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Cut from the same Cloth

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Crickets chirped all around the shaded forest, light dotting the foliage and occasionally tiny beams of sunlight reached through to brush against the ground. A cool breeze rustled the emerald green leaves ahead and brushed against their hot flushed skin. 

Qinglong’s fingers scrambled to hold onto Binghe’s sleeve robe as the younger pressed him up against a tree, their lips connected, and breaths mingled. They’d been sent into the forest by their father to collect mushrooms and berries. His basket rolled on its side; bright blue berries scattered on the ground from where his younger brother had surprised him. Pushed him against the tree and took from his willing mouth. 

Aware of his age, Qinglong resolved to go at his brother's pace, not wanting to push. Although to be fair to himself, he knew about kissing and sex yet had never participated in either. He couldn’t even tell his brother when asked the exact logistics of sex. They were both blind and fumbling in the dark together.

Binghe bit his bottom lip, chewing on it playfully as his fingers ran up his spine and into his hair, tugging lightly. He moaned and arched his back slightly, overcome by a warmth in his belly. Who needed the sunlight when he had this? 

“More. More,” Binghe whispered against his lips, pressing in and against his body. 

“Yes,” Qinglong exhaled into his brother's mouth, tilting his head down further, pressing his lips firmly against the other. His arms wrapped around Binghe’s waist, tugging him upward for a better angle. 

A jolt of electricity shot down his spine, startling a drawn-out moan as his growing erection rubbed into Binghe’s. He panted, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Binghe’s hips. Oh. Oh. He’d never felt that before. His brother dug sneaky fingers further into his hair, yanking his face closer then rolled his hips, brushing their hard-ons against each other again. Qinglong’s legs shook, another moan ripped from his lungs. Oh. Yes. This.

Binghe set the pace, rolling his hips as Qinglong held on. 

“Hold me,” Binghe demanded with a growl, locking his arms around Qinglong’s neck then wrapping his legs around his hips. Their hard-ons flushed, pushed against each other through their robes. 

Qinglong leaned against the back of the tree, legs unsteady but grip firm. His hands moved downward naturally, down Binghe’s spine, admiring the bones and muscles that flexed and moved under his fingers until he found himself cupping the youngers butt in both palms. Binghe let out a breathy exhale and arched his back when Qinglong gave an experimental squeeze. He felt this brothers’ moans vibrating against his tongue into his skull

Oh. Gods strike him down. 

He squeezed Binghe’s butt against, pressing his lips forward at the same time pressing his brother into him, their erections rubbed together in a delicious friction. Binghe mewled into his mouth, their lips never breaking apart.

Where did his air end and his brothers begin? Together they breathed as one, grinding into each other. The wet sounds of their lips and tongues pressing against and into each other, added to the muffled moaning and keening, and the light ruffling of fabric gliding filled his ears. The world dropped away.

Closing his eyes, Qinglong moved instinctively, letting his body guide him where nerves threatened to stall him. He squeezed Binghe’s butt, loving the squishy flesh, allowed Binghe to fist his hair and yank his head back, grinding their erections against each other faster. 

Binghe broke their kiss first and began peppering his chin then down his neck with open mouthed, wet kisses that sizzled on his flushed skin. He panted his enthusiasm, praising Binghe’s mouth. His hands fully occupied he jerked his hips and pulled the boy down more forcefully right as Binghe bit the side of his neck hard enough to draw blood.

Yes. Oh. Yes. He needed more.

“Close,” Qinglong stuttered, eyes watering from the edging and slight stinging pain at his neck.

Binghe pulled his face away, lips red with his blood as if painted on rouge like he’d seen many courtesans. Their eyes met, hazy and lustful before their mouths crashed together against, tinged with the taste of his coppery blood between them. Binghe didn’t know but sharing his blood meant he’d always be able to find his brother. 

