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Title: Missing You
Author: J.D. Rush
Archive: Unusual Suspects; The Basement; others-just ask.
Pairing: F/B
Rating: R/NC-17 for m/m sexual situation (not TOO explicit)
Spoilers: none that I know of. Story takes place before current season of X-Files.
Disclaimer: Better do this-still new to the fandom and I don't want to upset anyone. These three lovely characters were created by Chris Carter, and are owned by him and 1013 and FOX, and anyone else who can sue me for copyright infringement.
Plot: Byers misses Frohike; first story in The Pining Trilogy
Feedback: Always welcome and appreciated: yanksfan462@gateway.net.
Author's Note: Please be kind. I've written Quantum Leap slash for over seven years, and have NEVER written for another fandom. What can I say? You people have turned me on to geeksmut, and I LOVE it! Thank you!
Special Thanks to the people on the egroup who gave me a crash course on the boys.
I hope I did them justice. And a shout out to Surreal, who beta read my story, and convinced me to 'go for it'
Missing You
By: J. D. RushI missed him. I couldn't help it. I missed his biting comments. His snide sense of humor. His knowledge and expertise. His protective nature and comforting presence. I missed his arms around me, holding me as I fall asleep in his embrace, then waking up in the morning, still in those arms, feeling safe and secure. And yes, I even missed that unique war-worn face. I missed my lover.
I missed Frohike.
I tried not to let it show, but it was difficult keeping up the charade 24-7. Even more difficult than when he's here, and we pretend we're anything but head over heels for each other. Not many people know about us. Langly does. How could he not? And we told Mulder, well, we HAD to tell Mulder after that little 'surveillance' fiasco. (He and Ringo were in one car-Mel and I in the other-but only one team was actually concentrating on the stakeout, if you catch my drift.) If he told Scully, we don't know. Frohike still lusts after her, and she still tolerates his longing looks and 'compliments'. (Does 'tasty' qualify as a compliment?) To everyone else, we're just pests known as 'The Gunmen'.
Yeah, I endure Frohike's little 'Dana fantasy'. It's the least I can do. After all, he never mentions the torch I still carry for Susanne Modeski. Both hopeless romantics. Maybe that's what brought us together.
Actually, there were lots of things that brought us together. People who don't know my lover well would think us a strange pair. Heck, even the people who DO know him well think we've got a couple of screws loose. To most people, he seems very crude and caustic, sneaky and obnoxious, and just a tad slimy. I guess maybe he is. And okay, so he's not a raving beauty. Not many of us in this world are. He may never be confused with Cary Grant or Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt or whoever else has been dubbed a 'sex symbol'. But there's so much more to Mel. So much more.
Few people get to see the goodness in this man, his kind heart, and his compassionate soul. A caring man. A loving man. A loyal man, who would do anything for his friends. A brave man, who would even die for them. Frohike goes out of his way to hide those aspects of his personality, would even deny them if they were pointed out to him. Those walls of paranoia he's built for years to protect himself from harm are thick, and hard to break down. But once you do, the man inside is the most beautiful human being I've ever known.
And as he's fond of saying, "Once you've had a taste of Frohike..." I knew he didn't have an easy life, though he rarely talks about his time before he joined up with Langly and me. Always shunned and picked on because of his size, and appearance, and because he was 'different'. Never appreciated for his obvious brains, talents, and gumption. Always pushed to the side and forgotten. A misfit. Like Langly. Like myself. The three of us belonged together. Three of a kind. Somehow, we saw that the first time we met-an instant bond. (Well, once Ringo stopped calling me a 'narc'.) A friendship was born that day, and continues even now, eleven years later.
Wow, eleven years! Has it really been that long? I've known these men for over a quarter of my life. I shared more with them than I ever did with my family. We live together, work together...love together. We ARE a family, to some degree. A strange family, to be sure, but a family nonetheless.
I'm not sure how it happened, exactly-how my feelings for Frohike changed, that is. From being able to barely stand the sight of each other, to a situation where we were reluctant associates, to eventual friendship, to the first stirrings of something more. How did it happen? I'll probably never know.
I do know WHEN they changed, or at least, when I noticed they had changed. It was right after that trip to Vegas a couple of years ago, the one when I saw Susanne Modeski again. The one when I let her walk out of my life...again. Even as I was doing it, I was fighting a battle within me-half of me saying to jump in the cab with her, the other half telling me to stay. Stay? Why? I had nothing here, except the paper. And Langly. And Frohike.
Yes, it was thoughts of Mel that stopped me from leaving with the woman of my dreams. I just couldn't leave him. He had become such an important part of my life. The thought that I would never see him again filled me with dread. I didn't want Susanne, if it meant leaving Frohike behind. And that knowledge, that realization that, (MY GOD!) I loved Mel more than I loved Susanne startled and frightened me, especially since there was no way I could ever tell him. Not without ruining our friendship.
There was just something about Frohike. I could always talk to him much easier than I could to Ringo. I wasn't so afraid he'd make a nasty joke at my expense, or laugh at my fears, like Langly could do if he was in a mood. Mel was the one who understood, and empathized with my search for Susanne. He never questioned me or fought me when I planned yet another trip to yet another trade show, even though he had me pegged after the second one. (I doubt if Ringo ever figured it out until Vegas.) Still, he let me go, all the while knowing in his heart it was just folly. And when I would trip into flights of romantic notions, he was always a voice of reason, sometimes a brutally honest one when I needed it, keeping my feet on the ground. He was someone I could always lean on, someone I could trust.
When I found Susanne again, I almost couldn't believe it. I had searched for her for years. She was still strikingly beautiful, and fragile, and I felt the same old emotion welling up within me that wanted to shelter and protect her. But as the hours passed I began to realize that maybe, just maybe that wasn't enough. I barely knew this woman. She was nothing but a fantasy, a dream, one I had created in my mind. That was not something to build a relationship on. Reality would have never been like that. And without all the pretty illusions, everything would just crumble in a heartbeat.
I LOVED Susanne, but I wasn't really IN love with Susanne. I was in love with a vision. A hope. A figment of my imagination.
But Frohike was real. He knew me, warts and all, just as I knew him, and he liked me anyway. There were no delusions with us. After so many years together, there was little we didn't know about each other. Well, I suppose that's not true. He didn't know how I felt about him. But that's okay.
I didn't know how he felt about me, either.
One night, a few weeks later. Vegas was just a distant memory. Langly out playing Lord Manhammer somewhere. I was hunched over my keyboard, desperately trying to finish the lead story for our latest issue. Frohike came up behind me, and started rubbing my shoulders, trying to ease the tension in my back, and settle my troubled mind. How many times had we done that for each other, the three of us, over the years? Hundreds? Thousands of times? Nothing new. Except what I did next.
I leaned back, into those knowledgeable, skillful hands. Consciously, unconsciously, I don't know. Maybe I was just tired of hiding, tired of rationalizing. Maybe I was just ready to take the chance.
I moaned a sigh of relief as his fingers digged in harder. Throwing my head back, I lost myself in his touch; I felt his breath touching my exposed neck, bristling in my beard. Sweet smelling. 7Up. It was out before I was aware it was there, before I could even think about stopping it. A sigh. A sob.
"Mel."
The breath was instantly replaced with lips. Lips softer and warmer than I could have ever imagined belonging to Frohike, or any man, for that matter. On my throat. On my cheek. His hands, which still clutched my shoulders, spun me in my chair until I faced him. Tears in his eyes. Tears in mine. I reached out, up, and cupped that face. That strangely so-homely-he's-cute face, and pulled it towards me, tasting his lips for the first time.
I don't know what he expected. I don't know what I expected, but it sure wasn't what happened next. He stepped forward, standing between my spread legs, and let me have it. Oh, man, did he let me have it! Leather covered hands wrapped themselves around my neck, and pulled me into a heated soul kiss that set my insides on fire. His tongue, licking across my lips, was seeking entrance; I opened up, and let him in.
Where the hell did he learn this? I've never seen him have any kind of social life, except the kind that comes in little black videocassettes. (Gee, maybe I should start watching some of those films myself.) I had never done this with a man before, but I had little to worry about. Frohike seemed to know what he was doing, and I didn't care where or how he had learned it. I was content to just lose myself in his touch, his caress...and his kiss.
I don't know how long it was before he pulled back from me, his mouth trailing kisses along my jaw line and through my beard, up to my cheek, and tickling my ear. Tender words, softly chanting, "So long...wanted you...loved you...waited so long, baby." Heat, a hardness pressed into my stomach, as he leaned into me-my own hardened flesh burning his leg. A final deep kiss before he started sinking to his knees, skimming his hands along my shoulders, my chest, my...my...
He's kneeling in front of me, hands fumbling with my belt buckle. I try talking, try telling him he doesn't have to do this-I just want to hold him, kiss him, love him. But my mouth isn't working any more. My brain refuses to function. Belt, undone. Zipper, unzipped. I feel warmth, wetness-the next thing I know he's giving me the knob job of a lifetime.
Hands reach down, fingers brushing through his baby soft, thinning hair, stroking, caressing, communicating with a touch what words can no longer express. His mouth, his tongue, wrapping around my cockhead-his hands, covered in those kidskin leather gloves, gently pumping, stroking the exposed shaft, cupping my full balls. Only sounds in the air are his slurps, and my sighs.
This can't be real. This can't be happening. We had waited so long. Frohike. Oh, God. Frohike!
