Metallica

Did you pick that alternative station because it was there, or because of whom you're watching? Does it remind you of the fact that you'd rather fuck him than kill him? Fast and hard like he begged for it?

Do you remember the concert? The mud, the deafening music, the skinny dipping, the mosh pit? All of Americana? Do you remember?

Do you remember your naked bodies meeting in mud, by accident? By fate? How could you forget. Turning around, seeing the flash of heat in his eyes, knowing the heat in yours?

Do you remember yourself, high from heaven knows what, stumbling down to the meadow soaked in mud, to find that your Chevy Impala had finally conked out for good? What were we saying about Americana?

And that sweet blessed beep from his VW bus? You got in. Iron Maiden blasted from the speakers. Handcuffs hung from the rear view mirror. A Grateful Dead bear on the floor. Roach clip in the ashtray. Heaven comes in many forms.

(Author's note: Please do not use drugs, especially while driving. It's not good for you, or me, or the thirty billion other people on the road. Thank you.)

You study him while he drives. Every inch of him beautiful, even the scraggly hair, the dirty skin, the torn jeans. Finally you tell him to pull over. You can tell he's been waiting for this.

"What's your name?" he asks breathily as he puts in a Metallica CD.

"Alex," you answer as you undress him.

"Alex...." he moans. "those handcuffs on the mirror, then do me, fast and hard, like the music. I want it so bad..."

Alex Krycek finally snapped back to the present as the door opened, and there he was. Alex wore leather now, and had no time for music. The other man hadn't changed a bit.

He got out of the car. "Hey, Langly!"

He turns, and his eyes light up with the memories.

Alex grabbed the handcuffs off the rear view mirror. He could always kill him later.

I suppose with a little tweaking, I could have turned this into M/K, but that's a tad overdone, don't you think?