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So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect)
Chapter 8
Fandom: the X Files/ Supernatural
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Alex Krycek
POV: Krycek's
Rating: R throughout
Beta'd by Courtney Gray (HUGE thanks to her!) Special thanks to Bardsmaid for being my gun consultant.Dedicated: to Lu, LID, Warped, absrip, Phantomas, SibSkys - the partners in crime!
16.00 pm
SundayDean did not make it back in the two hours he had promised... Everything takes longer than you think, Alex told to himself. He had to pay another $75 for the room. This adventure was becoming costly. He made a couple of necessary calls, including one to Mr Walter Surly Skinner, and the news was that there was no news. After that Alex had a good breakfast in a cafeteria downtown. He ignored the buzz of `why the hell did you do what you did?' in his head. The decision had been out of character for him; irrational as it was, he hoped it would reap the kind of payback he wanted. Even if that meant more sex and nothing else, which was highly improbable, given what Alex had learned of Dean's background. For now, while nothing more important made to his agenda, Alex decided to learn more about the supernatural weirdness and Dean himself, without killing the fun his character could provide during that.
When he got back to the motel, Alex had more time to kill. He had the TV turned to some lawyer drama. Life lived in another world, with suits and ties and power lunches, nine-to-five days and commuter traffic. When Dean was still not back by 2:00 pm, Alex started to consider a possibility that he might have been tricked like a baby. If Dean indeed proved to be a complete idiot to whip away from him, Alex had to catch up to him and smack him around to teach a lesson. A few drops of black oil could scare anyone shitless, a pity Alex had no access to it right now. The guy did not deserve the full injection of course, but the wicked voice from the darkest corner of Alex's psyche whispered that Dean would still look hot to fuck with oil-speckled eyes and a sickly pallor.
At four pm Alex buttoned up his jacket and reached for the room's keys. He had waited enough. If he wanted to follow the hot trail, he'd better start acting.
It was a three count later that Dean came in, without knocking and Alex nearly collided with him in the door.
Dean had changed his clothes, following the same habit of using two layered shirts and a crew collar undershirt as if he was permanently cold. Alex could not help but immediately notice that the dark green color of his button-down top shirt added a deep hue to his expressive eyes. His leather coat was clean, his blue denims threadbare at the knees. The only reminders left of yesterday's scuffle were his abraded cheek and bruised knuckles. They made it hard for Alex not to remember the ass that felt tighter than his own fist around his cock.
"I started to think very bad thoughts about you," Alex made a show of looking at his wristwatch as he stepped back from the exit, letting his pent-up anger seep into his voice.
"Oh, I can imagine," Dean smiled ingenuously.
"No, I don't think you can." Alex murmured.
"Sorry, dude," Dean shrugged. "It wasn't intentional. But those pencil pushers had a mile-long list of papers for me to sign, and I don't sign on the dotted line before I've read it all. Then I wanted to change and grab a bite at Paw's, you know they have those fantastic beef barbeque shortribs with the best damn home fries...," Dean made a guttural sound that was meant to be complimentary, but came out as purely sensual. "And right at the bridge over the gulley, there was a lady with two boys, their Dodge Durango got a flat tire...I couldn't just pass them by...." Dean's palms did have some dirt and grease stains.
"If we cannot be clever, we can always be kind," said Alex under his breath, but Dean apparently had a sharp sense of hearing. Even though Dean's eyes flashed dangerously at him, he took comfort in looking down at the belligerent mouth and mussed hair, throwing his own shoulders back. "Never mind," Alex added. He took his jacket off, but left the holster on and watched as Dean went to the bathroom to wash his hands.
"I could have given you a call...if I had your number?" Dean reappeared, wiping his hands on a towel, then took his phone from his pocket, flipped the cover open. His expression and voice were good-natured; he squinted, expecting Alex to speak up. Apparently, a good meal and some time on his own have mellowed Dean a little towards his sudden alliance. Or gave him a moment to come up with a scheme of his own, piped in Alex's inner paranoid.
"Later," Alex said hastily. Things were developing too fast for him. He wasn't used to some guy he'd barely known for twenty hours having his private number and real named listed on his phone. He could not get rid of the prickly feeling that Dean was feeling comfortable enough to try and have him on.
