Title: Gift

Author: JiM

Category: Slash

Pairing: Skinner/Krycek

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Not my characters; no profit made or infringement intended.

Feedback: Yes, please. My email address is to the left, or again at the bottom of the story. All flames will be giggled over and added to our "Spam-Wrath of God" list.

Archive: Ask first.

Summary: "It can be over, Walter. Yes or no?"

Author's Notes: Written for Leila as a 'fix-it.'

JiM :: Gift

It took me a day or two to realize that something was odd about the man in the campsite below mine. It wasn't his gear, although it was all top-of-the-line and looked brand new. It wasn't him personally. He was a tall balding guy, with a solid build and an iron jaw. His jeans were faded but clean and he polished his glasses frequently on the tail of his flannel shirt. Good hands, competent and strong, just the way I like them. Nope, it surely wasn't his appearance. But there was something.

It took me another day of surreptitious watching from beside my campfire before I figured it out. He was a man who was waiting. Waiting for someone. Two folding chairs placed beside his fire pit, although he was the only one who sat in them. A lot of groceries stacked into his steel bear box, far more than one man and the throngs of thieving chipmunks and jays could eat. The way he never seemed to leave the campsite except to walk down to the Visitor Center to shower.

He fiddled with his gear a lot; cleaning his stove, arranging and repacking a backpack that looked like an ad for LL Bean, it was so precisely packed. Yes, this man was ready for a trip into the backcountry, ready for the High Sierra... but he never left. I passed him several times in the bathrooms or walking the road down to the Visitor Center, but we never spoke. Folks who camp in the Sierra tend to have a friendly but aloof code of conduct. Since we can all see and hear everything, we pretend to see and hear nothing until specifically invited to. I got the impression that he never really saw me or anyone who passed. None of us were the one he was waiting for.

No wedding ring on his hand. I checked on the third evening when he came up the path to fill his water jug and his hand rested on top of the spigot. He was no more than ten feet below me, so I broke the rules and made eye contact, then said, "Evenin'."

He nodded back, then his gaze dropped to his overflowing water jug. When he had turned off the water and capped his jug, and it looked like he was simply going to turn away and go back down the dusky path to sit beside his lonely fire for a fourth night, I said, "Want a beer?"

He turned back and studied me carefully then. I felt then the power of his stare; he had never really looked at me before. I would have remembered this feeling of being weighed and measured. Hell, it was practically a visual frisking. It wasn't a cruiser's look, but it got me as hard and hot as if it had been. Hard, hot and a little scared, just the way I like it.

I know what he saw when he looked at me. Mid-thirties, pale, runner's build but no heavy muscle to counter my too-pretty face. At least I had a couple of days of stubble to make me look a little more typically masculine. The jeans and denim shirt helped there, too. I could feel him debating whether or not to accept, wondering what I wanted from him. Then he gave a shrug and strode up the path to my campsite, boots scraping against rocks and roots. He took the pale ale I held out then sat down on a rock across the fire from me. He placed his jug between his feet, then unscrewed the cap from his bottle and pocketed it. He toasted me silently, which I returned, then we both drank.

"I'm David," I said, when the silence got to be a little more than my hungry nerves could take.

"Walter," he said without smiling. Firelight glinted off his glasses and it was hard to read his expression, but he sounded friendly enough. A very controlled, rich voice, dark like coffee.

"Beautiful night," I offered, watching those hands curve around his beer bottle and dangle between his knees. His lips quirked at that.

"It's always beautiful up here."

At last, a conversational opener. "You been up here a lot?"

And we talked about Sequoia, and King's Canyon and Mineral King and Yosemite and all the other parks in the Sierra that we'd been to. I told him about my favorite spots along the Russian River and night fell black and clear as he argued for Humboldt having the best stands of coastal redwoods in the state. Although the trees were pretty dense around us, there was a nice large open spot in the canopy and we could see the hazy belt of the Milky Way over us as we watched the sparks from my fire flicker upwards.

