From: snakedoctor13@yahoo.com Date: 9 Feb 2003 07:49:32 -0800 Subject: [atxc-pi] NEW: Optimism (0/2) Source: atxc Title: Optimism Author: Ratadder Author Email: snakedoctor13@yahoo.com Status: NEW - Series Size: 76k Rating: NC-17 Archive at Gossamer: Yes to Gossamer/Ephemeral Category: Story , Romance Keywords: Slash Pairings: K/Sk, M/K UST Spoilers: All Krycek eps Summary: Walter and Alex meet in outer space. Part 1 Please see part 0 (template) for warnings and summary. Timeline note: OPTIMISM takes place approximately a week after UNDER THE COVERS. OPTIMISM By Ratadder 22:10 I head in to get something to eat the minute I haul my ass out of bed. Lame attempt to distract myself from waking up in the middle of yet another damn dream, but better than nothing. Besides, I'm starved. I didn't get a chance to eat after I got off shift this morning, before Alex got to me. 'Got to me' being the operative phrase. Bad enough he's convinced me to go along with his Samantha scheme, *and* not tell anyone. Risking everything, especially himself. Even worse that his obsessive approach to the problem steadily erodes all those comfortable preconceptions and defenses I built up over our history. Not to mention making me warm up to him much too... warmly. As if all that's not enough - I could *really* do without feeling like the soles of my feet are melting when he turns those damn eyes on me. Looking me right in the eye, all serious and intense and, worst of all, hopeful. "You don't mind, do you, Skinner? I had another thought and I'd really like to bounce it off *you*..." With just enough stress on the 'you' to remind me I'm the only one he's talking to about this. About a lot of things these days. Hell no, Alex. I don't mind. Let's meet for hours - again - and go through all the details - again - and use up all my mealtime and half of my sleeping time too. Again. But somehow, I'm just not saying no. Got to me indeed. Right, and I was trying to put a certain dream *out* of my head? I suppose it stands to reason the dreams are so vivid, so hard to ignore. After spending so much time with him, it'd be weirder if I *didn't* dream about him. Right? Note to self... distraction does not work when you ask yourself rhetorical questions about the subject you're attempting to distance yourself from. Try again. I sigh and attempt to refocus on food. It shouldn't be this hard - I'm hungry enough to eat that whatever-it-is Mulder left molding beside his bed. I meant to grab something after my session with Alex but by then my head was too full and I just wanted to shut down and sleep. Happens a lot these days. It's funny... 'confidante' always sounds like such a coveted position. I think it's overrated. Being in the know with the man in charge sure as hell hasn't made my life any easier. On the other hand, I'm getting more and more convinced that having me in the know has made his life easier, so maybe it all balances out. As I push open the door to the kitchens, I find I like the thought. I wonder if it's true. I could hope so, if I let myself. I realize my mind just circled back to him yet again, and I give it up as a lost cause. There are more people than usual floating around the room we've dubbed the cafeteria. We're between major strikes. Only emergencies that come up on reconnaissance are being dealt with at the moment while we gear up for the next big push. Everyone is getting the lecture on not taking unnecessary risks. Ostensibly we're waiting on some confirmation of intelligence from the Rebels concerning vaccine distribution. But I know Alex is also delaying in order to get the Samantha question cleaned up before he goes on any new major missions. That realization finally brought home to me how much he actually expects to die each time we go out. He works with us all so much on survival, and talks like getting everyone out each time is beyond question. We actually have a fairly low casualty rate given the missions we're pulling off. Perhaps because we've all been drilled on self-preservation by the self-acknowledged expert. Or maybe because it comes so naturally to most of his old acquaintances, given their prior line of work. Then again, maybe we've all just reached that understanding, at the gut level, of what it would mean to lose. Losing isn't an option. And we're all there is. And we aren't very many, when you get right down to it. So we do what we need to do to make sure we get the job done, and are still around to do it again. And again. Working in the resistance offers a whole new perspective on Alex Krycek's life from before. And I thought *I* was a master at doing distasteful things because I thought they had to be done, back in a consortium-riddled FBI. Hell, I barely brushed the surface. Of course I had more limits. I've always had more limits than he does. There were some things I think they knew I just wouldn't do. I wonder sometimes if he's ever hit that wall... the thing he won't do, no matter what. I haven't decided if I really want the answer. I nod to a few people as I wend between the scattered tables and the lounging rebels. Coffee cups lift in salute but greetings are low key. People are a little restless but you'd never know. Most of the teams are used to staying sharp between bouts of inactivity. Not letting boredom get the better of them. Old professional patterns again. For all my early reticence at Alex's recruits, I find them an... interesting bunch to work with. I'm restless too, and likely not hiding it as well as they are. Of course, I know what the next mission really is. And it isn't the only thing keeping me on edge. Making me dream. Distracting me... Once I decided to acknowledge that my feelings for our vaunted leader had definitely crossed over from increasing ambivalence and confusion to admiration, I got hit in the face with the inevitable "what next?" To tell him or not to tell him? I want to let him know. I've tried subtle cues... I'm a hell of a lot nicer in general to him these days. I don't give him half the shit I used to. I make a sincere effort to ask him where he's coming from when he says something that strikes me as morally offensive and cold, rather than just jumping down his throat. I bring him food when he forgets to eat, which is a little too often for my comfort level. I got him extra cinnamon gum the last time I was on grocery duty, knowing he'd run out and kept getting too busy or forgetting to pick it up himself. He never *asks* anyone to buy it for him, never puts it on the lists. Little things. Telling him he needs to go to sleep instead of rereading plans one more time. Taking an extra guard shift myself so he can get four hours of uninterrupted sleep. And there's that *little* issue of not being able to say no to him lately. I suppose that could be considered a subtle clue. Although I think he doesn't realize just how hard it's getting for me. He may think I'm being unusually agreeable of late, but I don't think he's made the connection that every time he widens his eyes at me, I... respond. Why would he? Given our past, he's not about to assume that I *enjoy* talking with him, listening to him. Besides, I want more. More than just comfortable conversation, him thinking of me as a friend. I need to face what the dreams are telling me, what's been lurking in my mind whenever I interact with him lately - I want to reach out. I want to know if my growing interest is returned. Maybe it's foxhole attraction, that's certainly what I was trying to tell myself at first, but I don't think so. I find myself distracted at the worst times, thinking about what it would be like to *kiss* him. Thinking about what it would be like to yank him into my arms and just hold him for a few minutes, make him shut up and stop talking and stop *thinking* and... just give him a place to feel safe once in a while. And these dreams. Christ. Kissing and holding is the least of what my subconscious wants to do. It's confusing to *me*, and I'm in my head. I'm sure it would be somewhat surprising to him. So first things first. Getting more... blunt. I'm an action kind of guy. How hard can this be? I've been asking myself that every waking hour of every day for over a week. And obviously way too many of the sleeping hours too. It's enough to embarrass a guy. I know what I want and I know how to find out if he wants it too. I can handle it if he doesn't. I've been turned down before. I'm hardly an inexperienced man. But... him. How does he do this to me... make me feel like this. I suppose it doesn't help that every time I'm with him for any extended length of time, we're talking about Mulder. Indirectly. He tends to avoid discussing Mulder with me. But Fox Fucking Mulder is omnipresent under every word, every damn studied conversation about how to waltz into the middle of Colonization Central and come back out not only alive, but with the crown jewel under our arm. Whether Alex admits it or not, we've talked of nothing but Mulder ever since that night four weeks back when he got word about Samantha. Granted, watching him plan and replan and fuss and obsess and devote himself to Samantha's rescue has been an experience I wouldn't have missed for the world. Seeing those devil brows draw in. That little frown line crinkling his nose. Chewing on a knuckle. Concentrating to the point of distraction. Knowing that in his own way, no matter what he says, he's still trying to pay a debt, make amends for his approach