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.  :)

Fifteenth 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 - Coming  by Amirin <groh@iquest.net>  #144


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


I grabbed a quick shower, in spite of last night's 
intention to let Alex go first.  I didn't want to make 
him feel rushed or awkward, trying to get done quickly 
to let me take my turn.  It made more sense for me to 
get finished, go get breakfast, and leave him the 
privacy he was used to.

Plus, he was moving slowly, allowing for the pain and 
having one hand.  In spite of the fact that things 
were...becoming almost comfortable, my watching him made 
him edgy.  And I didn't want that.

"Anything in particular you want, while I'm out?"

"Food," he said succinctly, prompting a snort from me.

"That's a given.  Anything else?"

He shook his head around a yawn.

"Okay.  Whatever you need to borrow of mine, go ahead.  
All right?"

"Yeah."

"Be back soon."

"I'm not going anywhere."

It was said softly, but the promise came through loud 
and clear.  I think my smile startled him.

"Good."

Also said softly, but the satisfaction was just as loud 
as his promise had been.  The memory of his answering 
grin stayed with me all through getting breakfast, 
easily enough for four, but I didn't know how long it 
had been since he last ate.

When I got back, I found him, showered, unshaven, and 
half-dressed in my clothes, head in his hand, fingers 
curled into claws through his hair.  He was grey, 
absolutely grey.  

The bags hit the dresser as I made my way to kneel in 
front of him, one hand right below the fresh dressing 
covering his wound.  His leg was quivering under my 
fingers.

"Alex?  Hey..."

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

He snorted and looked up with a deep breath that didn't 
seem to help much.  

"I'm all right.  Just painfully aware of the fact that 
I'm not a kid anymore."

"Who among us is?" I shot back.

He sighed and looked over at the bags.  His eyes widened 
as the ghost of a smile touched his lips.

"Are you expecting company?"

"I'm hungry," I shrugged.  "And I figured you might be, 
too."

I got up, caught the paper sacks with one hand and the 
bottles of meds with the other, and tossed them next to 
him.  Watched him open everything with one hand.   
Christ, he made it look so easy.

"Hey, fresh bagels," he exclaimed with quiet delight.  
"Cream cheese?"

"Who do you think you're talking to?" I pretended to 
take offense, only to have him whap me on the end of my 
nose with the plastic knife.  

It startled a laugh out of me, which made him look a 
little wary until he saw the grin hadn't left my face.  

"Weren't we going to the park?" he asked, but it was 
half-hearted, at best.

"After you eat," I informed him in a voice he decided 
not to argue with.

He relaxed back into the pillows with a sigh then dug 
into the other sacks as I crawled next to him.  We moved 
everything in between us and got down to the business of 
eating.  

Or, rather, I ate, he *devoured*.  

One of the large coffees was gone before his second 
bagel was, the orange juice, history, as he plowed 
through the sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich, and he 
inhaled four glasses of ice water with the waffles and 
fruit. Somewhere in there, he managed to find room for 
the pills and the last of the greyness finally left his 
face.  By the time we were done, we had a couple of 
bananas and the last two bagels left and damn me if he 
wasn't eyeing those, as well.

"Done?" I asked wryly.

He shrugged.  "Maybe.  For now."

I shook my head and he grinned a little.

"Kidding.  I'm kidding."

"I know."

"If I eat anymore, I'll explode."

"Good stuff," I sighed with sated satisfaction.

"Yeah," he rubbed his face with his hand, then grimaced 
at his leg.  "I should take a walk.  Work out the 
stiffness."

"We could hit that trail around the lake."

So what if I was basically inviting myself to go along.  
Sue me.  I didn't want to let him out of my sight.

"Sounds good."

He moved carefully off of the bed, put the sweats on, 
and only winced a bit when he stomped gently into the 
boots.  Everything else he was wearing, skin out, was 
mine.  And I didn't mind at all.

He reached out for his leather jacket, the more battered 
of the two on the chair, and frowned at a stain on the 
front of it which he tried to rub away with his thumb.  
Blood, probably.  His?  Who knows...?

"You look completely disreputable."

"I *am* completely disreputable," he reminded me with a 
smirk.

"You need a shave."

"Later.  It's too...complicated," he waved my suggestion 
away without bristling.  It felt like progress.

"I can do it for you.  If you want.  Depending on how 
much you can trust me with a razor next to your throat."

He actually seemed to consider it, but his head was 
shaking its way toward 'no' before he even answered.

"We're going to Chae's," I coaxed, shamelessly.  "And 
Bonnie will be there.  You look...dangerous."

"Bonnie is used to my looking...dangerous," he snorted 
with a grin that echoed his fondness for his best  
friend's daughter.  "You're talking about a kid who used 
to sleep curled up with my arm when I wasn't wearing the
damned thing, Mulder.  She's used to a lot."

I sighed.  

And he capitulated.  Just like that.

"Okay.  Thanks."

And then had the nerve to grin at my obvious 
astonishment as he tossed his jacket onto the chair.

"Stay here."  

I didn't mean for it to sound like an order but he 
could've taken it that way, regardless, and responded 
accordingly.  He didn't, though, and it occurred to me 
that that should have surprised me.

