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The first time Tom saw Alan he thought he had finally gone nuts. He had been playing with making art that could affect the outside world for ages, but Alan was the first real proof he had that it was possible. Undeniable proof. His face on the body of another man who went by the same name as his character.
Alan’s voice was incredibly different from Tom’s own. Not a trace of his Finnish accent to be heard. Still, the resemblance was more uncanny than Alice had let on.
“Look at you!” Tom laughed with delight, walking around the man before him. “You look incredible!”
“Who the hell are you?!”
“I am Thomas Zane! Thomas Seine.” He lurched forward and grabbed Alan’s arm to shake his hand properly. “And you are Alan Wake! Perkele! I wish Baba could see this.”
“Thomas Zane?” Alan asked me, confused. Of course he would have no frame of reference for this trippy experience. “Tom Zane? Like the diver?”
“Yes! Yes, that was me! I made a movie inspired by one of your books to help you save your wife!”
“A movie?”
“Yes! Yes! Tom the Poet! ” he urged. “Do you not remember? I suppose it did alter your reality…”
“I remember you in a diver’s suit, and a bright light. We spoke…” His eyes raked over Zane again, going wide. “You didn’t say you had my face.”
“I didn’t know!” Tom laughed. “I mean, I had some hints, sure, but all my glimpses of you were hazy reflections in my mind’s eye. Now you’re…”
He walked up and reverently ghosted his palms around Alan’s shoulders. Alan stood there stiffly and watched him do it. Was he just as broad as Alan? He looked good with a beard. Tom had never let his grow like this. It suited him in a grizzled hippy kind of way that he did not hate one bit.
“You’re magnificent!” Tom nearly purred, wrinkling his nose at Alan and leaning into his shoulder a bit. He smiled with heavily lidded eyes as he pulled back, but Alan’s eyes were wide like a startled baby deer.
“What are you doing?” He stumbled back a half a step.
Tom had gotten the shrug off from a man too in his shell to love another before. He had a phase of it himself, when he was much younger than Alan Wake was now. Tom stepped back and didn’t push the issue. That always worked out best for everyone.
“Welcome to the House of Zane!” he said instead, gesturing grandly to the room around him. “I would love to discuss your art.”
True to his promise, even if it was only to himself, Tom didn’t make another move on Alan. Not for over a year…Tom was pretty sure. They’d crossed paths a handful of times now and tried to make art together. A couple of dud projects that never found their legs. They were both too opinionated to compromise on the key details.
Tom kept his hands to himself but not his eyes. Alan seemed oblivious, or at least did a good job pretending not to notice when Tom’s eyes lingered. He tried to be discreet about it, but it was hard not to ogle your body double even if you weren’t the kind of person who wanted to fuck yourself. And Tom decidedly was that sort of person.
On nights where they separated after a creative frenzy, or when Alan was passed out drunk on the sofa, Tom would stroke himself to the thought of taking the author. He didn’t care what anyone would say about him for wanting to fuck a man who was not only his double but who he had a hand in bringing into existence. Metaphorically speaking, Alan was like a son to Tom. In the way that a man’s father is like his god. Tom wanted those big blue eyes to worship at his feet.
He had long adjusted to the reality that that would only happen in his dreams.
Until one night after they’d dropped some acid. The room had just started to swirl a little at the edges when Tom felt a hand on his breast.. He looked down and found Alan’s knuckles caressing. The curve of his pec through his patterned button up—one too many button’s having come down already. Alan’s eyes were not on Tom’s face. He gazed at Tom’s chest almost reverently, making Tom’s thighs ache.
“Hey there, handsome,” Tom said cautiously. “What're you doin’?”
Alan blinked, swallowed, and then slowly looked up at him. His eyes were a sharp baby blue stretched around wide pupils. “Sorry,” he muttered and pulled away. “Dunno what came over me.”
“Hey,” Tom breathed back. He set aside the glass of whiskey he’d been nursing and leaned closer to Alan, draping his arm across the back of the sofa. “No hard feelings.”
Alan watched him warily, but his lips were parted and his eyes full of interest. He seemed to struggle to keep his focus on Tom’s face.
“We look at each other and we see the same handsome piece of ass we see in the mirror,” Tom teased, smirking. “Only different. You do not need to explain yourself to me.”
Alan laughed nervously, then swallowed. Tom couldn’t have stopped smiling at the charming, shy author if he wanted to. He’d come to know Alan well enough now to be familiar with his many faces. Alan had a temper, and Zane liked that part of him too. If Alan was upset by something, he let you know it. The man had never heard of suffering in silence. Tom liked to think Alan got it from him.
