"Onii-chan, why are you rubbing my thigh?"
The tired voice cut through the quiet dining room.
Zenjiro stopped moving completely. His left hand froze dead in its tracks. His palm remained flat against the bare, pale skin of Liora's upper leg.
One.
Two.
Three.
Three full seconds of absolute, terrifying silence dragged by. The air in the room suddenly turned freezing cold. His heart slammed violently against his ribs. The loud thudding echoed all the way up to his eardrums. The blood drained entirely out of his face.
He was caught. The dark, twisted craving he tried so desperately to hide was completely exposed to the bright afternoon light.
He stared blankly at the wooden table. He did not answer her. He could not force his dry vocal cords to form a single, coherent word. His mind scrambled wildly for a defense. He needed an excuse to explain the highly inappropriate physical contact.
Words failed him. He chose physical action instead.
He moved purely out of blind, suffocating panic. He raised his right arm. He slid it carefully between her back and the right side of her head. He wrapped his arm entirely around her shoulders to support her heavy posture. He held her upper body completely steady.
He moved his left hand. He slid his palm deep under the warm flesh of Liora's left thigh. He lifted her entire leg into the air. He dragged it across the narrow gap separating their wooden chairs.
He placed Liora's bare left thigh directly onto the top of his right lap.
Liora shifted her weight with the sudden movement. Her left foot dropped entirely off the chair. It dangled heavily downward. It came to rest perfectly in the empty space right between Zenjiro's legs.
Zenjiro placed his left hand flat onto the top of her exposed left thigh. The intense, burning heat of her skin soaked instantly into his bare palm. He rubbed his hand slowly downward toward her knee. He rubbed it slowly upward toward her hip. He completed one full cycle to prime the muscle.
Then, he started applying heavy pressure.
He pushed the hard heel of his palm deep into her thigh. He glided his hand firmly and aggressively downward. He forced the tight muscle to stretch. Once his hand reached the top of her kneecap, he completely loosened his tight grip. He let his hand glide gently and weightlessly backward up her leg. He reached the middle of her thigh. He pressed his weight hard into her flesh again. He repeated the aggressive downward stroke.
He executed a standard, deep-tissue massage technique. It was designed to relieve heavy muscle cramps and poor blood circulation.
It was also a perfect, flawless alibi.
He let out a long, silent breath. He exhaled the crushing terror entirely out of his lungs. He answered her dangerous question through a purely physical demonstration. He justified his dark, inappropriate touch by instantly turning it into a medical necessity. He completely disguised his twisted craving as an act of brotherly care.
His right hand moved up. He sank his fingers deep into her messy blonde hair. He massaged her warm scalp. He rubbed his thumbs firmly against the back of her neck. He kneaded the stiff, tight cords of muscle right at the base of her skull.
Liora let out a soft, long sigh. Her tense shoulders dropped instantly. She slumped her heavy body completely against Zenjiro's right side. She became entirely relaxed again. The deep pressure on her leg and her neck chased the agonizing headache away.
Zenjiro kept his left hand moving in a steady, rhythmic cycle. Press down. Glide forward. Release. Glide back.
He stared straight ahead. A heavy, suffocating wave of guilt crashed right into his chest.
I am a pathetic, Zenjiro thought bitterly.
He battled a violent storm of conflicting desires. The intense heat of Liora's bare leg burned right through the dark fabric of his shorts. The flawless, smooth texture of her skin beneath his left hand drove him absolutely crazy. He desperately wanted to squeeze her thigh much harder. He wanted to push the thick, dark fabric of her pleated skirt entirely out of the way. He wanted to slide his hand much higher.
He used Liora's absolute, blind trust to hide his own malicious cravings. He hid behind the title of a reliable older brother to satisfy his starving hands. The guilt tasted like dry ash in the back of his throat. He fought the violent urge to just give in and cross the boundary completely.
He continued the heavy massage on her left thigh. He kept rubbing the back of her neck.
Then...
His right hand drifted slowly downward from Liora's hair. It slid past her jawline.
Zenjiro's fingertips brushed directly against her mouth.
He froze again.
