Mirror Image
All content copyright Veritas, 2006. Any resemblance to other persons or situations, real or fictional, is purely coincidental. Those offended by anthropomorphic, homosexual sex between teenage twins need not read on. Blah, blah, blah.
Mirror Image
The Bertrand household was very much a modern dwelling, with all the conveniences that technology had to offer. Yet somehow, the dominant feature of the living room seemed to be the antique clock, the sweep of its pendulum and the tick of its gearwork chopping time into neat pieces.
Joseph Bertrand didn't notice it, or perhaps the mere passage of time simply didn't frighten him anymore. The smaller lupines sitting across the table from him, however - a completely matched pair save that the one on Joseph's left had a ponytail while the one on the right had short hair- seemed to fidget a little more with each beat.
Joseph looked them over, sighed with heavy resignation, and fished some folded papers out of the first of two envelopes before him.
The pony-tailed Gawain glanced left to meet his twin's nervous gaze, then looked forward again, anxiously watching his father's expression as the elder Bertrand read, then re-read, his brow furrowing in confusion. Joseph gave Iain a quizzical look; the short-haired youth squirmed in his seat, and their father, with a shrug, started on Gawain's envelope.
Presently, he leaned back in his chair, letting the papers slip from his hands and flutter to the table. "I don't have the faintest idea why you're so nervous, sons," he mused. "You still want to go into engineering, yes?"
In unison, the twins nodded.
Their father gestured at the reports in front of him. "Physics, chemistry, English, economics, and three different studies of math - all above ninety percent, both of you. Your Calculus teacher even noted for me that the two of you took the top marks between you on every single test and assignment. I don't see how a seventy-eight in history," he nodded to Iain, "or eighty-one in geography," to Gawain, "is even relevant. They're respectable grades and still leave your high school average over ninety. And didn't you only take those courses in the first place because of some silly school board requirement?" He laughed. "I'm almost afraid to think of how you'd have done in the rest if you'd had that period free to study. Relax, boys. You've made me proud."
They did, in fact, relax. Iain said, "Aaron told us that... once you've set a standard, anything beneath it looks bad."
Actually, his words had been, "The higher you build a reputation, the faster and harder it falls." But Iain had got the meaning of it; Gawain held his peace.
"Well, to some degree, he's not wrong on that," Joseph admitted. "This is Aaron Fitzowen? Wise beyond his years, that mouse. But I've got where I am today, sons, by learning to watch out for instincts and automatic reactions like that which can work against me. True, those two grades aren't as high as your others; but your others have been excellent. It's important to look at the whole picture."
Their father was the founder and head of research for a rather successful biochemistry firm; he'd been offered the post of CEO, but had declined in favour of staying with the research. It was a tough legacy to live up to - though, as success stories went, something of an inspiration, too.
Joseph chuckled. "Go on now, boys. I've got some paperwork to tend to still, and you deserve a good graduation present. I want you to think about what you'd like." He gathered up their reports. "I'll show these to your mother when she gets home."
They said their thank-yous and dashed up the stairs. Iain swung into the bathroom, while Gawain continued on to his bedroom; they'd had a routine about trading off who washed up first for so long that they didn't even need to talk about it now.
Gawain pushed his door shut behind him, stripped off his grey T-shirt, and tossed it into the hamper before sinking into his chair. That had been mercifully painless - though their tension had not, in fact, had much to do with their grades.
Jessica Troy.
He picked up a pencil, turned over a fresh leaf of paper on his easel, and started sketching.
For some of their Economics credit, they'd done a couple hours of work, several days a week, at Bertrand Biochem. They'd been gophers - "general assistants" had been the official title. Nothing glamorous, but it took them to many different places in the building.
They'd met her at the water cooler - a panther, between her second and third years at the city's own Tremont University, on a work placement to gain practical experience before continuing her Biochemistry degree. She was intelligent, motivated, good-humoured, and beautiful in an understated, elegant way that had kept Gawain, and most likely his twin, up at night on several occasions.
The twins liked her, and it seemed she liked them back. She was the only person there who had known their first names - and was able to tell them apart - before even knowing they were in the family, rather than coming to know them as "the boss's kids, just mumble the name if you're not sure which".
But she was unattainable. Or rather, they were. After all, they were "the boss's kids". Anyone involved with them would be an instant suspect for favouritism - especially while they themselves were working there too.
Gawain laid down his pencil and looked at his sketch. Though it had been Jessica running through his head, the panther he had drawn was male, his own age - a well-worn sixteen - and beginning to truly fill out. It was no cat he actually knew, just one that might be; slouched in a chair with a book in his hands and his tail lazily curled about an ankle. One could almost ignore the fact that he was naked; there was, he felt, a lot more wistful regret in the piece than eroticism.
