[INCEST] Clingy Cousin Gilda [WIP/TBC]


                                            It's me, Austin.  It was me all along.


                                            I'll either pick this up after Lagrange Points, or I'll just update this infrequently as little one-shots in between updates for other stories.


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                                            Clingy Cousin Gilda

                                            AKA "Good for the Goose; Good for the Gander"

                                            Because all my story titles have to be shitty puns.

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                                            Prompts:


                                            >What about a desperately lonely Gilda with abandonment issues who latches onto her cousin Anon because he showed her genuine kindness?

                                            ---

                                            >Cousin Gilda turns up on your doorstep one day after her parents kicked her out of the house

                                            "Don't you live, like, 3 cities away?"

                                            >"Yeah, and I spent my last 20 bucks on the train ticket. Lemme in, would you?"

                                            >She insists on sleeping in your bed tonight ("It's fuckin' freezing in this house, Anon! For god's sake, my nipples could cut glass right now.")

                                            >Neither of you comment on how she immediately wrapped her arms around you and refused to let go for any reason, short of bathroom breaks (and even then, she nearly didn't)

                                            ----------------------------


                                            "You want me to WHAT?"

                                            >Gilda punches you in the shoulder, which hurt more than your pride would like to admit.

                                            >To be fair, though, she DOES have about 6 inches of height on you.

                                            >"What," she snarls, giving you the stink-eye, "You think you're too good to get some lunch with your cousin?"

                                            >Gilda makes a fist and cocks back her arm, and you hold your hands out in surrender.

                                            "Alright, alright! Jeez!"

                                            >You grab your coat and roughly tug it on.

                                            "Where do you even want to go, Gilda?"

                                            >When you turn back around to face her, she's giving you a look that says "are you fucking kidding me?"

                                            >"This is YOUR city, 'cuz; not mine. What're some good places to get some grub?"

                                            >It's days like today that you're thankful your shitty job is located near a bunch of locally-owned restaurants.

                                            >One of them's bound to make Gilda happy and get her off your tail, right?

                                            >R-Right?

                                            "Uh..."

                                            >You shrug and just pick one at random.

                                            "How about "Greg's Softballs, Home of the Hardball Challenge"? "

                                            >Gilda grabs you by the scruff of your jacket and marches you out the front door.

                                            >"Yeah, sure, whatever," she grumbles, dragging you along, "Is it any good?"

                                            >You stumble from Gilda's rough treatment and nearly fall.

                                            >SHIT.

                                            >Panicking, you scramble to grab onto something so that you don't fall over; desperately reaching out without thinking about what, exactly, you're grabbing onto.

                                            >Whatever it is, it's warm, soft, and it squeaks.

                                            >It takes you a split-second to realize that this 'thing' is your cousin Gilda's exposed midriff.

                                            >It takes you an even shorter period of time to realize just how badly you fucked up.

                                            >"Hey, hey!"

                                            >Gilda roughly shoves you away from her for a second time, but the adrenaline in your system lets you keep your balance without the aid of accidental cuddles.

                                            >"Fuckin' hands off, David Coppa-feel!"


                                            >With a head quickly filling up with steam, you turn around to glare at your cousin.

                                            "Hey! I wouldn't have had to-"

                                            >Wait.

                                            >Gilda's face is bright red; the blush even extends down her neck and onto her chest.

                                            >She's glaring, of course, but you've known Gilda long enough to recognize what anger looks on her, and this isn't quite anger.

                                            >She's upset, sure, but she's not legitimately angry.

                                            >She's got her arms wrapped around the bare bit of skin that you had clung onto, and she's turned her body around away from you.

                                            >If you didn't know better...

                                            >...you'd say she was flustered.

                                            >An uncomfortable silence fills the air.

                                            "Let's... just go, okay?"

                                            >Gilda snaps to attention and she marches quickly over to your car.

                                            >"I'll drive," she mutters.

                                            >Like hell she will.

                                            "It's my car," you reply tersely, jogging after her to keep up.

                                            >"Fine," she spits, "YOU drive, you fuckin' goober."

                                            >The entire ride there, Gilda doesn't once try and make eye-contact.


                                            ---


                                            >After lunch, you're getting ready to pay your half of the bill when Gilda flags down a waitress.

                                            >"Hey. Yeah, so, I want this 'number 12' dessert."

                                            >The waitress politely looks at the menu where Gilda is pointing (though you're pretty sure she already knows the list of food by heart, what with her working here) and nods.

