Knock-Knock

Outside, the crickets had stopped chirping as Hal's foot made contact with a stair-step.

"Fuck it." Hal grumbled his way up, down the hall, to Martha's closed door, blank and wooden, hands in the pockets of his shorts. He stared at it for a second, hearing only the sound of whirring electricity through the house, his stewing breaths, a howling dog followed by a smack and a whimper somewhere in the Coyeau's yard, probably. Then he lifted up a set of knuckles. "She started this," the hairy-chested man insisted, "she's finishing it."

He would just give a quick rap and tell her it was him, Hal, her precious brother. Remind her about what she said at dinner, push it as far as he knew she'd go, which wouldn't even be past the starting line once his zipper was halfway down. Then once she finally broke down and admitted defeat, pushing him off the bed and shouting at him to 'stop, stop, okay, you win!', demoralized and thwarted once again, that look of a firecracker dud shadowing her eyes, he'd point at her face affirmatively, assert his immunity to her foolish playbooks, and walk out with a sneer. "Sleep tight, don't let the sore loss bite!" Right before giving the door a good, solid close, he'd say.

Damn, that sounded alright. And went into surprising detail for some reason. But, more importantly, it would show her, show them all, what you got when you fucked with Hal Boon. He nodded. Chippendale douche, watch the skies. He brought his knuckles forward.

They were only a centimeter away from the door when Hal had stopped. Veins popping against his skin, a look of strain over his brow.

Shit, he finally choked, being a cow-tipping, ass-kissing pushover isn't as easy as I expected... I'll give it to you Marth, you can play an okay role, for a tightass at heart.

Finally, Hal came to a decision, his body to an agreement. "To hell with knocking." The impatient brother placed a hand on the knob and prepared to waltz right in -- as usual.

Then a small laugh from inside tugged him back. One of a familiar, stalwart lilt.

"Haha, I know, right? Well, allegedly it was because he wasn't a burgundy fan... you know she didn't buy it one second, though."

She was still awake, after all.

Hal pulled out his phone, ignoring some of his unread texts, some from unknown numbers. The time was about 10:30. Hal stuffed it back in his pocket, and tapped his foot. After a quick thought, he returned to his room.

With a nugget of frustration, he decided to wait it out and quell his drive by playing some computer games. Turning on his computer, he halfheartedly kept an eye on the time.

Thanks to past experience, it was common knowledge that Martha sometimes stayed up as late as an owl when she was working on a school project, personal one, whatever. If a friend was available she would usually have them on Skype or some phone app 'til they called it a night. And if that was the case here, Hal wasn't going to have much luck until around midnight.

It was gonna be a stakeout.

As lights flickered over Hal's bored face, the sound of tinny gunfire escaped his window into the wee, ambient lull of the outdoors.

"Hal! Hey, Hal, you fucker!"

"Screww yooou, shit-head!"

Hal woke up with a start, then widened his eyes. "Oh, shit!" He had fallen asleep while waiting for matches in the online lobby -- 16 minutes in and still nothing -- and the next thing he knew, it was already, already, "Shit!" he grabbed his phone. "What time is it?"

The creak of a door outside answered his question, followed by the flick of a switch.

Through the crack of his own door Hal saw his sister's robed form walk past. He snapped his fingers. He was right on time, that's what. Looked like Martha had just finished a late-night shower. And, according to the '11:50' on his phone screen, almost right on the money, too.

Suddenly she stopped, then after a pause, retraced her steps towards his door. Shit, Hal reiterated for the third time. With a plop he dropped back into his prime sleeping posture, mouth slightly open and arm dangling aimlessly over the bed frame. He heard a quiet "tch" and then another shadow over his eyes as the footsteps continued away. The sound of a shut door was the last thing he heard before it was back to silence.

After a few minutes of waiting, Hal got up, threw on a shirt he plucked from the floor, and pushed his door open. He was humming the Ren and Stimpy theme tune as his gaze locked onto Martha's door, another idea forming in his head. A twisted, oh-so-unthinkable, probably sleeplessness-induced idea.

Shaking her lush, brown hair dry, Martha sighed as she fell into her cow-themed bed lazily, her body laid across it like a pretty ragdoll, left leg swinging gently over the side of the bed. The high schooler had changed into a pair of shorts that stopped just at the knee and a blue spaghetti strap tanktop. She stared up at the ceiling, a feeling of exhaustion finally hitting her as she went over the illustrations she'd drafted on her tablet earlier, one hand through her hair. They were fine, she knew. But she needed some inspiration. A kicker. If only a heaven-sent muse would just fall into her lap, somehow, she mentally joked. Maybe that would help speed things along.

A clink! suddenly drew Martha from her thoughts. She sat up against the bed, turning her neck. Where did that come from? Then she noticed a small crack on her window just above the bed, and she gasped, turning on her desk lamp.

