Alex Krycek belongs to TenThirteen Productions. No copyright infringement intended.


NC17 for graphic sex


Summary: Alex thinks about a first aniversary he and Jess share.


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Loup Garou XII - Anniversary


By Shael (


Completed December 16th, 1997


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I feel the bed shift underneath me. It feels strange, sleeping in a bed next to my life mate. In my time living with the rats, I never thought I would experience anything as normal at this again. I was wrong, and happily so. But it is hard to erase a year's worth of memories with two week's worth, even when those two weeks are of perfect bliss. And it isn't just sexual satisfaction, although that is a big part of it. Some of it is just the companionship of my kind, a werewolf like myself. Some of it is the fact that I am no longer running for my life. That's not exactly true, but at least I'm not wandering endlessly like I have in my past. And some of it is, for the first time in my life, finding true love and someone who returns it, despite knowing everything I've done.


Through the thick curtain of my eyelashes, I watch her. Few people realize that I can look like I am asleep, but am watching through the narrowestly slitted eyes. It has saved my life more than once even when human, appearing helpless but ready to spring into action in a split second. Jess is sitting up in the bed, thinking with a sad expression on her face, the one she hides when she suspects someone is looking at her. She has been like this all day, deep in thought, wrestling with her emotions, but keeping quiet about her struggle. She looks down at me, to reassure herself that I am still asleep. I am curious, so I pretend to be unconscious.


She comes to a decision. I watch Jess as she gets out of the bed, swiftly and silently, like the predator she is. She is so graceful, so beautiful, although she would never let herself see it. Jess opens the door to the closet, glancing back at me when the door creaks. I continue to feign sleep. She reaches up and pulls a beat up book off the shelves. Then she pads silently out of the room. I follow, as quietly as she, shivering as I leave the warmth of the bed. When the light in the livingroom flicks on, I stop, hidden in the shadows of the bedroom door. I watch as she walks to the kitchen.


She returns from the kitchen carrying a shot glass and a bottle of vodka. That is a bad sign. She rarely drinks, and then nothing stronger than beer or wine. The vodka is mine, the one indulgence in my Russian heritage I allow myself. She pours a shot and sits it on the table. Then she sits on the couch, her back to me, but I can see her clearly in the decorative mirror on the wall. After reading one page in the book for several minutes, Jess lifts the shot glass, staring past it into the distance, a silent toast. She stays that way for a few minutes. Then swiftly, without spilling a drop, she downs the alcohol in one swallow, grimacing a bit at the taste.


After putting the book down, I watch her settle back into the couch, one leg braced against the coffee table. And then she starts tracing lines on her breasts, slowly, deliberately. Her fingers trace around her nipples, then stroke radial lines to the base of her breasts. Then she curves her fingers down between her breasts to her navel. And then she does it again, repeating the exact same movements. But she isn't masturbating. There is nothing erotic about the way she fondles herself. Then everything becomes clear to me and I realize what she is doing.


She is remembering.


Remembering what that bastard of an abusive boyfriend did to her. She is tracing her scars, the ones given to punish her for trying to take back control of her life. She doesn't like to speak about that time, but she drops hints about the darkness she lived in. She has never told me exactly what happened that night, aside that Jake had beaten, cut, and then raped her, and that it hadn't been the first time for any of it.


Tears fall from her eyes as she unbuttons her sleep shirt and slides her panties off. With a shuddering sigh, she looks at bare torso, beautiful alabaster graced with pearl pink nipples and traced with the palest pink lines, offsetting her velvet soft dark hair. Then she hides her face in her hands, sobbing. Despite what she believes, the faded scars, mere ridges in her skin, are barely noticeable to all but her. Where I see glorious perfection, she sees hideous disfigurement.


I cannot let this continue any longer. She has helped ease so much of my pain, I have to try and ease hers. I step into the living room, not trying to conceal my presence. "Jessica?"


She starts and half turns at the sound of her name, crouching down. Naked and vulnerable, I've never seen her look more beautiful. "Alex," she whispers, reddening in shame. "Tonight, fourteen years ago...," she starts to explain.


