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By knowing so much Viltumite Mark was always aware that he knew so little. Viltrumite Empire was vast, sure, and he was trained to be its rightful inhabitant, to brings glory to the Empire, by the best — by his father, none the other. Still, he knew then and knows even now that he was taught precisely what the Empire needed him to know. It was logical, though, and for the time being he had no objections — he was simply not programmed to have one, and the thought of it had never occurred to him.
Not until he was approached — the better term would be cornered if not outright kidnapped though, but he could respect that — by Angstrom. Not until he faced and was faced with the numerous of, apparently, himself, with various levels of strength, backgrounds, which seemed odd, and various levels of loyalty to the Empire — which was. Just wrong.
In what world would he not have — want — to follow his father’s footsteps, born and raised proud Viltrumite, carrying on their heritage? It would appear, in many. Because it doesn’t matter, if others conquered their Earths too, — many of them did it for their selfish reasons, for their spite or power-hunger; what matters is that they were so different, that Viltrumite Mark just couldn’t fathom it.
Because the things that they did and the reasons that they had — most of them would be a disgrace for the Empire. Not for the violence, of course, but for not honoring Viltrum Empire and what it stood for. They conquered worlds not just because, they were bringing prosperity, making a difference, improving the lives of ordinary people.
That’s why Viltrumite Mark could and would never be like this, because he never even thought about it, never imagined. And that was weird.
He thinks, it should be like looking in a mirror. But then he catches crooked smiles, wickedness behind violent sense of self, cruelty without a touch of noble necessity, and the mirror appears to be shattered, to millions of billions pieces, even if he is able to perceive only a fraction of a dozen. And the mirror appears to be one of the curved ones, showing him a distorted picture, more confusing as he tries to understand it.
He pursues his cause, his ultimate goal from agreement with a man so selfish as Angstrom, — his own dimension, or multiple of those, all conquered in the name of Empire, in the name of proving himself to his father once and for all. He cares not for the others, with their goals so different, although their methods identical, with their moves learned from father at least in some capacity, with their general behavior… As if they enjoy the act of violence in on itself.
He cares not, but by the end of the first day he catches himself staring.
He cares not, but the second day he spends seeking. Watching, observing, trying to comprehend, how can he, albeit a different version, have such motives, not dictated by the authorities in their entirety. How can he, albeit not a mirror identical reflection, have desires, that exist not for the Empire’s satisfaction, but for his own pleasure.
Viltumite Mark, indeed, knows so little — he’s in the dark as of why he accepts the situation, where he’s pinned down by not equal, by not loyal to the Viltrum, by a Mark, one of the many, whose eyes glisten with a mockery, when they look at each other.
Viltumite Mark thinks, knows, that freeing himself would be an easy task. Even so, he is reluctant. He is curious, and for the first time in many years there’s no father, no someone to deny him this curiosity. Only his other self to indulge.
This other… this Lensless Mark is overconfident, he thinks, while stares at the former down, so cocky even, despite them two being at pretty much the same levels of almost everything. But here he is, a hot tongue pressed to his abdomen, to the line of hair that grows thicker the lower you go, and Viltrumite Mark finds it odd that he is gasping. The tongue is going against the flow, and the lips around it smiling, and it’s weird and unusual, because Viltrumite Mark looks down and sees himself, somehow worse, somehow so different that it’s almost the complete opposite; because it almost feels like he’s about to suck himself off, and the thought of it is enough to make him half-hard.
“What we have here, pretty?” he hears, and Adam’s apple at his throat bobs involuntarily.
All he can is to bite his lip, already red-swollen from the hungry attack, that Lensless proclaimed to be kissing, to watch in an anticipated awe, and to learn, where his curiosity has lead him. To come to the conclusion, that he waits for Lensless to go lower and has no objections against it.
“Aw, are you really that no-fun?” Lensless teases, cheek is pressed only slightly higher than the crotch, his left hand leaving feather-light touches on the inner thigh. Mark tries not to shake, and fails to his own excruciating shame.
