My Teddy Bear

Any character featuring in a sexual situation in this story is over the age of 18.

***

I need to get away. This is too much. If I stay, my resolve will crumble. Holding in the tears, I signal that I need to get out of here, need time to think, and turn to flee the room. His pained expression is seared into my brain as the last thing I see.

Where can I go? I briefly consider locking myself in the bathroom, but I know I'll cry as soon as I'm alone and crying in the bathroom could easily be noticed by someone else, leading to all sorts of questions and who knows what revelations from me. Instead I simply flee the house - it's night, but there's some moonlight and I run here every day. I make it to the edge of the first field before I can hold it in no longer.

***

In the four days since Jess and Ted met that first time, things seemed to be going reasonably well. For obvious reasons, I didn't want to pay too close attention to their courtship. I continued my policy of remaining on the periphery, being more than usually active in helping Mum out with various tasks, going for runs, and often just disappearing into a book when there was no other easy excuse. I got the impression that Ted was starting to warm up, getting over his shyness and becoming more animated in their conversations. He continued to expound on his musical knowledge, which seemed to genuinely interest her, and the breadth of music that was playing in the garden over those several days was quite something. Feeling like it was too painful to see into his musical passion, I did my best to just let it wash over me, but occasionally found myself vibing to it absent-mindedly when within earshot and distracted by a physical task like gardening or cleaning.

When Ted wasn't around, I attempted to behave normally with Jessie. She was still my friend, after all, and we each had two years of exciting lives to catch up on. Ok, I will concede that hers was more exciting than mine, however she was agog to learn about Charlie and his nefarious exploits in the nightlife of Manchester, and had lots of questions about University because she was considering applying next year due to not being able to travel any more. It was easy enough, once the ice was broken, to chat about these things, but I would always discreetly turn away when Ted appeared.

She visited almost every day in that phase, which also seemed like a good sign. But when she headed home, he and I were invariably unable to keep our hands off each other. I didn't want to ask how it was going with her, but I remembered our promise: this would end when they finally got together. It couldn't be doing that much harm for us to make the most of each other before that happened, could it?

As it happens - and in a twist that should not have been as surprising as it turned out to be - yes, it could. Then again, perhaps the damage was already done long before.

It was the middle of the next week when Jess eventually FaceTimed me one evening. She was evidently upset by something. I'd left them alone for the whole afternoon by doing a ten mile loop at a leisurely pace, one of my favourite trails in the area, and spent a bit of time halfway sitting by the river and reading.

When I got home, neither of them was there, and I assumed - with some sadness - that the deal was sealed. But also a sense of finality, that I would finally have no choice but to accept this bizarre yet very satisfying chapter of our lives was over.

I treated myself to a long bath, had a long cry on my bed listening to sad cheesy pop songs, and then went downstairs to make dinner.

Ted came in looking sheepish just before 8, and reacted to my smiled greeting with a brief kiss on the cheek before Dad bustled in, preventing any words from being shared. Teddy ran off upstairs for a shower, presumably needing to get clean from his exertions, and I slowly turned back to the food prep while Dad poured himself an enormous glass of wine and started waffling about troublesome clients and infuriating contractors.

Dinner was uneventful, a rather quiet affair, in which I couldn't bring myself to meet Ted's eyes, and excusing myself from the cleaning up on the strength of having cooked, I fled upstairs feeling unable to face him. While I lay on my bed, crying uncontrollably once more, I both feared and desperately wanted him to knock on my locked door. I feared it because I felt that if he desired me, I wouldn't be able to resist him... and I wanted it for the same reason.

It was all interrupted by the phone call. I felt like my face was raw and puffy from all the tears, and a FaceTime call was the last thing I could manage, but I dimmed the lights so it wouldn't be so obvious, and reluctantly accepted the call.

I expected it to be Jess relating the happy news, but instead she sounded as miserable as me.

"Claire I'm sorry to call you. And I'm sorry I ran away today before I could see you. I'm sorry."

"Hey Jess it's ok. What happened? I'm sorry too."

"I don't think I can do this Claire. He's obviously not interested and I don't want to make more of a fool of myself than I already have."

"What do do you mean? I thought that you had-"

"No! That's the whole damn problem. I almost literally threw myself at him this afternoon. I did everything short of stripping off in front of him. I told him how attracted I am to him. He just Ummed and Erred and said he was 'flattered but that he was sorry'."

