Work Text:
Some people would probably call it self-absorbed to be attracted to your identical twin (well, most would call it worse). And maybe it was, to a degree, but if you asked Lark, his self-esteem, or rather self-loathing, had nothing to do with his feelings for Sparrow.
After all, if it was just about being self-absorbed, he wouldn't have to spend so long dressing up for his fantasies.
It only took covering up their tattoos to trick most people into believing they were the same person, but Lark knew better. He and Sparrow had been together for longer than they'd been alive - they knew every inch of skin, every slight quirk, every single detail about each other. So, to make things believable, he had to go the extra mile.
The strawberry-scented lip gloss was first. It had been a favourite of Sparrow's back in high school, and even though now he only wore it now every so often, it enchanted Lark. The glitter in it made it hard to stop staring at Sparrow's soft, beautiful lips, and smudging it had been a forbidden fantasy of many of his wet dreams. Lip gloss and earrings had to go first - it was a rule Lark had for himself to never look in the mirror half-way through his transformation. Only at the start for things that needed it, and when it was finally time to indulge.
Hair, next. Where Sparrow actually followed Mercedes' advice and took care of his curls, Lark's was full of tangles and split ends that needed to be hidden. A five strand braid, decorated with charms and flowers and clips, of course, falling neatly over his shoulders. His metal-frame, utilitarian glasses switched out for Sparrow's more colourful, circular ones. A bead necklace and bracelet. Maybe an anklet, too.
Finally, clothes. The easiest part. He pulled out a loose yellow shirt, long-sleeved to hide Sparrow's name on his arm, low-cut with wooden buttons, and ever so slightly see-through. Where Sparrow would normally button it up to his mid-chest, Lark left two extra buttons undone - he was allowed some artistic liberties. The skirt was a little more tricky; Sparrow normally wore long, flowing skirts, often tiered or asymmetrical. The kind that would be very awkward to masturbate around. However, he did have a small collection of rarely-worn miniskirts that he'd gotten with Nicky, including Lark's favourite for this activity - a dark grayish-green one decorated with a tasteful amount of thrills. The kind of color that Lark normally wore.
The final touch - Lark's dog tags. Sparrow would never wear them - they were far too military - but that was exactly why Lark loved putting them on for this. "Sparrow" wearing something that was so clearly Lark's, that was literally engraved with his name, felt like a claim on him.
Lark took a deep breath. He was done. He had the house to himself, he was all dressed up. Closing his eyes, he slowly crawled over to the cushion he'd set up in front of the full-body mirror. He knelt on it, turning himself to face where he knew the mirror was, and opened his eyes.
It was perfect.
Sparrow was perfect. Fuck, he was hot like this. He spread his legs slightly, letting the fabric of his skirt land on his slowly hardening dick. The sight of cold grey metal against his tan skin, the way the linen top fell open, his thighs spread open and inviting - it was like a dream.
Lark grasped his dick gently, moaning a little at the long awaited touch. How would Sparrow touch himself right now? Slow, almost teasing, he guessed. He'd want to take his time, enjoy the sight. Not like Lark. Sparrow was patient. So, he started moving his hand with slow, firm strokes. Focus on the small details, the way the skirt fabric rustles as he moves, the rise and fall of his chest. Sparrow is an artist, the visuals are everything.
He raises a hand to his chest, running his fingers slowly down his skin. Sparrow looks so beautiful, flushed and panting as he plays with himself, gently toying with his chest. He gasps as he flicks his wrist, arching so prettily. He's everything that Lark isn't. It felt so good. He-
"…Brother?"
Was fucked. There, in the doorway, stood Sparrow, home early and still holding his bag from work. Shit.
"Lark? Are those my clothes?" His brow was furrowed in confusion as his eyes drifted across Lark's body, until he reached Lark's dick, still in his hand and very, very hard.
"I can explain-" Lark stammered, frantically scrambling to try and make this seem anything like what it was - Lark dressing up as Sparrow to jerk off to his own reflect. His mind was racing, trying to pull any excuse from thin air, and Sparrow was setting down his bag, Sparrow was walking towards him, Sparrow was leaning in close. "Spar-"
Sparrow was kissing him. Hard. His hand was gripping Lark's hair, pulling him close, and for a moment, he could only sit there. Then Sparrow settled in his lap, and he finally had the space of mind to start kissing back, wrapping his arms round Sparrow's waist. He could feel the rough material of Sparrow's pants against his tip, a hand pulling his braid loose and slowly undoing it, Sparrow's lips on his over and over again, gently biting and sucking. More. He wanted more. Nails running down his chest, untucking the shirt, Sparrow's skin under his hands, low moans and slow grinding, the smell of Sparrow's shampoo enveloping him. It was so much. It was heaven.
Lark whined as Sparrow pulled back for air, glasses slightly askew. He looked gorgeous. There were hints of lip gloss smeared on his lips, and his shirt had become rumpled and half-undone. Lark wanted more.
Sparrow laughed softly, running a thumb over Lark's lip. "Oh, brother. You look so pretty when I mess you up."
Only then did Lark glance over to the mirror and fuck, he really was a mess. He looked like he was straight out of his own wet dream - smudged lip gloss and all. His dick was leaking precum, his skirt was bunched around his hips, his hair was a mess.
And he still looked like Sparrow.
"Brother," Sparrow gently grabbed his face and pulled Lark to face him, "I'm going to ruin you."