Chapter 3: T
The steam thickened, wrapping them in a private, liquid world. Kate’s hand on his cock was a claim and a question. The soap made her grip slick, a slow, sliding friction that drew another low groan from him. His head fell back, water coursing over the sharp lines of his throat.
“You said you were washing,” he managed, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary thrust into her fist.
“I’m multitasking.” Her thumb swiped over the broad, smooth head, spreading the bead of pre-cum. She looked up at him, her rain-bark eyes dark. “Is this okay?”
He laughed, a startled, breathy sound. “Your query structure implies optionality. My erect penis implies the answer.”
“Shut up.” She smiled, a real one, tired and wicked and new. She guided him, turning them gently under the spray until his back was to the wall. The shower beat against her back. “This time,” she said, her voice barely a whisper against the drum of water, “we do it slow.”
She rose onto her toes, her free hand gripping his shoulder for balance. She kissed him. It was nothing like the first kiss in the kitchen. That had been a collision. This was an exploration. Her lips moved softly against his, tasting the water, the ghost of coffee, him. He responded with a tenderness that shook her, his claws coming up to cradle her jaw with impossible care.
His cock, still in her hand, throbbed insistently. She broke the kiss, breath mingling with steam. “I want you inside me again,” she said, the words simple and devastating. “Just… be here with me.”
He nodded, a quick dip of his horned head. His hands slid down to her hips, lifting her with effortless strength. She wrapped her legs around his narrow waist, ankles locking at the small of his back. The position anchored her, brought her core flush against him. The thick head of his cock nudged at her entrance, already slick from her arousal and the shower’s flow.
He didn’t slam into her. He pressed forward with a slow, inexorable pressure, filling her by agonizing, exquisite degrees. She buried her face in the wet fur of his neck, a long, shuddering moan escaping her as he bottomed out. The stretch was still immense, a breathtaking fullness, but without the violence of before. It was a claiming of a different kind—deliberate, shared.
“Oh, fuck, Seth,” she whispered.
“Yes.” His voice was ragged with restraint. He held her there, fully impaled, for a long moment, both of them adjusting to the sheer, intimate reality of the join. Then he began to move.
It was a deep, rolling rhythm. Each withdrawal was a sweet emptiness, each thrust a homecoming. The water sluiced over them, making their skin slick, softening the sound of their bodies meeting to a wet, rhythmic whisper. His hands supported her ass, claws dimpling her skin, helping her ride the slow tide of his hips.
She kissed his shoulder, his collarbone, the line of his jaw. He turned his head and caught her mouth again, this kiss open and searching, his tongue tangling with hers. It was messy, water getting in their noses, but it was real. He was here, with her, in this. Not lost to demonic hunger, but present.
“You feel…” he mumbled against her lips, his thrusts gaining a hint more force. “You feel like everything that’s warm.”
“That’s the shower, you dork,” she gasped, but she tightened her legs around him, pulling him deeper.
“It is not.” He nipped her lower lip, not hard. “It is you. Your cunt is so hot and tight. It’s hugging my cock. It’s… it’s very friendly.”
A startled laugh burst from her. It felt incredible, that laugh, bubbling up through the pleasure. “Friendly? That’s what you call it?”
“It is welcoming me,” he insisted, his pace steady, deep. “See? There. It just clenched. A welcoming spasm.”
“You are literally the worst,” she moaned, laughing and crying out as he angled a thrust that brushed a sparking wire deep inside her. “Oh, right there… don’t stop talking your insane shit.”
“I am competent at talking,” he said, with utter seriousness, his breath hot in her ear. “My insane shit, as you call it, is a byproduct of my transcendent perspective.” He punctuated the pompous statement with a perfectly aimed grind that made her see stars. “And this is fun. Is this fun, Kate?”
She was breathless, clinging to him, her breasts pressed against his furry chest. The pleasure was building again, a coiled spring of heat in her belly, but lighter now, threaded with this bizarre, giddy joy. “Yeah,” she panted. “It’s fun, you ridiculous goat-boy. It’s the most fucked-up, best fun.”
“Good.” He sounded pleased. He kissed her again, a quick, hard smack of lips. “Siblings should have fun.”
The word hung in the steam. It should have killed the mood. It did the opposite. It was the truth, stripped bare and unashamed. They were siblings, in the only way that mattered in this house of chaos. And they were doing this. And it was, against all reason and propriety, fun. The acknowledgment was a liberation.
Her orgasm began to crest not as a violent rupture, but as a warm, swelling wave. It built with each of his deep, sure strokes, each silly, earnest word muttered into her skin. She came with a soft, keening cry, her body melting around him, her inner muscles fluttering in a series of gentle, clutching pulses.
He followed her over, his rhythm stuttering into short, sharp jerks. He pressed her hard against the tile, a guttural, buzzing groan tearing from his throat as he emptied himself inside her. This release was less torrent, more deep, satisfied sigh, a completion.
They stayed like that for a long time, her legs still wrapped around him, his forehead resting against hers, the water cooling around them. Slowly, he softened and slipped out. He let her legs down gently, keeping his hands on her hips until she was steady.
The shower was just a shower now. The steam was clearing. The world, with all its complications, was waiting on the other side of the fogged glass door.
He turned off the water. The sudden silence was deafening.
They toweled off without speaking, the thick cotton absorbing the water from fur and skin. She watched him, the way he meticulously dried between his horns, the careful flick of his tail. He was just Seth again. Her Seth. Who had just made her come twice before breakfast.
She pulled on a clean t-shirt and sweatpants. He pulled on a pair of low-slung jeans, leaving his chest bare, the red fur dark and damp.
“Mom will be up soon,” Kate said, her voice sounding normal, which felt like a miracle.
“Yes.” Seth nodded. He picked up his own damp t-shirt from the floor, then looked at her. The golden glow in his eyes was calm. “Morrigan’s command. It persists.”
The warmth of the shower vanished. The fun was over. The reality was a cold stone in her gut. “You have to tell her.”
“I am compelled. A demonic injunction is not a request. It is a geometric law.” He looked miserable, his ears drooping slightly. “The information will cause strategic discourse.”
“You mean a fight.” Kate ran a hand through her tangled hair. “A huge, apocalyptic, maybe-summon-a-lesser-pain-demon kind of fight.”
“Likely.” He stepped closer, smelling of clean fur and her soap. “I do not regret the data. I regret the… collateral damage forecast.”
She reached out and took his hand. His claws were retracted, his fingers warm and strange in hers. “Me too.” She took a deep breath. “So we face the music. Or the hell-chorus. Whatever.”
They walked out of the bathroom together, into the dim hall. The smell of burnt incense and old whiskey from the living room seemed stronger now, a reminder of the world they lived in. The chandelier’s hum felt accusatory.
As they passed the kitchen doorway, Kate glanced in. The cold toast was still in the toaster. The jam jar sat by the sink. The ghost of their first time clung to the air, a secret underneath the mundane.
They heard it then—the familiar, light tread on the stairs, accompanied by the soft tap of nails on wood. Valerie appeared, wrapped in a silk kimono covered in esoteric symbols, her long orange hair a brilliant cascade over one shoulder. She looked sleepy, content, her eyes taking them in—Seth shirtless, Kate’s hair dripping, their clasped hands.
A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. It wasn’t angry. It was something else entirely. “Well,” she said, her voice rich with amusement. “Someone had an eventful morning. Coffee’s on. And Seth?” Her gaze sharpened, motherly and infernal all at once. “Your mother called. She wants a full report. Now.”