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"The Course of True Love--"	By : MizuOnna Category: +M through R > Martin Mystery Views: 15632 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Martin Mystery, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Course of True Love
- 1
Title: "The Course of True Love--" by Mizu Onna
Disclaimer: I do not own Martin Mystery; Marathon Animation does. I am making no profit from this endeavor.
Author’s note: The premise of this fic is the use of Love-in-idleness, which has been used in several literary pieces as a device to create and foster love where there was none previously. The most famous of these aforementioned literary pieces would, of course, be A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare.
After one failed attempt to make this fic come to life, I decided to scrap it down entirely and start from scratch. The first one was just a disaster, simply because Diana was incredibly difficult to characterize in her present state, and I unfortunately ended up writing her as far too maudlin and desperate. I’ve remedied that in this second attempt; however, she still remained the challenge for me as I wrote this piece, and that’s because I had to walk the line between her usual character and her character as affected by the Love-in-idleness. Martin was difficult to write as well, simply because I also had to juxtapose and balance two facets of his character, namely, the caring, well-meaning stepbrother and the lonely and yearning teenager far too long denied of the one thing he’s pined for for as long as he can remember. (As it does seem in the cartoon series that Martin already has feelings for Diana both of the filial and the romantic kind, and it seems to me that those feelings have the tendency to overlap and perhaps once in a while confuse him and/or cause him to go into denial.)
Warnings: Affinal incest between stepsiblings.
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Her cry of pain resounded in his ears, cutting through the fog that numbed his senses from fear as they ran. He jerked his head back to look, terror once again slamming into his body with full force, making him stumble. But he knew couldn’t stop running now—not unless he wanted to be torn and clawed apart, severed limb from limb, left to a bloody death in the middle of the forest. Then he couldn’t save her if he was dead.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her clutch the back of her head, where a branch had smashed into the delicate spot between skull and spine. Stifling his own cry of horror, he watched as she fell to her knees and lurched headlong down the slope of the mountain.
Instinct and desperation making him act, he quickly shifted his course, angling his way so that he could perhaps intercept her fall. Immediately, the sounds of the party ahead of him faded beneath the shrieking cries of their pursuers. He trusted his other companion to lead them to safety; for now, she was his priority.
Clawing his way through treacherous branches and deceptive roots, he ran and ran once again, straining to reach her; the unforgiving trees snapped at him, cutting through his clothes and his flesh, but he didn’t care. He gasped with pain as a branch snapped against his face, whipping and slicing across his cheek, ripping skin. His blood was black under the canopy of night; it sprayed into his eyes, stinging painfully and momentarily blinding him. Heedless, he blinked the viscous liquid away until the world grew clear once again.
It was with relief when he spotted her in the distance, the fuchsia of her shirt dimly illuminating her form through the pervasive, arcane darkness shrouding the forest.
With a final burst of speed, he broke past the trees, gasping, grateful as the stars came into view and the far lights of Athens twinkled to his right. He could see her straight ahead; she had smashed into a wooden fence guarding the boundaries of farmland at the foot of the mountain. Keeping pace, he listened with growing relief as the howls of the hamadryads fell back into the distance.
He stumbled to her side, falling heavily to his aching knees. He was weary and exhausted, but there was no time to rest; immediately he began to remove the shards of wood covering her battered frame, ignoring his own wounds as they bled onto the debris. She didn’t stir, but she was breathing, he observed, the tight knot of fear loosening in his chest. She was alive. He noted gratefully that none of her limbs seemed to be twisted out of angle. However, he noticed a serious problem, and it sent a spike of fear into his gut—she was bleeding all over, from many various wounds and lesions, and her blood was pooling into the ground beneath her.
She was lying face down on what seemed to be a copse of wildflowers growing along the fence. Hoping that they weren’t poisonous, he moved her carefully into the recovery position as they were taught in their training, gingerly removing the crushed petals that covered her face. Immediately he sent an S.O.S. message to The Center, knowing that their coordinates could be tracked through his message.
“Diana, we’re going to get help soon,” he whispered to her, settling painfully onto his back beside her. “Hold on, sis.”
Heaving a rattling breath, he closed his eyes. It was only a moment of rest, he told himself; just a few minutes . . .
The roar of helicopters in the far distance was the last thing he heard as he plunged into a dreamless sleep.
The white-washed world was bright. Glaringly bright. He had to squint. He tried to move, but a dull pain throbbed in his limbs, and so he settled for staying still. A faint moan escaped him.
“Good to see you awake,” a guttural voice said. It came from his right. Turning his head, he blinked until the whiteness faded and his surroundings cleared. A hospital room. Pristine sheets. To his left, an I.V. stand. To his right, Java the caveman, seated by his bedside.
“Me too,” he rasped, relieved to be alive. “Hey, Java. Where are we? When are we?”
The caveman smiled. Java sported some bandages as well, but the prehistoric man’s situation was obviously nowhere near as bad as his, as the caveman noticeably remained ambulatory. “It next day already. You sleep whole night. We in health wing of Center. Me glad Martin is safe.”
Martin winced, looking down at his body. His hands were covered in gauze, as he had severely scraped them from fighting off the forest. Smears of ointment painted his skin on various gashes and cuts. He had no desire just yet to assess what damage lay underneath his hospital gown. Raising his hand awkwardly to his face, he touched the bandage covering his cheek, wondering how it looked under the gauze.
“Hey, Java,” he piped up, a sudden thought interrupting his self-assessment and clenching his stomach, “where’s Diana?”
“Behind curtain,” Java replied, pointing to Martin’s left. A green curtain shielded her from view. “She more worse than you.”
“But she’s alright, right?” Martin wanted to know, his voice cracking.
“Java think so,” he responded with a nod. “She still sleeping now.”
Just as Martin was about to ask Java more, the sliding doors came open with a faint hiss, and Martin watched with surprise as the white-clad directress of The Center strode in, along with another of his good friends.
“Hey, Martin!” Billy said cheerily, hovering over on his pod towards Martin’s bedside. The little green alien looked him over anxiously. “I checked with the doctors, and they say you’re going to be fine! No broken bones or worse injuries. All your cuts and stuff might take a while, though,” he reported with a little sympathetic wince. All Martin could do was groan in response.
“Good work, Martin,” M.O.M. said smoothly, allowing him a brief smile as she strode to the foot of his bed. “You, Diana, and Java managed to save the construction workers and the logging crew. The hamadryads have been appeased, and memories have been modified. Nevertheless, I believe it may take a while before anyone attempts any construction and/or deforestation on Mount Parnitha.”
“Thanks, M.O.M.,” Martin said with a small sigh. “I’m just glad it’s over.”
“Yeah, you had quite a scrape there, didn’t you?” Billy opined with concern.
“Scrapes, more like,” Martin muttered, looking down at his hands and thinking of his knees. “Diana had a pretty bad fall, though,” he recalled. He glanced at the curtain separating their beds.
“Both of you took a lot of damage,” M.O.M. remarked, striding over to the green curtain shielding Diana. Pulling it away, Martin watched as his stepsister came into view. She was deathly pale, he noted anxiously. A bandage encircled her head in a suboccipitobregmatic fashion, and her hands were similarly dressed in gauze. Her face was covered in cuts and bruises as well; smears of cream dotted her skin, including the skin of her eyelids, which were visibly scraped. Her arms were in the same condition. An I.V. line was also inserted into her left hand. “However, Diana suffered a closed head injury. It’s nothing severe enough to merit a stay in the I.C.U.,” M.O.M. added, seeing Martin’s aghast expression. “And she’s twisted her right ankle. She lost a quite an amount of blood, but she’ll be alright now. If you hadn’t found her at that very moment and sent for help, her condition might be far worse.”
Martin could only gape at her in shock, the last vestiges of dread pooling in his stomach. If he hadn’t found her right there and then, then . . .
“The doctors have recommended that the two of you stay here for a few more days to ensure proper recovery. You’ve been given anti-tetanus shots for your wounds, and you’ll be kept on antibiotics for the next week,” M.O.M. concluded, allowing Martin some time to digest her words. “Rest assured, after Diana’s recuperated, she will be fine.”
“Oh. Alright,” the teenager replied, overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation. Letting a small sigh escape him, he glanced at his sleeping stepsister. “I’m just glad Diana’s okay . . . though she might be a little mad about missing schoolwork,” he said in an attempt at humor, a shadow of his mischievous grin ghosting over his lips.
“That true,” Java agreed, to which Billy giggled.
“Speaking of which, I’ve informed your father about your current situation,” M.O.M. added, ignoring Martin’s slight cringe. “He’s demanded to visit, but as you know, outsiders are not allowed in The Center. However, because of his insistence, I’ll be opening a portal so that you may go home after your discharge. You may stay there for a while with your parents until they see it fit for you to return to Torrington Academy.”
“Oh, okay. Cool,” Martin said optimistically, relieved about the prospect of missing a few more school days.
“Alright, that’s settled then,” The Center’s directress said smartly, bracing her hands on her hips. “I’ll be leaving you two here to rest; Billy and I have some work to do. Good work, agents, and I’ll see you when it’s time for another mission.”
“Hopefully the next one won’t have us almost killed,” Martin all but whined, while Java nodded in agreement.
“Hopefully,” M.O.M. agreed, allowing herself a small smirk.
“M.O.M.!”
“It’s a part of being an agent,” M.O.M. said wryly, although Martin knew her well enough to understand that she meant well. He allowed her a tiny grin, to which she responded with a nod. “Goodbye, Martin. And good work.”
“See you, Martin! Get well soon!” Billy chorused, giving him a bright smile.
“Thanks, M.O.M.. Thanks Billy,” he sighed wearily, listening to the click of M.O.M.’s heels and the whirring, puttering sound of Billy’s hovercraft as they exited the room.
“Well, looks like it’s just you, me, and Diana,” Martin said morosely, glancing at Java.
“Oh, doctors say Java can go back to Torrington now,” Java said, looking as sheepish as a caveman could possibly be. “And Java no like it here much . . . too much computers,” he said, pointing to the life-support apparatus lining the wall at the head of Martin’s bed. “Though Java stay and keep Martin company,” the caveman offered, giving the blond teenager an earnest smile.
Martin returned the grin. “Nah, it’s cool, Java. You can go back to school first. It’s best to keep busy, after all.” He patted the caveman’s arm, only causing him to wince as his palms were still sore.
“Martin sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Martin nodded. “See you around, Java.”