"Yo, Byers."
I jump at the sound of the voice, invading my memories. "Huh? What?"
Langly was standing by my chair, leaning with his right arm resting on my workstation. "You're missin' him, aren'tcha?"
The blood started rushing to my cheeks. Oh, if he could only read minds. No, on second thought...not a good idea. "How did you know?"
"Well, in the past 30 minutes, you typed about 50 pages of 'q's."
I looked up at my monitor and saw he was right. Instead of my editorial, there was row upon row of 'q's. Must've had my finger on the key without even knowing it.
Man, I had it bad.
"Plus you have a boner the size of the Washington Monument that's going to rip a hole in your pants any second," he smirked.
I bowed my head, my cheeks getting hotter by the minute. "Yeah, I miss him. A lot."
His left hand rested on the back of my chair. "It won't be much longer, John. He'll be back in a couple of days."
"I know. I just wish he hadn't gone off on his own."
"He's not alone-he's with Mulder," he assured me.
"Why does that not exactly fill me with confidence?" Our friend had called on us four days ago, asking us to join him on some wild goose chase, tracking down a guy who claimed that UFO's were dive-bombing his farm. We were on deadline, but the story was too good to pass up, and since photography and surveillance was Frohike's specialty anyway, he went along, while Langly and I stayed back to finish the issue. The more I thought about it, though, the less I was comfortable with the situation.
"What's the matter? Are you afraid G-boy is going to steal your teddy bear?" Ringo joked.
"Not funny, Langly," I snapped, a little more harshly than I intended. I mean, c'mon. Fox and Frohike? That was even more improbable than SCULLY and Frohike! Wasn't it? Then again, Mulder was definitely a good-looking man. Him and Mel alone, on the road...
"Look, John. He's fine. And he'll be home safe and sound before you even know it."
I shook my head to get all those silly thoughts out of my head. Frohike wasn't going to wander. I knew he loved me. "Yeah. I guess you're right."
"'Course I'm right. But, in the meantime..." he pressed forward, slipping between me and my computer table. His arms came up, to wrap around my neck, a friendly kiss landing on my cheek, " Is there anything I can do for you?"
If finding out Frohike returned my amorous feelings had been an eye-opener, discovering Ringo was bi-sexual was even more enlightening. Turned out there was more going on at those D & D games than anyone suspected. (And it gave a whole new meaning to those black AC/DC concert shirts he was fond of wearing.) A few times he had even joined Mel and I, creating a bond that made our friendship even stronger and deeper. But never alone, just the two of us. Never without my lover. It was too risky.
"Not tonight, Ringo...I just..."
Long, thin fingers brushed through my hair. "I understand, buddy. You want someone shorter...and furrier." He kissed me on the forehead, and whispered, "Just remember...if you change your mind, you know where to find me," and trundled off to his bedroom.
I sat at my terminal a few more minutes, deleting my 'q' novel, before shutting down the system for the night, and heading off for my own room. The place was so quiet, so lonely-the bed looked so empty. I went through all my nightly routines, but even after a nice hot shower, I was still restless. Changing into my pj's, I decided a cup of chamomile tea was just what the doctor ordered. Pulling on my robe and slippers, I wandered into the kitchen.
It took a couple of minutes for the water to heat up, time I spent making sure the place was locked down and secured. During my security check, I noticed Frohike's battered copy of George Orwell's '1984' lying near his computer. The poor paperback was practically falling apart-he had been carrying it around for years, probably longer than I had been alive. Told me once he was reading it for a book report the day JFK was assassinated, and it helped feed his adolescent mistrust of our government. Been a while since I read it myself, so I scooped it up, and instantly felt closer to my lover. Hearing the microwave beep, I made my way back to the kitchen.
Once the tea was ready I stole a couple of Ringo's Oreos and with '1984' tucked safely under my arm, I headed off for bed.
I was in a deep sleep when I suddenly sensed a presence in the air. Something off. Something in my room. I was slowly becoming conscious when I felt the bed dip. Not something. Someone! Some ONE was in my room. I was instantly awake, and struck out blindly at the intruder as my eyes had not gotten used to the darkness yet. Strong hands grasped my wrists and prevented my panicked blows. At the same time, I heard his voice, as if in a dream, "Hey, Byers-calm down, babe. It's just me." Frohike.
Instantly, my breathing evened out, and my heart rate started slowing down. "Mel! What are you doing here?"
"Well, THAT'S a helluva greeting," he answered, somehow managing to sound both hurt and sarcastic at the same time.
"I just meant-you weren't due back until Friday."
He released my hands and laughed. "Yeah, well, the trip was a complete bust. The guy turned out to be a total fruit loop. He was even too wacked out for MULDER!"
I cringed. "Ouch. That IS bad."
"Tell me about it," he agreed.
"I guess that means no earth shattering UFO story either, huh?"
That got a small smile, and an even smaller chuckle. "Nope. An utter waste. Sorry, babe."
"It's okay. We'll get them next time. And speaking of time, what the heck is it anyway?" I asked, my eyes still trying to adjust to the dim light from the opened bedroom door.
"Ahhh...2:45. No...2:46," he read off the digital clock on the nightstand.
"Oh, shit," I groaned, my head rolling on the pillow.
He punched me lightly in the shoulder. "Hey, you can just sleep in tomorrow morning."
"No I can't. Gotta finish the editorial before noon."
"John." He said the word with supreme patience. "You had four days to do that."
I ducked my head, and blushed. (Luckily he couldn't see it in the darkness) "Well, I got a little...distracted."
"Yeah, I know." The fist still resting on my shoulder opened up, and ran a soothing path down my arm. "I couldn't stop thinking about you, either." He took that moment to lean down to kiss me hello, and I caught the unmistakable scent of alcohol on his breath.
"Have you been drinking?"
"Just a couple of beers with Mulder. He was really bummed out."
"I can just imagine." I pushed myself up in the bed until I was sitting, my back against the headboard. "Did you eat? Are you hungry? Can I get you something?"
"Babe, babe, slow down," he laughed. "I'm fine. We grabbed some pizza when we stopped for the beers."
I just gazed at my lover, as my eyes finally adjusted to the dimness in the room. It was only then that I noticed he looked different. "Mel...where are your glasses?"
"Hmmm? Oh, damn screw fell out of the hinge again. They're on my workstation-I'll fix 'em in the morning." He caressed my cheek with the back of his hand. " I'm really sorry, buddy. I shoulda just crashed on the couch, but I wanted to check on your first. I didn't mean to wake you up."
"I'm glad you did. I really missed you." To emphasis my meaning, I reached over, and pulled him towards me for a lazy kiss. A kiss that soon turned hungry, and passionate, the way only Mel's kisses could.
Fingers curled through my hair, and carefully pulled us apart-a smile shown on his face, and in his eyes. "Missed you, too, babe. And if I wasn't so dog-tired, I'd show you just how MUCH I missed you," he all but leered.
I couldn't put my finger on it, but something still wasn't right. "Hon...are you okay?"
The smile got bigger, more sincere. "Better now that I'm home with you." Another gentle caress. "Look, why don't you just close those baby blues of yours, and head back to dreamland. We can talk in the morning, okay?"
"'kay," I said, but didn't move. I watched as he sat at the edge of the bed, and stripped off his clothes, tossing them in a small pile on the floor. Last to go was his undershirt, then, dressed in just his boxers, he crawled under the covers next to me. Only after he was settled did I scoot back down again.
Arms automatically wrapped around me and pulled me close. I curled my body against his, and snuggled close, my head coming to rest on his chest-his soft, furry chest-and I smiled, thinking about what Langly had called him earlier. He was right--it was just like sleeping with your favorite stuffed animal.
My teddy bear was home.
The End
Hi Everyone...
Well, I was finally able to finish this story. It's the second story in my Pining Trilogy. Sorry it took so long, but my muse was being a pest, and kept trying to write parts 3 and 4 before this one was done. (yes, there will eventually be a part 4. Oops.) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. I tried something different with the punctuation, so hopefully I'll no longer get any funky symbols in the middle of the story. Thanks again to Surreal, for her encouragement and help with Byers. And for my faithful beta, Kylara Ingress. You're a doll.
Peace,
JoelleTitle: Missing You, Too
Author: J.D. Rush
Pairing: F/B
Archive: Unusual Suspects, Basement (others upon request)
Rating: NC-17 for bad words and m/m relationship
Summary: Surprise! Frohike misses Byers, too. Sequel to 'Missing You'; second story in The Pining Trilogy.
Spoilers: Unusual Suspects. Three of a Kind. Story takes place before the current season of The X-Files.
Disclaimer: Same as before. Characters are own by FOX, Chris Carter and 1013. Just borrowing them for some fun. Please don't hurt me!
Feedback: Yes, please! yanksfan462@gateway.net (after April 30, yanksfan462@aol.com)
Author's note: Special thanks to Richard Belzer. Yes, Lt. Munch. I 'borrowed' the idea for my 'conspiracy' from his incredibly funny, incredibly interesting, incredibly scary book, "UFO's, JFK, and Elvis." I recommend this book to everyone, but, as the Belz says, 'Don't pay for it with a credit card.'
Missing You, Too
By J. D. Rush"Jesus Christ, what the hell am I DOING here?!"
"Getting the story, remember?" came the smart-ass reply.
