It wasn't like masturbating.
For one thing, when Jack wanked, it wasn't...well. There was no explanation, really. No explanation for how it was different with his hands and not his thought controlling them, his cock in his hands but not...it didn't make any sense. There was no sense to it at all. There were, however, two of him.
Yes, two, and Jack and Jack were kissing, both thinking well this is odd and both, at the same time, delighting in the way a tongue stud felt for another. One Jack moaned, and pressed closer in a move the other instantly sensed, and reacted to.
It wasn't like mirror images, either. One Jack had his hair down, undyed sandy blond matching the freckles on his nose, clear to view moreso because he wore no makeup. The other Jack's hair was still dark, twenty-minute style drawing attention to purple highlights and the thick smokey eyeshadow that stood out on his freckless face. Maybe that made it more erotic, the little things that set them apart, made them look like alternate versions of the same person. Which, Jack supposed, they were.
Jack arched up suddenly against Jack, both boys hissing at the way that they knew that it felt, pressing closer to affirm that they both had felt it the same. This isn't sex with Avery, isn't sex with Jake, and they take it at face value, as sex, as an opportunity to find out what the other boys already know about Jack. How to make him arch like that--like this? yes. How to play Jack's cock and his piercings and how to orchestrate little cries that Jack hasn't ever made for himself before.
But this is different.
This is weird, not that they mind, not that Jack minds and Jack doesn't mind either. This is fucking with Jack's head, and fucking with Jack's hair, and yes for the first time there's a difference.
They could come just from this, they could frot and rub and roll until orgasm, but then Jack is crawling between Jack's legs, lifting them and accepting the lube that Jack hands him. Jack presses, pushes, and the Jack with dark hair reaches behind him to grab the pillow, to squeeze it, and blond Jack's eyelashes close over freckles and open to look at smeared eyeliner. Two of them, two of him, but Jack doesn't let that affect sex. It would take a lot more than this to put Jack off of sex. That went for both of them.
It's like frotting again now, but different, because Jack's hips are rolling jerking pushing forward and up and down and up, but without any in and out, they're grinding together. Jack grinds back, and he looks to feminine that Jack laughs, says you're too pretty, gets a glare in return. Jack doesn't wear makeup, but Jack does.
It's wrong, it's so wrong to come to this. It's wrong for Jack to wrap a hand around his cock and watch his face and come watching it, the expression he never sees. He'd go to hell for it, but one of them doesn't believe in hell and neither are thinking anyway.
"Fuck me," the one who hasn't come yet says, grinding against what's left of Jack's erection. Names are spared in their haste, and the one who's been gasping gathers his wits enough to replace cock with fingers, wondering why he isn't bothered by it, who shoves up like they've never been able to do for themselves separately, like their fingers have never been able to bend. Shove and twist his cock and then Jack's coming too, his "fuck me oh god fuck me"s stopping and his breath going loud and then ragged and his arms wrapping around the other Jack who's done this to him.
Jack on Jack, they collapse or they bend and they grab and they hold, both of their arms going to the same place for a hug before they get sorted out.
"You--"
"Yeah."
"Me--"
"Us?"
"Us."
Them. Blond hair and black together on the pillow, identical hair from two different heads. Nails bitten and nails painted on fingers that match catch each other, grab and hold on, identical thumbs warring and identical smiles aimed at the two parts of a whole.
Jack.
Jack.
Two boys fall asleep.
In the morning, there will be one. His eyes will bear traces of eyeliner but his freckles will be clear. He'll wake up inexplicably hard, and will turn to Avery for help. "Show me," he'll say, and nuzzle Avery's neck, press into him. "What makes me feel?"
And when Avery turns into him, his hands warm, Jack will know where those hands are going to go.
and Avery will wonder why Jack still makes twice as much noise.