by Jennie and Jami Wilsen
"Yes."
"And you'll... come back?"
"Right."
"What the fuck? Have you decided that you're a vampire or something?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Skinner. Ever since Hong Kong—when the Oil 'inhabited'
me—I heal more quickly than most people."
"Krycek, accelerated healing is all well and good but I think resurrection might
be a little more involved. Don't you?"
"It's already happened, Skinner. Twice. Got shot once—in the heart—woke up
in a damned field somewhere in Nebraska."
"You said twice?"
"Car accident."
"Ah."
"Woke up in the morgue that time."
"Okay—so, I kill you and then what?"
"Then, you provide me with a safe place to heal."
"What's in this for me, Krycek?"
"The palm pilot."
"Oh."
I don't care much for holidays in general—Christmas in particular. The day
holds no happy memories for me—not a one. No, it's not a Russian thing. My
countrymen can party with the best of them. No, it's not an assassin thing,
either. Killers are sometimes fun guys, you know. It's a Krycek thing, I
guess. I always end up feeling... I don't know... Alone describes it best. All
those damned television specials and holiday movies only serve to bring home to
me that I have nothing. No one.
That hurts.
Which is exactly what I DON'T need. Not now. Hell, here I sit, in the back of
fucking beyond, all by myself, with nothing BUT the TV to keep me company. Yeah,
there are some books in the cabin. Lots of 'em, in fact. But, since I've never
been much interested in the history of the Marine Corps, fly fishing, or home
repair, they're not doing me a whole lot of good.
He's been gone for three weeks. When he left, he said he'd be back. Didn't say
when, though. Since I'm sure he has plans for the holiday—after all, he does
have a family, unlike me—I'm not expecting to see him until after the first of
the year.
Who'd have ever though that I'd actually be hoping for a visit from Skinner?
But, dammit, I'm stuck in this cabin all by myself. At this point, I'd probably
even be happy to see Mulder. Well, okay, maybe that's a bit much—but, I'd be
thrilled to see good old Walt.
It's gotten dark outside. I suppose that means I should look into making
something to eat. Skinner left me all kinds of food, you know. Freezer and
pantry were very well-stocked before he left, and a kid from the store in the
closest town delivers a load of perishables—milk, bread, eggs and such—every
Monday morning. To tell the truth, the freezer and pantry are still pretty well
full. I just haven't had much of an appetite. The occasional can of soup,
eggs, and chocolate ice cream are pretty much all I care to prepare for myself.
I went out this afternoon and cleared the porch, the driveway, and the path to
the front door of snow. Actually, I was pretty damned proud of myself for
finishing the job—amazing how wearying this healing business is. Now I'm so
beat, I think I'll just take a hot bath and hit the sack.
No TV tonight. Not on Christmas Eve. Nothing BUT holiday shit on.
Fuck that noise.
Driving the jeep up through this incredible countryside, I'm reminded why I
picked such a location for my cabin. The air is bracing, the trees are green and
tall—not like the pathetic specimens in the city. And, as always when I come
up here, I'm enjoying the return of the sense of peace that descends over me,
the closer I get to the mountains.
A man needs to make time for the soul, or it begins to starve. Hopefully, having
Krycek around while I'm here for my Christmas break won't be a burden. We have a
lot of history, and although we HAVE admittedly come to a certain understanding
about most of it, I do wonder about the guy. Actually, that's a good point. I
wonder if he's healed yet, or if I'll find...
Nah. In THIS place? With all this space and the food and plenty of outdoor
hiking and exercise? If he knows how to take care of himself when not under the
gun as well as he knows how to survive adversity, he'll be fine. I just hope he
doesn't get underfoot and make a nuisance of himself. I let him stay up there
because he asked... And because in spite of it all, I do have a soft spot for
the boy. Hell, he's probably been playing me like a really dumb fish, but once
he'd told me his side of the story, I couldn't help but agree with some of his
actions. SOME, mind you. He's got a hard edge. Would have to, to stay sharp and
alive amidst the company he was keeping.
Well, Mulder certainly bought it. Actually, I think Mulder went into shock. He
hadn't expected me to just coldly aim and shoot the way that I did. But I
couldn't reassure him, even afterwards, without blowing Krycek's cover. Ah well.
Mulder has his own problems to deal with and now that he's gone, I don't think
he'll be pestering me about the incident with Krycek, again.
There it is. And the usual accompanying pulse of joy that rises in me whenever
it comes into view. I do love this place.
Tomorrow, I think I'll go fishing. Maybe try for that big monster in the deep
end of the lake, if the ice is solid enough.
Why, bless his icy little Russian heart—he cleared the snow from the drive and
the path. That's a good sign. Parking the jeep outside the cabin in the
driveway, I gather my gear and stamp my feet on the doormat. Taking off my
glove, I turn the key in the lock. On second thought, he might not be expecting
me. I bang on the door, loudly. "Krycek! Krycek, it's me!"
No answer. Hmm. I go inside, and shut the door behind me. He's nowhere in sight.
Except... yes, the bathroom door is closed and there's light coming from under
it. Okay.
Whistling tunelessly, I start to unpack. My back is to the bathroom and I'm
leaning over the table, undoing the straps on my bag. Something big tackles me
and I stumble against the edge of the table.
"Walt!" The note of joy in Krycek's voice is something very new. I whirl around,
in spite of the man's arm around me and hold him at arm's length. He's dressed
in a bathrobe and his feet are bare.
"Krycek?" I manage, staring into green eyes that seem to glow with happiness at
seeing me. This is very strange.
He thinks I've lost it. Maybe he's right. But, after three weeks by myself up
here... Well, let's just call it cabin fever, okay?
Any other explanation for my joy on realizing that he was actually here is not
open for discussion. Discussion, hell—I'm not even gonna think about it.
He's still looking at me as if he suspects I've lost my wits and is seriously
considering the possibility that he might need to take some kind of action to
restrain me or some such shit. Actually, the expression on his face is down
right comical. Kinda cute, you know.
Um. I didn't say that. If anyone asks, I did NOT say that.
I clear my throat and try to gather the tattered shreds of my dignity around
myself. "So, Walter..." Yeah, this is going well.
"Are you okay?" he asks with a little frown, studying me closely.
"I'm fine. Just fine. Happy to see you, that's all." I offer him a smile.
"It's been a little, ah, lonely. What brings you up tonight? I mean, shouldn't
you be with your family or something?"
He shrugs. "No. Since Sharon and I divorced, I spend the holidays up here."
Oh. Divorced. Straight guy, Alex. Let's try to keep that in mind, shall we?
"So, how long will you be here?"
"Got a week off."
HOT DAMN!
"That's great, Walt," I say, smiling even wider. He blinks and looks a little
stunned. Guess I've never shown him the full smile before now. "Listen, why
don't you go ahead and do whatever you were doing and I'll go get you... ah, you
hungry? Thirsty?"
Skinner moves to turn away from me, realizes that he's still holding onto my
arms and blushes. That's right—he blushes. Hmmm.
"There's some scotch in the cabinet-"
"Over the stove," I finish. "I found it. Good, I'll get that while you unpack,
okay?"
"Sure, Krycek."
"Alex."
"Huh?"
"Alex," I say firmly.
"Okay," he says doubtfully.
"Okay, Alex," I prompt.
A small twinkle lurks in the depths of his eyes. He snorts with amusement.
"Fine, Alex. Go get me a drink, Alex. I'll be unpacking, Alex."
I laugh.
Guess he's never heard me do that. Or he's just discovered that he has ice in
his shorts. Something is causing that stunned look on his face.
I decide not to make any comment, instead, I go into the kitchen and get the
scotch down from the cupboard. Then I grab two glasses, put ice in each and
head back into the living room, precariously balancing all three in my one-armed
hold.
Curiouser and curiouser. Is he ALWAYS like this, when he's recuperating from
getting killed? I don't have any idea and at this point, I'll believe anything.
I've seen enough weird shit with Mulder and Scully running the X-Files to last
me a lifetime. They came up with more bizarre explanations for what were already
bizarre enough cases...