Damn. I didn't think I had spoken out loud. Then again, it was a wonder he could hear a fucking thing with all this rain pounding us.
Okay. You're lost, right? Well, so were we! I mean, the shoot out was bad enough, and I don't even want to TALK about the strip search, but to steal our fucking car, too? Goddamn, how the hell did I get in this mess?
***********************************
It started out so innocently. Or, at least as innocent as anything involving one Fox Mulder, UFO Chaser Extraordinaire, can. He had showed up at HQ, jabbering like an idiot about some guy out in Nebraska that had seen alien space craft circling his farm for the past three days, at exactly the same time every night. He wanted to go check it out, and as Scully was on vacation and we were always in need of a good 'scoop', he thought he'd invite us along for the ride.
I could see the fire in John's eyes, the one that said THIS could be the story that made our little publication respectable. Just one problem...we were already on deadline. There was no way we could all go, but we felt ONE of us should. Byers was out of the question--he still had the Op/Ed section to write, plus edit the issue. And Langly said, simply, "No way, Jose." Seems he refuses to step foot on ANY farm, but especially those in Nebraska.
That left me. No big deal. My front-page column was already finished, except for the final edit, so I was the most expendable. 'Sides, I live for this kind of covert undercover surveillance shit. You'd think I had handed Mulder a check for a million dollars by the way his face lit up when I said I'd do it. Of the three of us, it seemed that he latched onto me the most. Maybe I was some kind of father figure to him or something. (God, THAT was a scary thought.)
I had always liked Mulder. His was a mind like I had never seen before: brilliant and messed up at the same time. Who knows...maybe the two go hand in hand. He's such a strange kid--really out there--but kind of sad and lovable, like a Bassett hound. Sometimes you just want to scratch him behind the ears. But instead, I headed off to my bedroom to pack some things for the trip.
The knapsack was filled, and I was just zipping it up when Byers appeared in the doorway. "Mel...are you going to be okay doing this?"
The smile came easily to my face at my lover's concern. "Yeah, babe. I'll be fine. Nothing I haven't done before. Ahhh, the infrared camera isn't hanging around, is it?"
Striding over to where I stood by the bed, he pulled it out from behind his back with a little smirk. "I THOUGHT you'd be asking for it."
God, I loved this man! I slipped it into my coat pocket, and then fell into his arms for my good-bye kiss. He didn't disappoint...he never did. Byers was many things, but above all else, he was one helluva kisser. Reluctantly, I pulled back before we got carried away (again), but as I slung the sack over my shoulder he reached around, and crushed me in a huge hug. I returned it in kind, savoring these last few moments with him, breathing him in, memorizing every contour and texture to keep me company in the coming days.
"You take care," he whispered in my ear.
"You, too," I answered.
"You coming or what?" Mulder yelled from the other room. The boy just has no patience.
John gave me one last kiss on the cheek, and Mulder and I were on our way.
**********************************
That was three days ago...and it might as well have been three years. We finally tracked down the guy's farm, only to have the damn space ship decide to take a night off. Fine. We could wait as long as those scaly green bastards could. The next night, same thing--nada. Zip. Zilch. Bubkiss. The farmer was adamant, INSISTING the ships would come back. So I called the guys, said I'd be a few more days, told Byers I loved him, and went back to watching the grass grow.
Finally, the third night--tonight--we hit pay dirt. The strange lights in the sky. The odd, almost silent propulsion. The bizarre flight patterns. Mulder was having puppies. I broke out the night-vision goggles, the infrared camera, the pocket tape recorder to save my words for all of posterity. This was it. The big time. We were going to be famous. The first people with honest-to-goodness proof of UFO's. And The Lone Gunmen were going to break the news!
Uh...no we weren't. I don't know who realized it first, me or Mulder, but we soon became aware that something wasn't quite right. Yes, the aircraft WAS extra-ordinary, but it certainly was NOT extra-terrestrial. Helicopters. Big black muthafuckas. Unmarked, with tinted windows. And that weird Day-Glo orange stuff trailing after them was anything BUT exhaust fumes.
If I thought Mulder was excited before, he was practically shitting little green apples now. One minute I was staring at this peculiar sky show, the next, he had grabbed my hand, and was dragging me back to the car. We took off at breakneck speed--not the easiest thing to do in cornfields, let me tell ya'. I was hanging out the window, giving him trajectories and flight paths, as we desperately tried to keep up with the choppers.
I guess it should come as a surprise to absolutely no one that they lead us straight to a military complex. And I guess I don't have to tell you just how absolutely THRILLED the staff of said complex was when we wandered onto their compound. And I guess it goes without saying that we were treated with the utmost respect and courtesy befitting a wacko lone wolf FBI agent and a nosy conspiracy journalist. Yup, they just rolled out the red carpet for us...then beat us over the heads with it.
I didn't mind so much getting shot at. Hell, it wasn't the first time, and it certainly won't be the last. And the strip search wasn't TOO humiliating, I suppose. Hell, some people would actually get their ya-yas out of standing around butt-naked in front of half an army base while being interrogated.
Unfortunately, that's not one of my kinks.
But the final straw that broke my camel's back was when they confiscated all my equipment. I tried to reason with them--hell, that stuff is expensive, and we ain't exactly rolling in dough back at the paper. I offered them a compromise: they could keep the film and the audiocassette, if they returned the camera and stuff to me.
That was about the time some Rambo jack-off shoved an M-16 in my ear and told me to shut the fuck up. I just KNOW Byers and Langly are gonna make me pay for that stuff out of my salary. Well, if I GOT a salary, that is.
Plus, the ass-wipes broke my glasses, to boot. Thanks a lot, Uncle Sam!
Fine. Okay. Whatever. Just give us our clothes back, and we'll climb in the car and you'll never see us again. What's that you say? The car has been confiscated as EVIDENCE?! What the fuck are we supposed to tell the people at AVIS??
So that's how we ended up walking along the dark, deserted country dirt road in the middle of the night. It was still another five miles or so back to Old Man Yasgur's farm, and the rain had started about an hour ago. All in all, I had had MORE than enough fun on this trip.
At least they gave us back our pants and shoes. Gotta count your blessings where you can.
*******************************************
The flight back home was done in complete silence. Don't know if Mulder was still freaked out by being naked in the same room with me, or just humiliated. Right, like he's never done anything truly stupid in front of us before. It was okay, though...I was enjoying the quiet solitude, giving me a change to think about Byers.
God, I missed him.
I'll never forget the day I met him. I wasn't even gonna go to that stupid trade show in Baltimore that year, but business had been kind of flat, and I needed all the contacts I could get. To tell you the truth, I was just about at the end of my rope. Owning my own business was not turning out quite the way I had hoped it would. I could see 40 right around the corner, was barely one step ahead of the creditors, and my life was going nowhere fast. I think was too young to have been going through a mid-life crisis, but my life was definitely in a rut. Then, he walked into my life.
Or rather, into my booth.
I had seen him briefly earlier, the man Langly had dubbed, "The narc". He had passed us so quickly I barely had a chance to register anything beyond the neatly trimmed hair and beard and well-tailored suit--classic 'narc'. But when he stumbled into my booth sometime later, as nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs, I lost my heart forever.
He was gorgeous, simply gorgeous. That dark, auburn hair. Those sensitive, intelligent pale blue eyes. He smelled, oh, man, I can still smell him to this day--sandalwood soap and some kind of heady spicy aftershave. So soft-spoken and polite, his voice rich and melodious. He was tall and lean and everything I could have ever wanted, and everything I had never gotten.
He asked for my help, doing something that could have gotten me thrown in the hoosegow for the next 35 years--hacking into the DoD's database. Shit, was that all? Hell, as long as he'd be in the cell with me, I'd convict myself! I mean, by that point, I would have followed that man to the ends of the earth on my knees. A little thing like a crime against our federal government was nothing. And I didn't even know his name yet.
Of course, he only wanted what I could give him so he could help his little chickie-poo, but I didn't mind. It got me close to him. And over the next couple of days, as I got to know him, my admiration for him grew by leaps and bounds. He was smart and brave and passionate, and so shy and sweet he could give you cavities. Trust me, I may have cursed her at the time, but I've had occasion to thank Susanne Modeski on an almost daily basis for bringing Byers to me.
Man, I had done some stupid things in my life, but to fall so hard for some hetero-hottie was definitely numero-uno on the list. I've always been a masochist, lusting for others that I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of ever bedding, but even I gotta admit I've lost track of how much I'd flogged myself over the years for this one. He was so far out of my league, it was almost pathetic.
I mean, what do you do when the man of your dreams turns out to be more incredible, more wondrous than even your most imagined, detailed fantasies? What do you do when you finally meet your one true love? If you're me, you hide it for nine years, ready to slash your wrists if you happen to say something even remotely suggestive, and just store away any little moment of togetherness to treasure in the secret recesses of your brain.
Yeah, okay, so I never told the guys I was gay, but that didn't make me a coward. It just never came up, and I wasn't about to introduce the subject. It's not that I was ashamed or hiding in the closet or anything--I'm too OLD to hide in the closet. And too tired to care what anyone thought of me anymore. But yeah, I hid it for most of my life. I'm short, bookish, and homely. That was already three strikes. I didn't need another reason for people to beat me up.
Not that I couldn't enjoy women. There was something very beautiful about the female form. And hell, if anyone could make me go straight, in every sense of the word, it'd be the scrumptious Dana Scully. But I liked guys. Always did, always will. Simple as that.
