That first time, he could never describe how it felt. His words, the limitations of his understanding, the limitations of how much he *let* himself feel; maybe it was intended to be this elusive.

His own feelings echoed back to him when he was inside Seto, twinned with sensations that didn't feel like his. He knew what it felt like to be aroused, but it differed in intensity, and there was a tingle of faint pain that trickled along Tristan's skin and itched because it had no real source to cling to. It made no sense, but lots of things about sex made no sense, and unless a very obvious problem arose, he wasn't about to stop in the middle.

Seto would probably have been pissed at him for stopping, anyway. So he let it go, tried to forget about it afterwards, never mentioned the echoes.

It felt like another person inside him. If he could know what another person inside him would feel like. The thought felt right and yet at the same time ridiculous.

But after that, there was always a strange tangling loss of identity. Whenever he and Seto made love, for minutes afterward he could look down and not be quite sure which of the two hands woven together was his, and which was Seto's.

Not that it mattered. In seconds Seto would know he was looking. By some magic of his own that he never shared, Seto's blue eyes would read his thoughts and lead him away again. Eyes like warm water. How could such a cool color burn so hot with life?

Not that Tristan ever put the thoughts about Seto in such order. Instead he would categorize making love with Seto as 'intense,' and cherish the blue eyes as 'beautiful,' and get lost in the heat of twinned bodies intertwined and forget about the ever-constant echoes, now so much a part of him that he finally, finally recognized the second person sharing his skin as part of him, too.

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