Author: Susan
Title: Fear
Pairings: M/K
Rating: PG
Spoilers: none
Series: The Sarah Series #1
Status: Complete
Summary: Krycek ponders his time with Mulder
Notes: First stories!

I watch the sun as it rises, standing to the side of the windows in this cheap motel, looking out through the partially closed blinds, unseen by the outside world. It's amazing how the days seem to start anew. A fresh start, a clean slate every day. But not for me. I don't get that luxury. No, I tell myself, no one does, really. The decisions I made yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that control the decisions I make today. Today's decisions affect tomorrow. I sigh. If only the world was as simple as it seems. If only I didn't know exactly how complex it is.

It's the simple things that make it complex. Lost in my thoughts and the view from the window, I vacantly watch the sky turn pink and orange as the sun moves farther into the sky. It seems that nothing is stronger than this, this bright orange ball of fire before me. But I realize that this new sun, rising over a trusting world, wanes quickly, lasting just a few hours, fading into a vast network of stars and planets that crowd the night sky. So many trying to shine the brightest, only to lose to a new sun when the morning comes, the cycle starting again. The old fall as the new rise. I shake my head and shift my weight onto my left foot, and lean against the wall.

People think that they can control their lives, their destiny. But they can't. If it's not some government guiding them, then it's the laws of nature. I used to think I could change the world, that I had some kind of control. After a while, I realized I couldn't, that I had no control. Sure, I can adapt, survive, learn how to manipulate the world around me, but I can't determine my fate. There's too many other people trying to get ahead in life, ready to push me into the undertow. My life is in their hands. There is always someone that wins, someone that can control fate, but only for a brief time because the power is lost easily. There is always someone stronger than yourself.

So I gave up. Forgot about fighting to live. Decided I'd just go with it. Learn to switch sides and move with the current. Exert my own power and tower over the people who were weaker than myself. But something, or should I say, someone, threw a kink into my newfound philosophy. And before I knew it, I was back, struggling in the undertow, gasping for breath. Trying to stop my fate.

With my bare back against the wall, I turn and look at the rumpled bed behind me, at the man sprawled in the center. And I realize that it was beyond my control. That it was going to happen sometime. The powers controlling us forced us together. And while I was trying to steer clear of him, trying to change my destiny, I should have given in to it. It was only a matter of time. Years of repressed desire, heightened by his anger. Of course, he was fighting it, too. So when we finally gave in, let ourselves go, we were consumed by it. Nothing could sate our appetite for each other. And we still keep coming back to this. Even as I watch him sleep, still tired and sore from last night, I am aware of how much I want him. How much I want to tangle my limbs with his in that too soft bed with the nondescript white motel sheets. Leave the rest of the world behind. I lean my head against the wall and put my hands over my eyes. At the same time, I am aware of how much!

I fear. I fear him, what he will tell me when he wakes. Will he be sullenly quiet or yell at me? Will he say goodbye? Acknowledge me at all? I fear, or know, that I have nothing to give, nothing that he could possibly want. Just the means to quell this strange need he feels to be with me, if only for a night. But I also fear how much I have to lose. Not only my life, which I would if the men who are our enemies were to find me here with him. But also my soul. I may have already given it to him. The brief glimpses I see of him, the real him, fill me with longing. Desire that can't be dispelled by a night in some crummy motel in Denver or wherever he is following a case. When I'm away from him I feel hollow. Empty. So, I follow him. Track him. Steal him away for as long as I can, lure him with secrets. I usually get a couple of hours, but when I'm lucky, like last night, I get an entire night. But as soon as I feel that desire fulfilled, when I feel whole again, another feeling arises. I fear that he'll leave me for good. Refuse to see me. And where will I be then?

Looking at him, I think about how complex he is. But his complexity lies in his simplicity. He needs food, he eats. He wants the truth, he searches for it, trying everything until he finds it. He needs sex, he finds me. Or I find him. When he has an emotion, he locates it in the swirling mass of his brain, and shows it. He doesn't hide or pretend to be something he's not. His goal is simple. Find Samantha, beat the Consortium, save the world. He believes that he can control his destiny. When something goes wrong, he looks for ways to make it right. Despite the risks. If he must die to find the truth, to save people, so be it. Life is what he makes of it. When the others knock him down, steal his work, kill his family and friends, he doesn't fall into the undertow. He doesn't get caught up. He continues. When he does waver, and almost gives up, something reminds him of his goal, and he continues. He spits in his enemies' faces, and never kisses ass. He will never back down.