to life, his actions. And that warm sensation in my gut spreads all through me. Then I'll suddenly remember the underlying implication - his dedication to Mulder. His doomed little quest for Mulderaffection, whether he admits it or not, even to himself. And I feel a little less tender. Or I catch him watching Mulder with that... look. And I feel a lot less tender. For all my action-orientation, I'm having a hard time making myself *move* on this one. Watching him moon over Mulder, even just watching any of the team exchange significant looks about how he moons over Mulder, depresses the hell out of me and makes me chalk up any interesting dreams or notions I'm having to a lost cause. And it takes me half a day to get myself back to a place where I remember he knows Mulder is a lost cause too, so maybe my notions aren't as unlikely as I might think. We could start again, talk through everything, actually let the past *go* and think about what might happen... next. In a way he knows he can't, not with Mulder. And then I walk in on him fighting with Mulder about some damn fool thing and I watch the sparks fly and I just... run in circles. Over and over. And even if I do get myself to the point of acting, how the hell do I get it through his head. Occasionally, late at night or the middle of the day or whenever I'm trying to catch some sleep, I amuse myself thinking about his possible reactions. Somehow I get a strong sense I'm going to have to literally whack him over the head. For a man who deals in subtleties, he's really thick sometimes. Honestly, Walter, about time you stopped thinking. Seems like all I do these days. I realize I've long since reached the serving station and I've been standing here staring at the food. I glance around to see if anyone is giving me odd looks, but most of them are focused on their own tables. Of course, even if they were giving me odd looks, I'd probably never catch them at it. Damn professionals. I spoon up my usual bowl of oatmeal. They've taken to offering it 'round the clock, which I appreciate, since I'm never completely sure when "breakfast" will be these days. I study it objectively and sigh. It'll do, despite the lack of anything interesting to put in it. One of my favorite past-times, dressing up oatmeal. Supplies are a little short at the moment, particularly "luxury" items. Alex has even been conservative on sending anybody out on grocery runs in the last week, and we've got more drains on our resources since we actually got a few people out on two of the last raids. I meant to ask him about supplies yesterday, but I got sidetracked with our latest analysis of risk and probability ratios for Operation Twinkle Version 57. I always get a grin out of him actually using that name... I tossed it out as a joke but it's stuck. I'm seeing his odd sense of humor more and more, ever since a night in outer space talking about superheroes. A hand suddenly appears over my shoulder and something drops into my bowl. Pecans. A smile is stretching my lips before I even realize that I definitely know there is only one person who could possibly be dropping pecans into my oatmeal unasked for. "Got brown sugar?" I ask, as if anonymous pecans appear over my shoulder every day. "For a price," the husky voice whispers over my shoulder, sending a shiver straight down my spine. I wonder if he means that as flirtatious as it sounds. I wonder if he knows what his voice does to me and uses it on purpose. I'd assume a man of his professional history is well versed in using any and all weapons in his arsenal, but he never seems to use it consciously. At least not with me. "Special stash," he continues in a low rasp. "Keep it quiet." I drop my voice and play along. "My lips are sealed. Where?" "Meet me in outer space. Make sure nobody follows you." The hand is gone, and I already know that by the time I turn around, he'll be nowhere in sight. I turn anyway, can't resist, and catch a flash of black exiting the doors. Slow today, or perhaps just in a playful mood. The more time I spend with him, the more flashes I see of the latter. I realize I'm grinning again when Norman walks by me and gives me a wide berth. I school my face and head for the door, mixing my pecans into my oatmeal. I take a circuitous route that keeps me from the more traveled hallways and has me worrying for the temperature of my cereal when I finally get to eat it. But eventually I'm at his special room, without running into anyone troublesome. I knock once on the door and then key in the code I memorized a few weeks back, when he casually turned to me and told me I should have it. Every time I activate the touchpad, the memory gives me a little jolt. I slip inside, closing the door behind me. He looks up as I walk across the bare room, and smiles. Fuck. Why do I get the privilege of seeing what no one else does? When did he make a decision that he needed to be a real person occasionally, and I was going to be the recipient? I don't care when or why or how. I just bask in the sun of that incredible *real* smile, and thank the stars on the ceiling that something I said to him at some point got through the message that he could relax the defenses a little with me. I'm not even positive he consciously decided to do it, and in a way, that's an even bigger compliment. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, an array of papers spread before him. I notice a small pile of mussed blankets against one wall. Looks like he's been sleeping in here again. A small lamp is on; his arm is off. He reaches behind his back and tosses something to me. No one can fault the boy's aim... I catch it easily and laugh as I read the small can. Brown sugar. "Shit. You were serious." I settle on the floor across from him and open the can, shaking a healthy sprinkle onto my oatmeal and mixing again. "Would I lie to you?" The voice is his best butter-wouldn't-melt, and I know what the eyes will look like without even seeing them. I look up anyway, just to enjoy the show. Innocence always was delicious on that face, all the more so now because I can appreciate the irony. "And why are you stockpiling brown sugar, may I ask?" "Because you like it," he gives a lopsided shrug, already immersed in his papers again. "I picked it up my last time out. Don't hand that around, I could only get the one. So, I've got confirmation that I was right. Minor complication, since we've been expecting it. You know I've been suspicious but now I-" He's talking but it's a background blur. A pleasant, raspy blur that I could listen to at length, but still a blur. I'm stuck on his first words. Because you like it. He not only noticed I like brown sugar in my oatmeal, he got it for me? Saved it for me? Don't read too much into it, Walter. He probably knows what kind of socks Mulder prefers, how he takes his coffee, and the exact shade of ripeness he likes his bananas. Don't get too excited. Definitely don't tackle him across the goddamn papers and rip that black turtleneck off him. Even if it is the one with the hole just under the neck line, right over his collarbone, giving that teasing glimpse of skin so you just want to hook your fingers into it and yank, knowing the old cotton would just split right down the chest, peel away- No. Surefire way to scare him off. If he didn't react with a super-spy triple-agent self-defense move that would undoubtedly incapacitate me in some horribly painful way, he'd shoot me outright. And probably be pissed as all hell if I wrinkle his precious plans. No, not the right way to whack him over the head at all. Although it would likely avoid the trap of him thinking I'm mocking him. "-listening to me? HELLO?" "Hmm?" Shit. I can't believe the conversations I'm having with myself these days. I have *got* to settle this one way or the other, and soon. Before I can't stand to live with myself. I realize I have no idea what he said after 'because you like it.' Definitely not going to get away with trying to pick up the thread of the conversation now. Oh well. "Sorry. I drifted." I don't sound particularly apologetic, even to my own ears. He gives me a bemused look. "No shit. Where were you?" Ripping your shirt off and devouring you on top of Operation Twinkle, Variation 58. No one has the right to look that good in a fucking turtleneck. I shake my head and get refocused. "You don't even want to know," I mutter. He tilts his head to one side and stares at me for a long moment, eyes narrowed, trying to read me. He's looking at me like that a lot these days. It's one of the more honest expressions I see on that face. I stare back lazily without bothering to edit my expression. Reminding myself I'm trying to be obvious here. Hoping a little of the heat I'm feeling is showing through my eyes. I used to be good at the 'passionate gaze' thing, but I'm not exactly in practice. Clueless boy finally shakes his head and gives me another 'I don't know about you' eyebrow raise. I'm getting used to those, too. They make me smile. "I'll take your word for that," he finally settles on. "Ready to pay attention now?" He taps his papers. "Just about," I stir my oatmeal and take a slow bite. Swallowing, I sigh happily and gesture to the bowl. "First, thanks. What's up with supply runs lately? I've been meaning to ask. Things have been fairly quiet on the outside. Why so cagey this past week?" "*If* you're ready to pay attention, that's what I was just *talking* about," he