“Okay. See you!” the bulky man replied, giving Martin another smile before heading out of the automated sliding doors. Martin listened to the characteristic “whoosh” of the doors as they shut. The teenager sighed. He noticed the wall clock opposite his bed. It could almost blend in with the sheer whiteness of his surroundings, as its face was white, and its black arms were thin and difficult to spot if one was nearsighted or not completely conscious and coherent. Squinting, he realized that it was a mere 7:43 in the morning. He heaved a larger sigh, noticing that even such a task was difficult. It seemed that even his abdominal muscles were bruised.
“Don’t they even have T.V. here?” Martin muttered to himself, scanning the room with bleary eyes. All he saw were the medical equipment lining the walls, as well as the glaring fluorescent lights overhead that left him feeling like he was being beamed up into a spaceship. Normally, he might have found that cool; however, all he wanted at the moment was either a television set or at least a bedside lamp so that they could turn the lights off and he could maybe sleep some more. He even thought of perhaps bugging the nurses and the doctors, imagining that there might be some hot women among their ranks, but the idea of even pushing the button to call them seemed undue energy expenditure.
Just as he was seriously contemplating reaching up to the cord with the tempting red button, he saw movement from the corner of his eye; glancing at Diana, he was surprised and pleased to see her stirring, a faint sound of protest escaping her lips as she surfaced to consciousness.
“Diana?” he asked, watching as she turned her head towards the sound of his voice slowly, her eyes finally fluttering open.
“Martin?” she breathed weakly. Her pupils dilated and refocused, and her mouth fell open as her gaze found his. “Oh, God . . .”
“Hey, sis,” Martin said, proffering her an attempt at one of his trademark grins. He watched, thankful and humbled, as the last vestiges of fear faded from her eyes and her lips curled into an attempt to return his smile.
“You saved me, didn’t you?” she asked feebly. She looked so vulnerable and delicate—so unlike the harridan that he knew her to be—that his heart ached.
“I tried,” he ventured, remembering the heartbreaking moment he saw her hurtle down the mountain, as well the fear and pain as he feverishly removed the debris that covered her, and lastly, the overwhelming relief that came with the realization that she was alive.
“Well, I’ve never been happier to see you,” Diana said, and Martin felt golden warmth suffuse him. She was alive. A grin split his face—never mind his aching cheek. “And you’ve never looked better. . . .” she added, almost to herself.
Martin quirked an eyebrow. Or at least tried his best to. “With this bandage on my face?” he ventured cheekily, attempting to point at it.
“Bandage or no,” Diana confirmed. “It’s as if I’m seeing you for the first time in a long time. . . . And you’ve never looked better,” she said softly, lowering her gaze.
He didn’t know that it was possible to blush while sporting an injury to the face, but he proved it—it was possible. He felt heat rise his cheeks as the warmth in his chest burst to roaring flame. He gulped, willing the warmth away, fishing for a good, deadpan response—but his mind failed him then, and all he could do was gape at her like a fish out of water.
“Martin?” Her voice interrupted him from his stunned whiteout. He blinked at her, raising both eyebrows, not trusting himself to speak just then. He was sure his voice would crack. Diana bit her lip, and he followed the motion unwillingly with his eyes, hating himself for falling so easily into her when he’d held her and the feelings at bay for so long.
“Thank you.” Diana smiled at him, almost shyly. He was just gathering his wits about him so that he could respond when she stopped him with three simple words. “And Martin . . . I love you. . . .”
His heart leapt into his throat, and he swallowed painfully. He had to look away from the emerald of her eyes; it was too much and all too poignant, and he ruthlessly suppressed the words that alighted on his tongue. “Well, you should,” he ground out, flinching internally as his own voice grated on his ears. “I’m your brother, after all,” he pointed out as cheerfully and as nonchalantly as possible.
“Yes, I know,” Diana agreed, and his heart settled back into his ribcage with empty exhaustion. “But . . .”
The seemingly-smothered inferno in his chest flared up once again at that moment and inundated him, and he held his breath, waiting. . . .
“Martin . . . I love you. . . .”
There was no mistaking what she meant then.
A wash of red fire streaked across his vision. He felt lightheaded and suffocated, and he dimly heard his own shocked intake of breath. She’d said it. The words that hung unspoken between them for so long—at least, on his part—those words that secretly flitted back and forth beneath their banter, those words that were the reason behind all his attempts to save her and all his endeavors to keep her safe and hale and whole—they had finally been uttered, and she’d been the one to say them! Martin felt his resolve falter and crumble; he’d loved her—“wrongly”—for so long, and denied himself of her for so long, that the thin control he managed to exert over his less-than-appropriate emotions immediately snapped with the simple statement that passed her lips then.
“I know it’s Jenni you’re in love with,” she continued, clearly disheartened by his silence, “but—”
“Oh, God, Diana . . .” She gnawed her lip worriedly, and Martin allowed himself a small groan. “I love you too. . . .”
There was much to say then, so much more to divulge; however, he tucked it into the back of his mind for another day, swallowing the lump that had settled in his throat and watching as the emerald of her eyes grew bright with her smile.
“I wish I could kiss you right now,” Diana divulged to him with a blush, sending another pulse of warmth thrumming through his veins.
“Yeah, me too. Kiss you, I mean,” Martin stammered, wanting more than anything to reach out to her then . . . She was but a bed away, but he was a sore body away. He sighed, attempting to prop himself up on his elbows, and causing nothing but blood rush to his head—and in a way that was entirely unpleasant.
“I guess we’ll have to wait,” Diana said, laughter and longing written clearly both in her voice and on the pout that budded so temptingly upon her lips.
“Don’t do that,” Martin said, gesturing stiffly to her face. “Or I may just—”
Just then, startling them both, the sliding doors to their confinement room whooshed open. Martin felt guilty almost instantly, wondering if somehow security cameras were onto them and were catching their incestuous, illegal declarations on film. He gulped, exchanging glances with Diana, who, disconcertingly, was still gazing at him with love incandescent in her eyes.
“Good morning!” It was a kindly nurse, and while her manner was all but cordial and friendly, Martin couldn’t help but remain paranoid as she bustled around the room. “It’s good to see you awake! Breakfast for the two of you is here!” She brought in two trays, both of which were laden with breakfast fare. Martin glanced at the clock and saw that it was 8:01 in the morning.
Martin watched as the nurse fussed with Diana first, checking on the integrity of her dressings and on the bandage that coiled around her ankle. After raising her bed to a 60 degree angle, she checked if Diana was capable of feeding herself. Thankfully, Diana hadn’t sustained many injuries to her hands, and managed to stiffly partake of a few spoonfuls of food.
Finally, the nurse transferred her attentions to Martin, and he squirmed slightly. “So, how are you feeling?” she inquired with a friendly smile, adjusting Martin’s bed so that he was upright like Diana. She observed him as he picked at his scrambled eggs.
“It’s still ouch all over, but not too bad,” the blond teenager responded, attempting a spoonful of eggs and managing to dribble them back onto the plate.
“Would you like some help?” the lady asked helpfully, already preparing to assist him with his activities.
“Nah, I think I’m good,” Martin said, nodding at her gratefully. “Thanks, ma’am.”
The nurse then left the room, leaving the two stepsiblings to finish their breakfasts in relative silence.
“Anyway, you were saying? Before she interrupted us, I mean?” Diana asked expectantly, turning her attention to Martin once again. “You may just what?” she prompted, a sly grin curving her lips.
Martin chuckled ruefully. “I was going to say, ‘don’t do that—pout like that, I mean—or I may just break my bones jumping out of the bed to get to you.’” She giggled, and he allowed himself grin. “It’s a good thing she came, or I may have seriously injured myself. And I’m wasted enough as it is.”
Diana giggled. “I wish I could ask her to move my bed closer to you,” she murmured wistfully, more it seemed to herself than to him. “I wonder how long we’ll both remain bedridden . . . I want to touch you and kiss you,” she giggled, and Martin felt himself blush once again. “And I can’t even eat my oatmeal without winding myself!”
Martin allowed himself a rueful chuckle. “God, Diana, I can’t believe it . . .”
“Can’t believe what?” she asked as she raised a spoonful of oats to her mouth.
“This,” her stepbrother replied, creakily gesturing to their surroundings. “It’s all just so surreal!”
“I see,” Diana said, nodding with understanding. “It is a little, isn’t it?” she agreed quietly. “But I’ve never felt better, honestly. Well, no, I could be better—” Martin had to snort with laughter, and she scoffed at him. “—but there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now than here in this hospital room with you, clumsily trying to eat breakfast for the sick and knowing that you’re the reason I’m still here and that I love you and you love me too.”
Martin blinked, once again stunned. “Wow, D. Surreal, but finally!” Diana beamed at him, and he grinned back.
On the day of their release, M.O.M., Billy, and Java came to visit them. It was the third day of their confinement, and the morning of their discharge. Martin was more than pleased, excited, and nervous—his discussion with Diana on the day they awoke side-by-side remained first and foremost in his waking thoughts and ghosted in and out of his dreams.
“So, agents, ready to go?” M.O.M. questioned, her purple-tinted lips curled into a smile.
“Of course,” Diana said excitedly. She had taken off the hospital gown and was dressed in a white suit that The Center had provided her, as her old clothes had been ripped beyond repair after their last mission. Martin was similarly outfitted. “I can’t wait to go home and spend some time with Martin,” she said cheerfully, casting him a sidelong glance that made his stomach squirm happily.
However, his stomach squirmed for an entirely different reason when M.O.M. raised her eyebrows and Billy and Java exchanged looks behind the directress’ back.
“Well,” M.O.M. began, clearing her throat slightly.
“Well, I did save her, so she has to be nice to me, doesn’t she?” Martin deadpanned nervously. To his relief, Java and Billy laughed, falling for his excuse. M.O.M., however, was nonplussed. He glanced surreptitiously at Diana, who seemed blissfully unfazed by the situation.
“Certainly, Martin,” the directress said dryly, and Martin wondered if her mind was probing and calculating at that very moment.
“So, you’re ready to go, Martin!” Billy interjected. Martin and the small alien exchanged high-fives gingerly (as his hands were still kind of stiff).
“Java glad you all better,” the caveman said eagerly. “You coming back to Torrington soon?”
“Not too soon, I hope,” Martin said with a laugh. He was expecting Diana to contest him, but she remained silent. Observing M.O.M., Billy, and Java, he wondered if any of them noticed her lack of ambition to return to school. However, none of them mentioned it, so neither did he.
