Shower

The door creaked open, and Brief looked up from the couch, still a little shaken from the last Twister disaster. Stocking walked in slowly, towel slung over her shoulder, a bottle of water in hand, and a look of subtle suspicion drawn across her face.

She paused mid-sip, sniffed the air once, then squinted directly at him.

“…You smell like Panty.”

Brief blinked. “H-huh? I—I do?”

She leaned in with zero shame, giving a dramatic sniff like she was checking for mold in a closet. “Yeah. Her cheap perfume, her gross body spray, and… desperation.” She leaned back and waved her hand in front of her face. “Eugh. You're like a human leftover.”

Brief blushed furiously. “I—it’s not like I—! I didn’t—! She was just—!”

Kuromi’s voice piped up from the armrest where she sat demurely, head tilted and eyes wide in that mischievous plush way:

“Shared environments lead to shared scents. A proper rinse is advised. Preferably together. For efficiency.”

Stocking didn't miss a beat. “Tch. She’s got a point.”

Brief nearly choked. “W-wait, what?!”

“Relax. It’s not like I’m gonna scrub your back with my tongue or anything.” She was already halfway down the hall, hips swaying lazily. “You reek, nerd. If I’m stuck near you, you’re getting cleaned.”

He sat frozen. Had the sentence "You’re getting cleaned" ever sounded so threatening?

Kuromi turned her plush face toward him.

“Water conservation is responsible behavior. Especially if you share your shame.”

Brief gulped. If this was her idea of saving water, he was about to drown in trouble.

Brief stood stiffly outside the bathroom door, shifting on his feet like a man waiting for his own execution. From inside, he could hear the soft rustle of clothing, the clink of bottles, the occasional hum from Stocking as she sorted her shower products like she was curating an art exhibit.

He was trying very hard not to picture what was happening on the other side of the door.

“Okay, nerd,” Stocking called out at last, voice lazy and sharp at once. “You can come in now. Just don’t look at anything unless you’re invited to. Got it?”

Brief opened the door slowly, expecting... well, anything.

The bathroom was thick with steam already, Stocking had to bring Kuromi there obviously... The mirror fogged, the tiled floor warm beneath his feet. Stocking stood by the counter, her back to him, peeling off her oversized shirt like it owed her money. She still wore her black striped panties — but that was it. Her pale skin was exposed from the curve of her back to the generous underboob that peeked around as she twisted slightly. Her hair was up in a lazy bun, a few dark strands curling at the nape of her neck.

She looked over her shoulder.

“Don’t get weird about it. We’re just showering. And this is your fault, anyway.”

“M-my fault?!”

“You smell like a bar floor. Get in.”

Brief turned away in a panic, fumbling to remove his hoodie and shirt. His face was fire-engine red by the time he was down to his shorts, and the fog wasn’t helping.

Behind him, Stocking stepped into the shower first, sliding the frosted glass door open with a casual clunk. The water hissed on. “Well? You coming or what?”

“I—uh—yeah! Y-yeah, totally normal, totally casual! Yep!”

As he entered, Kuromi’s voice drifted from the towel rack.

“The cleansing of the flesh is best enjoyed when shared… intimately.”

Brief stumbled on the slick tile, practically slipping into the steam with a yelp.

The shower wasn’t small… but it wasn’t built for two people either.

Steam hung like a curtain, curling around their bodies as water cascaded down in a steady, hot rhythm. Brief did his best to keep his back to Stocking, eyes glued to a cracked tile on the wall like it was the only safe place in the entire room.

Stocking, meanwhile, wasn’t trying to make anything easier.

“So uptight,” she muttered, casually reaching around him to grab her body wash. Her arm brushed against his side. Her chest—well, he wasn’t sure if it had actually touched him or if it was just the memory of it doing so from earlier in the day. Either way, his brain short-circuited.

She popped the cap of her sweet-scented soap—something vanilla-sugar-strawberry, of course—and lathered it onto her hands. “Turn around,” she said.

“What? Why?!”

“Because I’m going to wash your back, you greasy virgin. You're probably one of those guys who forgets it even exists.”

“I—I can do it myself!”

She smirked, and Brief could hear it in her voice. “But I want to, so shut up and let me.”

