|I Am He and He is Me
Author: Renee-chan PM
Lips met lips, soft, tremulous, hesitant after all this time. It was like this every time. Relearning the way of it after being too long apart. A year, a month, a week, a day, an hour... a lifetime between meetings and it was always too long. Twincest.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Family - Conner M. - Words: 2,792 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 4 - Published: 08-05-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7257231
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
What can I say? I have a twin fetish. And... dude... this fandom has twins. Pretty much a PWP. Sorry?
Title: I am He and He is Me
Fandom: Power Rangers Dino Thunder
Pairing: Um... our fandom has twins? ^_~
Word Count: 2,424
Warnings: Slash, NC-17, twincest, PWP
Summary: "Lips met lips, soft, tremulous, almost hesitant after all this time. It was like this every time. Relearning the way of it after being too long apart. A year, a month, a week, a day, an hour, a second... a lifetime between meetings and it was always too long apart."
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Saban, I'm just playing with them for the time being. I promise I'll put them back (mostly) intact when I'm done. ^_~
I am He and He is Me
Lips met lips, soft, tremulous, almost hesitant after all this time. It was like this every time. Relearning the way of it after being too long apart. A year, a month, a week, a day, an hour, a second... a lifetime between meetings and it was always too long apart. The first touches after one of those separations were always like this: so gentle as to be almost painful. So slow, so reverent, so... something. It was moments like these when they really saw exactly how big, how frightening, how terrible this thing was between them... and how very much they didn't care.
A hand reached out, tangled in waves of shoulder-length brown hair, tugged irritably at the clinging strands. Hands reached out in turn, smoothed at the brown strands which were an identical match to their own, but closely cropped to the head. In answer, the other hands ceased their tugging, starting smoothing in apology, forgiving the difference.
Things progressed from there, lips opening against lips, tongues taking advantage, sliding into open spaces to explore, to meet and caress. The differences here were old, well-known, familiar. The small gap between two teeth where one had had a tooth knocked askew by a stray soccer ball as a youth, the too smooth surface of a metal filling where the other had had a cavity filled a few years earlier. No surprises here, just these small differences and moist, welcome heat.
Hands slid down from their place tangled in shoulder-length locks, teased their way downward to pull at the hem of a shirt until arms lifted out of the way so the shirt could be removed. And then... pause. The rhythm faltered. Eyes ducked down, shifted away, couldn't meet their widened counterparts and the connection fell apart. They both mourned its loss, but the moment was broken. Thoughts, feelings, needs no longer passed between them as easily as breathing. Words were now necessary.
As one hand reached out, hesitant all over again, to brush against a ridge of scar tissue, ugly against the otherwise smooth skin of the exposed abdomen, a voice husked out, "This... this is new."
Another voice, equal in timbre and in tone, husked back, "Not that new. Almost three months old, now."
Unspoken was the fact that it had been twice that since their last meeting. Unspoken was the fact that in spite of the distance, the time, this new difference shouldn't have been unknown. The first voice answered back with a simple question, "How?"
The ready lie was on his tongue, ready to be spoken. A car accident, a convenience store robbery gone wrong, carelessly running with scissors, anything, G-d, anything but the truth. He looked up, opened his mouth to let the lies spill forth, but the look in those other brown eyes stopped him short. Those eyes knew too much, recognized the lie for what it was before he even had a chance to speak it. He dropped his head forward onto the other shoulder, hands clutched in the shirt in front of him, and just shook his head back and forth, love and duty acting as warring enemies in his mind and choking off his voice.
The other took pity on him, closed warm arms around him and pulled him close against that strong chest. And the quietly murmured response cut him to the quick, "I don't like this. I don't like you being in danger. I don't like that this is changing you... taking you away from me. It's wrong."
"I know," he said as he raised his eyes again, "I hate it, too. I hate that touching myself isn't the same as touching you, anymore. I feel like I've lost you... like I'm alone."
"Never," the passion in that voice was accompanied by lips once again sealing over lips, tongue plunging inside, possessive, laying claim. There was nothing hesitant left in this kiss. The time for soft touches was over. Finally.
As more clothing was peeled away, more skin revealed, more differences were found on both sides: a scar here, a smattering of sun freckles there, a new bump where a broken bone hadn't healed precisely straight. With each new difference, the touches grew harsher, more frenzied, more desperate. Hands and mouths mapped each spot, learning it, committing it to memory, adding it to the growing bank of things that were no longer identical.
