SORRY I WILL NEVER FINISH.
The thing that sucks about dating yourself is: no PDAs.
It's not like Kris has a problem with it. He loves the fact that he never has to hold back. It's himself, so he has free reign to lean into every possessive press of fingers against his skin, every brush of lips against his cheek, knowing how much they both love it. Being out in public has never been an issue before, so now that it's the two of them, it really shouldn't be a problem at all.
Except, when you're dating someone who shares your face? Most people tend to come to the conclusion that you're related. More specifically, they tend to believe that you're identical twins. And that, well - that kind of ruins things.
"This blows," K whines, after yet another hostess looks them both up and down, a predatory smirk playing on her lips, before taking them to a table. She leads them to a booth not far from the front (the better to keep an eye on them, he assumes) and saunters back to the hostess stand to chatter with her co-workers and slide glances their way. "I'm tired of people thinking we're brothers."
"Is it worse that we're, like, identical?" Kris wonders out loud. "Isn't that more incestuous?"
K looks around, quick, then kicks Kris in the shin under the table. "Are you insane," he hisses. "Don't say that."
"What? Why?" He catches K's calf with his ankle and hooks their feet together. K hates to admit that the simple press of Kris's leg against him calms him, but it does. "We do have a little self-love thing going on. We have the same blood. We could be brothers."
K shudders. "First of all: Ew, think of Daniel - " Kris's face scrunches in on itself and K nods, satisfied. "See? Incest, bad. What we've got is more like - "
"Extreme Masturbation," Kris says. K is nodding in agreement when the waiter coughs beside them. He can feel his cheeks flush, but he looks up anyways, sheepish. Kris, on the other hand, just cracks up.
"Do you need a minute?" the guy says. Kris is still giggling like a loon, so K just nods and shakily reaches for the drink menu. He totally deserves a beer.
::
They weren't really brothers or twins or anything like that. K figures they'd have to have grown up together or something for that to be technically true. And they weren't clones or time travelers or hallucinations. K had just been wandering through the park one day and there Kris was, head bent over his guitar, fingers plucking over the strings.
K hadn't even noticed the resemblance at first. He just paused on the sidewalk, his own guitar slung in it's case across his back, and listened. The guy was good, fingers nimble and quick, and K clapped with out hesitation when his playing faded out on a F chord. His head was dipped low in concentration, sunlight glinting off the tips of his hair.
"That was killer," K said. The guy's fingers never halted, strumming right along and leading straight into the next song as he slowly tilted his face upwards.
"Eh, it's nothing special," he started, then cocked his head back. The strings squeaked beneath his touch, sharp note mingling with his surprised gasp. K blinked.
"You're --"
"Why do you look like -- "
They both stared at one another, stunned. It's not everyday a guy meets, well, himself. K wasn't sure of the etiquette.
In the end, though, he simply collapsed down onto the grass beside the guy - Kris, apparently - and they tried to work out exactly what was going on. Maybe there'd been some rip in the space-time continuum after all. Maybe Kris came from some alternate universe, even if everything about their lives seemed to be identical. It could maybe be true.
Whatever. K totally watched that Sliders show. And the other Kris got his references, so before long, they weren't even trying to work out how it happened, but were instead trying to decide how to have a straight conversation while they shared the same name.
"We can't both be Kris," K had said. He scratched the bare skin of his knee where his jeans were torn. "I could call you - "
"Papa Allen G!" the other Kris said, grinning bright. K rolled his eyes.
"Topher, maybe?" It made sense - hello, they’d both just split their proper name - but the suggestion was met with a groan. "Yeah, fine. That's lame."
"We could go with K," the second Kris said, “But I think that’s what I’m gonna call you.”
“What. You’re the one who just appeared, I shouldn’t have to -“
“Dude, you just dropped into my world the same way. I’m calling you K, suck it up.”
K shook his head. Kris did have a point. “K Allen, for reals, yo.”
“Fo sizzle.”
