Autumn Pt. 01 Ch. 01

"Tell that to Dom," the poor kid muttered under his breath.

"Nor of accusing anyone without reason," their mom added.

Did her riding in to defend Dom have the same effect on him that it would have had on Frank? Their mother's infinite sex appeal couldn't be lost on the guy, anymore than her favoritism was on the rest of them. Tastes varied and all, but his brother wasn't blind. Nor did his past behavior suggest that he favored the anorexic look, the way Todd sort of did.

In fact, it suggested that his "type" was any woman who should have slapped in the face if he made a pass at her. The more forbidden the fruit, the more likely he was to taste it. And who had more of a reason to refuse him than their own mother?

Grandpa Dick suddenly seemed to notice that he'd finished his whisky. "Before we start, I need one of my darling granddaughters to refill my glass."

Brianna snorted, but Nat simply asked whether he tipped.

Their grandfather chuckled. "If the service is good enough." His eyes traveled down to her chest before returning to meet her gaze. There was no shame or subterfuge involved; he hadn't snuck a furtive glance, he'd very deliberately communicated a most prurient intent. Or so it seemed to Frank. "That means no complaining if I pinch your butt."

Before anyone could inform him that such things weren't acceptable even when the cocktail waitress wasn't your granddaughter, Nat got up, walked down to the head of the table, spun around, and popped that ass, nearly smacking their grandfather in the face with it.

What was she wearing?

Brianna's khaki skirt had turned into a black mini and her layered tops a pink halter, but one could argue that she still hadn't violated the dress code of a family get-together. Nat, on the other hand, definitely had. From head to toe, the girl was caught in fishnet; her teddy, elbow gloves, and thigh-high stockings were all made of that tantalizing material. Why even bother with anything more than a bra and panties at that point? Well, okay, Frank could see the appeal. The velvet choker was a nice touch, too. He just didn't understand why his sister would dress like that around her brothers, nevermind Uncle Bobby and Grandpa Dick. Shit, her ankle booties covered more than anything else did. And were hella cute, too.

She wasn't the only one in lingerie, of course. Aunt Liz wore a white cardigan over a black camisole, allowing just a hint of cleavage to show, but their mother was dressed exactly as she had been the last time the wind had blown through. And Grandma Noreen was wearing a leopard print bustier. Sure, the yellow and green matched her eyeshadow, or the pigment of the skin above her eyes, or whatever, and no one seemed to be laughing at how over the top the damn thing was, but Frank nearly died of disbelief when he realized what she was wearing. And not just because she had the biggest breasts he'd ever seen, either.

Though she really did.

The women in his family were all well-endowed—with the exception of Brianna, who was keenly aware that she was the odd one out—but none compared to the clan's matriarch. If Nat's were big, and their Aunt's slightly bigger, then their mother's were huge and their grandmother's ginormous. There was as much difference between the size of her tits and that of his mother's as between the latter pair and his sister's. That was fucking crazy, because even Nat was pretty well stacked. They might even have been too big, though he'd have been lying if he said he was anything less than fascinated by them.

Despite the size of her tits, it looked like his grandmother had a fairly athletic build. Her triceps were bigger than some guys' and had some definition. Her shoulders were rounded, too. Frank would have loved to know what sort of lower body she had; too bad she was sitting so far away that a glance under the table wouldn't have revealed anything.

"Go on," Nat told their grandfather, forcing Frank's eyes to snap back to her. "Get it out of your system," she added, giving her hips a little wiggle. That their grandfather was the only one who got to say how that made her cheeks wobble was an absolute travesty.

"I will if he won't," Todd said.

Everyone laughed as though that was a perfectly normal thing to say to one's sister. Frank had no problem with that, for the record, but it still surprised him. He kept waiting for someone to call out his rampant eyeolation, or to feel ashamed of reacting unacceptably to the spell they were all under. Only it seemed he wasn't the only one enjoying the view.

"Ah, it's no fun if you see it you coming," Grandpa Dick said, patting her behind in a dismissive gesture that made every guy at the table a little jealous.

At that point, Frank realized his grandfather was the only guy wearing a shirt. It was tight enough to reveal a physique he had no reason to be ashamed of, yet also made it clear that he couldn't compete with his son or his grandsons in that department.