He asked no personal questions and certainly didn't invite any, not that it stopped me. I like to live on the edge. "What do you do?"

He didn't even look surprised by my abrupt change of topic. "I'm retired." Flatly, end of topic.

OK. I've chatted up harder cases than Walter. "I'm a nurse. Oncology. In L.A. I come up here for a couple of weeks every summer, just to clear my head."

"Good place for it," Walter said, and drained his ale. Those long thighs flexed and it looked like he was about to stand up to leave.

"Are you waiting for someone?" I asked hurriedly.

His brows knit and I felt that tingle that told me this was a dangerous man. "Yes." Damn it.

"Friend?" I pressed. He shook his head, a snort letting me know how wrong I was. "Lover?" I went for broke.

His eyes met mine with a suddenness like the snap of a leg trap. I couldn't look away, although I began to wish I hadn't seen the cold rage in those dark eyes. It wasn't directed at me, but I could feel the sharp edges of it in him now. "Lover? No," he said so quietly that I could barely hear him over the crackle of the fire."More like a... hater."

I swallowed, my throat dry from more than wood smoke and talk. What the hell, if it didn't work, I could always move camp. "Well, then, want some company? Tonight, I mean."

His eyes widened and then his brows knit. The dangerous aspect of him dropped away like moss from a branch and he just looked bewildered. "Are you trying to pick me up?"

"Yes. How'm I doing?" Those strong fingers were now clutching one another, the knuckles paling in the orange glow of the embers. Oh brother. Just my luck, I guessed wrong and he is not just going to be rough trade, but the roughest... a straight man who hasn't got a clue.

"Not too well. You're barking up the wrong tree." Flat and final. Damn.

"Oh well. Was worth a try anyway."

He stood up then, my nervousness and the uncertain flickering of the dying fire making him seem to loom larger and darker than before. He picked up his water and turned to go. "Thanks for the beer."

"Anytime," and I let out a sigh. Damn, his ass was a great one for a retired guy. Off limits, I told myself firmly. The man is NOT interested.

Walter took two steps into the darkness, then I heard him stop. A stick in the fire snapped sharply and then he said, "Why?"

"Huh?" I said intelligently. Walter came back into the light suddenly, glasses flashing gold and black.

"I said, why?" He looked stern and hard as he towered over me. But his voice... something in his voice wasn't hard at all. I shivered once, then went for broke. Hell, honesty has always been my best policy.

"Because you look lonely. And because I want to touch you." And I did. I wanted to make that hard, strong man melt just because I touched him. I wanted to feel those hands on me. I wanted him to fuck me through the ground pad.

He looked confused. "I'm straight. Never done it with a man." A little demon in me began to sing at that. He wasn't saying 'No,' anymore. In fact, it looked like honesty was going to work again.

"Well, I have. And I'm good at it." I couldn't help the grin. "Come on, take a test run -- no obligation to buy." His eyes crinkled a little at that and I wondered what it would take to get this man to smile or laugh out loud. I spread my hands out and put on my most winning smile. "I'm clean, HIV negative, brush my teeth regularly and don't have a steady boyfriend. I'm not looking for a deathless romance, just some fun with a willing partner who won't leave bruises."

His eyes smiled even more at that. Then it seemed as if his gaze suddenly turned inward and he wasn't seeing me any more. His head turned toward his empty, dark campsite and I held my breath as he made his choice. Then he turned back and I wanted to crow, even as that nameless something skittered down my spine again and curled up in my crotch.

"OK, David. What's first?"

"First, put down the water jug." I stood up and took it from his hand, letting mine linger a little against his. I looked carefully into his eyes, wanting to make certain that he wasn't suddenly going to have a heterosexual break and decide to re-establish his masculinity by beating the shit out of me. Nope, those dark eyes seemed curious and watchful, but I didn't see any of that banked rage in there for me. I put the water down on a rock, then took his hand. Dry, warm, callused and firm in my grip. Oh, they were going to feel good...!

