Date: Fri, 03 Oct 2008 16:10:06 -0400
From: J
Subject: TRIO: STEVE vs Steve


STEVE

INTRODUCTION: THE FANTASTIC ART OF BORIS VALLEJO is an art book with
pictures done by this magnficient artist. STEVE, 1976, Oil Painting, 17 by
27" is one of these. It depicts an ethereal windswept calm sky of orange
and reddish brown, being cut across by a flying pirate death ship with
sails and adorned on the front by a skull with pointed tusks coming out, as
well as two smaller skulls beneath, the middle one being attached to a kind
of muscled body. A large bust of a boy named Steve I presume is illusioned
over the pirate ship. The boy has a collar not unlike the shirts worn
during the early times of America--maybe the 1700s and his hair is cut
short in the front and long in the back, a bowl cut in the front over his
forehead . Below that is Steve, again presumably, in red trousers (or maybe
he is the one in green trousers) is facing a boy that looks like him or may
be a bit bigger. It seems as if the boy facing him---and we see him from
behind---might be his twin. The trousers on both boys (the one we see from
behind is in green and the one we see from the front is in red) end just
under the knee, again in an old style. The rest of legs seem to be bare or
may have stockings on them to the slip on, buckle shoes. The boy in green
has a knife in his right hand, the knife in his hand and the identical yet
somewhat slimmer one is in the other boy's right hand. Both are croutched
down a bit and facing each other eye to eye. THIS IS THEIR STORY...

STEVE...

Ever since the boy, almost a man at 14 in this strange land, had fallen
through the time-space vortex, he found himself in a world a bit like his
own but in many ways, every bit as strange as say, a trip to the Moon. His
pale skin was now sunburned red from this alien world's sun; his muscles
more toned from the harsh life he has had to endure here. Here in this
world, there is a version of the American revolution going on but unlike
the one fought in the mid 1770s in his America, this one was fought with
only knives, swords, and bow and arrow. Taken for a British spy by
Americans here, Steve had been sorely tested and proven to be a patriot
after all. He had run messages across British lines, posing as one of
them. It was only recently that he knew his luck was more down to the fact
that he had a British twin...not really a twin...in this parallel universe,
the boy was him. And named Steve as well. He saw him once, only once but it
was enough to put him off ever wanting to again. Seeing himself, with
different ideals, different background....and different build...this kid
was him but was bigger and a bit huskier and he wore green trousers
identical to the ones the Americans, eager for their little spy to get
going, gave him. Steve didn't know it but he possessed a regale face, one
of bearing, even though on his Earth, he was but an orphan, one who was
kind to his fellow orphans. Having been orphaned when his British father
and American mother were killed trying to stop the violence in South Africa
in the early 1990s on his own world, the boy was put into a home. Even
though it was rumored he was actually royalty somewhere down the line,
something got fouled up. He didn't believe he was but any looking upon his
noble yet unfurrowed, unwrinkled brow, would think so.


His job was not easy. Tonight it was to see the delivery spot of terrible
spear firing skeleton men that the British tyrants were to bring to this
shore. A shore once their own. He has on his red trousers and rolled up
high on his knees so as not to get them wet. The awesome British flag ship,
a giant floating pirate ship in the sky, was slow. He could follow it
easily on foot and only his closeness in this foggy glow would be able to
see it. The awesome craft didn't need to be fast. It was never challenged
before and it was able to strike down any that would spot it on the ground,
if they were seen. Pursed lips now stood on the beach as Steve looked at
the craft hovering, but not moving any longer. The nights here, even on the
beach were hot. Steve took to taking his white collared shirt, button down,
out and tied it up above his navel. He sweated and wondered if from the
heat of the night or the terror above, waiting for him. He wouldn't let
them see him, even if they could, they wouldn't bother. They had the
terrible weapons that would wipe out the Americans and only one thing could
stop them. Him.

A rope came down from the ship and urged him up to it. It was then he
realized that the ship had put someone down on this shore already. Someone
coming toward him out of the gloom of the swirling red mists of the
planet's naturalness. Soon, he stood, looking at himself. This was his
double. He took from his pants the knife that was so leaned on his bony hip
and watched the boy do the same thing. This boy was here to scout out the
beach before the landing. Before doing anything to the boy, the real Earth
boy Steve ran to the rope and set it afire with a well timed match. The
other was too stunned to believe that anyone would get that close to an
enemy ship. He watched but then he moved into action.

