Sequel to There and Then

Déjà vu all over again. I'd laugh if I weren't so close to tears.

Don't ask me why I'm here. Hell, it's been ages since I allowed myself to wallow—but, wallowing I am—or, rather, I was—until he came in. What the fuck is he doing here? I'd have thought that too many unpleasant memories would rise in his mind if he came back to Trix.

After all, he killed me, didn't he, and, of course, I killed him too. Technically speaking, that wasn't me he killed—it was a clone. I've been languishing in a Tunisian prison for the past few years. But, he has no way of knowing that.

Maybe he just doesn't care. Maybe he's here to celebrate the passing of the late, unlamented Alex Krycek. Maybe he wants to remember that one night we spent here, drinking each other under the table and flirting and actually considering...

Never mind.

So, now...what should I do? Duck out the back door? Approach him and try to explain? Yeah, right...explain. As if he'd believe me. Just sit here and hope he doesn't stick around long?

A cute young thing approaches him and gets snarled at for his efforts. I can't help but smirk at the way the kid wilts under Skinner's patented glare. Look under 'surly' in the dictionary and there's a picture of him next to the definition.

The bartender wanders over and asks if I'm ready for a refill. Hell, yes, I want another, and...Oh, what the fuck, I instruct him to deliver a drink to Skinner courtesy of yours truly.

Then I sit back and wait for the fireworks to begin.

He stares across the room at me, a flash of surprise and curiosity at seeing me alive in his eyes, then turns to look at the drink. My lips twitch with the effort not to laugh; he's considering. He doesn't want to accept my little white flag. He's probably wondering what other reason I could have for being here if not for the sole purposes of stalking him, shadowing him home and killing him in revenge for having killed me. Little does he know.

Not that the thought hadn't crossed my mind.

Gentlemanly manners win out once again. He raises the drink and meets my eyes. Interesting. I wasn't expecting that. Again.

Oh fuck...He's headed this way. I take a breath.

Sitting down next to me, he nods. "Krycek."

"Skinner," I reply, wondering when the civilized veneer is going to slip. I'd always wanted to see that, but not here, not now, and not with all the shit that's between us.

We drain our glasses in silence. When his curiosity becomes a palpable thing, I decide to tell him what happened. And, I really want him to know that it wasn't me—tell him that I wasn't the one to send Mulder to Oregon, that I never threatened Scully's baby, that it wasn't me in the garage that night.

Something deep inside of me needs him to understand. I want him to know me—and that scares the hell out of me. I can't remember ever wanting anyone to see past my carefully constructed shields. Damn. This is not good.

I briefly consider getting the hell out of here, then he sits back in his chair, rubs his eyes and sighs. "Another round?" he asks.

I shrug. "Why not? For old times' sake."

I wait for him to rise to even that bait but he merely regards me steadily and then asks quietly, "How the hell did we ever manage to reach this point?" But it appears he meant it as a rhetorical question because he gets up and grabs my glass. "Stoli?"

I nod. "My, my. Memory like an elephant, Walter. You got it in one."

He snorts and walks away.

I sigh heavily. What the fuck did I expect? Of course. No matter how much I try to convince him that the Other Krycek wasn't me, he still lived through it all and the experiences sank into him far too deeply for him to just toss them out on my say-so.

I'm sure he thought that things had changed between us after that first night we met here. And, for my part, they had. Somehow the powers that be had recognized my absolute unwillingness to torture Skinner any further with the nanos...hence the clone, and my 'Tunisian vacation'. When Marita came and got me out of that hellhole, I really thought I had another chance—a chance to explore the possibilities of that promising night I'd spent with Walter.

No signs of 'Walter' tonight, though. He looks tired, wary, injured, disgusted and angry. None of which are what I'd hope to see on his face. I'd hoped...Shit! All that time in prison, my only escape had been dreams of what we might have together.

If only.

I was so lost in thought that I actually jerked back when a glass is placed in front of me.

"You're jumpy," he observes, sliding back into his seat in front of me.

I take a breath and pick up the glass. I raise it with a mocking smile and then take a healthy sip.

Nice, smooth and cold. I can feel the chill remembrance of childhood winters in St Petersburg and the impressions of nights spent on surveillance in the D.C. winter rising to meet the vodka. I really don't have the heart to toast anyone or anything right now. Some mischievous part of me wants to suggest it but I have the feeling that I'd probably regret that. I'd end up waxing nostalgic on him.

Now the heat is hitting, from deep inside, creating a hollow core of false warmth that I know I shouldn't trust. But I like sitting here with him, damn it!

"Was it something I said?" Skinner's dry query reminds me that I'm letting my face show my feelings again and I quickly drop back into the calm façade I've had to perfect over years of face-offs with Consortium Elders. I reply, "Just thinking about...about home."

