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Deviant Desires	By : Flagg1991 Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 8519 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Loud House and will not profit from this story

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Between school and routinely working the early shift at the deli on the weekend, Lincoln Loud was accustomed to rising early. His first full day at Luna's, he woke shortly after sunrise. The window flanking the couch was open to admit the breeze, and through it filtered the sounds of the city: Honking, talking, loud music, and the mournful wail of distant sirens. He rolled onto his side and tried to bring his knees to his chest, but there wasn't enough space. Sighing, he stretched out on his back once more and stared up at the ceiling, where tendrils of sunlight crisscrossed the plastering in a brilliant latticework of amber and gold. The fog permeating his brain began to gradually subside and his body to dethaw. His back and neck were both stiff from sleeping scrunched up on his side and his grainy eyes throbbed like a battered thumb in a cartoon; it was already too late to fall back asleep, so he would just have to deal with it.
Sitting up, he rubbed the back of his head, then stretched. He tried to get to his feet, but vertigo overcame him and he fell back onto his butt like a turtle on its shell.
Alright.
He needed a minute.
Pressing his fingertips to his temples, he massaged in firm, slow circles. As much as he loved Luna and felt at ease around her, he never slept well when he stayed with her...or in his old room at home, for that matter. Maybe it was a social anxiety thing, but he could never get fully comfortable in someone else's home. When he laid on the couch and watched TV here, he had the nagging feeling that he was doing something wrong...taking advantage of Sam and Luna's hospitality, perhaps. Yesterday, when Sam got home and -
At the thought of his sister-in-law's name, Lincoln flashed back to Sam virtually giving head to his fork. That was...interesting. Sam kidded around a lot, but never really about that kind of thing. She wasn't...coming onto him, was she?
He entertained that possibility for only a brief second before rejecting it. No, she was just trying to get a rise of her him. Classic Sam.
And it worked.
A little too well.
It would be a lie to say he hadn't noticed how pretty Sam was. Slim with perky breasts, curvy hips, and big, sparkling blue eyes, she was, Lincoln reflected, the type of girl he would pursue if he were interested in pursuing girls. Even so, he couldn't say he was attracted to her. She was Luna's girlfriend and looking at her or thinking about her in that context felt inherently wrong. Despite that, remembering the way her pink lps curled around the tines, how her tongue gently lapped the metal, how her misty eyes gazed into his, made Lincoln squirm. He laid awake for well over an hour last night thinking of her and hating himself for it. He finally forced thoughts of her away and slept, but his doze was thin and fitful, and he was pretty sure he dreamed of her...or something to do with her…
A good night's sleep had cleared his mind, however, and Sam was absolutely not on it.
Until the bedroom door opened and she came out, that was. He glanced over, saw her, and bristled. She was dressed as she had been the night before in a long T-shirt that hung slack against her thighs and bared her smooth, perfectly crafted legs. The material rustled and rippled as she walked and pulled tight across her breasts when she stretched. The hem lifted, exposing more of her thighs, and Lincoln's eyes went to them. Just a scant few more inches and the juncture of her sex would revealed. He doubted she was wearing panties.
"Hey, Linc,' she chirped.
Lincoln's face flushed with shame and he darted his eyes to his feet. If Sam was single, it'd be different, but she wasn't, she was with someone...his sister. Checking her out was, like, a betrayal of Luna's trust, just as bad as actually doing something. Imagine finding out your girlfriend cheated on you...with your brother. That'd make for a lifetime full of awkward Thanksgivings and tense family reunions. Lincoln wasn't perfect, but the thought of stabbing Luna in the back like that turned his stomach.
"H-Hey," he stuttered.
She padded into the kitchen on bare feet, and Lincoln busied himself with his cellphone so he wouldn't look look up and study the contours of her body with his eyes. "How'd you sleep?" Sam asked.
Ugh, leave me alone.
"Fine," he said and logged onto Facebook. He rarely checked there but he needed a reason to keep his eyes on the screen and off of his sister's girlfriend. "You?"
"Pretty good," Sam said. "But I have the perfect snuggle buddy, so I always sleep good."
