Big sister climbs into bed with you at 4 a.m., smelling of weed and slides her cold hands between your thighs, laughing as you squirm and telling you she just needs to warm them up. But in your squirming her fingers brush against you just so and your hips hitch, seeking friction, a small noise falling from your lips. It's a reflex. A thoughtless response that neither of you can be faulted for. Your breath catches, and you hold stock still, wondering if she noticed, until you find her reaching forward again, unable to stop herself. Enthralled by the way her fingers slide over you, providing you with a glorious fiction that brings such sweet sighs from your mouth. Needing to see you break and rut against her to completion. Needing to hear her name falling from your soft, small mouth.