"Let's go have some fun," I said, and led him to my tent.

* * *

Damn, it was fun. While he wasn't the masterful fuck I had been imagining, he certainly wasn't shy. Those hands tracked all over me, exploring my arms, back, chest. He needed some encouragement to wrap one around my cock, but I was happy to help him there. Good firm grasp and he had me moaning and leaking long before I was ready. He let me push him back onto my ground pad and go to town on him.

Stripping a tall guy in a tiny tent is an art, but I had been working on it for a long time. Good broad chest on him, some solid muscle on that frame. Nice meaty pecs to nibble on, unwrapped one button at a time. The firelight filtered in through the nylon walls and I admit, I was stopped stone dead by the lattice of scars across his gut. Walter just grabbed my hand and put it right on those pale ridges, never said a word. So I slid his shirt off and ran my hands all over that torso, just the way I had been imagining all week. I could see that he was older than I first thought, tell-tale softness slightly wrinkling the skin where his arm joined his chest. In other circumstances, this guy would make someone a fine daddy. I grinned against his lightly sweat-sheened skin, then went for his jeans.

Some tension in him when I pulled them off, but hey, he was new at this, it was to be expected. The fastest way to calm a virgin down, I have discovered, is to get my mouth on his cock as soon as possible. I haven't met the guy yet who can resist a good blowjob. He made a solid mouthful and then some. His hands kept carding through my hair and I hummed happily at him, but he made no sound. No moans, no whimpers, no hums, nothing. Weird. Then again, his conversational style earlier should have tipped me off. This was one repressed guy.

Well, maybe not that repressed. When he started to get close, I took a long, last lick and let him slip from my mouth with an obscenely wet sound. His face was tipped toward me, but I couldn't see his expression in the dimness. "I want you to fuck me," I said. He didn't say anything, but his cock nodded approval, so I reached for the condoms I kept in my pack.

He let me straddle him and even stroked my thighs as I got myself ready. I heard him suck in his breath sharply when I slid down onto his length and those big hands gripped my hips like iron. We both froze for a moment, and I heard him panting harshly, trying not to come. After a minute, his grip loosened some and I began to move. I could see him bite his lower lip and I wished I'd taken the time to explore that full mouth some, but I'd been too eager to get at that chest to start anywhere above his neckline.

He pulled his own legs up and gave me something solid to rock back against. Then he let his hands start sliding over me again, one stroking up my chest, the other down my cock. He may be the strong, silent type, but I'm not. I started babbling. "God, that's good. Right there. Mmmmmm. Come on, Walter. Yessssss."

It didn't take either of us very long. I watched his eyes close and his head roll back, then he grabbed my thighs so hard that he left bruises. His whole body jerked and he nearly threw me off; I guess it had been awhile for him. When he opened his eyes again, he reached for my cock and gave me four or five firm strokes and that was all it took for me to come like a shot.

I flopped down next to him and the two of us just lay there and panted, staring at the ceiling of my little dome tent. After a while, the floor of the tent beneath me began to get clammy and I began to remember exactly how hard the ground was, given that Walter was lying on both my ground pad and my bag. So I sat up and fished around in the dark until I found my stash of tissues. He didn't say a word when I took off the condom and cleaned him up, although his fingers moved in a friendly, lazy way up and down my leg.

It was too cold to sit there buck naked very long. When I pulled on my tee shirt, Walter sat up and began fumbling his way into his clothes, too. I unzipped the tent and we both crawled out and stood up in the chill night air. The campground was dark and quiet, except for the one set of New York city yahoos down the hill who had lit no less than three insanely bright propane lanterns.

"Looks like they're signaling the Mother Ship," I said just to break that awkward silence. I heard Walter snort and saw him smile slightly. The expression faded and I wondered if he were already regretting it. But he said, "David -- thanks." Then he walked over, picked up his water jug and headed back down the hill toward his campsite.

"My pleasure," I said softly, then yawned. I crawled back into my tent and was asleep before I'd finished zipping my sleeping bag.