“Your portal’s waiting in M.O.M.’s office,” Billy remarked.
“Shall we?” the white-suited directress offered.
The stepsiblings positively leapt (carefully) out of their beds.
After a thorough farewell to M.O.M., Billy, and Java, Martin and Diana stepped through the portal. After a moment’s disorientation, the two glanced up to see their house some feet away. They were home.
The blue portal closed behind them with a zip. Martin swallowed and nervously took Diana’s hand.
“Do you think Dad’s home?” Martin babbled uncertainly, looking away from where he was holding his stepsister’s hand. She gave him a gentle squeeze, mindful of their fresh wounds and bruises.
“I don’t know,” Diana said airily. She whirled to face him—as carefully as she could with her sprained ankle—nudging him with her elbow. “Do you think I can kiss you now?” she whispered almost mischievously into his ear.
He almost yelped. “Dad might see us!” he protested violently, though he wanted it badly—had wanted it, in fact, since the moment she’d told him that she wanted to kiss him in the hospital room. It was an odd role-reversal, he realized, feeling that the world had gone upside-down. It was now he who had to remind her of rules and propriety! Nevertheless, he didn’t mind, he thought to himself as he snuck a peek at Diana’s mouth, which was curved into an innocently coquettish smile.
Just as he was about to give into temptation, the front door came open with a startling bang, making the two of them almost jump out of their bones. Martin almost gave himself whiplash as he jerked his head to look at the interruption, heaving a sigh of both frustration and relief as he saw their father coming towards them with his arms outstretched.
“Diana! Martin!” Dr. Gerald Mystery was an imposing figure, being of tall stature and muscled build; however, his intelligence was equally intimidating, and Martin found himself cringing internally, though he knew that their father loved both him and Diana unconditionally. Their dad at the moment wore a relieved smile as he swiftly strode over to them and engulfed them into a hug—as gentle a hug as he could manage, Martin noticed.
“M.O.M.’s sent me a message saying you’d arrived! I can’t believe that this balderdash you deal with in The Center almost killed you,” Dr. Mystery said disapprovingly, shaking his head with a sigh. “You most of all, Martin, since you’re good with dealing with that kind of stuff!”
Martin recognized the compliment and couldn’t help but smile slightly. “Well dad, sometimes it can’t be helped,” he sighed dramatically. “Those hamadryads were nasty bit—uh, witches,” he boasted, shooting Diana a glare—a short one—when she giggled quietly.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Dr. Mystery said with a wince—no doubt remembering his own brief experience in dealing with the paranormal. “And I hear from this M.O.M. that you saved Diana!”
“Yeah, he did, dad. He saves me all the time, but this time, he was exceptionally great.” Diana gave him a warm and grateful look, and he felt himself becoming warm inside too. “No doubt M.O.M.’s told you the story.” She waited for his nod of acquiescence. “He found me at the bottom of Mount Parnitha. If he hadn’t, or if he’d taken a longer time to go about it, it might’ve been too late.”
A shadow passed over her eyes then, and Gerald pulled her a little closer to him. “Good thing he found you at the right time, then.” He patted Martin’s shoulder gently. “Good work, son.”
“Thanks, dad,” he mumbled, remembering despite himself that he had almost lost her then. He was just so glad that she was safe and sound and no worse for wear, and that she was going to be alright.
The three of them stood in one another’s embrace for long moments before Gerald pulled away slightly, inviting them to get comfy inside. “Unfortunately, mom’s detained at work—some really nasty business, she tells me—but she says she can drop by a while tomorrow afternoon, don’t you worry,” he said, ruffling Martin’s and Diana’s hair lightly.
“Yeah, I understand,” Diana opined, smiling. “I’m just glad you’re here with us, dad. And I’m glad Martin’s here, too.” She gave him a smile—one that she reserved for him, he realized, and he returned it with a grin of his own.
And with that, the three of them headed inside.
The day was mostly spent eating and talking, their only respite the afternoon nap their healing bodies demanded of them. Martin and Diana took turns telling their father about school and their escapades with The Center, while Gerald updated them on his latest research, as well as their mother’s activities. Their time together was pleasant and enjoyable, and it was with surprise when the stepsiblings realized that it was 10:00 in the evening.
Diana was the one who yawned first, and Martin found it cute. Gerald, however, found it a reason to send them up to sleep.
“You kids go on ahead. I’ll stay up and do a little reading,” Dr. Mystery said, patting a thick scientific tome beside his seat. He had comfortably settled onto his favorite armchair near the hearth, which was lit at the moment, seeing as the weather was turning chilly. The fire illuminated the Mysterys’ living room in soft gold and topaz ribbons of light, making the entire area cozy and inviting.
“Alright,” Diana agreed, nodding slightly. “Good night, dad.” Rising from her seat on the couch opposite her father’s armchair, she stepped over to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Good night, Diana,” Gerald replied, affectionately tousling her hair.
“Good night, dad.” Martin stood up, patting his father’s shoulder. Gerald responded in kind, and together, the stepsiblings headed up the stairs to their respective rooms.
Just as Martin was about to greet Diana a good night, she slipped her hand in his, stopping them in their tracks. They were right outside Martin’s room. The hallway was dim, save for one lamp at the far end near the staircase, and it was quiet. They were alone.
Without a word, Diana raised herself onto her tiptoes and kissed him.
She kissed him!
Martin moaned, his eyelids slamming shut. Finally, finally! The suppressed emotions trapped in his chest burst into flame and he responded to her kiss hungrily, drowning in sensation as he tasted her, breathed her in. His knees, however, gave way, and he fell back against his door, creating a loud thump; he stilled in alarm a moment, but couldn’t resist for long—not now when he was kissing her back, his arms encircling her slight frame and pulling her closer to him. She felt so good, and tasted so good, and another hushed moan escaped him when her fingers threaded through his unruly hair as she deepened the kiss . . .
He didn’t know how long they kissed; it was both a second and an eternity. Since he’d loved her, both as a sister and more, he’d guiltily dreamt of how it would be like to kiss her, and now he knew that the dreams did not even come close to the real softness of her lips or to the warmth of her skin.
Pulling away a fraction, Diana allowed her head to loll back slightly, gazing at her stepbrother with a wan smile. She looked so lovely and inviting, all flushed porcelain skin and luminous eyes, that his heart ached. “Your eyes look like molten amber,” she murmured, biting her lip, and Martin couldn’t help but brush his mouth against hers once again. “I love you,” she mumbled into his kiss, and golden warmth suffused him all over.
“God, I love you too, Diana . . .” It was wrong, he knew, wrong, but . . .
The sound of their father’s footfalls roused them from their kiss, and they broke away, gasping for air. He wasn’t ascending the stairs yet; they could hear him puttering in the living room downstairs.
Martin glanced at Diana. “Should we let dad see?” She giggled at Martin’s appalled expression. “Maybe we should continue this in your room?” she suggested quietly instead, a small smile playing upon her rosy lips. A suppressed sound of longing escaped him. He almost had a mental vision of—but it was too dangerous, he reminded himself, focusing acutely on Dr. Gerald Mystery, who was one of the most intelligent and perceptive scientists, and who was just downstairs. Their father.
Martin realized that their dad’s footsteps were heading up the stairs then, and he shot Diana a rueful look. “I want to, but I . . . we can’t,” he whispered quickly, his hand already around the doorknob. Diana’s lips formed into that pout that had become endearingly familiar to him for the past few days, and he swiftly kissed it away. “Maybe tomorrow?” he suggested in return, swallowing longingly at the idea.
Her eyes brightened. “Okay. Tomorrow.” She gave him a tiny kiss to his jawline and darted off as quickly as her sprained ankle would allow. Exchanging one last look and one last fleeting smile, they entered their rooms, quietly shutting their doors behind them.
Martin sighed, flipping on his nightlight and settling onto his bed. His room looked the same—it had the same remnants from his childhood, such as his old skateboard in one corner, some photos of him as a prepubescent, some of his old sci-fi magazines. He couldn’t help but chuckle. But, as he glanced at his door, replaying the scene of him and Diana together, he knew that it wasn’t the same at all, and would never be.
Rising creakily to his feet, he proceeded to strip into his sleepwear, knowing that he was far from slumber now.
The annoying, digital alarm buzzed in his ears and danced the polka—very energetically—on his nerves. Muttering curses to himself, he blindly reached over to his bedside table and poked around for the source of the infernal noise. Blinking wearily, Martin finally isolated his U-Watch, pulling it to his face so that he could take a closer look at it. The LCD read 2:14. Martin groaned wearily. It was a summons to The Center.
Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Martin struggled to sit, propping himself up on his elbow. He was reluctant to wake Diana, but they were being paged. And to think that they had just been injured on a mission! Rolling his eyes, he struggled to put on some jeans and a t-shirt, as well as his sneakers.
Opening the door to exit his room and to wake Diana, he was surprised to see the bluish portal to The Center immediately before his eyes. Scanning his U-Watch once again, he realized that he had an earlier text message. Reading it, it said, “MARTIN, COME TO THE CENTER ALONE.”
Perplexed, but unwilling to question the situation any further, Martin stepped through the portal, immediately finding himself on the moving walkway to M.O.M.’s office. He went through the usual practice of clearing his identity by pressing his palm to the LCD screen of the identification machine and allowing it to perform its routine retinal scan.
Martin heard the characteristic whirring of Billy’s hovercraft before the green alien even flew close enough to greet him. “Hey Martin! So sorry to call you over at this time of night,” Billy apologized sheepishly, scratching his head. “But M.O.M. insisted.”
“Did she mention what it was about?” Martin yawned, blinking away the last traces of sleepiness.
Billy shrugged. “Sorry Martin, but nope.”
Stepping into the magnetic levitation portal to M.O.M.’s office, Martin watched as the offices on the ground floor shrank away until he finally reached the directress’ quarters.
She was seated behind her desk when he came upon her. “Take a seat, Martin,” she said briskly, gesturing to the chairs opposite her work desk.
Cautiously, he followed as she directed, wondering what could have possibly made her page him to her office. To his additional discomfiture, Billy soon afterwards left, leaving him alone with the directress of The Center.
“So, what’s up, M.O.M.?” he asked, eyeing a particular gadget on M.O.M.’s desk that looked like a cross between a bottle cap opener and a torture device meant to sever one’s fingers. M.O.M. immediately pulled it away from him, and Martin sat back with a huff, disappointed.
