Title: "From this nettle, we pluck this flower"
Email address: firstname.lastname@example.org
Archive: DO NOT ARCHIVE ANYWHERE! NO EXCEPTIONS!
Alternate ending to Tunguska
Spoilers: Anasazi, Paper Clip, and Tunguska Disclaimers: Krycek
and Skinner most unfortunately do not belong to me. No copyright
infringement is intended.
Notes: Rating and classification mean what they say, please do
not read if you are under 18 or offended by m/m sex. Endless thanks
to Jamwired, my beta and (far more importantly) best friend, this
one is for her.
"From this nettle, we pluck this flower" by Arsenic
Krycek held the glare until he was certain that Skinner was out
of viewing range. Given that certainty, he proceeded to double
up as far as he could without pulling his wrist out of the socket
and moaned into his knees. He stayed like that, trying to regulate
his breathing for several moments on end. Eventually, the dark
swirls lurking in his brain started to die down, and the pain
became a hum, making its presence known in his body, rather than
a bright point of unadulterated agony. Able to straighten up with
some effort, Krycek went back to glaring in the direction of the
apartment. *So much for being a fair player, eh, Skinner? I wasn't
precisely in a position to fight back, now, was I?* Unfortunately,
the part of his mind that he was trying his best to ignore was
well aware that it was fair play, just different for being defined
by revenge as a motive. After all, Skinner hadn't precisely had
a chance to fight back in the stairwell, had he? //We're not even
yet, boy.// Krycek sighed and gave up glaring, it wasn't much
fun when nobody was there to see it anyway.
Skinner saw Mulder out and went into the kitchen to make some
coffee. Krycek was right about one thing, it was frigid out there.
Just the few seconds he had spent on the balcony made him wish
he had taken the time to put on a shirt and some socks. He poured
heated water into a clean mug and stirred in the tiny coffee granules.
Pressing his hands against the mug, he brought the heat up near
to his face. He drank the coffee slowly, one small sip after the
other. He concentrated on the heat, deep almond scent, and satisfyingly
bitter taste, carefully keeping his mind from the man who, in
all likelihood, was busy contracting hypothermia on his balcony.
*Jesus, Walter, a couple of inches to the side and you could have
killed him....* He wondered whether the miss had been accidental,
or there had been some remnants of sanity lingering with him in
those moments after Mulder had closed the door. He desperately
hoped it was the latter. It was comforting to think that he was
somewhat in control of his own actions.
*Of course you're in control; what else is keeping you from going
out there and killing the little shit, do you think?* Unfortunately,
therein lied the problem. It wasn't that he was actively keeping
himself from going out there and beating Krycek into a bloody
mess, it was that, now, having released the majority of his hostility,
it didn't even seem all that attractive anymore. Skinner shook
his head, *You're getting soft.* He set the cup in the sink, promising
himself he would clean it in the morning and headed to the bed
he had vacated at Mulder's knock.
*You have such a nice way of saying thank you, Mulder.* It was
the fifth or sixth variation he'd come up with on the theme of
Mulder as an ingrate in the hour (two hours? he was having trouble
telling) that he'd spent on the balcony. The venom was missing
though. Krycek's mind brought up a picture of the scales of justice:
on one side was Bill Mulder; the other had a couple of receipts
and a black rock in it. The scales tipped towards Mulder. *Man,
oh man, we are being maudlin this evening, aren't we?* Krycek
would have been tempted to smack the voice in his head, had he
had a tangible target. *I'm freezing, I haven't eaten in over
forty eight hours, and everybody seems to have gone out and bought
a game of _let's beat the shit out of Krycek;, I'm allowed to
be fucking maudlin if I want. Or anything else for that matter.*
Krycek made a face; fighting with one's self was not a pastime
for the sane in his opinion. Especially seeing that he imagined
Mulder as doing it all the time. Aware that he couldn't feel himself
making the exasperated face, Krycek gingerly tried flexing the
fingers in each hand. It took a while, but he managed to pry the
hand holding his coat away and restore circulation. He bit his
lip to keep from moaning at the vicious needles jabbing every
millimeter of the skin's surface on that hand. A moment later,
he was praying for those needles to make a repeat appearance on
his other hand. No such luck. *Shit, please let me have a hand
by morning, please.* He didn't take the time to wonder who he
was asking. As he saw it, the fact that he had been an atheist
since childhood had nothing to do with the fact that he had a
tendency to appeal to a higher power in emergency situations.