By the time the newest scar was found, they had tumbled onto the bed, pressed as close to one another as they could get. And when that scar was found, so small, so innocuous on a left inner thigh, eyes blazed with something akin to anger. That scar marked difference number ten, a milestone... double digits of differences. They both hated it for what it represented. He leaned over, pressed his lips to it, swiped his tongue across it, finally bit into that spot with his teeth. Soft bites at first, teasing little nips, slowly building in pressure and force until the last one drew a whimpering cry from parted lips.
Eyes met then, apologetic and forgiving all at once. Lips and tongue bent back to their task, gently laving that spot, soothing, reassuring. He couldn't take any more of it, with a low growl flipped them to put himself on top, straddling the same-but-not-same form beneath his. Even their musculature was different now, the one above leaner with strong thighs, the one below more filled out with broader shoulders. Different exercise regimens was all, but neither one cared. Right now it was just once more difference and that was all that mattered.
He leaned over, returned the favor of that initial mapping, running lips, tongue, hands and teeth over every difference he found, drew soft gasps of pleasure and need from the body beneath his. It didn't take long and it didn't take much. It was difference number sixteen that did it. Difference number sixteen... a ragged crack in the third finger nail of the left hand from when that hand had gotten slammed in a door a month earlier. He sucked that finger into his mouth and wouldn't release it, didn't want to see that difference, again. This time the whimper came from the body beneath his, those brown eyes wide and dilated with need.
After a few minutes of that treatment, that hand pulled free, reached blindly for the bedside table, knocked over several other items before finding the one it sought. His hands were shaking so badly, he couldn't even get the small bottle open. Fortunately, they were ready for this, both knew what to do. With a gentle smile and a return to those soft, reverent kisses, they soothed that fire, that all-consuming need so they could do what had to be done.
Taking the bottle from those shaking hands, he flipped it open, squirted the contents into his own hand, reached down and backwards to grasp the firm hardness just behind him, liberally coated it with the lubricant. They didn't have time for more than that. They were both too close and it really had been too long.
Hands came up to grasp at his hips, help guide him as he settled backwards, lowered himself onto the hard shaft beneath him. He took a moment after settling, one hand braced on the chest beneath his, one grasping the hand at his right hip. Once his trembling eased, he slowly leaned back, walked his hands backwards to lean them on the strong thighs beneath his. Then he started to move, slowly at first, a gentle, rocking rhythm. That didn't last long. He picked up the pace, slamming down hard, needing to feel every inch as it pressed inside him, as those other hips rocked up to meet his every downward move with an upward thrust, perfectly matched in rhythm once more.
It took forever. It didn't take nearly long enough. After so long, neither one could wait. So, when the moment was right, their gazes locked and they let go... of everything. They let go of the differences, the separations, the control they had over themselves... their very identities. And for one precious, glorious moment... they were one. There was no "him", no "I". There was only "them" - one mingled being with no beginning, no ending, no gulf widening between them year after year after year. It was beautiful. It was perfect. No pain, no loneliness, no gaping soul wound where your other half should be... yet wasn't.
Even now, though, that perfection was fading, rolling away with the fading orgasm, receding like the tide. And as it went, the separation sprang up between them again, a thousand times more painful than it had been a minute before for having bridged it so briefly, yet so profoundly. And as they slipped apart, separated in body to match their separation of spirit, he tucked his head into the chest beneath his and let out a small, hitched sob.
The other raised his arms, pulled him close, closer, closest... but not nearly close enough. Soft, reverent kisses pressed into his hair, his cheeks, his eyelids, his lips, until they finally paused to say simply, "Conner... I'm sorry."
He pushed himself up just enough to meet those brown eyes and shake his head, "No... Eric, no."
Those identical features beneath his closed off and Eric winced, said, "I swore... I swore I wasn't going to let this happen this time, that I wouldn't put you through this, again."
Conner shook his head again, stared down at the anguished eyes beneath him in disbelief, "Eric... Is that why you didn't come home for Thanksgiving? Is that why you stayed away for so long?"
Eric winced, ducked his gaze away as he gave in to the blush, "I couldn't come home. Not and keep that promise. You..." A short laugh, "Conner, you have no idea what a temptation you are."