"But I don't understand... he was gone too when I got home. I thought..."

"No. I don't know where he went. I'm sorry babes, I think your brother's awesome but he's just not available. I can't get through and he doesn't want me to."

"Jess, I'm so sorry, I feel responsible..."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's my fault for reacting like a schoolgirl when I saw him. I'm not sure what or who he's waiting for but it's not me. I'm... I'll just back off for a while babes. I feel like an idiot. Take care."

// Call ended

***

He's in his room, sitting with a glass of whisky in the dark.

"Pour me one of those, big guy."

He looked up, grunted softly, and obliged. The fiery liquid made my eyes water and the rush of alcohol seared my nose. I was standing in front of him, a panicky feeling in my stomach, half illuminated by a weakly shining moon through the skylight.

"I spoke to Jess."

"Oh yeah."

"I've been crying my eyes out all evening Teddy. When I got home and you were both gone, I assumed..." Voice cracking. I'm crying again. "I thought we had a deal Teddy. I thought you were going to try things out with her."

"I couldn't, baby. I just couldn't. She was lovely, she is lovely... I just..."

"What are you saying?"

"You said that *we'd* have to stop when I got with her. I guess... I thought, if I never got with her..."

"Teddy, baby... But we can't be together. Not forever."

"So you keep saying."

"It's not just me, Teddy... that's not... what I want. But it's just... it can't be."

"I don't care, Pips. I want *you*. I don't want anybody else."

The rush of emotions: fear, confusion, relief. All too much. I felt my head spinning. A rush of nausea. My knees were weak and I felt shaky.

"I don't know," I croaked, draining the glass. "I can't..."

I turned and fled from the room. A quiet protesting cry from him followed me out.

***

It's dark but I'm out in the fields, torn asunder by the intense thoughts and emotions. I know the ground so well from running here, I don't need to see to be able to find my way. But internally, I'm lost.

On one level, this is all I wanted. I cried until my chest ached when I thought he was with her. It was only when I thought he was gone that I realised how much I wanted him.

But I can't shake off the guilt, the fear. *He is my brother*. It cannot be. We cannot be together. Neither of us deserves to live a life of shame and secrecy; what we share is too beautiful to be seen with disgust by those we love.

Torn between these two extremes, I'm pacing around in the dark, face burning with tears.

And then my bloody phone rings again.

My phone lights up. Charlie. In an instant I realise that it's been almost two weeks since our last call. With that ineffective resolution to get over my sordid thoughts, in the wake of the call where he'd vowed to find out my real story... I'd considered it too risky to get in touch.

Well, look how that worked out.

"Hey Chip," I manage to choke past the tears.

"Aye hen, awright." A pause. "You been avoidin' me again?"

The phone is heavy in my hand. I stare out into the darkness, grappling with a multitude of anxieties and secrets.

"I'm sorry Charlie. I got... caught up in... things. Again." I can't stop the sobbing, a panicky tumult in my chest. "I'm really sorry."

"It's ok Claire, I'm no upset. But I have been worried about ye. Sounds like I had good reason to be."

"I know it doesn't sound like it now, but honestly things have been good. I've been good. Until now" He makes an unconvinced sound. "Things have got... complicated."

We both stay silent for a bit. He's giving me space to think, and I'm desperately trying to delay my bubbling secrets, prevent them from spilling everywhere and changing everything.

"How're Ben and Mikaela?"

He laughs. "Ye really want to know? Aye ok. They're great. It's brilliant being the third one; no expectations. Jes' pure fun. I don't think Ben's been wi' a man in years and he's *thrilled*. Kind of sweet really. She loves watching. And is a minx hersel' of course."

"You landed on your feet Charlie dear." And then, murmuring, unable to hold it in any longer. "I fucked... I've been fucking my... Teddy."

A sharp intake of breath from him. A silence that feels unbearably long, my blood pumping in my ears.

"Well that's the hottest thing I've heard all week. I dinnae think this stiffy's goin' anywhere no matter what I do."

My voice is cracking, it's a struggle to get words out past the tears. "You don't think it's... that I'm... disgusting?"

"Hell naw hen. He's super hot, you're super hot. Ye've been locked up together in a house for best part o' two months, I know how much dick *you* need to stay sane and if I were him with ye in ma face all day I'd be throbbin' so hard I'd be at risk o' a heart attack."