Just my luck they didn't like me back.
Well, that's not true. I made a pretty good killing playing the papa bear to guys looking for a fuzzy father figure. However those encounters were just one-night stands, two if I was lucky--hardly conductive to having a permanent relationship. Not that I wanted one. I wanted Byers. But he was straight and in love with Susanne. And I did my best to try to forget about him, but when you live together and work together day in and day out, that's not very easy to do.
There were many times I thought about quitting, just walking away from it all. It was getting hard to be around him, not to be able to touch him, hold him, and tell him how much I loved him. I still went out, still got laid. I had to do something or I'd explode. But the leather bars were becoming quite competitive, and I was having a more difficult time finding partners in a world where guys were looking for George Clooney and Leo DiCaprio clones. 40 was long past me now and 50 was the next stop, and face it, I wasn't getting any prettier.
Nothing had changed--I was still in the same rut I had been in a decade earlier. Only now, I was in love with a man I could never have. And because of our living and working arrangements, it was virtually impossible to forget that fact. (Frankly, the porn tapes and Mulder's cast-off skin rags had stopped cutting it a long time ago.) I was old, I was tired...and dammit, I was lonely.
And maybe that's why I didn't leave. Because as much as I hated to admit it, I had gotten used to having these two men in my life. They were my friends, and my family. They were the only people on the planet, besides Mulder and Scully, who I trusted. And if John wasn't in my bed, at least he was there. I could no sooner have walked away from him as I could have stopped breathing.
Still, all I wanted was someone to love and someone to love me back. Was that so much to ask for?
Ahhh, but as they say...be careful what you wish for.
I started noticing the changes in Byers after that ill-fated trip to Vegas. Another trade show. He had been dragging us to them for years. I knew he was looking for Susanne. Heck, he had found her at a trade show--guess he figured it was the best place to search for her. I was convinced she was dead, but I couldn't crush his hopes. So we'd always go along with him, and then I'd be there to pick up the pieces when yet another one turned out to be an exercise in futility.
But this time, his intuition paid off. We found her...and her fiance. If Byers was crushed by that news, he kept it to himself. I think he was convinced that it didn't matter. No one could keep him and Susanne apart. In his mind, they were destined to be together.
Those couple of days almost killed me, seeing him with her again. You could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Even though she was in danger (which, basically put us ALL in danger), he was so happy. They were together once more, and everything would be okay. And I was glad for him, I suppose. Hell, at least one of us should be in love and happy, right? If Susanne was what he wanted, well, as long as she took good care of him, I couldn't hate her...much.
However, after we saved her life, he shocked us all by not riding off into the sunset with her. I stood stunned as she rode off in the cab, leaving Byers standing there with us on that tacky Las Vegas street. He chose me and Langly over the woman he claimed to love? What was going on?
I soon found out. He got very quiet and withdrawn over the next few weeks. I thought it was because he was brooding, regretting his rash decision, plotting a way to find her again. I tried to stay out of his way, so he could work out his problems on his own--figured when he was ready to talk, he knew where to find me. (I always had an extra ear for Byers.) But while he was introverted, he kept seeking out my company, if that makes any sense. Like helping me in the kitchen, or working side by side as I cobbled together some new piece of computer hardware, or just sitting next to me on the couch while we watched a cheesy sci-fi movie. Not much conversation, but we were so comfortable with each other, it wasn't needed. 'Sides, Langly talks enough for all three of us sometimes.
We were alone late one night at HQ. Ringo had left with his friends for a marathon D&D game--could be gone for days. Byers was typing away, working on getting our latest issue together. He had been at it all day, even eating his dinner at his workstation. I found myself watching him as he worked; he lifted his head for a moment, and stretched his neck, rubbing at his left shoulder with his right hand.
I could sympathize, knew well the aches and pains from sitting hunched over a keyboard like that. Without asking, I strode over, and began massaging his tense, knotted shoulders, remembering how good it felt when he or Langly did it for me. It wasn't something I hadn't ever done for him before; in fact, I did it every opportunity I could. (Hey, had to get my thrills where I could.) But that night, something was different; a mysterious, indefinable entity seemed to be present in the air.
He sighed deeply, thankfully, for the relief I was bringing him. Me, I was sighing too, silently, as I closed my eyes and drifted off into a dream world, one I created only for John and myself. I could feel him beneath me, his muscles strong and solid in my hands. I could smell him all around me, enveloping me, carrying me away. I imagined I could taste him, my taste buds reveling in the salty, tangy flavor of his silky skin. My fantasy was so perfect, I even thought I could hear him calling my name.
"Mel."
But it wasn't a fantasy. It wasn't a figment of my imagination. He really sobbed my name, in a frightened, slightly yearning voice.
No, I must've been hearing things. I spun him around in his chair, until I could look directly into his eyes. John was never a good liar, and if the truth really is out there, I knew I could find it in his eyes. I found them brimming with tears, and filled with longing and fear, friendship...and love. For me. In all my life, I had never seen anyone look upon me like that, and the fact it was John Byers, man of my dreams, made it all the more sublime.
I cautiously stepped forward; he cupped my face, running a caring, caressing hand down my cheek before pulling me towards him. Then, suddenly, I was tasting his lips for the first time, and it was sweeter, more dizzying than any fantasy I could ever come up with. Part of my brain registered that he was not jerking away; indeed, he was melting into my embrace, returning my kiss with great enthusiasm.
If this was a dream, I prayed I'd never wake up. And if it was a dream, I could do whatever I wanted without repercussions, right? So, with that line of thinking, I dropped to my knees, to enjoy this dream to the fullest.
He was hard already. Poor guy. Probably hadn't been laid since he joined up with me and Langly. Well, I could help him out. I unzipped his pants, and gazed hungrily as I got my first look at his cock.
It was long, slender, and elegant--much like John himself. I slipped the head into my mouth, and it fit as if it was made just for me. I heard the sharp intake of breath above me, then a slow low moan of delight. I wanted to make this real good for him, so I set about to do just that.
I could feel his fingers in my hair, guiding me, as I pleasured him with my mouth and my hands. It was perfect--his taste, his smell--it was all I ever could have wanted. I sensed him tensing after only a few minutes of my ministrations, and realized I had only a couple of seconds to decide whether to spit or swallow.
So I went for option 'c' instead.
"Mel, is something wrong?" Byers gasped, as I pulled off him and stood up, until we were facing each other once again.
"No, it's just I...well, I've waited so long for this. I don't want it to end so quickly."
Entwining his fingers in mine, he asked, softly, "So, what DO you want?"
"You," I answered truthfully.
He blushed. Damn, he's so cute when he blushes like that. "You've already got me. But, what are you going to DO with me?"
Never would have taken Byers to be a flirt. I placed a finger under his chin and tilted his face towards me so I could kiss him. "Anything. Everything. I just want to make love to you properly."
His big blue eyes grew even bigger, and his mouth opened though no sound came out at first. The pink in his cheeks grew darker, as he stammered, "Well, ummm, it's just, ahhh, Mel? I've...I've never done this before, and, um, I don't know..."
"Ever?" I knew Byers was pretty inexperienced, but I never thought he was still a virgin.
Fingertips stroked lovingly through my sideburns, even as he cast his eyes downwards, and babbled, "No. I mean, yes. I...I mean, not with another man before. I'm not sure...that is...I don't know what to do."
That confession brought me up short. "And you want your first time to be with me?"
Ducking his head did not stop me from seeing how red his cheeks had gotten. "I...um, ah, yeah," he started, then stopped, releasing a shaky breath. He lifted his head, a small shy smile playing on his lips, as he stated with a nervous laugh, "Mel, I...I love you."
See, it HAD to be a dream. No way would John Byers say that to me in REAL life, right?
Figuring that I was gonna wake up at any moment, I was determined to push the boundaries of this illusion for all I was worth. I decided that we'd probably have a lot more fun if we were less clothed, so I unbuttoned my vest and tossed it to the floor. I had just unsnapped my left glove when he put out a hand to stop me. "Leave them on," he whispered, voice husky with desire, even though his cheeks burned bright red. Heck, it wasn't the first time I had gotten that request, but never thought I'd hear it from the prim and proper Byers. So, with gloved hands, I reached out to start undressing my friend.
Our intentions were good...it was just our execution that needed work. First I almost choked the poor guy trying to get his tie off. Then he managed to get my shirt caught in my zipper as he tried to remove my pants. His sports coat got caught on the chair as I slipped it off his shoulders, ripping the right sleeve. The removal of my boots presented a special challenge all their own.
By the time Byers was hopping around on one foot, trying to pull his slacks over his dress shoes, we were both in hysterics. The Keystone Kops had nothing on us. He finally fell into my arms, and we stumbled to the couch, kissing and pawing as we went. We tumbled onto the old sofa, John beneath me, still decked out in his boxers and socks, his normally neat-as-a-pin hair all mussed and cute. I managed to strip him of his under things, and then stretched out on top of him.
Hands found their way to my ass and pulled me in tight, as his lips searched out and clamped onto my own. I easily coaxed his tongue into my mouth, and we were soon humping against each other madly, rubbing our erections together, his hardness, his heat driving me wild. Lips made their way down my neck, nibbling and sucking along the way. Man, I had forgotten how hot it was to make out with a bearded guy! Everything was exceeding my wildest fantasies, and I feared I wouldn't last much longer when John suddenly bucked up a bit too hard, rolling us right off of the couch.
