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Ma Yau, the internationally-renown conductor, slipped on his headphones and sank down into the plush leather sofa of his hotel suite. In five hours, he would be conducting his final scheduled performance here in Hong Kong. He wanted to take some time to listen to recordings of the previous evenings' performances, to make mental notes as to what he should try to improve tonight. He was a perfectionist, after all, and had to make sure his last concert here in his homeland was a memorable one.

Of course, he thought to himself, he would be hard-pressed to make it more memorable than his first concert here, during which his newfound twin brother had "conducted" in his place. He cringed to think of it, despite the critics' raving about his "energetic and impassioned Hong Kong debut."

"Impassioned my ass," Ma Yau muttered aloud. His brother, Bok Min, could have just as easily destroyed his reputation for good. Somehow, though, through the miracle of their mental link, Ma Yau had been able to influence his brother--without even knowing it--enough that the orchestra had not been lead into complete chaos.

Only partial chaos. Tonight, Ma Yau was determined to lead them to complete glory.

The violins swirled up through his headphones (a touch too strong this early in the piece; I must try to keep them in check tonight, he noted). He thought of that mental link and felt glad that he would be leaving Hong Kong tomorrow to return to America. Sure, he wanted to get to know his twin better, but at the same time, this connection they shared kept growing stronger by the day, and it was scaring him. Ma Yau wanted to talk to his brother, to find out about his life until now which had been so different from the one he'd known. But he didn't have ANY interest in knowing everything his brother felt or did. Ma Yau didn't want to know when Bok Min was hungry, when he'd bruised his toe, when he was tapping his leg compulsively, or when he'd had too much to drink.

Or, especially, when he was having sex, or just thinking about having sex, which seemed to happen every five minutes--and CONSTANTLY when Tong Sum was around.

Conversely, Ma Yau didn't want Bok Min to know those things about him, either, and he was beginning to feel as if he was losing all sense of his physical space, of himself, through this bond. He could barely separate his own feelings from Bok Min's, his own thoughts. When did he want something, and when did his brother? It was much too confusing.

No, the best thing to do was to return home to America, take some time to sort things out. He had to tell their parents about his discovery, help them deal with the shock of discovering their long-lost son was still alive and well in Hong Kong. Ma Yau was debating inviting Barabara along for the trip, for he definitely felt strongly for her, and he wanted her to meet his family. His mother would be so happy at the thought of him finding someone he might consider settling down with.

Ah but first, he had one last concert here to conduct. He turned his attention back to the tape, closing his eyes and letting the music become his entire world, his every sensation. Music was everything to him, as it had been since his childhood. This particular passage of the symphony was sensuous and lush, his favorite section of the composition. The tympani beat out a slow, pulsing rhythm while the wind instruments darted and sang back and forth, like birds calling to each other in an elaborate mating ritual.

Sweet songbirds, like his Barbara, he thought, and he saw her gentle smile, her beautiful face before him in his mind's eye. He thought about what it was like to kiss those lips, and to touch her perfect, soft skin. The flutes trilled beautiful promises in his ears as the percussion beat faster, just slightly, like the quickening of a lover's pulse.

Ma Yau sunk deeper into the soft leather sofa, as he allowed his mind's eye to study Barbara's lithe body. A small voice inside him noted that the first clarinet sounded slightly flat. He told that voice to shut up for a while. His body was responding to the music and his mind's imagination, responding with intense urgency. He rubbed his hand idly over his stomach, slipped it beneath the thin t-shirt he wore to touch his bare skin. His fingertips were cool, and he caressed his skin lightly, imagining it was Barbara's hand, not his own. She smiled in his mind, and the cellos sang in a deep, low cry at her touch.

Slowly his hand moved in circles upward, up to his chest, circling around and then brushing lightly over one nipple, then the next. He squirmed under the intense sensations of his touches, and he brought his free hand downward, down to the waistband of his briefs. The silk fabric was so smooth to his touch, smooth and cool over his hard, hot, erection. He imagined Barbara, caressing him through the silky undergarment, and moaned softly.

The violins echoed his cry.

He saw her pulling the briefs down, over his feet, then settling between his legs, taking him inside her lush lips swiftly, without preface. Naughty girl! He slipped his hand inside his underwear and mirrored with his hand what he imagined her mouth doing. His cock throbbed at the touch and pleasure sparked through his body.

Sweet beautiful...and she would take him deep, so deep down her throat, and he would lose himself in the joy of it, and in the devilish sparkle of her brown eyes as she watched him.

And he would urge her on, and caress her hair...funny how it seemed shorter, now, in his mind's more than shoulder length...but the feel of it excited him, as the gentle wind instruments called out and were then washed away by the demanding blare of the trumpets, harsh and demanding, like his own passion.

Her hands were on his thighs, squeezing, urging them apart. A finger wet with saliva, now, pushing against his most private spot. He shuddered, feeling his climax growing ever closer. That was a VERY naughty thing to imagine her doing to him, but the image stuck in his mind and heightened the pleasure he wrung from each stroke of his hand on his cock.

Her finger pushed inside him, so big and thick. Then a second finger joined the first. He moaned as, in his fantasy, she continued sucking him, probing him, bringing him to the edge of the most intense climax he could remember feeling in ages. He grasped a handful of thick, dark hair and thrust his hips upward, into her welcoming mouth, down his lover's throat as the orgasm sent shockwaves of ecstasy through his body. Almost immediately afterwards, before his own orgasm was barely finished, his body trembled as he somehow felt her orgasm, too, as she moaned around the weeping cock still in her mouth and she brought herself to completion with her free hand.

"Ma Yau..." his fantasy partner sighed, in a throaty, deep, satiated voice.

"Bok Min..." Ma Yau whispered dreamily in response...

The cymbals crashed in his ears and Ma Yau sat up, startled, heart pounding as he repeated aloud with shock:


Bok Min?! Why had he seen his BROTHER'S face, the mirror image of his own, at the end of his fantasy?

Then he remembered the shorter hair he'd imagined...and hands that had become as strong as his own, not delicate like Barbara's as they caressed him, probed him...

Oh, god.

He felt a, make that A LOT sick. To think that somehow he'd been having an erotic fantasy about Bok Min. His twin brother!

What was wrong with him?!

He rubbed his sticky hand on his t-shirt with disgust, then tossed it and his headphones to the floor. He needed to take a bath, a nice, long, hot bath, to somehow wash the image of his brother sucking him off out of his mind.

"That settles it," he said to himself. "I have to get away from him. This is getting to be too much." He had to blame it on their strange bond; it had to be doing weird things to his mind, making him think these twisted things. Maybe Bok Min had felt Ma Yau's arousal and had started jerking off, too. That would explain why it had been so intense, why he'd imagined or felt an echoing orgasm from his "partner".

But still...

Still, Ma Yau didn't like it, not one bit. He headed off for the bathroom to start to run the water in the tub.

And he swore that in the back of his mind, he could hear Bok Min laughing at him.