Fortunately, he nods and looks almost sympathetic. So I swallow my pride and continue. What have I got to lose, in any case? At this point, I'm fucked. I'm out of options with him. "So, Walter, what are the odds that we might actually salvage what might have been?"

He looks vaguely shocked at the brazen and open suggestion that we could salvage...whatever might have developed that previous night if all the following events hadn't got in the way. Or maybe he's just taken aback at the thought of salvaging something with me. He seems pretty certain that Mulder was right, that I'm scum. Murdering trash who isn't really worth the time of day and a waste of bullets. I'm getting morbid. I take another gulp of the vodka. It isn't helping.

He frowns and fiddles with his glass. After a few minutes of this, he looks up at me and I see anger tempered with a little guilt in his eyes. "I don't know, Alex...I just don't know. How can we get past what you did to me—asking me to kill Scully's baby, using those damned nanocytes against me." He sighs heavily. "How the hell do we get past the fact that I killed you? Speaking of which, how is it that you're alive?"

"That wasn't me," I say quietly. "After...after that night we spent together I just couldn't...they must have seen a change in my attitude towards you. I was shipped off to a lovely prison in Tunisia. Marita came and got me out so I could help them convince Mulder to go to Oregon. They kept me under close wraps—I didn't even know about the clone until after you'd killed it."

He looks more than a little skeptical.

"Walt, I could never ask you to kill that baby. You're not the kind of man that could do that and I...well, actually I admire your ethics." I drain my glass and ask him, "I need another. You ready yet?"

But Skinner looks troubled. "I've seen a lot of weird shit in my time. Especially with the X-Files running for so long—hell, Mulder and Scully have passed more bizarre reports under my nose than I can count. I have a fairly open mind. I know what kind of technology our government is capable of utilizing; the nanotechnology, the cloning, even the alien gray healers...But it just seems a little too pat for you to rise from the dead and claim to be totally innocent of all wrongdoing." Skinner's voice isn't argumentative, however, despite his words. In fact, he sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

I can't help thinking that there is a very slim chance here that if I can just get him to accept it as the truth, that we've crossed the border, from doubt into trust. "I'm not innocent. But I'm not lying about this." I take a breath. "Fact is always stranger than fiction, Walter. Why is it so hard to believe that creating a clone of me and having it do their bidding, in my name, is beyond the scope of what those Syndicate bastards were capable of?" I rise and pick up my glass, holding out my hand for his. "I'm getting a refill. More of the same?"

He sighs and hands me his glass. "Yeah. I'm going to the men's room—"

The laughter is out of me before I can help it. "Walt, there isn't a ladies' room in this establishment."

He turns red in the face and it's so adorable that I caught him out that I can't help chuckling as I walk away.

Back at the table, fresh drinks in hand, I notice that he's looking a little flustered. Curious, I look around to see what might have caused such visible discomfort in such a normally controlled man.

Ah ha! A very pretty, very young, and very obviously effeminate man is sitting at the bar making cow eyes at him. Well, well, well...

I just can't pass up this golden opportunity. "Looks like you made a conquest there, big guy."

He blushes—twice in one night! I'd be willing to bet that's a record. "That man made a pass at me in the restroom—pass, hell, he groped me."

Oh my. I don't think I like that. No, I don't like that at all. I turn in my seat and give the little pansy a murderous look. "You want me to beat him up...defend your honor?"

He chokes. "Jesus Christ, Alex! Don't do anything of the sort—I can take care of myself."

Smirking, I say, "Maybe you've been taking care of yourself for too long. Why not give the kid a thrill? Take him home, make him happy."

Skinner gives me a knowing, measured gaze. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

I shrug, innocently. "Such as? How long has it been since you last got laid, anyway? And what are you doing in here?" I wave my hand negligently, indicating the evening crowd at Trix.

With a slight smile, he raises his glass to me. "You don't have to beg, Alex. I think I told you that before."

Feeling stunned at the implications of this, I reply, "Why, Walt, I didn't think the offer was still open. And I got the distinct impression you weren't buying my story, a few minutes ago."

After a wry twist of his mouth, he gulps down another swallow. "I didn't."

Oookay. What the hell does that mean? He didn't, but he does now? He still doesn't, but it doesn't matter? He's so horny that a lowlife like me is acceptable for a quick fuck? I study his expression, trying to figure out what he's thinking, whether he's a danger to me, if he really does want me. I sure as hell want him and I'm not sure that I can handle it if he's just playing me.

"I'd like to believe you, Alex," he says seriously. "After that night I thought...well, I hoped that things would change between us."

Well, damn.

