[Lazarus spent some time chained to his doppelganger and subjected to a constant barrage of vicious, vindictive hints. When those had failed to get a satisfying rise out of him, the copy had transitioned to more targeted and explicit taunts, gleeful warnings about what Lazarus would later have to sort out or try to make his own peace with. It was a lot like being back in White Pines, except that Lazarus couldn't just dismiss them as paranoid delusions when they were quite real and extremely damaging. He's heard it before from his Doppel, but hearing it again from Cesar somehow brings it home and makes it dismally awkward and real.]
Ah, I... see.
[There's nothing else to say, is there? As a result of his copy's demented whims and recklessness, Cesar already knows these personal details about the original. He suspects it's just the tip of the iceberg, only the future is a dangerously mixed bag. Who's to suggest that the doubles and their originals are anything alike in bed? He nods briskly in response to Cesar's thanks, keeping his eyes on the other man only because it's necessary to read the signs. He wants to look away, retreat into himself for a second to consider all these minefield implications. But retaining eye contact seems to be more important to Cesar than perfect attentiveness to the signs, and while there is something important in those eyes, the ability to see the best way to win a chess game or a simple yet elegant solution to a complicated problem isn't much help to him in discerning its message.
Ambiguity is neatly eliminated from the equation when Cesar's hands are on him, boxing him into a Tequila-flavored, hungry kiss. He's too surprised to react immediately, and for a full second and a half, Cesar might as well be kissing a stiff and guarded mannequin. It's hard not to run mental lists and compare the kiss with one that's both familiar and strange.
The copy was gentler. Took everything slower. Asked for feedback, always restrained himself out of concern. The way Cesar presses into him now crushes his hipbone bruisingly against the counter, forcing him to brace a hand on its edge, and it occurs to him that he's probably seeing his own copy's technique and approach in practice.
Is this what he associates and expects now? Lazarus watches Sesame Street unironically, and his doppelganger has rough and anonymous sex with strangers in alleys.
His other hand goes to Cesar's shoulder, pushing gently; it isn't a gesture of rejection so much as one of reassurance, and the effect is increased by the fact that Lazarus does return the kiss. If there's a middle ground between being treated like a precious fragile doll and being ripped to pieces before orgasm, he's pretty sure that's his preference, and communicating it to Cesar doesn't need to require a list. If anything can be said for Cesar's copy, it's that he did encourage Lazarus to be assertive about such things.
It's OK. It's going to be OK. Tapered fingertips stroke delicately along Cesar's shoulder as he leans into the overwhelming, heavy affection. We want each other and that's been established; now let me establish that it's going to be different than the last time you were with someone who looked like me.]
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Date: 2015-05-17 03:29 pm (UTC)Ah, I... see.
[There's nothing else to say, is there? As a result of his copy's demented whims and recklessness, Cesar already knows these personal details about the original. He suspects it's just the tip of the iceberg, only the future is a dangerously mixed bag. Who's to suggest that the doubles and their originals are anything alike in bed? He nods briskly in response to Cesar's thanks, keeping his eyes on the other man only because it's necessary to read the signs. He wants to look away, retreat into himself for a second to consider all these minefield implications. But retaining eye contact seems to be more important to Cesar than perfect attentiveness to the signs, and while there is something important in those eyes, the ability to see the best way to win a chess game or a simple yet elegant solution to a complicated problem isn't much help to him in discerning its message.
Ambiguity is neatly eliminated from the equation when Cesar's hands are on him, boxing him into a Tequila-flavored, hungry kiss. He's too surprised to react immediately, and for a full second and a half, Cesar might as well be kissing a stiff and guarded mannequin. It's hard not to run mental lists and compare the kiss with one that's both familiar and strange.
The copy was gentler. Took everything slower. Asked for feedback, always restrained himself out of concern. The way Cesar presses into him now crushes his hipbone bruisingly against the counter, forcing him to brace a hand on its edge, and it occurs to him that he's probably seeing his own copy's technique and approach in practice.
Is this what he associates and expects now? Lazarus watches Sesame Street unironically, and his doppelganger has rough and anonymous sex with strangers in alleys.
His other hand goes to Cesar's shoulder, pushing gently; it isn't a gesture of rejection so much as one of reassurance, and the effect is increased by the fact that Lazarus does return the kiss. If there's a middle ground between being treated like a precious fragile doll and being ripped to pieces before orgasm, he's pretty sure that's his preference, and communicating it to Cesar doesn't need to require a list. If anything can be said for Cesar's copy, it's that he did encourage Lazarus to be assertive about such things.
It's OK. It's going to be OK. Tapered fingertips stroke delicately along Cesar's shoulder as he leans into the overwhelming, heavy affection. We want each other and that's been established; now let me establish that it's going to be different than the last time you were with someone who looked like me.]