Exhausted, Krycek burrowed his good hand in the folds of his jacket,
pulling his body into as fetal a position as could be reached.
Letting his head droop into his body, he began to breathe heavily
in and out. His breath was scorching against the bare skin of
his fingers and neck, diffusing a mild warmth through his body.
He wondered how long he could keep this up before he passed out
from oxygen deprivation. Then again, passing out didn't seem like
such a horrid idea at the moment.
Skinner jolted up, unsure of what had awoken him. Calming his
breathing, he listened for anything out of the ordinary. It didn't
take him long to hear what sounded like a muted human shout. *What
the...SHIT!!!* Skinner flew out of bed and down the stairs, practically
ripping the door to the balcony off the track. *If anyone has
heard you, you are dead Krycek, dead.* He was just about to tell
the former agent to shut the hell up when he caught sight of Krycek's
face. He was screaming alright, but not for aid in escaping Skinner.
The older man could have sworn he was listening to Krycek's verbal
attempt at escaping whatever black-souled angels his subconscious
was conjuring. Skinner leaned over and gave the man a firm shake.
Krycek's neck snapped back at the same moment his eyes popped
open. Seeing the large figure standing over him, he began to claw
with his free arm and kick. The fact that his other arm was not
free was sending him into a panic. Skinner easily defeated his
struggles, the other man's arms and legs not responding to neural
commands as they usually would in their present frozen state.
Pinning the flailing limbs with one hand, Skinner grasped the
back of Krycek's head with the other and forced him to focus on
the older man. Skinner started to speak in low, soothing tones,
not wanting to worsen the sheer terror evident in the dilated
eyes of the man chained to his balcony.
"Krycek, Alex, it's ok; you're safe; nobody can find you
here. Do you remember where you are? This is my apartment. We're
on the seventeenth floor, nobody can get to you here...."
He kept going, mumbling the words, not questioning why he was
doing it. After all, he had to keep Krycek calm, didn't he? Wouldn't
want the neighbors inquiring. And the fact that he wanted nothing
more than to hold Krycek and force him to believe that he was
safe and cared for was a normal AD thing, wasn't it? After all,
Alex had been one of his agents at one point...G-d Alex's eyes
were mind-blowing, even in the midst of a panic attack. The green
glittered even against the pre-dawn darkness. *What the hell,
Walter? Why are you thinking about Krycek's eyes?* Well, he stepped
in to defend himself, he had been staring at them for some time
now in an effort to calm the younger man. Idly, he wondered if
the Guinness Book of World Records had a page for self-delusion.
"Ok, it's ok, shhhh, you're safe....." The words were
starting to penetrate the fear. Krycek was relieved to feel his
breathing slow and sanity peek in to see if it was okay to return.
He hated the dark. Ever since North Dakota (his mind skittered
around actually voicing the word), he slept with the lights on.
It had not gone unnoticed by him or his subconscious that the
streetlights were seventeen floors down. His eyes focused, and
Krycek recognized the speaker of the words he had been hanging
onto as something of a lifeline. *What the...?* Krycek could say
with a fair amount of confidence that next to Scully, Walter Skinner
was the LAST person on earth he would expect to take pity on him.
Feeling the large hands sturdily pinning him to the concrete base
of the balcony and forcing his head forward, Krycek involuntarily
flinched, remembering his last contact of a physical nature with
this man. He was surprised to find himself ashamed at the grimace
that passed over Skinner's features.
"Glad to see you with us again," the voice was gruff
and carried not the smallest hint of sarcasm. Krycek fought down
the urge to respond with a smart-ass comment.
"Th-thank y-you," he stuttered the words through badly
chattering teeth. It was a moment before either of them moved.