"I meant it, Walt—wanted you then, want you now," I admit in a husky voice. Shit, this revealing my true feelings thing is damned hard. "I...When I found out what that other Krycek had done, I just figured that you'd hate me forever—and when you killed it...that hurt, Walt."

"Me too," he says after a pause. "I hated you for making me do that, Alex."

Fuck. This is so thorny. Every bit as difficult as I'd thought it would be. "It wasn't me," I say, feeling helpless, for all I can do is repeat that now. What else could I possibly tell him that would make things better? I bitterly gaze into my glass.

He takes a deep breath. "It's a hard story to swallow. But it's both bizarre and unlikely enough to make me believe it. At this point, I don't know what possible motive you could have for making up a story like this."

I snort and down the last of my Stoli. "What difference would it make now, one way or the other?"

"Well, you might want to consider that I didn't shoot you on sight when I saw you here tonight." His reply is dry and a little ironic, but there's a certain humorous note that catches my attention.

I meet his eyes and ask, "Don't fuck with me, here. I'm not in the mood. I've put my cards on the table. Let's see you do the same. That's accepting that you actually believe me, of course," I add.

Skinner gives me a long, unreadable and appraising look. "I want the Alex I met that night; I thought I'd made that clear."

My voice is hard and my expression is flat as I get to my feet. "Sorry. Neither the clone nor I can be that for you. People change, Walt. If you want the little boy with stars in his eyes, he died when you shot that clone. Trust is hard to fix once it's broken. And frankly, I'm surprised you can even expect me to believe you'd trust me now, after all the shit that happened." I move by him but he gets up swiftly and grabs my right arm hard, just above the elbow. Even through my jacket I can feel his grip. I wonder if he realizes that I wouldn't tolerate that from anyone else. Anyone. Not even Mulder anymore.

"Don't be an ass," he says. "Making a melodramatic scene like this just proves to me that the boy's still there, and he's sulking. Now sit down and stop acting like we aren't in a crowd." He's right, damn him to hell. I hate that he could kill me. Oh, I know it's irrational, and I know that I'm afraid of what he could do to me—of how he could hurt me if this is all a game on his part. But, damnit, how can he ever look at me and not remember the things that clone did to him and to Mulder?

Slowly, I sink back down into my chair. "Sorry," I mumble. "I...I guess I'm...I don't trust easily—and I can't imagine how you could get past what happened. And...you killed me. How do I deal with that? How can we deal with that?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, Alex. But I'd like to try."

"Really?"

One side of his mouth quirks up in a smile. "Yes, really. I think we can do it—I hope so, anyway."

"But how?"

Another shrug. "This seems like a good start—we'll sit here, have a few drinks, talk."

Sounds too good to be true. But...God, I want it—want him! "Okay," I say. "I'm willing to try if you are."

He leans back in his seat. "Yes. I am." Fiddling with the empty glass before me, I'm trying to understand why he wants that younger version of me, the 'big boy'...And then it hits me. He likes my vulnerable side. He can't help responding to it. Maybe there's more of the dom in him then he'd like to recognize..."Well, just don't expect me to start affecting a lisp and mincing around after you."

He lets out a breath. "Why can't you just live in the moment, Alex? I'm not expecting anything from you. I'm not demanding anything."

Returning his measured gaze, I say, "Aren't you? Seems like a sort of ultimatum to me—'be good or else'—good being synonymous with trust, of course."

He shakes his head sadly at me. "You've spent too much time with Mulder, I recognize the paranoia.. Relax, okay?" With more than a little exasperation, he says, "Damn it, can't we just talk here, without turning it into some kind of battle? I want you, you want me. It's that damned simple. Let's not hide it behind a lot of crap about who's done what to whom. Alright?" I can feel my mouth hanging open slightly at his bare assessment. I wasn't expecting him to accept this on face-value. Shit. I'm starting to feel like I misjudged the situation, misjudged him. I am paranoid. I rub my face wearily and say, "Your turn to get the drinks, I think. Don't," I add, as he gets up, "start mixing mine. I want to be able to function tomorrow morning."

"Stoli. I know." He answers, grumbling as he grabs up both our glasses, "If I have my way, you won't need to function tomorrow."

My jaw drops again for a second time in less than a minute, trying to say something in response but I really wasn't prepared for that. Walter Skinner, Flirt and Seducer? I can feel that any measure of control I once had has completely fled, and I'm starting to feel like that boy he described...Lost. At sea. Completely.

It's too damn close to what I want, for me to take it seriously. But I can't turn away from it either. Not now, after all this time. It's my last chance with him.

This time I'm not startled when he returns to the table. Well, not badly enough to flinch when he sets my drink in front of me. I'm actually kinda proud of that. He settles across from me and we sit in relatively peaceful silence for a few minutes.

