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Narcissus Personified	By : misskass Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Tokio Hotel Views: 1240 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction! I do not know Tokio Hotel, and I do not profit from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-One's Face Reflected ; Leads One to Ruin
- 1
Bill Kaulitz had always been a narcissist; it came with the territory of just being that goddamn beautiful. He was like a bird some days, peering into every shiny object just to catch a glimpse of his perfectly preened hair, his expertly kohl-ringed eyes, his delicately glossed lips. Bill's mornings were ritualistic, even when he had nothing to dress up for and nowhere to go, his afternoons were lost in fleeting glances at the plethora of mirrors in the house he shared with his brother, and his nights were drawn-out searches into the depths of pleasure that a reflection could bring.

The onset of night always made Bill antsy, the mirrors and shiny surfaces in his house became less reflective as the sun went down and harsh artificial lights had to be turned on. He always mourned the lack of his pretty face as he passed by the marble countertops in the kitchen while Tom cooked for them, but his whines fell on deaf ears, Tom just rolling his eyes and shoving a forkful of hot pasta into Bill's mouth.

As night wore on Bill's eyes were drawn to the reflective glass windows while he and Tom watched whatever happened to be on television. He would ruffle his hair and pout his lips almost girlishly at the glass, his dark doppelganger staring out at him until Tom batted him on the arm and told him to just watch the show. Then, scandalised, Bill would nuzzle into Tom's side until his twin forgave his ego and wrapped his arms warmly around him 'til the show was done.

Once Bill sent Tom off to bed with a smack on the ass and the promise that tomorrow night they could do whatever Tom wanted, Bill would slip off to his own room, standing just in the threshold of the doorway to marvel once more at his setup. The entire room was mirrored, or at least it felt like it was. Lining the walls and even patches of the roof were mirrors, plainly framed so as not to detract from the beauty Bill found within them, and they reflected both each other and the bedroom's décor so infinitely that sometimes Bill would forget his room had edges.

But then, edges didn't matter on Bill's nights. All that mattered was the look in his half-lidded eyes as he watched his reflection's hands slide down his body. Narcissus personified, truly.

Once Bill was inside his room and the door was shut, he would strip off his clothes and drop them where he stood, only stopping a moment to admire the multiple Guccis and Diors that reflected around his room. Falling back onto the pillows piled high on his mattress Bill would first catch sight of himself in the mirrors on his roof, and he ignored his oncoming arousal to focus once again on his face. He would trace his hands appraisingly over his cheekbones and lips, imagining as he did on so many nights that the hands in the mirror didn't belong to him, but instead were those of some equally beautiful stranger, worshipping his features.

Soon his cock would draw his attention back to the job at hand and Bill would reluctantly let go of his face, trailing his fingers over his chest, skinny but gaining definition, a bar of metal glinting through his nipple. He imagined someone else's hands tugging on that piercing as he watched his mirror-self do it, allowing himself to moan like he was encouraging a lover to touch him more.

Slowly, oh so slowly Bill's hands would travel down his body until they reached his cock, red and straining for his attention as blood pulsed just beneath its surface. He'd grip himself, gently at first, reaching up with his other hand to caress his lips. Kissing his fingers and moving his other hand, Bill would always find it hard to choose between watching his mirror-self jerk him off, or simply maintaining eye contact with his own reflection, one set of lustful eyes doubled by the shiny mirror.

Kissing would turn to sucking and licking as Bill wet his fingers, a trail of saliva left to dry as he dragged them down and along his jawline before raising his hips so he could press them into himself. He'd whine and force his eyes to stay open, admiring the way his mirror-self looked so devilishly debauched, as though the real Bill was hidden behind him, pressing into him in some kind of fucked up version of incest. The thought of fucking himself only made Bill hotter, though, and he'd move two fingers in and out, only sparing a second to curse himself for not using lube before he looked back up at the mirror and gasped as he saw that he was beginning to come apart.