Alan launched into an idea about their latest screenplay, moving them into safer waters, and things felt normal again. Something Alan said about the filmmaker character in the story gave Tom an idea of his own and he ran with it. He explained with his hands, half acting out his thoughts as he bounced them off of his collaborator.
He lost himself in it. With the help of the drugs, Tom’s mind was open and the inspiration was flowing. He wouldn’t call Alan a muse; they were equals in their creative power. Alan was not merely a vessel, a totem, or a vehicle. He had turned out to be something far more powerful. He was a person with his own imagination, different from Tom’s own. That was something that he had lacked for forty years, he knew now.
Tom was looking off to the side of the room when he felt fingers slide into his hair. He turned back to Alan just in time to meet him in the kiss, humming with surprise as he wrapped his arms around the other man. It had been so long since anyone had kissed him. And the lips he felt pressed against his own were so peculiarly familiar.
The kiss lingered for long enough that Tom forgot he had been shocked about it. Then Alan tucked his head against Tom’s neck and ground his forehead down, groaning in frustration and digging his nails into Tom’s back.
“Alan? Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,” the writer whimpered into Tom’s shoulder. “I’m just so lonely…”
“Hush.”
Tom held Alan gently, carding his fingers through Alan’s hair. It had grown shaggier since Alan’s arrival and was soft against Tom’s fingerprints. Alan returned the embrace, settling against Tom’s chest. He brushed his palm over Tom’s shirt, fingers slipping against Tom’s skin in the open collar.
Tom hummed, eyes fluttering shut. He couldn’t help himself; it felt nice. Then he felt Alan’s hesitation, fingers curling into a small fist. Tom frowned a little and didn’t move from his position.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he murmured softly to Alan.
Alan waited a good long while before he moved again. He stayed quiet, curled against Tom’s broad chest like a child afraid of the dark. Not unlike his wife had once done, ironically enough. Tom traced circles on Alan’s back with his fingers. He could feel the low stir of arousal in his groin, but he remained patient. They were both lucky to be in such a mellow high.
Then Alan’s fingers picked back up tracing. He slid his palm into Tom's open shirt front and wrapped it around his ribcage curiously. Neither of them had much meat there, just taught, lean muscle stretched over a richest that Tom’s father used to tell him was made for bellowing. Tom reciprocated by sliding his hand up Alan’s back and onto his head, fingers sinking into his hair.
Alan nuzzled into him. Tom could feel his parted lips grazing the skin just below his collarbone. He licked his lips and bit the lower one into his mouth. Hopefully his cock would stay soft enough that Alan would not take notice of it, but Tom wouldn’t bet on it. Strung out from little more than a kiss, but who could blame him when the subject of his happiest fantasies was curled in his lap.
Alan’s fingers and lips kept wandering, pulling Tom’s shirt open enough that another button slipped free. Tom’s breath was growing more shallow. He felt like his skin was on fire, every minute touch felt like so much more. It was transcendent. It was like torture.
“Alan?” he breathed, trying to keep his voice steady.
The writer in his lap, his character come to life, made a questioning noise and looked up at him. Tom leaned down and kissed him. Alan surged up into it, sucking on Tom’s lips pleadingly. Tom parted his lips and groaned at the slick feeling of Alan’s tongue flickering against his own. He tasted cloyingly sweet, and Tom wanted it all.
He leaned forward, shifting Alan backward, laying him out on the couch. Alan went with a contented smile, watching Tom sprawl himself atop him. He sank his hands into Tom’s hair and pulled him in, his kiss as hungry as Tom felt.
Tom wasn’t sure this was real, even so long after accepting that reality had become a meaningless concept. Kissing Alan, settling between his legs, pressing him into the couch, sent him reeling all over again. What could he do but ride the wave that was suddenly crashing around him? He sucked on Alan’s lip and drank down his whimper.
Alan gradually got Tom’s shirt completely off of him, but the pair were otherwise fully dressed. Tom craved so much so strongly that he didn’t dare unleash his true desire. Yet he couldn’t hold back the slight grinding motion of his hips against Alan’s, granting his cock the most meager relief. For a while he thought Alan was too far gone to even notice, just lost in the endless caressing of their lips. Then Alan rocked his hips up, and Tom felt the truth. Alan was right there with him.
Tom nipped his way along Alan’s jaw, then let out a rough breath in the author’s ear. “I want you,” he purred. “Do you want to be good for me, Alan?”
