They hadn't seen each other in more than five years, and hadn't really planned to. Nor did they plan not to, but something always happened. They never wound up at home together, even when Dad got cancer and they were both traveling back there more often. Something about work; something about her spouse or his girlfriend; something more important, always.
It wasn't that they were angry with each other; they'd just gotten passive, taken each other for granted. They'd spent their entire childhood and high school years together, and before that they'd shared a womb. Their mother died in labor, leaving their then 50-year-old father to raise them. He did his best to do so, juggling that responsibility with his class load and his research responsibilities at a private college. They'd had a succession of nannies, but never a step-mom, even though they'd tried to turn some of the nicer and more attractive nannies into something more, once they got old enough to connive on it. That never worked out either.
Their mother had been 45, and they were her first, and last pregnancy. In private and with their closest friends, they'd sometimes joked that they were lucky not to be Siamese twins, or otherwise deformed. It sounded heartless, but she was nothing to them but a picture in Dad's bedroom. He never even talked much about her.
And she'd played a joke or two on them - she'd insisted to their father once they knew they had twins, a boy and a girl, that their names would be Daniel and Danielle. Two names so similar they practically sound alike. And as it turned out, a physical similarity that was odd, even for siblings.
As fraternal twins, they were just siblings, genetically. They started with two different eggs and two different sperm. The only oddity is that their mother got two eggs in the oven during one cycle and their father got lucky twice over that month. Nevertheless, they were about as physically similar as two people of different genders can be. He was 5'11" to her 5'8", which she had sometimes evened up with heels, and they both had well-toned physiques because they both loved to run. Also dark brown hair, skin that tanned easily, and blue eyes. She curved in at the waist and out at the hips and had small, perky breasts. Otherwise, they looked about alike.
When they were younger, it had seemed kind of cute. They couldn't tell you how many outfits their nannies and sometimes their father bought them that were the same color, or made from the same material. The same polo shirt and jeans, or a suit for him, a dress for her. During college (they made the mistake of going to the same one, across state because their father didn't want them going to school where he taught) they'd grown tired of the kidding, and the occasional uncomfortable attention from bisexual classmates. In the process, they'd gotten tired of each other. He'd gone to her wedding, they sent each other Christmas cards, and exchanged e-mails, but that was about it.
Then their father got cancer, but still nothing ever seemed to work out. They kept promising to meet up on one of these death-vigil weekends and one of them would stay in town long enough to go have dinner, at least. Dad had asked about it, even, but it hadn't happened. A few calls on the phone; a few notes left on the kitchen table.
sorry, got a big meeting tomorrow and i've got to go. love, Dan.
They'd both had to keep cycling back to their jobs, trying to keep the days off to a minimum. Banking days off for the eventual need.
Then their father died.
They both got calls from the hospice worker. They'd found the body the day after he passed away peacefully in bed.
They arrived in the little college town their father had lived his life in, their schedule conflicts finally cleared up for a few days.
They first laid eyes on each other after five years, then, at the local funeral home, just in time to plan the service. She pulled a small rolling suitcase and briefcase into the lobby; she'd arrived in a taxi. She wore black slacks with a grey blouse and cardigan; he was wearing the suit he'd shown up for work in that morning, right before he'd gotten the call and caught a flight. They held each other in their arms and sobbed. They smelled of airplane, and wool, with an undercurrent of flowers and death in the funeral home lobby.
Planning the service took about 30 minutes and left the funeral director more bereft than they were. Their father had planned a bare-minimum memorial and pre-paid it, with strict instructions to them not to let the funeral directors talk them into any extras "or I'll haunt you.". After they got away Danielle put her luggage into his rented car and sat crying quietly in the passenger seat for a moment. When she composed herself she said "Where to?"
"I figured we'd stay at the house?"
"Doesn't it..." she didn't know how to say it.
"Smell bad?" he said, almost laughing. "He didn't lay around that long. The hospice people were very helpful about getting in and airing the place out. Mainly, it was getting rid of the mattress," he said, praying she didn't ask for details.
"Did he...?"
"Apparently everyone does when they die."
At this they did laugh, and for a moment they were almost ten, laughing at a fart joke. Then the crying started again, but only for a moment.
"Okay, makes sense to me, but where do we sleep? There was just the one other bed in your old bedroom." Danielle said.
"You can sleep there. Assuming he still had that air mattress in the camping supplies in the garage, I can sleep on that in the living room."
"That's going to be hard on your back, isn't it?"
"I'll make it. We'll just be here two or three days. The memorial service tomorrow, then I guess we need - we need to pack his stuff up."
"We'll take turns sleeping in your old bed."
"Whatever; it doesn't matter to me."
***
Their father hadn't been able to take care of things for the past few months, and especially in the last week, and they'd been too preoccupied to do much about it. There were other problems.
"This place is going to need some touch-up painting and carpet cleaning at least if we're going to sell it or rent it out. The market's bad enough; we'll never sell it if it's not clean." Daniel observed.
"Makes sense - we'll do what we can while we're here and then see. I don't have to get back to work for a week. My husband's going to miss me, but we might as well get used to not being on a schedule."
"Oh, how's that?"
She grinned. "I'm pregnant. Probably two months along. I just found out last week."
He gathered her into his arms again. "That's great! Is he excited?"
"I think so. Don't know if he will be when I'm big and fat."
"You'll be marvelous. He won't be able to keep his hands off you."
She laughed. "We'll see. The hormones are already doing strange things; I can tell you that."
"Like what?"
What they were doing was causing her to have strange dreams. Dreams where she was raped by Phil and Daniel and her father, one after the other. Dreams where she straddled Phil for a nice, normal good-night fuck and was suddenly taken in the ass by Daniel while Phil held her down and sucked milk out of her nipples.
She slapped at him, and laughed. "I'm not going to tell you that. Look it up."
There was nothing to do between then and the memorial, which was going to be held at the university the next day, so she got into yoga pants and a tee and he got into some clothes he'd planned to go running in, and they started to straighten out the place - throwing out expired food and leftovers, old newspapers, and the like, doing laundry and putting dishes in the dishwasher. This part took them most of the evening, and they sat down to a late Chinese takeout dinner, some beer that had been in the fridge, and the TV. Daniel found the air mattress and pumped it up with a bicycle pump. They found some extra sheets and a pillow to put on it. The travel, the exertion, and the emotions of being back in the house he had grown up in, minus his father, conspired to keep him awake long after Danielle had wished him a good night and the house had grown dark.
Alone in bed, she slipped her panties off and fingered herself. She wished she'd brought a vibrator. She slipped her finger in and out of her pussy for lubrication and worked it around her clit, which was growing larger and wetter as she began to relax and focus on the pleasure. She tried to breathe silently. She pushed a hand up under her t-shirt and played with each nipple in turn, longing for a tongue to bathe them and suck on them. As her orgasm mounted, she fantasized about a big cock penetrating her and stretching her. It finally happened, a weak furtive orgasm that brought a little relief.
He heard the shower in the master bath start and run for a few minutes. He heard the sounds of Danielle moving around in it, and the splashing sounds which probably meant she was washing her hair. Later, the house was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater. He could hear Danielle crying, but didn't know whether he should go try to talk with her. He stared at the ceiling a good while longer. He looked at his watch. At one a.m. the bedroom door opened, and he could hear her padding down the hall and down the stairs, then he could see her outline. She was looking at him, trying to decide whether to speak.
"I'm awake, Dan," he said.
"I know this sounds weird, but I can't sleep with you out there on that air mattress. I worry that you're cold, Danny."
