Kyle pressed the nozzle. The can hissed, leaving a thick curl of whipped cream over the flushed head of his cock. It settled cold against him, already beginning to soften, one white edge slipping toward the ridge.
Nick stayed on his knees, watching it move. He swallowed hard.
"So, how is this supposed to help, again?" Nick asked, his voice tight.
Kyle rocked back on his heels. "If you're gagging from sucking your boyfriend's cock, maybe practice with something sweeter?"
Nick stared at the melting white foam. "Isn't this like… kinda wrong? There's gotta be something else I can do to get used to the taste of dick that isn't my brother's."
Kyle watched him for a beat, his expression hesitant. "So like, do you want to back out, then?"
Nick’s jaw tensed. The thought of backing away twisted in his gut, but the reality of his brother’s cock right in front of his face was paralyzing. "Well, no—" he muttered, shooting Kyle a suspicious look. "Just give me a second." The suspicion eased into something more curious. "Are you sure about this?"
Kyle’s mouth opened, then closed. The confidence faltered just a fraction.
Nick leaned in, the scent of vanilla hitting him first. His breath hitched.
"We can stop," Kyle murmured, his voice suddenly lower. "We should stop."
Nick didn't answer. He just closed the last inch and took the first taste.
The first sensation was only the cream—cold, synthetic, and purely sweet against his tongue. He dragged his lips carefully over the head, letting the sugar coat the warmth underneath. It was a pleasant, easy transition. Then, as he swirled his tongue around the ridge, the sweetness thinned out, and underneath it he caught the flavor he'd been dreading.
But before it could turn into everything he'd braced for, a small bead of precum welled up instead—faint, and strangely sweet. It wasn't what he'd expected. It wasn't Oliver. It was just Kyle. He didn't gag. Steadied by it, he pressed in for more, chasing that same taste.
Kyle’s hand fisted at his side. His thighs shuddered, a broken sound tearing out of him. "Fuck… Nick—"
Nick froze. Hearing his own name like that struck somewhere deep in his gut, and it didn't fade—it just sat there, warm and strange, tangled up with something he couldn't name. He didn't know what he was chasing anymore, only that he wasn't done with it yet.
He took another taste, lingering longer this time, like the answer might be somewhere further down. He parted his lips, taking the head fully inside. Kyle’s thigh hardened beneath his palm as he let out another rough, tight breath.
It was the stillness afterward that made Nick look up—Kyle watching him, openly. The weight of being watched sent heat rushing to Nick's face, and he pulled back fast, lips parting with a wet pop. Cream shone faintly at the corner of his mouth.
Kyle looked down at him, some of his bravado slipping. “Well? …Bad?”
“No,” Nick said quietly. “You taste different from Oliver.”
Nick tasted his lips again. “A bit stronger. But better than I thought.”
Kyle exhaled a shaky breath. “You went down pretty far.”
“Yeah.” It came out fast. “Was that bad?”
"No! you felt so good", Kyle watched him for a second before looking away, rubbing the back of his neck. “To be honest,” he said, “I’ve kind of always wanted to do this with you.”
“Not like—” Kyle stopped, looking a bit lost. “Just this. Practicing together. It feels like no pressure between us, y'know.”
Nick didn't answer right away. His gaze had dropped involuntarily, caught by the sight of Kyle’s cock—still hard, twitching slightly, slick with spit and arousal. The confession made the electric feeling in his chest from before settle into sharp focus.
“I liked it,” Nick said, his eyes now looking up into his brother's eyes. “Making you feel good like that.”
Kyle went still. He caught the direction of Nick's stare and didn't look away.
Instead, he reached for the can and pressed the nozzle again. Another thick dollop hissed out, settling over the wet, glistening head.
Nick watched the cream begin to soften.
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