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The Plural of Us

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I knew that I had set the right coordinates when I spotted the familiarly-clad man, cutting a most handsome figure, by the rump of a somewhat unattractive beast. Seeing no reason to delay my intentions, I strolled up to him casually, pausing just behind his far more attractive rump. “You know... I still hate this horse.”

“It is rather repugnant, with or without its emissions,” the man responded, oddly unperturbed by my sudden appearance at his rear.

“Put that citation away and come with me,” I said, avoiding physical contact, knowing full well it might cost me one of my beautiful eyes.

This caught his attention and he turned towards me, finally coming face to face with not at all what he was expecting.

“Why I...”

“Exactly,” I said, resisting the urge to smirk. Already having the upper hand, it was clear that rubbing it in would only prove detrimental to my other goals. And mutual respect was paramount if I was to be successful.

“How did you... how did I....” He took an uncertain step back. “Vade retro, Satana!” he declared, crossing himself.

“I knew you were going to say that!” I pointed out triumphantly, “Just as I know now that you’re considering that tricky little crucifix we always keep tucked into our boot. But I must remind you that suicide is an unforgivable sin. Regardless of which of us dies.”

At this point, he took out our glasses from his inner pocket and propped them up on his immaculate nose.

“Stare all you like,” I suggested calmly. “I, myself, have spent long hours staring into the mirror, and I know that it’s a very pleasant view.”

“I don’t understand,” he finally stated, as I anticipated. Why would he, after all? I remembered that day quite well, and there was nothing in it to predict such a happening.

“I stole this time machine from the Duke of Buckingham,” I finally offered by way of an explanation. “I realize it seems far fetched right at this moment, but once you see the air ships...”

“The WHAT ships?” he interrupted.

“I know, I know,” I said, almost feeling sorry for myself. My past self, that is.

“I’ll tell you what. Let’s just get out of here and go back to the apartment, and I will explain everything.” He did not look convinced. “Well, come along then! There’s not much time to waste. The apartment is empty and the only thing you’ll potentially be missing out on if you don’t follow me is... well, not worth living through, shall we say.”

“But how do I know I can trust you?” he asked, backing down a little.

“Would I lie?” I paused. “Wait... don’t answer that. Yes. But... never to myself. And whether or not you want to believe it, it is true. All of it. And us.”

He paused for a long moment, considering, then gave a sharp nod. “All right. But you provide the wine.”

“Fair enough,” I said, jiggling my well-funded purse. It mattered little that this was money I stole from another one of my selves from a week ago. So, technically, it wasn’t really stealing, more like investing into my future. Finally allowing myself a smirk of satisfaction, I turned and started towards our apartment, knowing he would follow.

At first, he drank the wine in silence, eyeing me suspiciously, while I regaled him with tales of Buckingham’s airships and my clever coup which resulted in the seizure of the time traveling device which I used to come here. Slowly but surely, his features softened, and his posture relaxed a bit. I thought it was as good a time as any to come right to my point, now that I’d wooed him with a fine beverage and tales of his own greatness.

“You know something, Aramis? You’re a hell of a beautiful man.”

“Why, thank you, Aramis,” he responded, suddenly bursting out in an adorably drunken giggle of pure glee. “Aramis!” he chortled. “Is there a plural of Aramis? It’s certainly not Aramisses.”

This was a fascinating topic of philosophic inquiry and I hung my angelic head in deep contemplation.

“Hm... would it be... Arami?”

“That’s not proper Latin conjugation!”

“Drat, if only Athos were here, he’d be sure to know! He’s perfect, that motherfucker.”

“Perhaps it would be Aramiges?”

“Like coccyges? I don’t think so, self. I mean, it’s Aramis, not Aramyx.”

“You have a point, future me.” He smiled at me drunkenly. “And just so you know, you’re very pretty too.”

“I think I got it!” I declared, my mind becoming illuminated by his completely warranted compliment. “It’s Aramides!”

“You’re damn right it is!”

“By Jove, you’re so fine, I must have you!” Without any desire for further wooing or discussion, I pounced on him, wrapping my arms around his perfectly shaped torso, pulling him in for a lingering exploration of his mouth with my tongue. His own hands instinctively went up to caress my luxurious hair, his tongue responding magnificently.