Trying to gather together the remnants of my practical abilities before this
new, bouncy Krycek—Alex, ALEX, I repeat to myself—and the alcohol both take
their toll on my ability to think.
I never would have believed that Alex in a bathrobe and a smile would cause such
a hard-on. Hell, at this rate, I'm gonna be jumping in the freezing lake after
midnight. Unless I get so skunked on scotch that not even an avalanche would
rouse me. Shit.
I put away the rest of my gear and unpack my clothes, realizing as I put the
clothes away in the bedroom that he's been sleeping on that bed for the last
three weeks...
What the hell have I got myself into here? I swallow and turn on my heel. Back
to the living room. I don't want to think about that. Don't think about the bed.
Don't think about him.
He's sitting on the chair in front of the fireplace. He's left me my favorite
armchair though. How thoughtful of him. He stands up and hands me a glass.
Taking it from him, and sitting down, I say, "Thanks. So. How have you been?"
He shrugs, graceful despite the missing arm. "Can't complain. Nice place you
have here. I like it."
Enjoying the smoky, fiery gulp of scotch as it burns down my throat, warming me
after the freezing cold drive, I say, "Well, I'm here until the second of the
month."
He raises a brow at me. "After New Year's?"
"Yep."
"I'm surprised they let you go for that long."
I snort. "I have more than enough vacation time. I could've stayed for longer
but I figured we'd start to grate on each other's nerves by then."
He grins at me. Jesus. What is WITH him? Lightly, he replies, "You never know,
Walter. We might get snowed in up here and then you won't have a choice." His
eyes are dancing at the prospect.
I'm seriously wondering about his sanity, now. My eyes narrow as I consider him.
"Alex? Are you recovered from... you know?"
"I'm getting there. Why?"
"I—You—I'm—You just seem manic, is all."
He splutters on his whiskey. "'Manic'?" He's laughing at me. "What, if I'm not
dour and serious like your faithful little Agent Hounddog, I'm 'manic'." He
nods, chuckling.
I raise my brows at him. "Agent Hounddog?"
"Yeah, you know, Doggett." He absently motionss with his glass, threatening the
contents.
"I would never accuse you of being dour," I counter, dryly. This has got to be
one of the strangest conversations I've ever had, and I've had some lulus in the
past. More than one of which involved this man. "And John Doggett is a good
agent. He's far more practical than Mulder was and eminently competent. I trust
him."
"Yeah, I can see that. He's the real salt of the earth."
What the HELL? Am I imagining things or am I getting a whiff of... jealousy,
here? Interesting.
"Just because he's managed a successful career in the FBI isn't any reason to
envy him, Alex."
He stares at me. "Whoa, there. What makes you think I ENVY him?"
Dangerous but familiar ground, here. "Let me ask you this. Are you out of it
all, now? For good? Because it isn't too late for you to make a new start. It's
never too late for anyone."
Alex is laughing quietly into his glass. "From A.D. to careers counselor, eh?"
I grin and take another healthy gulp. "Seriously, what are your plans now? What
will you do? When you leave here, I mean?"
"Well, I don't know, to tell you the truth." I smile at him slyly. "I can do
that, you know. Think it'll help? Should I put that on my resume?"
He stares at me blankly for several beats. Shrugs helplessly. "What ARE you
talking about, Alex?"
This is good. Very good. Even confused as he is by my behavior and words, he's
remembering to call me by my first name. As a reward, and because I just LOVE
the befuddled expression he gets every time I do it, I smile brilliantly at him.
"Truth."
He gapes at me. Then, he frowns and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Wait a
minute. Hold the motherfucking phone. Is it? Do I see? Is he HARD? Gotta
check this out a little better. Oh yeah. I get up and go to the fireplace,
carefully add a couple of logs to the fire, settle back on my knees and turn to
look up at him from over my shoulder.
"I don't know what I'll do, Walt. But, I made sure I have a good retirement
account in the Caymans, so, I'll get by. One way or another." I turn as I'm
talking and resettle myself, cross-legged, in front of the fire.
And manage to get a good look at his crotch in the process.
Wow! He IS! His cock is damn near bursting out of his pants.
Well, well, well. Is this one for the books, or what? Carefully, moving with
all the grace I can muster, I kneel again and reach for my drink. Can't manage
the stretch, though. Ain't that a shame? Still kneeling, I look at him through
my lashes—hey, I never said I'd play fair here!
"Hey, Walt?"
He clears his throat and licks his lips. Won't quite meet my eyes—for some
reason, his gaze is fixed on the thigh my gaping robe reveals. "Yeah... uh,
Alex?"
"Would you hand me my drink? I can't quite reach it."
"S-sure."
Is that cute, or what? He stuttered.
"Thanks," I murmur as I relax back into my sitting position.
He stretches out a long arm and grabs my glass from the table. "Here you go,"
he says, holding it out to me.
When I retrieve it from him, I make sure my fingers close over his. He stills,
stares at me in astonished confusion, then—VERY slowly—pulls his hand away.
You know, I think I just might get laid tonight. And, by HIM. Skinner. Walter.
Walt. Whatever you call him, he's just what I'd have wished for as a Christmas
gift. Were I inclined to indulge in such nonsensical wishes, that is.
I am NOT imagining this. And I've never had someone play me this well before,
either. It's just such a fucking mind-warp to have Alex Krycek, of all people,
flashing skin and coming on to me. Another glance down at that pale flesh and I
have to drain my own glass.
No, definitely not imagining THAT.
Okay. Time for a reality check. He's still looking up at me with little furtive
glances, playing it casual. Jesus H. Christ on a crutch.
The relaxed, uncivilized side of me wants to get down on my knees and turn the
boy over onto his belly and just fuck him in front of God and the fireplace...
The rational part of me is keenly and all-too-suddenly aware of the possible
consequences. There is no fucking way that this man wants me, ME, balding, aging
blackmail victim, and FBI Man. No sirree.
So, what's his game?
I'll have to try to oblique approach because Alex has always been such a shifty
little devil; he never answers anything truthfully, not fully. Always manages to
leave out some crucial fact or detail. So. Truth, eh? Let's test this new
attitude of his.
"You know you're more than welcome to stay up here, until you find your feet,
Alex."
Heavens. He sure knows how to put on the grateful act when necessary. Wide-eyed,
he peers up at me. "Really? You wouldn't mind?" Then his face clouds. "I don't
know, actually. I was going stir crazy until you arrived. I'm not sure I'd last
much longer. I only stayed because... well, you know. Healing up and all."
I can't stop my gaze from flicking down to his leg. He notices this too, and a
tiny shadow of that familiar smirk that graced his face so often in our previous
encounters flits over him.
That's it. Now I KNOW I'm being played, just as I was planning on playing that
old fish in the lake tomorrow. I sigh, sternly reminding myself of all the
reasons why it would be utter folly to even consider it. Him. Jesus. Like I
haven't noticed him all these years. Like it didn't drive me up the walls, to
have him prancing around acting like a little shit and fucking up my plans, my
life... And looking so good while doing it.
The little bastard. I stand up, ignoring him, most carefully NOT looking back at
him. "I need a refill. Want one?"
Whoops. Bad idea. That means more touchy-feely games when I get his glass. But
he shakes his head and replies, "No, thanks. I've found I actually rest better
with just one glass. I was about to get some sleep when you arrived."
I pour the whiskey into my glass, a generous amount. I look around the cabin's
interior. Looks fine. And he's kept the floor clean too. "Well, don't let me
keep you up."
An interesting note creeps into his voice. "Want me to make up the extra bed?
Out here?"
"Good point," I reply. "I'll do it." I turn and glance at him.
Well, I'll be damned and hog-tied. He looks... crestfallen. And manfully
struggling to act like he isn't. Oh hell.
But I really cannot afford to reach out and accept a gift like him, not under
the circumstances, and not with him, no matter how tempting. After all, it isn't
even a question of trust. I have no reason to believe that it wouldn't hurt.