Skinner got up and walked inside, and Krycek attempted to curl
up again, planning strategies of staying awake. He was too shocked
to do anything but gape when Skinner returned to the balcony,
handcuff key in hand. With a gentleness that Krycek would not
have guessed existed in the ex-marine, Skinner unlocked the cuff
and brought the hand down to where blood could reach it, but refused
to let go. Strong, almost too-warm fingers moved in delicate circles,
avoiding the chafed area, revitalizing sensation in the palm and
each of his fingers. *I should struggle, try and get out of here;
he's in boxers, no gun; I could do it...* Krycek wondered who
he thought he was kidding; boxers or no, the AD was twice Krycek's
size and had probably eaten and slept a hell of a lot better than
himself of late. Besides, reluctant as he may have been to admit
it, he had missed physical affection. Skinner may merely have
been trying to help him keep his hand, but the last time anyone
had touched him to do something besides hit him had been months
ago. To give up the comfort of this moment in a futile attempt
at escape was asking too much.
"C'mon," the deep, even voice intruded on his musings.
"Let's get you inside."
Without letting go of Krycek's wrist, Skinner stood up and pulled
the other man's arm around his waist. He deftly lifted his unoccupied
arm around the smaller man's shoulders and proceeded to support
a very wobbly Krycek into the apartment. They got as far as the
couch where Skinner set him down and pulled back to think what
his next step was going to be. He was on autopilot now; Krycek
was no longer Krycek, just a man in very bad need of warmth and
no doubt a couple of painkillers. Or at least that was what the
voice of justification kept repeating over and over in his mind.
Skinner had thrown on a bathrobe and slippers when he had gone
to get the key to the cuffs. Nonetheless, he was well on his way
to frigidity. He was willing to assume that, having been out there
for three and a half hours, Krycek had probably passed that landmark
a while back.
Skinner formed a warm-up plan and turned on his heel to start
with the execution before realizing who sat on his couch. He turned
back around and approached the sofa briskly, pulling the cuffs
out of his robe pocket. He was busy locking the cuff to the wrist
that wasn't bleeding when he made the mistake of looking up. Krycek's
eyes were sporting a wariness that he hadn't seen in rape victims,
war veterans, or any of the other countless people he'd come into
contact with over the years. At the same time, those eyes were
surrounded by a sickly purple flush that suggested an advanced
state of mental and physical exhaustion. Skinner removed the cuff
and stood up, looming over the other man. The wariness, impossibly,
went up a notch.
"Can I have your word that I will find you here when I return?"
*You're going to trust HIS word?? Are you fucking insane?? What
was in that coffee??* Krycek nodded and Skinner turned to leave.
*Skinner just asked me for my word. Nobody trusts my word. Nobody.
I don't even trust my word.* All the same, it seemed vital to
him in that moment that he keep it. He told himself that it was
because he was too damn cold and hungry to bother with getting
up and sneaking out of this place. It seemed like a reasonable
excuse. He didn't want to think about the look he had seen in
Skinner's eyes when he had asked. The grudging tenderness. *I
don't want his pity.* It hadn't been, though. Pity was a simple
emotion, one could feel it for any given stranger. Tenderness,
that was different, personal. It denoted caring, stock in the
other person.... *You're letting your imagination run more wild
than Mulder's mouth.* Krycek drew a breath in at the approach
of footsteps and let it out only when he saw the large feet and
body to whom they belonged. Skinner had shed the robe and slippers,
once again wearing only boxers. The expelled breath caught at
the sight of Walter's firm upper and lower body physique. His
somewhat sluggish heartbeat started quickening in attention to
his body's response. *Oh, Jesus, Alexei, not him, talk about safety
in the unattainable.*
"I ran you a bath."
Krycek was trying to remember the last time anything had sounded
quite that good. Nothing much was coming to mind.
"Do you think you can make it there yourself?"
Krycek nodded, having serious doubts as to just how truthful he
was being. He pushed himself off the immensely comfortable sofa
and focused every ounce of strength and coordination on reaching
the stairs. Mentally, he gave himself a pat on the back when he
made it; he grasped the rail and prepared to physically haul himself
up the stairs. He felt a warm hand gently supporting his back
and practically fell back into it. Skinner didn't say anything,
just pushed him up the stairs carefully and slowly. Krycek's head
was spinning when they reached the top. Things that looked suspiciously
like fairies seemed to have gotten in his eyes. He reached up
to rub them away, throwing his balance off. Skinner caught him
halfway on his trip to the floor and lifted him, intent on carrying
him to the bathroom. Krycek was dimly aware that the situation
should have been beyond humiliating. Unfortunately his brain was
too busy being chewed on by tiny rodents who also seemed to have
found a badly tuned piano somewhere to walk over. He barely felt
it when his jacket was pulled from his arms, followed by his shirt
being pulled over his head. As his body slid below the water's
surface, it came to him that Skinner had decided to roast him
to death. He wondered at the fact that he didn't mind, but was
too busy enjoying the extreme heat to pay attention to these queries.
