These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 
1013 Productions and Chris Carter.  No infringement is intended. 
I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them 
go back to the lives they don't have on the show.  This is just 
for fun, no money is being made from this.  

This story involves sex between two men, aka: slash.  If
that is *not* your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't 
read it!  (simple, ain't it??)

Feedback is *very* much appreciated, and always answered.  Flames 
will be passed around to friends and chuckled over.  :)

Seventeenth in the Tapestry Series.  You might want to read the 
others first, just so we're all on the same page, here.  Previous 
stories can be found at:

http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html

For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. 
This will be about as close as I can get.  And for Desiree, who 
wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die.  And for Toddie, for 
every other reason.

More to come...

Weft - Perfect  by Amirin <groh@iquest.net>  #149


***********************


The drive back to the hotel passed in near-total silence.  And 
Alex never once looked at me.  But his hand didn't leave mine, 
which was resting on his thigh, and he let me shift gears as I 
needed to but refused to let go for very long.

A hell of a lot of gear-shifting was going on, too.  

I tried not to think too much and was only partially successful.  I
could block out the past somewhat, with effort and distraction, but 
I couldn't help thinking about the present and wondering at the 
future.

Something was still going on.  And he still needed my help, 
if the gunshot wound to the leg was any indication.

And I really didn't *want* to think he was letting me do what I 
pleased with him, giving me what he thought I wanted, just to 
ensure my cooperation.  But how to say that to him without 
being insulting?  And how to bring it up?  And when?  

I could mention it before this went any further, but he might 
think it was part of the bargain.  Not a good choice.  

Or bring it up afterward, but it could sound like I was hinting 
at payment.  Even worse.  

Shit.

"I can hear you thinking again," he warned as I pulled into the 
same parking space that I had the night before.

"I need to say something.  And I really don't know how," I said 
softly, throwing the Auburn into park.

"Spit it out, already."

"I don't want to make you angry."

My only answer was a sigh and I turned the engine off.  We got 
out of the car and walked into the hotel, heading to the room 
in silence.  Alex tossed his sunglasses onto the dresser, but 
didn't take off anything else.  And I wasn't sure how to take that.

"Talk to me, Fox," he ordered quietly, sitting on the edge of the
now-made-up bed.  "What's on your mind?"

I walked over and sat next to him, not wanting the physical 
distance between us.  The other kind was bad enough.

"I know you need help with something.  And I *will* help you, if 
you'll let me.  Whether you take me up on it or not, that's up to 
you.  I hope you will.  I just wanted you to know..." I sighed and 
turned toward him, "the offer's still good.  And unconditional.  
That's all."

This time my answer was silence.  Then, a single nod.  And a softly
spoken, "Okay."

"I mean it, Alex.  I still want you.  But you don't have to do a 
damned thing to guarantee..." 

And then it got kind of hard to talk with his mouth covering 
mine.  Moaning was real easy, though.  I did a lot of that as 
the kiss went on.  It seemed to amuse him, if the shaking was 
anything to go by.

He pulled away slowly, dropped another kiss on my lips with a 
muted chuckle, opened his mouth to say something, shivered a 
little, groaned, and started kissing me again.  It was a hell 
of a way to make me quit thinking, I've got to admit.  Shit, I 
almost quit breathing while I was at it.

Finally, Alex eased back, just a bit, barely enough to allow my 
eyes to focus, and dragged his thumb over my mouth, the leather 
warm and slick and soft, and I leaned forward, rested my chin on 
his shoulder, snaked an arm around his waist, and sighed.

"You'll help me."

I nodded, even though it sounded more like a statement of fact 
than a question.

"Whether anything else happens or not."

"Yes," I answered.

I felt him shaking his head against me and reached up to 
stroke his hair.

"I'm not saying I think you've been setting me up to help 
you, manipulating me into anything.  I don't want you to 
think that I believe that."

"How do you know that that isn't exactly what I've been doing?" 
he asked quietly, body still, but not tense.  Just waiting.

I shook my head.  I didn't know.  I didn't believe it, but, 
granted, I didn't *know*.

"Why would you?"

"To make you think you had to help me?  That you owed me?  For 
saving your life?"

I noticed he didn't mention the arm.  Thank god.