puts on his long-suffering lecture voice, and I recognize the words I've used so many times in my previous life. Damn, his memory should be a registered weapon. I narrow my eyes and give him the 'I *consented* to let you be in charge, boy' look so common from the early days of our resistance work together. He ducks his head but not before I see the smirk. When he looks up he's serious again. "It *is* a trap. I got a confirmation about six days ago that I didn't come by the Samantha information by accident." I bristle, instantly all business. "Your contact set you up?" "No, I think Reinhold's on the up-and-up. As much as he can be." He rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, and I wonder how bad the current headache is. I start eating mechanically as he talks. "I think the information is out there in all the 'right' places, because they want it to get back to Mulder. I'm guessing Reinhold came by it, if you'll excuse the expression, honestly enough. I just think somebody was making sure it got out far enough that it couldn't help but reach me. But it wasn't me they were really trying to get it to, surprise surprise. All I can figure is they actually thought I'd tell him." He shakes his head, as if in awe at somebody's stupidity. I'm not about to be the one to break it to him that some of his old Syndicate cronies are bound to know his weakness is Mulder. Most likely the grand dragon himself. Granted, they may have predicted he'd jump the wrong way, but that's only because they don't truly understand how he thinks. I might have assumed the same in their place - that he'd pass the information right on to Mulder. But in Alex's peculiar little mind, protecting Mulder still overrides getting in good with him through information. Now that I've been studying him so closely for the last couple months, I could have told them that. Not that I would, but I could have. I can't help feeling smug that I've got that much of a leg up on everybody else where he's concerned. "Apparently, when nothing was immediately forthcoming, when he didn't jump for the bait, when nobody tried for her, they decided to go more obvious." He gives me a tired look. "You mean... other people-?" "Yep. I've heard about these 'interesting rumors' from three separate people in the last six days." I stop eating, swallowing hard. We've always been planning as if it could be a trap anyway, so what's disturbing is the fact that this is the first time *I've* heard about the confirmation. "What did you do?" And why didn't you tell me. "Two of them weren't a problem. They're in the group that would only bring information like that directly to me, and I brushed them off with a line that it had to be a trap and I wasn't going to be bothered with such obvious bait." His mouth twists unpleasantly. "Langley, on the other hand, I had to threaten." "Shit! Alex!" "It's okay, he expects it from me." He gives me a look I would have called sheepish on anyone else. "I told him in explicit detail what I'd do to him if he dared breathe a word of it to Mulder. Then I gave him the same rundown, that it was obviously a baited trap. I just lied a little more with him and told him I knew for a fact Samantha was dead, so it was even a poorly baited trap. That seemed to do the trick." I groan, and resume eating, still more pissed that he didn't tell me than I am that he threatened Langley. Langley could do with a little threatening from time to time. "You really think he won't say anything to Mulder? That he didn't go to Mulder *first*?" The lopsided shrug again, accompanied by a heavy sigh. "I was lucky... I was in the computer room when he was decoding and realized what he had. I was able to short circuit any spill of information but... well, I think we'll know the second he does tell him, if he does. UXB Mulder will shake the ceiling when he finally goes off. Just to be safe, I've got an extra team on Mulder though, with direct orders to lock him down if he even *looks* like he's walking off course." It doesn't escape my notice that he said *extra* team on Mulder. I've suspected he's had a back-up tailing Mulder for a while now. I let it go because, frankly, I don't think it's a bad idea. Especially with this new twist. I scrape the bottom of my bowl and push aside the little voice still nattering on about how I'm only just hearing about this, when he's had it on his plate for six days. I guess I've gotten used to being in the know, even if it is a pain in the ass. But... let it go, Walter. Concentrate on the important stuff. "So you've been pulling everyone in and stalling everything so it won't spread any further and get back to him." He rubs his eyes again, then pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. Where I can. Which brings us back to brown sugar." His expression takes on a disgusted tinge. "Even supplies are a problem right now. The second person who heard the 'rumor' was on a grocery run. Which is why I was saying this complicates things. We can't do shit now until we pull this off, or we risk Mulder finding out and bungling the whole thing, likely getting himself taken in the process. Especially now we know it definitely is a setup *and* that they're targeting him specifically." His face darkens. "Obviously, with a Samantha-setup." Unless they're targeting you, I almost say, but bite my tongue, letting him continue unimpeded. "I think it's safe to say that no matter whether we have any idea *why* they want him so bad, we really don't want to see them get their hands on him," he adds sarcastically. I sigh and shift into my usual problem-solving mode. "Okay, so it's no surprise they still want him. You've suspected it right along. We've always been planning for the possibility the Samantha information could be a trap. So, we've got confirmation. Better now than later. So let's do the detail check and go with the trap contingencies." I'll just have to factor the possibility that he's the target into *my* planning. An hour later I have a headache to match the one showing in his pained expression. Given his original intelligence, we're confident they're baiting this trap with the real thing... that it really is Samantha, and she really is alive. The new leaks haven't dissuaded him, just made him more positive on that front. Alex is convinced They know that nothing less than the real thing would lure Mulder out at this point in the game, especially since he's 'let go' and given her up for dead. I'm inclined to agree; I think it's her. They're pulling out the big guns, which could be a good sign or a bad one. Either we've got them worried, or they're just starting up some new offensive. No way of knowing for sure. To make matters worse, we're still unclear on her specific condition, and no amount of beating the proverbial bushes on his part has brought any further elucidation. So we're not only still planning to pull off the impossible, we now know for a fact they're lying in wait for us while we attempt it. But he won't hear of not trying... Frustration, thy name is Alex Krycek. In more ways than one. All we know for sure is we need to move sooner rather than later. All told, knowing it's a trap doesn't change much of our plans, depressing as that may be, since we've already been thinking that way. We might as well move now, we're as ready as we're likely to get. We've just been fine-tuning, hoping like hell for a break from the Rebels. Which doesn't seem to be coming. I throw myself down onto my back on the floor, staring at his sky. In the light of the lamp, his stars are almost invisible, and it just looks like a spotty black ceiling. I find myself wondering what his sky would look like in candlelight. I bet it would look nice in here. I know there are some candles down in Supply 2. Wonder if there are any candleholders floating around? "There's always the tried-and-true laundry truck." Why in hell would a laundry truck have candleholders? Definitely not an option. I catch myself before I can voice this conclusion, and find myself perplexed as to why I'm even trying to picture his room in candlelight. I roll my head sideways on the floor to blink at him. He's on his back too, perpendicular to me, and as he speaks he arches his head all the way back so he's looking at me upside down. It makes his face look funny. "You know, in all the old movies. Someone is always sneaking in or out of a place in the laundry truck." His upside down smile looks even funnier. "It always works." Every time he jokes with me, no matter how lame, I chalk up another one on my mental score sheet that tallies up how he talks to me these days versus how he interacts with everyone else. It's a quiet thrill. But I give the expected response. "Alex. Have you been getting enough sleep?" He gives that weird, choked chortle of his. Always makes me wonder if someone used to yell at him for laughing when he was a boy, the way he seems to unconsciously try to cut it off. Maybe he just trained it out of himself. Figured it was bad for the assassin image. That would be very Alex. "Okay," he sighs, pushing himself back to a sitting position and swiveling to face me. "Enough for today. I have to check the latest downloads, make sure I don't have to threaten any more hackers. And you need to double-check the roster and make sure that no one has 'reassigned' himself." The put-upon look on his face reminds me of the expression I used to wear as an AD. "Oh sure. You get all the fun and