Crashing into sister.

John, of course, loved Hannah.

"Love you too," she'd grumble back. Shifty flit of the eyes.

Which didn't happen much, now.

Deep breath.

Opening the door, John moved a leg forward, pressing his foot into the hairs of the carpet below. Then walked over to the stairwell, inhaling once more as he looked down at his open palm.

Where, currently, the Get Laid ring lay.

Where, at that moment, Hannah's little show from earlier flashed through his mind like a frisky knuckle against the tent in his pants, and he grew rigid.

John.

He... of course, loved his sister.

She was his sister. Just in case that aspect needed reiterating.

Apart by just a year in age. And even though she was younger than him, he was always the pup in heart. At least as far as he and his family and everyone who knew them were concerned. Where he was exponentially withdrawn, to the point of being near dysfunctional in some social settings, Hannah was a girl who kept dates on her cellphone calendar and liked to make business that wasn't hers her own anyway. She was still a kid in spirit, but no idiot, either, and the way she liked to spew fun facts about poached eggs during breakfast or residents of infamous past in hotel rooms made the rest of the family no stranger to that quality.

So...

It was...

...it was...

...wrong, no?

The things he was thinking?

The things he was thinking of doing?

The doings he was thinking of actually not just thinking of doing but doing after he was done thinking of them?

Thuds, magnifying in volume with each consecutive step, shook the floor, and, in turn, John, out of his stew of temptations. The fresh high school graduate snapped out of it just in time to see a flash of hair, and nary nothing else.

Slamming against his shoulder, the owner of the adjacent one rubbed hers and looked at him when they were level. "Watch it, John." A slight whine accompanied her measured look, and she blinked away.

Speak of the devil. Hannah herself, in the same casual knee-length trousers and tee, on it a design of a flower with a comically neutral emoji face, just collided against him.

She was already prancing back to her room when he scrambled to the floor.

The ring. Damn, where did it go? His fingers pressed against the bumps of the carpeted floor in a search that he was increasingly growing **** in completing.

"John?" Apparently, Hannah had noticed his descent to the floor through the back of her skull. Or smelled his anxiety. Either one. "Looking for something?"

Turned only an inch towards him with her face swiveled over a shoulder, the angle, suffice to say, gave John a compact view of Hannah's taut round bottom of, wrapped in her fitting trousers like a bubbly treat.

"What is it?" Hannah pressed. She didn't notice John's wandering eyes, thankfully. "Did you drop it? This is why you should watch where you're going. Standing. Whatever." Nevertheless, after a suppressed scoff, the girl crouched down. It took about a good crab-legged minute, when suddenly, the two bonked heads.

"Seriously?" Stopping Hannah's tirade was a gasp leaving her mouth. Perfect timing. "Oh, think I found it!"

"Hannah? Honey? Did you find it?"

"Yeah--no, I mean," pitching her head towards the stairwell, "just a minute, Mom!"

Holding the ring up to her face, Hannah rotated it with a menage of fingers. After reaching a particular side of its surface, she frowned.

"Get..." Pause. A few blinks strummed down. Then, "Eew, does this say what I think it does?"

Her gaze darted to John. As if he'd have the answers. "Bro, why do you have this?"

Well, alright. He did have the answer to that.

"Answer me, John!" she tossed the ring at him, which he caught after a few fumbles. "Is this Obie's thing or what? You're not ACTUALLY trying to get some, are you? You know Mom and Dad would be on you like that!" Finger snap. "Well, Mom would, I know that for certain."

While Hannah went on her jumbly rant, John did the only thing he could think of, at that particular moment, in that spot, at that particular time. Maybe in a bid to save himself, maybe in a subconscious push to finally take a leap of faith (irony unintended) with no looking back. Maybe simply to not lose the ring a second time. Whatever it was, he was barely breathing when he slipped the Get Laid ring back onto his pointer finger. It was neither warm, nor cold. Just felt like plastic.

Hannah sighed, hands loudly falling to her tight, firm thighs. "You're not even paying attention to me are you!" Looking to her brother's hand, she saw the glinting metal (plastic-y nevertheless) on his finger and pointed. "Ohmigawd. Look, you even have it on! You put it on! Right in front of me. Do you even know what that phrase means? 'Get laid'?" Staring straight into John's eyes, she elaborated, "It means when a man and a woman like each other enough, then get together. Then when it's just the two of them, alone, together, she wraps her arms around his shoulders! Kinda like this." Hannah pushed herself off the ground, using her arms as oars as she moved towards John until they were close enough to feel each other's warmth. Then she casually laid her forearms atop her sibling's shoulder caps. "Then she straddles him." Elegantly, yet swiftly, she pushed up on her calves and placed her butt onto John's lap. "Then they kiss, maybe make out, feel each other up or something. And once all that cutesy romantic stuff is out of the way, they have..." With a descent of the head, her lips met his left ear. "...sex. Intercourse. When he fucks HER in her tiny little pussy. And then maybe even have a bunch-a kids, I don't know."

John gulped. Hannah's leggings-covered crotch was rubbing against his now very blatantly obvious hard-on. In fact, it was clear that she was deliberately gyrating her hips a bit to mush their privates together in synchronous lewdness.

"What do you think, John?" Hannah broke the silent spell, her eyes distractedly situated on some point on the wall. "What do you think about sex?" She then hugged him, pushing his torso against hers tightly enough to feel her stubby nipples and pert breasts. "Oh, come on, you can tell me," she rubbed his back as she cooed into his ear. "You're my big brother and I'll always love you, no matter what dirty thoughts are running through your head. Even if they're about your little sister's fat, yummy ass!"

As if to send the sincerity of her concerns home, she ended the hug and pulled away from John. Grabbing his jaw with both her hands, butt still following a quiet locomotive rhythm on his lap, she looked into his eyes with her own twinkling, earnest set, then asked, whispered, mumbled, "You love me, don't you, John?"