breakfast with your brother

You pad into the kitchen on bare feet, the oversized t-shirt you slept in hanging loose and low, hem brushing the tops of your thighs. The black G-string underneath is freshly changed after your shower, but the faint ache deep inside still lingers, a quiet reminder of whatever wild dream left you sore and sticky. You don’t think about it too hard; you just want coffee.

Your brother is already at the island, pouring cereal into two bowls with a little more focus than necessary. He’s in sweatpants and a plain tee, hair still tousled from sleep. When you walk in, he glances up—and freezes for half a second. The shirt is loose enough that it shifts with every step, flashing the curve of your hip, the thin strap of lace riding high, the long line of your bare legs. His eyes flick down, then away, then back again before he forces them to the milk carton.

“Morning,” you say cheerfully, sliding onto a stool opposite him. The cool leather against your thighs makes you shiver slightly, and you cross your legs, the motion tugging the shirt higher for a moment before it falls back.

“Morning,” he answers, voice a little rough. He clears his throat and pushes one bowl toward you. “Figured cereal was easy.”

“Thanks.” You lean forward to grab the milk, breasts pressing softly against the edge of the counter, shirt gaping just enough to give him a fleeting view down the neckline. He looks away fast, cheeks tinting pink, spoon clinking too loudly against his bowl.

He’s nervous, you can tell—fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, eating faster than normal. You figure it’s just the weirdness of the whole situation: his former brother now a very female version, wandering around half-dressed. You don’t think any deeper than that.

You dig in, humming contentedly as the coffee kicks in. “I slept like a rock,” you say between bites. “But I woke up kinda sore. Like… everywhere. This body is intense.”

His spoon pauses halfway to his mouth. “Sore?” he asks carefully, eyes fixed on his cereal.

“Yeah, hips, lower back… and, uh, inside a little.” You laugh lightly, embarrassed but open. “Guess I was tossing and turning or something. Had some crazy dreams.”

He swallows hard, guilt twisting in his gut. Crazy dreams. He knows exactly what caused the soreness—his weight on you, the rough thrusts, the way he almost—almost—lost control completely. The memory of pulling out at the last second, of watching his cum stripe your ass and pussy before he nearly shoved it all back in, flashes hot behind his eyes. He shifts on his stool, suddenly grateful for the counter hiding his lap.

You keep talking, oblivious. “Anyway, shower helped. I feel way better now. Still adjusting to the sensitivity thing, though.” You stretch your arms overhead with a little yawn, shirt lifting to expose a strip of midriff and the high cut of the G-string. His gaze darts there involuntarily, then snaps back to his bowl.

“Yeah… adjusting takes time,” he mutters, voice strained.

You smile at him, kicking your feet idly. “You okay? You seem kinda tense.”

He forces a shrug, managing a weak grin. “Just worried about you. The whole… timer thing. Want to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

The sincerity in his tone eases the last of his visible nerves. You reach across and pat his hand lightly. “You’re sweet. Seriously, thank you for staying. I feel safe with you here.”

The guilt stabs deeper, but your easy trust, your complete lack of suspicion, slowly unwinds the knot in his chest. You really have no idea. You’re still safe—for now. He exhales quietly, tension draining from his shoulders as he relaxes into the normal rhythm of breakfast.

The sexual current still hums under the surface—every shift of your body, every casual flash of skin keeps his pulse elevated—but the sharp edge of panic fades. You chat about nothing important, laughing at old shared memories, the morning sun warming the kitchen. But your mind keeps pushing your thoughts to how much you long for your brother's touch, how you crave for him to fill you. It's driving you mad and you start doubting if you'll make it through the day without jumping him

On the other side of the table your brother is, unbeknownst to you, fighting the same battle as you...