Ralph Kurt: Confessions of a Twin

Author: Reverand Maynard
Warnings: NC-17 (for language and iniendo); yaoi; incest
Disclaimer: I have no legal rights, only stock in perversion.

Good evening ladies and . . . well, ladies. I am Ralph. Most of you already know me to some extent or another, and I’d simply like to take this opportunity to introduce myself and perhaps tell a little tale. Unfortunately, because the person writing this introduction, not myself of course, has never read nor heard Blind Target and honestly hasn’t the slightest clue about me except that I look like, and would, indeed, look good fucking, one Heero Yuy; only . . . I’m a bit less innocent *suggestive grin*. So it’s quite likely, or should I say assured, that most of what follows are the contrived and completely false ravings of a mad fan girl. Be warned.

So! Let’s start from the beginning shall we?

Once upon a time I was born. Doesn’t quite matter when or how or where. After all, I was too young to shag anyone at the time and that’s nearly all that I’m useful for, isn’t it? However, the author wishes to note that I was very, very cute. Kawaii was the word she prefers actually. I, however, would like to think that I was darling.

Moving along . . .

So I grew into a young man, not quite the handsome devil I am today but a sexy little pedophile’s dream nonetheless. And I had a brother. A twin brother. Yes, you guessed it, Heero Yuy. Now, I asked the author why we had different surnames and I was, in fact, a bit older than my supposed “twin,” and she said simply that these things did not matter in the land of FuckingBishies . . . and being the wholly out of character creature that I am, I accepted this as gospel. Of course, it could have also been the fourteen tequilas she managed to pour into me . . . but I digress.

So a young, horny man was I. Oh . . . did I forget to mention that? Yes. I was horny. Every minute of the blessed day. And especially when around my twin. Perhaps it was merely a ‘love thyself’ kind of thing . . . a case of the ‘I’m so beautiful, I wish I could fuck me’s . Or maybe it was some true fascination I had with him. Most likely, however, it was the author’s easiest way to advance the plot.

Speaking of which . . . where is that blasted thing . . . oh yes, here we are.

So I was horny and sexy and had a twin who was also horny and sexy and all the world was a bright and beautiful place. Or so I thought.

All of this changed, however, when a certain freakish little character appeared on the scene and tried to steal my bubby’s heart away. (Oh stop ‘aww’ing! He’s my bubby. Get over it!) So Trowa Barton became a part of my and Heero’s life very quickly. (It doesn’t matter why he was there, he just was.) And it didn’t take me long to realize he was deeply in love with my bubby, and my bubby, while all blushing and quiet and brooding on the exterior, was returning the sickly sweet attraction by faint degrees. It was cute. It was sweet. It had to be stopped!

So, being the loving brother that I am, I took it upon myself to “fix” the situation. Unfortunately, my idea of “fixing” things usually involves fucking them into submission, and Trowa, it seems, hadn’t known Heero quite long enough to realize the difference between the two of us.

Now honestly, I *thought* I was simply proving Trowa to be the shallow, weirdo freak that he is, so imagine my surprise when he screams “HEERO!” instead of Ralph! Why I almost lost my rhythm!

Needless to say he was devastated--as was Heero when he walked in upon hearing his name--and I was just beside myself . . . no really I was! Well, for a minute at least.

And so, here I sit, on the sofa, watching as my bubby and my ex-lover slobber and giggle all over each other, having been brought even closer together by their “traumatic experience”. They’re so tender and adorable . . . I feel sick.

Oh. What was that? The door? But who’s here at this hour?

“That’s Trowa’s brother,” my bubby says from the love seat, “Let ‘im in, wouldya.”

I sigh. The things I do for my bubby . . . and now it’s not even for the joy of licking his ass!

Saving my harumphs for another day, I rise from the sofa and shuffle to the door. How defeated and pathetic I am! How marred and aching is my heart! How . . . I open the door . . . throbbing and hard is my cock!

He stares at me. I stare back. He licks his lips. I want to help. He clears his throat and asks for his brother in the most ‘I-could-fuck-you-into-next-Tuesday’ voice I’ve ever heard. Suddenly, for the first time ever, *I* want to be the problem . . . I want to be fixed.

“Zechs,” Trowa calls softly and the man bypasses me, heading for his beckoning sibling.

ZechsZechsSechsSEX!!! What a perfect name for him! Did his parents know at his conception what a beguiling creature they were to create? Did his father hold him high and proud at his births and dub him ‘Sex: He Who Fucks” ? Surely they must have.

I turn to watch him go, watch him walk to Trowa, watch him bend to his brother’s face as Trowa begins speaking softly to him, and a moment later I realize he must be relating my treachery. Yet the man does not look angry . . . on the contrary, he looks . . . inviting.

“You’re okay?” He’s asking Trowa in the same voice with the promise of Tuesdays, and then, to my great surprise, leans in even further, and comforts Trowa by shoving his tongue as far down the boy’s throat as nature might allow--which seems to be a great deal.

Even more to my shock is how eagerly Trowa receives it. He’d certainly not been that bold with me. But the worst, the biggest surprise, was my bubby, my Heero, sitting calmly beside the lip-locked siblings, rubbing his hard cock through his blue jeans.

And who is he staring at?


My friends, you’ll have to believe me when I tell you that my being shocked is a rare occurrence indeed, but this was beyond shock. This was a sexual stroke!

“Ral-” Heero starts to say my name, his voice already somewhat choked, and would have finished had Sex’s mouth not abreviated his speech.

And before he’s even released Heero, Trowa is there, claiming my brother’s mouth, taking over the task of stroking him through his jeans. Seconds later and the jeans were no longer an issue, and Sex . . .

He’s watching me, on his knees now, stroking the youths in turn and every so often stealing slick kisses from one or the other.

“You know,” he purrs (Tuesdays never looked so promising!) as he unzips his trousers and pulls out a cock so hard it promises Wednesday and Thursday as well, and teases it as he continues to speak, “three’s company . . . but four’s an orgy.”

And you know, I realize as I watch my bubby begin the tentative task of fucking Trowa, watch that gorgeous blond on the floor fondling himself in all the ways he could be fondling me, and feeling myself growing hard by exponential measures . . . he’s right.