Begin again
I try not to think of him anymore, because memories of him... of green eyes
dark with lust, the feel of him inside me, the soft smile when he woke
I felt empty. Hollow.
He was part of my old life, and I guess it's just easier to forget. Not
everything—I still see Scully and the gunmen, and last week, Skinner came
over, a bottle of wine gripped in one big hand and looking more
uncomfortable in jeans and a polo shirt than I'd ever seen him in a suit. I
guess it could have been something to do with the company—he's tolerant at
best... and Tom doesn't like to think about the past.
Neither do I.
I kissed away the tears that fell from my face onto his.
But I didn't pray. To pray, to turn to something that scared me so
much...that would be like admitting to myself that he could die. Like
committing him to death in my own mind. Like admitting defeat.
And then the paramedics were there. And they were pulling him away from me,
strapping him to a trolley and pushing him into the ambulance. One of them
stopped me from climbing in after, saying that there was no room, that I
could meet them at the hospital... There was a man in the ambulance with my
Alex, a man who sat in a wheelchair and whose face shone waxily in the
orange streetlights.
And I felt so angry that he would be allowed to stay with him when I
couldn't... but I could only watch futilely as they slammed the door behind
the man I loved.
And when I got to the hospital, they told me it was too late. "Fox?"
The soft voice startles me, and I look up, smiling into shadowed eyes and
receiving a shy grin in return. Then he looks down, shifting and turning
away slightly, clearing his throat. He's still not quite comfortable with
me... and after what he's been through I guess it shouldn't surprise me. I
just wish he could open up to me, be the man I know he is inside.
I met him when I was visiting Alex's grave. And it scared me how easy I
found it to accept. I still feel off balance when I look sat him, amazed at
the complete turnaround of my feelings... he's so beautiful.
But he's not Alex.
He's sweet, and considerate, a wonder in the kitchen and God, did I need
that; he depends on me. He needs me. And I won't say that I don't like
that. No one's needed me for so long, not since... not since my sister.
But sometimes I want the smell of leather and gunsmoke, and that little
spark of fear that thrilled through me when Alex looked at me with green
flames dancing in his eyes. I feel like such a traitor, but... God, I'm
frustrated.
I deliberately slow my breathing and will my cock to behave. He's not...
we've been living together for a month now, and we haven't... I'll wait
until he's ready. I love him. Besides, Scully will be here any minute and if
I don't calm down I won't even be able to stand up to answer the door. I
concentrate on the delicious smells from the kitchen and follow my nose, my
stomach rumbling.
"Need a hand?" and then my brain hears what I've just said and I wince at my
choice of words. "Sorry. Uh..." But I don't think he's listening to me. His
eyes are focussed on the still very visible bulge in my trousers. A pink
tongue flicks out to wet his lips and he sends me a smouldering look from
beneath dark eyelashes.
The look sends a bolt of pain through me. It's so much like Alex—and no
matter how hard I try, this isn't enough. His eyes widen in concern and he
comes closer and brushes his hand softly against my cheek... but I can't
deal with this. Tears blur my view of his face and I am relieved when the
doorbell rings.
She smiles at me and gives me a hug, stroking my back softly but knowing
better than to say anything—a kind word at this point and my mask would
shatter. Then her smile becomes brittle, cold, and she nods over my
shoulder.
"Tom."
I reach backwards and he weaves his fingers through mine. I squeeze his hand
slightly and look back at him, wordlessly telling him that I'm sorry. And he
smiles and moves silently into the kitchen, leaving us to talk. And as much
as I appreciate it... Alex would have stayed here with me; getting Scully's
back up with his wicked sense of humour, but here.
The meal was excellent, and he actually joined in the conversation, making
Scully laugh with his wicked sense of humour. And once, when he was
laughing—not the polite smile he generally wears but an actual genuine
laugh—she sent me this half amused, half surprised look that told me she
was starting to like him. When she offered to help him clear the table he
didn't bristle, or snap, or go silent; he smiled, thanked her, and accepted
her help.
That threw me.
He resents the implication that he can't do things for himself. He lets me
help him sometimes, grudgingly—he loves me enough to know it's not pity, to
trust me with his weakness—but he gets angry with anyone else. When I could
hear them laughing together in the kitchen it was like a load had slipped
off my shoulders that I didn't even know was there.
When they were done, Scully took the chair and he sat next to me, leaning
his head against my side and purring softly as I stroked his dark hair.
Scully caught my eye and mouthed "progress!" at me before yawning loudly and
saying she could see herself out. I smiled my thanks at her—he rarely
touched me and I didn't want to spoil this. She winked and said she'd call
me. I love her. The woman is a saint.
We sat there for about an hour, and it felt great. He wasn't tense, he was
even smiling... and then I noticed his hand. It was resting quite innocently
on my leg, and I'm sure he didn't even realise it was there. But once I
noticed I was lost. I froze and breathed shallowly, trying desperately to
keep my tenuous grip on sanity, on the knowledge that jumping him would not
be a good idea. I thought I pulled it off, too, but then he turned his head
and looked up at me...