                                            >>"Alright. The picture doesn't do it much justice, but it's a slightly larger than average dessert."

                                            >Gilda nods impatiently, and you can already see the subtle tell-tale signs of her short fuse being lit.

                                            >>"Are you going to be sharing it with your boyfriend? If you like, we can bring you over an extra fork."

                                            >The waitress looks up to smile at you, and as such she doesn't see the look on Gilda's face.

                                            >Your cousin looks like a pissed-off deer caught in a pair of headlights.

                                            >Gilda's hands slam down on the table, like she's about to hoist herself up and get in the waitress's face.

                                            >"He's not my-!"

                                            >Gilda stops abruptly and looks around with her eyes, catching the look of surprise on the waitress's face as well as the turned heads of the nearby patrons.

                                            >"....yes, please."

                                            >That uncomfortable blush is back on Gilda's face, and she huddles down, trying to shrink in on herself.

                                            >Very odd behaviour; very un-Gilda-like.

                                            >By now she would be yelling and creating a scene, but now she looks like she doesn't want to be in this situation at all.

                                            >"That would... thanks, or whatever..."

                                            >The waitress, looking a little bit flustered, nods once and spins on her heel to leave; perhaps walking a bit quicker than was strictly necessary.

                                            >When the waitress gets back with the dessert (a different waitress, you note), Gilda shoves the fork in your direction and slides it across the table.

                                            "Gil-"

                                            >"Just fuckin' eat it, you dweeb," she mumbles, sullenly jamming her fork into her side of the cake thing.

                                            >To your amusement, Gilda avoids the portions you've eaten from and gives them a wide berth with her fork.


                                            ------


                                            >KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

                                            "SNCK"

                                            >You wake up, startled at the sound of somebody pounding on your bedroom door.

                                            >"Open the fucking door!"

                                            >Oh, right.

                                            >Her.

                                            >You stumble out of bed, half-asleep and too disoriented to really ask too many questions about why Gilda is visiting you at...

                                            >You glance at the digital clock on your side table.

                                            >...12:30 in the morning.

                                            >It takes you two tries to properly grab the doorknob, and you nearly hit yourself in the face with the edge of the door when you swing it open.

                                            >Standing before your groggy eyes is your cousin Gilda, glad in what passes for pyjamas for her.

                                            >You would have expected that she slept in the nude, or something.

                                            >Honestly, a leather biker jacket with spikes on the collar wouldn't be out of place as Gilda's sleepwear.

                                            >But to your surprise, here she stands before you: wearing a white-and-purple tie-dye tank-top and a pair of cyan boyshorts.

                                            >Her hair has been let down instead of being in her usual ponytail/bob thing in the back of her head, and her ever-present yellow arm-sleeves are nowhere to be seen.

                                            "Whuh-whauzat?"

                                            >Gilda wrinkles her nose and (admittedly gently) shoves you out of the doorframe.

                                            >"How'd you get morning breath this quickly?" she asks gruffly, walking past you and looking around your bedroom.

                                            >She looks from the posters on your wall to the small CRT TV in the corner, hands on her hips appraisingly.

                                            >"Wow," she says, "I knew you were a dweeb, 'cuz, but this shit really takes the cake."

                                            >You rub your eyes, and everything finally comes into focus.

                                            >The little hamster in your head reluctantly gets up onto his wheel and starts jogging; perhaps purposefully moving slowly just to spite you for waking him up so soon after falling asleep.

                                            "What're you doin' in my bedroom, Gil?"

                                            >Gilda snorts and sits down on the edge of your bed; the creaking of springs is loud as cannons in the empty darkness of your home.

                                            >"What do you mean, what am I doin' here?"


                                            >She brings her hands around her bare arms and mimics shivering.

                                            >"Am I a bird, Anon? Do I look like a fuckin' penguin, Anon? 'Cause you keep your house at minus two-trillion degrees and I'm worried that I'll never wake up if I fall asleep."

                                            >You lean backwards and are rewarded with a satisfying -POP- coming from your lower back.

                                            "Look," you mumble, "D'you want me to turn up the heat or something?"

                                            >Whatever; you just want to go back to sleep.

                                            >You'd even run a bath for her at this point if it meant laying down and losing consciousness for another 8 or 10 hours.

                                            >Gilda scoffs and tucks her bare feet under your blankets, much to your surprise.

                                            "Getting a little familiar, Gilda?"

                                            >"Fuck you," she drawls, without any real heat in her words, "That'll take way too long, Anon. Your bed is warm..."