Conner smirked at that, laced his fingers together under his chin and coyly fluttered his eyelashes at his twin. At Eric's snort and the immediate whack to the head he received, Conner let out a cry of protest. Once they'd settled again, Eric's arms cradling him close against that strong chest, Conner said, "If I'm anywhere near as much a temptation for you as you are for me... then I think I can guess."
Silence reigned for a few minutes after that, half comfortable, half tension-filled. Conner was the one to finally break it again, "Eric... don't stay away because of me. I need you too much. I need us too much."
A small groan met that plea, "G-d, if anyone ever found out about this... We'd be damned a thousand times over and two thousand times on Sunday." As he met the hopeful eyes above him, Eric rolled his, "I feel like that should be more of a deterrent. Don't you?"
Before Conner had a chance to answer, a soft beep interrupted them. There was no way to hide his reaction to that noise, either. His heart rate all but doubled, his respirations increased, his muscles tensed, his eyes dilated. Immediate fight or flight. No! Not now... not now.
Eric just pulled him up for another kiss. When they parted, breath mingling, Eric said, "You should probably get that. But I'm warning you, if those friends of yours allow those cretins to put one more scar on this body of ours, I'm returning the favor on each of them."
Conner's heart lurched and he stared down at the face beneath his, identical, but so very different, finally choked out, "What?"
Eric smiled, pulled Conner's wrist up to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the Dino Gem resting there opposite his pulse point. And as easy as that, they were back in that place where words were unnecessary. Conner didn't have to lie because Eric already knew the truth and Conner didn't have to betray his friends because it had never been necessary to cover it up in the first place. And that was a relief big enough that he even forgave Eric when, a minute later as Conner was pre-occupied with Dr. O's explanation of Mesagog's latest hair-brained scheme, Eric flipped them back over to trap Conner beneath him, nearly knocking his breath from him in the process.
After promising Dr. O that everything was fine, that he and his brother were just rough-housing and that he would be there as soon as he could be, Conner turned an irritated glare on his twin, ready to ask what the hell that had all been about. Eric just smirked and pressed his revived erection against him. Conner wanted to be annoyed, to his twin that now wasn't a good time... except he could never quite say "No" to Eric. The need to feel that perfect moment of connection between them was too strong... for both of them. And Conner was in no hurry to walk away from it, either.
So, instead of making useless and unwanted protests, he just grabbed his communicator and called Ethan, "Ethan, I'm really sorry, but can you tell Dr. O that you guys are on your own finding this new meteorite? I'm... apparently a little tied up at the moment."
Though Kira's derisive comments on that were all too easy to hear, Ethan was understanding enough, promised to call if they needed him. The second Conner shut down the communication link, Eric lined himself up and pressed back inside, having taken that call for the unspoken assent that it was. The rhythm between them this time was slower, more subdued. Eric clearly planned to take his time this time around. When Conner looked up at his twin it was to find an entirely too predatory look on his face.
Eric put their rhythm on pause, stared down at him as a slow, contemplative smile spread across his face. Conner's heart sped up. The last time Eric had worn that particular look, he'd actually managed to keep Conner in this bed for a week by convincing their parents that he was ill and didn't want anyone but Eric waiting on him. Then again... Conner hadn't exactly objected at the time. Eric answered that nervous look a moment later with, "A little tied up, huh? That doesn't sound like a bad idea, little brother... not a bad idea at all."
And all Conner could think of to say in response before dragging his brother down into another kiss was...
"The handcuffs are in the bottom drawer."
R-chan: *twitch* What?
Conner: Er... nothing. Really.
R-chan: Nothing? *rae*
Eric: *shrugs* Yeah, pretty much.
R-chan: *sweatdrop* You mean you're happy with this?
Conner: *eg* Yep. No complaints whatsoever.
Questions, comments, watermelon?
Nuriko: *laughs* I think we may have warped her view of things.
Claude: *chuckles* You think?
Eric: *twitch* Who the fuck are you?
Elder McKinley: *laughs* I think I understand why you find these sorts of interruptions to be so entertaining, now.
Nuriko: *nodnod* Aren't they, though? :D
Conner: *patpats Eric* Don't mind them. They all need therapy and this makes them feel better.
Nuriko: *eg* I wouldn't be so smug. I've seen the WIP folder... you're next in line, pal.
Conner: *shrugs* I've seen the WIP folder, too, dude. Therapist is already on speed dial.
Nuriko: *sigh* It's not as much fun when they've already hit the acceptance stage.