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Your chest hurts. It started a few months ago; your nipples feel sore, and the area around them is tender. Sex ed said it’s normal. Some people grow breasts and get their menstruation. You had yours a few months ago. It was horrible. Grandma explained it a bit better, told you what to expect. Caleb looked worried and offered to do your chores. That happens once a month and you can handle it, sort of. But the pain in your chest has been constant and unbearable. It also makes you feel self-conscious in a way you never felt before. It doesn’t help that your brother seems to have noticed too.
You catch him from the corner of your eye sometimes, his gaze drifting to your chest. He quickly looks away, at your face, the ceiling, Grandma, the TV, the homework he’s helping you with, anything. He tries to act cool, but you notice. His reddened face, the guilty expression, how he seems to avoid skinship when he was the first one to grab you to cuddle you on the couch. It bothers you. It makes things between you feel awkward when they weren’t before… and something else you don’t want to name. But you think about it.
Some nights alone in your room, you can’t help but think about how Caleb has changed too. He’s taller, broader… handsome. Thinking about him makes you feel warm. When your mind pictures him, that new and familiar pressure in your lower abdomen slowly takes over. You close your legs tightly and rock your hips while lying on your tummy, letting yourself feel it. It feels good. You wonder if Caleb feels the same, if he’s thinking about you in the next room, if he misses cuddling with you in lazy afternoons.
—
It’s the weekend. There’s not much to do. Grandma is cutting coupons at the dining table while you flip through a magazine her friend brought over—a women’s clothing catalog. Caleb is sitting across from you, helping Grandma sort the coupons into a binder.
You lazily flip through pages of clothes that are far too expensive for Grandma to buy. Then you stop when an ad for bralettes catches your eye. Three lace bralettes in white, pink, and yellow. $40. Grandma peeks over and says, “Those are cute.” Caleb looks up to see what she’s talking about. His gaze briefly meets yours before he returns to the binder like it’s the most important task in the world.
“Yeah, I guess,” you sigh.
“It’s about time you started wearing them, you know,” Grandma says, taking the catalog from your hands. “And they’re not too expensive. Do you like them?” You glance at her, then at Caleb, who still seems overly focused even though she hasn’t passed him a new coupon.
“I guess,” you mutter, irritated. Why are you talking about this now?
“Okay then, I’ll tell Gloria to order them.” She nudges you back from your place at the table and eyes your chest. “An M should do.” Caleb is looking, too. Your cheeks burn.
—
A week later, Gloria brings over the bralettes. They’re on your bed while Grandma waits outside the room for you to try them on. You don’t really want to. It feels like a big step. But they are cute. The fabric looks a bit scratchy, the straps thin and lacy, the padding kind of weird. Still, you take off your T-shirt and put on the yellow one. It’s tricky to clasp, but you manage.
You look in the mirror. It looks… okay, you guess.
“How does it fit, darling?” Grandma calls from outside.
“It’s alright,” you reply. It itches a little. Your nipples feel strange, and the straps sit awkwardly. But Grandma paid for them, and you don’t want to seem ungrateful. “I like them, thanks.”
“That’s wonderful! Take good care of them,” she says, retreating to the kitchen.
You put your T-shirt back on—it’s snug, so the shape of the bralette shows. You suppose that’s the point.
When you come downstairs, Grandma is already grabbing her purse and putting on her coat. Gloria is there too; she dropped off the bralettes and is taking Grandma to poker night. It’s easier at her place, no grandkids to worry about.
They both look at your face, then your chest.
It’s just a freaking bra, you think.
“Oh, sweetie, you look lovely!” Grandma says. “All grown up! Remember to hand wash them, okay?” Gloria adds.
“Okay,” you say, grabbing your arm and crouching instinctively.
Grandma kisses your cheek. “Caleb should be home from practice at six. Help him make dinner, okay? I’ll be back before ten.” You nod. She pinches your cheek gently before she and Gloria leave. Once they’re gone, you collapse into a dining chair and let out a long sigh.
Why do your boobs have to be such a big deal?
—
Caleb arrives just after six. You hear the door open and glance up from your phone. He sets his gym bag down—he’s in his basketball uniform, sweaty and flushed. You can smell him.
“Hey, pips,” he says, heading for the fridge.
“Hey,” you reply, setting your phone down. “How was practice?”
“It was okay. Missed havin’ you there to cheer me on,” he says, opening a bottle of water.
You roll your eyes. “You can’t live without me.”
“Anyone who knows us knows it’s the other way around,” he says, chugging the water and tossing the bottle aside.
You roll your eyes again. “Whatever,” you mutter, going back to your phone.