"What if I *didn't* help you, Alex?  What would you do?"

"I'd do what I had to, regardless.  I have no choice, Fox."

"Would all this end?"

He knew exactly what I meant.

"Not unless I got my ass killed, no."

"Where would you send me, next?"

"Down the Mississippi on a riverboat."

"How did you...?" I breathed, stunned.

Alex chuckled roughly, fingers gentle in my hair.

"How many times have I been in your apartment?  You've got 
everything Twain ever wrote.  In *hardcover*."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want to."

"Then that's why I'm going to help you," I told him with a 
shrug.

"You don't owe me a damned thing for any of it, Fox," he murmured 
into my ear as my lips found his neck again.

"Okay," I nodded with a grin at his near-silent whimper.  "But 
I'm helping you anyway."

"No matter what it is," he moved back and looked at me.  And damn 
me if he didn't look...worried.

"There are some limits," I admitted.  "I haven't totally lost my
ability to reason, Alex.  I'm just going to have to trust you not 
to ask anything impossible of me."

"Difficult, maybe.  But not impossible," he assured me with a tired
grin.

"You need some rest."

I couldn't help saying it.  And waited for some crack from him.  
It didn't come.  His nod of agreement actually startled me.  He 
didn't argue when I unzipped his jacket and helped him shrug out 
of it.  He just used his teeth to tug the glove off his hand while 
I hung both jackets over the back of the chair.  I got his boots 
off, he removed the prosthesis, and I shoved all of it out of the 
way, kicked my shoes into space, and lay down next to him.

"Tonight," he said quietly, a smile in his voice.  It sounded like 
a promise.

"If you're up to it," I replied, grinning.