We crashed to the floor, with a *thud* and a case of the giggles. Was anything gonna go right with this seduction? After a couple of minutes, we pulled ourselves together, and picked up where we had left off. With John now in charge, he began rocking against me with a strong, steady rhythm, a litany of low moans and loud groans rumbling from deep within his throat. For one so quiet and reserved, Byers was certainly a vocal lover, one more thing my fantasy hadn't prepared me for. Perhaps, for once in his life, he was finally able to let himself go, knowing he was safe in my presence.
I skimmed my leather-encased hands over his toned body until they finally came to rest along his cock. One touch across the sensitive, engorged cocktip was all it took. He threw his head back and exploded, his semen erupting from him as he shivered in my arms and cried out my name. The feel of him, in the throes of orgasm sent me over the edge as well. His name caught in my throat, as my cum mingled with his. And suddenly, like a white-hot supernova, it was over.
Byers collapsed bonelessly on top of me, and sighed, "Mmmmm, that was so...wow!!"
Still trying to catch my breath, I panted, "Not quite--how I--pictured it."
A baby kiss landed on my shoulder. "You've thought about this?" he asked, curiously.
"Uh-huh. Many times."
He nuzzled my neck lovingly and whispered, "And yet you never told me how you felt about me?"
"Would you have been ready to hear it?" I countered.
"Probably not." His mouth found mine, and he kissed me passionately. He languidly pulled back, murmuring, "God, I must be crushing you to death."
"There are worse ways to go," I answered with a laugh.
Satisfied I was in no danger, he flopped back down. "So what happens now?"
I shrugged, well, as much as I could from under his weight. "I guess we could try it again...maybe get it right."
He laughed, a sound not often heard from John Byers. I liked it. A lot. "Mel...I think we got it right the first time. You were incredible."
I gave a chuckle, "Yeah, well, you weren't so bad yourself."
A gentle hand skimmed down my chest, fingertips brushing though the abundance of graying pelt, before he rested his head over my heart. "I wonder what happens tomorrow?" he sighed, almost sadly. "Are we friends? Lovers? Something in-between?"
I found my fingers raking through his thick reddish-brown hair. "Tomorrow's tomorrow. Tonight's for making dreams come true."
He tilted his head up and looked at me, a light sparkling in those warm blue pools. "Frohike! You're a poet," he exclaimed, in surprise.
"I have my moments. C'mon, let's get to bed before I need a chiropractor." He helped me to my feet, and we made our way to his bedroom, which just happened to be closer. We crawled under the sheets as Byers drew the blankets over us. Coiling around each other, he kissed me tenderly (oh so tenderly) before laying his head once more on my chest, and drifting off to sleep. I curled my arm around him and held him close, hoping that by doing so, the dream would never end.
And so far it hadn't. That night happened nearly two years ago, and this was the longest we had been apart since then. When I got home, I was just gonna grab him up, rip his clothes off, and do all the dirty things to him I had been thinking of for the past four days. Hell, it may be four more days before we got outta bed again. Who knows? If Langly's been a good boy, maybe we'll invite him to join us. Nah--I want some time alone, just me and John.
Damn, why'd I do that to myself? Now I was horny as hell.
"We will be landing in approximately 10 minutes," came the voice over the intercom. "Please return to your seats, and observe the fasten seat belt sign."
Thank God! I'd be seeing John again in just a couple of hours, and he'd give me a welcome home party of one. I tightened my seatbelt, smile plastered on my face.
************************************
We were making our way through the air terminal when I turned to my friend, breaking the silence that had followed us off the plane. "You know, Mulder, when I first started hangin' with you, I enjoyed all this. It was new. It was exciting. But now I'm getting too damn old for all this shit."
That finally got a snicker out of him. "You're not getting old, Frohike. Just soft."
"Yeah, well, whatever. Next time, leave me out of it."
"Awww, c'mon, Frohike, what happened to your sense of adventure?" he asked in a teasing tone. "Your hunger to seek out the unknown? Your duty to the American people to expose the truth?"
"I left it back in Nebraska...when I was exposing my wang to those army brats," I deadpanned.
We stopped by a closed snack bar as he tried to fish something out of his coat pocket, most likely his cell phone. "Eh, they were probably jealous."
"Were you?" I shot back.
That Mulder smirk, the one you want to slap off his goddamn handsome face. "You put us mortal men to shame, Frohike. And speaking of Nebraska...here."
"What's this?'" I asked, as he handed me a check.
"Something to help cover the cost of the equipment you lost last night. I'll get you the rest once I auction off some of my magazines on eBay."
"Mulder, you don't have to do this," I insisted.
"Yeah, I do. I feel really bad about what happened...it was my fault we were out there, and, well, and I know you can use it."
"I'm not gonna cash it. You do realize that?"
He nodded, knowingly. "Yes you will. The minute Langly asks to borrow the night goggles."
The boy had a point...Langly would never let me live it down. "Thanks, Mulder--you're a prince among men. And I will pay you back, I promise."
"Forgive me if I don't hold my breath."
What a punk-ass! "So, what's next on your agenda?"
He shrugged, those bright green eyes alighting on me. "Gonna go out and getting rip-roaring drunk."
I thought of John again. Dammit, I really wanted to get home to him. But Fox was hurting. His ego had taken a serious beating on this one, and I knew he was dreading the inevitable confrontation with Skinner over the incident. I was really uneasy about leaving him alone in some sleazy bar tying one on. So I put visions of my reunion with John on the back-burner for the time being and said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, "Sounds good. Long as we can get something to eat. Pizza work for you?"
"What about Byers?" he asked, curious.
"He's not expecting me until Friday anyway. What's another couple of hours?" I waved the check in front of him. "C'mon, I'll spring for the extra cheese."
He let out a long sigh, "Frohike...I don't need a babysitter. I'm fine."
"You saying you don't want my company?" I questioned, feigning hurt and disappointment.
"No. Not that. But I thought you'd be in a hurry to see Byers again."
I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. (Damn glad I didn't wear my favorite leather coat last night or it'd STILL be at that Army base!) "I am. I'm DYIN' to see him again. But I'm starvin', too, and knowing the guys, there's not a crumb back at casa de Gunmen."
He just gave me a look, as if weighing his options, before declaring, "No anchovies."
Damn! The boy knew my weakness. "Half," I proposed.
A quirked smile. "Deal." And we headed off to his car.
****************************
*Crash! *
Shit! Hope I didn't wake the guys. Byers must've closed up shop...he's always more thorough than Ringo. So damn dark! Having a half-dozen brews in me (and no fuckin' glasses) doesn't help, either. Hope I can get to the bathroom without...
*Smash! *
Shit! OUCH! Goddammit! My leg. Oh, man, that's gonna really bruise in the morning. Gotta find the...ahhhh, much better, as I managed to find the light switches on the wall. I flip one of them, only need one rack of lights, just enough so I can at navigate where I'm going. Okay, here we go. Take a leak--ahhh, MUCH better. And I'll just brush my teeth here, get rid of that pizza after-taste. Well, it helped some, I guess. Now, bed or couch? Hmmmm, think I'll go for the couch tonight. Hate sleeping in my own room these days--the bed just isn't the same without Byers in it.
Walking over to the living room, I notice that Byers's door is open a crack. God, I'm dyin' to see him again. I have to check on him, see him before I go to bed. Just a couple of seconds, just to assure myself he's all right. I won't wake him up--just wanna see him.
I make my way over, and push the door open silently. Damn. Kinda hoping he was still awake. No such luck. He's sound asleep. God, he's gorgeous. I still can't believe how handsome he is, and he doesn't even have a clue. How can you be that hot and not know it? Guess that total lack of conceit just makes him even sexier.
I can see him in the pale light from behind me--he's lying on his back, his striped-pajama'd chest rising and falling softly. The sight of him is hypnotizing, drawing me into the room like a moth to a flame. I have to get a better look, maybe give him a quick kiss before I go off to bed.
As I get closer, I notice a book on his stomach, his hand curled around it protectively even as it hangs precariously onto its resting place. Hey, it's my copy of '1984'. I recognize the bad patch job I did on the binding. Wonder what he's doing with it? Then again, maybe I know.
Dammit, Byers, did you miss me, too? As much as I missed you?
I reach down, afraid that if the book falls, it'll wake him up. Just out of my grasp. Stupid short stubby arms. Placing one knee on the bed, I'm just able to touch its cover.
Suddenly arms start striking out at me, a terrified whimper in his choked voice. It takes a moment, but I'm able to grab his wrists and hold his hands down before they can do any more damage. "Hey, Byers..." I tell him. "Calm down, babe. It's just me."
His eyes fix on me, still unfocused from the darkness, but I can see them soften into recognition of my voice. "Mel! What are you doing here?"
I have to chuckle, after everything I had been through the last couple of days. "Well, THAT'S a helluva greeting."
He smiles a bit. "I just meant--you weren't due back until Friday."
Releasing his hands, I give him a quick rundown of the disastrous mission, leaving out all the real important stuff. I just couldn't tell him all the shit about the military base and the shoot out. I knew John too well--he'd only worry about it for nothing. And it seemed that he didn't need anything else to worry about. Imagine, not finishing that editorial. All because of me! That was almost as sweet as taking my book to bed with him. That deserved a kiss...