Badly. Just a taste, just once, would be the end of me; at least this way I
don't know what I'm missing. Besides, it's a bit late in the game for me to
start entertaining romantic notions. I should know better.
Still, I can't help a wince at the shaft of pain that darts into my chest when
he sadly gets to his feet and says, quietly, "It's okay. I can do it."
Oh, fuck, fuck fuck... I am so fucked.
Well, so much for that great idea. Shoulda known better. Hell, I DO know
better. Why the fuck would he want me? Let's be honest here—I'm not exactly
a prize anymore. What with the scars, the aging, the arm—god, I hate that arm
- and I'm not even gonna go into all the shit I've pulled on him over the
years...
I'm lucky he's not dragging me outside so he can just toss my sorry ass into the
lake.
So, I go to the linen chest in the bedroom and gather sheets, blankets and a
pillow for him. I pause as I walk back out, he's still standing there. Dammit,
why the hell couldn't he just go into the bathroom, like I'd expected, and give
me a few minutes to take care of his bed? I thought I'd have plenty of time to
get this done and go back to the bedroom before he finished.
Well, fuck it all, anyway. With a shrug, I dump the linens on a chair and
proceed to pull the cushions off of the sofabed and unfold it.
He's just standing there. Watching me.
"Walt," I say wearily—suddenly I'm so fucking sick and tired of life that I
can hardly gather the energy to speak. "Go on and get ready for bed. I'll take
care of this."
"Alex..."
Oh, I get it. I wave one hand at him. "You take the bed. I'll be fine out
here." Easier to sneak out the door later if I sleep on the sofa.
"No," he says firmly. "You keep the bedroom."
I just don't have it in me to argue. "Fine." There's a window in there—I can
just climb out that way. Because, one way or another, Alex Krycek will be far
from here, come morning.
Yeah, I'm embarrassed. Wouldn't you be?
He comes over and takes the fitted sheet from me. "I can do this, Alex."
Dispirited beyond reason, I just shrug and head for the bedroom.
"Alex?"
I pause in the doorway, but don't turn around. "Yeah?"
"Sleep well."
"You too. Goodb... night, Skinner."
Well, damn. The way he walked into the bedroom... He looked like he'd lost his
only friend in the world. Maybe he feels as though he just did. In fact, that IS
what I am. Hell. Heaving a large sigh, I toss the sheet onto the sofa. I don't
even bother making it up into a bed.
I need a shower. I've been driving all day. And I'm tired.
But something about the way he just... deflated like that. It's set warning
bells off inside of me. Ah, I need to get a change of clothes—perfect. Going
to the bedroom door, I rap on it loudly. "Alex?"
There's a moment's scuffling sound and then, "Yeah."
"May I come in? I need a change of clothes," I call.
"Sure." Hmm. He sounds subdued.
I go inside and the room is dark. I reach around for the light switch. "I won't
be long. Sorry to trouble you."
No answer as I flick on the light and take in the backpack under the bed, the
edge of it peeking beneath the valance. A glance at Alex's face where he's
pulled the covers up to his nose reveals only his green eyes watching warily.
I go to the closet and open it, noting that his clothes are no longer there.
Jesus, that was fast.
I turn and ask gently, "Going somewhere?"
Alex doesn't move. His reply is muffled. "Yeah. Not fast enough, though."
I rub my hand over my head and go to sit down beside him, on the edge of the
bed. It feels like sitting next to a lion.
Sighing, I gather my wits. "Alex, where will you go? Listen, when I said you
were welcome to stay here, I didn't mean alone. "
A soft snort is his only reply to that.
Followed by a sniff. What the—?
Still sitting by the lion's side, here. But I lift a hand and place it on his
upper arm, on the blankets. "There's no need to go. Not outside, and not even
into the living room. I want you to stay. Will you?"
No reply. His overly bright eyes close, however.
"Alex? Come on, it's Christmas Eve. Tell you what—I'll give you your Christmas
present early, what do you say?"
Still no reply. Then a sniff and he says, roughly, "Walter, give me a break."
"I'll do more than that. I'll give you the cabin."
He's silent.
"I mean it. The cabin is yours. Only one proviso—that I can come up here and
stay sometimes, too. Is it a deal?"
Great. Now he feels sorry for me. I should've just gone out the fucking window
as soon as I got closed the bedroom door behind me. No, on second thought, he'd
have only come after me. How humiliating would THAT be?
I need him to go away. NOW. Before I break down and cry. Wouldn't that just
make the evening perfect? Jump him when he gets here, act like some adolescent
with his first crush, then cry all over him?
Yeah, way to go, Alex.
I open my mouth to say... something, but can't speak past the lump in my throat.
So, in keeping with my adolescent self, I pull the covers over my head and turn
my back to him. "Sure," I mumble rustily. "Fine, Skinner. Deal."
Now, go the fuck AWAY and leave me to lick my wounded ego in peace, will ya?
He's quiet—but he's still sitting there. On the bed. Next to me—so close
that I can feel the warmth of his body. What is he trying to DO to me?
A hand closes on my shoulder—my left shoulder. "Alex?"
Okay. Enough, already. I sit up, letting the covers fall into my lap, and
glare at him. "What?" I snarl. "I said okay, didn't I? Go... go take your
shower, Skinner. Please. I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm tired, that's all. On
edge. Don't worry about it. I'll be just-"
"Fine," he finishes for me. "Yeah, Alex, I've got that part. Can I ask you one
question, though?"
Oh, fuck. WHY won't he leave me be?
Taking my silence as assent, he asks his question, "Why are you calling me
Skinner all of the sudden?"
"What?"
He shrugs. "When I got here, it was 'Walt'—now we're back to 'Skinner'. I
just wondered why."
Shit. He's just not gonna give me a break, is he? "I don't know. I just—it
seemed more... appropriate somehow, I guess."
"I'm on vacation, Alex," he says gently. "And, since I really would prefer not
to go back to calling you 'Krycek', do you think you could..."
He still has his hand on my shoulder. The scary part is that, while I do want
him to stop touching me, it's not about my arm. It's... shit, I'm in no
condition to handle Walt being nice to me.
"Okay, fine. Walt. Go take your shower. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the
morning. Walt." Do something—anything. Just go.
"Thank you, Alex."
The words are simple. Not anything I'd ever expected to hear from him, though.
And his tone of voice... warm, like his touch, gentle, like the soft brown eyes
watching me so carefully, smooth, like the scotch we were drinking earlier.
The tears are back, threatening to spill over again. Jesus, I am a pathetic
creature, aren't I?
Closing my eyes, I take a shaky breath. "Walt, I'm okay. Really."
"All right."
Well, at least he sounds a little less concerned. I just don't know how to
handle that, HIM being worried about me. It just doesn't fit into my world
view, you know? I look up, careful not to meet his eyes, fixing my gaze on the
bridge of his nose instead. "G'night, Walt. And, uh, thanks, for... you know.
Everything."
He nods. Not making any move to leave though. Hell, if he WANTED the bed for
himself, all he had to do was ask. With an irritated huff, I lay down again,
back to him, and pull the blankets up to my chin. "Turn the light off when you
leave, okay?"
There! Finally. He gets up. Crosses the room and switches off the overhead
lamp. He didn't get any fresh clothes, but that's his problem. I just so
fucking relieved-
"Hey," I yelp when he lays down behind me, puts an arm around my midsection and
pulls me close. "What are you..?"
"Hush, Alex."
He's stiff and unyielding—and with good reason. He certainly wasn't expecting
me to do THIS. But I know if I let him go now, I'll lose him. He really knocked
me for a loop with his pass at me, earlier. I press in a little closer, under
the guise of getting comfortable.
"Look, I'm not—"
"Relax," I tell him. "I won't push."
Needled by this for some inexplicable reason, Alex retorts, "Yeah, I noticed
that."
Quietly, I ask, "Alex, I'm sorry if I got off on the wrong foot with you
earlier. You took me by surprise, you know. You never gave me any indication in
all the years we've known each other."