I'm studying his face, memorizing his features (as if they aren't already forever imprinted in my mind) while he sips his scotch and looks around the bar. Amazing how readable his expressions are as he examines the patrons. I can clearly see his reactions to each person, by turns he shows admiration, indifference, and distaste as his eyes scan the various men crowding the bar.

Then he looks at me. "Two years," he says.

"What?" I frown at him in confusion. "Two years? What are you telling me?"

"It's been two years since I got laid,"

I don't quite know how to take that. "Why?" I finally ask. "You're an attractive man—why haven't you..."

"I've had plenty of offers, but I just...I wanted you, Alex.

Somehow I manage to refrain from falling off of my chair.

I'm not sure what to make of this. Christ, it means that even throughout the entire blackmailing by that fucking clone, he still wanted me. I swallow in a dry throat and lift my glass to my lips. Thinking it over, I decide to play the casual angle, if I can manage to despite the fact that it's a great effort to keep my hand from shaking now.

"So, what are you doing in a place like this?" I field, hoping he'll just play it light, right back at me.

No such luck. He gives me a funny look. "This is where we met, the first time. I guess I was hoping I'd meet you in here again at some point."

Okay. That's it. I've fallen into some kind of parallel dimension where Skinner—Walt—wants me. For real. I'm not handling this. My dream coming true in this place, right at this moment, here and now.

I swallow another sip of vodka and reply, truthfully, "I've sort of avoided coming back here. Because of that, actually. I, uh, didn't want to keep reminding myself of that night. Seemed masochistic somehow."

Skinner considers me with a look of sympathy. "Believe me, Alex, I wasn't trying to get you to spill your guts, here."

It's going to be alright. I can sense things have shifted now. I snigger, the relief starting to make me lightheaded. "Blame it on the Stoli."

Skinner is looking around us. The place is getting crowded as the night progresses. "Do you feel up to taking this somewhere less noisy? Less public? Think we could handle that?"

"I...uh...yeah, sure," I stammer. "Do you have any particular place in mind?"

He grins. "My place?"

Wow. His place...he's inviting me into his home again! "I...yeah, that would be good—I mean fine—I mean..." Jesus Christ, what is this guy doing to me? How does he manage to constantly throw me off balance so easily?

Smiling at me with gentle humor, he nods and stands up. "Let's get going then."

Shakily, I rise and we make our way through the crowd, finally escaping out into the cool night air.

"Ride with me," he says. "I don't want to lose you now, and somehow I suspect that you'll have second thoughts if you drive yourself."

Offended, I frown at him. "You calling me a chicken?"

"Oh no," he says, a hint of humor in his voice. "I just don't want to take any chances of losing you now. You can be a little unpredictable on occasion."

"Unpredictable," I mumble as I follow him to his car. "Right."

As we get into the car and Walter backs out of his parking space, I get a strong sense of déjà vu. We've been here before...Done this before. Going to his place once more, I realize I had given up any hope of ever getting to do this again.

I can feel a glow of happiness and deep satisfaction creeping over me. I'm grinning like a loon and Walter notices it, glancing at me momentarily before returning his eyes to the road.

Quietly, he says, "I'm glad to see you smiling at last, Alex."

I clear my throat. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna bolt like a panicking horse the moment we get in the door."

"That's comforting." Walter is smiling. I find that pretty comforting, myself. I wouldn't want the haze from the alcohol to dull my wits but there's such a nice feeling of warmth and friendship developing...My happiness slips a little. I'm hanging by a thread here, regardless of how much he says he wants this to work. Wants us to work. Hell, the doubts alone could end up undermining me if I'm not careful. But I do get the feeling that if it weren't for the drinks, I would've been out of there and most certainly not in his car.

Walt clears his throat as he makes a turn. "I don't think we drank too much, this time."

I look at him, his face illuminated by the dashboard and the oncoming lights of the passing cars. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's getting uncomfortable just to sit here," Walter says, bluntly, with a bit of humor in his voice.

"Hey, if it gets too much, I could help you out with that," I say.

He glances at me out of the corner of my eye. "Don't even think about it," he admonishes. "We're not doing anything until I've got you safely upstairs."

Chuckling, I reply, "Are you sure? I could deep-throat you right here—we wouldn't even have to pull over."

His grip on the wheel tightens and the car swerves slightly. He's sweating, I can tell. "Jesus Christ," he swears softly. "Alex, just...just don't. Come on, we should do this right. If you keep talking like that, we're going to have an accident."

He really is fun to tease. Seeing the normally unflappable and oh-so-proper Walter squirm in his seat, an almost pained look on his face, is doing wonders for my ego. And, I must admit that the more flustered he gets, the more at ease I become. But, in the interests of safety, I refrain from any more leading comments as he drives us home.