As I lean over to sample those delicious lips of his, he asks, softly, "Have you been drinking?" I could hear the misgiving and the disappointment in his voice. I've had a tendency to over-do it on the booze over the years. Lots to forget, lots to avoid. When Byers became my lover, most of those feelings disappeared. I didn't need the alcohol as much as I did before, which was a good thing, because John never particularly liked that facet of my personality. Since then, I've tried to keep my consumption down to a minimum.
And I had definitely exceeded my limit tonight. "Just a couple of beers with Mulder," I found myself saying, hating myself for the lie. "He was really bummed out."
If he doubts my excuse, he doesn't say it, instead asking if I had eaten. I assure him I have, getting a warm muzzy feeling deep inside over his concern for me. At that point I think I'm home free, but he queries, "Where are your glasses?"
Damn! I can't tell him they're back in Nebraska, broken into a thousand pieces. Need a lie. Need a lie. Shouldn't have had that last beer. Thinking impaired. Ah, got one. "Oh, damn screw fell out of the hinge again." I can always dig out my spare pair in the morning--he'll never know the difference.
"I really missed you," he's telling me, as he leans over and pulls me in for a lazy kiss. Oh God, I have missed this, missed him. He kisses like no other--more intoxicating than all the beer in the world. I can lose myself forever in his embrace. I'm soon expanding the kiss, deepening it, enhancing it, slipping my tongue around his, drowning in him. This is all I've ever wanted. This is all I've ever needed.
But just not tonight. God forgive me, but I was so wiped out, all I wanted to do was fall asleep for about a week.
With great reluctance, I ease myself away from the clinch. Man, I must be tired. Or out of my mind. "If I wasn't so dog-tired, I'd show just how MUCH I missed you," I leer at him. (Have I mentioned how cute he is when he blushes?)
"Hon...are you okay?" Again, the softness and concern in his voice touches me.
"Better now that I'm home with you," I answer truthfully, the smile simply spreading across my face. "Look, why don't you just close those baby blues of yours, and head back to dreamland?"
I go about stripping off my road-worn clothes, stinking of smoke from the pizza parlor, as Byers sits there, watching me. Man, it must be love for him to be so charmed with my naked body. I'll just never understand it. Ripping off my T-shirt, I climb under the covers as John finally scoots down, and curls himself to me. I instantly wrap my arms around him, holding him close. Have I missed this the last few days--just cuddling with the man I love.
Finally comfortable, he rests his head on my chest, just as he did that first night we made love, and quickly falls back to sleep. I send up a quick prayer, thanking God for allowing me to make it home to my lover, and I soon follow him into slumber.
The End
Hi everyone,
In tribute to tonight's season finale, I finished up the third story in my Pining Trilogy. Hope you enjoy...and here's hoping tonight's episode will not the be the last.
Peace,
JoelleTitle: No More Lonely Nights
Author: J.D. Rush
Archive: Unusual Suspects; The Basement; others upon request
Couple: F/B
Summary: It's the next morning, and Byers gives Frohike a proper homecoming.
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexual content, and language.
Disclaimer: As before, the boys don't belong to me; they belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and FOX. But I'd like it if they could come back over to my house to play again soon.
Feedback: Yes, please! yanksfan462@gateway.net or yanksfan462@aol.com
Author's Note: This is the third part of The Pining Trilogy; a sequel to 'Missing You', and 'Missing You, Too'. Special thanks to my beta, Kylara. Couldn't do it without you, kid. And special shout outs to both Surreal, for yet another Byers lesson, and Everly Dawn, for a second beta. Thanks everyone!
No More Lonely Nights
By J. D. RushI awoke the next morning to find myself stretched out halfway over Frohike's torso, his right arm still wrapped protectively around me. I relished the moment-- soaking in his warmth, breathing in his musk and luxuriating in his touch; I could feel myself getting hard just being near him. How did I ever sleep alone all those years? I couldn't even imagine it anymore.
A small grunt alerted me that he was slowly coming to life himself. I took the initiative and flicked my tongue across one of his flat, pinkish nipples. THAT certainly got his attention. "Morning," his still-sleepy voice greeted me.
Tilting my head up, I saw his bright eyes open, a smile on his face. I ran my lips over his stubbly chin, mumbling, "Morning yourself. You sleep well?"
His fingers swept through my hair, brushing it into place. "Yeah...you?"
I nodded into the crook of his neck. "Mmmm-hmmm." Giving the pulse-point below his right ear a quick nibble, I whispered, mischievously, "Still dog-tired?"
He exhaled deeply, knowing full well where this was going, even before I leaned him in for a proper good morning kiss. "You're awfully frisky this morning," he chuckled.
I ran my hand down his side, letting it come to rest on his hip. "Not frisky," I amended, sucking happily on his neck. "Horny."
A low sound rumbled in his throat. "Huh. I would've thought Langly had taken care of that for you."
Taking a break in my nuzzling, I murmured, "He offered...but I wanted you."
"God only knows why," he said, shaking his head.
I cuddled against him and crooned, "Because I love you."
"Even more of a mystery," he muttered.
I gave an exasperated sigh. It drove me crazy he thought so little of himself sometimes, that he couldn't accept the fact someone loved him as much as I did. I always wished there was a way I could make him truly understand how special he was. But until I figured it out, there wasn't much I could do except love him, paranoid insecurities and all. "Mel, just shut up and give me what I want," I commanded.
He tipped his head slightly to one side, "And what would that be, John?" he teased.
Boldly, I reached down and wrapped my hand around his hardening member through his boxers, casually giving it a few determined strokes, letting him know EXACTLY what I wanted. "Does this answer your question?" I asked unnecessarily, as I pulled him to me.
A leering smile crossed his face, as he arched into my touch. "Oh yeah, baby...I've got it now." With trembling hands he slowly began the process of removing my sleepwear, his soft lips floating down my smooth, naked chest, as each button of my top was undone. After it was completely unbuttoned, he pulled it apart and started licking and teasing my nipples until they were both wet and stiff; his hand, meanwhile, had cupped my balls, and was massaging them skillfully within my pajama bottoms. I could feel my breath quicken at the exquisite dual sensations. I never knew my nipples could be so sensitive, but Mel had a special technique, and he really loved his work.
When I was almost hyperventilating from the delight he was giving me, he continued downward, untying my pajama bottoms and pulling them down my hips; I lifted up off the bed a bit to help him along. Bending over, he captured my cock in his mouth, lapping and sucking on it until I was harder than I thought I could ever be. Proud of his achievement, he then continued removing my pants. Finally, I was completely naked and he moved up towards the head of the bed so I could get him out of his boxers. I returned the favor by taking his hard flesh into my mouth, savoring it for a few tantalizing moments. His penis is average in length but rather full and stout, and I've found it quite a delicious mouthful.
He groaned loudly as he rolled on top of me, kissing me, caressing me, our erections resting against each other; a lock of hair had come loose from his ponytail, and hung over his left eye. I affectionately brushed it back behind his ear, then reached out towards the nightstand at the same time he did. Our hands collided as they met near the drawer, both anxious to get it open. Fro took my hand in his and brought it up to his lips, kissing the palm. I snickered, "Mel, if you were any sappier, you'd turn into a tree."
He laughed, "Yeah, and if you were any sexier, it'd be a crime." His words had the desired effect; I felt my cheeks flushing a deep hue as he reached into the drawer and brought out the tube of lubricant, then fished around for a condom. While I had been celibate for most of the 90's due to one reason or another, Frohike had not and he always took great care to make our sex lives both safe, and very fulfilling.
"Roll over for me, babe," he whispered in a voice already raspy with desire--the very words and tone sent shivers down my spine. I saw him squeezing some gel onto his fingers as I flipped over, and crawled up onto my elbows and knees. Gently, slowly, his hand caressed from my balls and along the sensitive perineum. He repeated his actions over and over, maddening in their meticulousness, until I was whimpering under his expert ministrations.
"Oh God, Mel...what are you DOING to me?" I panted.
"Just making it better for you, baby," he answered, calmly.
"Any better," I wheezed, "and you're gonna kill me!"
"Well, we don't want THAT, do we?" he teased. His other hand was carefully plying apart my buttocks and I felt his slippery thumb glide lightly past my anus; I sounded an uncontrollable low wail as he started to patiently massage the small opening, urging it to relax until the stubby digit slipped in. God, it felt so good, and I purred my approval. After a few strokes, he replaced the thumb with his finger, and continued his tortuous foreplay.
By the time I dropped my head onto the pillows, moaning incoherently, he got the message I was ready. He paused a moment to slip on the condom as he got ready to enter me. I felt the dull pressure when he nudged against my hole, then he was sliding in smoothly until he was almost fully encased within me.
This was the part I loved the most--walking the tightrope of pleasure and pain, with pleasure winning out every time. I could feel his hardness deep within me, stretching me, filling me. This is what I'd been missing these last few days. This is what I'd been longing for: the complete oneness that the merging of our bodies and our souls provided me.
It wasn't always so. Those first few months we spent exploring our new 'expanded relationship' we took things slow. Fro, being more experienced than I, took the lead, but we were both careful, always aware of the dangers of going too far too fast. We didn't want to do anything that could have ruined what we had worked so hard for--not just the paper but also our friendship, our longstanding partnership, and the strong bond we shared with each other, and Ringo. We had a lot to lose if it didn't work out.