* * *

Mornings aren't my best time. I like them quiet, caffeinated and solo. There is a deep kind of quiet just after dawn and it's a time to savor without words. So I was grateful when Walter just gave me a friendly nod before turning back to his own coffee. A doe and her fawn wandered down the hillside, passing between my campsite and Walter's. My eyes met his, sharing the delight of the moment. The deer were calm as they browsed, not tame, but accepting us as part of their world.

Suddenly, the doe startled and threw up her head. She and her fawn wheeled and went springing up the hillside and into the cover of the forest. It wasn't until I heard the voice that I knew what had frightened them.

"Skinner."

It took me a moment to figure that he was speaking to Walter. When I looked at Walter, I knew that his wait was over.

A man stood just at the edge of Walter's campsite. Another dark, dangerous man. Everything about him was dark -- his jeans, his boots, the fleece jacket he wore, his hair, even his leather gloves. I couldn't decide if it were a pose or not -- living in L.A., you meet a lot of guys who dress the part. But something in the way he simply stood and waited, a kind of tension in that relaxed stance told me he was the real thing -- dynamite, not a firecracker. I slouched in my seat and tried hard not to look like I was eavesdropping.

"Krycek. I should have known it was you." Walter's voice was bitter, thinner than it had been last night.

"You knew," Krycek said. He took a few steps into the campsite, moving so silently that it seemed unnatural.

"I thought it was Mulder," Walter said a little desperately and even I could tell he was lying. "You're dead."

Ok -- this was getting weirder by the second. Other people around us were waking up and wandering past to go to the toilets or the showers; nice, normal people whom I hadn't fucked last night and who didn't think they were talking to ghosts this morning. Or pouring them coffee. I like surrealism as much as the next art film buff, but this was rapidly spiraling into something resembling a Bergman film. If this Krycek guy pulled out a chess set, I was leaving.

Walter handed the plastic mug to the other man and watched him take a sip. "Why aren't you dead?"

There was a flash of white teeth and I felt Krycek's appeal like a lead weight in my balls. I wondered if Walter felt it, too.

"It takes a lot to kill me, Skinner. You ought to know that by now."

"A bullet to the brain should have done it."

"Three bullets in all, Skinner. You shot me three times," Krycek sounded more resentful than actually angry.

I choked on my now cold coffee and tried to make it sound like a cough. The guy I had picked up last night was a killer. It was definitely time to leave... only I didn't want to. Not really. After all, Walter hadn't killed me last night and apparently he hadn't killed this Krycek guy, either.

Walter turned away from Krycek and stared off into the trees after the vanished deer. "You would have shot Mulder."

"Yeah, I know. And it turns out that would have been a very bad thing. So I guess I should be thanking you." Walter turned back and stared at Krycek. "But I'm not going to. That gut shot hurt like hell."

"I know," Walter said quietly and I remembered the scars I had traced with my mouth and fingers last night. Who the hell were these people?

Walter seemed to shake himself. "Why are you here, Krycek?" he asked brusquely.

"We have unfinished business, Skinner." Krycek put his mug down on the picnic table in an oddly clumsy move, reaching across his body with his right hand instead of just passing it from one hand to the other. Then he reached that same hand into his jacket and pulled out a small palmtop computer. He looked like he wanted to book an appointment. It would have been funny, except for Walter's reaction to it. He just froze in place. Before, he had been tense, stiff in his movements. Now, he was absolutely rigid with tension.

The two men stared at one another for a long moment before Walter opened his mouth. I don't know what he would have said, but Krycek seemed to. "No. It's not what you think. I'm here to set you free."

Walter's laugh was a harsh bark in the quiet morning. "My hero."

"The nanotech is dormant now. I can get rid of it for you."

"What's the price tag?"

Krycek shook his head, eyes still fixed on Walter's. "No price tag. No catch. It'll be over, finally."

Walter didn't move. His face was still frozen and I knew he didn't believe Krycek. Strangely enough, I did. Even though I didn't have a clue as to what they were talking about.