It was so stupidly natural and before long they were laughing over shared history and jamming together in the cool autumn air, voices blending in the harmonies.
::
The dating didn't come till after. It was never really discussed, actually. K didn't ask Kris out proper or anything. They both just felt it, drawn to one another, and ended up spending a majority of their time together.
The first time they kissed [aaaangela is la-a-azy, sorry]
Being attracted to himself wasn't really the issue, anyways. He kind of hated having to admit to a touch of narcissism, because, really, K had never been that guy. But Kris was, well. Kris got him, straight to the core. Even if it was due to their extreme similarities, he made K happy.
[idk what this line was for, but: "It worked in The Prestige," Kris says.]
Finishing each other's sentences, though. That'd would never not be weird - and seriously comfortable.
::
"Dinner and a movie. Wow, be more predictable," K says, but he jostles his shoulder against Kris's at the ticket window.
They get popcorn slathered in butter and Twizzlers and Raisinettes and two large cokes. "I dunno, man," Kris teases, and shakes his own cup, the ice sloshing against the wax side and rattling. "You sure that's such a good idea with your bladder?"
"Hush, foo'," K says, smiling genuine and wide. It makes Kris's heart beat just a little faster and he looks away, his fingers itching to touch.
The theater isn’t that crowded, just a row of a half dozen teens and a few couples scattered throughout. K pauses about halfway up the steps, Kris crashing into him. "What?"
"Forgot my glasses," K says, and starts down the row. Kris grabs the back of his shirt and tugs him back, nudging him up the stairs.
"It's a crappy horror movie," he says. "Blurry or not, I'm sure it'll be easy enough to follow. And, you know, maybe this way, I won't have to protect you from the Boogie Monster."
"Oh, screw you," K says. He plops himself in a seat in the back row, sliding his cup into the holder. "If I'm having nightmares, it's only because your ass is there next to me. Dunno how I ever get any shut-eye."
The movie is pre-packaged crap, standard slasher fare, but with a title like Razor's Edge, K doesn’t really know what he was expecting. There’s an astounding amount of mice, though, which don't really fit.
It does little to hold his interest, so he lets his eyes scan the crowd instead. The row of kids keep poking one another and talking back to the screen and really, their commentary is ten times more entertaining than the film itself.
And then there’s the couple two rows down. They apparently find the movie as interesting as K does, which is to say, a round of tonsil hockey is more appealing. He sighs, jealous and stung at their freedom.
“Hey,” Kris whispers. K turns his head and finds Kris closer than he’d expected, only inches away. The flickering images on the screen cast a blue light over his cheekbone, make his eyes dark smudges. “What is it?”
K sighs. It’s silly, he knows, and bitching about it just makes him feel like a lametard. “Nothing,” he says. He turns back to the screen and reaches for another handful of popcorn.
Kris’s fingers lace around his wrist, though, and halt his motion. “Don’t,” he says, and K glances back up. [idk, I forget what was happening here]
“Anyways,” Kris says. He glides his tongue up over the center of K’s palm, tickle that makes K’s breath catch, then pauses, fingertip resting on his plush lower lip. K presses down slightly, just to see Kris’s mouth fall open, wet and slick. “Didn’t drag you all the way up here to mope.”
Kris pulls K’s finger past his lips, slow, steady suction. His eyes slip shut, tongue curling around. K’s definitely not bored any more. He can barely breathe, the pull going straight to his cock.
[02:30] arabellahope: and in the movies
[02:30] arabellahope: while kris is, like, biting at k's palm
[02:30] arabellahope: and running his tongue over the palm
[02:30] arabellahope: he makes K go into detail about what he wants
[02:31] arabellahope: and ppl are like, screaming and dying on screen
[02:31] arabellahope: so no one notices them in the back of the theater
[02:31] windandcoffee: !!!
