Hell For Leather

He'd been on this road since midnight, and now it was almost half an hour past dawn. He had only vague memories of Little Rock, of the city's humidity and the generic commercial wasteland that fringed it. Once across the state line, he'd left the Interstate and followed secondary roads until he'd lost sight of even the farmhouses. In the late winter, the fields were razed almost totally flat. The Oklahoma light rising behind him was silver and cast no shadows.

It had been years since he'd ridden a motorcycle. The first hundred miles had been a war to keep himself upright, and at the end of the first day, his shoulders had ached. But, like riding a bicycle, it came back to him, suddenly, a rush of remembered patterns of balance and small adjustments of posture. After that, he flew.

Little Rock had been the first real rest he'd taken. It had been a real stop, not one forced by exhaustion. Instead of simply falling into bed, sleeping, and bolting again as soon as he woke, he made himself relax. He'd showered, rubbing hard with the coarse motel washcloth, scraping away layers of road filth and dead skin. After, he'd dried off with a towel too small to wrap around his hips and walked naked into the tiny bedroom. On the bed, he'd unfolded himself, consciously relaxing each muscle, lain like that with the ache slowly seeping out of his back into the mattress. He let his mind drift, replay all the colours of the South that had come filtered to him through the visor of his helmet. Through the play of those colours, he'd rubbed himself. Not really masturbating, just weighing his balls and feeling the veins that just showed against the skin of his soft cock. And slept.

Oklahoma was infinitely more huge than anything he'd come to before. The winter grit of the place made it feel totally abandoned. The wind of it pushed hard against him, cutting through the bare strip of skin where his gloves pulled away from his jacket cuffs.

Even with the eight hours of sleep he'd amassed in Little Rock, he was going to need to rest at some point. He'd need gas, coffee, and place to take a piss and work the worst knots out of his shoulders. Absently, he pulled into the oncoming lane and passed a pickup that was the only other vehicle in sight. The driver, a tired-looking oilman, waved vaguely at him. He chanced taking a hand off the cycle's bars to return the greeting.

When the highway next opened into a town, he pulled off and searched for something like a truck stop. The third service station he passed shared its building with a restaurant; he settled for that. A sleepy-looking high school boy came out of the shelter, hugging himself, and started the gas pump.

"Morning."

He didn't answer. Instead, he bent almost double, gripping the backs of his knees with his hands, and pulled until his spine popped and let him straighten. Then he pulled off the helmet and ran gloved fingers through his matted hair.

"Nice bike," the boy said. He ran three admiring fingers along the chrome, so reverently he might have been jerking himself off. There was a kind of adoring lust in the boy for the bike, for his own jacket and the chaps buckled over his jeans. In a place like this, there wasn't much chance the kid knew the associations of adult men in black leather; it was just puppyish envy. He gave the boy a wry grin and cash money for the gas.

Breakfast was just breakfast, high carbohydrate and thoroughly enough fried to make his New England senses reel. He paid for it with cash, too. The credit cards were something he didn't want to chance yet. They might not even work, if his father had gone so far in erasing his existence that he was now legally dead.

It was still too much for his brain to process in any meaningful way. He remembered fragments: facing his father across a desk, the brief deafness that followed a gunshot, the long, blank time he spent staring at the gouge the bullet had made in the wall behind him. Leaving the Hoover building wasn't something he could have testified to, but he remembered standing on the outskirts of DC with a letter in his hand and the taste of another man in his mouth.

The letter was a heavy wad now inside his jacket. It began with pages of instructions, things he had to do before he could disappear. It had led him to the motorcycle leathers he still kept in the back of his closet, and to the Baltimore garage owner who sold him the bike, helmet, and the saddlebags that were holding the remains of his life. The single line at the end of the last sheet was covered with his fingerprints, detailed in food and engine grease. He'd been rubbing it like a charm. *Come to Wichita Falls. I'm waiting for you. Love, Alex.*

He wasn't quite sure when it had all fallen apart. Maybe when he'd held Marita Covarrubias against his chest and traced each agonized vertebra. Maybe when he'd laid a hand on Fox Mulder's shoulder and grudgingly given up the last shred of his career as a Bureau agent. More likely, though, it was longer ago than that. Some part of his thirteen-year-old brain had noted his fatherless state, his mother's insanity, his own emerging queerness, and concluded that everything had gone to hell.

Texas was like ripping off the outermost layer of his skin. It was dirtier than Oklahoma, and the fields didn't make any pretense of crop-growing. The bleakness of the oilfields in March suited him perfectly. He'd found the ugliest place on earth, and he was going to look for Alex in it.

Wichita Falls sprawled with shocking suddenness across the road. Its edges were spotted with machinery dealerships and warehouses vaguely connected with the business of oil. In the distance, he could make out the shimmer of oilmen's mansions, but the traffic pulled him onto the city's boundary road and swung him south until he found an exit and a string of apartment blocks that gave way to motels and a street full of bars. The music collided with him even through the insulating layers of his helmet, insistent and danceable.

