Weft -
Perfect
by Amirin
A hell of a lot of gear-shifting was going on, too.
I tried not to think too much and was only partially successful. I could
block out the past somewhat, with effort and distraction, but I couldn't help
thinking about the present and wondering at the future.
Something was still going on. And he still needed my help, if the gunshot
wound to the leg was any indication.
And I really didn't want to think he was letting me do what I pleased with
him, giving me what he thought I wanted, just to ensure my cooperation. But how
to say that to him without being insulting? And how to bring it up? And when?
I could mention it before this went any further, but he might think it was
part of the bargain. Not a good choice.
Or bring it up afterward, but it could sound like I was hinting at payment.
Even worse.
Shit.
"I can hear you thinking again," he warned as I pulled into the same parking
space that I had the night before.
"I need to say something. And I really don't know how," I said
softly,throwing the Auburn into park.
"Spit it out, already."
"I don't want to make you angry."
My only answer was a sigh and I turned the engine off. We got out of the car
and walked into the hotel, heading to the room in silence. Alex tossed his
sunglasses onto the dresser, but didn't take off anything else. And I wasn't
sure how to take that.
"Talk to me, Fox," he ordered quietly, sitting on the edge of the
now-made-up bed. "What's on your mind?"
I walked over and sat next to him, not wanting the physical distance between
us. The other kind was bad enough.
"I know you need help with something. And I will help you, if you'll let
me. Whether you take me up on it or not, that's up to you. I hope you will. I
just wanted you to know..." I sighed and turned toward him, "the offer's still
good. And unconditional. That's all."
This time my answer was silence. Then, a single nod. And a softly
spoken,"Okay."
"I mean it, Alex. I still want you. But you don't have to do a damned thing
to guarantee..."
And then it got kind of hard to talk with his mouth covering mine. Moaning
was real easy, though. I did a lot of that as the kiss went on. It seemed to
amuse him, if the shaking was anything to go by.
He pulled away slowly, dropped another kiss on my lips with a muted chuckle,
opened his mouth to say something, shivered a little, groaned, and started
kissing me again. It was a hell of a way to make me quit thinking,I've got to
admit. Shit, I almost quit breathing while I was at it.
Finally, Alex eased back, just a bit, barely enough to allow my eyes to
focus, and dragged his thumb over my mouth, the leather warm and slick and
soft, and I leaned forward, rested my chin on his shoulder, snaked an arm
around his waist, and sighed.
"You'll help me."
I nodded, even though it sounded more like a statement of fact than a
question.
"Whether anything else happens or not."
"Yes," I answered.
I felt him shaking his head against me and reached up to stroke his hair.
"I'm not saying I think you've been setting me up to help you, manipulating
me into anything. I don't want you to think that I believe that."
"How do you know that that isn't exactly what I've been doing?" he asked
quietly, body still, but not tense. Just waiting.
I shook my head. I didn't know. I didn't believe it, but, granted, I didn't
know.
"Why would you?"
"To make you think you had to help me? That you owed me? For saving your
life?"
I noticed he didn't mention the arm. Thank god.
"What if I didn't help you, Alex? What would you do?"
"I'd do what I had to, regardless. I have no choice, Fox."
"Would all this end?"
He knew exactly what I meant.
"Not unless I got my ass killed, no."
"Where would you send me, next?"
"Down the Mississippi on a river boat."
"How did you...?" I breathed, stunned.
Alex chuckled roughly, fingers gentle in my hair.
"How many times have I been in your apartment? You've got everything Twain
ever wrote. In hardcover."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because I want to."
"Then that's why I'm going to help you," I told him with a shrug.
"You don't owe me a damned thing for any of it, Fox," he murmured into my
ear as my lips found his neck again.
"Okay," I nodded with a grin at his near-silent whimper. "But I'm helping
you anyway."
"No matter what it is," he moved back and looked at me. And damn me if he
didn't look... worried.
"There are some limits," I admitted. "I haven't totally lost my ability to
reason, Alex. I'm just going to have to trust you not to ask anything
impossible of me."
"Difficult, maybe. But not impossible," he assured me with a tired grin.
"You need some rest."
I couldn't help saying it. And waited for some crack from him. It didn't
come. His nod of agreement actually startled me. He didn't argue when I
unzipped his jacket and helped him shrug out of it. He just used his teeth to
tug the glove off his hand while I hung both jackets over the back of the
chair. I got his boots off, he removed the prosthesis, and I shoved all of it
out of the way, kicked my shoes into space, and lay down next to him.
"Tonight," he said quietly, a smile in his voice. It sounded like a promise.
"If you're up to it," I replied, grinning.
"Oh, I will be," he chuckled a little. "I will be."
It couldn't have been more than about an hour. He's definitely getting
better.
He waited patiently while I figured out that there was someone in bed with
me, remembered where said bed was, who was most likely to be in it, the fact
that I didn't want to kill him, but never stopped kissing me. His hand was all
over me and it was another instance of forcing myself to remember that he only
had the one. Could've fooled me. Again.
He pulled away briefly, just to make sure that I was as awake as I was
likely to get and grinned. His evil grin. Not the Evil grin, god, no, not that
one. This was simply mischievous, not diabolical.
"I thought you said 'tonight'," I mumbled faintly, dizzy, turned on.
"I changed my mind," he shrugged. "Assassin's prerogative."
I snorted.
"You complaining?"
"Hell, no."
"Smart man."
God, that voice.
