The wedding reception was a blur of noise and color, the banquet hall pulsing with life, glasses clinking, laughter cutting through a thumping dance track, and the faint hum of a hundred conversations.
Mia and Ethan had been the ones assigned into helping out during the whole ordeal, being siblings, they were the ones who always got stuck with the grunt work at family events like this, their mom knowing they'd grumble but get it done.
The two had always been a unit since they were kids, practically together through years of shared chaos, late-night video game marathons in the basement, sneaking snacks from the kitchen past midnight, and trading secrets no one else would get.
Even now, in their early twenties, they moved through the world like a matched set, finishing each other's sentences and sharing looks that said everything without a word.
Tonight, though, something felt different. Maybe it was the champagne they'd snuck from the bar earlier, or the way Mia's dress hugged her curves, wearing those tight leggings that catched Ethan's eye more than usual.
They'd been dodging the chaos of the dessert table setup when their mom, busy with a dozen tasks, waved them toward the storage closet down the hall.
"Mia, Ethan, grab more plates and glasses, quick! We're running low," she'd barked, barely looking up. They'd exchanged a glance, half-annoyed, half-amused and headed off, figuring it'd be a five-minute job.
Inside the closet, though, things shifted. The space was a claustrophobic mess, shelves stacked with towers of plates and delicate glasses, pressing them into a corner too tight for comfort. They hadn't noticed the door's faulty latch when they stepped in, too caught up in their usual banter, Mia teasing Ethan about his crooked tie, him flicking her hair.
But when Ethan tried the handle to leave, it stuck fast.
He jiggled it, then shoved harder, muttering, "Shit, Mia, we're trapped."
"What? No way" Mia said, squeezing past him to try it herself. Her elbow brushed his side, a familiar touch from years of crowding onto couches or piling into the backseat of their mom's car. But this time, in the cramped space, it felt different, her ass grazed his hips as she leaned forward, and a strange heat flared where their bodies met. She yanked at the handle, nothing. "Oh, come on," she groaned, turning around, only to find herself inches from his chest, her back pinned against a shelf. The reception's noise thumped faintly outside, but in here, it was just them, too close, too warm, the air heavy with their shared breath.
Ethan braced his hands on the shelf behind her, trying to give her room, but it only caged her in more. "Don't move," he growled, voice tighter than usual. His breath hit her neck, sharp and hot, and Mia's skin prickled. They'd always been physical with each other, wrestling over the last slice of pizza, her stealing his hoodies, him tossing her over his shoulder to make her laugh... but this was new.
His thighs pressed against hers, his chest grazing her spine when he shifted, and suddenly, every touch felt like it carried a weight they'd never acknowledged.
They were pressed impossibly close, pinned in a position that felt dangerously intimate, pressing Mia and Ethan into a space too tight for comfort.
"I'm trying, okay?" Mia snapped, but her voice wavered, unsteady. They were siblings, had shared a bathroom mirror growing up, fought over who got the front seat, and stayed up talking through every heartbreak. But now, jammed in like this, her heart was racing for reasons she couldn't untangle.
"This is so messed up," she muttered, trying to ground herself. "We're just supposed to grab plates."
"Tell me about it," Ethan mumbled, his tone strained.
"You're not making it easy, squirming like that."
His words hung there, and she felt it, the shift in his body, the hardness pressing against her through his pants. Her breath caught. They'd always been close, maybe too close, the kind of siblings who didn't think twice about crashing in the same bed after a late movie or slinging an arm around each other at parties. But this was a line they'd never crossed, a spark that shouldn't have been there.
"Don't move," Ethan growled, his voice taut as he braced his hands on the wall, boxing her in. His breath scorched her neck, and every shift of his body, his chest grazing her spine, made her hyper-aware of their predicament. Her leggings clung to her thighs, amplifying the heat where their bodies met.
"I'm trying, okay?" Mia snapped, but her voice shook, all wobbly. The way they were jammed in, her leaning forward a bit, him right up behind her, felt like something she'd never admit to imagining. Her skin was practically humming, her heart pounding as she wrestled with the wild heat building up.
"This is so messed up," she muttered, mostly to herself.
"We shouldn't be stuck like this." she added.
"Tell me about it," Ethan mumbled. "You're making it worse, you know." he replied.
Mia wanted to fire back, but damn, she could feel him, his tightly wound energy, his hips way too close for comfort.
They were brother and sister, but this was a spark begging to ignite, a whole new level, like a match just waiting to catch fire. She wiggled a bit, hoping to get some breathing room, but it only pressed her ass tighter against him. A rough, needy sound slipped out of him, and she went dead still, her breath catching. She shifted, trying to ease the pressure, but it only ground her against him. A low grunt escaped him, and she froze, feeling it, him, hard, straining through his dress pants.
"Ethan," she hissed, her voice shaky, trembling with a raw, almost orgasmic edge.
"I'm sorry" he said, voice tight. "It's just so warm."
