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So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect)
Chapter 9
Fandom: the X Files/ Supernatural
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Alex Krycek
POV: Krycek's
Rating: R throughout
Beta'd by Courtney Gray
Dedicated: to Lu, LID, Warped, absrip, Phantomas, SibSkys - the partners in crime!
Sunday
6 pmDean kissed him then, firmly, with purpose, leaning onto his chest, hands coming up into his hair. Alex fought it, on impulse, because he did not expect the swift move, grabbing at Dean's shoulders and pushing him back, back, back against the table, mouths still locked, the clatter of their fallen guns a sudden distraction, making them break apart.
Without letting go of Dean's shoulders, Alex kicked both of their weapons under the bed with his boot before Dean could voice an objection. Alex turned his attention back to the man in front of him, thumbs on Dean's jaw.
"Mmmm. That was awfully nice of you. Some snogging is long overdue." His two years' service with the Englishman sometimes revealed itself with a British word popping up now and again.
"Snogging?" Dean just lifted an eyebrow. His breath had quickened noticeably.
Alex mimicked him. They were both rather accomplished at the art of brow-lifting and expressive eye contact.
"Kissing. Heavy. Duty. Kissing. Or you don't practice it?"
"I do." Dean sounded unsure, watching Alex's eyes and mouth.
"Second thoughts?" Alex started to unbutton Dean's top shirt with one hand, his other hand on the small of Dean's back, under the loose hem of the tee, counting up the vertebrae. The flesh there was white and supple, like coconut. Dean's palms were set on his hips, slowly moving up until settled flat against Alex's chest. His eyes were smoky, as if a fire was burning behind them. He knew Alex could feel it, the sudden press of his erection between them.
"First thoughts?" Alex suggested, dipping his head a little. He had worked his way through the countless buttons by now and pushed both shirts open and off. Dean's expression twisted slightly as he grabbed the base of his T-shirt, and pushed it up and over his head, nesting them at the base of his neck so that his sleeves were still on. Then his arms were frozen at his sides, his hands plastered against the wall, the tension making the ridges of his torso and chest stand out.
"Now what?" Where was all Dean's brashness when Alex needed it? He'd bet his left arm that with a Rosie from Paw's Dean would've already gotten to the third base by now. Alex tried to stay calm, but he could not predict what he might do if Dean reconsidered. That's when Dean nosed closer, mouth brushing against Alex's cheek, over his jaw. Nearly a kiss, but with less direction, and even more intimate, for some strange reason.
"Lock the door," he said finally.
Alex kept his comments to himself, doing as Dean asked.
Obviously, Dean felt much more at ease sheltered in semi-darkness, as Alex heard his expectant breathing, felt his palms feeling up the flat muscles of his chest. The windows were not shuttered and diffused glow from the lamp post outside, along with the flicker of neon, provided some light. He could see enough of Dean's exquisite features in the shadow play to barely restrain himself from pushing the other man against the wall and testing if he could take it standing.
Alex thought he'd never feel this way again. Being anxious, dizzy from the hollow pit of need deep inside him. Being distrustful, cocky and self-centered did not lessen Mulder's appeal. Dean fit the same pattern and spiked Alex's attraction. What gave Dean added points was the fact that he was a decade younger and they shared no friend-foe shit between them. He thought he was schooling himself well, then Dean's palm touched his face. He angled his face in and licked it, tongue curling around the tips of fingers, sucking on them one-by-one, tasting the metallic tang of Dean's ring, biting the finger joints.
"Fuck, you really like man-taste?" Dean's lips were barely touching Alex's; when he spoke in a husky whisper, Alex felt his breath in his mouth like a phantom tongue. His free hand was fisted in Alex's undershirt, his fingers digging deeper than the fabric. As Alex shrugged the top shirt off, he wondered how he hadn't noticed Dean undoing all the buttons.
"I like a lot of things you have no name for. Am I going too fast for you to catch up?" Alex did not need to have a degree in psychology to have noticed Dean was always up to take a challenge.
"Like what?" Dean's voice was soft and shaky. It touched sore places in Alex, made him feel too much, want too much. Dean's hand undid the upper button of Alex's jeans, then went up again, smoothing down the coarse hairs, feeling up the muscles. Alex expected rough, raw fumbling if only to compensate for yesterday, but Dean was wary, and careful.
"Let's first go through the basics. What do you think?"