I grabbed a couple of towels and decided not to worry 
about it while one of them was soaking in hot water as I 
got the rest of the stuff together. 

Maybe, just maybe, he was getting used to me, too.

I let him soften the stubble with the hot towel, put the 
other around his neck to catch the drips, and opened the 
curtains enough to give me the light needed to do this 
without scarring him for life.  More than he was, 
already.

It didn't take long.  The first side of his face was a 
little awkward, like putting a tie on backwards, but by 
the time I got to his chin and throat, it was pretty 
easy.  I only nicked him once, right in front of his 
ear, but didn't even notice it until I was finishing the 
other side of his face and saw the tiny spot of blood.  
If he'd felt it when it happened, he hadn't reacted.

He looked perfectly...normal when I was done.  Minus the 
missing arm, the bullet wound, and the scars from things 
I didn't want to think about. 

I used the somewhat-cooler towel to get the last of the 
soap off of him and he took it from me to scrub his face 
clean.  That was when he noticed the smear of blood from 
the cut.

"Sorry," I murmured, smoothing over the spot with my 
thumb.  "I got you."

"Don't worry about it," he said quietly and grinned.  
"Better than I could do."

I snorted and brushed over the place again, swiping at 
the last of the blood with my finger.  Which he 
intercepted before I could clean it off on the towel. 

Apparently, he thought his tongue could do the job 
better.

I didn't argue.  The temptation to whack him over the 
head with a blunt instrument became almost unbearable at 
the smirk on his face, however, but restraint prevailed.

I think I actually disappointed him.  So I kissed him.  
That seemed to make it better.  To be honest, I think it 
made it a *lot* better.  I felt a lot better, at any 
rate.

I felt him, too.  Melting into me like heated paraffin.  
Mouth on mine.  Tongue on mine.  Hand on mine.  Hungry.  
Hot.

Christ.

I was nipping at the earlobe with the hole in it, 
missing...missing the...

"Where's the earring?"

"What are you, fascinated with shiny objects?"

"Alex.  Where is it?"

"Inside pocket of my jacket."

"Get it."

"Christ, you're demented."

He pushed away from me with a martyred sigh and snagged 
his jacket, rummaged through the interior briefly, 
tossed it aside, then prowled back over and held the 
gold hoop out to me on the palm of his hand.  I took it,
flicked open the catch on the bar, and crooked my finger 
at him.  A slight glare, combined with a roll of his 
eyes, and he sat back down next to me, cocked his head 
to the side, and waved at me with a 'get the fuck on 
with it, already' look on his face.

I almost laughed.  Didn't but came close.  Damned close.

It only took a second to thread it back through the hole 
and press it shut.  His eyebrow arched when I nodded in 
approval.

"All better, now?" he asked smarmily.

"Asshole," I muttered, but it was half-hearted at best 
and he snorted.  Then shrugged.

"Whatever makes you happy, Mulder."

I pulled him back towards me and continued from where 
I'd left off and he sighed shakily.

"There are advantages to making me happy," I whispered 
into the ear I was licking.

"Whatever," he breathed, hand slipping into my back 
pocket to pull me tighter against him, legs tangling 
through and around mine as we fell backward onto the 
bed, me slightly off to the side, to avoid landing on
his injured leg.  

He rolled me under him, fingers kneading my ass like a 
nursing kitten, propped up on his other arm, the 
non-flesh hard and unyielding next to my head as he went 
after my mouth with the same intensity with which he'd
inhaled breakfast, earlier.  The same ruthless 
determination I'd come to expect from him, the same 
single-minded attention to detail he'd always shown, and 
then my hand on the back of his head, fingers in his  
hair, his hand pushing me into him, all along the hard 
length of him, grinding against me, a slow, sinuous roll 
of hip and thigh and Christ! the totally ungentle nip of 
teeth on my neck, breathless, frantic whimpers, who was
whimpering? shit, I was, I'll never hear the end of 
this, fuck, and it occurred to me, hey, I've got two 
hands, where the hell's the other one and found it, 
classic case of the right not knowing what the left was
doing, until it burrowed under an elastic waistband, and 
another and, oh, yeah, right on his ass, warm muscle 
flexing and clenching under my fingers, and weight 
shifted, his hand moving, leaving me cooler where it had 
been until it found my fly and the zipper was down, 
followed by my jeans, and his hand was on me.

Jesus.

I was gasping like a landed fish and struggling with his 
clothes, sliding them down, but not able to get them off 
and it didn't really matter a damn when we collided, 
flesh on flesh, my hand in perfect counterpoint to his,
same rhythm, same need, both groaning, his face in my 
shoulder, body wire-hard and shaking against mine as I 
held him to me, arm wrapped around his waist like a 
python, his thumb over the head of my cock, angling for
the slit, and then my cry, lost in his hair, followed by 
his just seconds later, fighting its way between gritted 
teeth as he spasmed and collapsed, boneless and heavy, 
sweating and shivering, at my side.

And silence.  And growing worry on my part when I 
gathered enough brain cells together to realize he was 
still shaking, until it hit me, harder than I'd ever hit 
him.

He was laughing again.


~~~end