                                            >Now that your eyes are more used to the darkness, you can see that strange, flustered blush appear on her face again.

                                            >"...and so are you. For the sake of staying warm, I wanna sleep with you tonight."

                                            >Time passes; the equivalent of one heart beat.

                                            >Gilda's body jolts and she looks up at you in panic.

                                            >"Sleep IN THIS BED with you, y-you fuckin' asshole! I-It's survival!"

                                            >Oh, Gilda.

                                            "FFFFFfffff....."

                                            >You let the breath out and abort the swear you were about to cuss.

                                            "Whatever. Just..."

                                            >You crawl into bed and nudge her over to the other side of the mattress.

                                            "...quit being weird."

                                            >You roll onto your side, back to your cousin.

                                            >To your surprise, Gilda presses herself against your back and wraps her arms around your chest.

                                            >"YOU quit bein' weird," she mumbles into your neck.


                                            ---


                                            >"Hey."

                                            >SNK

                                            >"Hey, asshole."

                                            >Something pokes you - hard - in the shoulder, forcing you awake.

                                            >The pain is sharp and it lingers, like the poker has enough experience annoying people that she knows exactly where to jab to get the best effect.

                                            "Hrrmm...smwah..."

                                            >You wriggle as the last vestiges of sleep leave you, and you crack open an eye; the poking stops as well, the poker seemingly satisfied that their job is done and they woke you up.

                                            >Your digital clock is directly in front of you, and it reads "1:13 AM".

                                            >If you remember this morning's earlier events (admittedly, as vaguely) correctly, then it's been less than an hour since your cousin Gilda came to your room and insisted on sleeping in your bed with you.

                                            >"Wake up a sec, 'cuz," whispers Gilda.

                                            >You groan and roll over to face your cousin, belatedly realizing that she's no longer holding you from behind.

                                            "Fuckin..."

                                            >Gilda stares at you, her yellow eyes as piercing as ever.

                                            >You give her your best sleepy glare, but you think the effect is lost since you can only keep one eye open.

                                            "Wha'dya want?" you mumble.

                                            >Gilda scoffs and shuffles a bit closer to you.

                                            >"Your house is still too damn cold," she whispers back accusingly, "My nips are so hard that they could cut glass right now."

                                            >Your eyes dart down instinctively to her chest (you know, for proof) , but only for a split-second.

                                            >You blame your lack of sleep.

                                            >Unfortunately, Gilda catches your glance down at her chest and she growls at you.

                                            >"Fuckin' perv. You're lucky I don't pound you right here."

                                            >You decide, for your sake, to bring the conversation back to what was bothering your cousin.

                                            "It's cold?"

                                            >"Freezing."

                                            >Gilda narrows her eyes at you threateningly; she's probably caught on to the way you changed the topic.

                                            >"Listen here, dweeb. If you do what I say, then maybe I'll forget the way you stared at m-my tits."

                                            >Her face gets a little bit darker and she swallows thickly, like her mouth is dry.


                                            >"I'll look the other way if you h-hold me and keep me warm, you creep."

                                            >Well, that doesn't sound like your rough-and-tumble, "you talkin' to me?" cousin.

                                            >That doesn't sound like her at ALL.

                                            >You're pretty sure you didn't hear Gilda right, and so you take a moment to mentally review your last few seconds of conversation.

                                            >Gilda doesn't take your silence very well, and she darts her arms out.

                                            >"It's cold, you shit!" she snarls, wrapping her arms around your back and holding you tightly against her, "Hurry up and hold me, you asshole!"

                                            >You groan, sleepily, and sluggishly snake your arms around her back.

                                            >It's too late-slash-early for this crap.

                                            >If she wants cuddles, then you'll cuddle.

                                            "If it means that you'll FINALLY go to sleep..."

                                            >Gilda shivers as your hands brush up against her sides on their way to her back.

                                            "...then fine."

                                            >Gilda shuffles against you, shimmying down your body until her head is tucked underneath your chin.

                                            >Like a dove tucking its head under her wing.

                                            >Two hard nubs press up against your chest; Gilda really wasn't kidding about her nipples being hard.

                                            >The two of you are silent at long last.

                                            >You can hear the clock in the bathroom tick-tocking, and the fridge in the kitchen making fridge-noises.

                                            "Better?"

                                            >Gilda nods against your chest.

                                            >"Keep your goddamn house warmer," she growls, barely audible with her mouth and nose pressed against your chest, "or I'll be back tomorrow night too."