I get all the headaches. When do *I* get to threaten hackers?" I grouse as I lever myself up and get to my feet. "You get the next one, promise," he deadpans, rolling to his knees in an awkward movement made graceful only through uncounted repetition. Picking up our redlined diagrams of the complex Samantha is reportedly being held in, he lays them in an unlabeled folder one by one. "Promises, promises," I snort, heading for the door, waiting for it. Sure enough, when I'm halfway there, his voice catches me. "Walt." I only half-turn, used to his habits by now. He imparts the oddest bits of information on my way out the door. Usually the best stuff. "Yeah?" Carefully nonchalant. "I didn't want to distract you." Okay, non sequitur anyone? I turn all the way around. "Say again?" "If you were wondering. Why I didn't mention the Samantha leaks I've been hearing until now." He finally looks up from his careful stacking, made slow by virtue of being a one-handed process, face classic Krycek blank. "I was waiting to see if the leaking was going to be a real problem. I didn't want to distract you with worrying about what Mulder might hear." This time the shrug looks vaguely uncomfortable. "I needed at least one of us approaching the problem with a totally clear head. I needed your best strategy." I stand for a moment, just looking at the lone figure kneeling on the floor in a small circle of light. Surrounded by a hopeless plan. So far removed, so carefully locked away. Juggling all the pieces all the time, trying so hard to put the whole puzzle together single-handedly. So damn lonely. He's got to be tired of the place he's in. I nod slowly. "I understand." I find my feet moving back toward him without a conscious decision. I stop just in front of him as he looks up expectantly, obviously wondering why I came back. I usually just take in whatever gem he tosses me and walk out the door with it. But today... I can feel myself crumbling, the pressure of what's been building on the inside pressing for release. He starts to rise from his knees and I hold out my hand before I realize I'm going to do it. He stares at it for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face, and I wince internally. But I can't draw it back now without looking plain damn clumsy. Then he puts his hand on mine and uses it to balance as he rises. I catch my breath. Letting me help him is a far cry beyond just being more comfortable with me. He looks me in the face once he's standing, and his expression is still blank but his eyes... there I go melting into my shoes again. How do you do it, Alex? He withdraws even as I watch, pulling back further into himself, his hand starts to pull away, and my fingers tighten reflexively. He looks momentarily startled, but he doesn't tug his hand back as I close mine around it and squeeze, gently. My other hand is lifting to touch his hair, just over his ear... I watch it as if I'm moving on automatic, and in some ways I am. I can't seem to stop myself. My fingers stroke the spiky darkness, my thumb coasts against the warmth of his skin, his cheekbone. His head turns, just a fraction, *into* my touch, his eyelashes dipping. My throat tightens at his reaction, I feel a swell of emotion and... he's stiffening, his eyes widening. Stepping back and his hand breaks from mine. He blinks at me and I see confusion. Confusion that gets swept under the rug as my hands drop to my sides, as he speaks quickly, brusquely. "I... ah, I have to get to the computer room. I'll be late and what with that being the way the information 'turned up' last time, I'm concerned. I need to stay right on top of them, they're probably the most unpredictable link we've got right now besides Mulder himself." He's talking faster than usual; his hand lifts and rifles his hair in a gesture I've come to realize is habitual, the closest thing he has to a nervous tick. "If you'll take care of the roster stuff for me, that would be great. I-" I nod and take a step backward, smiling blandly. Giving him his space, physically and emotionally. Something tears, short and sharp, just behind my breastbone, but my voice is calm and nothing but friendly when I speak. "I'm on it. Don't give it a second thought. Go threaten your hackers and make sure they understand how important this is." With a smile and a nod I turn and make my way out of the room. And try to figure out what just happened. ***** 09:55 I'm still pondering when I get off rotation. I finished my stint on external perimeter without much trouble; I can always keep myself on track when I'm outside. Apparently old lessons never die, and Vietnam was a very thorough teacher. But my mind wandered all over hell and back during my shift at the east wing doors. And it didn't wander anywhere near another mental review of Operation Twinkle, which is where it should have been concentrating. He responded. I made an overture and he responded. Before he took the time to * think*, he responded. That has to be a good sign. Think optimistic. I sure as hell can't just drop it and act like it didn't happen. I can't guess what's going through his head and walk away and never mention it again because I think he was trying to 'let me down easy'. I don't work that way. Of course it took me a good four hours to get to that determination but... I got there. Here. On the upside, despite all the distraction, by the time I get off I've made my firm decision. We need to talk, and we need to talk sooner rather than later. As in, today. Now. Or as soon as possible anyway. And I'll make another overture, one that's clear and unmistakable. And try to reach that response again. With that in mind, I reshuffled his plans. He'll probably be pissed as hell that I took it upon myself to clear his schedule but... tough. And it was surprisingly easy. No one questioned my right to cancel meetings for him, one of the benefits of the amount of authority he's handed off to me. The ease with which people took my determination of his schedule makes me doubly convinced we need to talk. Makes me wonder if everybody else is already talking. And here I've been thinking 'poor Alex' what with him being so obvious about Mulder and all. Talk about the blind leading the blind. But now I've seen everybody I need to see, and I check my watch. Timing looks good. He should be back by 10:30 from his meet. No one is expecting him anywhere for a couple hours. Now if I can just count on him actually getting back when he's scheduled. I don't feel like waiting around forever. Shouldn't be a problem; he's been unusually prompt returning from his excursions these days. Now I know why - he's suddenly got more to keep track of inside the facility. If my calculations are correct following my perusal of the roster, and I know they are, he'll be coming in the North door today. And you think you're not predictable, Alex. Mulder's on North door duty until 13:00. I feel my grin twist into an involuntary grimace, but I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Not going to even think about it today. Let it go. I know the score, and I'm not going to let it stop me. Concentrate. You want this. Give it a shot. All you can do is talk to him, get it out in the open, see what the lay of the land is. All that's left is the note. I stare at the piece of paper I printed my message on. 'Meet me in outer space. 11:15. -W.' Considering I've already cancelled his meetings, it's a little late to have second thoughts now. I stick the note in a folder and stack the folder with a few others, tuck them under my arm. Time to go see a man about a surveillance camera. ***** 10:20 "Don't you have somewhere you need to be, Skinner?" I stack my feet on the table Frohike is trying to work on, and give him an innocent smile. "Not really, no." Rolling his eyes, he makes a big production out of moving over far enough so he can spread his computer printouts across the table without my feet coming anywhere near them. "Tell me again *why* you're gracing us with your presence?" he mumbles directly to the papers. "Because you guys are information central. Always makes me feel on top of things to hang out with you techies, watch you keep an eye on everything and everyone." I cast my hands expansively around to indicate the multiple screens displaying continuously changing views of the outside perimeter and the internal hallways. From her position in front of the central monitor, Eve tosses me an amused smile. I wink at her. Frohike snorts and grumbles something under his breath that I graciously ignore. My mind's on other things today. A face tilting into my touch... And speak of the devil. A high-pitched chirrup sounds from the distance motion sensors and Eve smoothly sights in on the movement. As casually as possible I drop my feet to the floor, rise and wander to her chair to watch over her shoulder. Frohike glances at his watch and then at the ever-present palm pilot that hangs on his belt. "Ought to be Krycek," he tosses over his shoulder to Eve, never fully straightening up from his study of his printouts. "Mmmm hmm." She keeps the cameras focused on the moving target and magnifies the image. Sure enough, that smooth sliding walk is instantly recognizable. Not to mention the dead giveaway - he's out there alone. Everyone else moves in pairs or quartets on the outside. Only he wanders around solo. Makes me crazy but I haven't figured out how to knock some sense into him. "Positive