TITLE: "In the Wee Small Hours"

AUTHOR: J.D. Rush

FEEDBACK: as always; yanksfan462@aol.com

FANDOM: The Lone Gunmen/The X-Files

PAIRING: Langly/Others

CATEGORY: First Time (duh... see summary)

RATING: NC-17 for language and m/m sexual situations. If this offends, please don't read further.

SUMMARY: This was written as an answer to the slash-writers group June challenge, Like a Virgin. Gee, guess I just gave the plot away.

SPOILERS: Like Water for Octane; miniscule mention from The Pilot; quick fleeting reference from Planet of the Frohikes.

WARNINGS: none

DISCLAIMER: Here we go again. All characters belong to CC and FOX. Any copyrights I'm violating, well, I apologize from the bottom of my heart, but I'd do it again in a New York minute!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Because some question remains of when, exactly, the LGM series took place in regards to the X-Files, I took some major liberties with the characters. (i.e. Mulder's continued presence in this universe.) Hope this doesn't offend any purists.



In The Wee Small Hours
By J.D. Rush

10:30 P.M.
LANGLY:

Man. . .that bed looks good. I'm just so glad to be home. It's been a real crappy week, one I'll be more than happy to leave way-y-y behind me. I really should have gotten into my email--haven't had a chance to access it for four days--but all I want to do right now is sleep for about a week. My favorite sleepwear was already on the bed and I'm just pulling off my dirty shirt when my bedroom door crashes open. . .and there *he* is.

"What's your problem?" he demands, getting right to the point, like usual.

Dammit! I'm not in the mood for this right now. I'm tired. I want to go to bed. The last thing I want to deal with is *him*. "I don't know what you're talking about," I answer, a bit petulantly.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," he responds. "You've been in a snit all week. What gives?"

"Just forget it, okay, Frohike?" I say, tugging on my bedtime Tee.

He shrugs and slips his hands into the front pockets of his pants. "I mean, okay, I know sticking your arm up some cow's backside is bound to make someone grumpy, but. . .."

Like he had to remind me. "Look, I said forget it, all right?" I ask, nicely.

"Or was it having to crawl up through that Porta-John? Cause I know that wasn't a walk in the park, but. . .."

Now I'm done being nice. "What part of 'just forget it' don't you understand?"

"You're still pissed about me pulling the plug on that video game, right?" he declares, smugly. "I SAID I was sorry."

It's quite obvious he's not going to leave until I tell him, so I take him by the shoulders and shove him on the bed, noting with some satisfaction his shocked expression. "Fine. You wanna know what's bugging me? I just can't believe you told Jimmy I was a virgin, okay? Happy now?"

He lets out a sigh, and a laugh. "Man, is THAT all? I thought it was something important."

"Is THAT all?" I spit back, incredulously. "Jesus, Frohike, you can be so clueless! I told you that in strictest confidence."

"No, you told me that after too many Zimas," he corrects me.

"Oh, and that gives you the right to blab it to the whole world?"

"It wasn't the whole world," he counters. "It was ONLY Jimmy."

"Yeah, and I'm sure he's told Byers by now, and heaven only knows how many other people."

He put up his hands in surrender. "Hey, I didn't know it was some big government secret. You know I didn't mean anything by it. . .."

"No, you only humiliated me in front of one of the guys. Do you have any idea how much shit I'm gonna get from him on this one?"

"Pppttthh, right. Like *JIMMY* gets laid on a regular basis," he retorts.

"I'm just glad Yves wasn't around when you said it--she'd have never let me live it down."

"Well, as long as we deactivated all the bugs that she planted around this place," he muses, thoughtfully.

Fuck! I had forgotten about those. This was getting even more depressing. "Look, I said just forget it. . .*I'm* trying to. Now, if you'd please leave, I want to get ready for bed."

But instead of leaving, he just sits there staring at me, with that 'concerned fatherly' look he gets sometimes. He mostly directs it at Byers, but he has it going full blast at the moment. "Jeepers, Langly--I had no idea this bothered you so much."

I just shrug and look away. "Yeah, well. . .there's a lot you don't know about me."