Reluctantly, he turned, arms stiff at his sides. A second later, her hands pressed against his shoulders, warm and slick with soap. She rubbed slow circles into his back, surprisingly gentle.

“Geez. Tense much?”

“I-it’s the steam…”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Her fingers dug deeper, working down his spine, thumbs pressing along the curve of his shoulder blades. When she reached the small of his back, he twitched involuntarily.

“You’re lucky I’m not charging for this. This is basically spa treatment.”

And then she leaned in. Just a bit. Her breath teased the nape of his neck. He could feel the brush of her chest against his back.

“See?” she whispered. “Not so bad.”

Brief gulped.

“Reminder,” came Kuromi’s plush voice faintly from the foggy shelf, “Direct physical contact increases cleansing effectiveness… and tension.”

“I’m gonna throw that plush out the window,” Brief muttered.

Stocking laughed. “She’s got a point, though.”

Stocking’s hands wandered to the body wash again, humming to herself. The sound of the cap snapping shut echoed through the steamy room.

Then, Kuromi’s voice floated in from her perch by the soap rack:

“Siblings often help each other. Perhaps a playful bond would ease his nerves.”

Brief froze. “W-what?!”

Stocking blinked. Then, without missing a beat, she put on the most exaggeratedly innocent voice she could muster. “Aww~ Wittle Bwiefie needs his big sister to wash his hair toooo~?”

“I—what—n-no!”

She stepped closer, puffing out her chest with mock authority and lathering up a mountain of foam in her palms. “Don’t be such a squirmy little brother. Big Sis knows best~”

“Stop calling yourself that! We’re not—!”

Suddenly her hands were in his hair, aggressively sudsing, fluffing, massaging. He yelped like a cat tossed in a bathtub.

“Y’know, this shampoo really brings out the loser in you,” she snickered, practically hugging his head from behind. “You smell like insecurity and bubblegum.”

“This isn’t helping!!”

“Shh~ Big Sis is taking care of it.”

She leaned into the joke fully now, shifting behind him so her front was practically pressing to his back—more foam than person. “If you’re a good boy, maybe you’ll get a towel and a hug~”

Kuromi’s voice purred from the fog:

“Sibling affection is a beautiful thing.”

Brief was red enough to match a fire hydrant. “T-this is illegal!!”

Brief stood stiffly in the corner of the shower, arms to his sides like he was facing military inspection. His eyes were glued to a tile on the wall, his entire soul focused on not looking at Stocking.

Not that it helped.

She was still behind him, hands in his hair, foam in her palms, absolutely zero respect for personal space. Every time she leaned in, her slippery chest—that chest—soft and impossible to ignore, would squish against his back. Her breath tickled his ear. She hummed some old children’s jingle, off-key and completely unaware of how inappropriate everything felt.

Well. Pretending to be unaware.

“Oh no~” she teased. “My wittle brother’s all tense! Are you scared, Bwiefie? Don’t worry, Big Sis will make it allll better.”

He twitched. “Stop calling me that!!”

“I mean, you’re acting like such a baby~” she giggled, scrubbing behind his ears. “Look at you, getting all red just from a hug.”

“This is not a hug! This is full-contact shampooing!!”

Stocking pouted dramatically. “Wow, rude. Big Sis goes out of her way to pamper you and this is the thanks she gets? Honestly, I should put you in timeout.”

Brief tried to shuffle forward, away from her, but his foot slipped slightly on the slick tile. Bad idea. Stocking instinctively moved to catch him—which meant her arms wrapped around his chest from behind.

“Whoopsie~ Gotcha!” she grinned against his shoulder.

Now she was pressed fully to his back, her entire body soft, warm, and covered in bubbles. He could feel her breasts flattening out across his spine. Her thighs brushed against the backs of his.

She’s not even trying to hide it anymore, Brief’s inner monologue screamed. She’s weaponizing the sister bit! This is psychological warfare!!

“I can feel your heart racing, little bro,” she whispered way too close to his neck. “You sure you’re not sick~?”

“I’M FINE!!” he squeaked, still facing the tile, unmoving like a scared NPC.

The steam curled lazily in the cramped shower, clinging to the walls and wrapping around the two bodies sharing the space like some voyeuristic fog. Stocking had been humming softly as she shampooed her long striped hair, hips swaying subtly with each motion. Meanwhile, Brief stood with his back to the corner, stiff as a statue, desperately trying not to breathe too hard.