Iain tapped on the door, calling through it that the bathroom was free. Gawain looked over his work once more, sighed, and pulled the cover back over the easel.
Time to wash up.
Two weeks later, Gawain eased the last of their packs onto the gravel lot, Iain paid and tipped their driver, and they stood back together, watching the taxi pull away from the tiny lot and drive off down the winding access road.
As the noise of the engine faded away, the sounds of nature rushed in - wind in the leaves, birds calling, the occasional rustle as something scurried through the brush.
Iain shouldered his pack, buckling the straps. "I don't think I'll ever forget that look on dad's face," he chuckled.
Gawain laughed a little himself, then crouched down to lift his own pack. "I think he was expecting us to ask for a car or something like that, not a camping trip."
"Not that," Iain said over his shoulder as they started down the trail. "Though that was good, too. I mean when you asked for shares of company stock. I thought he was gonna pick you up and hug you half to death."
Gawain had to smile. Their father had pressed for a gift that'd take some lasting form. It had been worth choosing that, worth it ten times over, just to see their normally calm and practical father get so caught up in emotion. And besides, years down the line the diversified stock portfolio each twin had received - including a sizeable chunk of Bertrand Biochem stock - would be much more valuable than any material present this side of real estate.
Conversation petered out for the most part; the path was reasonably level, but tight, with growth on both sides and sometimes crowding over the path itself, which, with their heavy packs, made the going occasionally treacherous, and overall difficult.
They made it to an open meadow in time for lunch, as planned, though "lunch" was a simple affair that didn't even involve heating anything up. Then they pressed on, keeping a steady, sustainable pace, until they arrived at their chosen campsite.
Getting this one had been a stroke of luck. It was nestled against a cliff, and a pool on the upper rim, some five meters overhead, spilled down to another just ten meters from a perfect spot for their tent, before ambling off as a lazy stream.
The maps described the spring feeding that upper pool as a mineral spring, and tagged the whole section of stream as unsuitable for drinking without a filter. What they didn't mention was that "mineral spring", at least in this case, also meant "hot spring". It was almost warm enough, even after tumbling over the cliff, to serve as a bath, and they had filter cartridges aplenty.
Their tent went up without a fuss, their gear getting stowed in the small vestibule. Dinner was of the prepackaged, dip-in-boiling-water variety, but the day's trek had left them hungry enough that it tasted like a banquet.
Though bred and born in a big city, the twins were no strangers to woodscraft. They got a rope strung between two trees without much difficulty, and winched their foodstuffs into the air by means of a pulley riding along that rope; so long as anything that happened by wasn't smart enough or lucky enough to dislodge the rope, their food was safe. And they knew how to forage anyway; the pack just meant they wouldn't have to, and could spend more time relaxing instead.
Which it was certainly time to do. Since Iain had cooked, Gawain washed the dishes while his brother took a dip in the pool, washing up under the natural shower of that waterfall. Shortly after Iain had finished and slipped into the tent, Gawain hung up the mesh bag with the dishes in it to dry, and dumped the dirty dish water some way back in the woods; then it was his own turn to wash.
There was something therapeutic about standing under that fall, with the water pounding his shoulders and sluicing over him, plastering his fur to his skin and caressing all over his body. Therapeutic, and more than a little stimulating. The water hitting his shoulders felt almost like a continual massage, and the way it slid over him, right down to the skin...
He bit his lip, realising that he'd started stroking himself. There was a time and a place for such things, he told himself; this was neither. He stepped out of the water, shook and rubbed most of it out of his grey pelt, and wrapped himself in a towel, trying to ignore the touch of the rough fabric on his erection.
That got a little harder to do when he crawled into the tent. Iain was sprawled atop his sleeping bag, his own towel discarded, and apparently dozing. His damp fur still clung to his body, showing every contour as clearly as though the fur wasn't there at all. One arm rested haphazardly off to the side; the other hand slid fingertips slowly up and down his own rigid arousal.
Gawain swallowed. He'd seen his brother naked before, of course, but never so intimately. The sight just got his own blood pounding all over again. Iain looked so vulnerable, lying like that, yet the way his fur stuck to him, outlining his developing muscles, made him look so strong too. And somehow, unbelievably attractive.
Gawain had known for a little while now that he was attracted to boys as much as girls, if not more so. But his own brother?
Still, why not? They shared everything with each other - why not themselves?
He looked down again. Predictably enough, Iain's shaft was just like his own - thick, pink, somewhere around half a foot long, with the same broad flare of glans, the same slight upward curve. Yet Gawain couldn't stop his hand from shaking, couldn't keep himself from reaching forward, feeling the underside of that length for himself.
Iain shifted slightly, arching almost imperceptibly into the touch. "Mmmh, 'wain," he mumbled, his voice full of that sleepy, distracted tone of those fully absorbed in a daydream.