identification... boss man's back," she confirms to Frohike, who grunts a reply. "Looks like... North entrance." Quell surprise. Trying my best to make it sound like I'm just coming to the conclusion, I sigh, "Well, I suppose I should go give him the latest update, since I know where he is for once." I stretch nonchalantly. "Nice visiting with you, Frohike." He turns his head just enough to give me a speaking look over his glasses and returns to his work. Eve on the other hand swivels her chair and smiles up at me. "See you later, Walter." I nod goodbye, pick up my stack of folders and leave the room. My timing needs to look nicely accidental now, considering who's going to be present. I cut through the corridors and by the time I wander up to Mulder and Anthony arguing amicably over the Yankees, I figure he must be fairly close. I'm not disappointed. Within a few minutes of my inserting myself into their conversation, the expected series of beeps sounds, indicating someone is keying open the far door lock from the outside. Mulder rolls his eyes at me and jerks his head at the door. "His highness is home. Security confirmed his ident a little while ago." As Alex appears around the sliding door, Anthony speaks into his headset to Eve, letting her know Alex is in and the door is being reset. He walks towards us and I feel my adrenaline kick up just a bit. Nerves? Christ. Unbelievable. I force the thought aside and tell myself my pulse did *not* just speed up. As he gets closer I can see he looks tired. His eyes coast greedily over Mulder in that familiar way, then swing to me before Mulder can toss off one of his usual welcomes. "Hey Skinner... what's up?" I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at the way Mulder's face registers annoyance at being effectively ignored. Honestly... poor Alex. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't with Mulder. Which suits me just fine. I meet that laser beam gaze and let the moment drag, enjoying having his attention focused on me, enjoying even more the way his face relaxed just a bit when he saw me. "I was just killing some time," I finally say casually. "But since I'm running into you anyway..." I make a production out of rifling through the folders under my arm, selecting the one that carries the only document I want him looking at right now. Handing it over, I shrug apologetically. "This could use your attention as soon as you can get to it." "Okay," he responds, accepting it and flipping it open. His eyes skim rapidly and I watch him pause. The note staring up at him doesn't take long to read. He looks up and though his eyes immediately seek mine again, his expression is unchanged, perfectly blas. Always the professional. "I'll get right on it," he nods, closing the folder firmly. "I just need to check in with Rhodes." Okay, so he might be a little late. I can deal with that. I nod and turn back the way I came in. "Later Tony. Mulder." Anthony responds, but Mulder is already starting in. I walk away to the sound of his voice. "So what's up with all the restraint, Krycek? I thought you were just playing your little control games with me again, but looks like you're not letting any of the teams out of the hole at the moment." "You know we're waiting on the Rebels, Mulder," his weary rejoinder comes, and I have to stop myself from going back and dragging him away with me, knowing he'll stand there and let Mulder pick away until the headache-lines are standing clearly on either side of his eyes. He's a big boy. If he chooses to stay and take it... I settle for heaving an irritated sigh. "Yeah, but-" I'm around the corner and out of earshot for the rest of Mulder's rebuttal, and just as glad. Watching them interact is the quickest way to convince myself not to have this conversation. And that's not happening. Not this time. My resolve firmed, I take the shortest route to my destination. Once back inside, I wonder if I should have the lamp on or off. Sometimes he likes talking in the dark, prefers it, and this could be an easier conversation to have watching his stars. But since I'm the one that asked to talk, it may seem weird if *I'm* sitting here in the dark. If he wants to initiate a conversation while stargazing that's one thing. From me, after what happened earlier, it might look a little... premeditated. I walk over to turn on the lamp. And trip over it. Fuck! How the hell he gets himself around in here by the light of those stars is beyond me. I manage to keep myself from falling flat by catching myself on the wall, but wince at the crash and tinkle of glass. Fucking great. Kneeling on the floor carefully, avoiding shards, I stare at the mess and try to figure out what to be pissed at... my stubbed toe, sore elbow, the broken lamp, or the fact that now we really will be talking in the dark, whether I intended it or not. Besides, I'd actually *like* to see his face while I try to talk to him about this. Sitting back with a huff, trying to figure out where I can grab another lamp and quick, I realize I've sat on his blankets I noticed earlier. Fabulous... can this get anymore seduction-like? I swear I- My brain catches and snags. Seduction-like... I flash on my thoughts from during our meeting, my mental image of candlelight in the room. My hand rests on the blankets beneath me. Well, I did say I thought I might have to be... obvious. Whack him over the head, if I recall the thought correctly. Maybe I need to do a little more than talk to get through to him. After all, it was a physical gesture he responded to. And he did respond. (Continued in part 2) Part 2 See part 0 for header information. I'm up and practically running before I realize I've made up my mind. Supply 2 is closer than tracking down another lamp anyway. Keeping an eye on my watch, I ignore the odd looks I'm getting as I race around, now hoping that he *will* be late from his check-in with Rhodes. Breathing hard, I manage to beat him back to the star room, and catch my breath as I scramble around lighting candles. None of them match and two are in glasses from the kitchen rather than actual holders, but who cares. I found enough to have one in each corner and one each against the side walls, and the flicker through the glasses is kind of pretty. It's a small room; the six give a healthy glow, with enough shadows left to allow for atmosphere and to not overpower the stars. Nice. The little tin of Vaseline from the medical supplies sitting right next to the candle bin stays in my pocket. If candles seem a little premeditated, that could be considered downright insulting. Certainly a long shot. I can hardly believe I grabbed it. But it was just *sitting* there and... well, it never hurts to hope. I'm lighting the last wick as I hear the sound of booted feet in the hall. As the keypad beeps, I realize I didn't get rid of the broken glass yet. I walk to the door to steer him clear of it, when the door swings inward. He walks straight in without hesitation, momentum carrying him past me, the door closing behind him with a sharp click. I open my mouth to speak just as my hand lifts and settles firmly on his left shoulder. The next moment I'm on the floor, gasping and coughing, trying to get my breath after a sharp elbow to the gut and a long leg sweeping my feet out from under me. Never touch a Krycek from behind. "Fuck! Walter!" He kneels beside me and helps me sit up, rubbing my back, a look of concern and dismay crossing his face. "I'm sorry! Are you okay? I didn't... I mean..." I blink at him in the low light and manage a choked chuckle. "Who the hell did you think it was?! I'm the one who asked to meet you here." Flustered, he stammers. "I-I, I know, I'm sorry. I just, I didn't... the room, it seemed off and-" Fuck, he's cute like this. I shake my head, letting the wry laughter take over. "Alex, stop. I know, I know. I should know better than to touch you from behind, without identifying myself. I just sort of figured you'd be less hair-triggered coming into your own room when I *asked* you to meet me here." I shake my head at him in exasperation. "I suppose it's my fault though..." I trail off and wave the hand that isn't rubbing my sore stomach, encompassing the candles. He freezes, looks up and around. Taking in the room, finally. Looking at each candle in turn. Startlement and then confusion spread over his face, as rare as the fluster and just as adorable. I really have to remember not to mention that to him. I doubt he'd appreciate it. "Sorry about the dark," I offer. "I knocked over the lamp. I'm sorry. I'll get you another one." He glances over at the shattered remains and a bemused half-smile curls his lips. "You broke my lamp?" "I didn't mean to. I tripped over it." I pause, take a slow breath and take a chance. I lift my hand, touching his cheek lightly, stroking my fingers down to his jaw, catching his chin and gently guiding his face about to look at me. Huge dark eyes stare at me in wounded bewilderment and my heart aches. Has it been so long, Alex? So long since anybody gave a damn? "Alex." Making my voice as low and gentle as I can. "Alex, I know this may look a little... odd. It's not what it looks like." I stop. It isn't? "Okay, that's not right either. It sort of is what it looks like. Earlier... what happened. It was kind of sudden. I think it took you by surprise. Hell, in a way it took me by surprise, though I have been... thinking about it. I mean in a general sense. But