as she shudders.

Fuck. My cock throbs in my trousers, I feel fresh spill seep into my already saturated underpants... I know I'm going to hell for sure.

"Grant. Emma." Mom's voice rises from the first floor, startling us both and causing Emma to scramble guiltily off me. As she stands beside my bed, smoothing her skirt, our mother's voice continues, "Dinner's ready. Wash your hands and come on down."

We look at each other and I'm struck with the dread that everyone will know, just by looking at us. "Don't tell anyone."

Her grin calms me, "You're such a doofus. Who am I going to tell, besides you?" With that, she snares my hand and leads the way to our shared bathroom.

When we've finished washing and drying our hands, side by side as always, I begin to make my way downstairs, but she grabs my shoulder. "Wait a minute."

"What?"

"C'mere." Pulling me back into the bathroom, she closes the door.

I look at her expectantly.

"Kiss me."

"Em," I hiss. Bad enough that I dreamed it, but this? This is beyond the pale.

"What? No one's ever gonna know. And um, if you dreamed it, don't you want to know what it feels like? For real?"

She gazes steadily at me. Her face draws nearer. We trade breaths and I'm powerless to move. After some great span of time, our lips meet. Hers are warm.

Soft.

Wet.

Heaven.

As Emma's mouth moves gently on mine, she pulls me closer until our bodies press together. I feel the heat of her through our clothes.

"Emma. Grant. Dinner's growing cold."

At the sound of Mom's voice, we untangle hastily. I watch in amazement as her startled expression gives way to an impish grin. That smile has been the harbinger of so many of our troubles growing up.

"We better get downstairs," I mutter.

"Okay. But I want to talk some more after dinner."

"All right."

She kisses me once more, a quick peck this time, and we make our way to the steps.

At the landing, I tell her, "Go on ahead. I'll catch up in a minute." She hesitates for a second, then continues down the stairs without me.

Returning to the bathroom, I unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants. Unspooling a length of toilet paper, I wad it up and reach into the crotch of my underwear to sop up some of the puddle I've created there. God, what a mess. Another clump of tissue is required. I've soaked through to my trousers, but I'm pretty sure they're dark enough so no one will notice. After a couple of minutes, I figure I'm as presentable as I'm going to get.

My stiffness has grown uncomfortable in the confines of my briefs. Besides, If I spill anymore, which is likely, then even the dark colour of my slacks won't obscure what's going on. I shift my erection so that it's pointing up, flattened against my lower belly. The elastic waistband ought to hold it in place and a stain up there is less suggestive than the one I've already made. Flushing the evidence, I wash my hands again and join everyone else in the dining room.

Supper passes in a haze. I'm oblivious to the usual chatter and the passing of plates and dishes. Emma's presence in the seat next to mine absorbs my complete attention. I feel the urge to keep sneaking glances at her, but in my extreme self-consciousness, I form the impression everyone's watching us.

Midway through the meal, her hand touches my leg and I flinch in alarm. Taking my hand into hers, she leans over to whisper, "Will you relax, dummy?"

I look around the table and if anyone noticed our

sotto voce

exchange, they make no mention of it. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realise to them, it's just Emma and Grant trading secrets as usual.

For most of the rest of the meal, I manage to eat with my left hand while she holds my right under the table. I'm simultaneously comforted and frightened by this intimacy, just out of sight of the others. It's then that her words about relaxing, sink in, and I actually do begin to collect myself. After all, if any one of them were to peer under the table and see our fingers clasped, what would they think?

That's just Emma and Grant.

The way they are.

Mom has spoken admiringly more than once about our closeness. She's openly praised me for continuing to hold Emma's hand on our way to and from school despite sometimes intense peer pressure. It's just as she said earlier. I'm letting my self-consciousness distort my perceptions.

Once dinner is done, I wash the dishes while Emma dries and puts them away. At one point, she looks around to see if anyone else is near, then leans over and gives me a swift kiss on the lips. "You keep doing that and we're gonna get caught."

Out of the corner of my eye I see a smile play across her lips. She moves close and purrs "D'ya want me to stop?"

I try to act as if I'm totally absorbed in washing the plate in my hand, oblivious to her proximity. Emma doesn't stir though, until I admit, "No. I don't want you to stop."

When the last of the dinnerware is stowed, she leads me out the kitchen door. "There's still at least an hour of daylight left. Let's go see the Berthas."

About twenty minutes later, we arrive at the entrance to the woods that we traverse every day on our way to school. We start down the well-trodden path, but five minutes in, we veer to the left and into the trees. After about a hundred yards of tough going through brambles and thickets, we come to a clearing with a boulder in the middle of it. The rock is taller than either of us. Years back, we'd nicknamed the behemoth 'Little Bertha'. Behind it is another boulder that's craggier and larger still. We call that one 'Big Bertha', of course.

We've sneaked away to this open tract many a time for a respite from a world for which we often seem ill-suited.

Once we climb atop the larger of the two rocks, we have a vantage point that allows us to see anyone approaching in any direction. The truth is though, that in all the visits we've made to this place, no one has ever interrupted us. That's why we love it so.

No sooner are we perched comfortably, than Emma asks, "Tell me about your dreams."

"I... I did."

"Uh-uh. I want details."

"Em."

"Don't Em me. Give."

"I can't say that stuff out loud."

"Why not? It's just you and me."

"I already told you I can't. Why can't you just leave it alone?"

Without warning, she pounces on me and begins tickling me savagely. Caught completely off-guard, I'm squealing immediately. Within minutes I'm too breathless to even plead for her to stop.

She pauses and eyes me. "You ready to tell me yet?"

Tears are streaming down my cheeks and I know my complexion must be ten shades darker, but I stubbornly shake my head.