"Yeah but... the..." even with the confession out, saying the word is hard. "The... *brother* thing."

"Ah fuck it. Ye're both adults, right? Neither of ye forced the other to do anythin'. Cut yersel' some slack and jest have fun. Away tae fuck with anybody else."

"You really think so?"

"Aye darlin'. The world's shite enough now, ye don't hafta fash yersel about somethin' like this."

The approval of just one person doesn't change much in the grand scheme of things, but it means a lot to me in this moment. I scramble to apologise for cutting him out when I promised I'd call him soon; explain how my feelings snowballed following our last call, and how the week of torture reached its inevitable conclusion.

He has a lot of questions. I know he wants all the juicy details but I won't be indulging him: I've shared and done almost everything with Charlie, but I've never gossiped about my other partners to him. Now that it's my brother, about whom he's never been shy to express his interest, I feel even less inclined to do so.

"I'll jest hafta use my imagination then," he says in mock indignation. "Ye're cruel tae me sometimes."

***

Fortified by Charlie's words of support, I manage to bring myself down from the heightened level of distress that has been spinning me out since this afternoon. The simple clarity of his viewpoint helps to pierce the bubble of negative thoughts, allowing me to see outside of my own head, and to reach the inescapable conclusion that I've been denying myself.

I creep back into the house, not wanting to confront anybody. Well, nobody except him. There are sounds of activity about the place - it's not so late yet that everyone would be asleep - but I manage to avoid meeting anyone and before long I'm at his door.

"Hey," I offer, once I'm inside.

"Hey." I can tell that he's pretty drunk. He sounds it, and the bottle of scotch is noticeably depleted from before. It must have hurt, my tearing off like that.

"I'm sorry I ran away."

"S'okay, I didn't know what to do either."

"Looks like you found a solution."

"Not much of one."

I've slowly walked over to him, and I'm kneeling by his feet. I gently take the glass away and put it on the table. I hadn't realised I was crying again. I feel the hot tears burning my eyes as they well up, and fall in rapid streaks. He starts to cry as well. I take his hand. Kiss it.

"I know what I want, Teddy. I'm sorry that I've taken so long to realise it."

He doesn't respond, just holds my hands, both of his now clasping mine. I pull myself forward, with his weight as an anchor. I kiss him, at first gently, then fiercely. My arms are around his shoulders and he's picking me up, onto his lap. I'm astride him, sitting on his thighs, finally giving in to the passion that I have been trying to deny.

"Claire... Pipsi... I love you," his trembling, whispered confession. I know I love him too from the way his words make my heart soar.

"I know baby. I know... Me too."

We kiss for what seems like hours, just holding each other, amazed by the feeling of letting ourselves give in to it. At some point - I'm not sure how - we're both naked, and have moved to the bed. His strong hands and arms hold me so close. I have my fingers in his hair, on his cheek. Our lips barely part for a second, our tongues entwined. I taste the whisky in his mouth; on his teeth. We've been together like this so many times since everything changed last week, and I realise that the rushing sensation, the one that has been making my lungs feel full and the pit of my stomach all fizzy with excitement has been this love all along.

Eventually the urgency of our kissing subsides and when I open my legs for him, he fills me completely with a slow but powerful stroke. We make love lazily, such a contrast to the incessant pace of the kisses that preceded it. Every nerve and muscle I possess is yearning to be his; to allay the fear that drove him to seek oblivion in the whisky bottle. To soothe us both, reassuring that this is for real.

When his thrusts slow, I pout, complaining at him for stopping.

"Condom," he breathes. I'd completely forgotten.

"Oh. That... I would have let you finish inside," I whine. He grins at me, but continues to roll the rubber down his shaft.

We both feel resentful of the barrier between us. The intensity of our confessions deserve better than this. I grump and sulk at it, making him laugh with my histrionics. Before long though, we're both lost in each other again, hands and lips roving to caress whatever they can reach.

When he's finished, he stays on top of me long after his softened prick has slipped out. We talk for some time, whispering ideas about how we will make this relationship work: do we stay put, and pretend, risking discovery as we inevitably become too brazen or lax? Do we run away, all but declaring our union to those we leave behind, if they have the imagination to work it out? Do we come clean and weather the storm, further alienating our already somewhat distant family, and many more besides?