“You keep doing that and your eyes will roll into the back of your head,” he jokes, walking around the table to stand behind you.
You feel his presence. His smell. Not bad, this is different too, you can’t say you hate it. You can’t help but bite back.
“And you’ll stink forever if you don’t shower,” you say, glancing up at him.
He grins and opens his arms wide. “C’mere, pipsqueak. Give your big brother a huuuug.” You leap up and dodge. “Eww, get away from me!”
You’re a few steps away now, back turned. He leans on the chair you were sitting on, voice soft. “Hey, it was just a joke. Now you won’t even look at me?”
You turn to face him, annoyed, and like a moth to flame, Caleb’s eyes drop to your chest for a split second before darting back to your face. You see his Adam’s apple bob. His face turns red. You want to cover yourself but instead cross your arms. Why is he so interested?
He sees your discomfort and quickly breaks the silence.
“Well…” His voice cracks. He clears his throat. “I’ll shower. Can you, um, help get dinner started?”
He’s already halfway up the stairs before you manage a “Sure.”
You glance down at your chest, still wondering what the big deal is—until your thoughts are drowned out by the loud music from the bathroom.
—
Caleb comes downstairs a full hour later, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead. He’s traded his uniform for a white t-shirt and old joggers, looking more relaxed as he rubs a towel across his head.
“Smells like somethin’s happenin’ in here,” he says, stepping into the kitchen and noticing the ingredients lined up on the counter.
“Yeah,” you reply, stirring something in a bowl. “Thought I’d get everything ready so we wouldn’t be up late.”
“Nice. What are we makin’?”
“Thought we should use the left over rice from yesterday and make some fried rice” He chuckles. “Economical. Want me to chop the onions?”
You nod, grateful he’s acting kind of normal again. Most of the awkwardness from earlier seems to have evaporated with the steam of his long shower.
As you both move around the kitchen, ease sets between you. Caleb takes over the wok while you slice green peppers, shoulder to shoulder. But the straps of your new bra are starting to dig into your skin, leaving raw lines across your shoulders. And the lace is chafing, sharp and irritating against your nipples. You wince and subtly adjust the band beneath your shirt.
“You okay?” Caleb asks, glancing at you from over the cutting board.
“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Just… tight new clothes.”
“Right.” He’s awkward again. Why is this such a big deal?! You both busy yourselves with dinner, letting the mood dissipate. Dinner comes together quickly after that. You sit across from each other, bowls steaming, the silence comfortable. Once you’re done eating, Caleb stands and starts rinsing the plates without being asked.
You join him at the sink, drying the dishes he passes you. The silence is starting to get awkward by the time he’s washing the spoons, so you break the quiet. “So, remember the bralettes?”
Caleb stiffens. You notice the pause in his hands, he looks at you briefly. “Um, the ones Grandma ordered, right?”
You sigh. “Yeah, Gloria came by today to drop them off.” He hands you the last spoon to dry. Once you dry it, you place it on the counter. Caleb goes to the fridge to save the leftover ingredients you had left out. He frowns while going over the counter with a paper towel. He mutters, “Oh?”
You silently watch him clean the counter, then organize the utensils you had just dried and put away—and then do it again. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Neither do you, but you can’t stand the elephant in the room, especially not when it’s your boobs being trapped in this thing.
All of this is so stupid. You feel yourself constricted. You can’t deal with it.
“Forget it, you don’t want to talk about it” You bolt up the stairs to your room. You hear Caleb call your name but you don’t want to see him. You hate him for making you feel awkward, you hate him for always coming to your fantasies at night when you feel that sudden need, you hate how this bra shafts your nipples and is too tight on your shoulders, you hate that it has to be a big deal. You close the door to your room with a bang, slide down the door, and hold your knees, you hate that you’re crying over this.
A soft knock and a familiar tone of voice on the door take you out of your thinking.
“Hey, pips,” Caleb says with the voice he knows to use whenever you get this way.
“Go away” you mutter back.
Caleb tries again, with an even softer voice. “Sorry, I made you upset. I do want to talk about it, it’s just…” he sounds unsure.
You take your face out of your arms and get closer to the door, curiosity peaked. “What?”
He lets out a long sigh. You can hear the hesitation in his voice. “Remember a few years back when Grandma gave us the Talk?” You cringe at the memory of Grandma sitting down with eight- and ten-year-old you and Caleb, having a serious talk about the differences between you both.
At the time, it didn’t seem like a big deal. You were different, and you would grow up to be even more different—but that didn’t mean things had to change.
Turns out, things do change. Inevitably.