After a whole day of fleeting glances at himself, nowhere near long enough to satisfy, Bill was so often inclined to just get himself off as fast as he could, watching his own shaking reflection as he did so. It was never much longer until Bill was sagging onto the bed and moaning, having spent himself over one hand as two fingers of his other hand brushed his prostate. He would cast a final glance at a mirror to his side, sleepy eyes taking in bed-tousled hair as endorphins rushed through his body and carried him to sleep.

Sleep, though, was never where Bill's selfish nights ended. Far from the imagined partners when he was awake, when Bill slept after one of his mirror-self trysts his subconscious would dream up a physical reflection, one that would copy his every movement but was curiously warm to the touch.

Bill's eyes would open almost as soon as they fell shut, and once he focused he'd find a carbon-copy of himself standing just before him, so much more similar to his own body than Tom could ever be, though never commanding more love than Bill's own twin. This twin was just for getting off, Tom was forever, and Bill would chant that in his head as he raised his hand, the edges of his mouth quirking up into a smile as his twin did the same. Tom would never copy him. Bill knew he was safe here.

The mirror-twin wasn't trapped in a mirror in Bill's dream, and for that he was thankful, because the touch of his own flesh was far more erotic than just looking, or even running a finger down the cold and unresponsive glass. When Bill took a step back his twin did the same, so Bill could admire the perfect reflection of himself. Their eyes were the same, piercing into each other with dilated pupils, and as said eyes roamed down the bodies opposite them they always fell upon the same piercings, the same limbs, and the same cock, begging again to be touched.

So Bill would. He'd first touch himself, watching as his twin did the same thing in front of him, identical mouths falling open simultaneously as the dream intensified the sensations, drawing on all of Bill's masturbatory memories. Then, with his free hand, Bill would reach out to brush his fingertips against his twin's cock, always gasping as fingers brushed his own cock at the same time. The ultimate narcissism. Touching himself. And eventually... fucking himself.

Bill would reach out then to touch his twin's hair, fluffing it up and running it through his fingers as his twin did the same to him. After releasing himself and groaning a little at not just the loss of contact, but at the look of want on his twin's face, Bill would step forward to press his cock against his twin's, grinding it against his belly and having an identical cock ground against his in response. The intense feeling would always rip a long and low moan from his throat and he'd pull his twin into a desperate kiss, the feel of an identical tongue stud against his making him wish that he could have that stud against other parts of his body.

Since he always knew he could never have that, Bill would then turn, moving to the bed and trusting that his twin would follow him, though truly he never knew how the two of them tumbled onto the pillows. Somehow he was just on top of his twin, and it was then that the doppelganger would stop copying him and become a beautiful, pliable copy, ready and willing to take what Bill gave, and give back some things himself. Bill would look into those gorgeous brown eyes and damn near lose himself in them before reminding himself that it was just for sex, just his brain's way of enforcing his narcissism without forcing Tom to dress as him, as he'd so often secretly wished to. Then, he'd grind his pelvis down against his twin's, hips bumping as their cocks touched, but this time the twin wouldn't just grind back, he would grasp Bill's ass and pull them closer together, thrusting back in a counter-motion to Bill's own.

Bill would growl then, low in his throat, and sit up, pulling out of his twin's grasp to push two of his finger's into his twin's ass. His twin was always prepared in the dream, and would contort his face in the most blissful expressions, though he could never speak, so Bill would be forced to moan for him, wanting desperately to fuck him into oblivion. Bill added a third finger and then a fourth, just to be sure, but his twin was always stretched enough, always ready enough for him. So Bill would just push in, and it was that easy. Sliding into his twin's body was the most perfect feeling, bar the feeling of his actual twin, but he couldn't look into Tom's face and see identical eyes staring back, no matter how hard he tried. So he fell into his dream-twin, his mirror-twin, who would thrust and shake and kiss him so desperately, but never be able to make a sound.

Because after all, when Bill woke up, sticky with a new layer of come over the dried layer from before he slept, he'd look up at the ceiling and remember that his mirror-self was trapped behind the glass, and wasn't really real at all. Still, he thought, time and time again, that if he could gaze enough into that copy's eyes, his dreams might let him fuck himself again.
- 1
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Narcissus Personified