Depth of a Shadow
They writhe on the floor together, bodies flush, clothing scattered carelessly across the flagged stone. It seems that no place is forbidden for their lips to touch. One slides down the other’s skin until his breath is hot against the other’s cock, and the one underneath arches his back off the hard surface, mouth open in shock as his other sucks him off.
Everything about this picture is wrong. Their appearances make the act look incestuous, blond hair mingled together, skin the exact shade of pale. One is a child to the other’s adult, his body small and soft under his other’s firm, lean muscles. The timeless is defiling the young, the shadow corrupting the body—the laws they are breaking are not those of man but of nature.
Not that I am one to speak of wrong. The very illicitness of the scene heightens my own arousal. My clothes weigh heavy upon me, sticky with sweat, and as I rub myself through my pants, the fabric pulls tight at my response. I lean back into the shadows to watch them, buried in darkness far above their chamber floor, the very ledges and staircases intended for protection offering me coverage.
My eyes are heavy-lidded as I stare down at them, my mind projecting myself and my other onto their dark silhouettes. This is, of course, if he would have even let me touch him the same way, if our twin bodies moving together would have excited us alike. Would he have gripped me like that, hands slick with sweat, and called out to me when he came? Or would sex have been just one more pleasure I had twisted into pain for him?
The two figures on the floor adjust their positions—the smallest also the most flexible, he raises his legs above him, and then settles them around his other, knees tightly gripping his back. He squirms and moans and giggles when his other reaches down a hand to stroke him, and then shrieks when his other pulls away the hand and begins to thrust into him instead. The cry echoes throughout the chamber, and I see his other pause briefly, shoulders shaking with laughter, before gently resuming.
It occurs to me that I am in excellent position to harm them, had I the will or the weapon. My mind imagines for a moment a knife stabbing through their flesh right at the moment of climax, imagines their shock and pain at being viciously torn apart in the heat of passion. At the thought of their blood spilling on the floor, as real inside the mind as out, the throbbing inside my pants increases.
I reach down to free myself, fingering the base of my cock while willing myself not to come. I can think of no greater way to alert the chamber’s owner of my presence than to leave semen on the floor behind me. In fact, I wonder that he has not sensed me already. Not that he could do anything about it; nor, for all my fantasy, can I at the moment. He still possesses something I need to retrieve, and so at least for now my threat lies more in the potential for stolen knowledge than loss of life.
Something occurs to me; perhaps he does know. Perhaps my voyeurism has not been concealed but allowed. All his actions immediately become suspect. Is his position an act of protection, to shield his other self from my view? Or is it the other way around, to avoid the smaller one’s mortification at knowing he has a witness? (He himself would flaunt it.) Maybe he is mocking me, sending the message that I am so little danger to him he can have sex in front of me without a care. Or that may be another message—I matter so little to him that he simply doesn’t care.
I watch them cradle each other when they are finished, the smallest resting his head on his other’s chest, his back to me. There is a hint of blood on his skin. The act had to have hurt him, but he must be willing to accept it as the price for being with his other, who is staring up at the ceiling right now, a self-satisfied smile on his face, his gaze almost directly in my direction.
I close my eyes, thinking again of my other half, and the thought is the final push that brings me to orgasm. As I spill out onto the stone, I wonder if this is what its owner intended all along. Not harm. Just to allow me even a shadow of the same pleasure he felt.