Lincoln chuckled politely. Snuggling sounded nice, but he didn't think he'd be able to sleep while doing it. He tossed and turned too much. An image danced mockingly across his mind: Him snuggling Sam from behind. She was in nothing but the T-shirt she had on now and Lincoln's fingers grazed languidly up her outer thigh and his nose nuzzled the slope of her neck. Her butt molded to his crotch and the clean scent of her hair steeped his brain. He reached the hem of her shirt and she dutifully parted her legs.
A shiver streaked down his spine and he shook his head like a man coming awake from a fever dream. Sam scooped coffee powder into the coffee pot, inserted the basket into its slot, and turned it on, its gutteal rattle filling the kitchen.
Alright, Linc, daydreaming about your sister's girlfriend is beyond messed up. You might as well just march up to Luna and spit in her face. Hey, sis, I know you've always been good to me, looked out for me, and gave me advice, but I'm throwing all that away so I can do your girl. Get rekt.
Just don't look.
Right.
His eyes drifted in Sam's direction anyway. She leaned against the counter with her arms crossed over her chest and her head thrown back. The shirt rested against in the V of her crotch, highlighting it just as surely as a flashing neon sign, and was it his imagination, or could he just make out the cleft of her femininity?
I said don't look!
But it was so hard not to. All he'd have to do is hike her shirt up over her hips and her gooey pink center would be right there. If she perched on the edge of the counter and laid her silky legs on his shoulders -
Was she a virgin? Like...for straight stuff? He didn't know, but she'd been with Luna forever, so if she wasn't, she was close. Virgins are tight. Or so they say. One thrust...maybe two...that's all it would take…
Scowling at his feet, and took a deep, regulated breath and let it out through his nose. Alright, Linc-O, stop perving on your sister's woman. You're a dork, a virgin, a lame-o, a dweeb, and a lot of other bad things, but you're not a dirtbag. Stop acting like one.
Okay.
Back to Facebook.
In the kitchen, Sam opened an overhead cabinet and pushed up on her tippy toes, arm reaching out. The shirt started to pull up, and Lincoln's heart clapped like thunderhead. He couldn't look away, couldn't stop himself from devouring her with his eyes; the shirt drew up, up, exposing more flawless skin. Squinting one eye and plastering the tip of her tongue to her upper lip in determination, she strained to get just a little higher, and for one glorious moment, the shirt jerked up and over the bottom of her firm little butt cheeks, then she rocked back on her heels with a sigh.
Lincoln realized he was panting like a dog in heat (do boy dogs get heat?) and swallowed around a lump in his throat.
"Can you help me get the frying pan down, please?" she asked.
Frying pan? What's a frying pan?
Muttering something that didn't make sense even to him, he got to his feet and nearly collapsed on watery knees. An evil smirk touched Sam's lips, and Lincoln walked as normally as he could, like a drunk dazedly plotting each and every step so no one knew he was drunk.
And failing miserably.
Instead of moving, she blocked his way and he had no choice but to look at her. "You're filling out," she said with an appreciative nod, "you been lifting weights?"
It was only then that Lincoln remembered he wasn't wearing a shirt. His chest, scrawny and pasty, was bared for all the world to see.
And right now, Sam was the world.
"Uh..no, I haven't," he said, surprised by the evenness of his own voice.
Sam scrunched her lips to the side and shifted her weight. She was a good six inches shorter than him, her eyes level with his breast. She leaned in to see better, and appraised him like an art snob examining a canvas in a gallery. "I dunno, you're looking more buff than normal."
She had seen him without his shirt tons of times (once or twice when she came over to the house while dating Luna, she even caught him in his underwear). He was normally as comfortable stripped to the waist around her as he was with his own sisters. Now, however, the back of his neck burned hotly and he resisted the urge to cover himself.
Drawing away, Sam looked up at him. "Flex."
Lincolnn missed a beat. "Flex?" he asked.
"Flex," she confirmed.
Her blue eyes glinted with girlish delight, and Lincoln's mind blanked. What could he do but what she asked of him? He balled his fists, bent his elbows, and held his arms up like a prize fighter establishing dominance over a fallen opponent. Sam hummed thoughtfully...then, to Lincoln's shock, she laid her hands on his muscles and squeezed. Her hands were soft and small, and the scrape of her flesh against his kicked his heart like a steel toed jackboot. She hummed again, then slowly ran her hands down his chest, her fingertips curling slightly and her nails grazing his skin like a cat testing the meddle of its prey. Lincoln's flesh tightened, his spine tingled, and blood crashed against his temples like a violent storm surge. The corner of Sam's mouth turned up in a knowing simper and her nostrils flared with the cadence of her ragged breathing. Lincoln's penis twitched, and horror gripped him.