"I don't think about sex. I do it." He watched Dean's hand, barely visible in the dimness. But he felt the effect of its action, heavy and hard between his legs. Now Dean was touching him. Really touching him. The sensation of the fingers slowly moving over his trembling skin was heady, like a shot of vodka. Alex's breath caught in his chest and he remained still except for the occasional shudder as Dean continued to explore until finally he began stroking his hard dick. Dean's eyes, alert and dark, drank in Alex's gaze, gauging his reaction. The speed of the touch began to quicken, and Alex found himself groaning; he clenched his teeth together, ashamed at hearing his voice so weak. But that could not stop the rush, and without thinking, he spread his legs more and began to rock slightly, back and forth, in time to the rhythm kept by Dean's hand. Apparently Dean had had his share of hand jobs. The practiced stroking and some tongue-fucking would have brought Alex off, but this was a one-way game, and it was not to Alex's taste.
Christ, he still had his jeans and boots on, Alex realized. He curled his fingers around Dean's wrist, stopping him long enough to get out of the rest of the clothes. He wadded them up and flung them aside.
Alex watched as Dean slowly peeled off his jeans, shifting in his black underwear. "Finally, you do more than just look like a wet dream," he said. Though Alex still noticed with irritation that Dean was exposing himself as slowly as possible.
Dean's hand curled around his left shoulder, blunt nails generating no feeling except for tiny slivers of almost- pain. His skin was numb there. Dean seemed to be enthralled by the scar nonetheless.
"You just won't give up?" Alex fisted the fabric of Dean's undershirt at the base of his neck, urging the other man to get rid of the last piece of clothing. The very moment Dean got fully naked, Alex pressed him with his back against the wall, making full body contact inescapable. Finally his hands could go everywhere, palms flat for long strokes.
"On the contrary. I'm giving in," Dean ground up against him, savoring his small gasp, offering his half-open mouth. Alex spit in his palm and used the already tried effective double cock rub. Dean's body now cooperated fully, molding around Alex's, already hot and hard with urgency. And when they kissed again, Alex finally pegged Dean's style: fast, quick slip of his tongue into his mouth, and then pull away clean and smooth, the way he'd pick a pocket, no time or room for doubt. To make it slower and hotter and deeper, just how he liked it, Alex had to immobilize the other man, cupping the back of his head. After a couple of jerks for the obligatory show of protest, Dean gave in, and he gave as good as he got, still tasting vaguely like the home fries he had for lunch. His small payback was to grind his knee right into the softness of Alex balls. It made Alex groan into Dean's mouth.
"Gimme that...again?"
Alex gave him a lop-sided grin instead.
"You take sex as a biological imperative. We're in the same boat."
"Imperative what?" Alex could feel Dean's lips purse against his mouth. "Talking dirty makes more sense now."
"You want dirty?" Alex bit the hot skin beneath Dean's jaw, so hard he could feel his pulse pounding between the sharp teeth, and Dean couldn't stop the high, wordless sound that escaped from his mouth, as his hands tightened on Alex's shoulders. "You've got the lips of a back-alley tart. Your mouth is made for gobbling off." Alex repeated the action, followed by licks along the carotid, mapping the whole neck as Dean writhed against him.
"I'd be insulted," Dean panted, "if I knew what that last one meant."
"To get down on all fours," Alex said precisely, confirming Dean's suspicions. "To open your mouth and choke on spunk."
"That's... your plan?" Alex cocked his head, glanced into Dean's heavy-lidded, interested eyes. Alex noted that Dean had a habit of wetting his lips with his tongue every time after he kissed, as if it heightened their sensitivity. Gave his perfectly shaped mouth a dick-friendly look that Alex found hard to ignore.
"Much as I want to come on your face, I'd go for the backdoor again," Alex stated. He noted his own voice hitching up a beat. It was what usually happened when he was too jacked up.
"Jesus," Dean said and it sounded like a prayer. "You are direct." He ran his hands over Alex chest, around and under his shoulders, drawing him closer.
"You'll learn to state your needs clearly with age." Alex mumbled with false gravity.
"Before you, I always thought my age was my advantage." Dean answered in the puzzled key.
"I like to crush stereotypes." His hands were moving from Dean's shoulders over the curve of his back and down to his ass, Dean pressing his hips against Alex's body for friction. They kissed some more, Alex daring to act like he already owned that mouth and Dean's hands, one on the base of his neck, the other snaked around his waist, were pressing even closer, the rhythm of their flexing hips primitive and perfect.
"Dude," Dean gasped, running a hand over his face, the other pushing Alex away a bit, when they broke apart for some air, "Whatever your magic trick is, you got me all shit-purple hard in no time. Let's...get down already."
Alex moved silently and swiftly, capturing Dean from behind, hand closing on his hips. Without forcing him, Alex guided him to the floor, to his knees. Dean leaned forward against the bed, burying his arms in a snarl of sheets, resting his head against the mattress. The taut stretch of skin over his moving ribs, the pale contour of his shapely hip held an offer that made Alex open his mouth in a voiceless groan, as the dark, heavy heat clouded his vision for a moment. Then Dean turned around, shaking his head, as if he remembered something important.