I asked to meet you here because I wanted to talk about it. I don't want to just back away and pretend nothing happened." I take another deep breath and push on, not letting him look away. "I want to talk to you about... how things are. Now. Get it out on the table so we can work with it or around it, but so we don't have to ignore it like the invisible elephant in the room. "I wasn't trying to push you. Before. I just reacted spontaneously. Some things that have been building just sort of spilled out. Working with you these past months... things are... sort of... different. At least they are for me. A lot different. I thought... maybe... maybe for you too. It's okay if they're not, I'm not asking for anything you don't want to give, or have, or... well. I'm just... tired of not talking about it, not trying. What I mean is-" I'm not expressing myself well, and frustration rises in my throat. Words have never been my strong suit. Huffing out an irritated sigh, I tighten my grip a fraction on his chin, and guide his face closer, leaning in and tilting my head sideways. "What I mean is... this," I breathe against his mouth, then close the distance. I brush my lips across his once, then fasten on with the hunger he's been unknowingly sparking in me, pouring all the frustrated 'signals' out into the most blatant message I can give. I've used up all the subtlety I possess. I hear a muffled gasp of surprise, and take quick advantage of the parting lips, not above using any skills at my disposal to sway the answer in my favor. Letting my tongue sweep his mouth, I get lost in the moist silk feel, the strong edge of teeth, the hot slick twist of his tongue. My other hand finds the back of his head and burrows into the soft spiky hair I've been dying to touch for... for *months*. One touch earlier was not enough. Just enough to make me want more. Stroking again and again, brushing against the grain and he shivers. My hand at his chin caresses down over his throat, feeling out his pulse, running back up to play fingertips over the plump flesh of an earlobe, tease the ridges of an ear. He makes a noise against my mouth, and I love it. My tongue retreats just long enough for my teeth to nip at his lower lip, tugging, trying to get the sound again. A little voice in my head is screaming something, and it sounds like 'you said you weren't pushing, give him a chance to say yes or no!' Right. Right. I release his lip and pull back, letting both hands stroke once more before coming to rest, cradling his face. Thoroughly flummoxed Alex Krycek. Beautiful sight. I smile slowly. "Yes." I nod. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean." His mouth opens. Closes. His hand is still on my back, and I suddenly notice it's fisted in my shirt, hanging on for dear life. I think Superman is feeling a little uncertain about leaping this particular building, flying this high. "Skinner," he finally manages, then changes his mind mid-thought. "Walter." I'm pleased with the shift. "I... I don't understand. Earlier I didn't... it was so- I just- it seems- I- you... you and... and me?" "If you want," I answer, ignoring the fact that he hasn't actually asked anything coherent. I get the idea and I think that's as much as I'm going to get out of him and I very determinedly do not even crack a smile about it. "Why?" His voice cracks, and I notice his eyes are looking a bit wild. "Because I'd like to. Because you're different, you've changed. Or, maybe you're the same and I'm different, or something. Because I understand better. Or at least I think I do." I pause, because I'm not sounding much more coherent than he was. I drop my eyes for a moment, then lift them again, taking a deep breath. God, he smells like the outdoors still. Alexsmell, tinged with fall leaves. "I'm tired of *thinking* all this, and not saying any of it, and watching you and just... waiting." I don't specify what I'm waiting for. We both know. The unspoken. The 'ace reporter' always sitting on his shoulder. "Alex, if *you* want, if you're... interested... and I know it's complicated, but... I just wanted to make the offer." I trail off. Did that sound weird? "Make myself clear," I try again, which doesn't sound much better. Make it clear that I'm putting myself way out there, attempting to leap that tall building myself and I don't even have the cape, my mind supplies. But I don't say it because it would just confuse him more. And I wouldn't be able to stop the words that are backing up right behind it - because I'm more than happy to leap over the building first, Alex, and I'll hold you close, keep you safe, if you're afraid of the heights, but I need you to see this place. I need you to see what we could be. What we could give each other. Give it a chance. I try to say it with my eyes, since I think it might be a little much for him anyway. "You're serious," he breathes, incredulously. "But you don't even like me..." I laugh. I have to. I'm getting all bound up with fucking *emotion* and he's still trying to believe this is happening. Ah, the little ironies of life. "I like who you are these days, Alex," I finally say with a grin. "I like what you're trying to do. Actions always did speak louder than words with me. I may not always agree with the way you do it, but like I said, I think, maybe, I understand better. And as you probably know better than most, I'm particularly well-suited to understand where you used to be." I lift an eyebrow and give him a meaningful look. "I'm hardly pure as the driven snow, *Clark*." "Walter." His voice is wondering, I can hear it in the way his tongue shapes the syllables. "I... don't know what-" He pauses. For a long time. I can see the struggle on his face. "I'm incredibly flattered," he finally whispers, and I feel a sinking sensation in my chest. That sounds suspiciously like a no. No's always start with the 'I'm flattered' line. Ouch. Damn, I thought I really was prepared for the turn-down possibility. He swallows hard and starts up again. "But I know- I know you know... know how-" he stumbles to a stop, and suddenly I catch on, realize what's bothering him. I can see it all through his usually blank countenance. Something warm bursts in my chest, trickling through me. My hand lifts and settles against the side of his face again, lightly. I nod and give him a wry half-smile. "You know I understand. About Lois. It's just like I said first off, but I think you were still too stunned to hear me. I'm not asking for *anything* you don't want to give. I don't say things I don't mean. Not anymore I don't. Believe me, I've got my eyes wide open." Something changes, melts, in his face. The shadows playing across it already make him impossibly beautiful, but now I'm struck dumb. His entire bearing softens, and his breath catches. His eyes are so huge I don't think I can stand it, I'm going to fall straight into them and never find my way back out. Which would be bad, because it will mean I've been lying to him about not wanting more than he can give. Then he's leaning forward, hesitantly, touching his lips to mine. I don't move, barely breathe. The warmth of his mouth is fleeting on mine, then moving, brushing my cheek, then my mouth again. Skimming so softly I can barely feel it, almost asking permission. I suck in a shaky breath. "Alex..." And his mouth settles on mine, lips parting, tongue touching my lips and retreating. My arms wrap around him before I can remember moving, pulling him down to me, crushing him to my chest and twisting, bending over him and sprawling us both on the floor. My tongue enters his mouth and I thrill to *that* sound again, that plaintive half-whimper half-moan. Our legs are tangled and I'm on top of him and I really *have* to slow down. I tear away and lift my head. "I can take this as a yes?" He stares up at me from the floor, panting, and suddenly a smile breaks across his face. "Yes," he murmurs. As I start to descend again, his fingers are suddenly there, pressed against my lips, keeping me at bay. I lift an eyebrow at him, then let my tongue and teeth play at his fingers, settling on one and sucking it all the way in. He gasps and his eyes dilate further as they focus on his finger disappearing between my lips. He swallows hard and manages to pull his gaze back to mine with an obvious effort. "Walter..." His rough voice teases at my control. I draw off his finger slowly. "Yes?" "Thank you. For saying something. And for understanding." His eyes skate away and return to mine. "About Lois." The words are so throaty I pause for a moment to check, make sure he's okay. My ardor is suddenly calmed, leashed by the hesitancy crossing his face. I suddenly remember that if we ever got to this point, I wanted to make this slow. And I will. If it kills me. I lower my face to his and kiss him gently, gently... only lips. "You're welcome," I whisper. Rolling off him, I reach out a hand and pull him up, smiling at his surprise. But I have to get off him or I'm not going to be in control and I want to be in control. I'm not going to use him like a warm body to get my rocks off. Even if he expects it. Especially since he likely does expect it. We may be two imperfect men reaching for each other in equally imperfect and extreme circumstances, but that doesn't mean it can't be real, can't be good. I want to show him just how good it can be. That it can be better than pining after someone who does nothing but use him as a whipping