Before he could get hard, Sam let her hands drop and nodded. "Yeah, you're getting more toned. Whatever you're doing, keep it up. Girls like a Musclebob Buffpants." She made a gun with her thumb and forefinger and gave him a wink.
Lincoln offered a nervous smile, then turned quickly away and retrieved the frying pan lest she try something else. Maybe it was paranoia - or wishful thinking - but he imagined he could feel her eyes on his butt the whole time.
"Thank you," she said when he handed it to her.
"You're welcome," he said.
While she started breakfast, he retreated. To get to the apartment's sole bathroom, he had to go through Sam and Luna's room. Being quiet so he didn't wake Luna, he slunk in, shut the door behind him, and locked it. Alone, he peed, then sat on the closed toilet lid and buried his face in his hands. He didn't know much about girls...or flirting...or anything like that, but Sam was coming onto him.
Wasn't she?
A pang of dread tore through his stomach. He remembered the naughty twinkle in her eye and the way she skimmed her palms over his chest, his breathing quickening. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to know a rocket's, well, a rocket, and you don't have to be a ladies man to know when a girl likes you.
But maybe he had it wrong. Maybe she was just messing with him. Really, all she did was tell him he looked muscular, and then touch his chest. That's not a big deal. It's not like she grabbed his crotch and told him to flex that. She was being sarcastic when she called him buff, ribbing him in a friendly and totally non sexual way. Gee, Linc, you're looking jacked today, where do you work out, Auschwitz? He just took it the wrong way.
Now he felt guilty. Sam was Luna's girlfriend and practically drooling over her is a pretty shitty thing to do.
This was his fault.
Bad Linc, out of the pool.
He cracked a sardonic and decidedly humorless smile, and his stomach gurgled. What do you call those people who always take the blame for everything? Someone could walk up to them, slap them in the face, and they'll apologize because excuse me for existing and inconveniencing you. You know the type: They go through life hating themselves and literally believing that they are the root cause of everyone's problems. They perceive themselves as weak, ineffectual, and think that the world would be better off without them.
There was a name for them but he couldn't remember it.
Whatever it was...he wasn't one of them, but he'd rather think he was at fault here because the alternative was much, much worse.
The alternative was that Luna's girlfriend really was into him.
For some reason, that idea disturbed him greatly. Sam and Luna had been together for going on seven years and Luna was genuinely, totally happy. The prospect that maybe Sam wasn't exactly loyal or committed cut him just as deeply as infidelity from his own girlfriend would. If the problem was him, well...he wasn't going to do anything about it. At worst, he'd check her out, think about her, and maybe (unless it made him feel too dirty) picture her while he...you know...took care of himself. If it was Sam, well, he couldn't control her actions. She may try something…
...and if she did, he couldn't promise he wouldn't let it happen.
And that made him feel like crap. Complete and utter crap.
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. If he stayed right here, locked in the bathroom, for the rest of his visit like a wild animal in a cage, he couldn't do anything, he couldn't hurt Luna, he couldn't -
Someone knocked on the door.
"I gotta goooo," Luna moaned.
Sigh.
There goes that.
Dragging himself to his feet, Lincoln unlocked the handle and opened the door. Luna stood before him in a tank top and shorts, her eyes bleary and her brown hair stuck out at funny angles. Lincoln's heart leapt into his throat, as though she had caught him doing something wrong.
Luna blinked when she registered him, and the mist drained from her eyes. A look of shock, as though he were the last person she expected to see, flickered across her face, and Lincoln's stomach dropped.
She knew. Some way, somehow, she knew about what happened in the kitchen between him and Sam. She knew...and she was hurt.
No, she couldn't know.
Could she?
Luna's eyes darted back and forth between his face and his chest, and unless he was mistaken, her pupils seemed to dilate - with the revelation that Sam had just been touching him, maybe. A light blush crept over her cheeks, and looking away, she scratched the side of her head. "Uh...morning," she said awkwardly.
"Morning," Lincoln said.
She didn't know anything, couldn't know anything. He was paranoid, guilty, and ashamed, so he was reading things in Luna's face that weren't there: Apprehension, nervousness, discomfort.