“How’s Diana?” she inquired tersely, leaning back herself and peering at him intently from above her steepled fingers.
“She’s fine,” Martin said with a confused shrug. “Why didn’t you ask her to come with me this time? Is it because she’s not entirely well yet?”
M.O.M. ignored his last two questions and asked him one of her own. “Has she been acting different lately?”
Martin froze. His blood slowly ran cold, and he felt as if he were caught under a strobe light. A vision of him being turned in to juvenile court had him flinching, though he tried his best to remain outwardly calm. “Um . . . Why?” he decided to question instead, dreading the answer.
M.O.M. sighed. She punched in a few keys onto her computer, and an orange-blue holographic screen came into view to the side of her workspace, facing Martin. Martin recognized it as The Center’s software for detecting paranormal or supernatural activity. M.O.M. drew her finger along the map, zooming in until she came to a specific place. Martin squinted at it, realizing belatedly through the image, the coordinates, and the name of the area appearing on the bottom of the screen that it was their house. M.O.M. pressed another key, and the blueprint-like image of their house cleared. An indicator was flashing, and it was unmistakably in Diana’s room.
“There must be something in there with her! Why didn’t you tell me?” he almost leapt to his feet, but a stern look from his superior made him settle back down into his seat with a fidget.
“There’s nothing supernatural or paranormal with her, Martin. It’s her.” Martin almost contested the notion, but when he saw M.O.M.’s lips draw into a thin line, he kept his own mouth shut. “We’ve been monitoring her for the past few days since you went on that mission to Greece. Ever since your encounter on Mount Parnitha, she’s had that indicator. We left her alone for a while, believing that it was perhaps just a residue of the hamadryad’s magic, or a fluke—unlikely as it was—or something you could remedy easily, like that mishap she had with those statues that created clones of her.” M.O.M. sighed, rubbing her temples wearily. “So, Martin,” she began, her expression making it clear that she would have answers, “is anything unusual at all with Diana? Has her behavior changed, or has she said anything that might indicate to you that there is something wrong with her?”
Unbidden, the memory of the kiss they had shared earlier that evening returned to him, but he forced it away, trying to think of something else. Suddenly, he recalled her forwardness, as well as her almost blatant disregard for the law and its consequences. She almost didn’t care that their father had caught them, and it was unusual. He had remembered thinking it odd that he was all of a sudden the voice of reason, but he had believed that inconsequential then. Now, he suddenly thought it pertinent, and his brows furrowed in thought as he pondered the significance of her indifference and her boldness.
“Well?” M.O.M. prompted after his moment of thought, her amethyst gaze keen and expectant.
“There was something a while ago that I thought was kinda weird . . .” Martin confessed reluctantly. M.O.M. raised both brows. “Um . . . Well, she didn’t seem to care much for . . . uh, rules,” he said, unwilling to divulge more than was necessary. When she sighed impatiently, Martin twitched in his seat.
“Tell me what happened exactly while you were on Mount Parnitha,” M.O.M. demanded instead, shifting tactics.
“Oh, okay,” Martin said, secretly relieved. “Well, we were gathering all of the logging crew and the construction workers. Java led the group, and we were all running down the mountain. Diana and I made up the rear. I was in front of her, but I heard her scream, so I looked back and saw that she’d been hit by one of the dryads over the head. She fell down the mountain, then I ran after her. When I saw her, she’d reached some farmland on the east side of the mountain. I removed all the stuff from her, then I put her in the recovery position, then I paged you guys. That’s all I can remember.”
“That’s all?” M.O.M. demanded sharply, and suddenly, Martin was nervous again. He nodded quickly. “Are you sure there’s nothing that you’re holding back from me? Like a dryad almost possessing her—should that be possible—or something else?”
“No M.O.M., I swear!” Martin said vehemently.
They sat in silence for a long while, and Martin grew more and more fidgety as the seconds ticked by. M.O.M. kept repeating parts of his narration to herself, until she let out an exasperated sigh.
“Tell me more about her behavior,” M.O.M. prompted again, returning to her previous tangent of thought.
“Well, um . . . she’s more forward,” Martin said vaguely. “And maybe . . . a little reckless?” he added, trying to be helpful.
“Reckless,” M.O.M. repeated shortly. Martin nodded. She mulled over things in her head for another few minutes. Martin remained silent, also wondering about what had happened—it was bizarre that he had no theories, he told himself, as he was always so brilliant at coming up with them. It was a few moments later when suddenly M.O.M. muttered a phrase that seemed to strike gold with her.
“Farmland . . . forward. Reckless.” Her brows drew into a line. “Martin, what did she fall into? Did she crash into anything on the farmland?”
“Um, the fence?” he supplied. When M.O.M. narrowed her eyes, he gulped, thinking more intently. “Oh, yeah! She fell into a bunch of flowers,” he added, expecting another reprimand from the directress for useless information.
To his surprise, light dawned in her eyes, and an expression akin to worry and consternation settled onto her features. Immediately, she opened up her own Legendex, closing her paranormal/supernatural detector and opening another holographic window to display the database of information.
“Who was the first person she saw when she woke up?” M.O.M. asked, and Martin was surprised by her question.
“Uh . . . me, I think, unless she woke up before I saw her in the morning,” he said, and he was all the more shocked when M.O.M. whirled to face him.
“No wonder,” she muttered. “Are you familiar with Love-in-idleness?” the directress asked abruptly, punching a few items onto her keyboard. He watched as the pages of the Legendex whirled as she scanned them.
“I might have heard of it,” Martin said, scratching his head.
“Let me guess; you don’t read Shakespeare.” M.O.M. almost sounded amused, but more than that, she sounded annoyed. Martin chose to consider that a rhetorical question, and so, he didn’t answer. Finally, M.O.M. selected a few page, and before his very eyes, the familiar image of the smallish, purple flower appeared before him.
“Those’re the flowers Diana fell into,” Martin said needlessly.
“Were there any of these flowers on her eyes?”
Martin thought hard. Yes, he recalled swiping some petals away from her face, including her closed eyelids. “Yeah.”
He watched, growing antsier the second, as a look of dismayed horror etched itself onto M.O.M.’s face.
“What’s wrong?” he ventured tentatively, wondering what could have unnerved M.O.M. that much. “Is that flower poisonous or something? Is it gonna make her mutate or something?” he asked quickly.
M.O.M. chose not to answer immediately. Instead, she began on what could have been another one of her briefings for a mission. “I know that you and men normally don’t understand flowers, so I’ll tell you about this one. This European flower is called Heartsease, or Wild Pansy. It grows in farmland and wasteland, and it’s normally used—in a non-supernatural sense—as an herbal medicine. However . . .” M.O.M. paused. “When used for occult purposes, it’s usually referred to as Love-in-idleness, and it can have disastrous results.”
“Like what?” Martin wanted to know with growing dread. “And what is this Love-in-idleness anyway?”
“When its nectar is applied to the eyes,” M.O.M. continued, once again forgoing the answers to Martin’s questions, “it becomes a powerful love spell, causing the victim to fall in love with the first living creature he or she sees—whether it be man, woman, animal, alien, or whatever else.” She allowed Martin to digest her words before proceeding. “The victim under the influence of Love-in-idleness can remain sane and lucid, although perhaps bolder and more audacious than usual, provided that the object of his or her affections remains within his or her reach and, most importantly, responds positively, or reciprocates the feelings. However . . . once thwarted, a victim will go through any lengths to win the love of that whom he or she was cursed to love . . . to the point of desperation and madness.”
Martin felt himself grow ashen. M.O.M. looked at him keenly, and his stomach caved in. She knew. He knew that she knew!
“When I spoke to Diana yesterday before your discharge, I had noticed that she was affectionate to you.” M.O.M. trailed off. “I had passed it off as sheer gratitude. However,” she glanced at him penetratingly, “based on the indicator and locator of supernatural activity, as well as your recount of the events on Mount Parnitha, lead me to now believe otherwise. Martin,” the directress snapped, making him flinch, “Diana was not on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”
“Oh, God,” Martin groaned with the implications of her last statement, burying his face into his hands. She definitely knew. His visions of juvenile court came more strongly now, and he shook his head, afraid for himself, and for his stepsister . . .
“Look,” M.O.M. interjected, causing him to look up stiffly. To his surprise, she was wearing a look of sympathy. “I am sorry. But she is under the influence as of now, and we must get her back to normal.” The woman sighed wearily. “I will send an agent to the scene as soon as possible. Obviously, you can’t do it, since you’re injured first of all, and secondly, if you left Diana for too long without stating your whereabouts, there’s no telling what she could do.” She checked her Legendex. “I will send Billy to give you the Love-in-idleness as soon as it is retrieved. There is also an incantation to be said; I’ll have Billy send that to you as well. After the nectar is applied to her eyes, recite the spell, and she will return to normal. However, I must impose upon you to keep this a secret from her; Diana is intelligent and well-versed with literature, I believe, and so, she may recognize Love-in-idleness when she sees it and may vehemently protest its application onto her eyes, believing her feelings to be nothing but genuine and thus refusing to break the spell. Therefore, I suggest that you do this while she’s sleeping.” M.O.M. drew a long breath, keeping a watchful eye on Martin, who suddenly felt ill again.
“The Love-in-idleness will probably be delivered to you within the next twenty-four hours.” Martin could only nod. “I suggest that you . . . resolve . . . whatever has happened between you and your stepsister within the past few days.” Martin kept himself from wincing at her deliberate mention of their relationship as stepsiblings.
“Oh, um, M.O.M.?” Martin ventured feebly. She raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Do the victims of this Love-in-idleness remember what they did?”
M.O.M. exhaled slowly. “Yes.” Martin deflated. “Though Diana is under the influence, and therefore cannot be blamed for her actions.”
Martin noted with a sinking stomach that she said nothing about him being liable for his actions. Let sleeping dogs lie, he decided, and kept his mouth shut.
“That is all, Martin,” M.O.M. concluded, closing her Legendex. “Unless you have any more questions.” Martin shook his head, watching hollowly as the hologram screen flickered out of view. He rose to his feet, nodding jerkily to the directress.
“Alright, M.O.M.. Thanks, and I’ll see you soon,” he said blandly, watching as M.O.M. opened up a new portal that led straight back into his bedroom.
“You take care, Martin,” she said to him, and he gave her a small smile. “And truly, I am sorry.”
Martin nodded, appreciative through his misery, as he stepped through the portal once again and ended up back where it all started.