"Look, Skinner, even though the nanocytes are deactivated, they're still in your bloodstream. Turns out they cause complications -- strokes, heart attacks, the occasional wildfire tumor. But there's a way to remove them now. Do you want it or not?" The dark man was starting to sound testy.

"I know your deals, Krycek. I still have just enough of my soul left..." Walter's voice trailed off and he looked around, eyes searching out the deep blue of the morning sky through the trees. "This is a good place to die, don't you think?"

"Stop being so fucking melodramatic. Yes or no?"

"Why are you here?" Now Walter just sounded tired.

"I told you; I want it to be over. Really over. All bills paid. The bastards are dead, the aliens have decided that we're bad for their health and I just want to know that someone came out of this ok. You got screwed, Skinner, and I was part of it. I want to put it right."

Walter looked at him sharply. "You sound like you're sorting out your affairs."

Krycek seemed to answer the unasked question. "Not yet. But it's always a possibility. I'm in remission. You weren't the only one they used nanotech on."

"Jesus." Walter drank more coffee, then said, "What about Mulder or Scully? I made a deal with the devil and maybe I got what I deserved. But they… they didn't," he faltered to a halt.

"Already done. Yes or no, Skinner?"

Walter turned then to really look at him. He suddenly looked like my least-favorite and most-respected nursing supervisor on review day.

"What did you do, Krycek?"

Apparently, Krycek felt it, too. His stance suddenly changed from dark and dangerous to something that looked a lot more adolescent and defensive. He wouldn't even look at Walter. I expected him to start scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt.

"Alex?" Walter prompted sternly.

The dark man had a first name now and it made him seem more human and far less dangerous than he had only minutes before. The half-shrug he gave was almost endearing, although Walter didn't seem to be susceptible.

"I gave them back William."

"You what?!"

Krycek began speaking more quickly. "I tracked down Scully's kid and brought him to her. He's with his parents now -- his real parents."

"What about his foster parents? That couple raised him for two years, Krycek! You can't just play God like that!"

"His foster parents don't even know he's gone."

Skinner sat down abruptly onto the bench of the picnic table. He shook his head slowly, but said only, "How?"

Krycek looked a bit ill now. "I … closed down the last Consortium lab two months ago. The Smoker had himself some insurance made, just in case. There were a couple of Williams left. Most weren't… viable. But there was one kid they must have been using as a control -- he was perfect. A dead ringer. So I took him and made the switch."

"The others?"

Krycek only shook his head and I suddenly didn't want to know who these people were. Not even Walter Skinner, the straight guy with the drill sergeant voice and the quick-study hands. Aliens, nanotech, laboratories where they made kids, cancers that could be turned on and off -- all I had wanted was a nice zipless fuck and here I was, sight-seeing in the Twilight Zone.

"They don't know, Skinner. To them, he's their kid. They call him 'Johnny.' Scully has the baby she gave birth to. Mulder has both of them. It's the best I could do." Krycek was almost pleading now. "Yes or no?"

Now it was Walter's turn to stare at the ground and not answer.

"I even dropped a dime and got Doggett a promotion. He'll have Kersh's office before Christmas. He and Reyes got married in Vegas last week. They'll be OK. You're the last one. It can be over, Walter. Yes or no?"

Walter looked up and then just nodded.

Something indefinable in Krycek's stance changed. It wasn't relief, exactly, but it was very important to him that Walter take what he was offering. A bitchy flash hit me and I wondered if he even knew how much he was offering; likely Walter wouldn't see it anyway unless it bit him in the ass. Or offered him a beer.

"What's first?" he asked, just the way he had last night.

Krycek reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small leather case. "Roll up your sleeve."

"Here?" Walter asked even as he did it.

They both looked around the camp site and I swear that Krycek's eyes rested on me a fraction of a second longer than on any of our neighbors. "It'll be fine," he said and I wasn't sure if he was reassuring or warning me. When he held up a syringe and filled it from an unmarked ampoule, I was in motion before I even knew what I was doing.