He signed for the motel room using his own name. He'd done the same in Little Rock and every other punctuating rest point on the trip, simply because he hadn't yet thought of an alternative. He risked using the credit card. He didn't think he was being actively hunted, and his cash supply wasn't inexhaustible. His signature's oddness in the guest register struck him: the round curves of 'Jeffrey' contrasted bizarrely with the flat sprawl of 'Spender.' It wasn't exactly a Texas name, but it was an ordinary one, and it would do. Maybe using it would help Alex find him.

In the motel room, he stripped again. The leathers made a fierce pile in the chair nearest the door, punctuated from underneath by the matching black of his motorcycle boots. Jeans, sweater, t-shirt, boxers, and socks landed on the bed.

The naked body in his bathroom mirror was the same one he'd always had. The hair that scraped across it was dark, not as thick as he might have expected on a man his age. Just a line from clavicle to groin, spreading gently across his chest and hips. The skin on his face was rough, his nose overlarge. It wasn't a face he could connect logically with Alex, with the man who had licked the outline of his lips and then kissed him all over. Jesus, they'd had one night, wrapped around one another in the back seat of a car while he shook and Alex crooned to him. The man shouldn't be so thoroughly under his skin.

Abruptly, he went back to the bedroom and dressed in the same clothes as before, took his jacket and boots from the chair and went out. He needed a drink. Vodka would taste like the inside of Alex's mouth. Tequila would taste like his skin. Beer savoured long enough might taste like his come on Jeffrey's lips.

When he unlocked the door again, he was drunk, and Alex Krycek was sitting on his bed in the dark.

"You came," he said. Jeffrey didn't answer. Alex was luminous. He was still fully clothed in jeans and a sweater that almost hid the stiffness in the left side of his body, but his boots and gloves were off, and his eyes were shining. He got up, and suddenly he was too much. Jeffrey had been counting on a stretch of days before Alex found him during which he could brace himself mentally and emotionally. The man's sudden presence was like a gut-punch of lust and terror.

Jeffrey closed the door and pressed his body back against it. The map of fire exits pressed between his shoulder blades, bit into the base of his neck. "I wasn't sure you'd come," Alex said.

Jeffrey shrugged. There wasn't any way he could have not come. His father had effectively made him dead, and there wasn't anything left for him to do except follow Alex. He just hadn't been prepared for the extent of the man's beauty. The heavy muscles in his upper body shifted as he stood and crossed the room. God, so beautiful, and he was so tired. He could press himself against that body and sleep forever.

Alex presented himself in front of Jeffrey, deep enough in his personal space to feel electric. The human hand reached out and traced the invisible line of his body hair down the length of his torso, finally hooking in the waist of his jeans.

It felt too good. He was too exhausted, too close to shattering. The first time he and Alex had touched, he'd been shocked into numbness, so that the idea of breakage had never entered his mind. Now it seemed more of a risk. The lust running up him from groin to throat was making him aware of all the hairline fractures in his psyche. It took away all the rational parts of his mind and made him into screaming need.

"Don't do this. Please," he whispered.

Alex took his hand away and stepped back. Jeffrey had never been stripped down like that before by someone's eyes. It wasn't just his clothes that vanished, it was his skin, and the layers of muscle protecting him, and everything but his bones and the cold fear that had been with him for more than a week. Half a body length away from him, Alex whispered, "Let go."

He did. He let the pain go and let Alex see him with nothing but his bones left. Alex moved in, kissed him, gave him back his skin and a raging erection that pressed hard against the severe lines of his clothes.

Alex skinned him slowly, moving deliberately so that his artificial hand could be a tool as well as a simple balance. Jeffrey submitted to having the sweater peeled from his body, and to having his abdomen slowly massaged, with the touch moving up to his chest until the t-short was level with his throat and he could duck out of it. His boots vanished into the pile of black in the corner.

It was as much as he could take. If he wasn't going to come apart in Alex's hands, he had to touch him. The distance between thought and action was briefer, though, than even he expected, because later he couldn't divide the time he was pressed against the door from the time he was pressed against the mattress with Alex's thigh pressing against his hard-on.

"You came," Alex repeated. He kissed his way from Jeffrey's navel to his throat, soaking the skin, rubbing at it with the fine beard-stubble on his cheeks. Jeffrey needed to sink his fingers into the man, get inside him and stay there. His touch followed the lines of the thought. Under Alex's clothes, he could feet the lines of the prosthetic's straps and the automatic tensing of muscles as Alex stopped his kisses and pushed his face into Jeffrey's thin chest hair.

"Don't."

It was barely a sound. Jeffrey wanted to, though. "Give me this," he whispered.