His response is very quiet, nearly inaudible. "I know. Things... got in the way.
Too often."
He's still tense. Now whoever would have believed that one day, I'd be snuggling
up against Alex KRYCEK, of all people? And trying to convince him NOT to go?
"Things have a way of doing that. If I had a penny for every time something got
in the way of my happiness, I'd be a rich man."
He snorts. "If I had a penny for every time something or someone in my life
FUCKED me over, I'd be a multi-millionaire."
I chuckle. "I hear you."
He sighs. I can feel him relax slightly, even leaning back into me. Just enough
to raise my hopes a little. Christ knows I can't afford to let this opportunity
slip away now. I don't deserve a guy like him, as beautiful and—damaged as he
is. Maybe THAT is where my soft spot for him comes from... He's like a veteran
after surviving a war that he hadn't wanted to be any part of. I can definitely
relate to that—I hope he knows that.
"Alex? I can't presume to say I know what it's been like for you. But I can tell
you that I do respect your endurance, your ability to survive everything that
life has thrown at you. You took what cards you were dealt and you played them
to the best of your ability. There aren't many people who could have survived
playing on the side that you had to... On the inside. Mulder, Scully and myself—we chipped away on the outside, whittling them down. But you had to walk among
them, even after what they did to you. Another unsung hero."
"Jesus, Walter. You keep going on like that, I'm gonna start thinking I deserve
a medal or something."
"Purple heart, at least. Two times over."
He tenses again, and then abruptly relaxes completely. He seems to be mulling it
over. Finally, he says, hoarsely, "I don't think Mulder would agree with your
assessment of my 'heroism', Walt."
"Mulder isn't here, Alex. But I am. And I'm asking you to stay. At least until
after the New Year. Will you? We can work this out, if you'll give me a chance."
Inside, I'm praying, please, please, please let him say yes. Don't run. It's
time to stop running. Maybe it's time for BOTH of us to stop running, and hiding
from what we really want.
Okay. Hold on. I just need a minute. To think. He's ASKING me to stay. All
but came out and said that he does want me.
When was the last time someone—anyone—ASKED me for anything? Orders, sure.
Those I know, understand. Coercion, I can deal with. But—this? I just don't
know how to handle it.
"Alex? Will you? Stay?"
Oh hell, like I could really leave now. If he's playing me, setting me up for
revenge, it's working. It's worked. I sigh heavily and tentatively touch his
arm with my fingertips. "Okay, Walter. I'll stay. Until New Year's."
"You promise?"
The really scary thing is that I know—I KNOW—that if I give him this
promise, he'll believe me. Scary, hell; that's fucking terrifying! It's...
it's responsibility. If I give him my word, I'll have no choice.
Because I don't think I could live with myself if I hurt this man again.
"Alex?"
"Okay, yeah... I promise."
"Thank you," he whispers in my ear.
Which is what does me in. The tears that have been so close to the surface
finally break free and roll down my face. I sniffle and scrub at my eyes
irritably. Dammit. I'm a killer. An assassin. A betrayer of just about
everyone who's been unlucky enough to come into my life.
Where the hell do I get off crying? Just because someone's being nice to me.
"Shhh, Alex. It's okay. We'll be fine, you'll see." And, with no apparent
effort, he lifts and turns my body so that I'm cradled in his arms, face buried
in his neck. "Just let it go. No shame in that, you know. We all have to cry
sometimes."
I give a watery chuckle. "Walt, I haven't cried since I was nine years old."
"Well then, you have a lot of catching up to do, don't you." He presses a light
kiss to the top of my head and tightens his arms around me.
Fortunately, he accepts my embrace—as well as my reassurances.
Out of the blue, he says, "Walt, you don't have to give me this place. I know
how much it means to you."
I laugh, quietly. "I'm not an Indian-giver. And I really didn't just say that on
the spur of the moment. It's yours, Alex. I was going to tell you tomorrow, but
I figured it might help to change your mind."
Carefully, he asks, "So, I'm not just getting a cabin—but a live-in
house-guest, as well? What a cherry deal. Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Think of it as bestowed for services rendered, services above
and beyond the call of duty."
Alex stiffens. "I'm not—"
"All the things you've lost, Alex. All the times you got screwed over," I remind
him. "Your arm, your life, your parents, the whole works."
Roughly, he states, "Your friendship is worth considerably more than a cabin in
the woods."
"So is yours," I point out. And punctuate it with another kiss on the top of his
head.
He seems to go limp at this point, draped against me. I think he's finally
giving in to the inevitable. "Time to stop running," he whispers.
"Better believe it," I say. "Besides, you run from HERE and you'll just end up
in a bear trap."
He laughs. "You have a point there."
We lie together for a long time, and I listen to the way his breathing calms.
Moving slightly, I turn, shifting so that we're on our sides. Pulling the covers
over and around him, I kiss him on the forehead. "Just got to take that shower,"
I inform him, quietly.
He murmurs something unintelligible.
In the shower, waiting for the hot water heater to bring the icy shower to a
temperature fit for standing naked under, I suddenly contemplate the fact that
Alex is naked and in the same bed I fully intend to sleep in tonight. I get into
the shower well before the water is warm enough.
I really don't want to scare him off. I'll have to play this one carefully. Wait
for his signal, and the next time he gives it, I think he's going to be
surprised at the result. I won't be brushing him off.
Nope. The boy doesn't know it yet, but he's MINE.
Part Two—Resolutions
I've been considering hitting a bottle of scotch with Alex, to celebrate
tonight. New Year's Eve has usually provided an excellent excuse to get
soused but for some reason, tonight it doesn't have the same appeal.
I honestly thought Alex would run, despite his assurance to me that he
wouldn't, so it's with some surprise that I realized earlier this afternoon
that the new year was nearly upon us and we were both still in this cabin.
His cabin. I have to admit it WAS a spur of the moment idea, intended to
entice him to stay. I think he knew it, too. But I rationalize it as a
transitional gift, meant to symbolically convey what I really wanted to
offer him... without scaring him away.
My friendship, support and comfort. Oh, hell, why beat around the bush? My
love. My heart.
Sighing, I turn on the cold driveway from my surveillance of the empty
frozen wastes, which surround the cabin and are broken only by the tree
line. The more distant peaks of the mountains and lower foothills are
already indistinguishable from the darkening sky as night falls. The cabin
is lit from within and waiting for me inside is a man who's been broken for
many a year.
I've been careful, waiting for a signal from him to let me know I can make a
move. The ball's in his court and despite having spent every night together
in the same bed, we've kept a tactful distance from each other. In a way,
that distance has been composed of respect and a mutually tacit agreement to
just... wait.
But I'm getting tired of taking cold showers.
With another sigh, I walk up to the cabin. Looks like I may have to
open that new bottle of scotch after all. Maybe I can get him to join me.
Glumly, I open the door and stamp the snow off my boots before removing
them.
He's sitting in front of the fireplace, a book conspicuously balanced on his
lap. Why the hell does he have to look so good wearing that faded blue
sweater? Makes me want to grab him and just... hug him. Smooch him. He'd
probably tense up and then panic, slip away and start packing again. I
carefully avert my eyes, realizing I was staring... again. It's getting
harder for me to pretend that I don't want him.
Cabin fever—that's a thought. I could jump him and then say it was—But
no, he'd still run. I clear my throat. "I'll just fry up that trout. Do
you have any objections?"
His face is unreadable as he lifts those green eyes to meet mine. "Your
trout? That huge thing you fished out of the lake after all these years? I'd
be honored, Walt."
I'll be damned. He means it, too. He isn't just flattering me. I can't
help beaming at the remembrance. Sitting over that blasted hole in the ice
for the last four days... I finally caught that monster.
I'm already taking it out of the fridge and unwrapping it to prepare it for
frying before I realize that he neatly distracted me again. Alex has a real
smooth way with small talk, subtly and deftly sending me off on tangents
before I can catch him at it. He's definitely avoiding me—or at least any
resemblance of serious discussion with me. It's been a low key few days, just
hanging out.