I move closer to the bed. Standing above, looking down, I hear his steady breathing. I brush my hand through his hair, feeling the soft strands as they run through my fingers. Somewhere in my mind I know that this can't keep happening. He will stop needing me. And I fear the end. He knows that this temptation will destroy our lives. If anyone knew, both of us would pay. He would lose his job, his life's work, and probably his best friend. And I would lose him. And my life. But I cannot leave him. He has to be the one to break it off. I will not fight these feelings. I've learned I must sink or swim, and I'm doing all I can to stay afloat. I'll stay close by him, whether or not he knows I'm there. And if I have to die to save him, to save his determined, stubborn, amazing self, I will. Because he is what I'm not. I am what he never should be. And I'll make sure he never has to.



Author: Susan
Title: Do What You Have to Do
Pairings: M/K
Rating: PG-13
Rating Info: Couple of bad words!
Spoilers: none
Series: The Sarah Series #2, Sequel to Fear
Status: Complete
Summary: Mulder thinks about Krycek!
Notes: This story, and Fear, and the next, are inspired by Sarah MacLachlan songs of the same title. So listen as you read!

I can feel him tensing beneath me. His entire body constricts, muscles pulling tighter, as the morning creeps closer and closer. It's so subtle, though. I can only feel it because I know his body. And I know these mornings. When I decide how to treat him, whether to kiss him or hit him. Whether I leave him first or I stay, watching him dress and leave. It's always my call. I have the power. It's the only way I can deal with it, this madness.

But today is different. Today I will tell him that this was the last time, that he needs to leave me alone. I can't be with him. It's too much, too dangerous. Scully's already suspicious, and I couldn't deal with her disappointment if she found out. I couldn't deal with him being taken away by her in handcuffs. Better to end it now. If I don't do it now I never will.

But as I watch his face, still shadowed in the gray light sifting through the blinds, I know that I don't know how to let him go. And all my power I thought I had is gone, leaving me with no conviction. The idea of not having those eyes reflecting back this shared need, lust, tears at me. It makes me want to hold him, and keep him. But I can't. He wouldn't let me. Fuck, nobody would let me keep him.

And little memories of last night filter through my mind. His rage, his intense anger, at who knows what, making him seek me out, for comfort, solace, the kind only I can give him. The steel in his eyes when I turned to see him standing in my living room, having quietly broken in through a window. The words he rumbled out to me, cursing the world, confessing sins, incoherent words only he could understand. Stalking around my apartment, working off steam, before kneeling before me on the floor next to my couch, looking at me and challenging me. I looked back at him and said, "You do what you have to do."

And here I am, holding him like I have so many other mornings. Except today I know it will be the last. And as I lie here, I plan what I will say to him - that I've had enough, that he's served his purpose. That I'm tired of him. Just anything to push him away and keep him away. But even as I think these things I know that even if he were to believe them, they wouldn't be enough to make him stay away. He'd still come back. Our fate has led us to this, just as fate has led us through every other bit of our lives, giving me Scully, giving him this fugitive life.

I feel guilty, so fucking guilty, for taking this away from him, this peace. Then I weigh it against the guilt I'd feel if this hurt him, or got him killed. But every time I see him, that guilt is washed away by my need to be with him. Then, when these mornings pass, I dive into work, trying to run away from this craving, this consuming desire. This fire that drives us to find each other in the night and hold on tight until the first light of dawn breaks through the window.

He's still asleep, and I wish that I could just leave him here, go to work and forget that it has to stop, that these nights need to end. But is that need greater than our need for each other? I tell myself no, but I know deep within me that my life without him will be desperate, grasping. Like it was before he walked into my life that day so many years ago, when that young boy, adoring and inexperienced, or so I thought, held out his hand to me. Even then I lost myself in his eyes. I never gave in to my feelings until they broke through the rage, when I kissed him with the force of a punch. Felt him kiss back.

I don't know how to let him go. I'm sure the words will come, but will the emotion behind them, when the emotion is not there? If I told him the truth, he'd dismiss it, as he has before when I've said how stupid this all is. He'd tell me that he can take care of himself, as long as keep my mouth shut to Scully. Then he'd offer himself to me, and I would not be able to refuse. I have never refused him, but I must this morning. I have to lie to him.