For a moment, they faced each other, neither speaking, then Lincoln put his head down and slunk past. Luna went into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, and for some inexplicable reason, it felt like she was fleeing.
In the kitchen, Sam bustled back and forth between the stove and the sink. The sizzle and scent of frying bacon seasoned the air, and despite his internal back-and-forth, Lincoln's stomach rumbled.
"Can you get the coffee, Linc?" Sam asked over her shoulder.
Without replying, he went to the coffee maker and switched it off. He took three mugs from the cabinet and filled each one while Sam laid several strips of bacon on a plate, then set it aside. The grease popped and hissed. He was achingly conscious of his naked chest and wished he slept with his shirt on. "You want one egg or two?" Sam asked.
"Just one," Lincoln said.
She looked pointedly at his chest and raised her brow. Lincoln ignored her and added sugar to each one of the mugs. "You sure, Linc?" she asked. "Getting all built like that, you need to gain a little weight."
He chuckled uncomfortably. "I'm-I'm sure. I have a small stomach."
Sam opened her mouth, then turned away with a smirk. "Nevermind."
Huh? Nevermind what?
He almost asked her, but Luna came in from the bedroom and his vocal cords locked. Sam glanced over her shoulder, saw her, and smiled. From its earnest happiness, you would never know that she had just been hitting on Lincoln all morning.
Because she hasn't been, Lincoln told himself, you're imagining things.
Maybe.
And maybe he wasn't.
If it was just the whole "Wow, Linc, you look so buff and strong" thing, he could pass it off, but that stuff with the fork last night. Okay, there's messing around and then there's...that. That was beyond the pale.
But did it mean Sam was hitting on him?
Not necessarily. She could just be messing with him, but if so, that's something you really don't play about. Not with your girlfriend's brother.
Or anyone who isn't your girlfriend.
Luna slipped her arms around Sam from behind and kissed the side of her neck. Sam let out a firm giggle and turned to claim Luna's lips with her own. Lincoln looked away, his sense of dirtiness increasing. "Good morning," Sam said.
"Morning," Luna replied. "Since when do you make breakfast?"
Sam shrugged. "I cook when I'm hungry."
"Really?" Luna asked with a hint of incredulity. "You usually whine until I do it."
"I'm hungry," Sam protested, then stole a furtive glance at Lincoln. "And your brother needs to bulk up a little. He's been working out and you can't build muscle mass out of nothing."
Lincoln's face flushed. Luna looked at his chest, then wrenched her eyes away like a woman touching something hot. "You got a ways to go there, bro," she said. Her tone was wooden, stilted, lacking the warmth and ease that had come to characterize their interactions.
Sam fried three eggs while Lincoln made toast. Luna sat on the couch and sipped coffee in front of Good Morning America, where a bestselling author ranted about people not liking someone named Glyle. Lincoln watched his sister-in-law from the corner of his eye in case she tried anything funny, but she made no sign that she was even knew he was there.
When the food was done, he helped Sam bring it into the living room and handed Luna her plate. He sat on her right and Sam on her left. Lincoln's stomach roiled with nerves, but he forced himself to eat anyway. Next to him, Luna pushed her food across her plate, a distant expression on her face. Lincoln suddenly wished she'd nudge him in the ribs, ask him how he slept, talk his ear off about her job, anything to break the tense silence between them. "You guys wanna do something today?" Sam asked and forked a piece of egg into her mouth.
"I dunno," Luna said after a brief hesitation. "Like...what?"
Sam shrugged. "Something. Lincoln's here and it's a special occasion, so we shouldn't just waste it sitting around watching TV."
Going somewhere was the last thing Lincoln felt like doing at 8'o'clock in the morning...second only to staying cooped up inside with Sam and Luna, the girl who kept maybe-coming onto him and the girl who might-possibly-know he was thinking dirty things about her girlfriend. The air crackled with strange and not wholly pleasant vibes, and the walls were suddenly too close, the oxygen hot and thin.
Luna opened her mouth, perhaps to protest, but seemed to change her mind. "Yeah, I guess. We don't really have the money for anything. We can hit up a museum or something."
A grin touched Sam's lips and her eyebrows waggled suggestively.
At least to Lincoln it looked suggestive.
"I have a better idea," she said.
- 4
- 5
- 6
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Deviant Desires