The two boys faced each other in the shallow water. They circled. The
curved knives drawn, their eyes intently looking into one another's. Steve
gulped. Steve gulped. The one he faced, the one from this world, looked
more confident. He was slighter taller, his chest somewhat more puffed out
and peccy. Deep indent on his chest, which was bare as the more billowy
pirate top he wore was open and revealing both chest and stomach, a nice
innie quarter sized muscled navel with a ring of Cheerio quality. Steve
swiped at Steve. Red trouser jumped back with a splash so green trouser
continued his onward assault. Green grabbed at the hand of the red that
held the knife and moved his knife at the kid's side. The red grabbed the
knife hand and pushed back. They struggled and seemed to be at a balance of
power. Tight abs moved to gain the upper hand. Suddenly the red one moved
down and back and the green one swiped again, knicking the buttoned shirt
and ripping the shirt a bit, it coming untied and the flaps billowing as
much as the pirate shirted lad. They were both beautiful, it would be said
by the watchers who would see this battle from their telescopes. Smooth,
tanned, sunburned in places, nipples erect from the heat of battle.
Splashing around as they circled each other, one moving in, the other
moving back, one moving back, the other dodging.

Red kicked and green went back and down to one knee. He moved in for a
kill.  Red tried to stick downward but Green came up and knicked the arm
that held the knife. "Owwwww!"  Red yelped and held his arm. Green took
this as an advantage and jumped up and moved. He kept going but Red tripped
him. Green fell forward into the water. His young penis felt hot and stiff
even against the cold salt water. He was on his belly but turned as Red
moved to strike again, his knees bending.

Green turned and splashed salt water into his eyes and moved to get up.
They faced each other again and again like this, the wind picking up, the
fire spreading to the underbelly of the ship. The pirates on board could
hardly see the specks fighting below them and the fire went unnoticed.
Steve, the red trousered one, made the mistake of looking back at it and
Green rushed him as he did. He was caught off balance but managed to
shoulder Red into Green in such a way that Green faltered. Red brought up a
knee to Green's side and kicked hard. Green moved back and yelped one of
his own. By now the remainders of their shirts were tatters as they fought,
bare young belly, hip, upper abs, and strong boyish washboards seen by the
other. They met again, pressed their knives at each other and pushed. The
knives went up with their arms extending, knife to knife. Their bodies were
hot as they pressed chest to chest and stomach to stomach, each feeling the
other's hard penis beneath somewhat wet trousers. Kindling from the bottom
of the wooden ship in flight began to rain down around them.




They were deeper in the water than before and almost up to their knees. Red
ran from the it and to the shore but didn't make it. Green was too close,
forcing him to turn to face him. Green smiled as if knowing he would
win. Red huffed, tired and panting deeply. He looked afraid and showed it
to Green. Green grinned, "It wont be but a moment of pricking pain...ye
won't last long, ye won't."

Red gulped. He lowered his knife. Green lunged at him with his full weight,
meaty body coming at him. At the last moment, Red raised the curved dagger
and it was but in the air a second as the flesh of the other boy in Green
met it with his own, almost as if he were diving to his end onto the point
by will. And maybe he had, maybe he had seen it and could have moved away
at the last moment but he didn't. It drove deeply into him but more due to
the fact that he lunged onto it. Steve merely held the blade and felt the
body warmly cover it. It slid in. Steve felt it and liked it. Yet he was
shocked by what he was doing. He had his hand on a cold blade deeply being
warmed by the innards of this boy, and he looked horrified...for a
moment. He stared pleadingly for the one he cut to forgive him and
found....his own face looking back at him with bitter pain and closed
eyes. Then he looked up and opened his eyes and he saw shock in the
boy...his face. Sweat covered both. They were now so close to one another
that the stabbed one could put his head on the victor's shoulder and did
but not before smiling grimly at him and then he looked again with outrage
and sheer pain and perhaps a bit of pleading for mercy. Steve sticking him
found none to give. He planted it in deeper, knots behind that shallow
quarter sized belly button seeming to stop him from doing so but soon
enough the hard cords of stomach gave way and Steve felt his blade butter
itself inside Steve. The boy's guts inwardly were a pool for his own
playing. He twisted and jerked every which way.


