Reason #436

When they're both naked, Jack can't tell which one is his Daniel. He feels guilty about that, but not too much, because identical hungry mouths are sucking, licking and kissing, one at his stomach, the other behind him, spreading him open, exposing him, a wet tongue sliding between his cheeks. Jack moans and his fingers claw at the spread out sleeping bag, bunching it up under his head.

It's hot in the temple, the air heavy with unshed rain. There are arms and legs everywhere, twining and tangling. There's skin, bare, naked skin rubbing and shining with sweat. Jack is exhausted, his body is heavy and lazy but neither Daniel seems to mind. So he lets them have their way, allows Daniel to lift his leg and nuzzle his balls while another arm hooks over his hip, and oh god his tongue is right there.

Jack knows that what they are doing is beyond insane. Still, his life has been just plain whacked out for years now, and at least this is fun and insane. Two mouths on him, it's overwhelming—two mouths eating him alive, Daniel's tongue pushing inside of him, Daniel's mouth is on his cock and Jack is getting hard again and ain't that something.

"Oh yeah," Jack says; only he's not the one who said it.

The other bastard is stealing his lines. Jack glares at the man sucking Daniel's cock and wonders if he should be jealous. Daniel is clearly enjoying it and that's sweet to see, especially when he gasps and moans around Jack's cock instead of sucking. But then he rolls onto his back, leaving Jack's cock behind and spreading his legs wide.

"Hey," Jack complains at the loss. "No fair." It bugs him that the other Jack ignores him, even though he's obviously very busy. It's more than a little odd for Jack to watch that gray head bob up and down, to see Daniel's thick cock sliding between his lips and disappearing into his mouth. The movement is slow and deliberate, and just as slowly Daniel's back arches, a desperate sound of pleasure escaping his throat. Daniel's hand finds Jack's cock and squeezes, and that suits Jack just fine because the other Daniel is still busy behind him, doing all kinds of wonderful and nasty things with his mouth.

Daniel squeezes again. Jack's cock is rock-hard now and ready for more action. Not bad for an old guy. He wants to point this out to the other Jack, point out that he's fully recovered, because he's better than him, but oh god—fingers, slick with who-knows-what ease inside of him, and he can only make vague, unintelligible sounds. Daniel chuckles and bites his ass, sharp teeth sinking into skin. Jack yelps at the welcome pain and thinks that maybe this one is his, after all.

The wind gusts through the window, cooler this time. Daniel kisses Jack's ass and then sits up, sniffing the air. "Rain?"

"Huh?" Jack asks. He welcomes the coolness, but he can't think right now, never mind comment on the weather, not with those fingers twisting inside of him.

The rain finally begins, a summer downpour. The other Jack doesn't seem to notice, but the other Daniel gasps as the drops spatter him. Another gust brings it into further into the room with them, cold heavy drops hitting Jack's overheated skin. The sleeping bags are going to get wet, but he doesn't care because now Daniel bent over Daniel's body, licking drops of water from Daniel's chest. Jack can't take his eyes off of them, it's such a pretty picture, one Daniel sprawled flat on his back, arms outstretched, eyes closed, the other leaning over him, pink tongue gliding along the wet skin. His are fingers still inside of Jack, and Jack likes the connection, likes the pleasure the movement brings. He reaches for Daniel, cupping his head, running his fingers through the short, damp hair while the other Daniel still licks and nuzzles. Daniel is getting noisier; his face screwed up into the expression of pure, mindless pleasure that Jack loves so much.

He loves Daniel.

Both Daniels.

He loves all the Daniels that ever were.

Daniel's cries grow higher in pitch. His hand clenches and unclenches around Jack's cock. He comes, mouth open, silent at first, then moaning in a way that is so familiar to Jack that he's suddenly convinced that this one is his.

He's still pondering this as the other Daniel rolls him over onto his stomach. Instinctively he rises up on his knees, his cock heavy and solid between his legs, his ears still full of the sound of Daniel coming, the sound that wraps itself around his heart and settles near the base of his spine. The rain gusts in again and he's hot and cold all at once and he wants, he needs a Daniel pushing inside of him right now.

But the arm that slides around his belly isn't Daniel's.

"Aw, fuck," Jack says.

"Oh, absolutely," Jack replies.

"You've got to be kidding."

"I kid you not," Jack tells him, steadying him with one rough hand on his hip.

This isn't what Jack wants, but something thick and hard bumps up against his ass and that is what he wants. "Fuck," he says again.

The other Jack does just that, pushing his cock into Jack's ass. "You mean like this?"

It's worse than talking to himself. Usually, he doesn't answer himself back. "You're a sick, sick man," Jack tells him as he bites back a moan. He is being penetrated, stretched wide open—pressure, a little pain, a lot of pleasure, all of it mixing together. "Pervert," he spits out.

"You would know." Jack strokes his hip and keeps on pushing, until his dick all the way inside, until his thighs are snug up against the back of Jack's thighs. He sighs, and tightens his grip around Jack's waist.

"You got two really nice asses to chose from," Jack says, waving a hand at the two naked men lounging just out of reach. "So why the hell—"

"Because I could, that's why." Jack's voice sounds a little strained, but still flippant as ever.

"Huh. Gives a whole new meaning to the term 'go fuck yourself', doesn't it?" Daniel asks. He's resting his head on Daniel's chest, eyes half-open as he yawns. The other Daniel's arm drapes across his stomach as if it's his own. They are watching with such rapt expressions that Jack is tempted to ask if they want popcorn. But then Jack thrusts into him with a little twist of the hips and he slumps forward on his forearms, swallowing another moan. He can't even talk; it feels good, annoyingly good, good in a way that really pisses him off. He tightens his muscles and squeezes.

"Because I thought of it first," Jack was saying, "and thinking is probably not—oh, oh fuckfuckfuck."

Jack clenches his muscles even tighter, and Jack shudders, groaning now, not talking anymore. Jack feels his cock pushing deep into his body, hitting that spot, right there. He grunts, and Jack gasps, hands clutching at his hips, his shoulders, his legs.

Both Daniel's eyes are open wide now. They lean forward in a this-is-getting-really-good-now kind of way, lips parted as they watch. Jack shakes his head—fucked up, whacked out, definitely one hundred percent insane. To be on his hands and knees, being fucked by himself, his own hard, hairy self and yet it feels pretty damn good.

It gets even more insane when Jack leans over and whispers, "Yeah, I know just what you like, you dog, you." His breath is hot in Jack's ear, and that might even have been a kiss on the side of his neck. Or a drop of rain.

"Don't be so sure," Jack growls.

But then he feels the sting of Jack's open hand hitting his ass.