"Okay. I can keep this up till it's time to go home. Can you?"

"Okay. Okay. You win. Please stop."

The tickling stops, but she doesn't budge from her resting place on top of me.

"You can get off me now."

"Huh. Like I'd trust you. Stop whining and start talking."

"On second thought, I'd rather take whatever you can dish out."

"Are you crazy? You were just about to pass out."

"I wasn't ready for you, that's all."

Emma begins running her fingers over my flanks in the same way that had me writhing just seconds ago. But this time, with gritted teeth, flexed muscle and a determined focus, I manage to keep my reactions to a few flinches. I'm gratified by her look of dismay.

Her hands slip under my arms, "How about here?" she asks with a glee that quickly deflates at my non-responsiveness. "

Here

?" My chest and tummy are tested next, resulting in some minor trembling only. "Aha.

Here

, for sure." Her hand slips under my shirt onto my belly just above my waistband.

"Hey!" I yelp, "That doesn't tickle. That..."

"Yeah?" she asks as her palm glides across my stomach. "That... what?"

When I fail to reply, her fingertips slip just under the waistband. "Cut it out, Emma. That's not funny."

"Then maybe you better start talking. Else I may haveta keep going until I find

some

thing that's ticklish."

I'm trying to think of a way out of this standoff when Emma's hand ventures lower still. I clap my hand over hers.

"Wait!" What should have been a yelp, comes out as a croak. My throat is dry and my entire body is trembling. "Stop!"

"What're you getting so excited about?"

Her hand is just inches away from another sticky mess I've been seeping into my underwear. My cock is still in the same upright position since I cleaned myself earlier.

I feel trapped. Do I reveal what a pervert I am by telling my dreams, or do I let her discover it herself when she reaches the tell-tale outpouring?

She makes the decision for me. Her questing fingers arrive at the viscous fluids coating the hair on my lower belly. Emma's eyes widen in surprise and a soft "Oh," tumbles from her lips.

She doesn't jerk away. Simply easing her hand from my slacks, she inspects the glaze on her fingertips. If embarrassment were fatal, I'd have perished.

"Dammit, Emma. I

asked

you to stop."

"Oh, stop making such a big deal out of everything. It's not the end of the world. Besides..." she rises up onto her knees, craning her neck in every direction. Apparently she detects no one else in the vicinity.

Lifting her skirt, she slips her dry hand into her panties, eases it out again and holds up both hands for my inspection. The fingers just removed from her underwear are glistening every bit as much as those she'd had in my trousers. "See? The same thing happens to me. Hardly the catastrophe you're making it out to be."

As soon as I see that irrepressible smile spreading on Emma's face, I can't help but feel better.

"In fact," she continues, "that slippery stuff feels pretty yummy when I'm touching myself down there. Bet it does for you too, huh?"

I don't say anything, but simply nod my agreement. Her grin widens as she leans closer and asks in a conspiratorial tone, "Have you ever tasted it?"

"Oh, God, no! That's gross!"

"Who says? I mean, weren't you ever the tiniest bit curious?" I shake my head vehemently. She reaches into her panties again and waggles the well-coated fingers in my direction.

"No way."

"Big baby." She slips the dripping digits into her own mouth instead, sucking them dry. "I've enjoyed it a zillion times. Hasn't hurt me yet."

I have to admit Emma's obvious pleasure makes me curious. A curiosity that doesn't escape her notice. Shuffling forward on her knees, she brings herself to within inches of me. Her nearness is dizzying.

Her lips are on mine again, where it seems like they always should be. I could definitely get used to this kissing stuff. Or, at least I'd sure like to, if

she's

going to be doing it with me.

She places her palm on my chest, just over my heart, which threatens to break free of its confines. Kissing her feels so right. So unbelievably good. Too good. God, it feels like I might cum at any moment.

I'm so lost in her that it takes my senses a moment before they register a familiar, pungent scent. Her hand slides up from my chest to gently hold my jaw just as she removes her mouth from mine.

"Taste," she whispers as she uses the fingers of her other hand to smear her excitement across my lips. As my tongue peeks out tentatively, she dips her hand down again and returns with dripping fingers which she slips into my mouth.

The flavour is strange, but pleasant. I'm not quite sure what to make of it, so I simply murmur, "More."

The grin on her face says, "I told you so" as clearly as if she'd spoken the words aloud.

As I'm sucking Emma's fingers dry for the second time, she asks me, "Can I taste you?"

Before I can respond, she places her hand on the obvious bulge in my trousers.

"Wait! I..."

Too late.

I'm so keyed up from, well... just from being with her this way, talking about this stuff, that the moment her hand touches my cock, even through my pants, a powerful orgasm rips through me.

My words dissolve into a shuddering moan. Bursts of light appear on my tightly clenched eyelids and tremors wrack my body. Spurt after powerful spurt jets into my underwear and all over my belly. As the pleasure begins to subside, I realise with some surprise that I've been wailing.

When I can finally stop gasping, I open my eyes to find Emma staring at me with something like awe on her face. Her hand is still resting on the bulge in my trousers. "Did you just...?"

I'm still coming down to earth, so I simply nod my head and rasp, "Uh-huh."

"Can I see?"

"Emma."

"Please?"

"I made a mess. It's kind of embarrassing."

"I don't care. I just wanna see. Please?"

"Fuck. Okay. Go ahead."

She unbuttons my trousers and pulls the zipper down, revealing my truly sodden underwear. There are puddles of creamy cum on my belly where my cockhead had peeked from the top of my briefs. Dabbing at one of the pools, she scoops up a small amount to place on the tip of her tongue. The questioning expression on her face is replaced by a look of surprise, then delight. "You taste kinda like me." She gathers another dollop and slips it into my mouth. "See?"