I will just tell him that I must do what I have to do. That it is not in my control, that this yearning will fade, that it has already started to dissipate. He must leave me alone. And the greatest lie of them all, that I have no need for him anymore. That I don't want him anymore.

He's stirring slightly, lashes fluttering against those smooth cheeks, marred only by a small scratch under his right eye. He used to have a light dusting of freckles across his nose, but they're gone, faded with the lack of sunlight, his life now lived in the darkness. And I miss them - of all the times to fucking miss them - but I can't help but to mourn them. Mourn what I'm losing today. To never lie in bed with this man again, to never feel his hands touch me, to never hear him call my name when I make him come. Never again.

And each little waking up movement pushes me closer and closer to what I must do. As he blinks open sleepy eyes and turns to me, I tell myself that I'm just doing what I have to do. Before I can slip up and kiss him, I take a deep breath and put on my mask, steeling my eyes and heart.



Author: Susan
Title: Ice
Pairings: M/K
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: none
Status: Complete
Series: The Sarah Series #3, sequel to Do What You Have To Do
Summary: Krycek is resolved to stay, his pov

I'm still in his apartment. It's been weeks now since he asked me to leave. Correction - told me to. And I did leave. Quietly. Without a fuss. But I came back. I still watch him; when he jerks off, pisses, dresses for work. And when he dreams, tossing on that black leather couch, calling my name. When he sleeps, when he dreams, it's my name he whispers. My name he screams. Sometimes, I laugh, and think about taping it and mailing it to Scully.

He never knows I'm there. I'm too smart to let him know. Time must be passing as slowly for him as it is for me. The minutes, hours, days seem to stand still, as if it's been years since I last touched him. And he thinks he's handling it. I can see it in the way he tries to carry on his life like it's normal, watching his pornos, working day and night. He knows it's not the same, though, unable to concentrate, unable to come from just a video. Last night he found a tee shirt I had left there on purpose, and slept with his hand curled around it. When he woke up, he smelled it, and tucked it into the cushions.

When I came to him that first time, I was determined to have him for my own, to pull him into my skin, if only for a night. I knew the ice was thin, the danger was there. And that danger was all but forgotten as soon as I kissed him. That danger made it better. It was forbidden. And we liked it too well. He was mine until duty tightened around his throat like a necktie, until he heard Scully's voice on his cell phone.

We went in too deep. I began to come to him whenever I could. He would be pacing when I got there, automatically taking off his clothes when he saw me in the doorway, then he'd move to rip off mine. But something scared him. He tried to resurface after we'd already drowned. He doesn't want to realize that he's anchored to this. It won't let him go. I know he knows it too, because I see it in every grimace and every wince, in every minute of every day. He thinks of me and aches.

Mulder thinks I believed him that morning. He thinks I always believed him. But I knew he lied. He always lied to me. And when he offered himself to me - he lied and still gave himself - I took what I could get. I wanted whatever he would give. And he entered me with a lie in his throat. Sitting here now, on his desk, my feet propped in his chair, I am still taking what he's giving. I watch him toss in thoughts of me. Hear his sighs and whimpers. Watch as his deception - telling himself he doesn't want me - begins to crumble. See him come back to me slowly. And it's enough for now.

I've seen how he's changed. He's not changed enough for Scully to see. Despite what she thinks, she really doesn't know him at all. But enough for me to see. There is a sliver of hate in him for her now. He still loves her, but he doesn't love what he has to be to love her. He has to be strong, wear his shiny armor without complaint. She never sees the worm eating away at his insides. And to him his angels are no longer sacred. They are working against him. Although he fights it, his demon desire is tempting him with an irresistible fire. His supposed Hell becoming a Heaven in his mind. A mind tortured with conflict.

At least I have the comfort of truth. But I as much as I deny it, I know I am the fool. While he resists fate, I tempt it, try to bait it. I am the fool because I'll stay. Because I'll wait until he's ready again. Until I can have him calling for me while he's fucking me again. Until he's so tired of fighting it, he'll search me out. And I'll be here to be found.

The hours creep by in the dark. I love this time with him. I move off the desk and stand in the shadows, still in easy view of his lanky form on the couch. After an eternity I hear him wake in the dark. And he cries, whether because he forgot the dreams of me or remembered them, I'll never know. And I listen to him cry. And I smile. And I wait.




Part four in the Sarah Series, Mulder's POV.