Alan let out a tiny squeak of a sound but rolled his hips up into Tom again. “Zane…”
“I brought you into this world,” he bragged, nibbling on Alan’s earlobe. “Let me show you pleasures like you’ve never known.”
Alan laughed at that, but didn’t push him away. He didn’t sound offended or uncomfortable, and when Tom turned his head to look he found an amused smirk.
“I’m no virgin, Tom.”
Tom smiled, his pulse racing. He remembered Alice, how skilled her touch had been. Now he pictured her and Alan together with hunger instead of longing, wondering what she had liked to do with him. Wondering what Alan liked her to do to him.
“No,” Tom agreed softly, smiling hungrily back at him. “But you’ve never taken a cock before either. …Have you?”
Alan swallowed, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple saying everything. Tom laughed, tilting his head back with it.
“Oh, perkele, this is going to be fun!”
“I– Are…” Alan swallowed nervously, but his hands gripped into Tom’s hair and held him close, like a lifeline. “I’ve only even taken Alice.”
“Don’t worry, mussukka , I will be gentle,” Tom promised.
He seized Alan in another kiss, devouring him as they ground their hips together. Alan allowed his hunger to show, his hands grasping down Tom’s back fervently until he took fistfuls of his ass and encouraged the slide of their hips. But they both had far too many clothes on.
Tom pulled himself back and scrambled at his own fly. Alan propped himself up on his elbows and watched Tom with wide eyes for a moment, transfixed. Tom grinned and made a show of getting his cock out, watching Alan’s expression closely. How often do you get the opportunity to suck your own dick? To take your own dick up your ass?
“So?” he asked Alan. “Is it identical? Can’t say I haven’t wondered.”
Alan looked up at his face, eyes wide with scandal and face flushed red. “It…um…” He looked down at himself and reached for his zipper.
It was too slow, too clumsy. Tom shoved Alan’s hands away and set to it himself. “Get out of that saatana hoodie!” he laughed.
Alan obliged, unzipping his jacket and beginning to wriggle out of his layers. Tom shoved Alan’s jeans down his hips and revealed the plainest cotton boxers Tom had ever seen. The sort that you bought in bulk at the supermarket.
“Really, Alan?” he laughed.
“What?” the author blushed.
“You were a hot shot bestseller! The paparazzi chased you through New York! What are you doing wearing anything less than designer underwear?” Tom teased as he started clambering around in an attempt to get his leather pants off as fast as possible.
“I dunno. Is this your usual pillow talk?” Alan accused with a frown.
“I am going to show you some silk briefs that will change your life , Alan Wake!”
“What? You’re not wearing any underwear at all!”
“Sshhh! Later! Perkele! Show me that handsome cock of yours already!” Tom ordered, mouth watering.
Alan, now exposing the broad expanse of Tom’s same chest, wriggled out of his underwear. His erection bobbed a little as he freed it. Alan’s cock was the same length as Tom’s, the same thickness, it even curved in the same direction, but there was one glaring difference.
“You are circumcised!” he exclaimed with surprise.
“Yeah,” Alan mumbled self consciously. “I thought that was pretty normal…”
“Not in Finland,” Tom chuckled.
He wrapped his hand around Alan’s cock and stroked him slowly. It was remarkable how familiar it felt in his palm. Alan flopped back onto the couch unceremoniously, moaning. Tom experimented, toying with Alan in the ways he liked to toy with himself. Each one earned a twitch or a moan until Alan was writhing with need.
“ Zane ,” he gasped. “Zane, please!”
Tom’s wicked grin spread across his face as he stroked himself in time with Alan, kneeling over him. “Look at you,” he breathed reverently. “A near identical copy to me and yet so fascinatingly different. You’ve had a whole life, even the bits I didn’t write.”
“What?” Alan asked blearily. “Zane, please, I need to come.”
“Who’s your daddy, Alan?” he asked, voice low and commanding.
“My–? What?” Alan blinked up at him, dark pupils ringed with brightest blue.
Tom chuckled and let go of them both. He leaned backwards and rifled through the drawer of the end table, pulling out a fresh tube of his favorite brand of lubricant as if it had always been there. Alan watched him squirt a bit into his hand and then coat his cock in it. Tom thrilled at the hungry yet nervous look in Alan’s eyes. He wondered how the size of his—their—cock compared to whatever Alice had used on him.
“If you want this, you’re going to have to be a good boy for your faija ,” Tom teased.