He could feel her presence behind him. Every time she shifted, it was like the entire temperature of the room raised a degree.

Then came the voice.

“For maximum coverage and soap efficiency, use the breasts.”

Brief’s eyes widened like saucers. His head turned an inch. “W-what?!”

Stocking blinked as if the suggestion made perfect sense. She looked down at her sudsy chest, cupping both breasts experimentally. “Huh. You know… she’s not wrong. These could probably clean a whole car.”

She gave them a light squish—purely scientific, of course—and the soap foamed generously between her fingers. “Like soft, squishy loofahs. With… um, temperature regulation.”

Brief pressed himself into the tile like it would absorb him. “T-this has gotta be illegal in at least four states…”

Stocking tilted her head, amused. “You don’t want to be clean? Geez, I thought nerds loved hygiene.”

“Rejecting optimal cleansing methods may result in hygiene penalties.”

Kuromi’s voice echoed sweetly from the nearby ledge. There she sat, casually perched atop a towel like a tiny demonic health inspector.

Stocking leaned forward slightly, hands still filled with foam and strategic curiosity. “You heard her. I don’t want to be responsible for your… hygiene demerits, or whatever.” Her smile was wide. Innocent. Evil.

Brief shook his head rapidly. “N-no no no, I’m good! I—I used soap already, I promise! My hygiene is maxed out!!”

“Oh yeah?” she replied, stepping closer, foam trailing down the sides of her breasts. “Let me inspect~”

He tried to side-step but slipped slightly, catching himself against the wall. A wet slap echoed through the tile.

Oh god oh god oh god—I'm not making it out of this shower. My parents will find my corpse, and the report will say “**** by tit-based cleanliness.”

She was close now. Dangerously close. And smiling like she’d just found a new toy.

“I’ll start with your shoulders,” she said, raising a brow. “Nice and easy. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

Brief, red-faced and trembling, slid slowly down the wall, whispering in surrender, “I don’t wanna die like this…”

The moment the oil touched her skin, Stocking let out a surprised hum, her pale shoulders glistening under the shower’s soft spray. “Oh~ This does feel different,” she murmured, turning the tiny bottle upside down and pouring more of the slippery fluid down her back.

Brief stood frozen. Watching. Processing.

Processing way too much.

Her entire body had turned into a living sculpture—shimmering and soft and absolutely impossible to look away from. She slicked the oil across her collarbones, then down her arms, and then, without breaking eye contact, she pressed her breasts together with a purposeful squeeze to “get under them.”

Kuromi, perched nearby with a little squeaky-clean aura of mischief, added her wisdom with polite deadpan:

“Proper oil distribution prevents streaking. Use generous pressure. Circular motion is encouraged.”

Stocking nodded thoughtfully. “Well, we wouldn’t want streaks…”

She turned her back to Brief and handed him the bottle.

“Here. You get my back.”

Brief’s heart skipped three beats.

“I-I’m not sure I should—” he started, but Kuromi’s voice rang again:

“Sharing hygiene duties increases trust. Apply evenly. And don’t skimp.”

Stocking glanced over her shoulder with a raised brow. “You heard the doll.”

His hands trembled as he poured the oil into his palms. Slippery warmth coated his skin instantly, and he nearly dropped the bottle. He hesitated. Then, slowly, nervously, he placed both hands on her slick back and began to rub.

It was worse than soap.

Way worse.

Her back was warm, impossibly soft, and slippery in the most mortifying ways. Every circle of his palm glided like he was skimming a layer of silk floating on hot water. The oil caught every curve, every gentle ridge of her spine. And then… she shifted.

“Lower,” she mumbled, hair sticking slightly to her wet shoulder. “And a little to the left.”

Brief obeyed.

Then Kuromi struck again.

“And now, for the front.”

Stocking turned slowly, arms crossed under her chest, squeezing her breasts together without meaning to… or maybe absolutely meaning to.

Brief blinked in panic. His fingers were still wet. His palms glistened.

Stocking grinned slightly, leaning in. “Still trying to be polite, little brother~? You’re gonna leave me all uneven?”