"How'bout we...settle for some mouthwork after all? I'm kinda..." he gestured hesitantly, uncomfortable with acknowledging his apparently sore ass , "...shaky..ut I'm not a regular at this."
Alex frowned. Mulder (why him again...here?) would have said that the beauty of sex was that there's more than one way to do it. He could give in, he wanted that mouth badly. But blow jobs were easy. What he wanted more was the instant comparison between yesterday and now. Who knew when the next time would come, a quieter moment in a secluded place, both of them in the right mood.
"Not a regular?" Last night he dropped his load like one, and all Alex was doing was trying not to hurt him much.
Dean made a sour face. It was not the best timing for an argument. Alex gritted his teeth.
"Whatever. How about you give me a second chance?" At that Alex's inner voice piped up the next time he'd probably beg, and once he did, Dean would never let him hear the end of it. Alex ordered his inner voice to shut up. A little humility sometimes did wonders.
When Dean made the "let me think about it grimace," Alex leaned in, wrapping his arm about his waist, pulling Dean against him, chest to chest and hipbone to hipbone, bodies fitting into place beside each other, cradling Dean's nape, making him maintain eye-contact. He was not going to relent, not when feeling their both hard, slick cocks pressed together. So all he did was breathe in the warm sweet scent of the other man's skin, keeping his own breathing even. He noted that Dean probably never took his amulet off. He wondered what kind of potent superstition was behind it? When Dean tried to shift away, Alex wordlessly tightened his arm around him and pinned him in place.
"Dude. Just. Be gentle," Dean granted after a minute of hesitation, frowning at nothing in particular and sweating some more under Alex. The brief brush of Alex's lips against Dean's temple made his face contort as if he was aching.
"Trust me, I'll be good," Alex whispered almost gently. Despite the arousal clouding his brain, he made a mental note that Dean could be guided: you had to be gentle, but firm. "No need to punch walls."
And he made it much slower, and much better, with the help of the same Lavender Mint. First with his wet curling fingers, and he would have let his tongue follow, but he was close and he didn't want to waste it on the floor like some teenager. By the time he was through with the preparation, Dean was only barely on his knees, arms stretched, body slopped onto the sheets, undone, making soft, unthinking noises that tightened Alex's throat, even more so than the sounds of his own body, craving and needy.
At Clover's they had sturdy beds. They didn't creak, no distracting sounds or protesting springs. Alex made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a curse, snapping his hips forward, his hands crawling over Dean's hips to drag him into the thrust. He went willingly onto his hands and knees, the breath shot out of him with the feeling of Alex fully inside. Alex measured his thrusts until all the usual smugness was utterly erased from Dean's voice, leaving only little gasps and moans through his teeth that Alex knew he'd better never mention to Dean's face.
Dean came embarrassingly quickly after a dozen long strokes, his own and Alex's fingers meshed around his cock.
The younger man surely knew how to compensate for the slow built up: Alex felt Dean still moving under him, sticky and clammy and hot as his own hips did the job, over and over again, biting on his tongue, not to say things he could not take back later, perverse, candid words about how good this was, has always been, so not a regular, you bastard, your tight ass, you're so beautiful, you bitch, you wanted this, you love it, I love it, need it... He came hard and without effort or a single thought of anyone else, that radical difference that set apart paid sex from willing. Throwing his head back, each nerve sent scrambled signals like a fit, and his body shook as he shot his load all over Dean's thigh as he hastened to throw off the rubber. It was a bad joke of cosmic proportions, but some type of condoms gave him a rash. Or maybe it was this damned hand cr?me. Muscles still trembling with the intensity of strain and pleasure, Alex lay down on his side, his leg thrown over Dean's. His vision dim, blood humming in his ears, he reached over, palming Dean's buttock, then sliding between his legs, until his fingers were coated with his own come and he could feel the delicate stretch of Dean's hole, hot, swollen.
At that Dean opened his eyes, his smooth, satisfied face scrunched up; he pressed his buttocks together, hissed "Enough." Then he turned to his back, one knee drawn up.
Alex let him be, absently rubbing his fingers together, to memorize the other man's feel. The only problem, what stopped this from being the best thing that had happened to him in a while, was that Alex couldn't tell any of this to Dean. It would give him wrong ideas.
"This was different," Dean admitted, finally dragging himself into a sitting position, shoving a crumpled pillow under his back. His fingers brushed over his cum-stained stomach, but this time he didn't hurry to cover up his nudity. "But...don't get all cocky about it."
Alex blinked and focused on Dean's face, grinning at his understatement.
"Next time," he said, "I'll make you say please." Alex bit his tongue not to add that his technique usually got a better response from the person he was with.