I walk into my apartment and immediately smell him. I don't know whether I'm going crazy or if he's really been here or, God willing, he's still here. So I ransack the place, looking for him. Or any trace that he was here. But I find nothing. Except that unmistakable smell of him and sex hanging in the air.

I fall, exhausted, onto the cushions of the couch, my apartment a disaster around me. The scent is stronger here, as if his sweat and semen is part of the leather itself. I know what he's doing and why he's doing it. And it's working. If I were to see him now, I don't know what I'd...I wouldn't be able to stop myself. I'd grab him and pull him up from the couch. Tell him that if he's gonna jerk off without me around, he's not gonna do it on *my* couch. Then I'd proceed to fuck him unconscious. Hold him close to me. Slap him.

The couch is the one place I could sleep since...him. And now he's ruined it. I won't sleep at all tonight. I've been restless since I told him to leave, but I'd at least get an hour or two of shut-eye in the early morning hours. I tried to sleep in my bed after he left, but I can't - not without him. I guess I need the narrowness of the couch to remind me that I'm alone. The empty expanse of bed kept reminding me of who used to lie there - and the fact that he wasn't going to be coming back.

I'd lay awake all night replaying that morning in my mind. Over and over. The flash of hurt in his eyes, quickly covered by a screen of indifference. The dip in the mattress as he slid off. I closed my eyes because I couldn't watch him as he dressed, didn't want to see his scarred body standing bare beside my bed. When he was naked, he seemed vulnerable. And I didn't want to remember him that way. I wanted to think of him as the strong man I had always known in the day, not the tender person that was mine in the night. The man he had shown to me, given to only me. I wanted to hate him.

But I can't pick and choose what to remember. I can't push those memories away. I think back to nights I'd spent with him. Simple pleasures. Just our bodies responding, one to the other. It was almost primal, animal in its simplicity. Hands groping, tongues soothing, our breath mingling as we sought to find each other. We didn't need to talk - clipped, breathless single words conveying all we needed to know. "Yes." "Now." "Here."

We'd lie wrapped together until the morning, finding each other at night finally in sleep. I'd wake up, savoring the last few minutes of feeling him before it was time to go. He'd slowly pull on his clothes and I, my robe, each unconsciously making the moment last, loathing the time to say goodbye. If we even talked at all. Depending on my mood, I either kissed or cursed him. But the last times we were together, I started to kiss him more and more. And started regretting that he was leaving, wanting him to stay. That's when I knew it had to stop.

I found out a couple of days ago that he's been around here. My neighbor asked me if I had a brother or cousin or somebody visiting. Said a tall, dark-haired guy had been coming and going from my apartment for a while now. Damn him, he must still have the key.

And it's been so much harder to I heard that. It was hard before, but at least I could still function somewhat. Now, I sit around and stare at nothing. Scully thinks I've finally lost it. She pokes me and prods me and all I can say is, "I'm fine." And stare some more. I do my work, eventually, but it just doesn't interest me like it used to.

Running my fingers slowly over the smooth surface of the leather, I imagine his taut body stretched over the couch, his eyes squeezed shut while *he* imagines *me*, touching himself as if it were me. I whimper. The smell and my vision of him is making me hard. I unzip my pants, and I as I touch myself, I try to think it's him. But my mind is not cooperating - mental pictures just aren't enough anymore. I move my hand frantically along the length of my cock but it's not working. I need *him* to take me over the edge.

I cry out and curl into a tight ball on the couch, wrapping myself in his smell. I'm frustrated and tired and angry and sad. I inch my hand under a cushion and pull out his tee shirt - the only thing I have left of him. It's just an undershirt - dingy, sweat-stained, and ripped at the neck, but I just can't get rid of it. I tuck it under my chin, imagining that instead of the soft cotton against my neck, it's his hair. I sob, quietly, for a few minutes, feeling sorry for myself, then I sniff and absently wipe the moisture from my face on the shirt.

When he came here that first night, he seduced me. Not like it was that difficult, but...he initiated it all. After he kissed me, leaving me panting and wanting more, he backed away from me, his eyes dancing, and said, "I can take you there, Mulder. You *know* I can." I barely heard him through the lust haze that had surrounded me, but at the time it seemed like a dare. A threat. And I was never one to not take a dare. I had to. That was all it took and I was gone. I couldn't get enough after that. And now I realize - he was just stating the truth. God, the truth. He's the only person that can take me to that edge. He's the only one who can touch me now.