Skinner divested the younger man of his clothes as quickly as
possible, trying not to pay attention to the tight muscles, slim
hips, and well formed, long legs. He couldn't help noticing the
chill and intense white of the other man's skin which spurred
him on to even greater rapidity. Picking him back up, noticing
yet again that the action was not as much of a strain as it should
have been, Skinner gradually placed the somewhat limp body into
the hot water. The other man moaned and looked up for a minute
with a milder form of the expression Skinner had observed upon
waking him up.
"Relax, I'm just trying to warm you up, that's all,"
the words seemed to reach their intended target as the pasty-white
eyelids slid back closed over lethargic eyes. Skinner waited a
few moments, making sure there was no danger of drowning and headed
out to the kitchen where he started a pot of coffee and searched
the cabinet for some kind of canned soup. He pulled one out triumphantly
and put the pre-prepared liquid in a pot to boil. Having accomplished
what he had set out to do, Skinner returned to the bathroom, telling
himself the eagerness he was experiencing was in no way connected
with the fact that Alex Krycek was naked in his bathtub.
He opened the bathroom door and shut it softly behind him. Feeling
very much the voyeur, he took a moment to examine the face of
the man sleeping in his bath. It was like looking at a portrait
of the young agent assigned to him fresh out of the academy. The
seeming innocence, youthful beauty, and intelligence were all
there. But like the picture of Dorian Gray, this portrait was
starting to mar as well. Skinner watched as the face twisted slightly,
a whimper escaping the perfectly formed, sensual lips. It wasn't
evil that marred the portrait, more just pain...vulnerability.
The subconscious version of the wariness he had seen this man
wear like a bullet-proof vest. Skinner found himself hoping it
had offered this man half as much protection against the emotional
bullets he was taking. The sounds he was making in his sleep made
it evident that idea was as far from the truth as most of Scully's
rational explanations. A cry escaped from Krycek and he began
to toss, splashing Skinner with the now lukewarm water. Stepping
closer, he extended both arms and tightened his hands around Krycek's
biceps. The smooth skin beneath his fingertips, once again close
to regular body temperature, sent white hot lightning bolts dancing
in his palms.
The contact was enough to wake Krycek up. His lifestyle was one
that was in no way conducive to being a heavy sleeper. It surprised
him that he hadn't woken when Skinner had re-entered the room.
*You're getting soft.* The mental reprimand was drowned out by
the feeling of Skinner's hands against his arms. He hadn't thought
anything could feel better than the bath. *Wrong again, Alexei.*
Very, very wrong. Insanely, he wanted more. *This is Skinner,
you idiot. He would probably rather fuck Drew Carey than so much
as hold hands with you. He's just being his usual, honorable self.*
It was on the tail end of that rather dampening thought that Alex
found himself rising up to meet Skinner's lips with his.
It was soft at first, almost virginal. That was until Skinner,
not pushing him back and beating the shit out of him, made Alex
bold. Alex opened his mouth fractionally to take Skinner's lower
lip between his teeth, sucking, enjoying the slight coffee flavoring
of the other man's mouth. Gently tugging at the lip, he succeeded
in opening Skinner's mouth enough to insert the tip of his tongue.
He found the other man's tongue with his and began a gradual seduction
of the receptive mouth. Bringing the hand he didn't need to support
himself up, Alex stroked the back of the other man's head, down
to the slope of his neck.
Without warning, Skinner's tongue began an offensive, delving
into Krycek's mouth, wringing a surprised and thoroughly satisfied
gasp from the smaller man. Hooking his hands underneath Krycek's
arm, he lifted him from the tub with surprisingly little effort
and no thought whatsoever of breaking the kiss. Skinner was left
wondering how Krycek had managed to move his mouth to the hollow
of his neck. There didn't seem to be much of a reason to complain
though, so he let Krycek do what he wanted. The kisses kept moving
further from his mouth.
