Purple Heart by Jennie and Jami Wilsen
TITLE: Purple Heart
AUTHORS: Jennie and Jami Wilsen
DATE: Dec 18, '01
RATING: R, maybe, for language and the promise of slash to er, come <g> soon
ARCHIVE: RatB, DitB, WWOMB others please ask.
FEEDBACK: Yes, ,
SERIES/SEQUEL: Yes - a sequel will be done soon - by the first of the year.
OTHER WEBSITES: Our pages at RatB: http://www.squidge.org/~terma/, and our sites: http://fullhouseslash.slashcity.net/hosted/Jennie.htm#other, http://www.saradadevi.com/jami/slash.htm
SPOILERS: Post-Existence, so pretty much everything up until then. We've played fast and loose with the timeline, here. Indulge us.
DISCLAIMER: In the spirit of holiday seasonal cheer and Yuletide festivities, surely CC and Co won't mind if we play with the boys and make them happy? Surely? [g] After all, we can do in slash what network producers can only dream of getting away with...
SUMMARY: Skinner. Krycek. Cabin. Christmas.
NOTE: For Ned & Leny
Jennie and Jami
"Let me get this straight, Krycek - you want me to kill you?"
"And you'll... come back?"
"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?"
"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."
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.
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."
"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?"
"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."
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?"
"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!
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."
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."
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.
I pause in the doorway, but don't turn around. "Yeah?"
"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."
"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?"
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."
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..?"
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 enduraance, 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."
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.
"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.
* * * *
Yes, there WILL be a sequel - it'll be our New Years Eve story.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of y'all!
Jennie and Jami
TITLE: Purple Heart 2: Resolutions
AUTHORS: Jennie and Jami Wilsen
DATE: Dec 31, '01
ARCHIVE: RatB, DitB, WWOMB others please ask.
FEEDBACK: Yes, ,
SERIES/SEQUEL: Yes, sequel to Purple Heart, as promised
OTHER WEBSITES: Our pages at RatB: http://www.squidge.org/~terma/, and our sites: http://fullhouseslash.slashcity.net/hosted/Jennie.htm#other, http://www.saradadevi.com/jami/slash.htm
SPOILERS: Post-Existence, so pretty much everything up until then. We've played fast and loose with the timeline, here. Indulge us.
DISCLAIMER: Hah! CC thinks he can just kill Alex off and we'll let him get away with it? "Pffft," to him. He doesn't deserve the consideration of a disclaimer!
SUMMARY: Skinner. Krycek. Cabin. New Year's Eve. Sex.
NOTE: For Ned & Leny
Purple Heart 2
by Jennie and Jami Wilsen
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 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.
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?"
"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-"
"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?"
"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.
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.
"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.
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?"
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."
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."
And there you have it.
Just like we promised.
Archived: December 31, 2001