Alex was standing barely an inch behind Dean as Dean stepped to the window, apparently inviting Alex to finally have a look at what was on offer in trade.
But Alex was distracted and perturbed by the fact that Dean still had his jacket on. Overnight the temperature had dropped outside' it was the 20th of October, real autumn was starting to set in. At Clover's they didn't skimp on heating. That meant...
"So what are you carrying, Dean?" he asked almost softly. Dean was glancing over his shoulder now, seeming to be listening for something.
"Say again?" He overdid the clueless look to be convincing.
"Oh come on! Relax your left arm, it's giving you away."
This time Dean did look at the arm in question and had given himself away completely.
"Let's see it," Alex motioned.
With a 'you won this round' grimace, Dean shrugged the jacket off. What he had was a shiny Colt 1911: the classic American .45. Alex smirked to himself. How predictable.
"You should wear it in a shoulder holster, that'd make it less conspicuous."
Being a single-action gun, Dean apparently was carrying it 'cocked and locked'. Alex decided against sharing his story about a guy who wanted to look cool and ended up peeing through a catheter for the rest of his life.
"I figured you'd go for something big and shiny." he noted wryly instead.
"Like you go for all black and hi tech?" Dean paused, tentative. "Show me yours?"
When Alex did, unholstering his weapon and laying it on his open palm, Dean didn't touch the gun; he just gave it a close look.
"This isn't what you take to work, is it? Whatever your work is?"
Alex shrugged past the question.
"Short barrel, light weight," Dean said, outlining the barrel with a finger. "It must kick like a bitch when you fire it. And you can't put a flash suppressor on it. Or don't you mind drawing attention to yourself?"
"The cub is too damn smart for a mere thief." Alex bit the inside of his cheek in surprise.
First of all, only a gun afficianado used the term flash suppressor instead of silencer. Also, the suppressor made the barrel longer, thus more accurate. The 9000Beretta was indeed more of a small toy for intimidation than his working instrument. When he was on a pre-scheduled hit on a passing target, he'd rather use an optical rifle. Glocks were cheap and cumbersome and belonged to his amateurish past. He had used a Colt in shooting yards, but never in practice. Colts 1911 was the standard U.S. Army service pistol until 1985 when it was replaced by the Beretta 92FS, Krycek's all time favorite weapon. He'd held CSM at gunpoint with it and that was one of his sweetest memories. It also had fifteen bullets in the mag instead of ten, made little noise when fired, and gave him more time to get away unnoticed.
"True. Can't carry an M-16 around without people getting the wrong idea, you know? Give me more attention than I can handle."
Dean nodded as he was all too familiar with what too much attention meant. Alex could not help but appreciate the company of a gun-savvy guy. Guns didn't kill people, people did, whether they used guns or knives, poison, blunt objects, or pushed them off bridges.
"This...is quite a homoerotic moment." Alex nearly dropped his own gun when Dean said "homoerotic," with a glint in his eye, holding his Colt out next to Alex's compact 9000S, "I still think bigger is better. Call me old-fashioned." What Dean must have meant by bigger barrel that it had 'more stopping power' of a larger bullet, and Krycek maintained that it's the bullet's placement, not the size of the round that made the critical difference.
"Oh, isn't it common knowledge that size doesn't matter?" Alex shot back, it came out too fast, adolescent and defensive. But when he looked at Dean, a cheeky, satisfied grin was settling at the corners of his mouth. Alex should have been more unsettled at Dean having a loaded gun in his presence than trading innuendos. As for the size of other things, it hadn't escaped him that he had a good inch on Dean in that department, too. But once in a long time he just could not make himself fully concentrate on the issue of his safety .
"I'm outgunned here. And you said I had trust issues?" Alex used his favorite maneuver, switching topics and nodding at the shotgun that lay neglected on the bedside table.
"This is ...just a warning. So that you know I mean business, too." Dean didn't back down at the hint, just stood his ground, energy seeming to crackle around him.
Alex did not comment that Dean wasn't exactly the poster boy for someone who had a past full of lucrative business enterprises. But the demonstration added another point to Dean's character. It made him more dangerous. More desirable.
