discomfort bleeds from your limbs like thick sap, and the bulge of luke's thick, muscled calf brushes against your shin in his rousing movement. his nose twitches with the tickle of a curl across the bridge of it, his arm draped heavily over your collarbones. the sheets, which have barely been worn in from your step brother's new arrival from the strange camp your father's new wife keeps mentioning, shift noisily when you twist to look at the clock.

it's early - too early, and that much is shown by the fatigued parting of luke's lips beside your cheekbone - but time isn't a factor with the empty bed in the master bedroom and the family car gone from the garage downstairs. "luke, i've gotta shower," you muse, and the brunet scoffs indignantly, even in his sleepy state.

"i like the smell," his voice cracks as lethargy squeezes at his vocal cords, suckling your jaw with warm lips until your head drops back and luke can stir you closer. "means i got you all worked up, doesn't it?"

your thigh drapes across his pelvis, bare, flaccid dick stirring underneath the goose-pebbled flesh, and luke captures your heavy head in his palm when it drops to the side. "you're gross," you press between your teeth when he worries the other hand between your legs, swiping taught fingertips between your spread legs to find your weepy cunt.

"i can feel that you like it," he gruffs, flicking impassively against your arousal-slicked clit until you're chasing after the stimulation with stuttered gyrations of your hips. "so quit lyin' about it."

you hide the warmth of your cheeks in his pectoral, and his cock prods angrily at the inside of your knee.

"they'll be back soon." you continue your unabashed grinding down onto his fingertips, which now swirl teasingly against your eager hole.

"they will." he confirms, pressing a middle and ring inside, cheeks dimpling with a cheeky smile.

"i should shower. they can smell you on me." he buries them inside your cunt until the palm of his hand is pressed flush against your ass.

"i can smell me on you." he seethes, nose shoving into your cheek when he captures your swollen bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at it fervently. "you won't get up."

he scissors his fingers, spreading them inside your warm, vice-like pussy until the pads brush against a vulnerable spot. your belly tenses and seizes, toes curling against the noisy sheets, and you moan into luke's open, wet mouth. "i'll do it right now."

luke's fingers tighten around your skull, twisting unconsciously around your hair until he can draw you away from his saliva-soaked lips. "do it," he spits, and you want to chase back for the taste of his tongue. "be a good girl and go take a shower. see what happens."

your eyes narrow, but your irises still soften when he manages to wriggle in a third finger, aware that your tight cunt will manage considering its previous abuse from the cock that's spilling, begging, onto his happy trail, now.

"and if i don't?" you whisper.

he leans in, his breath his hot against your face when his fingers screw tighter in your hair, and pain spirals out of your scalp. "i'm sure my cock tastes different when it hasn't already been between your legs, hm?"

you swallow thickly. "can i see?"

he feels pathetic. back at camp, he had more glory than he knew what to do with. he was the prodigal child, the camper people envied and lusted after. and now here he is, trying to shut out images of his new stepsister while he’s in the shower jerking his cock with images of someone who looks nearly identical to you in his head, save for a few key features that were different enough to satiate his guilt.

eventually, his longing has to come to a head. he needs just one touch, one moment, one something, and he promises himself he’ll move on. maybe get with one of your friends you keep trying to set him up with.

he offers to train you in hand to hand combat upon subtle suggestion from your parents, worried claims that you needed to be able to protect yourself just in case.

he teaches you the basics, walking you through ways to escape a hold from an attacker. then he works it out with you, fighting you enough to get you in the hold, and not letting up when you try to get out.

“a real threat won’t go easy on you,” he reasons when he has you pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around your body in a way that prevents everything but limited movement from you.

he has you, he knows that and you know it too. usually he would gloat. but he can’t focus on his ego whenever your ass is pressed right to his crotch, the thin fabric of your shorts leaving nothing to the imagination.

you tell him to let you go. he doesn’t.

you tell him again. he doesn’t.

“luke,” eventually your voice is a small whisper. your hips push back into his, your nails dig into his forearm. luke holds you a little bit tighter. he expects you to ask for more. to tell him to keep going.

“let me go.”

your words sting. they punch luke in the gut harder than your fist did.

he does as told, convincing himself that he’d imagined it all. all the while, he remains completely oblivious to the way you look at him. how upset you look for a split second when one of your friends flirts with him. how you choose the shortest shorts you own when you’re around him at night, and how you scoot closer and closer while you watch movies. how you barely tried to escape his grasp that time, instead letting yourself enjoy the warmth of his body against yours.