"You know, if it's that much of a big deal, I can probably help you out."

Something niggling tells me I don't want to know what he means by that statement. "What are you blathering about?"

"Well, I know some 'accommodating' ladies in town. I'm sure we can find one that will fit the bill and voila--instant non-virgin!" he announces, proudly.

I can't help rolling my eyes. "Accommodating? You mean hookers, right?"

"The term is elite female escorts," he enlightens me.

"Whatever you call them. . .I'm not interested."

"C'mon, Ringo--what's the problem? Some of them are real nice girls."

"That's not the point, Frohike. I'm not interested in girls. . . nice or otherwise."

"You just haven't met the right one yet," he insists.

My patience is now at an end. "Let me spell it out for you, Frohike. I bat from the left side. I punt to the tight end. I putt from the rough. I shoot from the free throw line."

"Langly! What the hell is with all the sports talk all of a sudden?"

"Dammit, Mel! I'm queer as $3.00 bill. Is THAT clear enough for you?"

The look is precious--the fact that it shuts him up even better. "Huh?" he finally manages to blurt out.

"Read my lips, bright boy. . .I'm HO-MO-SEX-U-AL," I enunciate slowly.

DING! The little light bulb comes on. "You mean you're. . .?" His voice fades out so I just roll my eyes and nod. "But. . .aaahhh. . .why. . .why didn't you ever say anything before?" he stammers.

"What was I supposed to say? Hey, John, Mel--guess what? I like to parallel park on the wrong side of the street?"

"Langly, where the HELL are you getting these expressions?" he asks, exasperated.

I wave him off. "I have a lot of time on my hands."

"But, well. . .how do you know you're. . .you know. . .?" he falters.

"Gay?" I finish.

"Yeah. How do you know if you've never. . .you know, if you're still a virgin?"

"Duh!? How did YOU know you were straight until you slept with a girl? I just KNOW, all right?" I sit down beside him, and crack my knuckles. . .a bad habit I have when I'm nervous. Like now. I can't believe I just said it out loud. I've never told anyone before that I'm gay, and the first person I 'come out' to is Melvin Frohike. (Well, and possibly Yves, if we haven't found all her damn mikes--the bitch!)

Could my week get any worse?

"Well, maybe you just THINK you're gay because you've never. . .*you know*. . . with a girl," Frohike rationalizes.

"Maybe I've never. . .*you know*. . .BECAUSE I'm gay," I state, logically. "I mean, face facts. Where the hell is a gay geek like me gonna find a date?"

Mel suddenly stands up and starts pacing around my cluttered room. "Okay, okay. . .no problem. It may take me some time to track someone down, but there are some guys that work downtown and. . . ."

"Oh GOD, Frohike! I don't want my first time to be with some total stranger I have to pay to sleep with me!"

"Sorry. Didn't mean to offend. But you were just saying you couldn't find a date."

"A date! Not a hustler! I want my first time to be with someone special, someone I'm crazy about. Someone like. . . ." I stop, before I say too much.

But apparently I already have. "Like. . .? You have someone in mind?" he asks, curiously.

My thoughts drift for a moment, and I could see him vividly in my mind's eye, just like the first time I noticed him. He was so sexy and handsome and studly and. . . damn, I wanted him so badly. Nodding weakly, I whisper, "Yeah."

"Really? Who is it?"

I shake my head in the negative. "It's not important. 'Sides, he doesn't even know I exist," I mutter, sadly.

He sits back down on the bed beside me. "Well, THAT'S not good."

"Gee, you're just filled with riveting insights tonight, ain'tcha?" I observe, snottily.

"There's no need to get snippy," he retaliates. "I'm just trying to help."

I feel my shoulders slump. "I know, Mel. I'm sorry. It's just. . .don't even bother. There's no help for me. He's totally out of my league."

"You don't know that until you tell him."

I don't need a mirror to know the look I shoot him could kill. "Are you out of your fucking little mind, Frohike? Why would I do something stupid like that?!?"

"Well, how else is he going to know how you feel? You've GOT to tell him."

"I don't GOT to do anything," I remind him.

