Warp - Practice
by Amirin
I knew it. No, really, I did. I knew Mulder would be like this.
I knew it.
He's practically unconscious at the moment. It's a good look for him. He
collapsed at my side when I started laughing right after we'd fucked. I
couldn't help it. Oh, I wasn't laughing at him. Hell, no. I've got no reason
to laugh at him.
Things just strike me as funny, sometimes. Maybe one of these days I'll
tell him about some of them. But not today.
Damn.
I've got him.
I have really got him.
Shit, look at that grin. Sleepy, hazy, blissful, slightly smug. Hey, I can
let him be smug. No skin off my nose. Besides, it's good for him.
A soft kiss on my shoulder and he's down for the count. Oh, the things I
could do to him, right now. Staggering.
Don't go there, Alex.
Damn, I need a shower.
Maybe later, when he's awake. I don't want to disturb him. Not right now.
It's not too bad, you know. The post-coital lassitude, I mean. Not
entirely uncomfortable, this vulnerable, naked feeling. Still, it's not like I
don't know where every weapon in the room is, or anything. Christ, I'm not
stupid.
About earlier... You know, I liked the way he looked at me. No pity. Which
was good, 'cause I really fucking hate that. Lust was real good. Want was
even better. I still can't believe he admitted to it in a public park,though.
Jesus, Mulder.
I also liked the way he acted like he hadn't been touched in half of
forever, which kind of precluded anything naked and nasty happening between him
and Bald Mountain. I just might have to do something nice for Skinner.
Especially since I came so close to offing the bastard.
It was necessary to bring him into it, to watch Fox's back, but that didn't
mean I was just going to sit by and let him poach.
It started at the hockey game. All that fucking sympathy. Yeah, I noticed
when Mulder lost it. I was up in the booth, watching the action. What a view.
I owe Danny for that, too.
Danny. Christ, that's a whole 'nother story. One that could be chalked up
to vanity, maybe. Or something pathetic like insecurity. Pick one. I really
don't give a shit which.
I was actually on my way out of the arena, when he ran right into
me. Literally. Startled both of us, plus the guy behind him who took one look
at me and narrowed his eyes like he knew exactly who and what I was. I was
about to answer that challenge, when the man in front of me spoke. And I
looked at him.
Leather jacket. Large nose. Dark hair. Nice eyes. Not hazel, but still.
Young. Too fucking young. God, I've never been that young.
And he was apologizing, steadying me, hand on my arm. Kind of funny when
his eyes grew a little big the second he realized how hard it was.
I told him there'd been no harm done and he blurted out something like
'Yeah, I guess there wouldn't be' then turned about six shades of scarlet. I
managed to get in a chuckle of sorts before he launched into more apologies and
I shrugged off a 'Don't worry about it' of my own.
The guy behind him clapped a hand on his shoulder and said something about
getting back to the booth, eyes never getting much bigger than slits as he
glared at me. I couldn't help wondering what the hell I'd ever done to this
fuck, anyway, but the one who'd crashed into me stuck out his hand and
introduced himself.
Danny Rydell.
Fine, we can be civilized. You want civilized, I'll fucking give you
civilized.
Alex Krycek.
Yeah, now we're buddies, right?
Shit.
And then he was asking if I wanted to come with them, up to the booth.
I'd 'have to be quiet, they were broadcasting'. And 'could I do quiet'?
Where do I find these people?
I shrugged and said I thought I could handle quiet, said it wasn't
necessary, really, and paused just long enough for him to insist, right on cue,
good boy.
I admit, part of me accepted the invite just to see the look on the other
guy's face. Casey... something or other. Too fucking hilarious.
I followed Danny, Casey followed me, and I made several deliberate passes
over Danny's ass with my eyes, making sure that Casey saw me doing it. Sweet,
too fucking sweet. After a while, I quit baiting Casey. Danny's ass was nice
in its own right, I've got to tell you.
The booth was this amazing scene of crowded, controlled chaos, everything
and everyone working like sixty, and making no goddamned sense whatsoever to
anyone watching who didn't speak the language.
Kind of like the inside of Mulder's head, I'm willing to bet.
Danny introduced me to a few of the people there, Jeremy somebody, who was a
lot happier about getting this call than the last one, whatever the hell that
meant, a few of the guys running the boards and equipment, nice gear, and then
Casey got into my space.
And all I could think was please don't make me hurt you. Danny seems to
like you, and he's a decent sort, please don't make me hurt you.
I'll admit it, I got a little pissed. Opened up the jacket, resituated the
gun at my back, propped my foot up on a chair to check the ankle holster, moved
one of the knives to an inside pocket and flicked open the switch pick, just to
make sure it still worked, of course. Nothing more. Then, I went to the window
and asked Danny over my shoulder if I'd be in the way where I was.
Silence.
Beautiful, stunned silence. Broken only by Jeremy's faint 'Oookay'. And
Casey's not-so-faint 'Who the fuck is this guy?'. And Danny's hand on my
shoulder. I turned to face him with a huge smile, one of my personal best, if
his reaction was anything to go by.
And he told me I was fine.