You don’t answer so Caleb continues, “Well, Grandma gave me another Talk recently” you get up from the floor.
“What? What do you mean?” you say, surprise evident on your tone.
“Open the door, please.” Caleb asks, you hesitate a bit before opening the door. He looks at your tear stained face, while you look at his regretful expression. “What did you guys talk about?” you asks again.
“Can I come in?”He makes those puppy eyes you know so well. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, afraid he’ll tease you again for it.
You step away from the door to let him in. He sits on your bed and taps the mattress next to him, inviting you to join. You oblige. As soon as you sit, his hand reaches for your face. “Look at you, you silly girl,” Caleb says, softly caressing your cheek. You instinctively melt into the touch. “This is no cryin’ matter. I’ll explain.”
His hand drifts down your nape, making you shiver. You catch the brief flicker of his gaze landing on your lips. Finally, he rests his hand on the crook of your neck before continuing.
He’s almost whispering. “Grandma told me about how I should give you space, how you’re turnin' into a young lady and I- I should be a proper gentleman and give you that… but-”
You feel your breathing speeding up for some reason, Caleb is so close, the closest you have been in a while, the fact that it’s just the two makes the house feel emptier but smaller at the same time. “But…?” you let out a heavy breath. He looks at your mouth again.
“But I- I want to touch you more than ever before” he swallows “Y-you know, to comfort you and to” another pause, “to make you feel better.”
You look down at your hands, trying to gather your thoughts. You don’t want Caleb to be distant, you crave having him close, his comfort more than anything else. In your heart, you know he would do anything for you. Still, you don’t know what to say, so you stare at him as if waiting for him to decipher your thoughts.
He takes a deep breath, “So what’s the issue with the bra?” his face turns red, as if he has said a dirty word, but his eyes are soft.
You look down—you can’t bear to look at his face. “It hurts. My shoulders feel like they’re being sawed through, and the lace keeps scratching me. I thought it’d be cute, but it’s just… painful,” you say, grabbing at your shoulder where the strap is before returning your gaze to his. Caleb’s face turns even a darker red and you see him swallow hard, but he manages a steady nod.
You continue, almost relieved to finally say it out loud. “And my boobs hurt. A lot. Like, all the time. It’s not just soreness. Sometimes it feels like they’re bruised or burning. I thought it would pass but… it hasn’t.”
There’s a long beat of silence before Caleb clears his throat, his hand travels from the crook of your neck down your arm, until he arrives to your hands that are lying on your lap and holds them, he looks down at them.
“I could…” he swallows hard again “I could maybe take a look?” He looks back at you again with those same eyes of a dog asking to be let on the bed. You bite the inside of your cheek. It’s Caleb, right? It’s your brother, and it’s normal for siblings to comfort each other; it doesn’t have to be weird. Caleb has always known what to do, he has been there to tend to your scratched knees or help with a difficult math problem.
His eyes flick away from yours, and guilt flashes across his face. He starts to rise from the bed, jaw clenched, clearly retreating into himself. But before he can get far, you interrupt him and grab his hand, holding him back, “Okay,” you say plainly; Caleb looks at you, a bit of excitement hidden behind a hesitating stance.
“Really?” He sits back down, even closer now.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s you.” You say while looking into his violet eyes.
“Right, yeah…” Caleb tucks a bit of hair behind your ear.
“It’s just me. It’s just us,” he says, giving you an intense look before shifting to make space for you on the bed. You feel the weight of his gaze settle on your chest, but there’s no mockery or awkwardness—just concern, care. He wants to make you feel better.
And you want that too.You want it to be Caleb who makes it better, like he always has.
You hesitate, unsure of your next move but you figure showing him the bralette is the first step. Grabbing the hem of your thigh T-shirt, you pull it over your head with some effort.
You hear Caleb’s breath hitch. When the t-shirt finally slips off, he lets out a quiet, breathy sigh. That’s when it hits you—you just undressed in front of your older brother for the first time since you were kids. A wave of self-consciousness rises in your chest, and you instinctively begin to recoil…
But before you can retreat into yourself like a scared snail, Caleb’s soft, unsteady voice cuts through your thoughts.
“R-right! I- I see what seems to be the problem” He says, his voice cracking mid-sentence. He gets a closer look at the bralette, you can see little droplets of sweat on his forehead and how red his ears are. “It’s too small” he stops and then looks at your face, taking a deep breath before saying “Your boobs have gotten bigger since last week”
You furrow your brows, look down at your breast, and genuinely ask “Have they?”