When Alex didn't respond, he moved his hands under the man's clothing. The sweater and shirt vanished as one unit, and he was faced too suddenly with the mutilation of Alex's body. Both Alex's knees were between his thighs; he could feel the small shifts of weight that meant Alex was preparing to run.

"Come here," he said. Alex leaned in, just a little, enough that Jeffrey could pull him up to be kissed properly. "I just want to see you. Can I take that thing off?" Alex nodded, straightened, unhooked the entire harness with a pull at two arcane straps. "Thank you."

Alex set the thing on the floor and sat back on his knees. In their single previous night, he hadn't seen Alex shirtless, hadn't been allowed to see him like that. Now he looked him over, the lust pounding against his jeans suddenly less urgent that knowing the details of Alex's body. Jeffrey pushed himself up and crawled until he was settled by Alex's shoulder. He touched the shoulder blade tentatively, massaging the pale skin. The muscles beneath his fingertips were wire-tight and shaking. Gradually, he rolled his hand so that the palm covered the same patch of flesh and made small circles, spiralling out until the natural path of his hand took him up the shoulder and onto the crippled limb. It wasn't any different, really. The temperature was the same, the skin the same colour in the hands-breadth before the scarring began. Just the pain marked it out as different from the rest of his body.

Alex twisted himself half-around and caught Jeffrey's lips. It wasn't a real kiss, just a catch-and-release of tongue and lips, but the taste of it sent all his awareness back into his cock. He hooked a leg between Alex's and rolled them both down, held Alex half-beneath him and mauled him. The contact between them was charged, chest to chest and clothed groins pressing into one another. At some point, Alex worked his hand between them and released both their cocks so that they rubbed together, slicking denim and skin.

It was Jeffrey who finally pulled away and stripped them both completely. The next kiss from Alex caught him from behind, and the man's weight pushed him forward into the bedclothes. They rolled more, wrestled, and came out face to face. Alex's body was pressed fully against him, with his hand under Jeffrey's head. One dark eyebrow raised slightly, the first glimpse of Alex's humour he'd seen all night. He let Alex arrange him, moving his legs and shoulders whenever the soft touches cued him, and accepted the shimmering satisfaction that flowed through the jade eyes a breath away from his.

"I missed you, Jeff." Alex slid down against his side and ran teeth across his chest. Fingers slipped under Jeffrey's right him and angled him until they could slip between his buttocks and stroke him. So slick; Alex must have put lubricant under the pillow while he waited. "Christ, anything could have happened, and I would've lost you."

The fingers pushed in, two at once, and Jeffrey arched. It hurt, but the charge from Alex's body was flowing into him through that connection, and there was no way he could refuse it. "There," Alex breathed. "Feel good?"

"Oh yes . . ." Another finger pushed in. God, he couldn't believe he could take this. All the pain was running straight to his cock, pushing against the thin skin until he was sure it would rupture. "Alex, please . . ."

A fourth finger worked in. It was too much. He couldn't take this, he couldn't, he couldn't. But Alex twisted until he could reach to kiss the side of Jeffrey's face. His ear, his cheekbone, the small creases in his skin that traced the lines of his expression from nose to mouth. And it still hurt, but not so much, and he'd do anything to keep the contact between them.

"You're doing good, Jeff, so good. It's going to be so good." Alex removed his fingers. Somewhere out of sight, he wiped his hand and slid it down Jeffrey's body to his knee. "Come on, lift up for me." He gave up to that hand, let it raise his knee until he was fully exposed and he could feel the slick, almost unnaturally smooth head of Alex's cock pressing against his asshole.

He couldn't contain his whimpers when Alex finally pushed into him. The long stretching had taken him past any possibility of pain, but he was aware of every tiny change in their connection. When Alex struck his prostate, he writhed almost hard enough to pull away. "Shh, Jeff, I need you to hold still for me." He tried, and Alex pushed deeper, rubbing over the gland with each small thrust. "That's good, hold steady for me, we're almost there." One more thrust brought the stiffness of Alex's pubic hair into pull contact with Jeffrey's balls. "Perfect. Come on, now, Jeff, lie back." He did, pressing his shoulders into the pillow and keeping his hips twisted up against Alex's. He'd never made love like this, half on his back and half side by side, Alex behind him and going so deep it set off flashes behind his eyes.

The first thrust shook his whole body. He realized then that Alex was fully braced, resting with the truncated shoulder against the pillows and his legs twisted into perfect lines of support. It went in hard, hard, so hard, he had to touch himself or die. His cock shook from the impact, pushing out between his split thighs. When he reached for it, though, Alex tucked the leg he held into the crook of his elbow and pulled the hand away.

"Easy, Jeff easy. I want you to fuck me next."

