Sorry Of Stupid

Alex slammed through the front door, almost knocking it off its hinges, scaring both Langly and Frohike. He made his way into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door for a beer. He snapped the top off and tossed the bottle opener into the sink. John walked in the house behind him. He was apprehensive of what awaited him in the kitchen.

"Alex, please, don't be mad at me. It was an innocent comment. I meant nothing by it."

"Innocent? Fuck you! Don't you ever tell me that you think I fucked both Skinner and Mulder and would like to watch! How fucking dare you?"

Alex finished his beer and tossed it into the trash. John lowered his head. Alex was right. The comment was only meant in jest, the mindless musings of the overly-fucked. But Alex was more emotional than he let on, and took it to heart. He was embarrassed, humiliated almost. And there was no reason to be. But he was, and that was John's fault, or so he felt.

"Well, Alex, all I can say is that I'm sorry I hurt your feelings with my thoughtless comment. I didn't even conceive that I'd said anything wrong."

Alex sat up from the edge of the counter where he leaned. "How am I supposed to take something like that? Like it's just a fucking joke? Jesus fucking Christ on a crutch, John! Look, just leave me alone, OK? Take your sorry and shove it up your ass. You know, where my cock was all afternoon!"

Alex stormed back out of the house, back onto his motorcycle and sped away, leaving John to clean the mess up with Langly and Frohike. Surprisingly, they knew and didn't care. Well, they cared about the two men, friends care for one another, they just didn't see any problem with the two men being intimate. "I just don't wanna listen, ok dude?" Langly whined. "If I'm not getting any, I will REALLY bum if I have to listen to my bud getting some, ya know?"

John smiled and nodded. He appreciated his friends' understanding and support. He told them the whole story, about lying in the grass after making love, musing about fantasies and odd thoughts. He'd told Alex it was a secret theory of his that Alex had slept with both Skinner and Mulder simultaneously which is why they'd appeared to hate him so much. Alex took a major exception to the comment and jumped up from where they lay in the grass. He dressed quickly, informing John he should as well, or be left behind.

He didn't leave John behind, and they were both tense the whole ride back to the cottage. It would not be an easy night.

The three men ate dinner alone, talking easily as they always had. It was as if Alex was never there. John let that thought flit through his mind and was surprisingly stung with a small bolt of pain. He opted to clean up, which was met with two happy faces, and John enjoyed the quiet of the kitchen as he washed the pots and dishes. He showered and went to bed. After reading for an hour, alone in the loft, he went to sleep.

He felt Alex fall onto him, smelled the whiskey on his breath and tried to get the drunken thug off of him. John sat up, barely, and turned on the light. "Alex, get off of me," John whispered loudly. After hearing the TV from the living room below, he knew they wouldn't be listened to.

"Ivan, I want you," he said, blowing drunk-breath in John's face.

"No, go to bed."

"Please? One lil blowjob, come on! Please?"

"No! You lecherous sot! Go to your own bed and sleep it off! Get off me!"

John tried to keep his voice down, but Langly lowered the TV and called up, "You guys OK up there?"

Alex, sobered a bit from the new voice, answered, "We're fine. I fell. Night."

He levered himself up and stumbled to his own bed. He was snoring in minutes.

In the morning, Byers found Alex still asleep on his bed, still wearing his clothing, even still in his boots. He'd be sore having slept with his prosthetic all night as well.

John descended the ladder and went to the kitchen to make himself coffee and breakfast. Alex soon stumbled down looking like something a housecat hacked up. His hair was a shock of sable standing on end, his eyes were red and barely open, and he moved as if he were in great pain. He looked at John and said, "I feel like death. Can I have some coffee?"

John poured the dregs from his cup into the sink and rinsed it out. He looked at Alex and said, "Get it yourself," and walked out of the kitchen. After showering and dressing, he sat at a computer to read his email and read the latest news. He was barely aware of Alex showering, dressing and eating.

After about an hour of puttering around the place, reading a book for a while, and then flipping through the TV channels, Alex pulled a chair up beside John. John didn't acknowledge the proximity. He couldn't ignore the dark head that perched on his shoulder.

"What do you want, Alex?" John asked, more tersely than he'd meant.

"I'm sorry I was an ass, John. I should have accepted your apology. I didn't mean to get smashed and bother you."

"Did you ride home drunk?" John asked. The guilty face beside him told the story. "Alex, you could have been killed. Are you insane? My God, look, I know you're upset with my comment, but I didn't mean..."

"I know, Ivan, I know. I'm sorry, too, OK? Jeez, God, you're gonna make me share, aren't you?"

The impish glint in Alex's eye made John smile. "I won't forgive you until you share."

"OK, fine. Look, I'm Russian, we're moody. You caught me in a mood. I'm sorry, really. I'll keep it under control. I promise."

"Well, I'm sure this won't be the last time. But at least next time, get drunk here. Then you won't die splattered on the road. And I can get drunk with you. And we can fool around, too."

There was an impish gleam in John's eye, too. Alex stood up and said, "Wanna go fool around now?"

"Yeah, let's go."

Alex took his hand and they walked out to the bike. Before getting on, he looked at John and said, in his adorable little-boy voice, "Sorry of stupid."

"You're forgiven, Sasha."