Their grinding and frenzied kisses sped up, inelegant and almost brutal in pace. No longer lingering and full of sweetness, their lips and teeth clashed, drool ran down his chin and he didn’t care. He gripped Binghe closed, possibly bruising the soft butt under him and delighting in the idea that he was also marking his brother. The tree behind him, scratched into his back, adding to the thrill.

Binghe’s tongue darted into his mouth, and he bit it. Binghe hissed and jerked in his hands, eyes crossing. He sucked at the wet appendage, able to wrap his own -much longer- tongue around it like a hug. When he tasted his brother's blood he moaned. Now they were linked. Connected. A part of each other.

Their noses bumped into each other. No longer able to kiss, they breathed in each other's air, chasing the edge, staring into each other's eyes. Qinglong fell first, his release catching him by surprise with a choked off yell as he jerked and threw back his head, against the trunk of the tree, knees wobbling. Binghe watched him, intensely, grinding against his oversensitive dick until he too came with a whine. 

Electricity tingled throughout his body, sunlight burst through his ribs and the warmth Qinglong felt couldn't be described in words. The world rushed back to him in the color green around them and the chirping of birds. 

Gently he relaxed his hands on Binghe’s behind and bent forward slightly to set his brother down. Missing the warmth as soon as Binghe detangled himself. Their blue robes were wrinkled, and he could feel the wet mess in his pants yet couldn't stop smiling. That was . . . his brain faltered unable to even describe how wonderful it had been.

He got why people killed for that closeness. Songs he’d once scoffed at now took a different meaning.            

“We should do that again,” Binghe panted with wide smile on his lips.

“Yes. That. Yes.” Qinglong nodded, breathless, warmth bubbling inside his chest. “We should clean ourselves.”

Binghe darted forward and stole a quick peck. Qinglong giggled, widely grinning. Together they picked up the fallen berries, only a few bruised. Adjusted their robes as best as possible and left the forest. Checking before they left the tree line the boys held hands and ran back home, breathlessly laughing and sharing knowing glances as they quickly changed.  The bite on Qinglong’s neck had already healed and it saddened him slightly. 

“It’s so hot, I want to swim,” Binghe said.

Qinglong, helpless but to always agree, followed after his brother in a loose top robe and pants, holding hands. Together they left the house, dirty clothing shoved in the laundry basket, and jumped over the fence into the field where the jewel-eyed Oxen grazed. 

Father was in the middle of finishing the massive stable for the herd. Wearing just pants, sword at his hip, his chest bare and sweaty, long hair tied up in a fluffy ponytail, a few strands sticking and curling against his glistening skin. Binghe came to a stop, lips parted, staring. Qinglong swallowed. The heat he’d felt with his brother pressed against him, hips rolling, and breaths mingled returned. He squeezed his brother's hand. A blush painted the boy's nose and cheeks.

“Father,” Qinglong called.

Said man stopped at his voice, turned and then this face morphed into a joyful smile. “Boys.” Father left the hammer and nails on the roof and easily jumped down. He opened his arms, realized he was sweaty at a pace from then lowered his arms. 

Of one mind, he and Binghe surged forward and nuzzled into fathers’ arms. As always father wrapped his arms around them, tilted his head down between them, kissing the tops of their heads and squeezed them close. Qinglong turned his face to his right to stare into Binghe’s eyes. Pressed against father’s muscled chest, breathing in his heavy scent, the warmth ignited. He wanted to lick. Binghe, as if in agreement, kicked his own lips then swallowed thickly. 

“Daddy come swim with us,” Binghe used his cute begging voice. 

“I need to finish this Baby, maybe tomorrow,” Father said.

“You haven’t played with us in days,” Qinglong argued, attempting to use the same bratty tone Binghe always managed.

Father pursed his lips, shook his head, eyes momentarily dazed then smiled and lifted them up. In a practiced move, they sat in father’s arms, wrapping their own arms around his neck. Binghe squealed like a child and kissed father’s temple.