Obviously, we don't get anywhere. No idea really works. This will take a lot more planning, and tonight is not the night. He is drowsy from his orgasm and from the whisky, and I'm exhausted from the emotional turmoil I put myself through earlier.

As is fast becoming routine for us, we switch rooms to share my pristine bed, and drift off into contended sleep together as *partners* for the first time.

***

A couple of days later, the Thursday after the lockdown eased, we finally take the chance to go to the beach as Teddy proposed. The plan had slipped due to the shenanigans with Jess, but today an opportunity comes when the house is almost empty due to people dispersing for various reasons.

Seizing the chance to get away without questions being asked, we quickly pack up some towels, drinks and snacks, and set off in the van at a fairly snappy 8.30am. We should get a couple of hours before any crowds start to gather. Normally a late May weekday wouldn't be considered a time for heavy beach attendance by the Great British public, but with everyone having been cooped up indoors for so long and so many people not working, we are prepared for the worst.

As it happens, the spot that Teddy had picked out from the map is a quiet little sand and shingle beach about half an hour east of King's Lynn, on the northern stretch of the Norfolk coast and looking out across The Wash to Skegness. Other than having to look across the sea at the Lincolnshire town we both dislike the most, the spot is idyllic. We'd had to walk across hundred of yards of sand dunes and grassy wetland to get to the sand, so any distant sounds of road traffic are easily drowned out by the waves, and the feeling of sheltered isolation is quite magical.

When we arrive, just before 9.45, we are the only ones here. That's not likely to last, I figure, and after getting a large towel down onto a patch of sand, I sit down and give him the best bedroom eyes I can manage.

It takes him a few moments to notice my smouldering look and the way I'm pushing my boobs forwards. He's fussing with our bags and the food cooler, but looks up at me when I don't answer a question and suddenly goes quiet.

"What, here? Really?"

"Really. There's nobody here and we'll lose our chance if we wait. Also I've never had sex on the beach before, as every cocktail barman ever has exclaimed..."

I don't need to tell him twice. In seconds, he's stripped off the long trunks that he was wearing, leaving just his loose yellow shirt, buttons of which he'd undone the moment his feet touched the sand. I slip off my shorts and the bikini pants underneath, and open my legs to him. My fuzz is starting to come back, I haven't been able to head into town to get the Veet cream I wanted, so my pussy isn't as smooth as it has been. I can feel my wetness though, and using my fingers to part my lips I can imagine that the moisture is glistening in the sunshine and inviting him.

Sex on the beach, it turns out, is not great. Sand really does get everywhere. As soon as he starts moving, the towel begins to bunch up, and brings large amounts of the coarse grains with it. Before long, my arse is resting in a puddle of sand, sticking to my sweat and sunscreen and pussy juices. It's all over my back, which is still a bit sensitive from the carpet burn I got the other day, and I'm getting loads of it in my hair.

It *is* glorious however to be doing it in the open, in the strong sunshine. And he certainly seems to be enjoying it, despite his initial objection. He doesn't bother with the condom, and instead pulls out just in time and blasts a load of his seed over my belly. Some of it reaches my tits and begins to soak into the fabric of my bikini. The hot fluid trickles down my side and mixes with the sand, almost immediately turning into a viciously sticky glue-like substance. His cock is still resting, nestled in the top of my cleft, and pulsing smaller jets onto me, which are pooling in the hollow around my belly button.

"That's a hell of a mess you've made Teddy Bear," I exclaim.

"The sea's right there baby."

I weakly shove at him in mock annoyance. When I try to get up to wash myself off though, he pushes me back down with a firm hand on my chest and reaches for his phone.

"You're not taking a picture?" I'm disbelieving. "I must look awful."

"Hell no Pipsqueak, you look incredible. See?"

He's turned the phone screen towards me. God I look slutty. Freshly fucked and helpless, mostly naked, legs obscenely wide. My eyes are soft, unfocused, mouth parted and cheeks flushed. Golden hair spread out behind me like a halo. One hand is reaching towards him, my ineffective attempt to stop him taking the photo. The spray of cum up my body crudely marking me, splatters top my heaving chest and stain the fabric cover my boobs. His prick is flopped lazily over my lower abdomen, still resting over my clit. The crumpled towel, yellow and blue, is the backdrop to this scene of lustful ruin, perfectly framing my shape against the sand.