'Shhhh, Jess" I whisper, walking over to sit beside her. I brush my lips against her forehead, resting my hands on her shoulders, pulling her tigtht against me. "I understand," I murmur. And I do, for I had endured the same thing, although she doesn't know. I will tell her eventually what Alpha Wolf did to me, but I can't, not now. I've told her everything I can will myself to about everything I have done, seeking absolution for my sins. But I am not ready to tell her how we are more alike than different.


Jess's scars have healed somewhat with time, but my scars are still too raw.


They are not physical scars like some of hers. Mine are purely psychological, and not all of them from Alpha Wolf. Some are from the one Mulder calls Cancerman, from doing his bidding. Some are from my father, ignoring me after Mother died, until it was too late. Some are from Mother, feeling abandoned by her death. And some are self inflicted, guilt, fear, hatred, and self-loathing, but all are blood red whip weals across my soul.


And then I realize something intensely painful and ironic. In a funny yet humorless twist of fate, the night she was raped was the same night I sold my soul to the Consortium by accepting Cancerman's offer of employment. Different years, but the same day. Jess and I are celebrating an anniversary of sorts. A weak laugh escapes my lips. Jess looks up at me, dark brown eyes puzzled. "What?" she asks, afraid that she is the source of my humorless chuckle.


"Something else," I whisper, wiping away one of her tears with the pad of my thumb. I kiss her forehead. "Not you. Never you." How could I laugh at the woman who is helping me put my life back together? I kiss Jess's lips, clinging to her as if to a lifeline in a raging river. And that is what she is to me, for I constantly feel that if I let go for even and instant, I will be swept away and drowned by the concequences of my actions. My tongue plunges into her open mouth with all the subtlety of a stampede of cattle. She kisses back and writhes against me, driven by her demons of memory.


If I have my way, there's going to be an exorcism tonight.


I fall back flat onto the couch, pulling Jess astride my stomach. I raise my knees, and she rests her back against my thighs. She sits there, breathing heavily. I reach up and stroke her chest, enjoying the texture of her skin. I cup her breasts and run my thumbs over her hardened nipples. Her eyes are half open, misted with tears of emotional pain and desire. "I don't want you to feel forced," I whisper thickly, giving her breasts a gentle squeeze. I then slide my hands to her waist. "Not ever, but especially not tonight." My hands slide down the sides of her thighs, and then to either side of my body. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, baring my throat to her. If she wants sex, she will have to take the initiative tonight.


I feel her hover over me, a warm breath caress my chin. I feel the cushions under me shift as she resettles to rest beside me. A wet warmth covers my Adam's apple, making me break out in goose bumps. And when I feel the slight suction, I clench my fists and moan, fighting my desire to roll her over and fuck her until we fall unconscious. I know that phrase doesn't sound romantic. But they are the only words I know that can convey my need for her body. No mere words can convey my need for her soul.


I feel a second, tremulous kiss on my collarbone. I shiver, giving voice to another moan. She is an eager lover, but a bit shy about being in charge during sex. I'm sure it has to do with the fact that she was a virgin when she met Jake and anytime she tried to explore, she was literally slapped down and asked who else she was sleeping with, because that felt too good for her not to have been taught to do that. Mulder aparently cured her of cringing in bed, but she still isn't fully comfortable yet. I hope to change that, although I am greatful to Mulder for teaching her that sex and pain don't go hand in hand.


Encouraged by the noises I'm making, she moves down lower and circles a nipple with her tongue. She latches on, sucking as if she were a nursing baby. And as she works me with her lips and tongue, her right hand slips to my boxers to stroke my rapidly swelling penis through the cotton. Her hands are gentle and feather light, a tease of what I hope will happen.


"Jessica," I whisper, a plea and a prayer. I arch beneath her hand, encouraging her to continue. She sits up and smiles, the first real smile I've seen on her lips all night. Both of her hands now rest on my boxers, trembling slightly. I raise my hips and she cautiously pulls them downward. My cock is swollen and purple and resting against my stomach. "Jessica," I whisper again as she encircles me with her warm hand. Her hand starts moving, pumping me with deliberate, sensual, lazy movements. I close my eyes with a sigh as she runs her thumb against the vein throbbing on the underside of my cock. I could come from this alone.


