The hands that rest on his hips are his own, and they travel slowly upward, over his waist, chest, and shoulders to cup his face.
“Look at me,” he hears in his own voice, but low and sultry.
Joe does as he's told, and turns his head to face his double and gaze into the same blue eyes that he sees in the mirror every morning.
The double smiles, but it’s more of a mimicry of one; the expression doesn’t quite meet its eyes, and the smile is all lopsided and sinister, its teeth just a little too sharp.
“That’s right,” the double purrs, tilting its head down to nip at Joe’s lip. “This isn’t any fun if you don’t watch.”
The nipping turns into a kiss, the double forcefully shoving its tongue into Joe’s mouth.
The kisses are hard and fast, all tongue and teeth and mashing of lips; Joe moans into it, his hands reaching out to grip the front of the double’s shirt.
The double’s own hands resume wandering his body, groping and squeezing here and there against the hard planes of Joe’s muscles.
Those hands slide across his sides and hips, down to palm at his half-hard dick through his jeans.
Joe gasps at the sensation, breaking away from the kisses, while the double bemusedly applies more pressure.
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