[02:32] arabellahope: and, yes. Kris sucks k's fingers into his mouth
[02:32] arabellahope: and drives him crazy
[02:32] arabellahope: and makes him squirm in his seat
[02:33] arabellahope: and then pulls off, nipping at his fingertips
::
The apartment they share is only a few blocks away, but Kris wraps his hand around K’s wrist again and tugs him towards the park instead. K wants to jerk away, mindful of people sharing the sidewalk, what they’ll thinks, but Kris just increases the pressure of his hold; squeezes and slides his hand down until their fingers tangle together, palms kissing.
“What’re you doing?” K says. It’s cool, but not overly so, light sweater weather at best and there are plenty of stragglers that pass them by. An elderly gentleman walking his Collie nods in passing, not even flinching. A couple on a nearby bench definitely doesn’t notice them, too wrapped up in one another’s eyes. “Kris? C’mon.”
Kris pauses, lifting their joined hands and brushing his lips across the back of K’s knuckles. “I’m proving to you that no one cares. You’re so paranoid that people are gonna freak out, you’re denying us both what we want. And I’m done with that.” He pulls K further along, past the fountain, the swing set, their fingers laced still. The connection is true and pure and suddenly far too innocent for K’s taste, and as soon as the reach the familiar tree - where Kris is leading them, K is certain - he presses Kris against it and claims his mouth.
The kiss is gentle, K pouring the love he has for everything Kris stands for in his life into the slow press of lips, dart of tongue across to wet, taste. As much as Kris can read him, the ability to communicate through touch, knowing exactly where to nibble, to suck, how to make Kris understand his gratitude, is K’s favorite.
He pulls back slightly, the space between their mouths damp, shared breath, foreheads pressed together. Kris peers at him from beneath the fringe of his lashes, the side of his mouth curling into a smirk. “Not that hard, is it?”
And that’s just a lead in, is what. It’s maybe their favorite game, to tease, slip innuendo into every phrase, and K presses himself over Kris’s thigh, grinding against him. Kris wraps his hands around K’s hips and tugs him closer, laughing against K’s mouth.
“I see,” Kris says, and shifts around until K can feel how hard he is, too. His hands slide up K’s back, shirt wrinkling beneath the touch. K tucks his face against the crook of Kris’s neck, sighing, content to be wrapped in his boyfriend’s arms for the moment.
“Happy anniversary,” K breathes against the skin behind Kris’s ear, pressing a kiss there, then moves to his jaw, wrapping his lips around the sharp point there and sucking lightly. He runs his tongue behind and Kris shivers, back arching away from the tree.
“Not making this easy,” Kris says, and grabs K’s face with both hands, spinning them and sliding his tongue hot and fast into K’s mouth. It’s rough and hot, just like he likes it, the graze of Kris’s teeth over his lower lip when he sucks on it, hard. Kris slides his hand down to rest over K’s collarbone, his thumb tucked into the hollow of K’s throat. He presses down, K’s breath catching; rattle of it against his lungs, a slow burn spreading through his chest. Kris’s eyes flash in the darkness, and he chases his thumb by sealing his mouth over the same spot. “Was gonna take you home and spread you out on our bed,” Kris confesses against K’s skin, “Make you shake and beg for me, make you desperate.”
He slides the top button of K’s shirt open and folds the material back, sliding his mouth lower until he can flick his tongue against K’s right nipple, tease of cool breeze tightening it hard, the instant jolt of pleasure curling down K’s spine.
Kris grazes his teeth across the sensitive nub and K can’t help but slide his hand through Kris’s hair, holding him close, wanting more, wanting him to never stop. Kris flicks his tongue out once more, trailing across to the other side of K’s chest, and when he glances up, smirking, goosebumps prickle down K’s arms. His dick throbs between his legs, trapped in denim and cotton.
“That was the plan, but now?” Kris bites at K’s collarbone, sucking hard. It’ll leave a bruise, one for K to finger later, a reminder to press his fingertips to until Kris decides to darken it further. K’s eyes flutter shut, Kris’s voice like honey when he drawls out, “Now I think I’m just gonna fuck you hard and rough against this tree. That public enough for you, baby?”