"Better the company of a crook than a crazy man," Alex muttered. A good quip always managed to divert the opponent's attention from his unease.
"Dude, you don't judge a man by candy wrappings you found in his pockets?"
Alex did not quite get Dean's joke, but it made him recall something important. "How about cigarette packs?"
Dean looked clueless for a moment.
"You smoke?" Alex asked in a voice that was too aggressive for such a neutral question.
Dean looked sincerely puzzled by the turn in questioning. "Ehh...No. Well, sometimes. To mix and mingle. When a girl asks for a smoke..." Then Dean changed his tone in mid sentence, from neutral to piqued, "You realize you just have me on the defensive because of a couple of cigs I picked up at Paw's?"
"Three grand is worth a bit of Q&A." Before Dean opened his mouth to protest, Alex asked again, something that he needed to know, and that he could only take on faith,
"If your pre-staged exorcism yesterday had ended with me half-dead, what would you have done?"
"Let's not turn this into a guilt trip, ok?" Dean bristled. After a pause, he made a move, as if he wanted to clap Alex on the shoulder, but stopped his hand in mid-air,
"I would have called 911, ok?" Dean replied outright. "I'd have taken your car and brought you to the hospital in Waterry. I would not let an innocent man die on me!"
Alex hadn't been called innocent since the age of twelve. He'd picked up a fraud and a ghost hunter with a superman's worth of ethics. He could have sneered it down, but he couldn't quite make himself. Alex shrugged, as if it did not matter, something uncomfortable, edgy blooming in his throat. Before it registered in the tone of his voice, he waved his hand, hurriedly changing the topic to hide his unease:
"Whatever. All's well that ends. So are you also a car thief?"
Dean smirked. "I can hotwire almost everything. Just point it out, whatever you want."
Alex added another point to the list of Dean's useful skills. Not that he was reckless enough to cruise around in a just-stolen car.
"This... stolen?" Finally Alex looked through the window. He sincerely hoped it was not. The car was...impressive. It looked more like a ship to him. Apparently Dean went for the bigger not only in his choice of guns. Staying inconspicuous would be a problem from now on.
Dean shook his head vehemently. "No," he beamed. His face was flushed. He looked happy as a clam. Knowing that it was all thanks to Alex buoyed him up.
"This was in the family for decades. All original with the exception of the valve covers and air cleaner, 270hp, four speed on a center console. It has my touch everywhere."
"This must require some regular upkeep," Alex gave the Impala a long sweeping look. It started to pour outside, which seemed to be the only thing preventing Dean from asking him to get out and have a closer look.
"Well, some. But it's not demanding with regular checkups. The original tires, wheels and hubcaps have recently been replaced with alloy mags. "
"I like...that it's...black," Alex really did not know what else to say. But he figured a compliment would score him another point.
"Me too. Red cars are for pimps, white is for chicks. The paint is in pretty good shape, but being a black car you can tell the bodywork is impeccable. "
The gun parade and showing off his car appeared to have done Dean some more good. He seemed steadier now, his eyes were sparkling.
Alex never cared much for cars, except for their functionality. His own dream vehicle was a Harley, the 2002 introduced V-Rod model with a Porsche engine. It looked like a bike designed for the Ghost Rider, but a guy could dream, and this was a harmless dream he could allow himself. While Dean kept waxing passionately on curves and consoles, his eyes were drawn to the shadow of a crinkle on Dean's forehead. To the fine line of his jaw. His own body remembered, all too well, the clean and compact lines of Dean's body, and how they responded to each other.
"It recognizes a good driver, always starts, and runs like a dream," Dean finally concluded.
"So, your girl gives you a boner. Car fetishes are not uncommon...."
His comment seemed to hit Dean out of the blue. Alex could see the dare in his features, and it hit him, made his belly tighten, his hands clench. He stepped around the table, until they were face to face, his breath coming a little harder. Dean didn't back down, just looked at him, almost through his lashes, like a girl, but not a girl at all.
It didn't seem like the best moment for a proposition but Alex didn't care. Yes, he was going too far too fast. Alex didn't have an explanation for it, and wasn't sure he wanted one.