I feel the cushions shift again. Jess straddles me and lifts my cock, preparing to impale herself on my rigidness. I open my eyes and stare into the chocolate brown pools of hers. Something is nagging at me in the back of my mind, but I can't figure what it is, and really don't give a damn. Jess realizes it as my cockhead brushes her curls. "Condom," she half curses under her breath, lifting away from me to rest beside the couch. She kisses my lips briefly and then darts to the bedroom.


My head thumps back against the arm of the couch. Shit! That was too close! Even long before we met, she had tried the Pill, curious if this situation ever arose if it would work. Her sister-in-law, although a pediatrician, had managed to get her a prescription and authorize fertility testing for her. And the tests revealed that she still ovulated monthly, with or without oral contraception. As much as I want there to be no barriers between us when we make love, we can't risk Jess getting pregnant. It's not that we don't want children. I want more than anything to trace the curve of Jess's swollen belly, hoping to feel a kick in response. Or to hold my newborn son or daughter close, studying his or her face to discover what traits he or she inherited from which side of the family. But that time is not now, and possibly may never be. Our lives are too unsettled and dangerous to bring a new, innocent life into our world.


And as much as I want to be one, I am frightened of becoming a father. I learned in my psych classes in colllege and later at Quantico that you parent by example. And my example was a poor one. My father never physically abused me, but neglect is a form of abuse. And Jess's was little better, her parents shutting their children out of their emotions when her older sister died and trying to remold Jess and Michael into their dead Rachel. But, despite poor examples, we want to be parents. Maybe I won't screw that up like I've done with so many other things in my life.


Jess returns, holding a small packet. There is the ripping sound of foil and she is deftly unrolling the condom onto me. Again she settles onto my body. Again she lifts my cock and prepares to sink down on me. And this time, she does. God, she feels so good even with the condom on, all heat and moisture. Cautiously, she slowly works her way down my cock, allowing gravity to do some of the work as she is stretched. I reach up and brush her cheek with my left hand, thrilling just being able to feel her skin under my fingertips. I still can't believe that what the Cigarette Smoking Man intended as a curse has become a blessing. For if he hadn't sicced Alpha Wolf on me, I probably never would have met this wonderful woman above me. I would still be hiding in Russia, bitter over the loss of my arm, plotting blood thirsty revenge against Mulder, against Cancerman, against everyone. But my werewolfness caused healing in my arm, and she helped start the healing in my soul.


Those first nights were the hardest. Had I the silver, I would have committed suicide, not knowing about the incredible healing powers that I had been endowed with. The woodland refugees I had stumbled upon had explained their actions as soon as I stopped screaming, thinking they were saving me from a fate worse than death. "No arm, no test," they repeated emphatically, amazed at my ingratitude. But I was angry, hateful, bitter and unreasoning, the scent of my charred left arm making me nauseous. They treated me kindly for the short time I stayed with them, despite my curses and my threats, commenting among themselves about how quickly what was left of my arm healed. As soon as I was able, I slipped away to Peskow's datcha near St. Petersburg, to hide for a while.


I returned and slew them all, a true wolf among the lambs, at the first full moon. That night, once I was human again, I learned to love my werewolf self when I found my left arm restored to me. Thinking back, I do regret the wanton slaughter a little, but then I was just filled with the desire for revenge. They were easy targets I could vent my rage on. But now I know that my hatred was directed at the wrong people. I do hope to have a chance to direct my rage at the right people soon.


Jess is moving in slow, gentle up and down motions that threaten to drive me mad. She gently catches hold of my left hand and guides it to her breasts as her movements become more forceful. Now tears sting my eyes. How often I had dreamed of this, alone in the militia, in Russia, of the feel of her velvet chamber, of her downy breasts, of her hot mouth. Only now I find that reality surpasses the dream. Oh God! I have killed the innocent, and the not so innocent. I do not deserve this. I do not deserve her. But I love her, want her, need her. And the love and the want and the need all blend into a lightening bolt that races from my groin up my spine and explodes behind my closed eyelids. I arch under her with a soundless cry, eyes shocked open by the intensity of my orgasm. Jess smiles wider and clamps down with the muscles in her thighs and groin. As melodramatic as it sounds, I literally swoon from the sexual pleasure this wild, wonderful woman is capable of inflicting on me.