And, just as he’d laid back down on his bed, still fully clothed, he realized that while M.O.M. had told him to remedy the situation between him and Diana, she hadn’t reprimanded him for so obviously loving her.
She’s known for a long time, he realized. And suddenly, he was more than grateful.
When he awoke the next morning, it was with something resembling a hangover—including the urge to puke out all his guts. He rolled over onto his belly, wishing that he could sleep some more. However, fate was not that kind, and all it did was delay the inevitable: his first encounter with Diana with the knowledge that her feelings for him were nothing but induced. In other words, fake. He groaned, pulling his pillow over his head.
However, there was no more point in delaying his day, he decided, and with that he proceeded to the bathroom for his morning ablutions. All throughout his shower, though, Martin couldn’t help but wonder how Diana would feel towards him after the Love-in-idleness had been reapplied to her eyes. Would she hate him? Well, she probably would, he decided morosely. She’d probably also hate herself for doing stuff with him. Would she never speak to him again? Martin sighed in frustration.
The search for breakfast led him to the kitchen, and he spotted a note on the fridge. Reading it, it said, “Dad and I are off to the grocery. Be back by lunch. Love, Diana.” No wonder the house was silent. Martin glanced at the wall clock hanging over the stove. It read 11:20 in the morning. They’d be back soon.
Making himself a bowl of cereal, he sat at the dining table, mulishly stirring his cornflakes. When he’d finally managed to finish the bowl, the heard a car pull into the driveway. Steeling himself, he readied for his first morning with Diana.
“We’re home!” his father boomed, bursting into the kitchen. The scientist was hauling several bags of groceries, and Martin went to help him.
“Hey, Martin!” Diana piped up, smiling at him as she limped into the kitchen. Her foot was noticeably better now, he observed, but still, he assisted her to a chair.
“You’re so sweet,” she told him cheerfully, cupping his cheek with obvious fondness.
“Oh, yeah, I’m your brother and you know I try,” he deadpanned, looking away from her. He couldn’t bear to see her looking at him with such love and happiness, knowing that everything she’d told him was only a product of the Love-in-idleness.
“You kids are so sweet now,” Gerald opined, staring at Martin with a mix of confusion, disbelief, and amusement. Martin shrugged, not finding it within himself to protest or to defend himself.
“Of course we are,” Diana said happily. Martin couldn’t look at her, so he busied himself with emptying the grocery bags and situating everything where it belonged. He found a package of poached salmon—Diana’s favorite—and he placed it on the kitchen table in plain view, knowing that she probably wanted it for lunch.
Mrs. Mystery arrived scant moments later, and she immediately went to the stepsiblings to embrace them fondly, fussing over their injuries. A formidable woman—much like Diana herself—she and Dr. Mystery made quite a pair. However, they were both fond of their children, and had no qualms of expressing their affection—although, on the other end of the spectrum, they were also quick to voice their displeasure, something that Martin often found himself a victim of. That was not the case today, though, as both their mother and their father fussed over them and tended to all their needs and wants.
Martin managed to lose himself in the day by focusing all his attention onto his parents, and occasionally sneaking peeks at Diana, who also seemed to allot all her energies towards spending time with Mr. and Mrs. Mystery. Once in a while, though, when they were seated together on the couch, she would take his hand, and Martin couldn’t find it in himself to yank it away. So he decided then to savor the sensation, knowing that it would be wrested from him anyway within the next few hours. In addition, his parents had decided that the stepsiblings could return to Torrington the day after tomorrow, which meant that he only had one more full day to spend with Diana. Well, considering her possible state-of-mind after the Love-in-idleness’ reapplication to her eyes, it was perhaps better that they’d be going back to school and to their respective social lives the day right after the spell was broken, he thought listlessly.
The day dragged on and soon slipped into night, and before the stepsiblings knew it, it was time for bed. Their mother caused much ado by pointing out that they needed some sleep, and so, they were shipped upstairs to their rooms an hour or two after dinner, while their parents remained downstairs for their own private time together.
And, before Martin knew it, he and Diana were once again standing at his door.
“Um,” he said, not finding it within himself to say anything else. He scuffed his foot on the carpeted floor.
“Won’t you kiss me good night?” Diana asked softly, linking her arms behind her back and tilting her head up in the most inviting manner possible.
Martin gulped, looking away. “But mom and dad are downstairs . . .” he protested, finding himself pathetic and puny.
“And so?” she quipped mischievously. “Please?” Diana asked, changing tactics, her voice growing soft and honeyed. “I kissed you last time . . . is it always going to be like that between us?” She pouted, and Martin felt himself cave in.
“Sorry, D . . . you’re right,” Martin conceded with a small inward sigh. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against hers in a kiss that he meant to be short and brief despite all his longing, but the moment their mouths touched it was easy to lose himself in her as his head swam and her kiss captured his muffled moan.
This time, to his surprise, she pulled away first. Licking her lips, she let out a delighted little sigh. “That was nice,” she all but purred, her eyes half-lidded, and Martin clenched his hands into fists in an effort to resist reaching out for her again. “Thanks, Martin . . . good night. See you later,” she whispered meaningfully, giving him a chaste kiss upon his cheek. Giving him one last look full of promise, she walked away and disappeared behind her own door.
Stunned, Martin leaned back against the wall, running his fingers through his disheveled hair as he allowed the chill of the weather to cool his burning cheeks.
He couldn’t help but hope that the Love-in-idleness would arrive soon; else he would go mad with wanting.
A quiet but incessant rapping at his door roused him from his uneasy slumber. His dreams had been full of his stepsister—some of them had been outright pleasant, and his body thrummed hotly as he remembered them—and others had been of a vastly different kind, with everything ending in disaster between them, or worse, finding the two of them in juvenile court. M.O.M. had excused Diana from her behavior, after all, but that didn’t mean that he was exempted. Martin felt queasy once again, but he forced himself to answer the door. He sighed, glancing at his U-Watch. It read 11:03. He’d only been sleeping an hour.
The soft, muted lamplight illuminating the hallway threw her into sharp relief in his eyes, and it stole his breath away. Diana stood at his door, clad in nothing but her pajamas. Granted, they were decent pajamas, but there was something so intimate in the air—as well as in her eyes—that made his heart still.
“Can I come in?” she asked softly. Martin could only nod mutely, stepping back so that she could pass him. She situated herself on the bed, making rustling noises as seated herself. Martin turned back, reaching for the bedside lamp, but she stopped him. “The moonlight’s enough,” she said by way of explanation, gesturing to his window.
Perplexed, he instead sat beside her, inspecting her from behind lowered lids. She looked as if she’d just emerged from the shower; her hair was still damp around the edges. He shifted his line of vision when she gazed penetratingly at him. She laid a hand softly against his thigh, and suddenly the closeness of their situation made itself known to him. His dreams—the more pleasurable ones—came rushing back into his head, and he forced them away guiltily into what he felt was a thin-necked bottle—hopefully with a stopper.
“What is it, D?” Martin finally brought himself to ask. His voice sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the room, and he cringed.
“Martin . . . I love you,” she began abruptly.
“I love you too, Diana,” Martin replied, wondering where their conversation was headed.
“I love you with all of my heart, mind, and soul . . .” She paused, and Martin suddenly felt that their conversation might take a turn towards the creepy. Briefly he wondered if Love-in-idleness made its victims devour the apples of their eyes, but he shooed that thought away nervously.
“But . . .” Diana continued, drawing a deep breath. “I haven’t loved you completely yet.”
“You just said you did. Heart, mind, and soul.” Martin pointed out, beginning to be confused. Was befuddlement a part of the effects of Love-in-idleness?
His stepsister sighed. “That’s not complete just yet,” she reasoned with a tiny pout in her voice. She took his arm and looped it around her waist. Martin complied, albeit with confusion, slightly discomfited by the fact that the new position drew her close against his lean frame.
“Um . . .” Martin blinked. “Why not?” he found himself asking.
She didn’t answer—simply trailed her fingers along the round of his shoulder—and suddenly, he understood. Heart. Mind. Soul. Body.
Heat spiked in his gut and raced through his blood, and the world ran red for a moment. Martin’s breath hitched in his throat, and his hands clenched unwittingly in the flannel of her pajamas.
“I want to love you with all of me,” Diana whispered into his ear, making him shiver. Her fingertips played havoc against the bare skin of his neck and his jaw. “Won’t you love me too? Please?”
It would’ve been so easy then to say yes—to draw her down with him onto the mattress and to—Martin sighed, cutting that train of thought short.
“I-I can’t, Diana.” He heard her small outcry of hurt and rejection, and his heart squelched in his chest. “Y-you’ll hate me in the morning. Believe me,” he tried to reason, but reason was fading fast—she was breathing quickly into his ear, her breath hot against his cheek, her body practically pressed against his, and it required all of his power to just keep on talking. If he had been lucid, he himself would have found it unusual that he was turning down the opportunity for sex. But it wasn’t just sex; it was sex with Diana, and that made all the difference. “We haven’t really . . . known each other yet . . . I mean, as . . . you know, boyfriend-girlfriend, and . . . don’t you think we should take some time? To get to know each other like that, I mean? I mean, sex is a . . . a big step, you know?” he babbled, his mind going blank as she curled up into him, her fingers clenching and unclenching in his shirt. “I mean . . . it’s sex!” his voice cracked on the word, and he winced.
“Martin,” she interrupted, hurt spelt onto her voice, and he stopped talking. “I understand what you’re saying.” She sounded so lost and broken that he ached to just kiss her and draw her down onto the bed, but he stopped himself. Barely. It was what was best for her, he kept telling himself. It’s just Love-in-idleness talking.
“But,” she interjected, and his thoughts hung onto her every word. “You’ve always taken care of me. You’ve always watched out for me. In every sense. You always save me; you always look out for me; you always make sure that I’m safe and that I’m happy.” She drew in a trembling breath. “I know you can take care of me tonight, too. I know it. Please?” she pleaded softly.
He was crumbling. A part of him remembered that M.O.M. had told him that if the victims of Love-in-idleness were thwarted, they could go mad . . . he wanted to use that as his excuse for saying yes—he wanted to—but he couldn’t. . . . He swallowed. He tried again. To salvage her dignity and his. “But . . . you’ll hate me. You’ll think that this was just a passing fling, and you’ll hate me for saying yes. You’ll hate you for asking me. Di, I just . . . I can’t. . . .”
