Note: This is my first story. While some elements are 100% true, most are just terrible fantasies in weak moments. There is a bit of back story and the pace is pretty slow, but I think it works well overall. This is about one night of cheating, and the turmoil that both parties go through before, during, and after it happens. I hope you like it.
It had been coming for years. Hell, it had happened before. To be fair, it happened before she got together with his brother. Approximately two weeks before... but before. It had been coming for years then as well.
They had grown up together, been close, been flirty, but it had never been the right time. Either he was moving here and there or she was in a relationship. But they stayed close. Through the moves, after they graduated and he ran off to join the military, they kept in touch. They even tried to do (very) long distance once while he was away, but it was hard, they were young, and it fizzled out before they even kissed.
Still though, they stayed close. Every time he would come home they would hang out, but it was back to the old issues, he was in a relationship this time, it just never worked out. It finally happened when they were 22. They were both single, he was home for a week, they hung out constantly, as usual, and they finally fucked.
It was quick and rough. They were drunk, on the floor at his mother's house, with his brother passed out on the couch a few feet away. He left a day or two later and they both knew it wasn't something that was going to make it through long distance again. They had their fun, got it out of their systems, and got rid of the sexual tension that had been their companion for the last five or so years.
Needless to say, it was unexpected when she fell for his brother a couple of weeks later. She felt awkward about the whole situation but couldn't deny the connection that she had with his older brother. It was even more unexpected when they stayed together. Indefinitely.
And there they were, 15 years later. She was happily married, with a kid, and they were family now. And yet, there was still something about him.
She's always wanted what was best for him, but every time he dated it would grate on her because no one was ever good enough. She didn't want to lose him or change their dynamic. They were still very good, if not best, friends. But that damn tension was always there.
She felt compelled to sit close when they're together, to touch him even though she hated being touched, to hug him every time they parted ways, to cling a little too long before she could let him leave.
She thought he felt it too. He seemed to make an effort to touch her less than he did even a few years before. The way he looked at her sometimes broke her heart. When he would drink... he said things when he'd been drinking... Said he loved her, said they got along better than anyone else, said he would miss her if he was about to go back on the road, touched her more, watched her like a hawk.
It was all fairly subtle, nothing he hadn't said or done a thousand times before, but it felt different, it felt like more after he'd had a few beers. And those beers - the alcohol - that's how they both came to do something that they really should regret.
He was in for a while and her husband was working out of town. They decided to grab dinner and shoot some pool since she had a babysitter and needed a night out. It was nothing out of the ordinary, they had done the exact same thing more than once over the years. She was driving and he had a couple of beers at dinner, then a few more while they played.
He wasn't hammered, just feeling good, feeling a little touchy, when they decided to head out. She had picked him up earlier so she drove them to his house to drop him off. He asked her if she wanted to come up and watch something and she agreed.
They went into the house and he grabbed another beer for himself and offered to make her a mixed drink before she went home. Since she hadn't had anything all night she felt safe having one drink before driving back. He made it for her and they started watching a movie. They sat on opposite ends of the couch, but she curled up and had her feet more towards the middle.
She finished her drink, feeling a little more relaxed, and stretched out a bit. He offered her the couch for the night if she wanted to hang out and crash there. She didn't really want to go home, and the couch was incredibly comfortable, so he made her another drink and grabbed another beer. They settled in and started the movie again. They watched, and talked, and drank. It was relaxing and familiar.
She was on her third drink when she stretched out fully, letting her feet dig in under his thigh to warm them up. His feet were propped on the coffee table, but were closer to the middle of the couch than his own cushion, so she had plenty of thigh to work with. This was nothing new, either. Her feet and hands were always cold and he was a furnace she used to thaw out.
What was new was when he reached down and grabbed her ankle. He didn't try to move her feet like she expected, he just kept a loose grip around it and stroked the sensitive skin on the inside of her ankle. She watched his hand for a long second, then relaxed into his touch. They stayed like that until the end of the movie.
Then he did move her feet so he could get up and go to the kitchen. He got them each another drink, sat back down, moved her feet into his lap, and casually started scrolling for something else to watch. They agreed on a movie, then he put his hand on her leg. It was nothing crazy, just kind of draped over her shins, but his hand was on her.
His hands found their way into her fantasies more often than not. They were big, calloused, and strong. His fingers, long and thick, gave her ideas about what all they might be good at. And they were on her bare skin. Not for the first time, but with the drinks came the feeling of more, of different. Of dangerous.
As they watched the screen he began stroking her leg, giving a gentle massage to the shin and calf, then down to her foot. She tried to keep quiet, afraid of drawing attention and making him stop. He moved to her other leg and began giving it the same treatment. He hit a bruise and made her draw in a sharp breath, which made his eyes flick to hers. Their gazes caught and that caused her breath to hitch again.
He wasn't mindlessly massaging her like she had halfway hoped. His eyes were burning with lust and she couldn't look away. He kept eye contact and slowly slid his hand higher up her leg. Her head fell back and her eyes closed. He stopped well lower than the hem of her shorts, but solidly on her thigh, squeezing gently. They were both drunk, making terrible decisions, but neither wanted to stop.
His hand inched up at the same time she scooted down toward him. His fingers slid under the leg of her loose shorts and traced small circles up her inner thigh until he reached the point where her leg and body met. She squirmed and his fingertips brushed the edge of her panties.