Thanks for the vote, kid.
I paid attention to the little light that told people when to observe strict
silence and watched the game and the big goodbye and then dug out my own set of
binocs and saw Skinner with his hand on Mulder's shoulder, and those big hazel
eyes full of tears, and growled quietly to myself.
Prick.
God, I wanted Skinner dead. Really dead. Non-resurrectible, go toward the
light, taking the dirt-nap dead.
And decided to settle for making Casey go quietly insane, instead.
Which was its own reward, let me tell you.
The guys were packing the gear, and Danny was getting out of his mike and
earphone, and I waited til he seemed mostly done, and moved near
him, soundlessly even in boots, and asked if I could buy him dinner. To say
thank you for a hell of a night.
Deer in the headlights, I kid you not.
Shock, not fear. Which was good. Especially since Casey had apparently
cornered the market on fear.
I asked Danny if he liked Russian, he suggested Italian, and we settled on
Greek.
And I steered him out of the room while he tossed a 'See ya later, Case' at
the man sitting pole axed behind the anchor desk.
We headed out of the arena, avoided the crowds by walking down corridors
Danny knew about, went through some doors, then popped out onto the street.
I'd deliberately parked some ways away. I hate being trapped
anywhere, regardless, but in a crowd? After a hockey game? Especially
Gretzky's last? Please, I'm not insane. These people can be worse than soccer
fans.
Anyway, the night was fair and the walk was pleasant. We were heading past
Tiffany's, and I always look, can't help it, and saw the watches in the window.
The usual glitz and glamour, flash and ostentation. Ugh. And Danny caught the
sneer of total contempt on my face, touched my shoulder, and pointed to the end.
Okay, now that was the watch of a man who didn't have a goddamned thing to
prove. Subtle. Classy. Expensive. Perfect.
I grabbed his arm and dragged him inside, laughing, lost him over by the
cufflinks and tie tacks, and bought the watch, intending to give it to Mulder,
just to mess with his head. And looked over at Danny. And grinned. And
bought another. Just in case. If things went badly, I could always keep it
myself. Matching watches - how fucking cute was that?
Anyway, we headed out, I thanked him for seeing it, he grinned, and I led us
down the street.
And then Danny caught sight of the Auburn, which I'd been driving since I'd
gotten it out of storage, making sure it was good to go for Mulder.
It was fun watching all the wheels in his head try to add this to the
equation, the closer we got to it.
All he said was 'Sweet', but the grin on his face said a whole lot more. He
navigated to the restaurant, talking quietly but not a lot, which was sincerely
appreciated because I really hate chatter. Turns out we're both from
Connecticut and he's got to be one of about three people who have actually
heard of Riverview. Danny pointed out where to park, we got out, and he patted
the hood of the car when he came around to my side.
I knew I liked him.
The wait was short, the people knew him, talked with him, and looked
curiously at me while I ignored them and pretended to study the matted prints
on the walls.
His hand was on my back, leading me into a quiet corner, letting me take the
seat I wanted, no surprise when I took the gunfighter seat, keeping everything
and everyone in view.
I let him order and he didn't disappoint me. Food we could play with, food
we could share, food we could get each other hot over just by licking our
fingers.
Mulder would call it normal.
I'd call it a fucking revelation.
Two guys, having dinner.
Sounds simple enough, you'd think, right?
Wrong.
It was just a dry run. I had no feelings for Danny, really. It wasn't like
it mattered. But if I could fake my way through it, then I could probably
bring myself to do it with Fox.
And I don't mean dinner.
I'm talking about sex.
About letting another man see me, really see me, and not having him cringe.
Or flinch. Or look at me with sorrow or pity or all those other fucking
feelings I hate so much, in his eyes.
It was practice. And Danny was a nice guy. And if Casey was somewhere
grinding his perfectly capped-for-TV teeth over it, well, so much the better.
So, yes, I caught, and thoroughly enjoyed, the look on Danny's face when I
tongued humous off my fingers. And he grinned back at me when I arched a
silent eyebrow after feeling the side of his foot stroke my leg.
Pistachio and-rice pudding, complete with plenty of spoon-licking, finished
dinner, but I wouldn't have called it dessert.
Danny was dessert.
Danny was also staying in The Plaza. And guess who was staying in the
adjoining room next to him?
Casey.
Sometimes, it's wonderful to be me.
I paid for dinner with cash and Danny didn't so much as blink when he saw
the roll of money I was still carrying, even after getting the watches. Good
boy.
We headed back to the car, got in, and he leaned over and kissed me. With
some care and caution, yes, but no hesitation at all.
Christ, the man was thorough. I pulled away carefully with a 'hold that
thought' and got us back to the hotel.
He didn't even check his messages.
I knew I liked him.
We made it to the room in record time, which was two floors below Mulder's.
Convenient.
I unloaded just about everything potentially lethal onto the dresser,caught
his look of bemusement, and grinned. He grinned back and wondered aloud 'Do I
even want to ask you what you do for a living?'. I answered 'No' and he seemed
content to let it slide.
Trusting fool.
Nice guy.
Shit.