“I promise I won’t,” she whispered adamantly. “I promise. I’ll still love you tomorrow. I know you’ll take care of me tonight. Please?”
He made the mistake of looking at her then. The moon shimmered gold in the emerald of her eyes, making them look fathomless and inviting. Her porcelain cheeks were dusted with a faint blush of longing, and her rosy lips were parted in supplication, as if waiting to be kissed and made love to. He groaned, and Diana, sensing that she’d won, tipped her head forward to capture his lips in a kiss.
The world slowly melted away, and he found himself entangling his fingers in her hair, drawing her in; he devoured her, tasted her; delighting in the small sounds of pleasure and surprise he elicited as he deepened the kiss, drawing her bottom lip into his mouth and brushing his tongue softly against the petal-soft flesh.
It was with much chagrin and self-control when he drew himself away and forced himself to look at her in the eye (without instantly ravishing her again). She was beautifully flushed, and her kiss-swollen lips were moist and inviting, and he had to avert his eyes for a while. Drawing a deep breath, he raked his hands through his hair. “Um, Diana,” he began, his voice husky, “we-I don’t have protection.” Suddenly he wondered if his hopes were dashed, and that she’d call things off—just when he’d said yes—because they didn’t have any protection.
“I bought condoms,” she whispered, a half-smile flitting upon her lips. “While dad was preoccupied.” She drew them out of her pocket and laid them out carefully atop the bedside table.
“Oh. God,” Martin groaned, reaching for her again. Diana allowed herself to be drawn into his arms, and he kissed her thoroughly, enjoying every gasp and sigh that escaped her as he caressed her cheek, wove his fingers into the dark silk of her hair. When he pulled away, they were both breathless.
“Your eyes. Melted gold,” Diana breathed, tracing a line against his cheekbone. “It makes me feel so . . .” she let out a hushed whimper, and Martin’s head swam.
“So . . . ?” he prompted, with parts mischief, parts curiosity, and parts desire.
“So . . . mmm.” She squirmed in his arms, arching up against him to brush her lips against his neck, and he pressed the issue no further. “And you have duck fluff hair,” she added with a small giggle.
“Duck fluff hair?” he repeated incredulously, causing her to laugh.
“Don’t protest—it suits you,” she said with a sly smile. “Oh, Martin,” she sighed, sidling up against him. “I’m so glad to be here with you right now.”
Just as he was about to kiss her again, a thought surfaced in his passion-fogged mind, momentarily bringing him to seriousness. “Hey, um, Diana . . .” He paused, scratching his head. “Have you . . . you know, ever done this before? Ever had sex before, I mean?” he asked.
He felt her shake her head against his shoulder. “No,” she affirmed, and he let out a breath that he hadn’t noticed he was holding. “I’ve always been studying and stuff, so I guess I’ve never paid it much attention. And I’ve never felt comfortable enough to be this intimate with anyone else. Marvin and I almost kissed once, though—”
“Marvin?” Martin repeated disbelievingly, suddenly jealous. Diana shushed him.
“But I didn’t let him. He just . . .” She cleared her throat. “He wasn’t you.”
Martin responded by hugging her a little tighter, and she sighed happily. “What about you, though?” Diana questioned softly, ducking behind the fall of her auburn hair. “Haven’t you ever . . . with Jenni? I think she might kind of like you, you know . . .”
“I’ve never,” Martin confessed, almost sheepishly. “And Jenni . . . sure she’s pretty, but . . . I had to distract myself, you know. It was kind of a rebound thing.”
“A rebound thing?” his stepsister asked.
“Yeah, you know. When you look for someone new ‘cause you’re trying to get over someone,” Martin said in a way that he hoped was nonchalant. “And ‘cause you want to make that person you’re trying to get over jealous of you.”
“Who were you trying to get over?” Diana asked, her voice small.
“You, obviously,” Martin said with a sigh. “Not that I was using Jenni, though, I swear . . . I did like her, and I would’ve been happy if she’d wanted to go out with me, but . . . like you said, she . . . She just wasn’t you, D.”
“Martin,” Diana whimpered, reaching up to him. Their lips met, and somehow, the kiss seemed sweeter then.
They kissed for a minor eternity until he felt her fingers inching into the underside of the worn t-shirt he’d put on for bed. He moved her hands away so that he could take his shirt off himself, but in the process, she brushed her palm—quite deliberately, in his opinion—upon the crotch of his boxer shorts, and he let out a surprised grunt. She let out a giggle then that seemed very ominous, and started to rub. It was an ever-so-slight, circular motion, but it was sheer torture and pleasure all rolled into one sensation, and Martin swore that he saw stars.
“Diana,” he groaned, forcing himself to still her hand, “keep doing that and I swear I’ll embarrass myself,” he vowed, vaguely hearing her giggle again.
“Clothes off, then,” she whispered excitedly. “So it’s not embarrassing.”
Martin concurred, hooking his hands into the underside of his shirt and yanking it off, not caring where it fell. Diana nudged him back, and he leaned against the wall that framed the other side of his bed. She made a gesture that obviously meant for him to lift his hips, and so he did as his stepsister drew down the garter of his boxers and pulled them off—which proved to be quite an unusual experience because she had to get it around the growing tent in front. Eventually, she was successful, throwing his shorts over her shoulder carelessly.
Martin was not one to be shy—in fact, Diana had always made it a point to tell him that he was far too “un-shy”—but he was shy then, lying slouched against the wall, completely naked and exposed. However, when Diana leaned over to kiss him hungrily, he forgot all about being shy just then.
When Diana broke the kiss and leaned back onto her heels, offering herself to be undressed, it just seemed so irreverent to undress her in the same hurried manner they had approached the deed with him; and so, sitting up, he scooted over to her, laying shaking hands over the first button of her pajamas at the neckline. When she nodded, almost imperceptibly, he removed the first button out of its slot with some difficulty before proceeding to the next, and the next, and the next . . . watching as a creamy strip of flesh emerged from her neck to her belly button to her waist. When her pajama top was finally shrugged off, Martin drew a breath in awe.
She was absolutely stunning in the moonlight, all pale-skinned and smooth and inviting, like a marble statue of a goddess—except she was warm, deliciously warm—that he knew. After drinking her in by sight, he moved his hands lightly against the garter of her pajama bottoms. Rising onto her knees, she allowed him to pull them down, until she settled back down and he was able to draw them off her legs, taking care to avoid her sprained ankle.
There. They were naked together. Martin swallowed. She was glorious. Diana smiled up at him wanly from behind her gossamer fall of her hair, and he swept her bangs away from her eyes and leaned in to kiss her lightly.
The first press of their bodies sent shivers skittering down his spine; it was a pleasure all in itself to hold her so intimately, to ensconce her in his arms and to feel her mold herself against him. Dusting kisses upon her cheeks and her eyes, he moved down to taste the slim column of her neck, delighting in her sigh of bliss as he flickered his tongue against the hollow of her collarbone.
“Um . . .” she said quietly, and Martin stopped, leaning back to look at her. She grinned at him, and nudged him backwards, indicating that he should lie down. Obliging, he stretched out onto the sheets, and she settled down to his side. “Could I . . . ?” she asked, gesturing to him, and he simply nodded, his mouth dry.
A suppressed grunt escaped him when she drew light fingertips against his hardness. Her mouth found his just as her palm wrapped around him, and he groaned into her kiss. But, it was better when she started to move. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his mouth fell open, his breath hitching as she stroked him, up and down and up and down and . . .
“Is this okay?” she whispered into his ear, and the world shivered.
“Yes,” he hissed, gasping when she found the thin liquid that had emerged and smeared it around the head lightly with her thumb. “Oh, God, D . . . Oh, God . . .”
He couldn’t help it, his hips couldn’t help it; he began thrusting into her grip—subtly—as she continued to stroke him. He tried to keep himself still, cautious of her, but her hand wrapped around him was just sheer, torturous pleasure. It was as if flame was breaking out onto his skin, burning him up, and it felt good . . . so, so good . . .
He turned his head into the pillow just as the fire erupted into an inferno, stifling his strangled whimper as he bucked up into her hand and came. White light exploded behind his closed eyelids, and he shuddered to a stop, suspended with his back arched as the flames engulfed him, wave by wave, until he melted into a puddle of languid pleasure.
It seemed that he had blacked out a moment. When he came to, Diana was lying beside him, almost completely still, her arms tucked into her body. He shifted slightly, and she glanced up at him.
“Was that okay?” she asked quietly, waiting for his approval.
“Was that . . . oh, God,” he moaned weakly, leaning down to kiss her. “That was wonderful,” he breathed into her mouth, and he felt her smile. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” Diana said shyly. He gazed at her fondly a moment until he noticed the mischief creep back into her eyes. “Was it better than when you do it yourself?”
“Diana!” he protested feebly, and she giggled. Sighing, he gave in. “Yeah, much better, definitely,” he deadpanned, eliciting a peal of laughter. “How long was I out?”
“Just a few minutes,” she said, mirth written into her voice. “Just enough time to get rid of all the evidence!” she quipped, gesturing to a pile of soggy tissues onto the floor. “You know,” she added thoughtfully, comically raising a finger to her chin, “you were kind of loud.”
“Diana!” Martin protested once again, this time in a rough whisper, still finding it within himself to be embarrassed. She just laughed. “Well, okay, let’s make it a point to be quiet,” he said sheepishly. “Quieter, at least.” He heaved a sigh. “And to think, I was supposed to be taking care of you,” he whined.
“You can, now,” Diana offered with a grin. “It’s your turn!” Her smile grew soft. Martin gazed at her, watching as her eyes darkened into warm luminescence, like emeralds by starlight. Her fingers crept to his face, skating over the healing cut that was drying on his cheek.
“Does it still hurt?” she asked quietly.
“Not so much, but I’ve still got to be careful with it,” he replied.
“And the scrapes on your hands?” she inquired.
“Almost gone.” He glanced at the gauze still covering his left palm. “And yours?” he asked in return.
“Gone completely, thankfully,” Diana said with a smile. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to get my hand around you like that.”
Martin moaned at the remembered pleasure. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said with a laugh. “Anyway, it’s my turn,” he whispered into her temple, leaving a fleeting kiss there.
“Mmm,” Diana breathed, closing her eyes. “Okay.”