“Yes… yes, they have. You shouldn’t wear something that doesn’t fit you. It’s like shoes! They need to fit well, or else they’ll bruise your feet.” You glance back at him. The matter-of-fact way he says it relaxes you a bit, and you let out a soft chuckle.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right… So, what do you recommend?” You look at your brother from beneath your eyelashes, feeling oddly emboldened. Maybe it’s the way he’s affected—by you, by your stupid boobs. Either way, the power shift feels new... and not entirely unwelcome.
Caleb waits, one beat, two beats. So many unsaid words while you look into each other's eyes, he finally says, voice lower than it often is “You should take it off” his gaze is so intense, you feel it burn your skin. Your heart is beating so fast you can swear Caleb must hear it as well, the tension in your room is so thick, you’re sure it will leave a residue. Like you always do, like your grandmother always said to do, you listen to Caleb, you do as he says.
Your hands move slowly to your back, you stare at Caleb. It’s easier to undo than to clasp, that should be a sign. You hold your breath, your head feels cold but your face feels warm, the familiar tingle between your legs and the pressure on your lower abdomen appear, You hesitate, you slip the straps down your arms, slowly, almost ritualistically, and set it aside.
Then you look up at him. For a moment, you don’t breathe.
He’s not saying anything. Just looking. His lips are parted, eyes wide, and for a horrible second you think maybe he’s disappointed. Maybe he’s underwhelmed, or confused, or—
“Pipsqueak…” he whispers.
Your breath catches. “What?” Your hole body feels like it’s burning up.
His eyes finally meet yours, and they’re filled with something like awe. “They’re beautiful…” he swallows before adding “do you feel more comfortable?”
You give a soft, nervous chuckle. “I do, but… they’re kind of sore.”
“I could make it better” he says quickly, his gaze is dark, “may I?” he ask, lifting his hand, it trembles slightly.
You give him a small nod, your throat tight. “Be gentle.”
“I will,” he promises, already reaching forward, slowly, like he’s scared to move too fast and scare you off.
His hand hovers over your chest. He pauses again, his voice barely audible. “Anything you need”
His fingertips make contact—just a brush along the outer curve of your breast, his hands are cold and sweaty; you flinch a little from how sensitive it is. He freezes, eyes wide. “Sorry... was that too much?”
You shake your head, biting your lip. “No. Just… new”
He nods, understanding instantly. And he starts again—slowly, gently. His hand cups you fully this time, the warmth of his palm sinking into your skin. You gasp, not from pain, but from the sensation of being touched there by Caleb, by anyone, for the first time.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs almost to himself, thumb grazing the underside. “Perfect for me, all mine”
You can’t help the small moan that escapes your lips, blushing all the way to your ears, you can’t fully understand what he means but it feels right. “Am I?”
He groans, looking deeply into your eyes, face only a few inches from yours, you can feel his breath with every word he says. “Of course, you were made for me, we were made for each other. I should be the one doin' this for you, you… need me.”
You feel weak, Caleb starts kneading at your breast softly, he’s doing it with so much intent, almost reverence but also something else. You can’t look anymore, you let your head fall on his shoulder letting out a soft whine. The intensity of it all overwhelming you. Caleb stops.
“Hey, baby. It’s okay.” He hasn’t called you that in a long time.
His hand gently caresses your back, fingers tracing a slow, deliberate line down your spine. The warmth of his touch spreads like liquid comfort through your skin. “Wanna lie down? Hmm? Let your big brother take care of it?”
You nod against his neck, your cheek pressed to the familiar curve where his shoulder meets his jaw. You breathe him in—soap, skin, and something purely Caleb—and for the first time that night, the tension in your body begins to melt.
Caleb lays you down on the bed, you look up at him, feeling exposed but oddly safe, you feel wet and hot down there. He looks so handsome form this angle; you let him look, trying to guess what he will do next. He just examines your naked torso, looking between your breast before looking at your face.
His purple eyes are dark, dilated, and focused only on you. His lips part slightly, and he swallows hard, as though grasping for keep control. There’s nothing playful in his expression now—just raw desire “Do you want your big brother to kiss it better, huh?” he murmurs, his voice rough and breathy.
You let out a breathy moan, hips instinctively shifting. Your thighs press tightly together, squeezing hard in desperate search of some kind of relief. “Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”
He leans down, slowly, anticipation and desire clear on his face, when his lips finally brush your nipple, your whole body tenses. He pulls back, looking at you with slight concern, but when you don’t stop him, he presses another kiss—longer this time, firmer. Then he opens his mouth, his tongue flicks over you, tentative and warm before taking your nipple on his mouth and sucking softly. A load moan escapes your throat before you can stop it.