That put a petty smile on Frank's face. Oh, the man didn't lack for muscle; his biceps looked bigger than Dom's and perhaps even Todd's. He wasn't nearly as swole as Frank, though. Nor as lean, he suspected, though if there was any difference there, it wasn't large.

Uncle Bobby, on the other hand, put Frank to shame. Not in the way his brothers arguably did, either. They embodied different aesthetics; they only had better bodies in the sense that women tended to prefer men who had a little mass, and a little more definition, than Frank did. That didn't really bother him, though, because he knew they didn't all feel that way. Heck, even if "prefers them beefy, bearded, and with some chest hair, thank you very much" was an empty set, Frank would prefer his outer shell to that of either brother. It still matched his sense of how a man should look, silly as it was to care about that. Unfortunately, however, the new version of his uncle embodied that aesthetic even better than he did. By Frank's own standards, the man had him beat; he had bigger biceps, was lean enough for the veins in his forearms to show but not so lean that the one in his lower abdomen did, and had just the right amount of fur. And while Frank had yet to come across a mirror, he'd have bet anything that his face was less impressive than his uncle's.

It looked like Frank might be taller, though, if only by an inch.

The bodies they occupied were basically foreign, so none of that should have mattered. No one would ever see that version of him except for five women he shouldn't even desire. That he did desire them made no difference. They were still family. Whatever his thoughts on incest, and he wasn't sure what those were, despite the conversation earlier, there was no reason to think anyone else at that table was as open-minded. Nothing was going to happen.

Which was probably for the best. Maybe.

Either way, Frank still took comfort in knowing that the one man he had absolutely no advantage over, no matter what vision of masculinity one subscribed to, was also the last one who'd ever gloat about such things. About anything.

Natalie shrugged, plucked the empty glass from their grandfather's hand, and headed over to the liquor cabinet that hadn't stood against the night wall a moment ago. Frank tried not to follow her the whole way—or her ass, more specifically—but failed. He wasn't alone in that, though, which brought some comfort. Even some of the women found the motion of his sister's backside, the way her cheeks swelled and sharp lines of cleavage formed between them and her lovely thighs, hypnotizing. And who could blame them?

"Anyone else, long as I'm at it?" Nat asked over her shoulder.

The youngest of her brothers snorted. "When'd you get all polite and shit?"

"Anyone besides Todd?"

Brianna tapped her empty fish bowl. "Una mas margarita, por favor."

"Look at meeee, I spent time in Peru," Todd said in a cringe-inducing falsetto, head bobbing from side to side. "Try Afghanistan," he told their cousin in his normal voice.

"A pink one, right?" Nat asked their cousin, ignoring Todd. "Dash of grenadine?"

"Si," Brianna replied, staring at Todd as pointedly as Nat had avoided him. "Gracias."

"Can you order drinks in Pashto or Dari?" Frank asked his brother.

Dom snickered. "Got you there, smartass."

Guys Frank's age weren't supposed to need validation from their older brothers anymore, especially when they'd gone from looking up to them to looking down on them several years ago, yet Dom's comment still brought him some measure of satisfaction.

"Right," Todd said sardonically. "Spanish, camel jockey, totally the same."

"Didn't know you were fluent in Spanish," Frank said. He was tempted to say something about the derogatory term as well but knew that it would fall on deaf ears. That might even spark another debate about foreign policy, military glorification, and other shit he had no desire to debate with anyone at that table, least of all Todd.

"Is English a language that any of you can claim fluency in?" Aunt Liz asked.

"Did you just end a sentence with a preposition?" Frank's mother interjected, before either of her sons could answer. "That is something up with which I will not put."

"Good one, Churchill," Frank said. He didn't often throw jabs at his mother, but he had too much intellectual vanity not to let everyone know that he'd caught the reference.

Uncle Bobby cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should leave the childish behavior to the children," he said in a flat voice, before favoring Aunt Liz a small grin and a pat on the back of her hand. It might have sounded like he was chastising both his sisters, but no one could see the look on his face and doubt that he was defending the one from the other. Somehow.