Shifting so that Diana had the bulk of the bed, Martin moved to her side, drinking in the sight of her. Her skin was smooth and creamy, dusted with the blush of passion; he traced patterns onto her stomach, watching as she sucked in a ticklish breath. Her lips were parted as she drew in quickening breaths, and they were kiss-swollen and plump, simply begging to be ravished. Martin traced his finger against them, sucking in a breath of his own as her tongue flickered against the pad of his fingertip. He gave in to the urge then and leaned over to kiss her, capturing her moan of delight, then eliciting a bereft whimper of longing as he left her lips and moved down to her neck. She shivered slightly when he laved an open-mouthed kiss against the round of her shoulder, her hands curling into the sheets beneath her.
Hesitantly, he drew his palm up her stomach again, waiting a moment for her to get used to his hand there before he carefully cupped a breast. She inhaled sharply at the contact, and Martin stilled.
“Is that okay?” he whispered uncertainly, mirroring her earlier question.
“Y-yes,” she mumbled, closing her eyes more tightly.
Her breasts were rather smallish, only barely filling the cup of his palm, but they were lovely all the same, Martin decided. In his eyes, they were simply perfect: pale, soft swells, capped with rosy tips. He drew his thumb along the edge of one peak, watching as it grew taut, observing as Diana shivered in response. He couldn’t resist, then, and tweaked a finger along the other one, listening as Diana drew in a shuddering gasp. She squirmed when he drew a rosy peak into his mouth, and a strangled sound escaped her when he took careful suckle.
After lavishing attention onto her breasts, he moved back up to give her a kiss, moaning softly as she rubbed against him. “Please, Martin,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp lightly, making him hum with pleasure, “it feels so . . . empty,” she sighed. “I need you . . .”
“You have me,” he whispered in reply, stroking her curving tummy. Lowering himself once again, he gave her breasts one last nuzzle before moving downwards to the apex of her thighs. Nudging her legs apart slightly, he eyed the sacred niche with trepidation, hoping that his meager knowledge would help him give her pleasure. Inhaling softly, he drew the delicate, dewed flesh apart. Thankfully, he immediately found the nub that he knew was the seat of her pleasure. Trapping it between his fingers, he started to rub back and forth, relieved when Diana let out a whimper.
Her hips started to undulate against his hand, and Martin decided that he must’ve been doing something right. Her breathing began to take on a shallow, staccato pace, and her entire body was growing tenser and tenser by the minute.
“Is that okay?” he asked again.
“I-I think so,” Diana stammered, biting her lip. “I’ve never—”
He laid a kiss against the dip of her bellybutton, and her body seemed to lock up; her thighs trapped his hand between her legs, and she bucked up against him, her mouth falling open in a gasping cry.
“I-I . . . Ah, Martin!” she cried, shivering around his fingers, her hands clutching the sheets tightly. Martin felt a twinge of relief, followed by jolt of fire streaking through him when he realized that she was coming. And God, she looked so beautiful when she came, the flush of climax spreading along her skin, her lips parted with her cries of pleasure, her back arched, legs drawn together tightly . . . so beautiful that Martin felt that he could come too just with the sight of her finding her release.
He bit his tongue to keep from moaning aloud as she finished her crest along the peak and finally floated downwards, her muscles relaxing as she slumped back down onto the mattress.
And if she was pretty when she came, she looked even prettier afterwards, with the blush of remembered passion resting delicately upon the porcelain of her cheek, and her eyes dark and fathomless. He moved back up to kiss her tenderly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders carefully.
“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, nuzzling her cheek softly.
She stirred beneath him. “I love you too. That’s the first time you’ve said it first.” She curled her arms around his shoulders and held him close. “And that was beyond okay,” she whispered breathlessly. She buried her face into the crook of his neck.
They stayed like that for a few moments, simply embracing one another and allowing their skin to cool, until Diana began to kiss his ear, drawing his earlobe into her mouth and flickering her tongue against it. Martin shuddered against her, his hips shifting uncomfortably against her own. Diana reached down between them and laid a hand against his hardness, feeling it throb as she encircled it with her fingertips.
“How long have you been like this?” she murmured with concern.
“A while,” Martin mumbled.
“Oh. Okay,” Diana said. “Um . . . shall we?” There was no need for her to explain what she meant. He rose up onto his elbows, gazing at her beneath the moonlight. She smiled up at him uncertainly, invitation, plea, and promise glimmering in her eyes.
“Are you ready?” Martin wanted to know.
She nodded once. “Women are faster at recovery, you know,” she told him with a hint of an impish smile. “But . . .” she sighed. “Um, Martin . . .” She trailed off. “Since it's my first time, I'm . . . I’m probably going to bleed. You’ve . . . you’ve heard of that, right? And that it’s normal?” He nodded apprehensively, and she sighed once again. “Let’s just . . . take it easy, then?”
“I’ll try my best to take care of you, D,” Martin promised, his heart pounding in his chest.
Diana drew in a deep breath and smiled bravely. “I know you will.”
Nodding in return, Martin once again bent down to capture her lips in his, kissing her until the flame burned brighter and hotter inside and between them, until she was squirming once again and he had to ensure that his pelvis wasn’t moving, though it sorely wanted to; he scooted down a bit, stroking the softness of her breasts and teasing them delicately once again to response with lips, tongue, hands, and teeth. Wanting to ensure that she was ready. He learned of her more thoroughly then with taste and sound and sensation, taking note of that which made her shiver with delight, and that which made her moan his name.
“Martin, please,” Diana breathed, pulling at him so that he would return to her. Obliging, he rose back up, letting her draw him back down to receive her heated kiss. “Could you . . . love me now? Please?” she pleaded.
“Are you sure?” he asked through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to simply plunge into her and to thrust and thrust until they both found release. She nodded against him.
Heaving a rattling breath, he reached over to the nightstand for the box of condoms. Opening it with trembling fingers, he drew forth one shiny foil wrapper, replacing the box carefully once again on the table.
“Let me?” Diana asked. Wordlessly he handed her the package, and she carefully unwrapped it, inspecting the latex sheath once it was revealed. He scooted back onto his knees, allowing Diana to sit up so that she could unravel the condom over his hardness. “Did you know that you’re not supposed to open the package with your teeth?” she told him with a giggle. He had a mental picture of Diana ripping open the foil casing with her teeth and he suppressed a moan. “Anyway, hold still,” she murmured, slipping into concentration as she slid the thin barrier onto him snugly. “There.”
Giving him a fleeting kiss, she laid back down once again onto the mattress. He positioned himself with bated breath, slipping in between her legs and settling down atop her, keeping himself suspended on his elbows so that he wouldn’t crush her. She wrapped her hand around him and guided him to her entrance, nudging him inside just partway.
“I’m all yours,” she whispered into his ear, and Martin couldn’t resist; he pushed inside, containing the cry of pleasure that threatened to spill from his throat. Each rippling inch was both painful torment and blessed delight, and she was all heat and fire and liquid bliss.
“Oh, God, D, you’re so tight . . .” he groaned thickly, shutting his eyes against the urge to bury himself into her. “Don’t want to hurt you. . . .”
“Just . . . go, please?” Diana pleaded, shifting her hips against him subtly. Her eyes were tightly sealed, and her lips were drawn into a straight line. “Please?”
Inhaling sharply, Martin pressed on, a fraction at a time, until he came across the infamous barrier that he knew to be her hymen. “Diana?” he mumbled. Wordlessly she nodded, and he thrust until he felt the resistance give way. A whimpered cry escaped her, and a flinch wracked her lean form.
“Oh, D, you okay?” he asked concernedly, keeping himself in check with self-control he hadn’t known he’d possessed.
“Yeah,” she replied shakily. “Just . . . a minute, please . . .”
He held himself still, watching intently until the frown of pain and discomfort faded from her lips. “I . . . I think I’m okay now,” she mumbled, nudging her hips against his.
“Sure?” he gasped, gritting his teeth.
“Yes,” she conceded, once again shifting her hips against his.
Once again, fire surged through his blood, temporarily making his vision grow dark. Martin let out a hushed moan, finally giving into the urge to move; he thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt before partly withdrawing and easing himself into her again. She was all glorious, velvet, liquid heat, and she felt so soft all around him that nothing around him mattered anymore except her and the pleasure that flowed and ebbed like the sea between them.
“Martin, Martin,” she whimpered into his ear, writhing beneath him, and he cried out with relief—relief that she wasn’t hurting anymore—and with pleasure. He was panting, he realized, and gasping for breath—each thrust had him reeling, had him rushing and tumbling towards the glorious finish. He was ablaze, awash in sensation and emotion, lost in Diana as she surrounded him, scalding him both outside and in. He almost couldn’t believe that he was finally doing this with his stepsister—with Diana—but it felt so good . . . too good . . . that he knew it wasn’t a dream. Each thrust was delicious torture, and each whimper, each gasp resounding in his ears had him straining closer and closer towards the pinnacle of release.
“So good,” he moaned, laving a kiss onto her ear. She trembled around him, and he grunted as the added sensation played along his nerve endings. “Oh, God, you feel so good . . .” He broke off on a muffled cry, losing his train of thought as she shifted her hips up to meet his.
He had dreamed, of course, of what it would feel like to make love to Diana—in fact, just before she’d entered his room that evening he’d been dreaming of it—but the dreams, once again, came nowhere close to reality.
Her gasps echoed hotly through his ears, setting his senses aflame. He could feel her tightening marginally around him, as if a coil were winding inside her belly, and he felt an answering tightness drawing taut inside him. He didn’t know what presence of mind he had left, but he arched his back so that he could kiss her neck and finally her breasts, taking a budding peak into the warmth of his mouth.
Her gasps broke off into a keening cry of his name, and suddenly, she tightened fiercely around him. He let out a strangled groan, releasing her tender flesh as his mouth fell open in a cry of his own. She clenched tightly around him, and he knew that she had reached her climax, and it felt so unbearably good. She was shivering, writhing, and her hips were moving against his in a tempo that was altogether too delicious and too agonizingly breathtaking.
“I . . . I . . . Martin,” she gasped, reaching out to him and cupping his cheeks in her hands. Raising herself up, she pulled him down for a searing kiss. “I love you!” she whimpered just as their lips touched.
Time stretched, and everything he knew seemed to teeter at an edge until finally, the fire burning within him exploded into liquid flame, and the wending coil inside burst into endless, endless bliss. He gasped, crying out her name helplessly as he thrust into her one last time, shuddering to a stop inside her as he came. He was inundated in ecstasy, surrounded by her, his name on her lips, as the fire swallowed him whole and consumed him.