“Fuck,” K breathes, and wraps his hand around Kris’s neck, pulling him back up so he can slot their mouths back together, tell him wordlessly just how much he wants, loves. It’s overwhelming, the desire Kris drags out of him, raw emotion, too much to contain. It races through his veins, pulse beneath his skin, expanding burst in his chest, his lungs working overtime to keep up with the rush of it all. The world is spinning, tilting rapid fire, and it’s Kris at the center of it all, fixed constant for K to cling to.
Kris pulls K around to the other side of the tree, shadowed darkness where the park lights don’t reach. He positions with his hands pressed to the tree, so K can still see the path. Someone could pass by at any moment and the possibility only makes K harder.
“You wanted public, didn’t you, baby?” K nods, once. Kris’s breath is hot at the top of K’s spine, sliding down the back of his collar, stark contrast to the chill racing to tingle at the base of his spine. He feels tight all over, itchy with need, and the hard press of Kris’s chest at his back is the only thing holding him together. Kris makes short work of the rest of the buttons on K’s shirt. The air is cool on K’s skin, but Kris’s hands are hot, possessive rake of nails down K’s chest that leave burning trails in their wake. He shudders, a moan slipping out.
Kris chuckles in his ear, and K knows that laugh, familiar promise of what’s to come. “Only getting started,” Kris promises, and grinds his erection against K’s ass, sliding his hand down to palm K’s cock. K bites his lip, hard. Kris is going to kill him, going to make him give what they’re doing away, and the thought both thrills and terrifies him.
“Oh no,” Kris says. He slides K’s zipper down, knuckles dragging across the front of his boxer briefs where they’re damp with pre-come. Kris thumbs the head of K’s dick though the cotton, sliding it across, a soft drag that feels incredible. “You’re not playing that game. You’re gonna tell me everything that you want me to do. I wanna hear you beg, K. Wanna hear every moan I drag out of you.”
There’s bells ringing in the distance, or maybe just in K’s ears. He has no idea any more, all of his attention tuned to the way Kris wraps around him. His hands press rough against the tree’s bark, dull scrape that he barely registers. His shirt tails flap in the breeze, jeans pooled around his ankles. He can only spread them so far this way, but there’s no other way.
“This is insane,” he manages. Kris nips at his neck again and K groans, his hands sliding down the tree. He winces unintentionally and pulls his hands back, almost collapsing face-first against the rough bark. Kris’s hand on his chest and hip are the only thing that prevents him from scarping himself up.
“Oh,” Kris says. He makes a soft sound and pulls back. An instant chill breezes across K’s back. “That won’t do.”
When he looks over his shoulder, K sees Kris stripping his sweater off. His tee-shirt clings to his chest, straining over his pecs and the rounded slope of his biceps. He’s so fucking hot and it’s all sorts of silly, because when K looks in the mirror, he doesn’t see that in his reflection, no matter how often Kris assures him that they really are identical. He could never be so beautiful.
He’s still considering the way the fabric of Kris’s shirt fits like a second skin when Kris presses back against him and catches his mouth in a kiss. It’s a heady feeling, being so wanted, and K melts against Kris, lets him angle and position him however he pleases.
It’s not until Kris breaks the kiss that K realizes just how Kris has set him up. The soft cashmere of Kris’s sweater is tangled around K’s wrists, his arms tied above his head, fabric scrunched between his palms and the tree. “No way am I letting you tear those fingers up on anything but your six string,” Kris says. He smiles, sweet and dirty all at once, and kisses K on the tip of his nose. “Now you just stay like this and let me hear you.”
“I always know what you need,” Kris whispers against his mouth, “And I am always, always gonna give it to you.”
“Tell me what you want me to do,” Kris whispers. “C’mon. Tell me baby, you know I’ll do it.”
K sucks in a sharp breath. His skin is on fire, every nerve tuned into Kris’s voice. “Just fuck me. C’mon. Stop teasing.”
L-O-L. NO SRSLY, I FAIL, SORRY.