Once upon a time there were two brothers who lived alone with their father deep in the forest. They had a small house with a large garden, and in that garden grew two rose bushes; one with flowers white as snow, the other with petals red as blood. The brothers' father explained that when they'd been born, their dearly departed mother had looked out the window, and thus named them from the bushes. The elder was named Snow, the younger was named Red. Snow was cautious and calm, Red was daring and adventurous. Despite their differences, they were the best of friends, as they were the only friends each other had.
The two brothers were never lonely despite the isolation of their home. They would spend their days exploring the forest, and their nights cuddled together on the bed all three shared, telling stories of their day's adventures.
Their father knew they were safe in the woods, and he always loved to hear about the sights they had seen, the plants they had discovered, and the way they had looked out for each other.
He knew his sons loved each other more than anything in the world, but what he did not know was the extent to which their love went.
It started when Snow was twenty, and Red was eighteen.
They were lying on the sandy beach of the forest's lake, naked after a wonderful afternoon swim. The day oozed sunshine and muggy, comfortable heat, and both knew that another swim in the lake's cool water was in short order. Before then, they were resting, enjoying the sunshine.
Red slept under the warm sun, and Snow turned his face against the sand to fondly look at his younger brother. He looked at his brother every day, but he felt a jolt as he realized this was the first time he had actually seen him.
He was so used to thinking of Red as his baby brother; wonderful and impetuous as he could be, but still just a child. What he saw looking at his brother was anything but a child. Red had grown so much that past winter—he was now taller than Snow—but he was wider and more muscular to Snow's slimness. His chest was chiseled, his skin brown from days under the sun. Between his legs curled dark hair, and under that, his penis.
Flaccid as it was, Snow realized that it was bigger than his own. He'd only seen three in his life; his own, his father's giant member, and his brother's, but he couldn't remember Red's ever looking so large, even when limp. He bit his lip as he imagined what it must look like erect. Not just how it would look, but how it would feel, hot and as hard as wood in Snow's hands.
Snow felt his fingers twitch against the sand and the stirring from his own member. He was lying on his stomach, and as blood flowed into it, the grain from the sand created the most interesting, if slightly unpleasant, feeling. Snow rolled over so he was on his back, and after a breath, scooted closer to his sleeping brother. Their forearms were almost touching.
Red murmured in his sleep, as he was often did, and Snow's eyes moved from his brother's penis to his brother's lips. And oh, he realized that they were such perfect lips. Pink and thick and puckered slightly in sleep. He imagined what it would be like to feel those thick lips against his own. He'd never been kissed by anyone but their father, who would always kiss each of the boys on the lips before bed. His father's chaste kiss was not like the kiss that Snow imagined now. Just thinking of the way Red's lips would part, how they would press against his, how Red would suck on Snow's lips, his tongue, his neck, his shoulders... chest... what it would be like to have Red between his legs, those perfect lips wrapped around the shaft of his penis, kissing, sucking on his balls...
Snow was nearly erect now, and his breathing had escalated. Hand trembling, he touched his chest, imagining his light fingers were Red's brushing kiss, and slid his hand down until it cupped his penis. A few strokes made him even harder, and he stared at the curve of Red's neck.
Snow was not the sort of person who acted on impulse, no matter how urgent the impulse might feel. He stared at his brother, carefully attending to the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest, the hair that grew on that beautiful chest. He looked at his brother's face, at the stubble starting to grow on his chin, the curve of his nose, the fall of his dark hair. He'd helped comb and cut that dark, thick hair countless times before, but now he longed to run his fingers through it, to twist them into the curls and pull himself even closer to his brother.
Lastly, he looked down at his brother's sleeping staff. He imagined again what it must look like erect, and wondered what it tasted like. He thought of his own mouth sliding up and down Red's shaft, licking the head, slipping it into his mouth. Snow's own penis twitched at the thought. Finally coming to a conclusion, Snow made the decision that he must, no matter what, ensure that he got to feel for himself what it was like erect. Today. Maybe he wouldn't get to taste his brother's penis, but he would touch it. He would feel it and see if it really felt as exhilarating as he imagined it would. If Red objected or wanted to stop, of course Snow would do so, because he loved his brother more than anything and would never want to hurt him, but Snow suspected—well, longed—that his brother would not object.
Decision made, Snow rolled again, this time on top of Red. He propped himself up so they were not quite touching, but he could feel his penis rest against his brother's pubic hair. He longed to cum, but it was far, far too soon.
Red had always been a deep sleeper, ever since he was a baby, so he didn't wake immediately.
Carefully, very slowly, Snow lowered his head, and brushed his lips against his brother's.