It was Skinner's turn to gasp as Krycek's teeth nibbled playfully
on one nipple. Trailing kisses across the wide expanse of chest,
Krycek copied the teasing actions of his mouth on the second nipple.
The heat of Krycek's mouth left the small, painfully hard bud,
and seconds later, Skinner's eyes widened as he felt the soft
heat of Krycek's tongue exploring his navel. Just as he was about
to grab the wet, practically nonexistent hair on the top of the
other's head and force him downwards, Skinner jumped at the feel
of Krycek's tongue meeting the tip of his cock. He wondered momentarily
how it was that he was no longer wearing boxers, but his mind
was too unraveled to hold onto the thought. Krycek brought his
arms up and wrapped them around Skinner's torso, steadying the
older man. The tongue in question made slow deliberate circles
around the head, getting bigger and bigger with each rotation.
Skinner tried to remember how to breathe as Krycek's mouth slid
around the head, the tongue still rotating. Krycek moved in a
fraction closer and began slowly pushing his own hips back and
forth, tormenting himself with the friction of Skinner's leg against
Krycek's ascent was slow, making Skinner want to scream and force
himself down the other man's throat. Krycek reached the root of
the shaft and Skinner nearly passed out from the feeling of the
other man's throat constricting around his cock. In simple, slow
motions, Krycek rocked back and forth on the other man's penis,
tongue tickling under the shaft. He moaned through the obstruction.
*Fuck breathing.* Skinner placed his hands on either side of the
other man's face and came, throwing his head back and screaming.
No more than seconds after he began, Krycek came, a mixture of
fire and hard ocean waves crashing against his skull in maddening
reverberations of pleasure.
It took several moments for any trace of sanity to return. When
it did, Skinner let go of Krycek's face, allowing the younger
man to slide into a boneless heap on the floor. Still standing,
if not by much, Skinner reached over to grab the unused wash cloth
on the side of the tub, wet it in the sink, and rinsed the other
man's skin in calming circular gestures.
Alex lay there, allowing the ministrations, trying to sort through
what had just happened. Had this been what Skinner had been after
when he had taken Alex from the balcony? If so, what drove him
to the consideration he was still showing Alex? *Damn it, Alexei,
it felt good, that's all that matters!! You got something out
of it; he got something out of it; who cares why it happened?*
Only it did matter, because at the moment, Skinner was reminding
him what respect felt like, something he had forced himself to
forget years ago.
When Skinner finished, he quickly cleaned himself. Worried that
Alex would catch a chill from the increasingly cold bathroom tiles,
he helped the other man up and after rubbing him down with a towel,
threw him in the smallest pair of sweats he had been able to find.
Walter watched in admiration as the other man dressed. He laughed
at the finished picture. When Alex looked at him curiously he
"I was considering whether I'd be able to find you in those
if you got lost," he said, inclining his head towards the
sweats. Alex caught his own reflection in the mirror and began
to laugh as well. The two men made their way to the kitchen where
the coffee sat ready and the soup boiled rather vigorously.
"I've never heard you laugh before, you have a nice laugh."
It was an understatement, Skinner had wanted him to laugh for
hours just so he could sit and listen.
"I could say the same about you, sir."
"Walter." Alex shrugged at the obvious request and sat
at the table, digging into the soup. The conversation was put
on hold while he worked his way through three bowls of soup, two
pieces of toast and a cup of coffee. Walter leaned against the
counter, watching him eat, silently making sure he'd gotten enough.
"Thanks," it came out softly, tentatively. "It's
kind of been awhile," Alex said, motioning to the food. Walter
didn't tell him that he had assumed so from the other man's seeming
lack of body weight. "And, uh, you know...for the bath and
these," his hands flitted over the loose fitting sweats and
he smiled. Walter wasn't sure what god kept him conscious after
seeing a smile like that, but he was willing to pay homage to
whichever one claimed the miracle as his own.
"Thank you." He was silent for a minute. Sensing that
Alex was about to make some snide comment about his past deeds,
he went on. "For the best blowjob of my life." That
shut Alex up. For a bit anyway.