When I stopped trembling, Jess releases me from her body. Languidly, I sit up and remove the condom, knotting it to keep my come from spilling. We will destroy it later in the furnace in the basement of the building, just as we have destroyed the others. We cannot allow *any* genetic material that could possibly be used to create another werewolf, or child, to fall into the Consortium's possession. Jess is so cautious that she doesn't even lick stamps, buying premoistened or using tap water to wet the glue.


One man's paranoia is another man's prevention.


I pull Jess against me and nuzzle her neck. I lay back down and take her with me. Wanting to shelter her, I roll half on her, stroking the curve of her waist. She is still tense in my arms, although she is trying to relax. And in my post-orgasmic haze, I realize why she is still keyed up. "You didn't come, did you?" I whisper softly into her neck, and then kiss her hot skin, feeling her pulse throbbing in her veins.


"No, I didn't," she whispered with a slight shake of her head. She nuzzles me back, trying to reassure me that she's fine with not having an orgasm. Her hand idly wanders down my back. "It's okay. I don't think I can, tonight."


I kiss her hair, her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. "Yes you can," I whisper like a father encouraging his daughter. But my thoughts are far from parental. Leaving her petal soft lips, I kiss in a straight line from her chin down to the valley between her breasts. I tease the skin there, lifting her breasts and rubbing them against my cheeks. I nuzzle each of her nipples, stroking them with my tongue, relishing her moans.


I eventually continue to the curls between her legs. Her breath catches as my fingers begin to spread her open. I place quick kiss on the inside of either thigh, and then one between her legs. God! She is still moist and excited from earlier. Jess whimpers as I begin to go down on her in earnest. I find the swollen knot of nerves and flick it rapidly with my tongue. She squirms, unable to stay still. I hold onto her twisting hips, making sure my tongue stays in contact with Jess's clitoris. She keeps making feral noises, encouraging me to continue. And when I wrap my lips around her clitoris, sucking and pressing against it at the same time, she gives a half strangled gasp.


That is what I have been longing to hear. She makes that sound, sometime softly, sometimes loudly, every time she comes. When she makes that noise, I can't help but think of a virgin who has just come for the first time. But I half suspect the real reason for her cry is that despite how many times I've made her come, she still can't believe how good it feels, that she's still waiting for the pain that Jake inflicted on her during sex. I hold her until she stops trembling, stroking her thighs and whispering words of love. When I feel her muscles go slack, I crawl back up her body, kissing her sweating skin reverently. She smiles muzzily, eyes half shut. I run my tongue over her lips sensuously and she kisses back with equal passion, ready for another round of lovemaking. But it is too soon for me to get hard again, no matter how much I'd like to. I'll never be able to understand how a woman can come and be ready to come again within moments.


My eyes rest on the vodka. I push up on one arm and grab the bottle. One handed and in an awkward position, I manage to pour some into the shot glass without spilling too much. I place it to Jess's lips, offering. She shakes her head no, smiling, but wrinkling her nose, a wonderful sign that she is returning to her old self. I shrug and down the vodka with a grin. I then snuggle onto her. "Feeling better?"


Jess nods. "Much," she says in a mere whisper, but you can easily hear the satisfaction in her voice. She sighs and streches beneath me. It is one of those all too rare moments where we are not on guard and are fully relaxed.


"Good," I grunt, reaching behind me for the quilt resting on the back of the couch. I spread it over us, ready to spend the night out here. I don't want to risk breaking the spell our love has woven by returning to our bed.


Jess squirms a bit, trying to get out from under me. "Shouldn't we get back upstairs?" she asks, ever the practical one.


"Do you really want to move?" I ask, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, any part of her face I can reach. I don't want to move. I want to stay here forever, holding her, and never to have to face Mulder, Cancerman, or myself in a mirror.