I'm waging a war in my mind - it's me against me. I'm trying to hold on to what I believe, and I'm struggling to find room in my life for what I really want. All my thoughts are broken, fragments that I'm trying desperately to piece back together. And I'm ashamed - for what I'm feeling, for what I want, for how I turned him away. Does Alex feel the same? Does he have a place in my life? Can I make one for him? Do I have it in me to do that? In my mind, I can see it all. How good we could be together. But in reality, could it work? When I turned him away, I'd already blindly decided that it couldn't - but now, I can't decide so easily if the possibilities are worth the risks. I just know what I'm feeling and what I want. As I lie here, letting the night pass me by, the hours ticking away, a clear picture forms from the pieces of my thoughts. I see him and nothing else. And I know what my decision would be if I he came to me now.

Just as I'm drifting to sleep, at peace at last, I hear a quiet knock. I smile as I stand up and walk to the door. I know who it is. And I'm ready.




Fifth in the Sarah Series. Krycek's POV. Rated NC-17. No spoilers.

I've waited. And I've watched.

I've seen him mourn me ever since he told me to leave. And in return I've haunted him like a ghost, never letting my memory fade from the complex wiring of his brain. I know how good he is at pushing the important stuff - like his life - aside, letting work overtake everything. But not this time. I wanted him to think about And he did. Every night. And every goddamn torturous minute of every day.

So here I am, taking the biggest chance of my life. I've decided that it's now or never - Mulder is either going to tell me to leave for good or welcome me back. I can't take it anymore. I don't want to be a spectator in his life. Or let mine pass me by as it has for the past 30 or so years. And if I have to give him an ultimatum, then so be it.

But I'm so fucking frightened. You know, a guy can try to kill me with a gun or knife and I'm barely bothered by it. I know my own physical strength. I can take care of myself when it comes to staying alive. But Mulder is holding my heart in his hands and I'm scared to death he'll squeeze the love out of it and leave me alone in this world. Just the thought of him turning me away again because of his stupid, stubborn pride makes me shiver. The "what ifs" just leave too much to my morbid imagination.

But I'm standing at his door, and if I don't do this now, I don't think I ever will. A rush of desire and something I never usually feel - hope - make me courageous for an instant. Before I realize it, my knuckles tap gently on the dark wood. I lean my ear against the smooth surface, and I hear a slight rustle from inside. I panic. I should leave now. I'm crazy if I think he'd admit anything to me. He'll just tell me I'm a psychopath, he'll...just hurt me more, like he's always does.

My mind is racing. I try to fool myself by thinking //he's probably asleep, he was just shifting on the couch// and I turn to walk down the hall. But it's too late. He's definitely awake because I can hear the door opening slowly behind me. And Mulder obviously sees me because he says, "Alex." I stop myself from running down the hall and out of the building. His voice tears at me and comforts me at the same time. I don't - can't - turn to him, and squeeze my eyes shut as if that alone could keep him out of my heart.

I start to babble, keeping my face turned towards the floor. Even with my eyes closed I can see his face in my head, looking at me as if I was losing my mind. I tell him that I've been waiting, giving him time, and hoping for a second chance. I say that I'll understand if he wants me to leave, but that I know it's not what he really wants. It's not what I want. I want him. And this is the last time. If I leave now, it's forever...

He puts his hand on my shoulder, spins me around, and pulls me into his arms. My cheek is pressed to his and his hands are in my hair. We stand there in the hallway for an eternity, just feeling the weight of each other in our arms. His grip is tightening on me by the second, and I gently push him in the direction of the doorway. My lips are beside his ear, brushing the lobe as I whisper, " Let's get out of the hallway."

Mulder releases me, except for my hand, which grasps tightly in his sweaty palm, and we move into his apartment. As soon as the door shuts, he encloses me in the comforting circle of his arms again. He begins to murmur, telling me how he's felt since I left, how much he's missed me, how sorry he is. As I hear his words, everything I've been holding in - the tension, the emotions, the frustrations - come pouring out, leaving me feeling peacefully empty - as if I'm weightless. But his warmth and the slow burning of desire soon fill this emptiness with something infinitely better.