Home? I frown. How and when did I start to think of his condo as home? It's not my home...I dismiss the thought as just a little too dangerous.

I look out the window, in an effort to avoid thoughts of what we'll be doing once we arrive at his condo and keep telling myself that he really does want me—want this. I've just about convinced myself that we'll be fine when he pulls into the garage and parks.

My stomach starts churning as he turns off the car and unbuckles his seat belt. Frozen in place, I watch him climb out of the car. He stands there, waiting for me to join him. Panic sets in. What if he doesn't mean it? What if he decides to kill me after all? What if I disappoint him?

Shit, here I am at thirty-eight years old suffering all the doubts of a teenager. I'm pathetic. I've wanted this so much and for so long that I'm terrified of being a failure.

"Alex? You gonna get out of the car or do you plan to stay here all night?"

I draw a deep breath and release my seatbelt. My hand slowly opens the door, I get out of the car and walk unsteadily over to his side. He must see my hesitation, because he looks at me with concern.

"You okay?", he asks.

"Yeah...I think so. This is just...I've wanted this for so long...I guess I'm just a little..." Damn. I can't even talk now. How embarrassing!

"Come on," he says in a soothing voice. "Let's go on up. We'll have a drink and see what happens—if it's too much, I can wait. No pressure."

No pressure. I take a deep breath and smile with a confidence that I really don't feel. "Okay. Lead the way."

We don't say much on the way up but once we're in the elevator, Walter seems to think I need even more reassurance. "The place hasn't changed much since the last time you were here. You should be able to find your way around. Hey, are you hungry?"

I shake my head, quickly. "No. Thanks."

I look down at the floor, not liking the closeness and yet very public space of the elevator. Being in here with him is somehow dangerous.

The elevator door opens and I can hear him take a breath, mirroring my silent sigh of relief.

Once inside his apartment, I can see that he was right—the place really hasn't changed that much. I go to sit down, taking off my jacket and draping it on the arm of the couch before I sit.

Walter says, "How about a nightcap?" as he moves to the bar.

The poor man is obviously worried that I am still going to cut and run. And he's trying so hard to put me at ease, to play the host. "Walt, it's okay. I'm not going to run. I want to be here, with you."

He looks absurdly gratified and I want—I just want him to hold me for a minute. Feel his warmth, his steadiness. I'm not normally so needy, but this is such a difficult situation, so much lies between us, that I'm...well, I'm scared.

I rise to my feet and walk over to him, look into his eyes, trying to tell him what I want without having to actually come out and say it. And, thankfully, he sees and understands. Reaching out, he pulls me into his arms and, damn, it's good. A feeling of security washes through me and I sigh in contentment.

"We'll be fine, Alex," he murmurs. "It'll be okay, you'll see."

A bit of my confidence returning, I tilt my head back and grin at him. "So show me how it'll be. I want you. Now."

Before my eyes, Walter's face transforms. His eyes light up and he looks so intensely at me that I nearly back away before I stop myself. Then before I can react, his mouth is on mine, hard.

Oh God. After so many fantasies, after spending so long wondering what the sensation would be like, kissing—no, being kissed by Walter Skinner, the reality is shocking. Firm, warm, incredible, his tongue demanding entry and possessing my mouth like he owns it. I can feel my own arousal flare in response and my hand goes up of its own volition to grab him even harder against me. I don't need to breathe, or think, or do anything but let myself get incinerated in the heat of this act. I never would have thought that the experience of one kiss could make me feel like a rock dropped into a pool of lava.

By the time he releases my mouth, I'm in danger of melting into a puddle on the floor. Luckily, he keeps his arms around me, holding me up. I'm embarrassed to hear a needy groan come from my throat as my lips blindly search for his again.

Oh god. I could die quite happily under his attentions. He's so big and warm and...he's everything I ever thought he'd be. More, even. I can't ever remember feeling this way with a man—a potential lover—I'm usually the dominant one. I take what I want and hit the road without a second thought.

I know that I won't ever forget him. Not even if I live to be a hundred years old—unlikely as that may be.

I want more. I want to be closer—to climb right into his skin. And, speaking of skin..."Hey," I gasp, breaking off the kiss, "I have a brilliant idea. Let's get naked and horizontal."

"Besides being gorgeous, you're positively intelligent," he says, chuckling. He steps away, and begins pulling off his shirt.

I lick my lips. "What are you doing?" I ask, feeling like I can't quite control my voice.

"Naked and horizontal, you said." Walt is grinning at me now.

"Look, if you don't wait until we get into the bedroom, we're going to be doing the horizontal mambo right here on your couch."

