Davin wasn’t sure if Trace was a first or last name and, despite questioning, the natural-born didn’t elaborate. His ragged jumpsuit bore no rank or any identification marks other than a number, 00627885, on the left breast pocket and a ripped barcode on the right shoulder. Trace had no comment on that, either.
They lay stretched out alongside each other with Davin’s open jumpsuit draped over Trace’s shoulder and hip in some semblance of cover. Inexplicably, the touch of Trace’s skin seemed so very different from the feel of another replicate’s flesh on Davin’s own. He kept smoothing a hand over Trace’s body, petting down the hairs on his arm and legs and stomach, marveling at the feel beneath his fingertips. Davin’s underwear was still tucked uncomfortably beneath his balls, but he liked