"You're welcome...you don't dance around a subject much,
huh?" That smile again. He was perched on the corner of his
seat, a panther, unsure of which direction to run. Walter stepped
closer, causing Krycek to jump up, startled. Walter smiled and
crossed to sit in the seat still radiating Alex's warmth. He pulled
Alex to him easily, positioning him on one leg. Alex closed his
eyes. He wanted this. The heat of Walter's breath against his
neck, the long, thick fingers caressing his own, the affectionate
look that Walter had thrown his way before dragging him over.
These were things he had long considered unattainable, too precious
for him. Relationships were a lot like crystal, something beautiful
that he was prone to breaking. He should get up and cross the
room. Walter wouldn't force him. In fact, he would probably do
something unbearably wonderful like chain him back to the balcony
so that he could hate the man. Only it wouldn't work. Because
those "warm thoughts" that AD Skinner had spoken of
hours earlier, he had given all of those to Alex in this night.
Tomorrow Mulder would come and beat him and things would be back
to normal; why shouldn't he do this? Why didn't he deserve this?
Because he had murdered and lied and cheated, and the man who
was offering him bliss had done none of these things. Or at least
not out of the context of war, which was entirely different.
"Alex, if it makes it better, you can think of it as me making
up to you for tonight."
But see, that was the problem; Walter didn't owe him for tonight.
Tonight had merely been an eye for an eye. He looked back at the
man whose leg he was probably putting to sleep. The stern brown
eyes had softened; they were waiting, anxious for an answer. He
wanted Alex to stay with him for the remainder of the evening;
there was no doubt betrayed in the brown reflecting pools. It
made the decision so simple. Alex leaned back slowly and curled
up against the chest of the much larger man. He closed his eyes
and concentrated on the sensation of Walter's chest rising and
falling. Walter reached around and pulled Alex into an embrace,
accidentally hugging his stomach. The groan that came out of Alex
was so instinctive he heard it before he realized he had done
"I'm sorry, Alex." He pulled the shirt over Alex's head
tossing it aside and bent his head to kiss the stomach area. Laying
Alex on the table, he covered the almost fully-formed bruise with
butterfly kisses so as not to hurt him. He lifted his head, still
leaning over Alex. "I want to make love to you, Alex Krycek."
"Alexei," he said and just nodded his head, transfixed
by the way Walter was looking at him like he was exquisite, something
of value. Walter walked away and reappeared moments later with
condoms and a tube of something that Alex could only assume was
lube. He left both on the table beside them and returned his full
attention to kissing Alex. Alex was amazed by the way the coffee
they had both drank seemed that much more delicious as a flavor
of Walter Skinner's mouth. Walter's tongue skimmed Alex's mouth,
exploring, always returning to entwine with Alex's. Walter's fingers
pinched the nipples below with no real strength, just enough to
draw their sensitivity to a peak. Alex was practically hyperventilating
into Walter's mouth. Walter smiled into the kiss and broke away.
Soothing his hand through the dark shorn hair, Walter let his
eyes glaze over to match those of the man lying on his kitchen
"You're stunning when you're like this, Alexei." Walter
barely had the breath for the words as he removed Alex's pants
and slid his own boxers down, toeing them off. Alex, no longer
able to wait, grabbed the older man's head and with a strength
he was unaware he still possessed, pulled Walter's lips back onto
his. Walter returned to his languorous teasing of Alex's nipples
until they were so hard Alex screamed at the sensation of Walter's
fingernail scraping the surface. Satisfied with his work, Walter
reached for the lube and spread a fair amount onto his hand. Alex
practically fell off the table in the first moment when Walter's
hand closed around his cock. When Walter began running his hand
up and down the shaft Alex struggled merely to maintain his hold
onto the table's edges.
His other hand slicked with the lube, Walter introduced a finger
into Alex's ass. Seeing that Alex was too entranced by what was
going on with his cock to really notice, Walter slid in a second
finger. Alex noticed this time, tensing slightly. Walter took
his hand off Alex's cock, ignoring the groan of disappointment.