To his credit, Mel never pushed. He knew I was a novice, and that this final act was a big step for me to make. I knew he wanted to make love to me all the way, but he was considerate of my needs and feelings, telling me that when I was ready, he'd be waiting for me. Having only been with women during my life (and even those times were few and far between) I couldn't imagine having sex--truly having sex--with a man. It was quite a scary prospect to me, and something Frohike understood completely. He allowed me to go at my own pace, to discover things about me--about us--on my own. And for that, I was very grateful.
The kissing, the heavy petting, and the mutual masturbation I handled with no problem. I had even gotten the hang of orally pleasing my male lover--finding, to my surprise I enjoyed pleasuring as much as receiving. Still, the idea of engaging in anal intercourse was something completely different and foreign to me, and quite frightening to say the least.
Nearing our first anniversary together, I felt I had learned enough about myself, and was secure enough in our relationship to take that final step in proving my love for Mel. And that night, though I was scared half-to-death, he showed me, through his patience and gentleness, depths of ecstasy and commitment I had never known before.
I was truly his now...only his.
I bit down on my bottom lip to stifle a rapturous moan, but it escaped anyway to echo loudly in the early morning room. Then another, even louder, as Mel pulled back a little, and slowly pushed back in until he was laying flush over me. The soft down of his chest hair tickled my back as his middle-age paunch pressed tightly to me. He felt so good against me. He made me feel safe. He made me feel treasured. We fit well together...very well.
Fro rested for a couple of minutes, licking tiny circles at the base of my neck, and placing a tiny kiss between my shoulder blades before he pushed up, and began pistoning slowly in and out. His hands reached around, scraping at my hypersensitive nipples, and snaking downward over my abs and hips and I found myself wishing he was wearing his fingerless leather gloves. (I'm not normally kinky, but I guess they've become a quirky fetish of mine.) His hands retraced their path back up my body, leaving an electrical tingle in their wake. Eventually, Mel slipped his left arm around my waist to hold me close, and wrapped his right hand around my engorged penis.
I gave an unexpected yelp of surprise at his touch, which morphed into a low blissful drone as he gently pumped the painfully hard shaft, his talented, nimble fingers just barely skimming over the sensitive flange. After nearly two years together, he knew all the right buttons to drive me wild, and he was determined to press them all that morning.
Hands and lips were everywhere, stroking and caressing me, making me feel loved and cherished. It was nice and sweet and very romantic, but right then, right there, I wanted to be ridden fast and furious and put away wet. "Harder, lover," I cried out, between clenched teeth. "Oh God, give it to me, Mel!"
But he wasn't listening...or else, he was ignoring me. He was in control, and he knew it. This was to be one of his long, slow, leisurely morning tumbles. Normally, I liked them as much as he does, but at that moment, I was ready for more. I wanted it all, everything he could give me--and I never wanted it to end. I felt another loving kiss touch my right shoulder as he rocked easily into me, undulating like waves against the shore, until I was moaning deliriously in my need and pushing back against him with every thrust. Only then did he pick up the tempo.
My cries got louder and louder until I knew I was nearing the end. I called out to Fro as I pumped into his hand, pleading with him to join me. And then it was too late--I was crashing and falling and dying. Each spurt wretched another choked sob from my throat as he clung to me, fondling me until I had nothing left to give. My release was total and complete, and I collapsed weakly to the bed.
Oh God, I never knew it could be like this. Yeah, it's a cliche, but it's also the truth. Mel had shown me a wild, sensual world the first day he had finally taken me, and each time we were together was like a rebirth for me.
A couple more strokes into my satiated body and my lover crested as well, chanting my name as he climaxed. He crumpled against me for a few moments, holding me as close as he could to himself. His hot breath came out in little huffs, ruffling my hair, and I found myself once more blown away by how wonderful and natural his heated, sweaty body felt pressed to mine.
I was still out of commission when Mel got his strength back. He bent down and left a tender little kiss right on my tailbone as he gently pulled himself from me, and I couldn't help but mourn the loss. I sensed him removing the soiled condom, which he deposited in the small trashcan by the bed. He then rolled away from me and sprawled out on his back, trying to get his breathing back to normal. I finally recovered enough to inch over to my spent lover and drape myself across him. "Welcome home, lover," I sighed, contentedly.
He gave a little chuckle. "Nice to be home, babe." Hugging me tightly to his still over-heated body, he kissed along my jaw line until he reached my waiting lips.
Who would have ever thought Melvin Frohike was such a cuddling machine? He hid it well, along with his romantic inclinations, wanting everyone to think he was so stern and tough. But I knew the truth--he was really a big softie, and I was lucky enough to share that part of him he'd share with no one else.
We were engaged in a sloppy, lazy soul-kiss, just enjoying the peaceful afterglow when Langly barged in and threw a damp towel at us. "Thought you two may need this," he observed, snottily.
"Thanks...but it'd be nice if you knocked occasionally, hippie," Frohike barked at the intruder, as the cold wet cloth landed smack on his chest.
"Yeah, well, it'd be nice if you two lowered the volume control in here this early in the morning. Got me up out of a sound sleep." By the size of the bulge in his jeans, it had gotten him up in more ways than one.
"Gee, and before noon. We're so sorry," Frohike answered, sarcastically.
"Keep it up, little man, and you can starve for breakfast."
"What's on the menu today, Ringo?" I inquired politely, taking the towel from Mel--it really WOULD come in handy.
Langly slipped his hands into the front pockets of his very tight jeans, causing the lump to stand out more prominently, and leaned into the doorframe. "Gonna run down to The Donut Hole on the corner and get some yummies--whatchoo guys want?"
"Plain bagel for me," I told him. "Toasted, with cream cheese."
"Geez, Byers...way to live life on the edge," he commented, snidely. Boy, was he in a mood!
After mulling it for a moment, I agreed with him. I HAD become too predictable. "You're right. Make it a sesame one instead."
He let go with a snort. "You are SUCH a wild man, John. What 'bout you, *MELVIN*?"
"Powdered jelly. Make it two. And extra cream in the coffee," he quickly recited. I made myself a mental note to talk to Mel once more about his diet. At his age, he should be eating healthier, but each time I bring up the subject, he reminds me that I promised to 'never change him.' And he's right. I did promise. But I still worried about him.
"Who said anything about coffee?" Langly was griping.
"If you still want your stuff to be here when you get back, you'll get coffee, too," Mel fired back.
"Jesus, you're awfully grumpy, Mr. I-Got-Up-On-The-Wrong-Side-Of-The-Byers-This-Morning. Like I believe you'd kick me out with a deadline hanging over our heads."
"You keep pushing your luck, pal, and you'll be surprised what I'll do," Frohike all but growled. God, it was good to hear those two bickering again...it had been far too quiet around here the last few days. I often thought the reason they fought like cats and dogs was because they were so much alike--but I figured if I ever pointed that out to them, they'd probably take turns slapping me into submission.
"Yeah, right, whatever. You boys need all the help you can get on this issue. 'Specially once we get all that great stuff from those UFO's developed and analyzed." Langly pushed his glasses back up his nose, and added, excitedly, "We may even have to revamp the entire layout to get it on the front page!"
"Uhhh, Ringo," I started cautiously, hating to be the one to break the news, especially in light of his enthusiasm. "There's not going to be a big UFO scoop."
He harrumphed, angrily. "That's what we get for trusting Doohickey--shoulda known he'd screw up the assignment."
"I didn't screw it up, you blond bubblehead," Mel retaliated. "There WAS no story. The whole thing was a practical joke."
Our young partner crossed his arms over his chest in irritation, and pouted. "Great. Just great. And I already had my outfit picked out for when we appeared on the Conan O'Brien show." Slipping his hands jacket pockets, he continued, "Oh well, we still have a lot to run with once you get finished that editorial, John. I can help you with it after I get back, if you want."
"Maybe," I answered him, thoughtfully. "Then again, maybe the three of us can just have breakfast in bed instead."
"Uh...wha...?" Langly looked so cute with his mouth hanging open like that, and even Frohike was knocked speechless by my comment.
I patted some unused space on the mattress beside me, and elaborated, "The bed just seems so empty without you, buddy."
"Gimme ten minutes," Ringo was saying, as he backed out of the doorway. "FIVE! Five minutes." We heard his rapid footsteps, and the front door slamming as he ran out of HQ. I just LOVE messing with his head.
Looking over to my left, I found Mel laughing his ass off. "Man, when was the last time the kid got laid? I think you just made his week."
I joined in the laughter as I did my best to clean us both up with the towel. "Well, I was pretty sure he wanted to welcome you home as much as I did."
"Hell, if you guys are gonna miss me like this, I'm going out on solo assignments more often."
"Don't you dare!" I threatened, and punched him playfully in the shoulder. "I want you where I can keep an eye on you. Make sure you stay out of trouble."
"Good luck, babe. I attract trouble like a lightning rod."
I chuckled. "You certainly do. You have a special knack for it."
"Definitely true this trip, that's for sure," he giggled, almost to himself.
That remark caught me off guard. "I thought you said nothing happened," I noted with some confusion.
"Uh, yeah. That's right," he stammered. "I just meant the whole trip was a total disaster, that's all."
He was acting awfully skittish suddenly. "Mel, that's NOT all. Is there something you're not telling me?"