"Let's celebrate the reunion then. Come on," he nudged Dean's shoulder, trying to shake him out of his daze.
Dean's muttered "what the fuck" was lost in the clack of their teeth, but his hands, palms, at first against Alex's chest to push him away, were already fisting in the material of his shirt, searching, unsure.
"Whoa, whoa. Where's the fire?" Dean stepped back after the brief contact, almost out of Alex's reach. His face was passive except for the slight twitching of his mouth. Alex slid his hand down, hooked his fingers in other man's jeans.
"You know where," Alex snapped. He did not want to turn this into another drawn-out smartass contest. He'd been jerked around enough, having spent half a day angry and imagining what he would do to Dean if he had lit out with the money. He had never been given to indecision. He saw an opening and took it. With Mulder, it had always worked.
"It comes and goes as nature wills, as if you don't know," commented Dean unflappably, but his body kept on beckoning with hands on his hips, accentuating his crotch. Alex briefly wondered if Dean was aware of the come hither signals he was sending.
"What I don't know is if you're more angry at me for feeling you up or at yourself, because you want someone with a dick, and just can't admit it out loud?" Alex knew more about repressed desires and anger than Dean ever could put into words. He was not sure if "repressed" was the right word applicable to Dean. But Alex knew too well that stern look Dean was wearing, the purse of his lips that meant to express contempt. It turned into a sullen and smoldering grimace that made Alex want to pounce on him without thinking.
"That's not what I had in mind," Dean said sharply, drawing slightly back as if he read Alex's thoughts, his face flushed as Alex kept looking at his crotch.
Alex raised an eyebrow, letting his impatience show in his voice. "Oh no? What did you have in mind?"
Dean was frowning. "We should talk," he said. "Leave all the games aside and really talk."
Alex had heard that phrase, from different people, countless times. Mulder had worn it out.
"Fuck now, talk later. Deal?" He did not expect Dean to play touch-me-not again. Not after all the "I can do better" babble he had been given earlier. If it was empty talk that Dean had used just to lure him in, Alex was not letting Dean get away with it easily.
"Like I have a choice?" There was bitterness in Dean's voice as he turned away, retreating back to the window. Alex followed, turned Dean around forcefully, slammed his back up against the wall, and pounded his palms on either side of his body. The other man looked up at him with that distinctive smirk: half wary, half threatening.
"Oh, wait! Is this the part where I have to play along or you will bitch-slap me and keep me at gunpoint if I don't?" The stiffness of his shoulders belied Dean's coolly contemptuous tone. In his eyes Alex saw inevitability and detachment. It was obvious that if Alex ordered him to kneel down or bend over, Dean would do it because he apparently had been schooled well by his Dad that if nothing else was left, his word was what mattered most.
But that's not what Alex wanted, and not because he had high morals. He knew he'd still get off if he manhandled Dean into sex, whether the latter put up a fight or not. There even was a chance Dean would get off on that himself, or Alex would go to some lengths to make him. But he was thinking beyond more than an hour. No bond was ever built on forced sex. He didn't want any more of it, even under a flimsy pretense of a business transaction. Something about Dean crawled under his skin. Insinuating. Tantalizing. He wanted to taste the dry sweetness of his skin, smell the subtle spice of his musk. He wanted Dean to want him. And he sensed he had already achieved that, how he would figure out later. The task at hand was to make Dean admit it.
"No. I admit I gave you a wrong message. I'm not writing the debt off by making you bend over. Things stop being fun under pressure."
"Oh...that's kind," Dean muttered with awareness. Alex took a step back, gave him space, changing tactics. Dean straightened up, "What're...we gonna do then?"
"This is the place where if your dick can't agree with your head, then you give me the keys from your Black Beauty and your phone number. I can save up on rentals for a month or two..."
There was a short pause while Dean's eyebrows knit up, his nose scrunched and his lips pursed as he did the math.
"What kind of discount rate is that?" Dean flared up, momentarily diverted.
"That's to compensate for yesterday's moral damages. And I issue no loss damage waivers." Alex leaned against the windowpane, assumed a less aggressive stance. He wondered if Dean manages to realize he did not mean it. His non-violent behavior evidently was unnerving Dean.