With breezy hands, she removed the fastener from the sill and opened her window up. "Hey!" she growled at a stranger below, who seemed to be in the middle of adjusting positions. "Who are you and what the fuck do you think you're doing on our property?!"

Then, before she could make a second thought, a twirling sphere was rocketing her way. Without thinking, Martha ducked. As if on cue, the door to her room suddenly swung open as, of all people, Hal walked in, pantsless, penis out, and a busy hand around its shaft.

"Knock the fuck knock, precious sister of mi--" In one swift motion, his sentence, hand, and shit-eating smile were simultaneously wiped out and he found himself flailing to the side against his sister's desk, a blur of white pummeling his nose and sending his chin up through an incoherent gurgle from his lips. A small amount of red sprayed out above, but below, he was also mid-release and too late to stop it.

Before he could help himself, his completely exposed dick pulsed, then violently began to expel a consistent stream of white, fresh-serving sperm, covering everything in the range of its pale, milky shower. Hal, meanwhile, flopped to the floor.

"Bro! Bro, are you alright?" Now rolling softly against the floor and cursing unintelligibly, Hal had his hands over his face in an attempt to numb out the pain. He barely even registered his sister's hand on him as she brought him to her bed, his blurry vision landing on the flat eyes of one cow, of many, patterned over the sheets, while one of his hands landed on something soft, pleasingly smooth and cushiony.

Outside, a faint voice declared, "Ha! Take that, Hal Boon, you fucker! That's what you get for harassing my--"

"HEY!" his sister's voice replied, bed creaking. "Tough guy! If you don't get out of here in 10 seconds I'm coming down there to mutilate you!"

Well shit. Hal approved, but for the first time, he also felt some trepidation toward his sister. Just a little though.

"Wha -- who the hell are you?! What are you doing in Hal's room!?"

"I'm his sister, genius! And his room is the next window over!"

"Hal... has a sister?!"

"Ten!!"

"Fuck," the guy picked up a baseball bat he apparently dropped to the ground, then made his way to the side gate. "Hal Boon, I'll be back, asshole..!" The words grew fainter with each one, and hastily Martha started to close the window.

"Yeavrgh, bevver run, shith--" Suddenly, Hal felt a slap right across his face and grunted out in pain. Martha's eyes widened a bit, but then returned to a glare, albeit a softer one.

"Er, sorry, forgot about your injury there."

Hal replied with a muffled sentence that no one would understand, probably for the best. He began opening his eyes to look at his sister, then blinked once, a second time, and then a third one in disbelief.

"But you aren't in the clear here, either, bro," Martha was continuing her point from earlier, giving him another thorny look. "Explain yourself and what the heck that guy was doing there looking for you."

"Mrrvrgh," Hal said, one hand still covered over his mouth.

"What? Take your hand off your mouth if you're going to say something, idiot."

"Martha," Hal repeated, hand dropped. "You got my fucking jizz... on your face." He looked down. "On your clothes." Then he noticed his other hand, cozily gripped around her soft, meaty thigh. He began to pull it away, only for Martha to suddenly place her hand over his and slide it rhythmically up and down her thigh's warm, tight slope.

"It's okay," she told him unflinching, "if you gotta feel my leg to concentrate, do so. Plus, it feels kinda nice."

"Martha," Hal reiterated, for the third time, "my fucking jizz! On your face!" He couldn't even process her previous statement, watching as a thread of cum dripped down her chin.

"Hal," Martha reflected flatly, "yes, your semen is covering my face. I can tell whether or not there's something on my skin, you ditz." Finally, she looked down, glancing at the warm sticky jism that swathed her nose, cheeks, mouth, even an eye. Brow sloping, she remarked, "Geez, bro... you had a lot more than I would've expected. Oh, shoot, there's some on my leg, too..." She gave a slight grimace as she swiped it up with the tip of her finger, then proceeded to wipe it off on her blanket. Hal's hand really was stroking her thigh subconsciously, now, for concentration or otherwise.

"What?" Martha asked, befuddled at her brother's shocked act. "Do I have some on my hair, too, what?" She started to look when suddenly she collected herself and shot another look at Hal. "Hal, don't try to avoid the subject here."

"Martha. My fucking jizz is on your fucking face!"

"Hal," Martha continued as if a teacher who'd lost their patience, "who was that guy?!" She pointed out the window. "And why does he want to make you target practice for his compensatory baseball bat?!"

"I dunno! You got my jizz on your face!"

"HAL!"

"I don't know, probably one of Penelope Vans' brothers. Who cares about them? Zack, he's the Derek Jenkins wannabe I think."

"Jeter."

"Whatever. Shit, why am I still stroking you?!" A quick jerk of the arm brought it back to Hal's side, then over his chest as he covered his nose again. A distant rustle came from down the hall.

"Wait, what?!" the brown-haired sister exclaimed. "The Vans are the ones that want you dead?! Or," Martha gestured to her brother's now bloody nose, "crooked-faced. Here, here's a tissue."