Briefly, he wiped his free hand on the towel he had laid next
to the supplies then used the now-dry hand to massage Alex's upper
body into relaxing. Fingers moved along the rib cage, up his neck,
and through his hair. It wasn't long before Walter felt the release
of tension and began to move his fingers in and out, scissoring
open and close. He twisted his hand ever so slightly so that his
knuckle brushed across the prostate. Alex screamed and ended up
with his head dangling off the other side of the table. Laughing,
Walter pulled him back, deftly inserting a third finger. Alex
moaned and attempted to push himself farther onto this newest
Walter decided he was ready. Alex caught his hand in a death grip
as he removed his fingers, and he firmly pried the other man's
hand off of his so he could roll the condom on and lubricate his
cock. He returned to the end of the table where Alex waited with
such expectancy that Walter could only smile. Draping Alex's legs
over his shoulder's he positioned himself at the opening and slowly
pushed his way in, keeping his hands firmly on Alex's hips to
prevent any thoughts of rebellion, intent on being the one to
control the pace of entry.
Carefully, he shifted postions inside Alex, angling himself to
build the level of pleasure quickly rising in the man below him.
The first feel of his cock pushing insistently against the prostate
had Alex practically sobbing at the ecstasy of it. Walter's grin
reappeared but his speed stayed constant. Alex struggled against
the hands holding his hips in a death grip, not caring if he bruised,
desperate to push himself further onto the other man's cock. It
seemed an eternity before Walter's entry stopped, his pubic hair
tickling Alex's ass. Alex brought his hands up from the edge of
the table, tempted to maul Walter when he began to withdraw. The
temptation only lasted seconds, ending when Alex was forced to
concentrate on the exquisite torture of the rhythm Walter was
setting. The now free hands found their way to Walter's chest,
running at a leisurely pace up and down the sleek muscles. Alex's
pleasure-fevered mind wondered how a man so seemingly perfect
as Walter could find gratification in the flawed specimen he saw
himself as being.
"Walter," it was the voice of a man who very much wanted
to kill the nearest living thing if he didn't get his way. "FASTER!!"
Walter grinned and gave in to Alex's demand, sliding up and down
quickly, feeling him through with each thrust. Walter looked down
at the gorgeous man so completely under his spell and tried to
remember how he had gotten this lucky. Taking one hand off of
Alex's hip, he returned to the stroking he had started before
until the man underneath him was writhing and pleading incoherently.
"Please, Please, WALTER!!! Pleeease...."
"Please what, Alexei?"
"FINISH!!!" Walter's only response was to grunt and
increase strength behind each thrust and the speed at which it
came. He leaned back down and kissed Alex in a way that was sure
to leave bruises. Neither man cared, each one's touch driving
the other man to a blissful insanity. Unable to hold out any longer,
Skinner lightly scraped Alex's cock and squeezed gently in a manner
that had Alex coming and screaming so loudly that Walter was quite
sure he would be missing his voice come morning. Walter let go
of the cock in his hand upon seeing Alex come and come hard, high
off the other man's intense pleasure.
Several moments later, Walter sank back into the chair in which
this had all started. Alex had a conversation with his legs about
the way they were supposed to work and managed to make his way
to the towels at the sink and back, cleaning both of them slowly
and thoroughly. Walter leaned down to kiss his forehead and allowed
his lips to linger over the skin.
"That was amazing." Alex shivered at the feel of Walter's
breath against his forehead.
"That's all you have to say for it?" Walter leaned back
and shook his head.
"Can't argue with you there." They sat silent for moments
on end, holding each other's hands, Walter staring at Alex's fingers,
Alex staring at Walter's chest. Abruptly, Walter stood up and
disengaged one hand from Alex's.
"Come." Alex did. He was surprised to find himself in
Skinner's bedroom seconds later.
"I can sleep on the couch." This was too much. To be
held while he was sleeping...he couldn't do it; if he did it this
once, it would be too much to give up.
"No, you can't." Alex recognized the AD tone of voice
and knew the thought that accompanied it: this is my house, and
you are my guest/prisoner, and I plan on getting my way. Alex
shrugged, his body and mind several stages beyond exhaustion,
and crawled into bed as far away from Walter's side as possible.
Walter smiled silently at the last ditch attempt and laid down
in the bed, moving to where Alex was practically falling off and
pulling him into the middle. Alex had no defense against it. A
physical fight would have been mere foolishness and Walter felt
like love and perfection and all the other storybook tales read
to children. Sighing, Alex pressed his back into Walter's chest
and pulled Walter's arms even tighter around his body, laying
his hands over the other man's. Not even noticing the darkness
of the room, Alex closed his eyes and fell into thoughtless sleep.
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