Frank found that rather touching. He wasn't sure when he'd decided that true romance between siblings was both possible and heart-warming, but apparently he had. And why not? If anyone could prove that a brother-sister relationship needn't be as dysfunctional and realm-destroying as that of Cersei and Jaime Lannister, it was the two of them.

They had far more in common than his aunt and her ex-husband ever had. Both were soft-spoken, old-fashioned, and kind-hearted. According to Frank's mother, Aunt Liz had never remarried because no man could live up to her exacting standards. If that was true, though, Frank didn't think it was because she was looking for a millionaire playboy with washboard abs and the level of callous narcissism that it took to be seen as "confident" by most women. What his aunt was looking for, most of all, had to be a man who shared her love of the Oxford comma. If he brought her flowers from time to time, or surprised her with an afternoon of Shakespeare in the park, so much the better. Was that asking for more than most men could deliver? Perhaps. Uncle Bobby just might be up to the task, though.

Okay, something was seriously wrong with him. If they were lucky, no major lines would be crossed before the wind carried them back the farmhouse; even if some very unfortunate decisions were made, though, that would just be a onetime thing, heavily influenced by supernatural forces. His aunt and uncle might have a lot in common, as many brothers and sisters did, but that didn't mean they were bound for the altar.

Nothing was going to happen, either. Apparently, Frank had to keep telling himself that, or he was going to let his imagination—and his hormones—run away with him.

"I'll go first," Grandma Noreen said, straightening her back. Those huge breasts of hers didn't need any help getting attention, but as they came even closer to bursting out of her top, they sure got it. That coy grin told him that she was very much aware of how the change in her posture had affected her son and grandsons. "Then we'll proceed around the table clockwise," his grandmother added. Then she turned and leaned towards the darker side of the room. "Nat, get that cute little butt of yours back here so we can start."

"Just a sec," Frank's sister called. "Or start without me." With that, she raised a steel shaker above her head and a rattling sound echoed across the banquet hall.

"We'll wait," their grandmother replied. One could almost think that his sister was holding up a key part of the Harvest tradition, like plucking the golden ear of corn or opening presents; that this wasn't the first time they'd played Two Truths and a Lie together while wearing next to nothing and occupying bodies that weren't theirs.

That thick, comforting sludge grew even more solid. A pleasant feeling settled over Frank. No, this wasn't how they typically celebrated Harvest Eve, yet in all the important ways, it was just like every other year. They were all together, for one thing. What else mattered?

"Here I am," Nat announced as she hurried back over to the table, a drink in either hand. She delivered the margarita to Brianna then approached their grandfather with hips swaying and ass rolling. Frank nearly punched the underside of the table, and not with his fist.

Todd wolf-whistled, making Brianna laugh. She then told her cousin to "strut that ass" for them. Aunt Liz shook her head in disapproval, but even she was grinning.

"Here you go, sir," Natalie said, presenting their grandfather's whisky to him like he'd won an award. Then, still leaning forward, she batted her lashes at him expectantly.

"And here's your tip," Grandpa Dick said, retrieving a ten-dollar bill from his wallet.

When Nat went to take it from him, though, he snatched his hand back.

She whimpered like a little puppy and pushed her tits together a little more.

Their grandfather patted his upper thigh and she seemed to take his meaning. Frank watched with utter fascination as his sister pulled the top of her stocking away from her body, shimmied a little in what didn't quite pass for dancing but still placed undue strain on his circulatory system, and waited for the Hamilton to slide in.

After she let the stocking slap back into place, Grandpa Dick patted her thigh as if concerned that her tip would fall to the floor. Nat leaned down, kissed their grandfather on the forehead, and whispered something that only he could hear.

It wasn't until his sister returned to her seat that Frank remembered exhale.

"I think we found a new career for you too," Dom said as he leaned back in his chair and gave his rum and coke a lazy stir. "One that might be more lucrative than baking cupcakes."

"I don't know," Frank said. "Did you try one of those bad boys?"

That got a few reactions, none louder than Aunt Liz's. When they all looked at her, she blushed. "I appreciate the thought, but there's no way my baking can compete with that."

Smiling, Nat said, "I only do family functions."

Todd snorted. "Lucky us."