"Gawk!"  The dying boy leaned in and tried to pull off but Steve stuck it
to him more. The head went to the bare chest and slid a bit. Steve moved
his body down to catch Steve's head on his shoulder...it felt good there,
heaving and panting, dying breaths of pain caught on his bare shoulder,
bony and enjoying the wetness of tongue and spittle. Steve brought his free
hand to Steve's back and held him, wanting the most out of the
sticking. Green slid down though and Steve wanted to hold him up, for this
to last forever. Victory was so fucking good and to be alive, having this
one's life at your knife point was so good. The knife curved upward now and
struck out the top of the belly button and everything behind and above
it. Steve let it continue up and up to the upper abs and he moved it
around, dragged it around what seemed to be his own body.

"Feel it proud one!"

"Arrrrrr! I do! Ye can stop dread deed! I love you!"

The upper abs were stripped of their meat and bled. The curved knife moved
down to crush the lower belly button ridge, Steve feeling the knob of ridge
momentarily stopping the knife's descent. It went on in, moving on
down. "Guaaaaa! Olalala....gruck!"  The boy made sounds the victor couldn't
believe and it excited him. In tandom, it also excited the one making
them. Their penises were wet and alive with pungent juice, spurti ng in
good time.

Steve forgot the knife his twin held. It rose up and moved on up into his
own butter like smooth flesh and found its way into him. "What yooppppp!
Ouh! Awwww! Yeah! What have ya done to me?"

"What I had to do! What ye done to thee! Feel the lovliness of perfect
battle and perfect....fuck..."  He could try to bear the pain but knew he
could not longer do so. He wanted to convulse and let it all out, fire his
shooting cock along his own body facing him...



 The two held each other but then slipped. The first one stuck, fell first
and for a minute or two, stayed on his pained knees and his body
convulsed. He strained to keep himself that way, his upper body up and
holding. It quivered, his pants ripped by the knife of real Steve, who tore
open his own trousers. They faced each other on their knees. Both took this
moment to drive the knives into their enemy's belly. The hilts were
abandoned by hands. The pair hugged each other and let the hilts find their
own way to gore and inner stuffs. They embraced and tightened their stomach
muscles to make the knives become one with what they held beneath their
skin. Corded muscle made room for the driving, diving, scooping metal.

"Aaahhh, ahhhh, oh ahhh, oh yeah, yearrrrrrrhhhhgghhhhh! Fuck! Don't let it
so...stoppugh!!"

But it did. They fell into the water, separate but then their floating
bodies, found each other sideways. They jerked in the water, not dead
yet. Splashing sound filled the air with gulps they gasped from both trying
to breath out of the water and trying to bear the pain like a man...like a
warrior...a good fellow...

Sideways, they hurled arms around each other and jerked themselves to
one. They seemed like a sleek dolphin, bare legs now, pants torn in the
movments, bare buttoxes, meaty, one object of intense feeling...intense
orgasming...and pain...and shooting load after load and keeping their
mostly unused penises hard and intense until the moment they competed
for...death...they played this game of trying to see which one would die
first...the loser would die first. It was a mental game they gave to each
other via some kind of telepathy or emotional joy...

Words could not be fully heard. "Do....tttttt!"

"Give me it morrrrrrrrrrgue!"

"Oh yeah, over here..."

"Alittle to the....that's rightttttttt! Damn! You fucker! How could
ye...gaaad....do that to me!?!"

That was when the vortex, enlightened by the burning ship overhead of dying
men, sought them out. It engulfed both boys...who knew what its properties
were...it might make them healed and friends...or it might keep them alive
in this deadly embrace forever, each boy with a heavy blade curving into
his body, one with the curve meting out its slice under his upper abs, the
other with it delving into his lower boy belly, just above his penis and
under his navel. Both had their navels sorely sored...cut up...butchered,
hanging out and hanging in!

Would they be healed and wake up on some far off universe or parallel
Earth? Would this make them friends now? Would they try to kill each other
again? Or would they never snap out of this wet dream of death and killing
and mannliness and wanking under the strain? Only time would tell...but
they didn't care....if they had to choose...which they would pick...would
be to embrace in this pain-love forever!