"Dream on, bitch." Dean raised an eyebrow, but his grin in the afterglow was not cutting enough. His eyes were warm, his look almost benign. Goddamn, maybe Dean was on the short list when it came to comparisons, indeed. This idea of Dean never getting laid by someone with testosterone and a good attitude, was heady. Even if Alex knew it was a hasty conclusion and most probably untrue, it made his stomach flutter.
"Language, cowboy." Alex brought his slippery hand up and cupped Dean's face with it, to make a point and just to touch him. There was a sheen of sweat on Dean's brow, gathering moisture above his upper-lip. Alex's own sweat was sharp in his nose, his back cooling down.
Dean wrinkled his nose, but his eyes were trained on his face.
"Yuck."
Alex gave him an evil little smile and lifted Dean's chin in a kiss, already starting to think how next time he was going to manipulate Dean into a face to face fuck. That's when usually all those cowboys lost their tough touch. Dean parted his lips and Alex shoved his thumb between them, as their lips touched. Dean bit down hard in what was meant to be protest, but came out as teasing. Oh yeah, there was no pretense of being coy or clueless here any more. Satisfied, Alex pulled away, sliding his right hand down Dean's chest and thigh and away before Dean shrugged him off first.
"We're pretty good together," he murmured. "I could feel your heart tripping."
"Jeez, you get off on that whole hard-bitten tough guy act, don't you, A'lex?" Dean scoffed, drawling out his name, but if he meant it to be mean, there wouldn't be laugh-lines gathering in the corners of his eyes.
"You got off on that too, didn't you, Dean'o?" Alex answered lazily. He stretched, groaning softly. Then collapsed back onto the covers. Dean was still sitting upright looking down at him quizzically, as if he had just learnt something new about himself.
Alex couldn't make his mind relax. It had been a long time since he'd felt connected to someone while still knowing so little about the person. It definitely would take more time and more sex for Dean to admit that they fit. His mellowed reactions and that satisfied little smile, as if turned on from within, spoke volumes to Alex. He had perfected his skills of reading faces watching surveillance subjects on mute for days and through the cryptic, concise manner Consortium peers usually communicated with each other.
In the corner of his eye Alex noticed Dean's look grow distant as he sat motionless, his shoulders slouching slightly, his handsome face acquiring a familiar expression of inner concentration, as if he was listening to himself. Maybe he was trying to recall something. Maybe he was trying to forget.
Alex was suddenly flooded with a disturbing sadness, wondering if what had pushed Dean closer maybe wasn't what he thought to be mutual attraction or a mutual desire, but some kind of pain. Each of them apparently had a shitload of baggage that could quickly transform from fun to fucked up.
At last Dean spoke when Alex was starting to think that dozing off would not be such a bad idea. "Which side of the bed do you sleep on?"
Taken off guard, Alex indicated the left side. Not that he ever cared one way or the other. When he had a chance to sleep on a bed, he just took it.
"You remember that when we land for the night."
At that Dean rose. Seeing him standing: tall, exposed, marked with sex and sweat, Alex felt a craving, a renewed desire, and and a longing to ask Dean what else besides a butt fuck behind securely locked doors made him cum as triggered. But he averted his eyes. He would not take hasty actions or ask questions that would ruin the subtle rapport they seemed to have established.
"Gah, this stuff makes me smell like a mummy," Dean commented, bringing his hands to his face, "Never come close to me with any of it any more." He padded out of the room, combing his hair back with his hand, Alex noticing for the first time that Dean was still wearing his watch. There was a fresh bruise on his thigh from yesterday. At the door Dean suddenly stopped, as if remembering something important. He jarred Alex out of his intense study of his brawny legs and ass. Dean's ass was round and firm like an apple. Alex would munch on it for half a day if he was given an opportunity.
"While we're at it...no more legs jokes about me. Then we'll stay buddies."
"Point taken. Though if I were Kansas, I'd not have bothered...I'd be proud," Alex noted wryly. He was sincere though and surprised that Dean was self-conscious about his little flaw. He watched as a kaleidoscopic swirl of expressions flitted over Dean's face, trying to gauge if he was serious, goading or just being silly.
"Letting you get away with the jokes is becoming a bad habit for me. And I already have a laundry list of them," Dean admitted eventually, and closed the bathroom door.
Time flowed slow and sweet, like honey. One of those rare moments, the kind that brought Alex the closest he ever got to being tranquil.
Apparently it was Alex's task to make the beds. He made a mental note to buy real lube. He appreciated Dean not using all the hot water on his own shower when it was his turn to have one.
"You will always find something in the last place you look," Alex told his reflection in the misty mirror, stepping out of the shower, not completely sure if he was worried or amused by the fact.
-> TBC
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Title: So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect), ch 9
Author: Griva [email/website]
Details: Work-In-Progress | NC-17 | 21k | 04/26/08
Pairings: Crossover Pairing | Alex Krycek / Dean Winchester
Category: Story, Crossover | X Files / Supernatural
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