Everything shattered into slivers of diamond glass, and the world finally grew dark and soft. He tumbled back down into her arms, catching his breath as the pleasure faded into warm aftershocks.
“Oh, Diana . . .” he whispered thickly, nuzzling her cheek, “that was . . . Oh, God, I love you too . . .”
After a minor eternity, the haze of gold and embers faded from his eyes, and the world came into focus once again.
They managed to slip the condom off, and he watched with half-lidded eyes as she knotted it and dropped it onto the floor atop the tissues they had consumed earlier. He lay down draped atop her, curled up to her side. They lay there for long moments, basking in the afterglow of their loving, until Martin heard Diana sniffle.
“Di?” he asked, tracing her cheek. It was damp. “Diana, what’s wrong?” Martin asked with alarm, languor dispelled momentarily. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “It’s just . . . it felt so good that I had to cry it out,” she said with a tiny laugh. “It’s a girl thing.”
“Oh.” Martin sighed. “Please, Di, don’t scare me like that!” he exclaimed weakly, eliciting a watery giggle. “As long as those are good tears,” he bartered. She nodded, and he relaxed, wiping them away with the pads of his fingertips.
“So, was that how you expected your first time?” Diana asked quietly, sniffles gone.
“This was way better,” Martin confessed earnestly. She sighed happily. “And you? Was this okay?”
“This was way better,” she echoed, eliciting a quiet laugh.
He brushed his lips tenderly against hers. “I love you,” he told her gently, amazed at how easy it was to say it, especially under the pressing circumstances.
“I love you too, Martin,” Diana replied softly, returning his kiss.
Slowly, the two drifted off to sleep, their dreams colored with love and light and song.
When Martin awoke some time later, he knew it was because “the time” was almost upon him. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he just did. Glancing down at his sleeping stepsister, he tucked her away under the sheets first, taking a moment to admire her slumber-soft features before shuffling to his closet and pulling on a pair of fresh boxers. He noted that the sky outside his window was still dark, and a quick look at his U-Watch verified that it was only 4:34 in the morning.
Just as he’d settled back down onto the bed, a portal opened soundlessly from his window, and Billy hovered in. The tiny green alien had a purple flower in hand, and Martin recognized it to be the same, fateful one he’d seen around a week ago. Billy wordlessly handed him the Heartsease, along with the incantation written on a scrap of paper, and Martin accepted both with shaking hands.
“I’m sorry, Martin,” the alien said sadly. If he was surprised to see Diana in Martin's bed, he showed no indication of it. “M.O.M. told me about the situation, although in all honesty, she and I have been keeping an eye on you two for quite some time.” Martin could only nod. He didn’t trust himself to speak, because if he did, he might refuse the Heartsease, and send Billy back to M.O.M. with a failure report, completely opening Pandora’s Box. As if it hadn’t been opened yet. He sighed, glancing at Diana, who was still sleeping peacefully.
After a minute, he shook his head. “Well, now or never,” he muttered. Squeezing the Love-in-idleness over Diana’s eyelids, he read aloud the words on the paper: “Be as thou was wont to be. See as thou wast wont to see. Dian’s bud o’er Cupid’s flower hath such force and blessed power.”
The nectar glowed golden a moment upon her skin before it vanished into sparkles. Sighing once again, Martin handed the Love-in-idleness and the spell back to Billy, who was going to dispose of all evidence.
“Please don’t hate me in the morning,” he mumbled, burying his face in his hands.
“In some galaxies where genetic imperfections are nonexistent or where genetic manipulation is a part of the birthing process, incest isn’t such a big deal,” Billy said with a sad shrug. “But you live on earth, and it’s sad that that’s just one of the things that you have to live with here.”
“I know,” Martin said dully. “Diana and I aren’t even related by blood, actually, so the whole genetic issue isn’t a problem. It’s just the law now, but still—that doesn’t make it any easier.”
“I’m sorry, Martin,” Billy repeated, and Martin shook his head.
“It’s fine,” the teenager muttered. “Goddamn heart cease.”
“Well, then . . . I guess I’d better get going,” Billy said sadly. “You take care, Martin.” Patting Martin’s shoulder, the alien slipped back into the portal, and Martin watched as it shut behind him.
Martin wanted to go back to sleep, but he found that he couldn’t; he was far too anxious. First he busied himself with cleaning their mess—discreetly disposing of the sodden tissues and the used condom (he couldn’t help but wince when he saw the streaked blood), after which he fetched their strewn clothing and laid it all out neatly. When that was finished, he once again found himself idle—and plagued with unwanted and downright scary thoughts. Sighing, he sat upon the carpeted floor, cushioning his chin atop the mattress. He decided that he would take the time to watch his stepsister as she slept, seeing as he might never have that moment again. She was absolutely beautiful in his eyes, and his heart ached.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Diana stirred. She flipped over to face him, reaching over. When she found the bed empty, her eyes fluttered open, and Martin waited with bated breath for what she was going to say. Diana yawned, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “What time is it?” she muttered, mostly to herself.
“It’s 5:20 in the morning,” Martin replied, already inching backwards, should she return to her senses and slap him.
Diana blinked the sleep away from her eyes. Martin waited.
“Already?” she mumbled. Yawning, she stretched. “Good morning, Martin,” she said languidly, giving him a small smile.
“Good . . . morning, Diana,” he replied, readying himself for the event that she would leap out of his bed, curse him with disgust, and stalk out the room.
“You know,” she said, her voice soft and warm with sleep, “I feel weird . . . as if I’ve just woken up from a strange dream. More like, a dream within a dream.” She sighed. “I feel . . . a little sore—that’s to be expected. But I’ve never felt better,” she said happily.
“Diana?” Martin interjected hesitantly. “Are you sure?” What about the Love-in-idleness?
“Yup,” Diana said, pleased. “You know, to be honest, I don’t know what’s come over me these past few days . . .” She trailed off, and Martin steeled himself for the “death blow,” so to speak.
She heaved a breath and ploughed on. “I always thought that I’d never tell you how I felt—since it’s illegal and all that—or if I’d ever reach the point where I was sure that what I felt for you was love and not just love . . . but it was like . . . the past week, I couldn’t stop myself, and I just had to tell you, you know?” She smiled. “I’m glad I did. And now, I love you completely,” she said with a wink. “See? I don’t hate you in the morning,” she pointed out cheerfully, crinkling her nose.
“Di-ana?” Martin said haltingly. “Um . . . since when have you . . . uh, loved me?” he asked, unwilling to believe just yet.
She shrugged. “Oh, I can’t recall. It’s been a while. And you?” she returned, a glint in her eye.
Martin simultaneously felt a knot loosening in his stomach and laughter bubbling up his throat. He opted for grinning from ear-to-ear instead. “Forever.”
“Great,” Diana said happily. “I don’t know what came over me, but I’m glad I can say it. I love you, Martin Mystery.”
Martin opened his mouth to tell her about the Love-in-idleness, but he thought better of it. Instead, he replied, “And I love you too, Diana Lombard. Completely. And I’d do it again, too,” he added with a smirk.
“You’d better,” Diana quipped with a giggle.
Martin leaned over to kiss her, but she pulled away with a wicked smile. Blinking, he settled back onto his heels, confused.
“Morning breath,” she pointed out, pretending to cover her nose. Martin laughed, and she chuckled. “Race you to the shower?” she asked, propping herself up and dangling her legs off the bed.
“What about mom and dad?” Martin asked cautiously.
She giggled. Ominously. “We’ll be quiet. We can do that, can’t we?”
“Okay!” Martin couldn’t help but laugh as he rose to his feet. “You’re on!” He watched with amusement as she jumped out of the bed and yanked his towel from his dresser, wrapping it around her body and getting ready to sprint to the bathroom. “Oh, wait, you’ve still got a sprained ankle! Guess I’m going to win this one,” Martin pointed out, smothering his laughter as she punched his arm. “No, wait, I’ve got a better idea.” Swiftly he hefted her up into his arms, bridal fashion, brushing a kiss onto her ear.
“Yeah, forget the race; I like this better,” Diana said with a smile, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’ve got the condoms,” she whispered into his ear, reaching over and plucking the box from the bedside table.
Martin suppressed a groan. “You’re going to be the death of me, sis.”
“Well, accept it, you weakling,” Diana said laughingly, ignoring Martin as he snorted. “After all, ‘the course of true love never did run smooth.’ Lysander in A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare. That’s one of my favorites,” she said dreamily. “You know, the one with the couples who got all screwed up because of Love-in-idleness?”
Martin stopped short in his tracks. “Love-in-idleness?” he repeated incredulously.
Diana looked up at him, puzzled. “Yeah. You know Love-in-idleness?” she asked amusedly.
“You’d be surprised,” Martin muttered. Waving it away, he shrugged. “Oh, well. To the bathroom, then!” He spun her around, eliciting a giggle, and finally marched her away to the shower.
“I love you,” she told him, almost matter-of-factly, just as they passed the threshold to the bath.
Martin smiled. “I love you too, Diana.”
As he watched Diana fussily brush her teeth, a realization dawned on him, and he couldn’t help but sigh and shake his head, a wry grin quirking upon his lips. Love-in-idleness was aptly named Heart’s Ease.
-----
Author’s note: I found this lemon a bit different to write, seeing as this was the first one I’d actually undertaken with two inexperienced teenagers in it. I wanted to capture both the awkwardness and the eagerness, and I hope that I was able to do so.
Yes, I do notice that they mention their love for one another quite often. I did that intentionally, as I would envision that one under the influence of Love-in-idleness would be rather maudlin and sappy.
I also had a debate with myself as to what contraceptives I would make them use. With my original plot, I had planned it to be a morning-after pill dispensed by M.O.M. as a precaution, but I thought better of it because M.O.M. didn’t seem like the kind to condone disobedience to the law (unless absolutely necessary). Anyway, after that issue, I’d decided to make Diana have a contraceptive shot. However, the idea of her sneaking away to the hospital without her parents insisting on keeping her company was a bit too much of a loose end for me. Finally, I just stuck with the condoms. After all, most teenagers use them because they’re the safest and most accessible of contraceptives for their age range.
My lack of detail regarding Mrs. Mystery and the stepsiblings’ house was deliberate, seeing as I don’t want to impose on whatever the cartoon series might come up with.
The incantation that Martin read was from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, act 4, scene 1, lines 72 – 75, as said by Oberon to Titania. The ever-famous quote “the course of true love never did run smooth” was said by Lysander in act 1, scene 1, line 136.
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"The Course of True Love--"