Ten steps down to his campsite and I was saying, "Walter, don't do this. You have no idea what he's about to inject you with!"

"Mind your own business, Mr. Peters," Krycek said to me. Which stopped me in my tracks -- I hadn't told Walter my last name. Which meant....

"You didn't think I came in here cold, did you, Skinner?" Krycek replied to Walter's silent look.

In other circumstances, I would have enjoyed watching his dull flush of embarrassment. But I had worked Trauma for years before I moved to Oncology and I knew what happened when friends injected friends with unknown drugs. The lucky ones wound up drooling or blind.

"It's all right, David. Thanks for your concern. I'll be fine." That supervisor look was back and I was being dismissed by the man who'd fucked me last night. It pissed me off.

"You hope," I hissed.

"Yeah, I do," he said and tore open an alcohol wipe from the syringe case Krycek had laid on the table. I watched as he swabbed the inside of his left elbow then offered his arm to the other man. Who tied a rubber tube tightly around Walter's upper arm and then flicked a finger against the veins, searching for a usable one in the manner approved by nurses and social junkies. The syringe was placed on the tabletop and I had barely thought about it before Krycek said in that same cool voice, "Don't even think about it. Go back to your campsite like a good boy and forget you ever saw us."

"No. If you're foolish enough to let him inject you with something, Walter, I'm staying here to make sure you don't wind up dead." I crossed my arms and hoped I looked as immovable as my scary supervisor.

Surprisingly, Krycek smiled. Very even, very white teeth in a sharply patronizing grin. "Fierce. Looks like you picked a good one, Skinner." He picked up the syringe.

Walter didn't smile, but he did say pleasantly, "He picked me."

"More fool he, then," Krycek said and had slipped the needle into the vein before either of us had the chance to react. Then his thumb was on the plunger and the reddish substance in the barrel was flowing into Walter's arm and there was nothing I could do.

Nothing happened. I'm not sure what I expected, but something more than Krycek slipping the rubber tubing off Walter's arm, taking the needle out and then rubbing around the injection site. "It's going to feel sore for a day or so, Skinner. You might want to go take a leak now before the muscle aches hit."

"Good idea." Walter got to his feet and headed for the concrete restrooms below his campsite. I took one look at Krycek and followed Walter. Fortunately, the Men's Room was empty; I leaned on a sink and watched Walter unzip and use a urinal.

"You mind?" he growled.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before, Walter. Or tasted," I added, just to tweak his straight little ass. That flush rose up the back of his neck and I wanted to laugh. Here was a man who, by his own words, had shot and killed someone, made deals with the devil, believed in aliens and had just accepted a wonder drug from another killer. And he's worried about a roll in the sack? The human mind is a funny thing.

But it's a resilient thing as well. Having made his decisions, Walter seemed prepared to accept the consequences. He shrugged, then smiled slightly at me as he zipped up. I swear, if I had seen that smile last night, he wouldn't have slept alone.

"What's happening here, Walter?" I watched him wash his hands in cold water then splash handfuls over his face.

He straightened up and looked at me in the mirror, dripping. "I haven't got a clue, David. It's just something that has to happen."

"Do you trust him?"

He rubbed a thumb over the injection site before turning to answer me. "I don't know."

I was beginning to be really glad this man wasn't my lover. Anyone this reckless would make me insane within a week. In fact, Walter was doing a pretty good job and I'd only known him 12 hours. I took a deep breath. "Do you want me to stay?"

His answer came embarrassingly quickly. "No."

"Right. Have a nice day."

I was almost out the door when he said quietly, "David."

The only reason I turned around was because he wasn't sounding placating.

"Do me a favor?" When I nodded, he continued, "If something happens to me, if you don't see me in a few days, if Krycek disappears, if I turn into a vegetable, I want you to call someone for me."