"Oh, I will be," he chuckled a little.  "I will be."

~~~

It couldn't have been more than about an hour.  He's definitely 
getting better.

He waited patiently while I figured out that there was someone in 
bed with me, remembered where said bed was, who was most likely 
to be in it, the fact that I didn't want to kill him, but never 
stopped kissing me.  His hand was all over me and it was another 
instance of forcing myself to remember that he only had the one. 
Could've fooled me.  Again.

He pulled away briefly, just to make sure that I was as awake as I 
was likely to get and grinned.  His evil grin.  Not the Evil grin, 
god, no, not that one.  This was simply mischievous, not diabolical.

"I thought you said 'tonight'," I mumbled faintly, dizzy, turned on.

"I changed my mind," he shrugged.  "Assassin's prerogative."

I snorted.

"You complaining?"

"Hell, no."

"Smart man."

God, that voice.  

We got me undressed quickly, more from a desire for speed than 
because I thought he actually needed any help doing it.  His 
clothing came off a little more slowly.  I got distracted.  Hey, 
I'd like to see anyone *not* get distracted with Alex Krycek's 
tongue down their throat.  

Christ.

"We've only got a couple hours," I warned him.  Yeah, like I needed 
to.

"It'll be enough," he chuckled, then groaned when I touched him.  
I was naked, he was half-dressed and damn me if he didn't look...
Jesus.  Bear with me, here.  Barefoot, all right?  Shirt half off. 
Jeans undone, but still on.  Underwear shoved out of my way.  He 
looked totally debauched and we hadn't done a whole lot more than 
kissing and groping, for crying out loud.

Eventually he got tired of me staring at him and worked to tug off 
the rest of his clothing.  All of it.  I think I was more of a 
hindrance than a help.  For a while.  Then I realized he might 
actually be stupid enough to start thinking that I didn't *want* 
him naked and his clothes were gone pretty damned fast after that.

I just kept staring.  I couldn't help it.  I vaguely noticed the
missing limb, the same way you notice when anything's missing, but 
it was like...like more of an accessory than a disability.  I mean, 
he had scars, bruises, a bullet wound. He had green eyes, dark hair,
ears that were slightly pointed.  And he had a missing arm.

And a frown on his face.

I had myself propped up next to him on one elbow and touched him. 
He didn't freeze, he didn't flinch, he just let me.  And touched me 
back.  Finger softly tracing the bullet wound Scully'd given me, 
which saved his life.  He looked almost regretful.  So, I licked 
the scar tissue at the end of his arm.  And looked regretful right 
back.  His eyes widened, then narrowed, and he nodded.  We weren't 
even.  Hell, no.  But we'd established something.  

I couldn't have been happier about where we were going and was about 
to say something when he moved.  And I was on my back.  And his mouth
was on my throat, my shoulder, my chest, with pleasure trailing in 
the wake of a hot tongue over my stomach, then came a nip on the 
inside of one thigh, which triggered the Pavlovian response of having 
me open my legs wider to accommodate him and something hot and wet 
surrounded my cock and, god, I wasn't expecting that.  

I really wasn't.

He was leaning on his arm, so he could only use his mouth on me and 
I don't mean to make it sound like that was unfortunate, because it 
wasn't, not at all.  If anything, it was even more intense, since 
that was the only part of him touching me.  The only part.  Just 
his mouth.  And I wasn't thinking.

Really.

Like I could.

His eyes flashed up at me when I groaned something.  It might have 
been his name.  It's not like I can remember.  

But I remember his eyes.  

I have never regretted being colorblind more than I did at that 
moment.  Christ, how totally, pathetically, sad that that explosive 
shade of green should be wasted on me.

Not completely wasted.  But enough to bug the hell out of me.

My fingers were in his hair about the same time I realized that I 
was too damned close to this being over too damned fast and he came 
up immediately when I tugged.

"Too soon," I gasped, just as he growled, "Fuck me."

Fuck him?  Shit, I could barely *see* him.  My eyes had gone into
almost total whiteout, complete with those little sparkles around 
the edges that always make night driving through exhaustion so 
damned entertaining.

There was movement, and a coldness that I didn't care much for, 
and creative cursing coming from my suitcase, then the bathroom, 
then a clatter followed by a "Ha!" which would've rivaled Edison's 
when the light went on.  And then something was slapped into my hand 
as a warm presence curled up at my side, turned my face toward a 
kiss, and began murmuring short, instructive, encouraging comments 
as Alex coaxed me out of the fugue and into gear.

I dimly remember checking the tube in my hand just to make sure it
wasn't toothpaste before I opened it.  Cool slickness on my fingers,
a brief moment to warm it and then I looked around for Alex, who was 
on his stomach right next to me, splayed out like some fucking 
sacrifice, which was probably appropriate, now that I think about it.

And I kissed him, nuzzled the back of his neck, chewed on his
shoulderblade, licked my way down his backbone and was rewarded with
the most impressive groan I'd ever heard when my fingers finally got 
down to business.  I was taking my time so as not to hurt him, but 
if I'd known how much fun it was teasing him, I'd have done it anyway.

"Come on, Fox."

Not even close.

"Dammit, do it."

Nope, still not there.

"What the fuck are you trying to find in there, anyway?"

Uh, unh.

"Ohh, *fuck*."

Getting closer.

"Fox?  Ohhh, god.  Now.  Christ.  Dammit.  *Now*.  Please..."

Almost.

And then, Russian.  Mixed with English.  Barely.  Pleas, curses, 
moans, more pleas, demands.  Aha.

Houston, we have liftoff.

Condom on, check.  Alex writhing, check.  Alex pleading, check.  
Alex getting pissed off, check.  And then, inside him.

Three...

Two...

One...

I have *got* to learn Russian.

I made my way slowly, so damned slowly, until I was...god.  Good.  
So *damned* good.  Apparently, he agreed.  And rather breathlessly, 
too.

"Fucking took you long enough." 

"Everybody's a critic."

Slow, steady, even thrusts which made me rather proud of my
self-control, then the carelessly deliberate roll of his ass under 
me and bye-bye, control, hello, fucking meltdown.

My hand on him.  My cock in him.  More Russian.

A wail.  His?  Mine?  Do I look like I care?

Strangled shouts, ours, I think, scalding wet heat pouring over my
hand, searing tension through the body beneath me, a clenching 
around my cock, like he didn't intend to ever give it back, and 
then, I was coming.

Dear god.

Dear god, was I coming.

Shit.

And then, silence.  Mostly.  Except for the gasping, the thundering
heartbeat, the low groan.  

And that was just me.

Why, you ask?

Apparently it's difficult for Alex to speak when he's shaking so 
hard he can't breathe.


~~~end