He instinctively touched her soft lips. He completely lost control of his own hand. There was absolutely no medical reason for this specific contact. He just desperately wanted to feel the soft skin. The dark craving bypassed his rational control entirely.
Liora shifted her face against his shoulder.
Oh no, Zenjiro thought. Panic flared hot in his chest a second time. I instinctively touched her lips. I need to say something right now. I need to distract her and justify my action.
He stared closely at her face. He desperately searched for another excuse.
He saw a tiny drop of clear moisture pooling at the very corner of her mouth. It was a tiny drop of drool.
He found the best alibi again. Earlier, when he pressed his fingers against her lips, it was completely reasonable. He had to force her mouth open to feed her the bitter medicine.
But this time, he just touched her mouth out of nowhere. He knew Liora probably wouldn't mind the casual touch at all. But he needed to be absolutely sure that's why he created the alibi instantly.
"You drool, princess," Zenjiro said softly.
He used his right index finger. He rubbed the corner of her lips. He wiped the tiny drop of moisture away. He dragged his bare finger directly across the soft, pink skin of her lower lip.
He wanted to feel the raw sensation. The wet heat burned his fingertip. The incredibly soft texture burned itself deep into his memory. He savored the highly intimate contact for a fraction of a second. It triggered him to remember the 'seal' yesterday.
"It's not a drool," Liora mumbled weakly. Her eyes remained completely closed. "It's water."
It is definitely her saliva, Zenjiro thought.
He wiped his damp finger against the dark fabric of his shorts. He silently sighed in pure relief. She completely bought the excuse. She did not suspect a single malicious intent behind the touch.
He moved his right hand back up to her messy hair. He resumed the slow, tight circles against her warm scalp.
Liora felt incredibly comfortable. The agonizing throb of her hangover was slowly going away now. She shifted her body on the wooden chair. She wrapped both of her arms completely around Zenjiro's torso. She hugged him. She maintained her forehead pressed firmly against his collarbone.
"Onii-chan," Liora whispered into his gray shirt.
"What is it, my little princess?" Zenjiro asked. His voice was a quiet, gentle hum in the silent room.
She raised her right hand from the tight hug. She curled her small fingers. She formed a soft, loose fist.
Thump.
She softly slammed her fist directly onto Zenjiro's left chest. She hit him right over his pounding heart.
"Don't ignore me ever again," Liora demanded quietly.
Zenjiro kept his left hand pushing heavily down her warm thigh. He kept rubbing her head.
"I won't," Zenjiro said.
Liora dropped her right arm. She wrapped it entirely around his back again. She hugged him tightly. She locked both of her arms securely together behind his waist.
Zenjiro leaned heavily against the wooden back of his dining chair.
The tight hug pinned his arms slightly. It pulled his chest completely flush against hers. The sudden physical pressure trapped him perfectly.
When Liora hugged him, he felt exactly like he was tied by a thick, heavy rope to the back of the wooden chair.
He could not move. He could not escape. The invisible rope was her absolute, unwavering trust. She bound him entirely with her naive innocence. She clung to him because she viewed him as her ultimate protector. She locked him in place with her complete vulnerability.
It was a crushing, suffocating trap. Every single time she pulled him closer, the heavy rope tightened around his chest. It tore his guilty conscience completely apart. He was actively taking advantage of the very trust that tied them together.
The intense physical pleasure of her soft body pressing firmly against his own chest felt like a dark, terrible poison. He wanted to cut the rope. He wanted to push her away, stand up, and run far away from the dangerous temptation.
He could not do it. The craving made him stay entirely still. He enjoyed the heavy trap. He loved the burning heat. He loved her smell. He surrendered completely to the invisible rope.
He finally stopped moving his left hand. He lifted his palm completely off her bare thigh. He pulled his right hand out of her messy hair.
"It's done," Zenjiro said. His voice sounded hollow and strained. "You will be fine now."
He waited for her to let go. He expected her to pull back and sit up straight.
Liora did not loosen her tight grip. She kept her arms locked securely around his back. She buried her face even deeper into the crook of his neck. She squeezed his torso much harder.
"Massage my right thigh too," Liora mumbled softly against his collarbone. "It also aches."