It’s not that he has no sexual experience, he just always deemed physical intimacy be unnecessary, if not an obstacle in his life, led by the greater purpose. He had no particular interest in intercourses before, only for the sake of gaining said experience, and he definitely never imagined this kind of situation — this, where he can as much as gulp and feel his body temperature rising from something so simple and so insignificant.
“What? Don’t tell me you’ve never thought of fucking yourself,” Lensless cackles, to Mark’s horrors reaching to the depths of this mind, causing his breath to hitch. “You’re so pretty,” Lensless says in a hushed voice, and it sounds like a clear mockery, and it makes Mark’s insides turn, “if I had such face, I’d jerk off only to it.”
His touch is never stopping, teasing, sliding up and down, making Mark feel powerless, helpless in his knees, and the feeling is truly frightening. Viltrumite Mark was raised to be above fear, above any feeling, and yet some fingers near his pelvis are enough to make him stutter. This is unacceptable beyond any reason.
Still, he melts into it, mouth threatening to fall agape.
“We have the same face,” he manages, watching, waiting for next move.
Lensless laughs which feels like a genuine thing.
“You really don’t get it, do you,” his eyes are dark, shadowed by the urge to take, as if all he’s saying isn’t just a tease, isn’t just a fancy kind of torture, but his real sincere desire. His hand flies up Viltrume Mark’s body, as does he himself, all to press close, nose to ear, knee to crotch, to grind in, to smell into the sound, the reaction. “We’re not the same,” Lensless whispers, bone-chilling tone putting Viltrumite Mark closely on the edge, “me, you and other scum,” he says, every word is punctuated by the slow sliding of the fingers yet again, pressing down onto every sensitive spot, the neck, nipple, ever so tense torso. “We’re merely reminiscent of each other, and believe me, there’s no one to be prettier than you.”
The aspiration he talks with sends shiver down Mark’s spine. It feels too real, too truthful for Mark not to believe — not to take in a fact that Lensless Mark is self-obsessed and narcissistic enough to be attracted only to himself, not to gather from the situation, that everything plays into some Lensless’ weird dream. It doesn’t sit real enough for Viltrumite Mark to believe he is that beautiful, but their mutual arousal is solid enough of a proof.
“You’re weird,” he breathes out, interrupted with a knee jerk right against his crotch, attacked with a hot mouth under his ear, pressing laughter to his skin.
“Say that again,” Lensless drags out, with a wide lick of his tongue, making Mark nearly vibrate on his knee, making Mark find it hard to breathe evenly in a sight of his rising high.
Lensless is rocking into him, ever so slightly, but almost on the verge of grunting, as if it’s the hottest thing he’s ever done. Viltrumite Mark is afraid to even think, that that’s just the case for him himself, and he definitely dares not to say it, swallowing all other words he may have had on his tongue too.
“Come on,” Lensless whines, “cuss me out too. Gets me going real good.”
Mark doesn’t listen, as he should, doesn’t oblige, doesn’t indulge. He closes his eyes, shuts them tight, swallows the tension, that presses on his throat from the inside, and desperately tries not to thrust his hips forward, not to ride on the knee so welcoming to his use. Lensless’ smirk burns his skin.
“You really are weird,” he hears his own voice, dry and breathless, horrified by his defiance to himself, as his heart thumps loudly at the sound of Lensless’ delighted moan. Lensless thrusts stronger, as if to reach deeper, despite them both being at least half covered in clothes, he clings onto Mark in a feverish madness, a desperate arousal — which should be judged, which should be denied. To which Mark has no appropriate answer instead of quiet biting of his lip in order not to echo that reaction. “So fucking weird,” he whispers, again, without any reason beside his overwhelming curiosity, and finds it weirdly pleasant, how genuine Lensless shudders in another half-muffled moan.
“That’s it, that’s it,” whines Lensless against him, hunched down like a desperate dog, and despite being pinned down by the strength almost equal to his own, Mark feels, that there are other ways to overpower him. Lensless is no easy opponent, he won’t go easy, without any fight, and his growing thrusting shows as much, but Viltrumite Mark knows so little, that he is willing to learn the other from inside out completely.