It was, as kisses go, completely perfect - or at least far beyond the perfection I could hope for with anyone who was not me. My lips fit to his identically, knowing exactly how to taste him, how to tease and please as I pressed my tongue into his eager mouth, drinking him in, nipping at his bottom lip with my teeth. A soft groan of pleasure escaped his mouth, encouraging me, as my hands began to explore his exquisite form.

My past self paused, staring up at me with kiss bruised lips in a startling moment of far too much clarity. “Why are you here, really? All the places you could go, all the things you could see... you must have a list a mile long.”

I ran a finger over his mouth, then down his throat, admiring. “You already know the answer to that. You know how difficult it is for me to find someone who fits my high standards of beauty. You were the only person pretty enough to be worth the trip. Now let’s fuck.”

“I suppose it’s the only logical thing to do,” he replied, a little dazed, then captured my mouth again with a sudden ferocity, hands starting to tug at my clothes. It was, like all my ideas, a fabulous one, and I joined him, unclothing him with deft fingers to reveal the perfect form and figure underneath his garments.

“Mmmm,” I emitted, pulling him towards someone’s bed, possibly the one belonging to Porthos, for surely it seemed the proper size for the activity we had in mind. I tried not to think of what else might have happened in that bed.

“Ooh, I love this part,” he whispered, his hand trailing down my thigh.

“You mean my leg?”

“Well, if you must label everything.... yes.”

“This part is nice too,” I saw no reason to be coy with myself, wrapping my hand around his engorging cock, using my fingers to trail along its length in the way that I always found most effective. He gasped, surprise evident in his face for a moment, before he closed his eyes with a self-satisfied smirk. “Athos isn’t the only one who’s perfect,” I whispered, leaning in to trail slow kisses up his neck. I let my thumb swipe over the head of his cock, smiling at the pearl of wetness there and rubbing it slowly into his skin. “Now, the only question is... which one of us wants to experience the gloriousness of the other one’s cock?”

“You mean you haven’t thought about this before you came here?” he asked with a look of bewilderment.

“I was so excited by the prospect, I honestly have not thought about the logistics. Admittedly, that isn’t like us.”

“Then I get to be on top,” he declared, brazenly.

“First,” I agreed, giving an amicable nod. “We save the best for last.”

“If there is time...”

“Oh don’t worry, self. Those fools aren’t getting back here for a very long while!” I grinned the grin of impending triumph and spread my legs, pulling him on top of my glistening body. Reaching into my discarded robes, I produced a small bottle and brandished it with a victorious flourish. “And you’ll get to find out about this.”

“What is this?” he asked, panting with excitement.

“They call it... LUBE.” I smiled complacently. “Possibly the only way to make sex between us even better. Compliments of the twentieth century.” Seeing his dubious look and unwilling to wait for him to accept this new addition to sex, I poured some onto my palm and stroked it over his cock, smiling at the velvety slick hardness under my fingers. “See?”

“This is genius, future me.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you put that gorgeous, huge thing inside me without proper precautions,” I pointed out and handed him the bottle. “Now do me.”

Being my equal in every way, he quickly understood the importance of applying the slippery substance to my hole, preparing me carefully and, dare I say, lovingly. Now I am not one to shy away from a good religious experience, but nothing in all my years of devotion could have prepared me for the perfection of having my own cock sheathed deep inside me. I confess, I blasphemed repeatedly. We both did.

But how could it truly be blasphemy, when only He could have created such perfection as this? It would have been blasphemy not to take my full pleasure of it. I arched up against my slightly younger self, groaning as his cock slid deeper, and our bodies began to move together in a rhythm that was so perfect and so intuitive. I opened my eyes, looking up into the face of perfection, wondering how I’d ever made it through the night with anyone else’s face in such close proximity to mine. I was very close to ejaculating right then.

“Oh God, you feel amazing!” he exclaimed, obviously riding the very ridge of his own orgasm.

“This must be what the rapture feels like,” I agreed, bucking up against him and drawing an identical groan from both our throats. “Fuck me harder, self!”

He obliged, and only too soon we were both lying in the wet spot that would be sure to greet Porthos upon his return. I purred into his ear, as he lay collapsed and panting on top of me, our sweat co-mingling. In my own half-swoon, I realized this was possibly the best idea I had ever had.

Until he whispered in my ear, “Just give me a few seconds to catch my breath and then it will be time for round two.”

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I know,” he replied.