Hell Yeah! [Riley's Perspective]

You wanted him. So very badly, but every second John hesitated felt like each grain of that hour glass were opinions forming against. How could he not know that he was free to fuck your untouched hole. John looks at himself in the mirror every single day and even that wasn't a tell? You stand perfectly motionless, afraid to sway what deterministic insects would change that hypothetical outcome where he says-

"Riley..."

His hand embraces your cheek. John chokes on whatever forming words were wrapped around his tongue. It's clear he's conflicted, but over you? Was he... unsure how he thought about you? You lean forward, hoping only to allay any concerns on your brothers's mind. "Do you... want to?" You ask.
The instinct to cringe and run away again was under the surface, but you steeled yourself under the premise that — he was family. John is the first person you run to when things are looking down. That was still an intrinsic part of your brother, you could always expect, deep down, he only had the best of intentions for you. Slowly, a tensing **** has pushed you and John up from the bed sheets. You feel his breath blow past your peach fuzz, but it's not just an exhale. John is leaning in. Deliberately forming a lock seal from his mouth as it—his lips begin touching—yours! "Mmmhh!"

You try not to hyperventilate as its happening. The shock in his reciprocal tongue waggling — you'd never kissed anyone before. How are you even supposed to kiss your brother? There's a feeling that travels out with your breath, as if tangibly passed on to John through the air. You feel it again, and again. You're getting aroused as you've committed to this act of lackadaisical reason. Your penis is not really that impressive, but if it's all the same you want to show it to him regardless. It could only make you more happy for him to accept it.

John pushes off of you in a similar beat to your train of thought, now thumbing the zipper of his pants and your heart stops. All you can do to stop your emotions bubbling overboard is stop and gape as your brother wrangles his cock from the denim. It's beautiful. Snagged briefly on his waistline, it flips upward erect and mantles itself in the crevice of his fly. You feel the overwhelming urge to provide the same experience, pulling down your undies as you expect your half-hard dick will provide John the same ecstasy his brings you.

He gives a dazed expression, looking past you briefly before engrossing himself to your shy Dale. All you want from him is to know what he was thinking so you could act on it. At the very least a drip-feed to his mental state to assuage the suspension he gave, looking up and down your skinny body. Nothing was off the table. Nothing, for your best brother. At that, he sits up, and you fidget in expectation.

"Riley, hold still."
"Mmph-o-oookay."

His hands gradually fret along your foreskin, leading you to slump over him as you slowly caress the length of his upper thighs, down into the warming avenue between his legs. Are you doing this right? You're getting distracted as he services your penis, not that it matters. Your only want is to pleasure him. His balls over your palm feel warm to the touch. The squeaking bed-frame had better get with the program that John had first dibs!
You can feel it rising within you. The contraction that will end this encounter prematurely. You wouldn't fight it. Not if it's what John wants. You spasm in your stance, taken to holding on tighter to John so as to convey the message. "I can't..." You huff.

He pulls you in — your lips locking as his head meets the mattress. The bed would be ruined by sweat alone if you had stopped there, but John has other plans in mind. He grabs your cock, and his, in his hand. Both leaking experientially as [the both of you] come into this makeup, his hand slips momentarily before catching the shaft. All the times cuddling before met no mark as it was to lay cleanly on your brother, with no fabric to separate. Besides the less-than-sturdy structure of the bed-frame, this moment was perfect. Perfect being held in this manner, two cocks rubbing to completion. You moan, "Ohhh, I'm gonna cum..."

"John!"

He holds you down, as if keeping your id from ascending that your cock had no inclination for, regardless. You feel yourself coating him — the bed, your own stomach. Displacing heat in the passion you felt for your brother, but would never stop you from feeling so incomprehensibly satisfied that you'd do it again, and again, and again if it only meant a slivered tingle in your pants. You gaze on your consciously extracted brother, and pull to wake him from his cum coma with an impassioned, wet, kiss.