Davin is a Delta-23 replicate, which means he looks like every other Delta-23 on the planet. He's bored seeing the same face every day -- each replicate is his twin, though he alone seems to ache for something different. When a prison ship crash-lands in the woods and the replicates are asked to retrieve the prisoners, Davin jumps at the chance to encounter a natural-born.
Trace is a hard man who has lived a hard life, and the moment the ship carrying him crashes, he takes the opportunity to escape. The last thing he expects is the replicate eager to get up close and personal with an escaped prisoner.
NOTE: This story appears in both my print collections "Shorts" and "Other Worlds Than These."
From the bushes, Davin watched the natural-born masturbate. He knew he should radio patrol, but when he reached for his comm unit, his hand slipped instead into the pocket of his jumpsuit to palm his own erection. He squeezed furiously as he watched the other’s hands make their way down his thin body to fist around a hardening cock. Davin imagined those hands on him, those fingers plunging into the light hair at his groin, those lips now slightly parted only a breath away from his own. What would they feel like? How would they taste? Where would someone like that touch him, kiss him?
Less than a yard away, the natural-born cupped his balls in one hand and encircled his erection with the other. His faint moan set Davin’s blood aflame. All thoughts of calling in disappeared as Davin watched the other stroke himself, hips rising with each thrust, one hand disappearing between his legs to finger flesh Davin trembled to imagine. He wanted to lie beside this man -- here, now -- and find out just how different the touch of his skin would feel on Davin’s own. Through the thin fabric of his suit, his hand grew damp with pre-cum and sweat and, without realizing it, he inched forward on his knees for a better view.
He’d never imagined hair like the natural-born’s -- so dark and shadowy and wild, arms and legs crisscrossed with it and a thin line that trailed from the navel down into a tangled knot at his crotch. On the face, too, short black hairs smoothed along his jaw and ringed his mouth. Rogue curls covered the top of his head. How would hair like that feel against the back of Davin’s neck? Against his face? What did it smell like, taste like? He wanted to press his nose and lips into its depths to find out.
There was something exotic about the way water beaded along that dusky skin, darker than Davin’s own. He moved nearer, wanting to close the distance between them. What was it like where this man came from? How did it feel to live among a million different faces and never have to look upon your own?
Davin wanted to say something, anything to bring the man’s attention to him, but couldn’t find the words to interrupt this intimate moment. He didn’t want to interrupt. He watched the damp head of the man’s dick as it slid in and out of his hand and imagined it sliding as easily between his lips.
He crawled closer, silent, closer, until his face hovered above the natural-born’s, and the other’s breath took his away. He had one coherent thought -- I don’t believe this. Then he closed his eyes, leaned down, and touched his mouth to the one beneath him.