"Now that we're all here," Grandma Noreen said raising her voice. She swept her eyes across the table, letting them know that further interruptions would not be greeted in the spirit of the season. "My favorite color is green. Lyndon Johnson was President of the United States when I graduated high school. I can squat two hundred and fifty pounds."

Todd raised an eyebrow. "How many times?"

Their grandmother smiled. "That's not how this works." Jerking a thumb at her son, she added, "I'm not saying another word until he makes his guess."

Uncle Bobby exhaled. "How much time do I get?"

"Ninety seconds," Grandpa Dick answered. Apparently, he liked that number.

"Can we help?" Natalie asked.

"You can express whatever opinions you like," their grandfather replied as he sipped his Scotch. "He's free to ignore them, or not, but it's his final answer that counts."

"The first one's obviously true," Frank said. "Look at...what she's wearing."

"Are you afraid to say 'bustier' or do you not know the difference between that and a corset?" his mother asked him with an amused grin that made Frank blush. She wasn't teasing him, though. Or if she was, it was only in a good-natured way. He hoped.

"The third one," Uncle Bobby proclaimed without reservation.

That made his mother grin in amusement. "Afraid not, my dear."

"Two hundred and fifty pounds?!" Todd said. "No fucking way. I wanna see it." He looked around the table, found no one rushing to second the motion, then sank down in his chair with arms folded across his chest and incoherent mutters passing through his lips.

"So who was it then?" Frank asked. "Nixon? Or Kennedy?"

"You're free to offer as much, or as little, explanation as you like," his grandmother said.

"What if there's a challenge?" Todd asked, though his heart wasn't in it.

"Only the person who had to guess can challenge," she replied, looking at her son.

Uncle Bobby indicated that he felt no need to do so with a dismissive wave, then offered his three statements. It took Aunt Liz no time at all to guess that his favorite Shakespearean play wasn't Romeo and Juliet. Apparently, it was Much Ado About Nothing, though that didn't interest Frank nearly as much as the fact that the guy was a fan of his sister's favorite playwright and had used his turn to remind her of that.

For her three statements, Aunt Liz named her favorite characters from the Harry Potter series, Pride and Prejudice, and Great Expectations—which allegedly were Hermione, Elizabeth, and Estella. As Frank's mother was quick to point out, though, her choice of statements not only required her sister to know something about her, which was well within the purview of the game, but to have read the works in question. Those were hardly the most obscure titles, but it still didn't surprise Frank that his grandmother nearly upheld the accusation of foul play. In the end, though, she decided that his mother had to answer. She also made it clear that everyone who went after Aunt Liz was expected to give the person after them a fair shot at guessing, but that didn't do his mother any favors.

"Estella was the lie," Frank said after his mother gave up, too frustrated to even guess. He wasn't a fan of Dickens, but he'd been forced to slog through Great Expectations in high school and remembered it well enough to know there was no way way in hell that his aunt's favorite character was the snobby girl who was basically just there for the main character to pine for and then realize he shouldn't. "Your favorite from that one was Pip."

Aunt Liz smiled. "Right you are."

Uncle Bobby smiled too. That seemed weird to Frank until he realized that it'd be even weirder for the man to get jealous over his sister smiling at their nephew.

Or would it? Frank might be crazy for thinking they'd make a great couple, but his uncle could still be experiencing inappropriate feelings now that the wind had fucked things up.

"Okay, let's make this a little more interesting," Frank's mother said with a naughty grin he'd never seen before. "My favorite position is cowgirl," she continued, nearly causing Frank to spill his drink. "I've had sex with four men at once." That produced a few gasps. "Nothing turns me on like a guy with a huge...set of biceps." Several people laughed at that, including Frank—who now had another reason to ship Uncle Bobby and Aunt Liz.

"Shit, I don't know, Ma," Nat said. "I don't even know what I'd say if I knew the answer." That got a few laughs as well. The girl did have an interesting choice to make, though. No matter what she said, it could be interpreted the wrong way. After much anguish, his sister said, "I'm gonna go with number three, because fuck it."

"Nothing beats doggy-style," their mother said by way of response.

Nat looked like she wanted to challenge but wasn't sure it was worth it. Frank almost encouraged her to do so, if only so they could get a few lurid details, but he was too busy picturing the windswept version of their mother handling four cocks at once.