Barry writhed in his bed, immersed in a recurring dream. Though the October night was cool and a clean cold breeze gently tossed the light curtains, pinpricks of sweat dotted Barry's fair brow, and a few damp locks of his long wavy hair clung to his forehead.

Barry turned toward his side restlessly; as he did so the top sheet dropped away, revealing a beautifully sculpted muscle-hunk's body—a work of art begun by Barry through years of long hours in the school gym and weekends of hard work on his uncle's farm, and cunningly augmented by the lust of his buddy Will, who had turned his newfound mental ability to grow organic matter to the betterment of his friends. After, that is, first painstakingly growing himself a new body, turned out in exquisite detail to be as luscious as the body Will had grown up into.

Droplets of sweat had broken out across Barry's ponderous pecs as well, and here and there across his tight, hard torso. His light blond public hair was dark with moisture, and the two oversized, double-wide cocks that thrust from that groin glistened in the moonlight with bright sweat and duller precum, rock-hard and pressed tight against each other, the broad arrowhead tips just overapping, the palm-wide shafts jostling as they throbbed in rhythm with the pounding of Barry's heart. A meaty hand rested nearby even in sleep, ready to be called upon to meet his urgent need, yet somehow seeming reluctant to escalate the intensity of whatever his dreams had stirred deep within him.

He muttered softly in his sleep. "Two Wills," he sighed. "Two..." He lapsed into silence, and lay, twisted slightly awkwardly, his torso lying flat but his powerful, hairless legs twisted to the side. His chest rose and fell slowly and rhythmically.

All was still in the room except for the fluttering curtains and Barry's restless form; but he was not alone. Two pairs of bright green eyes shone in the darkness just beyond where Barry stretched in his extra-long twin bed. A visitor with eyes accustomed to the dimness in the room would have made out in the deep shadows two broad-shouldered figures with close-cropped hair. They stood between Barry's bed and the window, so that what wee-hours moonlight there was backlit them, silhouetting two forms that even only in outline, and broken by the lines of tee shirts and jeans, were obviously perfectly put together.

There was a flash of teeth as the two figures shared a smile, quickly sheathed. Then they set their bright eyes on the sleeping hunk, with a startling intensity of gaze.

They knew of what Barry dreamed.

Barry emerged from his dream into a half-waking state. His mind was saturated with sensations and feelings it could not understand or process. A seed of panic appeared deep in the core of his mind and threatened immediate and explosive germination, but a single clear thought settled like cool dew on the surface of his consciousness and sank slowly through it.

You're all right, it said. Enjoy this moment.

Barry relaxed slightly in spite of himself, trying to process his senses, afraid to open his eyes. It felt...it felt like his entire body was immersed in something active and tingly, like a carbonated spring. It seemed to come from all around him, or all through him, permeating his flesh and more than his flesh, recesses and inner places he'd never felt aware of, bone and gut and sinew. Every atom of his body was alive and beyond alive, resonating, throbbing with energy.

He was bathed in a warm fire that did not burn but seeped around him and through him as if he were made of a different kind of matter from the solid objects of our universe. The intensity of the sensation was more powerful, more pleasurable, than an orgasm sustained, even accelerated, over seconds, minutes, hours... There was no sense of time, and the stimulated atoms of his body seemed to spin and—

propagate—

Barry's breath caught, and he felt as if he were in space, or the womb, floating, unencumbered by gravity. Still he was afraid to open his eyes, though in his half-awake trancelike state he sensed that the cells and the very molecules of his teencolt body were somehow too numerous, that his mind held sway over more body than it had ever done before, tightly packed and bound to his body and mind. He breathed, and he seemed to breathe normally, and yet not normally—more air, more lung, deeper breaths. He licked his lips and tried not to understand the sensation that came with that.

The mass of his being contracted a little—he felt strangely dense—and then in his mind he could sense a—a—a twoness—

He could sense everything that was him dividing, separating, pressing into one aspect or the other of his twoness. Unlike the slow process of propagation this seemed to take place in the space between one moment and the next, and then it was over.

The eerie dreamlike state evaporated and was gone. The ecstasy like the impossibly sustained orgasm was gone. The warm light was gone. He lay, heavy again with gravity, on his own bed, the dream over.

He was weighted down.

His entire body was being pressed into the bed by something—a form—a body: a body he could sense from the inside, a body he could see with his eyes closed.

He opened his eyes.

So did the form on top of him.

One Barry stared deep into the eyes of the other.

Their chiseled, masculine faces, rough with the lightest of stubble along their chinlines, were hardly an inch from each other. Soft bursts of hot breath played across their lips.

Without breaking his intense stare deep into his own cobalt blue eyes Barry sought sensations from below. His entire body was responding to the stimulation of a body as hot as his own being pressed against it; his whole being simmered with arousal. Muscles from all over his body responded to his queries, returning floods of joy and a vague sense that they felt unusual, engorged, as if his muscles had swollen and firmed with arousal the way his cocks did; and they all reported being pressed hard by muscles that felt identical to themselves. His cocks were rigidly, painfully hard, superpumped with blood, and deeply stirred at being interlaced with two equally overtumescent cocks pressing down hard from above. They felt huge, heavy and oversized even for him, yet natural, primal, fountainheads of profound lust and pleasure.

Still staring deep into his eyes Barry cast his net just a little further, and became aware, on the tingly fringes of his perceptions, of the sensations of the body pressing down on him. As he attended to these senses he seemed to feel from the body above, feeling himself pressing down the tightly packed, heat-flushed muscles of his own overbuilt body; and as he processed that marvelous sensation the world turned slightly in an easy, fluid movement, and after a fleeting, barely perceived moment of sharing, of unity, he was continuing his stare into his own eyes, looking down.

His stomach twisted, slightly, unused to such a turning of the world, and then the moment passed, the twinge forgotten.

Muscular arms came up from below, wrapping around his broad pale back, and as he enjoyed the thrill of being wrapped in those arms he sought for, and found, the matching sensation of the body beneath him, wrapping his arms around him, and as he held him he rediscovered the moment of unity and seized it, fed it, fixed it in his mind, or his mind within it, and allowed it permanence, and as he proceeded to increase his own physical stimulation he felt unbridled pleasure from both directions, enmeshed in the rapture of the complete sensation of lovemaking.

He kissed him, and the pure joy of those sensations from both directions carried him away, into a warm, powerful paradise of almost unendurable intensity, and he came many times and eternally, until the endless night at last and gradually subsumed into the perfect slumber of the sated.