"That was kind of the idea," Walt says, taking off his shirt and working on the fly of his jeans.

My intelligence seems to have fled in the last few moments because all I can do is stand there and stare at him. He's a fucking god. I nearly whimper as the jeans are removed and he's standing there in his briefs.

"Alex," Walt's voice cuts through the sexual miasma clouding my brain functions. "This'll work much better if you're naked too. Unless you need some help?"

I quickly shake my head and begin undressing, woodenly, automatically, my fingers stiff and trembling. I want this so fucking badly, if he helps me to take off my clothes at this point, it'll be too much and I'll end up coming right here.

It's really not fair. Really! He seems so calm—so in control of himself. How dare he? I'd be insulted if I wasn't so fucking horny.

Finally I manage to strip and he moves close to me, pulling my body against his. Oh yeah! I'm shaking and so close to orgasm that I come dangerously close to losing it, I'm clinging to him, my face buried against his neck. His large, warm hands are soothing my shoulders and back, trying to calm me.

"You doing okay, there?", he asks.

I can only nod—my ability to talk has deserted me for the moment.

"You are so fucking hot, Alex. God, I want you."

That low rumble in my ear sends a shiver down my spine. I want him. I want him to fuck me—now!

But I can't get the words out and all I can do is gasp as his mouth comes down on my throat, licking and moving over to my right shoulder, caressing me with his tongue.

I feel a moment's panic and self-loathing about my left arm and then his lips are ghosting over my face, to my eyelids, down over my cheek, his arms pulling me even tighter up against him. It's too hot, too shockingly intimate, and his erection and mine are sandwiched between us.

Somewhere between admiration and the heat of this moment, this intimacy of us just standing here together, naked, has caused a fluttering in my chest and I whisper, "I wanted this so much. Damn it. Walt, please, please, just, let's—"

Still holding me within his protective and yet inescapable embrace, he draws me down to the couch. He doesn't seem to want to push me too far because he doesn't push me backwards. Hell, I want that, I need it, I need the surety and certainty of him. I lean back, myself, and draw him down on top of me. "Fuck me. Right now. I need it, need you."

"Count on it," he replies, his voice strained and husky. His hand moves down as he gets up off of me, touching my chest and lingering on my belly before moving down to cup my balls. He gets into position between my legs, pushing my knees apart.

"Walt, if you do that, I'm gonna come. I won't be able to—" I try to warn him.

"No, don't worry. It's okay. Let me do this," he says, moving his hands down to touch my thighs, smoothing over my body and making me relax. I can't help it under this touch of his. Then his mouth is warm and his breath too, against my balls. He's licking them, tasting them, rolling them in his mouth and sucking lightly on them.

I'm crying out and shuddering, writhing, but he won't touch my cock. In fact, he completely ignores it. A good thing, or I'd shoot right this second. Fuck, I need to come so badly.

"Oh God," I whimper. "Please, Walt. I need you so much. Been waiting so long—never thought this would happen—" Squirming helplessly under his attentions, I bite my lower lip and mentally recite that old standby, the multiplication table. Gotta wait—I want him in me when I come this first time.

I hear words. Begging, pleading words. And I can't even bring myself to care—he won't use this against me, somehow I just know that he wouldn't do that to me. That this is as special to him as it is to me.

He lifts my knees and—Jesus!—his tongue moves down, moving, ever so slowly along my perineum and—

"Oh God!!" I yell when I feel a warm, probing stab at my anus. I grab my knees and open myself to him, practically sobbing at the pleasure. It's indescribable, this feeling. And to have him doing this to me...

"Stop!" I plead. "Please, please, stop. I don't want to come this way—I want you in me."

Raising his head, he smiles with self satisfaction. "Well," he says huskily, "if you insist..."

He starts to climb to his feet and I can't help grabbing at him. He can't leave me like this—he just can't!

"Easy there," he soothes. "I just need to get some things from the bathroom. I'll be right back."

I remember to breathe, and waiting for him to return, I stretch out, suddenly wishing I wasn't drunk. A part of me is very aware that I'm drunk with lust, not just vodka. Still—

Walter is staring down at me, not moving.

I frown slightly, looking back up at him. Licking my lips, I say, "Come on. Let's do this. I've been waiting for years."

Gaping, Walt says hoarsely, "You're so fucking beautiful, Alex."

"So fuck me," I invite him.

He kneels between my legs as I lift them once more and catches my eye. "Oh, I'm sure we could argue about who's wanted this more, and for how long. But right now I'd rather not talk.." He's squeezing lube all over his fingers, and the sight makes me feel faint.