"No. Nothing. Why do you ask?" he shot back too quickly and, to me, guiltily.
"Is Mulder okay?" I ventured uneasily, remembering that Frohike had been with him the night before. "Please tell me nothing happened to him."
"No--yeah--I mean...he's doing fine." Then he added, under his breath, "Better than our equipment anyway."
"What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled. "What about our equipment?" When he didn't answer, I pressed him, "Frohike...what aren't you telling me?"
He looked away and mumbled his reply, probably in hopes that I wouldn't hear it. "Got confiscated at the military base."
But hear it I did. I just stared at him and demanded, "What military base, Frohike?"
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."
"Uh, yes, Mel. It does," I corrected him. "Now, what the hell happened out there?"
Slamming his fist into the mattress, he groused, "Aww, fuck, you don't wanna hear about that, John. You're only gonna worry for nothin'."
"Mel, I spend my life uncovering secrets. Please don't make me worry there are secrets between us." By the passion in my voice and the concern in my eyes, I knew he would crumble...and he did.
He sighed, "Okay, but I warned you." So I let him pull me close, leaning with my back against his chest, and I listened intently as he told me about his adventure with Mulder. With each confession I could feel the weight lifting from his shoulders, only to settle onto my chest
"A shoot-out!" My lover had been shot at! "You guys were in a shoot-out?!"
Shrugging his shoulders, he gave a self-conscious grin. "Well, if we're gonna get technical, it wasn't a shoot out per se...they were the only ones doing the shooting."
"My god, you could have been hurt, or worse!"
A hand rubbed comfortingly down my arm. "John, it wasn't as bad as all that. Believe me, if they had wanted to kill us, they would have. They just wanted to scare the crap outta us, and they did, too."
"I can't believe you were going to hide all this from me!" I told him, indignantly.
"And this is exactly why," he responded. "It happened--now it's done and over with. It can't be changed. I knew if I told you about it you'd only get upset." Giving my arm a squeeze, he smiled, wanly, "I was only trying to save you any unnecessary anxiety."
His concern for my feelings, my well being, reminded me once more why I loved him as much as I did. I caressed his cheek, and leaned in to plant a quick little peck on his lips. "As long as you and Mulder weren't hurt. That's all that counts."
Nuzzling the nape of my neck, he said, "Nah...just humiliated, but I've dealt with worse."
"That's what you think...Langly's gonna be really pissed about the night-vision goggles."
That got a guffaw out of him, one I felt it vibrate through his body. "Don't remind me."
"It *is* too bad about the equipment," I reflected, as I snuggled in. "This would've been an even bigger story than the UFO one. I'd give anything to see how those photos came out."
He kissed my left temple, his hand sliding down my torso. "We'll make it someday, John. You'll see. Someday we'll uncover something that will put Woodward and Bernstein to shame."
"I'm just tired of waiting. We've been at this so long now..."
Another kiss, his words muffled by my hair. "I know, baby."
"Mel...?"
"Hmmmm?" he mumbled as his lips wandered down my neck.
"I don't suppose you could find that base again?" I asked hopefully.
"Probably...but why would I want to?" He glanced over at me and I saw his eyes widen in awareness. Shaking his head vigorously in the negative, he announced, "Oh no, you don't."
I protested, "Mel, I didn't even say anything!"
His arms dropped away as he pushed himself up higher in the bed. "You don't have to--I already know what's brewing in that gray matter of yours."
Turning to face him, I beseeched, "But Mel--hear me out. I have a plan..."
"Yeah, a plan that'll leave us all pushing up daisies!" he countered.
"Well, if you go charging in, brandishing guns and waving F.B.I. badges--yeah! Mulder's gonna get himself killed someday pulling stunts like that, and probably take one of us with him. But if we sneak in through the..."
He stared me down, his normally soft hazel eyes now hard and serious. "John, didn't you hear what I said? They've got guns. Big fuckin' guns, with lots and lots of bullets. And those shitheads know how to use the damn things. It's too dangerous, hon."
"Fro--we've broken into dangerous places before," I argued. "This is nothing new. And you've already seen the layout. That's more than we usually have going for us. Just a few minutes...we'll get the evidence and be out before they even know we've been there."
"Byers, they've been 'made'," he explained with great patience. "Whatever was there is long gone, and the evidence with it."
"We don't know that," I disputed.
He shot me *THAT* look--the one that can wither even the strongest of men. "They left two live witnesses, John--one of which was a federal agent. In fact, I'll go out on a limb and say that's probably the ONLY reason we both lived to tell about it. Do you really think that they stuck around after that?"
"But Mel...what they're doing is hurting people," I beleaguered the point.
"I know, babe. But there's nothing we can do about it," he said with utter finality.
I could feel the anger at the injustice burning within me. "Bullshit! There HAS to be a way to get the evidence we need so we can go to print with this story. The American people have a right to know what their government is up to out there!"
"I KNOW, John, but please listen to me. It's over...and we lost this time." Cupping my face in his rough hewed hands, he whispered, "No story is worth getting killed for, John. Please don't ever forget that. Promise me you'll drop this one."
Shaking my head minutely from side to side, I could feel the bile rising within me, the thought that these bastards were going to get away with their immoral actions making me ill. "I...I don't know if I can, Mel. How can I just close my eyes to what you've told me? How can I just walk away?"
He implored, softly, "Because I don't want anything bad to happen to you." Petting my cheek, his fingers running through my beard, he smiled and sighed, "I love you so much. You're my life, Johnny."
I swallowed over the sudden lump in my throat, not just at the devotion I saw in his eyes, but the sentiments that touched my ears. Mel hardly ever called me 'Johnny', only during the most intimate of moments. He so rarely opened up and talked about his emotions. It was a constant source of amazement to me that I alone could make him feel secure enough to let himself go. Nodding in agreement, I whispered, "And you're mine."
But just as I was about to seal the promise with a kiss, we heard the front door slam, and Langly skidding across the hardwood floor. He came to a perfect 'on-the-dime' stop in our doorway, bag and tray in hand. I couldn't help but start laughing--geez, the boy was hornier than we thought. "You're slipping, Ringo...6 minutes, 43 seconds," I kidded.
"Yeah, well, I WOULD have made it in five if it wasn't for that damn blue-haired Q-tip in front of me who couldn't decide between regular and decaf. Then she was bitching because they used Equal and she wanted Sweet & Low, then she wanted to pay for it with correct change. They shouldn't be allowed out of the senior centers... they're a menace to society. And I don't even want to TALK about the perv-y guy behind the counter who was checking out my package, which, by the way, was YOUR fault, Byers..."
"Ringo--stop babbling and get in the bed," I ordered, scrunching nearer to Mel to make room for him.
He handed the goodies to me, and Frohike made an immediate grab for the tray. (My 'teddy bear' can be a real grizzly until his first morning cup of java.) "I thought I said extra cream," he grumbled, lifting the cover of his coffee cup.
"I was in a hurry, you wing-nut," Langly shot back as he quickly started undressing. "Not enough time for extra cream."
Our friend was bending down to unhook his jeans from around his ankle when Mel's hand snaked out and snatched a hank of Ringo's hair, hauling him in close. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Frohike broke out in a huge smile. "Damn, I missed you, kiddo," he sighed, pulling the young man in for a deep, passionate kiss, a kiss Langly all but melted into.
As they drew apart, Ringo was wearing one of his trademark smart-aleck-y smirks. "Ditto, old man," he sniggered, and continued stripping.
"'Sides, hon, the extra cream's not good for you," I supplied quietly, as Langly crawled into bed beside me. He gave me a knowing smile when my lover wasn't looking, and I was sure the lack of cream was Ringo's own attempts to watch Frohike's diet. Poor Mel...he didn't stand a chance between the two of us.
Fro took the bag from me and began divvying up the munchies. He was just about to take a bite of his donut when he looked over at me, eyebrow arched questioningly. I was still holding onto my untouched bagel, and I guess my face reflected my concern over his breakfast choice. Shaking his head, he gave a resigned sigh, and handed over the offending pastry. "Dammit, John, I *HATE* sesame seeds," he grumbled, as he took the bagel I offered him in exchange.
I just smiled. "I'll remember that for the next time."
"You can be such an evil, sadistic bastard, John Byers," he hissed, as he crunched into the bagel and grimaced, causing Langly to let go with a burst of derisive laughter. "And I don't want to hear any comments from the peanut gallery," he added with a scowl.
I took a bite of one of the donuts and kissed my grumpy lover. He instantly licked away the powdered sugar and stray jelly that clung to my lips, and whimpered in frustration. I was about to torture him some more when I heard an "A-HEM," and a slight throat clearing beside me.
Turning to my right, I found Langly ready for action, pucker all set to go. I gave a chuckle as I leaned in for a good morning smooch. He tasted of the maple frosting from his coffee roll, but his kiss would have been sweet anyway. As we parted, he placed his head on my shoulder, his long silky hair tickling my skin, and resumed munching contentedly on his fattening treat.
We continued to eat in companionable silence--for a change. I took turns kissing each of them, aware that my actions were simply enhancing the possibility that we'd miss our first deadline ever. As I felt Langly's straying hand on my right thigh, and Mel's hand on my left, I counted my blessings and thanked the stars above for making me such a lucky guy, to be able to share my life with these two men. I adored them both--my friend, and my lover.
And sometimes, they were one and the same.
THE END
Archived: May 11, 2001
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