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f(x,y) It started, innocently enough, when Pidge had taken his hand and held it against Chip's. They fit perfectly against each other and they had both wanted to see just how alike they really were. It was Chip who removed his shirt first, twisting about to show Pidge the birthmark on his right shoulder, and it was almost a race after that, removing bits and pieces of their clothing to compare marks. To nobody's surprise, it turned out that they were identical in everything but the way life had etched itself upon their bodies. Even the star-shaped hollow on Pidge's right hip matched perfectly with the little knot on Chip's left. Pidge stared at Chip and Chip stared back and neither one really knew what to do with this information; their bodies knew each other but to their minds the other was nothing more than a stranger that bore their face. It was only natural, while they were both naked and standing hip to hip, thigh to thigh, to compare dicks. Pidge wasn't sure if he suggested it or Chip did or if it was something that occurred to them simultaneously, hands reaching down to stroke and caress and it was embarrassing at first, because Pidge had never done anything like this before. But he was young and he was horny and when he was hard he looked over at Chip and even this was the same, so strangely familiar that Pidge began to wonder if Chip liked the same things he did, liked to feel pressure just so and to stroke just this fast and before he knew what he was doing he was reaching over. His hand closed around Chip's cock and he turned to face Chip and the world froze in a startled instant. Pidge looked at Chip who stared back, the confusion and desire that Pidge felt reflected in his eyes. Chip giggled, high and strained and cut off as quickly as it had begun, and turned his body so that they were reflecting each other, standing groin to groin, the hard lengths of their cocks crossing each other like dueling swords. He reached out and pushed a strand of Pidge's hair away, stepped in closer until it was his chest against Pidge's and the hard lengths of their cocks were insistent pressures against their stomachs. "We're brothers," Pidge whispered, but he knew that it didn't matter and their lips fit together just like the dip-and-knob on their hips. Chip backed them up until the edge of the bed hit the back of Pidge's knees and he fell onto it, arms wrapping around Chip and pulling him down too. It was strange and surreal to touch his body like this, to see his hands holding each other, to feel his chest glide against himself. Strange and a little frightening but still so very right. And when he was inside Chip--and here was a difference, because Chip had done this before whereas Pidge had not--the part of him that had been missing but he'd never known was gone was suddenly there and he felt more like who he was than he had ever felt before. Blood was pounding in his ears and a heartbeat was thudding against his chest and he couldn't tell if it was his or Chips, but it didn't really matter. Because he was Pidge and he was Chip and they were the same in all the important things: in things like sex and in things like blood and in the very completeness of this act. Afterwards, they curled around each other, keeping the contact of flesh and heat and Pidge's fingers drew lazy tangents on Chip's hip as he said, again, "We're brothers." Chip shrugged in a perfect sine curve and said, "It's only genetics." Which explained nothing and everything and was the ultimate Truth when all was said and done. Because despite the way their bodies locked together and the way Pidge felt complete, the only real bond they had was the way 32 chromosomes happened to line up and they were just strangers. Just strangers who shared the same face. |