I moaned as his soft lips parted under mine, and the familiar taste sent a
jolt of heat direct to my cock. He arched up into the kiss, moaning faintly
as his tongue met mine. I was so lost in the sensation that I didn't even
think where my hand was going until I felt the line where scarred flesh met
rigid plastic and he was pulling away, eyes almost black and face flushed.
He stood up and said he was going to bed and I closed my eyes, unable to
watch him walk away from me again.
"Come with me?"
I blinked up at him, sure I must have misheard; but when I saw his eyes
sparkling and the shy smile that curved his beautiful mouth I couldn't stop
a matching smile from spreading across my face. He held out his hand for
mine, and as I grasped it he pulled me upright and back against him for
another kiss. I sometimes forget how strong he is.
When we broke apart again we were both panting, and a matching hardness
pressed insistently against my erection.
"Are you sure?"
Then he gave me that wicked look—the one that made my cock even harder and
sent adrenaline rushing through me—and pulled me into the bedroom. And his
mouth was bruising and tender, teasing and soft, and he whispered how much
he wanted me. And the husky words made me gasp and press myself against him,
almost frantic with need.
He pushed me away, and I couldn't hold in the small whimper of distress—but
he just yanked my shirt over my head and then pulled me close again. And I
was so sensitive that even though the soft cotton of his T-shirt against my
nipples was too mcu for me, and I pushed my hands under it and tried to ease
it off over his head. He stiffened and pulled away.
"Leave it."
He wouldn't look at me. And he flinched away when I touched his left
shoulder.
"Tom... it doesn't matter, babe. You're beautiful. Nothing could change
that..." my voice soothing him, I stepped closer and stroked his cheek, his
eyebrows, his lips. I kissed him again, tenderly, trying to show him how
much he meant to me in a way that he would believe. And he sighed and
stepped back, letting me skim off his T-shirt and unbuckle his prosthesis,
laying it gently on the dresser.
The feel of satiny skin on mine, the muscles in his back under my
fingertips, rough stubble against my throat... he was everywhere at once, a
source of heat that was setting me on fire. Moans and whispered curses fell
from my lips, and when his hand circled my cock... Jesus. I arched against
him and could feel his smile against the skin of my throat. He kissed me
there, sucking hard and marking me as his. My knees almost gave way and I
leaned against him, then collapsing bonelessly as he pushed me onto the bed.
And a moment later, he lay next to me.
Tom leans closer to kiss me again. And I run my fingers through his soft
hair and hold his head to mine, licking gently across his lips and kissing
him softly in case my sheer need scares him away
He deepens the kiss, running his hand down between us until it surrounds my
cock again and I am aching for him, desperate but willing to wait for him,
I'm more turned on than I have ever been in my life. And then he moves
downward and licks and sucks at my nipple and the sensation is incredible...
I cry out as he plays with it for a while, nipping and licking and sucking
at it before moving on to the other one.
I am focussed completely on the feelings he is arousing in me. His soft
mouth on my skin is all that I have dreamed about for as long as I have
known him.
And then all thoughts are driven from my head as he slowly starts to move.
The tight velvet heat gripping me and the sound of his moans as my cock hits
his prostate combine to bring me to the brink of orgasm—but I hold it off
as I pump his cock, wanting him to share this moment with me.
Then his muscles contract and we tumble over the edge together. "Alex!"
He freezes and rolls off me, his arm covering his face. And I can't believe
that I've managed to screw up something that feels so right...
And then he turns towards me, tears making his green eyes turn turquoise,
and he smiles at me.
"God, Fox... I've missed you."
And I pull him to me, holding him tightly for the first time in a lifetime,
and he is Alex again. For a month he has been Tom Alexander—he has the
papers to prove it. But I lost something when he disappeared, and I never
felt I got it back. Tom was loving, and considerate... and Alex was the man
I loved. And now I can have them both, lying next to me in my bed.
He leans over and switches off the lamp, coming instantly back to me and
nestling into my side. And silent tears fall from my eyes into his soft dark
hair as I stare at the glow stars that cover my ceiling.
And I know that I don't have to forget anything, or sacrifice anything—I
can be happy again.
End.
Didn't I say it'd end well? :)
Glow-stars
Part IV
by Beth
Sometimes I miss Alex.
I held him in the alley until the ambulance arrived, stroking his hair and
murmuring soothing nonsense; telling him how much I loved him. I whispered
to him the things I was going to do to him as soon as he got home, how I was
going to make for being such an asshole... All the time his face got paler
and paler until it seemed to glow with an inner light, until it was all I
could see.
and tenderly brushes the hair away from my forehead, can feel his breath
gently fanning across my face
But he won't let me take control—and frustrated as I am, part of me is
glad of that.
I am naked and trembling so hard that I feel like I'll fall apart—not to
mention
I am incoherent as he moves lower... I hear the sounds coming from my
mouth but I am distanced from them
And words are no longer necessary. He prepares my cock and sinks slowly
down on it, the look of pure bliss on his face transfixing me with its feral
beauty.