It's as if I can see an end to all this, and I feel like it can actually work - I can *be* with Mulder. His arms *can* pull me from the dark density of my life and lift me up into the light. And at some point I start crying because Mulder's words change, consisting of "shhhhs" and "We're together now" and "Let it out, Alex." I tell him about my watching him at night. That I wanted to hate him for what he did but couldn't. That whatever he does to me, I still seem to love him more and more.

He leads me to the couch, keeping his arm around my shoulders. We sit together for a while, not really talking, just petting and soothing with hushed words and whispered secrets. I've never felt so...calm. Peaceful. And somewhere deep in my mind I hear a voice that tells me that this is madness, that it will never last. But I push it back. I don't want to hear that voice again. It's always told me what to do and what to believe. But now I know what *I* want, and it's easier to believe in this immense sweetness than in the bitterness that has held me for so many years. I'd rather be in the arms of this angel of a man beside me, living truthfully, honestly, for once than running for my life, evading all hope of happiness.

I open my eyes to look at him, really look at him, and I see so much reflected back at me. So much more than I ever hoped. Desire. Relief. I touch the slight depression in his chin, then trail my finger around each curve of his lips. He's so beautiful, and I feel like this is our first time. Except this time it's going to be slow and sweet as honey. Not rough and tumble fucking like we used to do.

I lean closer and run my tongue where my fingers were. His lips are salty and I can't decide if it's from sunflower seeds or tears. I shift back to search his face, and I see telltale tracks down his cheeks. I feel so close to him now. Reaching for his hand, I twine my fingers with his.

Our eyes stay focused on each other as we move closer, inch by inch, until our lips meet. The kiss seems so chaste, so pure. I continue to watch him as he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering against his cheek softly. He deepens the kiss slowly, sucking my lower lip into his mouth. I feel the slight nip of his teeth into the soft skin, then the sweet lap of his tongue over the hurt. I want to close my eyes, revel in just feeling him, but I can't. I need to see him as he loves me.

I push my tongue to meet his, delighting in the silky slide of it over my own. I feel as if I have all the time in the world - nothing exists except for this kiss. I unwind my fingers from his and smooth my hand over the short hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to me. I want to memorize every surface of his mouth and every taste of him. I let my tongue wander over his teeth, running it over the sharper edges. He pushes my chest slightly and pulls away, taking a deep breath before moving back in. But I dodge his lips and latch onto his chin, sucking at the stubbly skin. He arches his neck, inviting my kisses there. I follow the line of his throat, stopping every so often to nibble where my lips have been. I can hear his whimpers, and I know now exactly what I want.

I want to take off his clothes, then mine. I want to lay in his bed with him and relearn his body, touching him everywhere. I want to know every pleasure point, from the whorls of his ears to the soles of his feet. I want to know him - everything about him. And I want to hold him to me and take him away from all of this mess.

I drag myself away from him and start to stand. I see a slight panic when he opens his eyes. But when I shrug off my jacket, he understands. He stands before me and starts to unbutton my shirt. He kisses my chest when it is exposed, pressing his fingers into the skin beside his lips. He brushes the tip of his finger against a nipple, and I inhale sharply. He stands upright again and smiles at me. I can't help but smile back. I love this man so much, and...I know now that he returns that feeling. I never expected that. He nods his head towards the bedroom and takes my hand as he turns. I follow him, watching the slight grace with which he carries himself, his lean hips moving smoothly in his jeans.

Yeah, I know what I want, and I know I'm going to get it. This may be madness, but I don't care. I have all I'll ever need right here.



Full of Grace

Last in the Sarah Series.

Mulder's POV. Rated NC-17. No spoilers.

He came back. When I heard the knock I instantly knew it was him. But I never expected the meekness, the shyness in his demeanor, or the desperation in his voice. All the normal cockiness was gone, along with the smart-ass retorts and jabs. It was as if he stood before me stripped of every pretense, instead showing me the boy, the man, within that hard outer shell of the assassin. And for as much as I adore his strength and rough exterior, I have to admit that I liked him that way - that innocence in the ferocious beast. It made me want to hold him close to me for as long as I could. Well, as long as he'd allow me to. That's not a feeling I usually had for him, and it was as new as all the other emotions that were swirling around my mind.

Now, as we lay naked together in my bed, touching and kissing every inch of skin, I know I have everything I need in him. I cannot believe how blind I have been to him in the past -such a simple answer to such a hard question. It took his absence to show me how much I wanted his presence. And the past few months spent alone were hell; the bitter cold of the winter winds couldn't touch me because I was already numb without him in my life. Without his feverish heat and enveloping warmth everything was so dark and so heavy it seemed to suffocate me, leaving me gasping for breath.