Alan went even redder, but he also chewed his lip, eyes locked on Tom’s cock. “I– You–”
“Go on,” he urged, circling his thumb around the head of his cock as it revealed itself on a downstroke.
“I…” Alan’s eyes flickered up to Tom. “I never knew my father.”
Tom smirked and bobbed his eyebrows at him suggestively.
“I– That’s impossible!” Alan frowned, but Tom saw the bead of precum glimmering on at the tip of Alan’s cock.
“You are a work of art! As am I now,” Tom told him, swaying a little in a way he knew showed his best angles. “Anything’s possible.”
Alan swallowed, then slowly licked his lips, wide eyes drifting down Tom’s front back to what his hand was doing. “Then…we shouldn’t…”
Tom shrugged. “It’s our world. I say we make the rules,” he said, pouring a bit more lube onto his fingers.
He brought his hand beside Alan’s cock, hovering in question. Their eyes met, and Tom smiled. Alan’s eyes were filled with lust as he nodded eagerly back at Tom.
“Okay,” he breathed.
“Yes, what, mussukka ?” Tom pressed, a sharp edge to his saccharine tone.
“Yes, daddy,” Alan whimpered.
Tom gripped Alan’s cock tightly and spread the lube over him, but didn’t linger. “Get that cushion under your hips,” he ordered, spilling more lube onto his fingers.
Alan did as Tom asked and spread his legs apart. Tom brushed over his entrance with his slick fingers and worked one inside. He wanted to take Alan in every way that he could. He wanted to hear what he sounded like when he fell apart. He wanted to see his own body from every angle and watch his cum soak into Alan’s beard.
One thing at a time. Tom found the firm shape of Alan’s aroused prostate and stroked it with the pad of his finger. Alan groaned, body curling up as he clutched at the upholstery. Tom chuckled and chewed his lip, aching with reciprocal desire.
He pulled his hand free and lined up his cock, looming over the naked expanse of Alan’s body. Tom paused for just a moment, not to admire Alan’s form so much as to wonder at what a union like this had the power to create. Sex was a creative act already, but when performed by two artists stuck in a loop of reinventing themselves and each other in a realm of mystical creative power… The thought was staggering.
Tom plunged into Alan eagerly. Their voices rang out in tandem with euphoric cries of relief. Two bodies molded from the same clay remerging into one. Twin voices, the sharpest contrast between them, weaving sweet notes of pleasure into the air as they found a harmonious rhythm.
Divine magic worked through the body of Thomas Seine as he fucked Alan Wake. He draped himself over Alan and felt the other man’s legs tense against his sides. Tom dragged his panting mouth over Alan’s chest, his collar, his shoulders.
Alan dragged his nails down Tom’s back, so deliciously responsive to every stroke of Tom’s cock. He quivered and moaned, complete putty in Tom’s hands.
“You let your wife do all the work, don’t you?” Tom chuckled in Alan’s ear.
“Alice?” Alan gasped, tensing. “What am I doing? What about Alice?!”
“Hush, mussukka ,” Tom whispered soothingly, brushing his lips against Alan’s earlobe as he slowed the speed of his cock’s glide deep inside of Alan. “I would not worry so much about what she thinks. After all, it took me far littler time to get to know her this well than it has with you.”
Alan’s bemused reaction was strangled by a competing groan as Tom dragged his cock back over his prostate. “ Ah! Unh! Alice?”
Tom chuckled to himself and resisted picking up the pace. “That’s not what I asked you to call me,” he warned, nipping at Alan’s ear.
Alan made a confused, desperate sound, but Tom did not have to repeat himself. “Daddy!” Alan gasped. “Please, daddy, fuck me harder!”
Tom obliged with a giddy grin, more than one kind of pleasure flowing through his veins. He bit down on the tender flesh of Alan’s neck possessively and buried himself in Alan’s scent.
The author tried to cover himself with expensive cologne, but the Dark Place had washed enough of it away to reveal what was underneath. In its wake was the sea salt smell of the Dark Place itself mixed with a tang of mildew.
Alan probably hadn’t changed his clothes once since he sank into Cauldron Lake. Most days Tom lamented the writer’s inability to open his mind to the possibilities of their power here, but now he was too focused on tasting past the flavor of the man himself to consider mentoring him.
Tom ran the flat of his tongue over Alan’s neck and inhaled deeply, clutching his shoulders. He let Alan’s musk wash over him, nosing his way into the other man’s armpit. Past the salty, moldy tang of him was something warm and sweet that made Tom groan and thrust faster into the heat of Alan’s body.