"No," is the lazy reply. Jess shuts her eyes, wrapping her arms around me. "But we're just going to be embarrassed when Lindy comes downstairs to get ready for school."


I kiss her ear. "I'm sure that by now, she's figured out what we're doing." I never thought I'd be playing a father figure to a kid. Jess had told when we started dating about Lindy, about how that kid was almost everything to her, expecting me to be scared off. I almost was, but I couldn't go back to being lonely. I had never really been around kids, but was determined to make the best of a 'bad situation.' I was wrong. Lindy, although at first shy and scared of me, and I are slowly becoming friends, and it isn't as hard as I thought it would be. What is harder than I thought would be is learning to live with Jess. She and I have dealt with things alone for so long, it is difficult for the both of us to work as a trusting team. "I just wish you had come to me instead of me having to figure out what you were doing," I whisper into her hair.


Jess buries her forehead into my shoulder. "Alex, I didn't want to burden you," she whispers softly.


I roll onto my back, taking her with me. "It wouldn't be a burden," I say softly, lifting her head so I can look into those sad brown eyes, thick bangs tumbling into them. I reach out and stroke her hair back from her forehead. "You've taken on so may of mine. I could do no less for you." I nuzzle her shoulder and neck. "I'm here for you, the way you've been for me."


Jess snuggles closer against me. "Sorry," she whispers.


"S'okay." I pull my arms a fraction tighter. Jess's breath slows and evens out, a sign that she is drifting off to sleep. And I am not far behind. But despite my sleepiness, I can't help but wonder about the future. Maybe next year, we won't be celebrating this anniversary this way. Maybe next year we will have a child. Maybe next year, I won't be shadow dancing with Cancerman. Maybe next year, I will be alive. Even a murderous, traitorous werewolf can dream of a better life. And although my life with her is good, we will always have dread hanging over us. I want to give her everything she deserves. I want to banish the storm clouds that are on the horizion.


"Alex," Jess whispers sleepily. "My diary."


"I won't read it," I reassure her. As close as we are, Jess and I respect each other's privacy.


"No," she whispers. "Read the entry it's open to. I want you to."


"Later," I whisper into her hair. Jess doesn't say anything more and neither do I. I hold her for half an hour, listening and watching her drift off to sleep. When I am sure she is dreaming, I reach over and pick up the diary, careful not to lose the passage it is open to. And what I read surprises me.


"Tonight I met a wonderful man," is scribbled on the page. "Alex is funny, sensitive, and the handsomest guy I've ever seen. No, handsome isn't right, but beautiful isn't masculine enough. I think he might want to see me again. I am so scared. I haven't dated for so long, and my heart is crying out to take a chance with him. But I know the moment he sees me naked he will turn away, repulsed by what Jake did to me. I only hope I can see him again, maybe steal a few more kisses, and content myself with all too few memories."


I put the diary down, stunned. I had no idea she felt that way. I was always afraid she would find out who and what I truly was and despise me. Until we made love the first time, I half expected her to disappear out of my life. Even afterwards, I steeled myself for that possibility. And here she was having almost the same fears, but not daring to whisper a word.


I look down at her resting beneath me. Jess is asleep, her mouth open and a thin line of drool running down her cheek. I grab her discarded sleep shirt and wipe her mouth. She mumbles a little and closes her mouth. I feel a wave of awed tenderness wash over me. She trusts me. Even knowing everything I've done, she trusts me. Asking her to marry me was the right thing to do, even if we never will be able to. With Cassandra, it was all wrong. I was too young at the time, and too lonely to see it, but Cassandra was a manipulative bitch. And sometimes I half wonder if she wasn't working for Cancerman and her mission to chip away at my self-esteem until I was open to the black lung bastard's influence.


I yawn, tired of thinking. I pillow my head on Jess's chest, soothed by the steady thumping of her heart. It feels good to be in her arms, warm and soft and safe, something I am not used to feeling. And the feeling relaxes me, makes me drift towards sleep. And with the muzzy sensation comes the certain knowledge that Jess and I will be celebrating this aniversary, and other more happy ones, in the future.