"So you're just gonna sit there and be miserable, instead of taking a chance? Dammit, Langly, you can't keep something like that inside of you."

I let go with a deep sigh, "You don't understand, Frohike."

"Don't be so sure," he states, confidently. "I mean, I've been in love with Scully for nearly eight years, and I haven't said anything to her."

"You don't HAVE to. If she doesn't know you're hot for her by now, then she's not as bright as we all think she is." But he had a point. How could anything happen if I didn't even TELL the man how I felt, right? But I didn't even know where to begin. "Okay, so what do I do?"

"Well, honesty is always the best policy. Just tell him."

I was afraid he was going to say that. "But. . .what if he hates me for saying something?"

He slings his arm around my shoulder. "Kid, if someone had a crush on me, I'd want to know. He may feel the same way you do."

"Think so?" I ask, hopefully.

"You never know. Maybe he's been waiting for you to say something."

"I don't know, Frohike. . ." I stall.

He squeezes my shoulder in a friendly hug. "What have you got to lose?" Giving another quick squeeze, he stands up and leaves.

What do I have to lose indeed? Maybe Mel was right about my guy. I mean, I've never seen him out with any women. Or men, for that matter. He seems to live almost like a hermit. Maybe he IS waiting for someone to make the first move.

Before I lose my nerve, I strip out of the rest of my dirty clothes, and pull on a clean pair of jeans and my lucky Ramones shirt. Grabbing my favorite jacket and the keys to the van, I give a smile as I close and lock the front door behind me.

Tonight is gonna be the night!


11:45 P.M.
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN

Knock, knock, knock. . .

"Who's there?"

"Ahhh, it's me. Ringo Langly."

The door opens, and there he is. The man of my dreams. In the flesh. Well, mostly flesh. Shirtless, just a pair of black Dockers. . .no shoes. God, he has nice feet. Nice chest. Nice lips, and neck, and.

. . .

"Langly? What can I do for you this time of night?"

Now that I'm finally here, my nerve has left me completely. The few shots of liquid courage I slammed at the corner bar were quickly wearing off. What the hell had I been thinking, coming here like this? I'm gonna kill Frohike one of these days.

"Langly?" He's talking to me again. I could listen to his voice all day--it made my knees weak.

He's waiting for an answer. I have to give him one, not just stand in his hallway, looking like a fool. "Ahhh, I. . .ahhh. . .I just stopped by because. . .."

"Because. . .what?" he asks, somewhat impatiently.

"Because. . .I had something to tell you."

"Well, come on in." He steps back to allow me to enter, and my hand brushes his bare stomach as I walk past. I swear to myself I'll NEVER wash that hand again.

"So. . .this must be pretty important for you to come here so late."

"Ahh, yeah. . .it IS pretty important," I stammer.

"Have you been drinking, Langly?" he questions, more curious than concerned. He probably knows I'm not a big drinker, well, not anymore.

"Um, yeah. . .just a couple. I. . .wasn't quite sure how to tell you this."

"Well, what is it?" He's all but tapping his foot in annoyance by now.

What is it? That I love you? That I worship you? That you're the only man I fantasize about when I'm jerking off? That I want to make mad monkey love with you until the end of time? Dammit, my brain's so foggy. . .shouldn't have had that last shot of JACK. "I. . .ahhh. . .I. . . ."

With words failing me, with the prospect of looking like a total asshole in front of the man I lust after, I do the only thing I can think of. . .I kiss him. Full. On the lips. The way I have imagined doing for years. Just him and me.

I press myself against that solid, naked chest, wrapping my arms around that trim, fit waist. I'm breathing in his pungent masculine scent. I'm. . .oh, God. . .I'm drowning in my senses as his lips, soft and strong, are crushed to mine. This is all I've ever wanted. All I've ever dreamed of. I feel myself getting hard. Oh my God! This is it.

. . .

"LANGLY!" His sharp voice yanks me out of my reveries as he tears himself away from me. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I'm startled by the abrupt absence of lips, but I recover quickly. "I. . .I love you," I spit out. There. I've said it. And the world didn't stop spinning. The universe didn't come to an end. I stand there, smiling, proud of myself. After all this time, I've finally told him how I felt.