I'm starting to wonder if maybe he'd made that pass at me that night before
Christmas out of an attempt to ingratiate himself to me and get me to let
him stay...
I've been watching him. Waiting for him to make a move. Expecting him to do
so. But, no. He just goes about his business—spends HOURS out on that
ice, fishing. Ugh. He did manage to talk me into accompanying him once—
and only once. He might enjoy freezing his balls off, but I sure as hell
don't.
He didn't even argue when I declined a second trip to the lake. Just
shrugged and grinned. Not only that... he doesn't argue with me about
anything. No mention of our past. No accusations. No name-calling.
What the hell?
Every night we sleep together, each keeping to our own side of the bed. Can
this be real? I know he wants me. I can see it in his eyes, in the
reflexive tensing of his body when I accidentally brush up against him.
I'm confused. And scared. What if I try—make a move and get rejected
again? But, the more time we spend together, the more I want him. He's...
different here. Kind and gentle and patient. None of which I'm at all
familiar with. So, I wait and watch.
And wait.
And watch.
And jerk off in the shower every chance I get.
You see, in the past sex has always been a means to an end. Or done under
orders from my masters. I've never had a lover just because I wanted to.
Walt is different; I want him in the worst way.
Now, how do I get past my fears and reservations and just DO it? He's been
very patient. Restrained. I very much fear that he'll give up in disgust
and leave without our ever having...
"Alex," he calls from the kitchen, "would you set the table? Dinner's just
about ready."
"Sure thing, Walt."
I set my book aside and do as he's asked. Pause. We need... yeah, we need
wine with this meal. It is New Year's Eve, after all. And, for all my sins,
I have decided that tonight is THE night. For better or worse, I'm gonna
give it another shot.
What the hell? No one ever died from embarrassment, right?
I decide to ignore the tension in the air and focus on finishing this fish.
It smells incredible. And when I bring it to the table, I notice he's
brought out a bottle of Chardonnay.
He isn't meeting my eyes.
I play it safe and try to keep the conversation light as I slide a healthy
portion onto his plate and then mine.
He doesn't speak much, if at all. He's remarkably quiet tonight. He seems
tense though, wired as if waiting for something.
Alex Krycek: my very own human puzzle for Christmas—I've been trying to
figure him out for days now.
Something is definitely bothering him. We've sat through the entire meal
with him looking up at me as if about to say something, then looking away.
I can do banter, I can even do chit-chat, but it's starting to bug the hell
out of me.
Finally, I put down my fork and say, "You okay?"
He stares back at me, an adorable little frown creasing his brows. "Yeah,
why?"
I shrug and finish the last of the wine in my glass. "Just wondering.
You're awfully quiet. Just hoping it's not a prelude to anything."
He stiffens. Shit, what have I done now? I can help holding my breath
until he says, "What are you implying?"
"Nothing whatsoever. Forget I said it."
But the damage is done. He frowns up at me once more, looking less puzzled
and more annoyed than before. "I gave you my word. I'm not leaving. And
besides, you'll be gone in a couple of days. Right?"
I shift uncomfortably in my chair. "Alex, I haven't wanted to push." I
take a deep breath and decide to just take the plunge. Hell, we've been
dancing so carefully around the subject for so long... "I'm trying to give
you the space you need. I'd like to talk about this; about your situation.
You need to relax, to have more time here and, well, I could always arrange
for an extension—a few more days wouldn't hurt me, either. Unless you
WANT me out of here... I just need to know what you want, what you expect."
He looks away now with that familiar blank expression taking hold of his
features. FUCK.
Quickly, I add, "I'd like to stay longer—and I'd like YOU to stay longer
too. I enjoy your company, Alex. Hell, I've never had a companion any time
I've been up here before and it makes a real difference. I just need to
know what you would like to do, if you'd like to stay up here. I meant what
I said, when I gave this place to you."
His eyes flick back to meet mine. "I know you love this place—"
I interrupt him, swiftly. "Yes, I do. But your happiness means more to me
than the cabin."
Hm. I close my mouth abruptly. I hadn't really intended to SAY that, not
aloud. He's staring at me now with a funny expression.
I don't believe my happiness has meant a damned thing to anyone at all in the
past thirty years. So, Walt's statement really throws me. Not because he
said it—people SAY things all the time—but because he means it. I know
he does, it's obvious in his expression that he not only meant every word,
he's now worried about how I'll react.
He thinks I'll run. And, not too many days ago, I would have. I'd've been
gone so far and so fast that his head would still be spinning. Now, though,
I can't. I don't want to. I want...
What DO I want from him? Sex, definitely. And more. Much more. I want
things I can't even begin to put into words. Things I never imagined I would
be in a position to attain.
"Alex?"
Startled, I jump a little in my seat. "What?"
Sitting back in his chair, both hands laying relaxed on the tabletop, he's
being as non-threatening as he knows how to be. "Alex... I need for you to
talk to me—tell me what you want."
There's that word again. "Want," I murmur. "I want... I don't know how to
say what I want. It's—I—It's never come up before."
Walter's eyebrows climb towards his non-existent hairline. Leaning forward
in his chair just a little, he says, "Okay. A question, then. You can
answer a question for me, can't you?"
I nod.
"You want to have sex with me."
Although it's more in the line of a statement, again I nod.
"Good, I want you, too," he says with a slight smile.
Well, that was easy...
"The question is—"
Uh oh.
"How do you want me?"
Confused, I frown at him. He wants to talk logistics now? "What—what do
you mean?"
He rises from his chair. "I mean, do you want me to fuck you? You want to
fuck me? Or," he lowers his voice, "do you want to make love with me?"
Moving around the table slowly, deliberately, he stands behind me and leans
over to whisper in my ear, "I'd really like to make love to you, Alex."
This is scary. In fact, this is terrifying...
"I—I want you. To make love. To me."
Feeling almost lightheaded with victory and relief, I attempt to maintain a
steady, calm voice as I reply, "Good. Then we both want the same thing."
I can't help thinking that this is very nearly like deer stalking. As long
as I don't force any issue directly, he's mine. He lets out a breath and
his shoulders relax slightly. I place both hands carefully on them and
continue, "I've wanted this for a long time. I think we both have. It's
long overdue, wouldn't you say?"
Alex licks his lips, doesn't answer, just looks down.
Pressing my cheek to his, bent over him, I murmur, "Want you so much, Alex,"
letting a little of the desperate urgency and desire I feel to color my
words.
Alex turns his head a little, into me, and he still doesn't say anything but
his eyes are closed. He's frozen in his seat. He wants it, we both know he
does. He wants this but is terrified of not getting it once he's admitted
it with his actions. Little does he know. There's no way I'd back out of
this now. Not after all this time, all these years.
I squeeze him, lightly and kiss his cheek, a quick peck and certainly
nothing to assume anything by. "Shall we take this next door? We can leave
the dishes, I think."
"The food—we—we should put it away," he mutters, obviously stalling.
I shrug. "A man's home is his castle. And this is very much your home,
Alex. But the trout is mine. I'm putting that beast away myself."
I move over to the pan and start scraping the remainder of the fish out of
the skillet and onto a spare plate. I look back over my shoulder and
there's a half-hearted smile on his face. His eyes still look wary, though.
Shit. I quickly cover the fish and put it in the fridge. Surveying the
table, I say, "The rest of this can wait, I think. And I need some more
wine. How about you?"
"Sure," he says, woodenly.
That's all right though; I know he's playing it cautious simply to avoid
getting burned. Turning to him, I pour a little more into his glass and he
picks it up automatically, drains it in one gulp.
Oooookay. I drain my own and lick my lips. "Hey," I say, gently, holding
out my hand to him.
He looks up at me, as if he's a little surprised at the gesture. "So.
Chivalry isn't dead, after all," he comments. But he takes my hand and I
pull him to his feet. Once he's standing, I don't let go, of course. He
looks back at me again, even more surprised. But before he can react, I
lean over and kiss him right on the mouth. A real smacker, too.