Alex had to be insane. There was no way Jeffrey could keep from coming. Even if he didn't touch himself, Alex was thrusting so hard he was going to have the come fucked out of him. But Alex was so close to him, whispering, "Please, Jeff." He'd give Alex anything. In between one breath and the next, he pulled his mind back and let the blinding thrusts flow through him. It went on for long minutes, the pain and pleasure blasting together through his ass and into his brain. Then Alex trembled hard and screamed, pumped into him like he thought he could disappear by thrusting deep enough.

"Beautiful, Jeff -- beautiful, my Jeffrey -- God, I love you, Jeff!"

He stilled, finally, let go of Jeffrey's leg, and gripped himself while he pulled out. It was only when Jeffrey turned to face him that he realized that Alex was stripping a condom off and tying it with a practised single hand.

Jeffrey leaned over and kissed him. "You didn't have to."

Alex stretched the kiss out down his face and neck, ending it at his collarbone. "Yes I did. I won't risk losing you to anything." He pressed a second condom package and lube into Jeffrey's hand, then rolled onto his stomach.

It was as much as anyone had loved him in his entire life. He would have given anything to have even his parents want to protect him like that. His cock ached between his thighs, but he needed even more to taste Alex's body. Alex's knees were already apart, but he pressed them wider, and rested his face against that incredible ass. He pushed the cheeks apart with the bridge of his nose, braced them with his fingers, and licked hard across the tight skin he'd exposed. Alex whimpered. He licked again, this time pushing against the opening and welcoming it when Alex blossomed against him. He didn't stop, wasn't going to stop, until Alex was soaking with him and Alex's taste was imprinted on his brain so that even alcohol couldn't strip it away.

Alex's growl exploded into a scream. "Yesssss. Oh please yes . . ."

He was hard again. His ass had softened under Jeffrey's tongue, so much that the lubed fingers that came after slid in without resistance. With both hands, Jeffrey lifted the pale hips and pushed the long legs back underneath so that Alex was kneeling with his shoulders on the bed, and thrust in.

"Jeff!"

Jeffrey was past insane and into desperate. He felt orgasm build after only a handful of thrusts, screamed as he came in Alex, but kept the thrusting rhythm up. The pleasure made him blind for ages, but when he surfaced again, he was still buried in Alex, and still hard. Wrapping his arms around the green-eyed man's waist, he leaned back, pulling Alex into his lap.

Alex gasped as Jeffrey's cock drove even deeper into him, but he didn't protest. He just arched back, finding Jeffrey's mouth and keeping it. His arm brushed Jeffrey's as he jerked himself off, pulling up and driving himself down on the member inside him. His shriek when he came this time was fainter. Jeffrey let him ride it out, then eased them both down until they lay side by side.

Before he could soften completely, he pulled out and threw the condom away. Alex was still trembling on the edge of consciousness, so he left him there and returned with a wet towel. While he was wiping away the worst of the mess, Alex rolled and pulled Jeffrey down next to him.

"It was good, Jeff."

It was more of a compliment than it sounded. Alex was shimmering beautiful, and he wouldn't let Jeffrey go. "Thank you, Alex."

For a long time, Alex lay against Jeffrey's shoulder with his head turned half away. Jeffrey kept a hand pressed to Alex's groin, rubbing gently. They gradually settled into sleep that way, letting the dark ease away the remains of the tension and fear.

Jeffrey dozed and drifted. His heart still pounded, but mental exhaustion dragged him down. When he woke hours later, they were in the same darkness. Alex lay behind him and rubbed his belly gently, resting his chin in the curve of Jeffrey's shoulder. Jeffrey couldn't remember ever lying that way before. There had never been anyone like that before, who would cradle him while he shook or lick his tears off while he cried. Alex was a warm weight against the vulnerable parts of his back, and his fingers were tracing the pattern of hair down Jeffrey's chest, stroking around his navel, and sliding gradually down to caress his cock and balls.

"What am I going to do, Alex?" he asked the room. "I've lost my whole life. I don't have a family left, and I don't have a job. Half the world must believe I died."

It wasn't a real question. He was going to go with Alex. They could take his bike, go to Mexico or Costa Rica. Both their leathers were piled beside the door. Maybe if he wore them long enough, he could turn into someone else, a person it would be rational for Alex to love.

He eased out of Alex's arms and found his jeans and jacket. Pulling them on, he stepped barefoot onto the pavement outside the motel room door.

He felt as if his whole life had gone to hell for an extended visit, and only recently returned. The existence of Jeffrey Spender hadn't been so wonderful that he couldn't give it up. Texas felt like a good place to let go. The March wind coming down the street still smelled like dirt and the oil flats. While he watched, the light got more intense, and he was able to make out the colours of Wichita Falls. The cars lined up on either side of his motorcycle were dented and faded; they made the chrome of the bike even more brilliant by contrast. More cars went past on the road, and their drivers didn't look at him. In the light of morning, he felt better, and suddenly nameless.