"Have a heart! Next thing you'll ask me to rent you my sister for a month!"
"You don't have a sister!" Dean stared at him for a moment, smoldering, but that didn't stop his eyes from being fixed on Alex's fingers as he placed them over his mouth. He did it to hide a smirk. Perplexed was a good look on Dean.
"I've got myself in a fix, haven't I?" There was a streak of helplessness in Dean's voice when he spoke up again. Alex caught it only because he knew what helpless sounded like. Then Dean added, speaking slowly, as if he was walking on thin ice. "I don't think I've met your kind before. You jerk me around from trapped to free. I can't peg your attitude. You...pity me?"
"If I pitied you I'd never have wanted to fuck you," Alex cut in. Dean gave the impression of a man who liked things called by their true names. Dean did not frown at the directness of Alex's statement.
"Ok, so...then you are just having me on... right? You don't say anything, it keeps me edgy. What do you need me for?"
Why did everyone think that part of Alex's cosmic plan was to make their lives miserable?
"I don't need you for anything, now. I did not plan to stay any longer than it took to give you that friggin' gun," Alex admitted in a low, calm voice that was far too out of place after the minor tantrum. "But I think we'll make good company, we need...a clean start. And yeah, I want you. If you want me. If you can handle me." He stressed. He hoped his honesty would pay back immediately. If not, he had no idea what to do with this one.
"I can handle anything," Dean countered boldly. Alex did not expect to hear otherwise, but what came next was quite a shock. "And...yeah...you kinda felt me up...I thought you'd you never ask! I'm not...used to be treated like a sex object!"
That is hard to believe, Alex nearly said aloud.
"I took that for granted," laughed Alex instead. It was a short, uneasy laugh. "Sorry. Must be habit. I'm an egoistical and greedy man." Goddamn, the kid had him going big time: Alex was thinking of all manner of mind-fuck scenarios, but all Dean wanted to hear was a mere "I want you." An embarrassed heat flushed his cheeks, his throat. He closed his eyes and swallowed. The half-queasy, half-excited swirl of heat in his gut hadn't really gone away; his cock was still twitching between leg muscle and denim. That didn't surprise him so much.
When he looked at Dean again he saw him grinning, realizing he'd won another round. It was the smile that did it; you just could not blame the man. Self-conscious but confident, killing any underlying threat his words might have conveyed.
"Greedy, eh? I relate. But I like to have a say in what concerns me. Especially when it concerns my ass. I'd rather you remember that." Dean added. He sat on the edge of the shaky table, Alex watched him balance, and Dean watched him watch as he tried to hide his own excitement. There was no point in playing coy, when the giveaway was right there in his jeans.
"I have good memory." Alex relaxed his spine, and watched Dean's wary eyes as he drew up a hand, curling it intimately and surely around the hot skin of Dean's neck, tangling in the short bristles of his hair... "Are you...appeased now?"
Dean shifted restlessly under his touch but it was a good kind of restlessness, the kind that came from hunger under the skin.
"Yeah," then he looked away and then straight at Alex, as if arriving at some inner conclusion, "You still don't believe what I said about hunting and the supernatural?"
Alex huffed a bit at that. He was interested, but it was the worst moment to bring it up. He just started to feast his eyes on the face that he so wanted to find fault with, but could not. Alex knew he was gifted in the looks department, but he had flaws. Dean looked like he had been genetically engineered in a Consortium laboratory, only they forgot to add a perfection gene when it came to his legs. But once Dean let you this close, you stopped caring.
"Listen. You'll have time later to prove that your truth is out there."
At that Dean started to say something, but Alex was already feeling the heat raising from his gut up, demanding less talk and more action, so he brought his hand up across Dean's mouth, so he could feel his warm breathe, his lips moving. They wanted the same thing, there was no doubt.
"Enough of that crap. Do I have to say please?"
And, indeed, it must have been the magic word.
-> TBC
Title: So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect), ch 8
Author: Griva [email/website]
Details: Work-In-Progress | 23k | 04/20/08
Pairings: Crossover Pairing | Alex Krycek/Dean Winchester
Category: Story, Crossover | X Files / Supernatural
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