He stepped up close to me. "A man named John Doggett. You'll find him at the FBI in DC. Just tell him what happened and tell him I took it willingly. Then tell him to find Krycek and kill the bastard." He finished with a cold little smile that scared me hard again. God, my dick is stupid.

"And if you're OK?"

"Thanks for a hell of a one night stand." And the idiot walked past me and back up to his campsite, hand already massaging the back of his neck.

As I went back to my own site, I could see that Krycek had been busy. He had placed a good-sized air mattress in Walter's tent and made it up with sheets and blankets, rather than merely dumping a sleeping bag on top of it. A fresh mug steamed on the table and an empty bucket sat just outside the tent door. He looked at me as I passed and his expression was as secret as any animal in the forest. I just shook my head at the two of them and walked right out of the campsite.

I spent hours hiking the river trail, thinking about as little as possible. I certainly wasn't considering those strong thighs beneath my hands, or the smoky scent of cinnamon that clung to his chest, and I definitely wasn't thinking about the other man's wolfish grin or the eyes that were as green as poison.

By the time I made it back to my campsite in the late afternoon, there was no sign of Walter. Krycek sat slumped in one of Walter's chairs, a battered paperback wedged in that prosthetic hand. Something steamed in a pot on the camp stove he'd set on the table. There was a rustling from the tent and Walter crawled out of it. He straightened up slowly and rubbed at his head, rocking just a little. Without looking at him, Krycek put down his book, filled up an enamel mug from the pot on the stove and handed it to Walter. Walter drank whatever was in it without comment, then set off down the path to the bathrooms. I was on my feet to follow him when Krycek's gaze pinned me right back into my camp chair. The warning was quite clear although he never said a word.

* * *

Neither of them spoke to me again. Walter spent the next two days flat on his back, emerging once or twice a day to drink something and stagger to the bathroom. Once, I heard him retching in the middle of the night, so Krycek's bucket must have come in handy.

On the third morning, the campsite was empty although the gear was still there. I pondered what it might mean as I packed up my camp, then walked down to the Visitor Center for a shower. It's a good deal; for a handful of quarters, you can take a blissfully long hot shower in a private cubicle. There's even a handicapped cubicle, wide enough to admit a wheelchair under the spray. Or two adult men.

I'm nosy, I admit it. And the place was empty and silent, except for the water running in that last cubicle. So I happened to glance under the divider and saw two pairs of feet standing very close together. There was no sound except for the sound of water hitting tile and bodies. Then,

"What do you want, Alex?" Walter sounded wary and a bit confused. I shook my head. It had been obvious what Alex Krycek wanted from the first five minutes after he had appeared in Walter's campsite. Walter really was sort of clueless, in a ruggedly adorable kind of way. What did he think Krycek was doing in there with him? Even trained nurses don't shower with their patients. But I was glad to know that he was all right.

The feet tangled together and there was a surprised sort of whoof! sound. I imagined Krycek kissing Walter, pinning him to that white tile and really laying a good one on him. The kind of kiss I should have given him when I had the chance. Well, I had had my fun and I surely wouldn't want Walter around on a full-time basis. He seemed like the kind of man whose life was far too complex for me to want to deal with. All of a sudden, the posers in L.A. were looking good to me again -- at least their issues were familiar territory for me.

A pale white ass suddenly slid into view, perching on its owner's heels. Well, Krycek apparently shared my philosophy for seducing straight men. A good blowjob is hard to turn down and Walter didn't. I admired Krycek's ass for another moment, then went off to take my own shower in the farthest cubicle. When I emerged from my sinfully long wallow, they were gone.

Walter's campsite was bare when I walked past it. Even the ashes were gone from the fire pit. I silently wished him well and congratulated myself on having escaped the weirdness that obviously swirled around him. I wondered if he had left with Krycek, then realized that there was no way Krycek would have left without Walter. I supposed I wished them both well. Then I went to load the car.

 

 

I've learned from the hard knocks in life. Now I'd like to try to learn something from the gentle touches.

Background graphic courtesy of
Boogie Jack.