His eyes are kind of glazed and he looks so dumbfounded and cute, I can't
help smiling as I pull him towards the bedroom.
Once in the door however, he loses his stiffness and turns to me, saying,
"I didn't think you were interested."
Shaking my head at him, I say, "Alex, to be quite honest with you, I don't
think there's ever been a time when I haven't been interested."
He cracks a smile at that, and gives a nervous chuckle. "Yeah."
Yeah? Yeah, what? I'm trying to decode his answer when he straightens and
looks me in the eye. "Can I have my hand back? I've only got the one, and I
need it to take off my clothes. If... we're really going to do the wild
thing, here."
I shake my head and grip his hand harder. "Nope. No wild things. That
comes later. I said I would make love to you, and that's what I'm going to
do. That means you let me take your clothes off." I grin at him, and then
let my voice drop lower. "Something I've been wanting to do since you came
up here."
He licks his lips. "So, no rough, dirty, horsing around?"
I snort. "I'd rather not. Not this early. Maybe later, okay?"
He shrugs. "Okay. Suits me."
Oh, sure, I think with a smile. Right. He thinks he's so clever; talking me
into making HIM agree to do it exactly the way he really wants it. But he's
nervous and so I'm perfectly happy to go along with this. I step closer,
finally relinquishing his hand only to pull him gently into my arms.
"What are you... what now?" he asks.
"I'm going to kiss you, Alex. I'm going to kiss you the way I've been
dreaming about for the past week. For the past ten years. That okay with
you?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Then I'm going to undress you. Slowly. That all right, too?"
Alex's eyes are dilated and he's staring into mine with all the aplomb of a
drowning victim. He swallows. "Sounds good."
"Then I'm going to make love to you," I inform him, letting promise ring in
my voice. Leaning close, I take his face in both my hands and plant a warm,
undemanding kiss on his lips. Just holding him there, imprisoned with me
here, not slipping any tongue. Not just yet. Although I'm dying to explore
the interior of his sweet mouth.
Oh, he's hard. The boy is hard, I gloat to myself exultantly as I feel his
rigid length brush against mine through two pairs of jeans. Fuck, I should
have
jumped him the moment he flashed his legs at me. I haven't been able to get
the vision of his pale skin out of my mind for an instant's repose.
I can feel my own hands starting to tremble with the desire to strip him
naked, to see those fine thighs again, to see him laying back on the bed.
He's always been such a beautiful, fine and magnificent man. I don't think
he has any idea how appealing he is; how irresistible. And to my surprise
and wonder, he flicks his tongue against my lips, opening his mouth wider
beneath mine.
With a grateful moan, I let my tongue meet his and suddenly we're floating,
flying, tangled together and joined in this incredible sensation of drowning
in each other. His mouth. Sweeter than I ever imagined. And the longing
to keep him rises within my chest and it's suddenly all I can do not to hold
onto him and babble nonsense.
Self control is a very important thing in a man like me. I'd learned it
early and practiced it at all times. But, with Skinner, I forget everything
but his touch, his warmth. His kisses.
Probably not a good thing, the way I'm plastering myself against him, rubbing
my chest against his, grinding my hips, my cock, into him. My god, he feels
good. He's big, and warm, and just hairy enough. Has these great arms, long
and well-muscled, perfect for relaxing into...
Which is definitely not a good thing, this relaxing business.
I finally manage to get his trousers out of my way. He took care of mine
easily, the bastard. Dropping my hand to his ass, I pull him against me as I
thrust forward.
Oh, damn. This is gonna be fuckin' amazing.
We're kissing again, and rubbing together and making all kinds of unlikely
sounds and it's just about perfect. Then one of us, I still say it was him,
tried to move his feet. With our trousers at our knees.
Luckily we're near the bed, and Skinner has the presence of mind to turn us
so that we at least land on the mattress. In an undignified heap, yes—but
unbruised.
Not that I'd have cared. You see, he lands on top of me. Lifts himself up
just enough to meet my eyes, and smiles.
I can't ever remember feeling so safe.
Which terrifies me even more.
Go figure...
He leans his cheek against mine and just nuzzles at me. His breath so close
to my ear, makes me shiver. "Easy, now," he whispers to me. "We'll be fine.
You'll see."
And he shifts over, quickly discarding his trousers and shoes before turning
to me. Somehow, the process of ridding me of my clothes is a much longer
operation. Maybe because he stops to explore every inch of my skin as it's
revealed.
Every inch, that is, except for my cock. That, he doesn't touch. Oh, he
skims past, brushes against my balls, traces the line between hip and thigh,
but not once does he touch my aching, weeping erection.
He talks in bed. A lot. Tells me everything he's gonna do, how he's gonna
do it... WHEN he's gonna do it. And, tells me how wonderful—that's HIS
word—I taste. How responsive I am. How much he wants me.
Alex is leaning into my every touch, every kiss, so open and trusting. So
completely at odds with his external personality, that mask he wears in
public. Somehow, the fact that he's dropped it here with me, FOR me, is
enough to turn on the heat between us. It's an effort to not get wilder
with him. I keep up a constant stream of speech in the hopes that it will
keep him grounded and not let him get disconnected in his own doubts and
fears. Too much intimacy all at once can be volatile.
I can see the silent begging desperation in his eyes, pleading with me to
touch his cock. How adorable. I'm saving the best for last; I'm hardly
ignoring his erect state. I couldn't if I tried. I can tell he hasn't ever
had a man truly make love to him before. No doubt the women he's been with
have expected him to play the stud and mount them, and the men have demanded
that he carry out the rent-boy act. I can tell that being consumed and
pleasured like this is quite beyond his previous sensual experiences.
And, I note with deep satisfaction, he likes it. He likes being enjoyed,
and given joy in the same instant. God, he's so beautiful. If anyone was
made for this act, it's Alex. He may not have the tongue of a poet, but his
body is the kind of dream that poets speak of.
It isn't until I've managed to trace my hands and my mouth all the way down
to the toes on each foot and back up again that he finally breaks.
"W-walt?"
"Yes, Alex?"
"Please," he says, in a low voice.
"Anything," I promise. "Anything you want."
He licks his lips and closes his eyes momentarily. When he opens them
again, I look up at him and see that his pupils are huge and dark. "Please
—lick me."
"I've been licking you," I point out, innocently.
He's breathing hard and a ripple of tension crosses his face. "Walter,
please. Lick—my cock."
I reach up and grasp his cock in my hand. "I'll do better than that," I
say, intensely, staring back at him. "I'll suck you until you come. I'll
drain your nuts dry. You want me to do that to you?"
He tries to respond but it's a squeak. He clears his throat and says,
"Jesus Christ," in a fervent voice. He doesn't seem able to say anything
else.
With a smile, I take pity on him at this point. Bending lower, I open my
mouth, taking him in. I cover the head of his cock with my tongue and rub
the glans with my tongue-tip, enjoying the way he grabs frantically at the
bed-covers with his hand. His eyes have rolled upwards in mindless pleasure
and I can almost feel his heartbeat in the veins pulsing in his cock.
God, to do this to HIM. I begin to fist him, slowly, tightly, my hand
closed around his shaft while I let my mouth engulf the rest of his cock
from the head downwards, until my lips meet my own hand. Then I begin a
rhythmic sucking. He's so tasty, but I'm betting that his come tastes even
better. This is the perfect dessert.
Oh, he's so close, tossing and wriggling and nearly dislodging me. I'm
trying not to let my teeth scrape him but he's making it harder. I redouble
my efforts, letting myself suck him harder, willing him to come.
With a wail, he suddenly stiffens and then his rich, creamy seed fills my
mouth. He's twitching in the throes of his orgasm as he thrusts into my
waiting mouth. A look of near-anxiety crosses his face and is instantly
followed with one of relief, delight and utter surrender. I don't think
I've ever seen anyone look more beautiful in this moment.
I swallow the last few drops that well up into my mouth and then clean his
cock with my tongue.
Panting, he finally says, "Stop, stop... It's too much."