Walter's hands are trembling slightly as he strokes my inner thigh, down to my butt, then slides one finger gently, tentatively, into me. I catch my breath at his restraint, the tenderness and appreciation in his expression as he touches me on the inside for the first time. My lips ache to feel his again, but I know if we start kissing now, we won't be able to stop and I'll just come.

I feel like I'm drifting in water, with Walter's sure finger joined with another, pleasuring me and preparing me for him. I catch my breath at the thought of him inside of me, soon, so soon. "Walt," I manage, strained, "I can handle it. I want you. Now."

He leans over me, kissing his way down my chest, down to my navel. Then he stops, looks up at me from under his brows with a mischievous smile and places a kiss on the tip of my cock.

I can't stop the groan that issues from my lungs, forcing its way past my throat which has nearly closed up with excitement and the aching need to have him inside of me, to feel his organ stretching me..."Fuck me, please, fuck me—"

Walter growls and grabs my legs, pushing my knees up even farther. "Your ass is mine," he declares, as if daring me to challenge him on it.

I'm practically panting, I can't believe the state he's reduced me to. Well, to be fair, my head is still whirling from the vodka and I'm drowning in a sea of arousal and anticipation. But I've never felt so turned-on in my life. And the momentousness of this occasion...It feels as if it should be sacred, holy somehow.

And then there is nothing but the sensation of his cock slipping into me, pushing past the tightness of entering me for the first time and I'm moaning weakly, speared by him.

Oh God, I didn't know, I had imagined it but had never realized exactly how it would feel to be...owned by him.

He pushes farther in, obviously trying to take it easy, to be gentle but I can't help a wince as the burn of his cock slowly plundering my ass turns to a sharp pain. He freezes, but the pain goes away almost as fast as it arrived and I urge him on, grabbing his shoulder and babbling, "Please, don't—don't stop this now, keep going; need you—"

"Easy, Alex, I'm not going anywhere, believe me. Wild horses couldn't drag me away." His eyes twinkle slightly and I can tell he's enjoying this.

I don't think he realizes what he's doing to me.

I, however, am all too aware of what's happening to me. What his touch is doing to me. How, with each invading inch of his cock, I feel him becoming a part of me. I've been fucked before. Plenty of times, damnit. Not once did it feel like this. None of them ever shared, they only took.

But not Walter. He's...different. Special.

Why? Well, it's simple really, he's smiling at me. And that's what it comes down to—he's smiling because he wants me—not to merely conquer my body—he just wants me. Better than most, Skinner knows me and he knows what I've done, to whom, and in many cases he knows why.

And he still wants me.

Oh, probably not as much as I've wanted him, but I don't mind.

Besides—Oh! Oh jesus! He's inside of me finally, completely encased within my body and it's...Fuck! He leans down, nearly bending me in half—still not complaining here—and starts gently licking at my right nipple.

I'm pressing myself upwards, arching into his mouth but he pulls back...and turns his attention to the other one. Gratefully, I moan, hoping he'll understand that I'm quite beyond speech now.

Amazingly, Walter does seem to, because he reaches up his hand and touches my mouth, running warm fingers over my lips. "Yeah, that's right. God, Alex, you're so good, you feel so good." Good? I want to say, no, it's fucking fantastic, but then he moves, and then moves again, thrusting up into me and I'm seeing stars.

I can't control the low shriek at the feeling of his cock pushing into me, hard. He's got me and hopefully he won't let me go now.

"Walt, do that again," I exclaim, breathlessly.

His smile changes, becoming slightly wicked. "Oh, you can count on it, Alex." And he starts to thrust harder, giving it to me—finally.

Someone's making one hell of a lot of noise. Later, I suppose I'll have to face the fact that it was me. Now, though, shit—I have no control now. All I can do is hold onto Walter and hope he brings me out the other side in one piece.

Not that I really care about later. No, my world has shrunk to include only me and him. Him in me. On me. In me. How he's making me feel so many unfamiliar emotions is another matter for later.

With a low moan, I close my eyes and tighten my hold around his neck. Every time he thrusts into me, the sensation of going from nearly empty to being filled to perfection is almost overwhelming.

God, I think I could die happily this way. Fucked to death. Yeah.

Walter's weight shifts above me and from this new angle he again pushes inside of me. This time the head of his cock brushes against my prostate and I—um, well, I guess you'd have to say I lose it.

I wanted to look into his eyes when I came, but I find myself gasping, yelling, throwing my head back, and my legs are shaking as I start to convulse.

He grips me, taking a firmer hold on my shoulders and following me into orgasm, his stabbing thrusts even more proprietary and it's enough to finish me off completely. I can feel his whole body tense as he shoots into me, filling me, and he lets loose this loud, long groan that seems to come from the very depths of him.