"I know, right? Fuckers." Hal took the tissue carelessly as Martha eyed him, plugging a nostril.

"Brother, what did you do?" she asked, wiping a droplet of cum from the edge of her lips.

"All I did," his tongue twisting, "was text Penelope some messages about her new sugary boytoy. Maybe send a dick pic or two. Wait, no, that was tomorrow... or is it today..?"

"What?!" Martha punched Hal's rib, and he hissed at the sting. "Are you stupid?!" Then just as quickly she gave in to a sigh. "Actually, who am I kidding, it's not like this is the first time you've done something like this. Won't be the last either..."

"What are you shocked about?" Hal threw a finger towards her. "Your face has my jizz on it!"

"For the last time, bro, I know, and it's o-kaay!" Martha grabbed his finger and flung it back, drawing out the last syllable in ironic exasperation. "What's with you right now?"

"Shit, I can't believe it," Hal shook his head, "either you're a fucking Grammy-winning actor, or... or shit," in a random glance he caught himself looking at his sister's cow patterned blanket again, and through his haze and with a touch of his sarcastic bite, blurted, "maybe you get horny from beef of all things and then dream of sisters getting knocked up by their brothers every night like some nympho! I really don't fucking know! Should I fucking know?" Hal shook his head again. "Here I thought I was the tripping one. Agh," he remembered, looking down, "and even my cock is still out in the open..! You're perfectly fine with this shit?!"

Hal didn't even notice the sudden change in Martha's gaze as she looked at him throughout his tirade about something regarding beef and knocking, and then steadily moved her stare to the flaccid, exposed bar between his legs, and then slightly arch her back to push her hardening nipples against her shirt, or the way she snuggled a hand comfortably against her crotch as she did so, her attempt to change her posture on the bed to a more comfortable position suddenly and in a mood-dismantling flash interrupted by a voice at the door. Martha's hand froze as she drew her attention away from her brother's special packaging, his boom stick, his strong, thick, fertile baby-maker...

"What in the world is going on here?!"

"Mom!" The tissue flew out Hal's nose. He quickly grabbed it then plugged it back in. "I'm asking the same fucking question, but don't worry, it's a simple answer -- it's all Martha's fault."

"I don't want to hear it!" the stern-faced, tired woman shot down. Her clothes look rumpled, and barely thrown on. Strangely, she didn't mention Hal's current attire, or lack thereof -- or even more importantly, the current state of his sister's, particularly around the face region. "It's the middle of the night for goodness' sake! And tomorrow's a school day! Get to bed, now, or you lose all outing privileges!"

With a muffled grunt from Hal and a distracted 'Yes, Mom,' from Martha, Renee Boon nodded and began to close the door.

"Wait, Mom," Hal grumbled, hand pulling back on the edge. He was walking out, a little unsteadily, if she might add, but out.

"What's wrong, hun?" she questioned, her gaze flicking to her son's manhood, curling into a brief frown, then back to Hal's face. "You're not going to sleep with your sister tonight?"

Hal looked at his mother with eyes that no longer had the will, least not for this night. "I dunno if I wanna bang my own sis, Mom." He decided not to bother with any more questions -- particularly anything that had to do with his currently dangling member.

"What do you mean 'bang'?" his mother returned his blank stare with a perplexed one. "You're just going to cuddle with her. Maybe wrap a leg over her hips, rub your penis against a buttcheek or two 'til you get off. I don't know if it's already too late for you to, I don't know, check whatever porn site you usually go on to help you out, but..." Inside the room, Martha had an anxious expression on her face as the two talked. Her hand seemed to be down her shorts, probably scratching an itch or something, while their mom described the scenario in basic detail.

"Nah," Hal looked back to his large-eyed sister, who rigidly removed her hand from below and now looked back at him with an intent stare, as if trying to tell him something telepathically. Was that... was that a look of heavy, determined longing in her eyes?

No, no, it couldn't be. Now with a head throbbing all over, Hal just shook it and turned back to his mom.

"I'm good," he confirmed through a nasal twang, then slipped past the shapely woman and towards his door, into his room, and onto his bed. His mother looked back at Martha with a shrug, saying nothing about the splotches of translucent liquid on her slender, tight person, and bade her good night with a smile before closing the door. Soon, Hal had drifted into another snore-laden sleep, as his dreams carried him throughout the night, crickets chirping monotonously outside.

He dreamt of pitching in a large, empty baseball field. The only spectators were the Vans family. Zack Vans was up to bat. With one good loogie expulsion from his mouth, Hal lifted a leg, heaved, and threw the ball from his hand, so hard, so fiercely, that it caught on fire -- not the ball, but unfortunately his whole damn throwing hand. With a fiery scream he ran for the dugout and dipped it into a bucket of cold water until finally, finally, it cooled off.

It was a lame dream.