boy. Getting to my feet and helping him to his, I tug him close, slipping my arms around his waist, under the black jacket. My hands crawl over the softness of the washed cotton shirt, and he sighs as he leans into me, his good arm resting on my shoulder. Tucking his face into my neck, he inhales against me, and I spend long minutes holding him close, stroking his back and enjoying the wet nuzzles at my throat. Finally I let my hands circle back around him, rising to slide his coat from his arms. He always wears the arm when he goes out for a meeting. I'm not entirely sure why, though I have a few guesses. Tossing his coat to the floor, I lean down and let my tongue press through the rip in his shirt collar. He makes a soft whuff of laughter as my tongue tickles his collarbone. I remember my earlier thoughts of ripping the shirt open, but he probably likes it given how often he wears it, as beat up as it is. Nice way to ruin a mood, Skinner. Shred his favorite shirt. I coax the bottom of the shirt up and feel him freeze when it reaches mid-chest, as expected. "Too much too soon?" I ask, knowing that might not be the issue, but willing to let it be if he needs it to be. He pulls back with a little jerk. "Uh..." His head ducks, shaking a quick negative. "No, it's okay, I just-" I let him go easily, giving him space. "Whatever makes you comfortable, Alex," I stroke his left shoulder lightly. "Whatever you like." He's just thought of it, but I've been waiting for it, so I already have the response ready and rehearsed. "And I'd like you to know that I'd be happy with the shirt off, but do whatever feels better to you." He blinks at me in the low light for a long moment. He turns to the side, lifting the turtleneck up and over his head with his right hand. Sliding the shirt down his prosthesis, he drops it and I hear the muffled sounds of him working on the straps. I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Two major obstacles down, only... what? Forty-nine or so to go? He bends down and puts the arm on the pile of his clothing, then straightens, still turned slightly to keep the left side further away from me. I wonder if he even realizes it. He looks back up at me, and I catch my breath. He's gorgeous in the starlight. I look up and see his sky glowing down on us brightly. I face him and smile; he still looks uncertain. Every pause, every uncomfortable moment, is another chance for him to stop and think. Second-guess. Think of reasons this isn't a good idea. The ease I have guessing his thoughts when his face has gone as shuttered as usual surprises me. I realize I know him better than even I thought I did, and the thought makes the pit of my stomach feel warm again. He's like a shadow standing there in black jeans and boots... his skin paler than ever before. We're all losing color living down here, but where most of us just look pasty, it suits him. The ache in my groin grows insistent, and I can hear my breathing getting uneven. Easy Walter. You're an old man, you can take your time. The tightness of my jeans begs to differ. "Thank *you*, Alex," I murmur, because I can't resist, and I love the way he startles, shaking his head in automatic negation, his eyes immediately dancing away from mine. "Yes," I say before he can get a word out, closing in again, letting one hand skim over his chest, watching his nipples tighten as my thumb circles each one. "Thank you for the trust." I draw him close and bury my nose in his hair. Let my hands wander as they want, stroking and petting, moving around to squeeze the fullness of an ass I can't get enough of watching on the odd occasion I think I can get away with it. He makes the best sound and, taking it as encouragement, I settle both hands under his butt, cupping and massaging. His hips push closer when my fingers firmly trace the back seam of his jeans up between his cheeks and back down. I'm gratified to feel the hardness of interest against my thigh... I may * understand* about his Mulder-thing, but I really don't want to be a gratitude-pity-fuck. His fingers unbutton my shirt and tangle in my chest hair. I like the pulling sensation, and like it even better when he trails his fingers down lower and lower until they catch in my waistband. I dip my head to catch his earlobe in my teeth and nip hard. I feel his cock leap against my thigh and smile, satisfied. Sucking on his earlobe brings another soft moan and I release it only to nibble my way down his throat. I feel like I've finally got my rhythm. Like I can take all the time I need even if my cock is protesting that plan. I spend a small eternity investigating every facet of his throat with lips and tongue, using teeth whenever I want his soft sighs to peak. One arm around his back, my other hand strokes over his hip and groin, working between our bodies to smooth over tight denim, cross over to the flesh of his stomach, play teasingly at his navel and under the edge of his waistband. His hand at my jeans was working to open button and zipper, but I think it may have forgotten its mission, which is fine with me for the moment. I give the bulge at his crotch one more teasing pass and then start on his fly. His hips twitch when my fingers slide inside the opening zipper. I lead him closer to the blankets with a firm hold in his half-open jeans, finally drawing away from his neck and meeting his eyes. I jerk my head down at the blankets and feel a tiny wave of relief when he looks down and nods. Sinking to the blankets, I tug on his jeans and his legs fold under him until he sprawls beside me. He's looking at me funny, and I realize he's thinking again. I rise onto my knees and strip off my shirt. His eyes widen and he stops thinking. That was more effective than I had even hoped. While I'm up, I finish the job he started, undoing my jeans and pushing them off my hips. His eyes fall to the erection straining my briefs and those eyes go even a bit wider, his mouth falling open. Typical male I may be, but that's a reaction that definitely does an ego good. I smile when his eyes lift to mine again, then almost fall over backward when he licks his lips. Shit Alex, don't do that, I'm trying to be the considerate guy here. Possibly he didn't even realize he did it. Sitting back down, I push my jeans the rest of the way off, heeling off my boots as I go. Removing my glasses, I fold them and drop them into one boot... the room's too dark and getting another pair if I step on these will be a pain in the ass. Turning back, I shift closer to him on the blankets. The floor is cold where my feet rest against it. His eyes are roaming my body and I like the look on his face. Reaching out, I cup his head and pull him in for another slow kiss, gently bearing him backward until he rests full length on the floor. Leaning over him, I play at his lips and tongue until I get the gasp I'm waiting for, then lick my way down his throat to his chest. I settle over him and run my tongue across each nipple in turn, thoroughly wetting the flesh. Naked, exposed, unlike my own shrouded by hair. Blowing across each raises the flesh in a hard knot and brings another delightful sound. I really hadn't guessed he'd make such wonderful noises. When both nipples are erect, I lower my mouth fully and take one in, sucking firm and steady. His arm snaps up and around my shoulders, hand flattening on the back of my head, chest arching up. "Fuck!" Mmm yes, vocal can be good. His voice makes my cock ache, and I settle against his thigh, rubbing up against the warm denim as I switch to the other nipple, sucking it in turn. While I linger over it, my hand creeps up over his hip to work inside his jeans, carefully cupping the warm handful I find. I rest my palm against his hard-on, feeling the gentle throb through the worn cotton of his underwear. His hand shifts to my shoulder and digs in, hard. I leave my hand resting on him, hot and heavy, as I kiss my way to his navel and tongue down the line of hair below it. His cock jumps against my palm when I set my teeth lightly in the flesh of his stomach and suck. I ease back up to a sitting position and slide my hand out of his pants. Gripping the denim I ease them down and off when he lifts his hips. Down over long thighs, over knees - I pause to kiss the left - over shins and stop at boots. Christ, his legs are endless. I want them wrapped around me in the worst way, but that will be his call and I'm not going to even mention it unless he does. I work his boots off and then pull the jeans over his feet. Once bare, I glide my hand back up between his legs as smoothly as the jeans slid down, resting it on his inner thigh. I look up to find him watching me intently. Thinking again? Tsk. "What do you want?" His breathy voice almost hurts to hear, I'm so aroused. It takes me a moment to absorb the words. Oh Alex... what do I want? To make you feel good. To make you forget about Miss Lois, and an impossibly sharp mind with a regrettably sharp tongue to match. Even for a minute. Or an hour. Or a lifetime or two. To make you smile at me a little more often. To have you look at me the way you look at him. To take you to the stars and back, just us. "To make you stop thinking, just for a little while." I smile to let him know I'm purposely misunderstanding his question. I stretch out beside him and pull him to me, sliding a leg between his and shivering at the delicious sensation of skin on skin, with only barely-there