Alan and Alex, twins, have been together since they were born. They are identical, so similar that they seem to be two halves of the same creature, or maybe the same being in two separate bodies. Even their mother cannot always tell them apart. All their lives they have been united against the world. They stand with each other, the two of them, ready to face all comers. Their lives have been nearly as identical as their faces, and each one perfectly understands the other, without speaking.
They do everything together. Even when they grew to teenagers, neither ever mentioned moving out of their room, with its two beds side by side. Each needs the other’s constant company like a man in the desert needs water; they cannot survive without the comforting presence of half their soul.
The souls twine about each other. Neither is complete without the other. Each feels that his brother is the only one who understands him. Their love is like a sacred thing, kept close against their hearts.
They do everything together; they are no strangers to each other’s bodies. Indeed, how could they be? For each simply recognizes his own body, outside himself. It means nothing to touch, caress. In fact it means everything; there is no experience that matches the sharing of bodies when the soul is already combined.
They stand together in the shower, facing each other, the warm water beating down upon them from above. Each gazes seductively at the other, watching the way the dark wet hair plasters to his forehead, trickles down his neck. They watch the rivulets of water that run down the pale skin, across the neck and the collarbone, flowing down the lean body like a caress.
They reach forward and touch one another. They slick their hands with soap suds and each boy reaches out to touch the body that is so like his own, but not his own, and they wash each other. Their fingers travel nimbly along taught muscles, rubbing whorled fingertips against long-since memorized flesh.
They step closer as each boy reaches around to wash the other’s back. It begins as an embrace, hands on shoulder blades, chins resting on shoulders—the right shoulder of each, just so. The hands trail downwards, mirroring each other, and neither boy is sure which one of them leads and which follows. Each hears the breathing of his brother grow heavy in his ears and feels a little triumphant thrill inside, even as his own heart begins to beat faster.
The hands travel downwards, worshipping the spine with liquid fingers, trailing down narrow backs like water. Thick suds coat their bodies, and the hands slip through them like a parting of waves, like an explorer moving forward, seeking the ruins of some ancient hidden temple.
The hands travel downwards, until they come to rest on each other’s buttocks. They squeeze; both boys gasp. The sound travels up from their chests. Their breath mingles in their throats, where their skin is pressed against each other. Simultaneously, they both push forward, drawing their hands in and pressing against one another. Their cocks meet like hands clasped in prayer, the friction causing a low moan to rumble through their bodies. They buck against one another, straining against each other as though by pressing hard enough they could once again become a single person.
But it is not enough, and each feels need and desire that he cannot express, but his brother understands anyway. With their soft, soapy hands, each boy parts the other’s buttocks. He slips his slick soapy fingers inside, two from each hand, sliding the slippery digits inside his brother’s anus. Each presses inside sharply at just the same time, in just the right place, making both boys groan and their bodies melt against one another. So they stand, their cocks pressed against each other, their hands sliding in and out of each other easily, gliding on slick soapsuds. Each knows just how and where to touch to make the other moan. Together, their minds slowly descend into madness, driven by the need to pleasure and feel pleasure, to desire and be desired, to fuck and be fucked. Their hands are rough in their penetration, but intimate. There is no need for apologies, nor questions, nor words at all. In silence they hear each other, hear their minds crying out to each other in ecstasy. And in the single moment when they come against one another, for that tiny infinite that blazes within their minds, they are together, one being, single and whole once more.