Caleb groans softly, forehead resting against your sternum for a moment. “You taste so sweet, I love it”
He keeps going—kissing, licking, sucking gently—his mouth warm and impatient, his hand still holding you close. His thumb rubs slow, teasing circles over your other nipple, dragging more heat through your chest. The sensations build faster than you expect, the pleasure coiling tightly in your belly, rising with every pass of his lips and tongue. That familiar wave begins to surge, rolling up your spine.
You instinctively begin to move; your hips rocking in small, needy motions, pressing against nothing, chasing friction. The rhythm becomes unconscious, your body responding to the growing tension with every drawn breath, every flick of his tongue.
It’s overwhelming, how much you want, how close you are—and it’s him. Caleb.
“Caleb—” you gasp grabbing his hair.
And then it crashes over you.
Your thighs clamp together, your breath catches, and your body arches sharply as the climax hits. It’s fast, sharp, and deep, leaving you trembling and lightheaded. You cry out, fingers clenching Caleb's hair, back arching into his mouth—you feel his teeth rasp against your nipple as he lifts his head, looking stunned.
“You… came?” You suppose it means to orgams, so you nod. He looks at you intensely and full of need, before he averts his gaze. Sitting properly on the bed, “I’m glad you’re feelin’ better” he says, a nervous tone in his voice, his back turned back at you. You feel the distance grow betweet you again.
Afraid he might leave, you sit up to look at his face, your eyes then flick downward; you see the bulge in his pants.
You both freeze, Caleb looks ashamed, like that time he broke Grandma’s favorite base while playing indoor basket. You don’t want him to feel this way, you want to confort him too.
“Caleb,” you say, hesitantly you press your hand over it. Caleb lets out breathy moan.
“Don’t—I’ll fix it myself” he says, but makes no effort to move.
“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I can help.” You give him a decisive look.
His eyes widen when they meet yours. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I want to.” You give it a tentative squeeze, it slightly jumps.
His breath shudders out of him. “Okay, but not like this.”
He guides to lay on your side, he then curls against your back, his arms pulling you close, a familiar possition form all the times you have cuddled before, thought there’s the addition of Caleb’s hard on pressing against the curve of your ass. His breath tickles your neck, and his hips begin to move against you, slow and unsure. You feel the shape of him pressing into you, and the pressure sends heat spiraling through your belly again. His hand cups your breast as he humps gently against you, soft little groans escaping him, muffled into your hair. “You’re perfect, my baby sister”—you shudder at the petname.
He keeps moving, just enough to feel. The friction of his dick grinding against you, even through the thin layers of fabric, is dizzying. You can feel the heat of him, the tension in his thighs as he presses in a little harder, his breath hitching.
The scent of him fills your nose—warm and earthy, a mix of skin, sweat, and the shower gel you both use. It’s faint, but unmistakably him. You breathe it in, and your whole body reacts—your hips pushing back into him without thinking, greedy for more of that pressure. You can feel the outline of his dick, hard and pressing against you, and you’re suddenly so glad for cheap, thin joggers.
His hand squeezes your breast a little tighter as he grinds against you again—harder this time, more desperate. His chest is flush against your back, firm and hot, every breath he takes rising and falling against your spine. You can feel his heart pounding like a drum.
Then his lips find the nape of your neck, soft at first, just the ghost of a kiss. But it deepens as he breathes you in, nose brushing your skin, inhaling the warm, quiet scent of you. His breath hitches. “F-fuck,” he whispers into your neck, voice trembling, lips grazing your skin with every syllable. “You feel so good, pips”
His body’s tight and hard against yours, moving faster now, desperate for release. A soft, broken moan catches in his throat, and then he goes still with a long, shuddering exhale as he holds you tighter against himself. You feel the warmth spread in his boxers against your ass, the tremble of his whole body as he cums.
For a moment, there’s silence. He lifts his arm and shifts like he might pull away. “Shit, I—sorry, I should go clean up.”
But you reach back and stop him, your fingers curling around his wrist with a hard, desperate grip. You guide his arm back around you, pulling his wrist tightly across your chest like a lifeline.
“Don’t,” you whisper—your voice shaky, barely there. You need him close…
“Please… stay.”
Caleb hesitates. You turn slightly to look at him, and his face is flushed, eyes wide and uncertain. But you just press closer, letting your back curve into his chest again, soaking in the heat of his body.
“Please”
He sighs softly and wraps his arms around you again, pulling you close like he never wants to let go. He presses a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck, lingering for just a second, then buries his face in your hair, breathing you in.
“Okay,” he murmurs, voice muffled and warm against you. “Okay…”