cotton between us. He moves to kiss me and I let my hand find his ass again, tugging and stretching at the fabric, working my hand down his underwear. Warm soft flesh filling my hand and bucking against my thigh and teeth biting at my lips and I'm rolling on top of him before I remember I wasn't going to do that. I try to roll back off and his arm catches me, holds me there. "Skinner... Walter..." That voice again, and it's going to take me apart. "Will you-" He stops. "Walter, will you fuck me?" I freeze, trying like hell to figure out if I just heard what I think I heard or if my overheated imagination dreamed it up. I lift my head and stare down at him, unsure how to ask without sounding like a complete asshole. He lays on his back beneath me, breathing hard, eyes glittering in the candlelight, and meets my stare full on. "You don't have to," he says calmly, between pants. "If that's not what you want." I blink stupidly at him until I realize he's actually waiting for a response. Like I'd say *no*? He can't honestly think... well, maybe he does. I grope for words, finally managing to rasp, "I'd love to" in lieu of anything more intelligent. His face relaxes and his eyes slide shut, his mouth tilting in a small smile as he bucks his hips against mine then rubs his ass back into my hand. I work his underwear down off his hips, his squirming against me making it challenging. Before I can get them any further down, his eyes open and his hand reaches for my briefs, pulling them down in the front to release my erection. His sound of appreciation makes me dizzy... or maybe it's his hand on my cock, circling and stroking firmly. "Alex... wait. Don't..." It'll be over before it starts. I catch his wrist to stop him, then roll back and sit up, reaching for my pants. Digging out the little Vaseline tin I turn to find him blinking at it, then turning his laser beams on me. "Optimistic?" he offers dryly. I open my mouth to give some rational reason for carrying Vaseline around, and realize there just *isn't* one. My lips twitch. "Optimistic," I finally agree. I shrug, refusing to let myself get embarrassed. "Besides, would you want me around if I wasn't prepared for every eventuality?" I push my briefs off and reach for his before he can answer, stripping them down those impossible legs. His knees bend and his thighs part and suddenly he's spread out before me, cock and balls on display. I try to remember to breathe. "Mmmm," he demurs, brows arching. Finally he relents, his eyes sparkling. "Optimism can be good. It can be nice to have an optimist around." My breath catches and I let the smile itching at my lips take over. How can I not with a response like that? I flip open the Vaseline with my thumb. Setting the little tub on his stomach, I trail one finger through it then use my thumb to smear the jelly across all my fingertips. I glance up and see his eyes focused on my fingers, his tongue just touching his upper lip. I waggle my fingers at him and his eyes narrow before lifting to mine, giving me a 'get the fuck on with it, smartass' glare that I recognize. I love that the quirky humor we've fallen into carries into the sex. I'd have been disappointed if it didn't. Slipping my greased hand down between his thighs, I work my fingers under his balls and probe firmly. His legs spread wider, relaxing outward and the sighs start up again. I move my free hand to pet his cock then cup his balls. The sighs move to groans. Soft mutters start reaching my ears as my fingers slip inside him, spreading the lube around. I massage his balls and his prostate, and get a deity invocation. That sounds about right. I shift to my knees and move closer to his ass, easing my fingers out and sliding my slippery hand over my cock. "You comfortable?" His eyes open and focus on me with some difficulty, a hazy expression on that normally closed face. "Yeah, I'm good," he says, and his voice is breathy again, making me shiver. His hand fists in the blankets at his side. I move closer again until my cock is flush with his ass, pressing for entry. Releasing his balls reluctantly I shift my hands to his thighs, lifting them as I rock my hips forward. A deep groan tears free of my throat as I feel his body open to me, my cock inching inside his ass. I'm trying to take it slow but with a toss of his head he rocks his hips up to meet me and I finish the thrust with an uncontrolled jerk. "Yes!" His voice is unmistakably triumphant. Alright, so maybe slow wasn't exactly what he was after. I stare down at him stretched before me, body wriggling, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth open and panting in a coyote grin. The feel of his ass tightening and relaxing around me is better than I ever could have imagined. I don't ever want to move, I want to keep this moment, but the urge to thrust slowly turns into an imperative. As his body adjusts to me, his legs suddenly snap up around me, muscles contracting to pull me in tighter, and that's it. With a groan I'm moving, riding into that ass again and again, his moans accompanying every thrust. After the first rush of heady sensation, I jerk back on the reins again. Dammit, I will control this... I will control myself. The writhe and yelp I get when I slow down are gratifying enough to reinforce the idea. Hands freed, I shift until I can wrap my right hand around his cock, coaxing him back to full erection with easy strokes ending in a gentle squeeze. He bucks into my hand and moans his approval. Forcing back my rising need, I concentrate on making him lose it, thrusting steadily, settling my thumb just under the head of his cock, stimulating the knot of nerves on the underside repeatedly. Before long his body arches and stiffens, his legs contracting around me like vices, and then he's coming over my hand, hot fluid spilling over my fingers and onto his stomach. The sight, the scent, the sheer feeling of power, rush through me and my hips pick up speed. I release his spent cock as his body collapses, his eyes staring up at me dazed and sated. I lean over him, shifting my position and balancing on my elbows. His legs relax and loll on either side of me but his hips tilt upward, his arm reaching up to circle my shoulders, pull me closer. The look on his face is too much for me, and whatever control I had is burning up fast as his gaze holds mine. His eyes devour me as I fight to last, hold on for just a minute more, make this last, keep this feeling, this flying... And I'm tipping over the edge and I'm coming and his voice is whispering "Walter" in that *voice*... bliss rockets through me and I fall into it, fall into him. Him. Better than I ever knew. I come back to earth with my face pressed against his throat, my body relaxed on his, which can't be comfortable. I shift and roll off, onto my side facing him, arms settling him close, next to me. He draws back, gentle but insistent, and I let him go, stifling my disappointment. He stills on his back a few inches away, rolls his head back and stares up at his night sky. "You know," his whisper strokes me like the second hand he doesn't have, "I think I know what they mean about that lack of oxygen in outer space now." I don't know that I've ever seen the look that's on his face. "For awhile there I was definitely having trouble breathing." I try hard not to feel too self-satisfied, but that expression... it's a losing battle. I watch him watch his stars and feel incredibly content with my world. Even as I see his expression shift back to that odd surprised look, see him stiffen suddenly, and guess what's going through his mind. "Fuck... what time- I was supposed to-" "Relax." I don't move, except to touch his chest lightly, withdrawing my hand. "I canceled the rest of your day. At least for the next couple hours." His head whips back around and he stares at me, looking for all the world like he can't decide whether to laugh or get mad. Finally he raises an eyebrow and says, "Optimistic?" I grin, unapologetic. "Optimistic." "Blind optimism can get you in trouble," he warns, but his silky tone is light. "So can lack of oxygen," I tease back, and love the way his cheeks flush. His hand lifts as if he might touch my face, but then it sinks again. His eyes drift over my shoulder and to his ceiling once more, then return to me. His voice when it comes is a velvet brush. "Walter Skinner," he breathes, "you are... stellar." The catch in my throat won't let me respond. I hear the words; I also hear the meaning. It's more than I ever expected. But he's not looking for a response anyway... his eyes slide closed and he settles with a small sigh. I lay next to him and stare at his stars. ~end~ Ratadder's lyrics, courtesy of PaulaMP: Stellar, by Incubus Meet me in outer space. We could spend the night; watch the earth come up. I've grown tired of that place; won't you come with me? We could start again. How do you do it? Make me feel like I do. How do you do it? It's better than I ever knew. Meet me in outer space. I will hold you close, if you're afraid of heights. I need you to see this place, it might be the only way that I can show you how it feels to be inside of you. How do you do it? Make me feel like I do. How do you do it? It's better than I ever knew. You are stellar. Next up in "Resist and Serve", OXYGEN, currently under construction. Alex's version of the events in OPTIMISM. Given such amazing lyrics, I'm getting two stories out of them. ### The End ###