I feel like the top of my head's coming off, and the molten river flowing out of me in spurts is too pleasurable to be just a mere orgasm. I mean, I've come before, but never like this!

I don't just feel it in my cock, my balls, my lower belly...I can feel it all the way up my spine and down to my toes, flooding my skull with echoes and fireworks, and a warmth inside of my chest.

With a final sob, I cling to Walt with my hand, feeling him relax slightly against me now, resting with his cock still throbbing a little inside of me. I feel so complete. Please don't let him move.

As I lay there, I decide that this will become one of my favorite memories. With that in mind, I carefully review the events of this night, implanting every moment deep inside of my brain. There to be kept safe until I need it.

And I will—need this memory someday. Or night. To get me through a living nightmare, or help me recover from a sleeping nightmare.

But I'm not gonna think about that right now. I just want to lay here and savor his weight on top of me....enjoy the way he shivers and murmurs unintelligibly into my ear when I stroke his back.

Walter breathes in deeply, sighs, then raises is head to smile at me. "Thank you."

He's thanking me? Me?

I don't believe I've ever heard two such lovely words in my life. Thank you. Thank me. Damn.

Determined that not a single one of the tears threatening to pour down my face will actually fall, I clear my throat and swallow. "I'm uh—I ...Thank you, Walter."

A look of patience and kindness comes over him as he watches my struggle to keep myself from making an emotional scene and then he surprises me by leaning down to press a soft kiss on my cheek. Then another on my forehead.

It feels good; it feels like he's completing a circuit with that simple act. It isn't just about sex and heat and mind-blowing pleasure and fulfillment...It's about tenderness and—as clichéd as it sounds to me even in this emotional, tipsy state—bonding.

I want to tell him what it means to me, to explain, but he sighs a little and says, "Alex, let's just let this be what it is, okay? You don't have to say anything."

Not trusting myself to speak, I nod, still fighting the pinpricks behind my eyelids. And he rises, majestic and comforting like the protector I never dared to dream of. Damn it, why am I always so emotional on Stoli?

He helps me to my feet and says quietly, "Let's go up to bed." I let him lead me into his bedroom and the sensation of relief is so great I nearly sag. Fuck. I never thought I'd be welcome in here.

Walt pulls back the covers and says, "Here, use this." He tosses me a small towel and I clean myself up. He takes it from me and disappears into the bathroom.

I gratefully crawl into the bed...Oh God...Cool, crisp and clean sheets, and smelling of him...

Laying there, I can't help but wonder what comes next. Was this simply a one-nighter for him? Would he toss me out on my ear, come morning and the realization of just what he's done tonight? Damn.

I've worked myself into a near state of panic by the time he finally comes to bed. I lay tensely as he climbs in beside me and reaches to pull me closer.

"What?" he asks, confused. "What's wrong, Alex."

After several moments, I finally sigh. "What do you want from me, Walt? If it's just the sex, I suppose I can handle that—but, I need to know before I..."

Before I make even more of a fucking fool of myself.

"Alex..." His arms tighten around me and he runs his warm hands soothingly over my back. "It's not just the sex. How much more it might be, only time will tell."

Time will tell. Hmmm. Sounds promising.

I relax into his hold and find that I actually feel safe. I don't think I've ever felt this way.

Time will tell...Did that mean we'd be together on a regular basis? God, I could live with that.

My eyes close and I snuggle against him, needing the warmth and security he embodies for me. Almost asleep, I can't help but frown when he clears his throat. Shit, don't let him ruin it now—just let me enjoy the moment, drift of to sleep—peaceful sleep. Something I've not had much of in my life, but in his arms I just know I'll be safe from the night demons that haunt me.

"Alex?"

Shit.

"Yeah?" I can't quite edit all of my emotions from that word. I don't want to talk—I just want to lay here, next to him, and let the past go for a bit, not worry about the future.

"I want you to promise me something."

Uh oh. "What?"

"When I wake up in the morning, I want you right here."

"Y—you do?"

I feel lips press against my hair. "Yes, I do. I'll even go so far as to serve you breakfast in bed."

Oh. Another first for me. Not only does he want me to stay, he's offering me a reward for doing so...

"And, after we eat..."

I barely manage to hold back a groan. He'll want to talk. I just know it.

"No, Alex—no questions...I think we need to spend the day together. You know, get to know each other better. Fuck. Suck. Whatever comes to mind."

"I...you..." I sputter.

"I want your promise, Alex."

From the tone of his voice, I know he'll actually believe me if I give him that promise. A warmth starts in my stomach and suffuses my entire being. This is far more than I'd ever imagined could be.

"Promise," I say huskily.

"Good," he answers with contentment. "Sleep now."

And we did.

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