We got me undressed quickly, more from a desire for speed than because I
thought he actually needed any help doing it. His clothing came off a little
more slowly. I got distracted. Hey, I'd like to see anyone not get distracted
with Alex Krycek's tongue down their throat.
Christ.
"We've only got a couple hours," I warned him. Yeah, like I needed to.
"It'll be enough," he chuckled, then groaned when I touched him. I was
naked, he was half-dressed and damn me if he didn't look... Jesus. Bear with me,
here. Barefoot, all right? Shirt half off. Jeans undone, but still on.
Underwear shoved out of my way. He looked totally debauched and we hadn't done
a whole lot more than kissing and groping, for crying out loud.
Eventually he got tired of me staring at him and worked to tug off the rest
of his clothing. All of it. I think I was more of a hindrance than a help. For
a while. Then I realized he might actually be stupid enough to start thinking
that I didn't want him naked and his clothes were gone pretty damned fast
after that.
I just kept staring. I couldn't help it. I vaguely noticed the missing limb,
the same way you notice when anything's missing, but it was like... like more of
an accessory than a disability. I mean, he had scars, bruises, a bullet wound.
He had green eyes, dark hair, ears that were slightly pointed. And he had a
missing arm.
And a frown on his face.
I had myself propped up next to him on one elbow and touched him. He didn't
freeze, he didn't flinch, he just let me. And touched me back. Finger softly
tracing the bullet wound Scully'd given me, which saved his life. He looked
almost regretful. So, I licked the scar tissue at the end of his arm. And
looked regretful right back. His eyes widened, then narrowed, and he nodded. We
weren't even. Hell, no. But we'd established something.
I couldn't have been happier about where we were going and was about to say
something when he moved. And I was on my back. And his mouth was on my throat,
my shoulder, my chest, with pleasure trailing in the wake of a hot tongue over
my stomach, then came a nip on the inside of one thigh, which triggered the
Pavlovian response of having me open my legs wider to accommodate him and
something hot and wet surrounded my cock and, god, I wasn't expecting that.
I really wasn't.
He was leaning on his arm, so he could only use his mouth on me and I don't
mean to make it sound like that was unfortunate, because it wasn't, not at all.
If anything, it was even more intense, since that was the only part of him
touching me. The only part. Just his mouth. And I wasn't thinking.
Really.
Like I could.
His eyes flashed up at me when I groaned something. It might have been his
name. It's not like I can remember.
But I remember his eyes.
I have never regretted being colorblind more than I did at that
moment. Christ, how totally, pathetically, sad that that explosive shade of
green should be wasted on me.
Not completely wasted. But enough to bug the hell out of me.
My fingers were in his hair about the same time I realized that I was too
damned close to this being over too damned fast and he came up immediately when
I tugged.
"Too soon," I gasped, just as he growled, "Fuck me."
Fuck him? Shit, I could barely see him. My eyes had gone into almost total
white out, complete with those little sparkles around the edges that always
make night driving through exhaustion so damned entertaining.
There was movement, and a coldness that I didn't care much for, and creative
cursing coming from my suitcase, then the bathroom, then a clatter followed by
a "Ha!" which would've rivaled Edison's when the light went on. And then
something was slapped into my hand as a warm presence curled up at my side,
turned my face toward a kiss, and began murmuring short,instructive,
encouraging comments as Alex coaxed me out of the fugue and into gear.
I dimly remember checking the tube in my hand just to make sure it wasn't
toothpaste before I opened it. Cool slickness on my fingers, a brief moment to
warm it and then I looked around for Alex, who was on his stomach right next to
me, splayed out like some fucking sacrifice, which was probably appropriate,
now that I think about it.
And I kissed him, nuzzled the back of his neck, chewed on his shoulderblade,
licked my way down his backbone and was rewarded with the most impressive groan
I'd ever heard when my fingers finally got down to business. I was taking my
time so as not to hurt him, but if I'd known how much fun it was teasing him,
I'd have done it anyway.
"Come on, Fox."
Not even close.
"Dammit, do it."
Nope, still not there.
"What the fuck are you trying to find in there, anyway?"
Uh, unh.
"Ohh, fuck."
Getting closer.
"Fox? Ohhh, god. Now. Christ. Dammit. Now. Please..."
Almost.
And then, Russian. Mixed with English. Barely. Pleas, curses, moans,more
pleas, demands. Aha.
Houston, we have liftoff.
Condom on, check. Alex writhing, check. Alex pleading, check. Alex getting
pissed off, check. And then, inside him.
Three...
Two...
One...
I have got to learn Russian.
I made my way slowly, so damned slowly, until I was... god. Good. Sodamned
good. Apparently, he agreed. And rather breathlessly, too.
"Fucking took you long enough."
"Everybody's a critic."
Slow, steady, even thrusts which made me rather proud of my
self-control,then the carelessly deliberate roll of his ass under me and
bye-bye,control, hello, fucking meltdown.
My hand on him. My cock in him. More Russian.
A wail. His? Mine? Do I look like I care?
Strangled shouts, ours, I think, scalding wet heat pouring over my
hand, searing tension through the body beneath me, a clenching around my
cock, like he didn't intend to ever give it back, and then, I was coming.
Dear god.
Dear god, was I coming.
Shit.
And then, silence. Mostly. Except for the gasping, the thundering heartbeat,
the low groan.
And that was just me.
Why, you ask?
Apparently it's difficult for Alex to speak when he's shaking so hard he
can't breathe.
The drive back to the hotel passed in near-total
silence. And Alex never once looked at me. But his hand didn't leave mine,
which was resting on his thigh, and he let me shift gears as I needed to but
refused to let go for very long.