He got mostly-naked damned quickly, then seemed to freeze, not wanting to
help me if I didn't welcome it. I didn't need the help, true enough, but I
sure as hell needed the practice. Letting another man undress me without any
flinching of my own was pretty fucking necessary. And he was careful, even with
the arm. His eyes only got a little wide when it came off and he looked at me
with those eyebrows which seemed to form natural question marks all by
themselves.
He grinned when I winked, reassured, and asked the question with his eyes
when he saw the scarring. I said nothing. He was smart enough not to push it.
Good boy.
And the look on his face... not pity. Not grief. Anger. Seriously. It
surprised the hell out of me. I had to look twice to make sure it wasn't
revulsion. He looked at me and sighed. And shrugged. And spoke. And floored
me.
Not 'I'm sorry'.
Not 'What a shame'.
No, not Danny.
You know what he said?
'I know people'.
And I thought, Jesus H. Christ, kid, so do I. Believe me, you don't want
to meet them.
'In medicine' he said, perfectly serious. And explained.
Not your normal, shady-government-hybridizing-cloning-mad-scientist's-laboratory type
medicine, either, oh, no, not Danny. Sports Medicine. Experimental stuff.
State-of-the-fucking-art medicine.
The kind of medicine that lets track stars with limbs lost to accidents,run
marathons again. Archers with no more than three fingers, total, set records.
Swimmers with only one natural arm, break new times. There's a whole fucking
Olympic community for people like me, and he knew them. And their doctors.
I silently swore to myself that I would never hurt Casey, no matter how
tempting. That was really the best I could offer in return.
He got a piece of hotel stationary, wrote down some names. And places. And
just nodded when I said I had my own doctor, told me to have him check these
people out. Folded it up and stuck it in my pocket. Right before he finished
stripping me naked and tackling me to the bed.
He was all over me, everything, everywhere, god. So fucking hard and hot
and perfect and all over me. And part of me wanted to keep him. Really. I
mean, he was a public figure, a nationally televised sports anchor for the love
of Christ, and I wanted to keep him. And thought that if it were half as good
with Mulder as it was gearing up to be with Danny, I was in deep shit.
The kid was joyful, ecstatic, enthusiastic, didn't wait for me to respond, or
protest, didn't wait to see if anything wasn't good or right, just swept over
me like a horned-out puppy dog and brought me screaming into the pillow in no
time. And laughed. Not at me, either. In delight. Sheer, unadulterated
delight. Then, he just kicked back, relaxed, and let me ravish him. Instant
surrender, no fight, no contest of will or strength,just encouragement, more
laughter, some loud, gleeful howls, and his hands fucking everywhere. Then
he pulled away, looked at me thoughtfully, and grinned.
'Hey, Alex? Tonight, you don't have one hand. You've got three, put 'em
wherever the hell you want 'em.'
Okay, so it was as close to crying as I've come in the last couple of
decades.
And I took him up on it. It was almost like using him to masturbate, but
yet... not. Things I hadn't been able to do to, with, or for myself in fucking
years and he just let me... do them. Use him. Gladly.
Shit.
I made some mildly sarcastic comment about how well he took direction and he
just burst into laughter and said something along the lines of 'Well, duh. I
work in television, you asshole'.
He let me use his hands as my own until we brought me to orgasm again, then
pounced. Only fair. After all, it was his turn.
I really could've gotten used to it. You know?
And so it went, until some obscene hour of the very early morning and I had
to leave him. Not that I wanted to, but I had to.
I left behind the watch and a note, which simply said thank you. And that
he was a class act, which he sure as hell was. And I got my stuff together
quietly and left him, sleeping, sated, and snoring.
I paused out in the hallway. Stepped up and knocked on Casey's door. It
opened far too quickly for the person on the other side to have been asleep and
suddenly, there he was. Angry. Scared. Hurt. Worried.
The worried got to me.
I told him that Danny was fine. Was more than fine. Danny was fucking
incredible, all right? And that he'd better take damned good care of him.
He just nodded and said, very softly, that he would. I told him that Danny
was his. All his. And then I left to the sound of a door closing quietly.
And headed up to Mulder's suite.
I had to brace myself before going into the room I knew had to be Skinner's.
Mulder never snored like a fucking buzz saw. But god help Skinner if Mulder
was in that bed with him.
Luckily for Skinner, he wasn't.
I went into Fox's room. Unconscious, passed-out,
almost-fully-clothed, drunk. I straightened things up, left what I needed to,
tucked him in a little better, and fought an ugly battle with myself to keep
from touching him anymore than necessary. Let alone staying there with him.
Then, I took off.
I can look at Fox, now, here, with me, and I'm grateful. To Danny. I don't
know if this would've happened without him. And I'm damned glad it worked out.
I wasn't at all sure it would, not with my track record. And maybe, sometime,
if I get a quiet moment, I'll ask Chae to check out Danny's list of names and
places. And get myself an arm that looks like it was put together in the last
decade.
Maybe.
If.
Sometime.
You know, for a guy who used to measure his future in days, I find I'm
suddenly optimistic.
Well, now. That could possibly have gone better. But I honestly don't see how.