“ Ah! Tom!” Alan whined. “ Daddyyy! ”
Tom grinned and bit down on Alan’s collar as he worked his left hand between their tightly pressed bodies. He got a firm hold of Alan’s cock and let the force of their fucking drag his fist up and down its length. Tom had just enough wherewithal to caress the head of Alan’s cock with his thumb. The rest was split between fucking Alan within an inch of his life and holding himself together long enough to feel his creation—his double, his alternate self, his character, his creator—come on his cock.
“Come on, Alan,” he groaned against the man’s neck. “Be a–a good boy for daddy.”
Alan let out a nasally, needy sound, his nails dug into Tom’s back.
“C–co–ome for me, Alan,” Tom practically begged.
Alan whimpered and trembled as Tom fucked him as hard as he could bear to. He felt Alan’s orgasm first, a vice-like grip around his cock and wet warmth seeping through his fingers and onto his stomach. Tom grit his teeth and groaned, fucking Alan impossibly harder. He laughed at every punched out sound the author gave him, his breath hot against Alan’s racing pulse.
Every tremble and aftershock of Alan's orgasm threatened to push Tom over the edge. He clung onto his last toehold valiantly, not yet ready for this fantasy to end. Until Alan’s whining turned more urgent, and he started to push back against Tom’s shoulders rather than pull him in.
“Stop, please! Too much. It’s too much!”
“Hush, mussukka ,” Tom breathed to soothe him as he stilled his hips. “Daddy’s got you.”
He kissed his way over Alan’s collarbone as he peeled their sticky bodies apart. Tom pulled his still aching cock free and smiled at the relieved sigh that Alan gave him. He was a sweaty picture of bliss beneath Tom, a faint smile on his lips and his eyes mostly closed.
Tom crawled forward on his knees, straddling Alan’s waist.
“Hnn? What’re you doin’?” Alan asked blearily, his hands coming up to caress Tom’s thighs automatically.
“Well, little writer, if I can’t come inside of you, I will take the next best thing,” Tom explained, taking himself in hand.
He watched the blue of Alan’s eyes appear again as he saw the dripping head of Tom’s cock poke out at him, just inches in front of his face. A tinge of desire spurred him on, and Tom let out a soft moan as he gazed down at his prize.
“Y–you don’t mean…?”
“Oh, but I do,” he replied huskily, slowly building momentum with his fist.
Tom watched Alan take that in, expecting him to protest. Instead Alan licked his lips as his eyes drifted back to Tom’s cock. His eyes were hungry and curious. So Tom pumped himself furiously, reaching around to toy with his own sack as he did. He kept his eyes locked on Alan’s face, his own face changed by a lifetime of fictional experiences come true.
Pleasure ripped through Tom, sending shocks up his spine. He had to fight not to let his head fall back as he came all over Alan’s face. Alan gasped, lips parting and eyes scrunching shut at the force of it. Tom watched his cum dribble into Alan’s mouth and soak his beard. He groaned at the sight of it, trembling with the last vestiges of his orgasm.
Tom scrambled backwards and laid atop Alan again just so that he could meet the man in a kiss. He dragged his tongue over Alan’s chin, gathering up his own cum, and then spread it over the writer’s lips. Tom moaned into the kiss, his spent cock aching between their bellies. Alan squirmed but returned the kiss, the sweet taste of him mingling with the bitterness of Tom’s spend.
When he was too tired to continue, Tom’s head listed sideways and tumbled over Alan’s shoulder. He nestled into the other man’s neck with his eyes closed, ready to sleep for a week.
“Tom?”
A tentative hand rested at the nape of Tom’s neck. He said nothing and enjoyed the brush of Alan’s fingertips against his skin.
“Tom? I’m a mess…”
He hummed. “An exquisite mess,” he agreed softly.
“It’s a little uncomfortable.”
Tom took in a slow, deep breath. Without opening his eyes, he gestured on his exhale, directing a wave of the Dark Place’s energy to carry away everything Alan might complain about.
He felt more than heard Alan’s slight intake of breath when he realized the mess was gone. “Thank you,” Alan whispered, his arms tentatively resting on Tom’s back as if he hadn’t just come on Tom’s cock.
“ Saatana! Just rest now, Alan. Perkele .”
“But–” He cut himself off with a long yawn that made Tom smile into the crook of Alan’s neck. “Well, okay. Maybe just for a little while.”
“Good boy, Alan.”
Tom felt a slight squeeze in Alan’s embrace as he drifted off.