Knowing he must be feeling pretty sensitive there now, I reluctantly
relinquish his cock. It stays half-hard however. I rise up and move to
cover him, resting against him with a grin. His eyes flutter open and he
stares up at me.
"Never... I've NEVER," he says. "Never before. Not like that."
There's an accompanying look of worry and wonder. No doubt he's curious if
it will be like that all the time, and why it was like that in the first
place. I'm chuckling as I kiss him, letting him taste the lingering flavor
of himself in my mouth. Then I lift my head. I'm still hard, but damned if
that wasn't the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I feel privileged to
have witnessed him; that he let ME take him there.
So damned dangerous. I know now, in this moment, that I love him. Far
more, in fact, than I'd wanted to examine—although it's kind of
inescapable now.
So, that's what it can be like; having someone touch and tease and taste me,
wanting to give ME pleasure. I think I'm in shock, actually. To have him—
Walter—show me such care and consideration... and enjoy it himself.
He's draped atop me, grinning happily. And, it feels so good. His weight
against me, his warmth, the vaguely itchy feel of his hairy chest—and his
cock pressed between our bodies. I could get used to this. Easily.
But, does he mean it? Is it real or is this just... just a one-off? A
chance for him to exert control over me—to make me believe he really wants
me, then laugh at my loss of control and kick me to the curb. I can't say as
I'd blame him. Not after all that's gone before.
I'm pretty good at reading people, understanding their motives, but, right
now, here with him, I'm finding that I just can't figure him out. I want to
trust him—I want him to mean it—I want HIM.
Now.
I've never touched anyone with care. Never wanted to explore just for the
sake of exploring—and giving pleasure. Now, though, I find myself needing
to touch him, to try to return some of the pleasure he's just given me. And,
I want him to fuck me. To feel him inside of me. To watch as he loses
himself in pleasure. In me. I want him to come for me.
"Alex?" Such a concerned voice. Who'd have ever thought he'd say my name in
quite that way?
Smiling tremulously, I meet his eyes. "Walter, could I... touch you?"
"Of course!" His smile widens and he rolls off of me to lay beside me,
completely relaxed and trusting. "Anything you want, Alex."
Jesus! My breath catches in my throat and I almost choke. After I get my
breathing under control, I carefully sit up and let my eyes wander over the
body that's being offered to me so eagerly. Tentatively, I reach out to
caress his chest, curious about the hair decorating him. My hand pauses,
just above his skin, and I look to him once more for permission.
He closes his hand over mine and brings it down to rest on his collarbone.
"Do it, Alex. Touch me."
So I do. And he feels... God, he feels so damned good! Fascinated with his
chest hair, I run my fingers through it, pulling the strands away from his
skin only to watch with delight as they spring back. Quite by accident, my
fingers brush against his nipple. With a gasp, he arches up against the
touch, arching up in a request for more. Fascinating. And, I wonder, if he
likes fingers, how will he respond to...
"Oh, God, Alex," he moans as I bend down to tease the hardened point with my
tongue. Large hands cradle my head, encouraging me to continue.
Switching to the other side, I give his neglected nipple the same treatment.
I could swear he's purring. There's a wonderfully content rumble coming from
his throat and it's the most incredible sound I've ever heard.
Slowly, I move down his torso, licking and sucking at his skin, reveling in
the enthusiastic response he's showing. I've just about reached his cock
when he pulls at my hair with gentle but insistent pressure.
"Alex, if you do that, I'll lose it."
Raising my head, I look at him uncertainly. "Isn't that the idea?"
"Oh yeah," he agrees enthusiastically. "But, I want to—if it's okay with
you—I really would like to come inside of you."
Oh. Oh wow! Inside of me... Butterflies begin a dance of anticipation in my
stomach. I know—I just KNOW—that he'll make it good. Won't make me feel
the whore—won't make me feel used.
"Please," I hear myself say. "I want you... just, please don't hurt me,
Walt."
The wistful longing in his voice is merely an emotional undercurrent that
flows alongside his desire. I can't help chuckling, thinking I've awakened
a sleeping monster. He's only just come and with this first taste, I know
he's going to be insatiable. I hope I won't disappoint him. I AM older,
despite the immediate clamoring within my skull that insists I'm hardly too
old to keep up. I banish my doubts firmly, concentrating on the incredible
potential laying in my arms, resting on me—like a leopard with his kill.
He's staring down at me with his green eyes wide and sex-stupid, raw and
infinitely arousing—almost as if he wants to devour me.
"I will never hurt you," I promise, fervently. Lifting my hand, I caress
his face, letting my thumb graze over his plump lower lip. Sweet.
Kissable. My cock twitches, and he feels it, where it's resting against his
hip.
He lifts up further, glancing down at it, and then back up at me. "I believe
you," he says, thoughtfully, and then licks his lips.
The sight of his tongue sends a nearly helpless spasm of lust through my
lower belly. Christ, I'm not going to be able to control myself. I have to,
I must, I think to myself... Then it hits me. I grin at him, and raise my
eyebrows. "Wanna stay on top?"
A slow smirk comes over him, and abruptly I realize that THIS was why he
always used to leer at me like that, a furtive sneer that he invariably wore
in previous encounters—
The boy had been flirting with me all those times. I feel like thumping my
forehead; how incredibly dense. Of course, I'd never allowed myself to
notice the number of times Mulder had minced out of my office, either... Not
going there, no way.
He smiles down at me. "Walterrrr," he purrs, lowly. "You want me to? You
want me to ride you, big guy?"
My smile slips and my cock twitches again, giving a little leap against him
and I can't help shifting, uncomfortably. Jesus, I want to be inside him so
badly it hurts. There IS such a thing as too much foreplay, I think.
"Fuck, yeah," I say, reverently. "Be my guest, Alex. Anyway you want. Do
it how you'd like to do it. Have fun." I stress that last word,
punctuating it with a brush of my hand over his chest, caressing his right
nipple.
He moves into my touch with his lids lowering slightly. God, he's such a
sensual creature. He was made for loving.
He looks around then, and it occurs to me. I nod with my head, jerking my
chin in the bedside table. "The lube's over there," I remind him.
Alex climbs up onto his knees and edges away to reach out for it. I shift
in place, staying on my back, moving slightly towards the center of the bed.
When he returns to my side, he eyes my cock, considering. His eyes flick up
to mine. "You look really good," he says.
"Please, Alex?" I am fully aware that I've started begging... Damn. Didn't
mean to. Don't want him to feel pressured or rushed.
But he just grins at me, mischievously. "You made me wait HOW long?"
Oh shit.
I clear my throat. "Now, uh—I only wanted to draw it out, prolong the
experience for you. I wasn't teasing."
He catches his lower lip between his teeth and shakes his head slightly. A
playful Alex could end up being a dangerous beast—what the HELL have I
created here? At this point, if he decided to fuck ME, I wouldn't mind.
Whatever! Something, anything... My cock is getting desperate and I'm
dying for release.
He knows it too, the little bastard. His smirk has intensified. He's
enjoying having me on the receiving end this time.
In discomfiture, I say, "Alex, please. I need you, want you."
"Don't worry, Walt. I'll take good care of you," he says, breathily, not
disguising his own excitement. I can see his cock rising even now.
He gets up and rests on his heels, taking up the lube and uncapping it, his
long lovely hand smearing lubricant all over his beautiful cock. He's
really a beautiful specimen of a man. He deserves to be sculpted and his
form preserved for posterity.
The way he's looking at me, with such desire and need... no one's ever looked
at me that way. He can't be faking it—he really DOES want me. Almost as
much as I want him.
I do trust him—I can't help myself. The softness on his eyes tells me that
he won't hurt me—and, this easy, teasing manner of his is a revelation to
me. All my fears are forgotten as I gaze into his face. I think this man
can show me how to enjoy sex. He can erase all those that have used me
before. The ones that left me feeling dirty and ashamed and angry.
And, I want him. I want to feel him inside of me, feel that he's a part of
me.