But with him back - it's all changed. I want to start my life again. I want to throw out all the rules, or break them all, and make a life with him. Focus my energies on him. And as I think these things, a feeling breaks over me like the spring, cleansing my world and taking away the cold and numbness, leaving a delectable, addictive feeling of newness and sunshine in its wake.

I trail my fingers down his torso, feeling the fine, silky hairs stand up under my touch. I feel like I have forever to touch him and be with him, and I savor every little response he gives me, greedy for more as I try to remember every pleasure spot I once knew and search for new spots. I've waited to be with him this way longer than I ever realized I did, and I don't want to rush this for anything in the world. Alex hisses as I press my tongue into his navel, and I taste the salty sweet tang of him on my lips, delving my tongue deeper into the crevice to find the very essence of his flavor. He tastes of sweat and pain, and I try to lap up every bit I can, taking his pain into me, making even that my own. I move further down his body, gently restraining his thrusting hips with my hands. I lap at his thighs, then bite down with more force than I intend. He almost wails, and when I look at him, he bites down on his clenched fist, trying to control what is uncontrollable.

I gentle myself, and I take his hand from his mouth, uncurling the tense fingers as I kiss each digit delicately. He calms a bit, and I whisper his name into the dimly lit silence of my bedroom as if it is a sacred word. I bend to his flat stomach again, letting my lips form his name against his skin as my breath whooshes out softly. I twine my fingers with his, wanting to create a tangible link between us as I explore his body. Moving down the length of his body, I reach my tongue out to catch the rosy head of his cock. Alex jumps and I place a hand on his thigh to calm him.

Then, I need to feel more of him - I want to swallow him whole and take all of him inside of me. I want to feel everything he feels and know everything he knows. The need to feel closer to him pushes me on, and I suck his hard length into my mouth, then deep into my throat. Keeping back a gag in my fervor to have more of him, I hum gently, my throat vibrating around him. He's whimpering now, and so am I, I realize. I am receiving pleasure from giving him pleasure, and the more I give, the more I seem to get. I'm so impossibly hard now and I can feel myself tensing with an approaching orgasm. I knead the soft skin of his thigh with my knuckles, trying to calm myself, but all I can feel is our joined hands and his cock in my mouth. I know I can feel a deeper connection pulling us together.

My mind begins to chant - "Come. Come, Alex. For me." - and I try to communicate with him, sucking his cock harder, pressing his fingers tighter in mine, and pinching the skin of his leg, leaving small red welts on the pale white of his skin. Finally, I move my hand from his thigh down to cup his balls, brushing the skin with soft strokes, then increasing the pressure to where I'm squeezing and prodding him more and more.

Suddenly, it's as if time stops - his whole body tenses, starting at his feet and moving slowly to the top of his close-cropped head. He yells something unintelligible, perhaps foreign, and his semen pulses down my ready and willing throat. I drink it down, reveling in its warmth and singular taste. I'd know his taste anywhere. And it's enough to bring me to orgasm, my own semen soaking the sheets beneath us.

Afterwards, he seems boneless, and I give him a few minutes to regain himself before I scoot up his body to gather him into a tight embrace. Our joined hands are still tightly grasped together, and I begin to whisper into his ear.

I tell him we were caught in the undertow for a while, but now we've surfaced. I tell him that I feel like just letting go - to float with him, to just be with him. I tell him that I love him - but that I can love him even better than this, deeper than this. I'm going to give myself to him, giving myself over to a love that imbues ever fiber of my being. I won't hurt him by lying anymore; I won't hurt him by denying what my body, heart, mind, and soul is screaming for - him. I tell him that he and I have played these roles too long. I want to be with Alex, the man I fell in love with, whatever it takes. And it's better this way. It can only get better. That I know for sure.

He's crying again. And before I know it, I'm crying again too. I kiss away all his tears and he laps at mine. After we've soothed each other, we lie face to face, forehead pressed against forehead. Our entwined hands rest on his smooth hip, above our tangled legs.

And all the lies do lead to the truth, because here we are - Alex and I - together at last. I realize finally that the truth of love is stronger than any other truth I know, or will ever know. And it *is* better this way -

Archived: December 29, 2001