The moment Stocking turned the tiny bottle upside down, Brief knew this wasn’t going to be a normal shower.

With a sultry squeeze, the first globs of golden oil slithered across her pale skin. It caught the light like honey—dripping over her collarbones, running between her breasts, trailing down the curve of her stomach. She looked down at herself and laughed softly. “It’s like I’m marinating.”

Brief tried to say something—anything—but his throat was dry. And things were only getting started.

Stocking crouched slightly, pouring more oil directly over her thighs. The slick stuff dribbled down, gliding across her skin with physics-defying freedom. “Slippery~ Slippery~” she chimed in a sing-song voice, wiggling her hips to spread it evenly.

Kuromi chimed in again from the side, voice crisp and delighted:

“Oil reduces friction. Friction is dangerous in intimate quarters.”

Brief wasn’t sure if she meant it as a safety tip or a threat.

He backed up—mistake.

Stocking straightened up, spun slightly, and nearly slipped—arms flailing—only to crash directly into Brief’s chest. Both of them lost their balance. They toppled, limbs flailing, bodies slipping like someone pressed fast-forward on a soap commercial.

When they landed, the noise was a wet splat and a startled gasp.

Brief was on his back. Stocking was on top of him, straddling him. The bottle of oil had squirted another dose on her stomach during the fall and now her whole front was a slippery disaster. Her top had twisted awkwardly in the fall, and the hem now barely clung to her chest. Her thighs squeezed his hips, unintentionally creating way too much pressure and far too much slide.

She tried to get up, hands pressed on his shoulders—but the oil made it impossible.

Instead, she slipped again. And again.

Her soaked hair flopped across his face. Her chest squished, bounced, and stuck to him in impossible, humiliating ways.

“DON’T. TWITCH,” she warned through clenched teeth.

Brief’s brain was on fire. Her words were stern, but her position was not helping.

Kuromi added calmly:

“Stability compromised. Recommend anchor point. Use hips.”

Stocking, still wrestling for balance, mumbled, “What the hell does that mean?!”

As if in answer, her knees slipped further, and she fell again—hard—her oiled chest smacking square into Brief’s face.

It made a full-on anime boing sound. Twice.

“MMMPH?!” was all Brief could manage, muffled under the softest, deadliest suffocation in the world.

“KUROMI!!” Stocking screamed, thrashing wildly.

Kuromi:

“All soap residue successfully removed. Congratulations.”

The only sound for a moment was the drip… drip… drip of oil from Stocking’s hair as she slowly pushed herself off Brief. Her knees wobbled, her footing betrayed her again, and she thudded down onto the slick tile with a splosh.

She glared at the bottle like it had personally betrayed her.

“I’m gonna shove this thing down Kuromi’s throat.”

Kuromi, perched safely on a dry shelf above the carnage, chimed sweetly:

“Please refrain. I am not food-safe.”

Stocking groaned and flopped dramatically onto her back next to Brief, slick thighs sticking to the tile with a wet shhluck. Her chest rose and fell with every breath, still gleaming and perilously jiggly under the flimsy, oil-slicked fabric of her tank top. Her now translucent shorts clung to her curves like second skin, offering no protection to Brief’s fragile psyche.

He lay frozen, eyes fixed straight up at the ceiling, trying not to die from a heart attack.

Stocking lazily turned her head toward him. “You twitch even once, and I swear I’ll **** you with a loofah.”

Brief nodded rapidly. He did not trust himself to speak.

That’s when Kuromi—sweet, evil Kuromi—added one last blow:

“Time to dry off! I recommend shared towel usage. Efficient. Intimate. Sibling-approved.”

Brief finally snapped. “I AM NOT HER BROTHER!”

Stocking blinked. “Oh my god. Did you actually take that seriously?”

She burst out laughing—snorting even—as she rolled onto her side, completely unfazed by the fact that doing so mashed her chest against his once more. “Dumbass. It was a joke.”

“Then please stop—making it so—hard to—BREATHE,” Brief whined, trying to wriggle away, only to slide uselessly in the oil puddle like a trapped fish.

“I can’t,” she grinned. “You smell like Panty. That’s your punishment.”

Brief flailed as she tossed a towel over his face like she was throwing a blanket on a wet dog.

From above, Kuromi giggled:

“Punishment complete. Mission success.”