I hold out the lube to him, silently asking his help in opening the bottle.
While he's removing the cap, I open a condom and sheathe him. He shakes
under my touch and my heartbeat increases. To see him wanting me so badly,
so hard his cock feels like silk-covered steel, is almost overwhelming. I
pause, staring at him in wonder.
However did I get this lucky? Even if it's only this one time, I won't
regret it. To finally learn what love-making is, to be touched with care, to
feel pleasure from the act... well, I'll always treasure the memory.
"Alex?" Impatiently, he shifts on the sheets and reaches out to lay one hand
on my thigh. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I reassure him. "I'm fine—just a little overwhelmed. I've
never... no one's ever wanted to um, make love to me. It's kinda scary,
y'know? I mean, I know how to fuck—learned that a long time ago—but,
Walt, what if I don't do this right? I—"
Pulling me down into his arms, he presses a light kiss on my forehead.
"You'll do fine, Alex. I want you so badly that you couldn't possibly do
anything I won't enjoy. You're a very sensual creature, Alex Krycek. I
think you'll be surprised at how good we'll be together."
He lets me lay there for several minutes, just stroking my back and murmuring
softly about how much he wants me, how right it'll be.
"C'mon," he encourages, practically lifting me to straddle his hips. "It's
time, Alex—I'm dying here."
And, suddenly, so am I. More than anything in the world, I want his cock
inside of me. I reach back and hold his erection steady as I slowly start to
lower myself onto it. I'm so fascinated by the open pleasure on his face,
the way his pupils dilate and his eyelids lower heavily, that I take no
notice of the fleeting pain.
It takes me a few minutes to fully impale myself on him, but, god, it feels
incredible. He's huge—and it's been a very long time since I've done this
—but, once I adjust to him, it's... my GOD!
"Jesus, Walter, that's so good," I moan.
He pulls me down into a voracious kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy—and
wonderful. Raising one knee, he gently pushes me upright again and supports
me with that leg. "Move, Alex," he says huskily. "I want to feel you. I
want to watch your face. See your pleasure."
Jesus! He keeps talking in that tone of voice and I'm gonna come again
before we actually get to fuck!
Carefully, I start to fuck him. Slowly, savoring every sigh he emits. Then,
DAMN, his cock brushes against my prostate and I'm lost. I'm seeing stars.
I'm in heaven.
No wonder some men actually enjoy being fucked—this is... God, if I'd known
it could be like this... No, probably best I never knew what I was missing.
His hands are clenched on my hips, encouraging me to continue. Asking me to
move faster, harder. Eyes closed, he's whispering something softly. I can't
make out the words, but from the expression on his face, I suspect that he's
expressing his pleasure and offering me praise.
Alex, Alex, Alex...
It's a litany of pleasure, a mantra that spills from my lips and I can't
stop myself. It's animalistic sex but with a hollowed out core of history
and past deeds, experiences we've shared intermittently. Gone is the sneer
from his lips. He is neither flirting nor self-deprecating now. He's finally
touched that place inside that we can't help but reach for in every
encounter, desperately, trying to find heaven.
I've found it myself, except of course I can't help thinking that, if I'm
honest with myself, I've only ever felt this way when imagining HIM like
this, riding me—his head falling back and his lips parted. With the
missing arm and the beauty of his body, he's like a broken angel.
I'm so close to coming, but I want to see him come again too. I want this
experience, this act with me, to be indelibly etched into his memory. I
want him to associate me with extreme acts of kindness.
With a little twist of my hips, just so, again and again, I can fuck him
while stimulating his prostate at the same time. Sure enough, his body is
starting to go slack with pleasure, taken over by the sensations. Growling,
he starts to meet my thrusts with as much intensity as I'm putting into
them.
"Oh, yeah," I gasp, "That's it. Beautiful, so beautiful. You're so good,"
I murmur, harshly in strained breaths.
My heart is pounding wildly and all of a sudden I realize the danger that
much older men than I have faced when confronted with powerful orgasms with
younger people. DAMN. He's too beautiful, too perfect, even with the
marred imperfections of character and rationalization and body... I want
him.
"Want you," I can't stop the words from coming out. "Love you." He opens
his eyes and fixes on my face, in the middle of his crisis as he is
undoubtedly close to climaxing again. His cock is drooling a small thread
of pre-ejaculate onto me and I know that if I touch him, he'll come.
More clearly, I enunciate, "I love you, Alex. I want you. Stay with me.
Don't ever go." And enjoying the mingling of surprise and heat as it
crosses his face, I reach down with my hand to grasp his cock.
With a keening groan, he shudders atop me, the inner muscles of his ass
powerfully clenching around me and then he's bucking on top of me, working
my cock in such a natural, incredible fashion that I can't stop myself from
joining him in his climax.
The color creeps up his body and into his face, he looks delirious and
feverish, his eyes are too bright and his mouth, God—his perfect mouth is
open as he looks down at me in rapture. He jerks atop me, his cream flying
out to land on my belly, my chest, and even my throat. I can feel a fleck of
it
hit my chin.
It's too much—I'm thrusting up into him, hard, and fast. As deeply as I
can penetrate, into his hot, sweet ass, don't want to stop doing this,
ever... But I can't stop myself from going rigid all over and exclamations
that I can't even understand are pouring from my lips as I empty myself into
him repeatedly.
I think I blacked out. It feels like I did. When I open my eyes, still
breathing hard as if I'd been running, he's bent over me, kissing my lips,
my cheek, still sitting on me with my softening cock inside him.
Starting to catch my breath, I return his kisses, and then whisper, "I meant
what I said, Alex. I love you."
He loves me!
Walter Skinner just said that he loves ME...
A tightness in my chest and my burning eyes warn me that I'm WAY too close to
believing him. To actually hear those words from him means more than I'm
capable of dealing with right now. I've dreamed of this, longed for it, and
now... well, accepting his words at face value would put me in a very
vulnerable position.
Which goes against everything I've learned over the years.
Yet, looking into his eyes, the softness and sincerity of his expression, I
find myself longing to trust him. To believe him. To tell him how much and
how long I've felt the same way...
What was that Mulder used to say? Ah, 'I want to believe'.
Yeah, that's me. I want to believe so badly... Want to stay with him, have
this every night, feel his need—his love. And, gotta admit here, I fell
for this guy the moment we met. Through it all, all shit I was forced to
inflict on him, my love for him just kept growing.
At least, I assume it's love. Never felt that emotion before I met Walt.
But, what else could it be? This overwhelming need to protect him, to be
close to him... to touch him.
He's watching me calmly, just a hint of hope lurking in his eyes. Wetting my
parched lips, I meet his gaze uncertainly. "I... Walt, I lo—" SHIT! I
can't even say it. Too many years of protecting myself make it impossible to
make such an admission—even to him.
"It's okay, Alex." His warm hands stroke my thighs. "I know. I can wait
for the words."
"But I..."
One of his hands lifts to cover my lips. "You've shown me tonight how you
feel."
Yeah, I guess I have. I'm feeling frightened and exposed by his knowledge of
me. I never let anyone see the me behind the mask—but, somehow, he's
managed to break past my defensive walls and is seeing Alex—just plain old
Alex.
"Hey," he nudges my shoulder. "It's New Year's Eve—almost midnight. You
want to go out and watch the apple fall in New York? Celebrate the fact that
2001 is over and done with?"
I shake my head and climb off of him, arranging my body along his and resting
my head on his shoulder. "No. No, this is all the celebration I need."
"You make a resolution for the New Year, yet?" he asks.
And, in that moment, I have. "Yes," I say firmly. "I'm going to stay here
for the year—in my new cabin—and learn to... live a normal life." And,
before December 31, 2002, I WILL work up the nerve to tell him how I feel.
He chuckles and pulls me closer against him. "I plan to take more time for
myself this year. Spend more time here—loving you."
"Sounds good to me," I say with a grin. "As long as you don't try to take me
fishing again."
End
Prologue
et me get this straight, Krycek—you want me to kill you?"