Gawain licked his lips. If Iain was dreaming about this, and his twin's name was the first to come to mind when someone else touched him, it didn't matter what anyone else said; this had to be right. Trembling, he leaned over, setting his lips against his twin's, fingers curling around that warm, rigid flesh.
Iain arched up toward him, lips working against his, failing to contain a soft moan. Then his eyes flew open, a moment's disorientation giving way to shock. He broke from the kiss with a gasp. "Gawain?"
Gawain bit his lip. For a moment there, it had felt so right, so good. "Sorry, Iain," he mumbled, looking away from those stunned eyes, forcing himself to let go, trying to push the feeling from his mind. "I just - "
"No, wait," Iain blurted, catching his hand, his own, other hand touching Gawain's cheek to ease his twin's muzzle back toward his own. "That felt... really good, bro. I just... thought I was dreaming, is all. Didn't expect it to be real."
Gawain couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, it's real, 'ain." Reassured, his hand slid back around that hardness almost of its own accord. He heard a soft whimper, felt Iain rising up, pressing into his touch. "God," Gawain breathed. "I just came in and saw you there, and... and I had to, I couldn't stop myself."
Iain's chuckle was a little unsteady. He touched his lips back to Gawain's for a tiny moment. "Dad would freak," he whispered.
Gawain chuckled. His sons being gay would've been one thing, but for each other... Iain was probably right. Still. "Dad doesn't need to know," he pointed out, sliding his fist along that hard, hot flesh, feeling Iain tremble and shift under his fingers. God, it felt so good.
They kissed again, and this time it lingered a while, even as Gawain shifted around, crouching over his twin, settling down against him. He slid his hand away, planted both hands to either side by Iain's shoulders, and gasped into Iain's mouth as flesh met aroused flesh.
Iain whimpered, moving one of his hands in between them. "God, bro," he husked, gliding rough, callused fingers along Gawain's length, squeezing it against his own. "Mm, I never thought I'd be giving myself to you, but man, it just feels like the right thing to do, now..."
Gawain shivered, rocking on his knees, sliding his shaft atop Iain's. At first it felt a little rough, but as that motion and that of Iain's fingers coaxed out a steady flow of slick pre from his glans, moistening his brother's cock and fingers, the movement became easier, friction shifting from mildly uncomfortable to just plain wonderful. "Unnnh, think of it as practise," he managed.
A nervous chuckle. "I like that, Iain breathed, and drew his brother into another kiss.
Words weren't really necessary after that. Their mouths stayed interlocked, each exploring the other's, sharing a portion of their hot breath. With both their members rubbing together, getting thoroughly slick, soon Gawain was thrusting hard and fast, reflex taking over as a delicious ache started to build inside him.
He wasn't quite sure when his climax hit; he just knew the pleasure kept getting stronger, his breath quickening, and at some point in the midst of that bliss Iain's shaft became very, very slick under his own, slippery with warm seed. Still he kept driving back and forth - and then it was Iain's turn, the other twin suddenly tensing, shuddering. One of his hands clutched at Gawain's shoulder, the other digging into his brother's rear as he cried out, bucking upward, writhing under his twin as damp warmth flowed across their bellies.
Each thrust was becoming more and more intense, but Gawain pressed on, kept going even as the sensation became exquisite almost to the point of pain, until Iain, just starting to calm down, gasped and squirmed under him, trying reflexively to pull away. Gawain lifted himself up with a sigh, flipping over and sinking onto the sleeping bag beside Iain, cuddling in against his twin's side as the pleasure started to fade.
Still trembling a little, Iain brought a hand up to Gawain's chest. "Wow," he breathed. "I didn't think it'd be that different with someone else."
Gawain had to agree. The short surge of mild bliss he'd enjoyed when stroking off was nothing compared to the way his whole body tingled now. He glanced down, brunging his hand up to stroke his twin's fingers. Catching sight of the matted fur down below - especially Iain's - he laughed. "Looks like we'll both need to wash up all over again."
"Yeah," Iain chuckled, shifting in a small stretch. "Together, maybe. Save time."
And so they wound up back under the waterfall, Gawain standing behind Iain, kneading at his belly to make sure the sticky semen was rinsed away.
Iain sighed and leaned back into him. "I hate needing to keep secrets," he murmured, stroking his brother's arms.
Gawain nuzzled at his neck with a sigh of his ow. "First Jessica, now this," he agreed. "At least once the school term starts, one of them won't be an issue."
"Except that there's two of us and only one of her," Iain reminded him.
Gawain winced, nodding. He'd forgotten, somehow, that that would get in the way. He wouldn't mind having his twin present in any relationship of his, but the other person would probably object.
"Oh well." Iain gave his hands a squeeze. "At least we have each other, right?"
"That's true." Gawain leaned forward a little, hugging Iain tight under the warm cascade. "I love you, bro. You can always count on that."