“Swimming,” Binghe cheered. 

Qinglong didn’t understand why Binghe occasionally acted as if he’d regressed into a child, but it made both him and father happy. It was also cute. Following, as he did, his brother’s example, Qinglong pressed a shy kiss on father’s other temple. Qinglong noticed the sword at father’s hip, because it pressed into his own. It hummed and he glanced down to see that it glowed. Pulsing as if it had a heartbeat. He frowned, momentarily distracted until Binghe squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back. 

Father began walking, a jump in his step, towards the waterfall and the large pool of water in front of it. Qinglong could feel father’s muscles shaking. At the edge of the water, father bent down as if to put them down and Qinglong held on. He felt emboldened from the rush of pleasure stolen with his brother in the forest.

Would it work?

“You didn’t give us a kiss.”

Father’s face split in a blinding grin. He swooped in and pressed a quick kiss against both of their heads. Binghe preened and Qinglong considered the options. He glanced down at the sword, a bit brighter now. Resolved, Qinglong pressed a quick kiss to father’s lips. 

“Like that.”

“No fair, me too.” Binghe picked up and played along.

Father leaned his head back, eyes wide and a blush over his cheeks. Yet he didn’t move to set them down. His arms tightened around them, muscles quivering. 

“That's not-, family doesn’t-.” He couldn't find the words, eyes darting between the boys.

“I’ve seen families kiss that way,” Binghe claimed. Qinglong doubted it but appreciated the assistance. 

“Our people do,” Qinglong added to the lie, watching father’s face to see if he knew the truth or not. 

Father blinked rapidly, glancing between the boys. Overwhelmed. Slowly, a furrow between his brows, he leaned forward and lightly kissed Binghe on the mouth. His brother shot him a triumphant look. 

“My turn,” Qinglong reached out, boldly took fathers face in his hands, turned his head and kissed him with a smacking sound. 

“No, now you’ve had two. I need another,” Binghe whined, slapping his hands away only to turn father’s face and kiss him quickly and loudly. 

“Another,” Qinglong demanded, taking another kiss from father, relishing in the soft warmth and the slight wetness he knew was from his brother's saliva. They playfully giggled.

The two continued to take kisses from father until his entire face and neck had flushed red and the arms holding them up trembled so badly, he wondered if they’d fall. Father finally pulled them away and hurriedly set them down. 

“Water.” He stuttered, dropped his sword at the edge of the pool of water and jumped into the cold water. 

Binghe and him, abandoned on the shoreline, flushed and excited, exchanged triumphant looks then shared a kiss between them in front of father. Fingers laced, they waded after him. 

A feeling, one he didn’t have words for rose in Qinglong’s chest. An itching need that whispered for him to take more. Beg for more. Have more. A shiver traveled down his spine, across his arms and over to Binghe. 

Just as they started splashing, the tension in the air, present but lessened, a voice called out from the shoreline. Qinglong turned and frowned. Liu Qingge had returned. 

“My friend,” Luo Yuan called out with a wave of his hand. “Come join us. We can play a water game of chicken, now that there’s four.”

“Welcome back,” Binghe called out with a happy wave and wide grin.

“Birds should not be in water,” Liu Qingge said but began taking off his outer robe. 

“How do we play?” Binghe asked, draped over fathers’ shoulder like a scarf. 

When Liu Qingge waded into the freezing water, his chest also exposed, Qinglong glanced away with a frown, despising the blush across his face. Liu Qingge reached them in the middle and their shoulders bumped, warm skin brushing against his in the chilled water. The man reached out a hand and ruffled his hair, dripping water down his face, a droplet dangling at the end of his nose. 

“Practiced?”

“Of course, I’m going to beat you someday,” Qinglong responded, not slapping the hand away.

“I can wait.” The man said, the edges of his lips twitching. 

“Have you seen the house?” Father asked the man. “There’s a room just for you.”