"Oh, God, Langly," he sighs, running his hand across his face, and I feel my own face fall to the floor. Uh-oh. . .I don't like the sound of that sigh. I watch as his eyes go from shocked fury to--what? Compassion? Sympathy?

Fuck. It's pity. Oh, FUCK! What did I do? Only now do I realize I had been the only one enjoying that kiss--he had stood immobile the whole time, like a statue, no reaction at all. Fuck! I have to get out of here. NOW! "I. . .I gotta go." I spin on my heel and am all set to run out of there when I feel a hand on my arm.

"Wait. You have to know something." No. That's where he's wrong. I don't HAVE to know anything. I don't WANT to know anything. He hates me. He's repulsed by me. Oh, Jesus. . .why doesn't the earth just open up and swallow me whole?

"It's not you, Langly." Of COURSE it's me!! Look at me! I'm total geek-boy. Ugly, nasty, disgusting geek-boy. Always have been, always will be. What the hell was I doing trying for a stud like him? I am such an IDIOT!

"I'm flattered that you feel that way towards me." Great. Wonderful. I come all this way in the middle of the night just to stroke his ego. Well, I guess if I have no chance at stroking his dick, it's the next best thing, right?

"But I'm already. . .involved. . .with someone else." Code word: SUCKER! If you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you in Brooklyn.

"I hope this doesn't affect our friendship." And the hackneyed ending. . .let's be friends. I just confessed my innermost feelings to him, gave his tonsils a sponge bath with my tongue, and he 'want to be friends'. I hope that fucking bar is still open!

"Langly?"

He's looking at me again with those deep beautiful eyes of his. It just isn't fair! I don't ask for much in life. I try to be a good man. All I want is one night in his arms. One night of happiness is all I need.

His hand is still on my arm, burning its brand onto my skin. "You gonna be okay, guy?"

I nod, afraid of my voice. If I break down in front of him. . . .

"I'm really sorry Ringo," he says quietly as he leads me to the door. "Another time, another place. . . ."

Another guy, another face, my mind fills in. ANYONE but Langly the loser. In the doorway, I turn to look at him one last time. There'd be no more dreams of him. I'd never get over the pain. "I'm sorry too, Walter. I. . .I won't bother you anymore."

I hear Skinner calling my name as I run down the hallway, but I don't look back.

2:00 A.M.
BACK AT LGM HQ

FROHIKE:

Where the hell ARE you, Langly? Why did I let him go like that? Why didn't I tell him how I felt? There I was, talking a good game, telling him to run off to his mystery man, and me, I was a fucking coward, like I always have been. How much longer could I keep on fooling myself, torturing myself? It was just four little words. "I love you, Ringo." What was so hard about that?

I'm just reaching for Jimmy's car keys to go hunt down our missing partner, when the front door flies open and Langly charges in like hell on wheels. Thank God, he's finally home! "Langly, where have you been!?"

He turns and glares at me with a look that could freeze deepest Hades. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way, Frohike, but mind your own fucking business!" And with that, he runs off to his bedroom, slamming the door forcefully behind him. I think about it for half a second before I rush off after him.

Standing outside his room, I reach up my hand to knock when I hear sobs and a chanting litany of "Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!" from behind the closed door. Trying the knob, I find it's locked. No problem. I simply pull out my trusty lock-picker--a couple of flicks of the wrist later and I walk right in.

He's sitting on his bed, water-works going overtime. Looking up and seeing me standing in the doorway, he stops sobbing for a moment to grouse, "I've GOT to get a better lock one of these days."

I ignore his grumbling and ask, concerned, "Are you okay, Langly?"

Staring at me with tears sliding down his cheeks, he deadpans, "No, I'm not. Thanks for asking. Goodnight now." He jumps off the bed and advances towards me like he's going to push me out of his room. But I'm too quick for him and slide-step to one side, closing the bedroom door with my left hand.

I hold his gaze, and inquire, gently, "Kid, what's wrong?"

This time he stares at me accusingly, and a feel a chill down my spine at the betrayal I see there. "I took your advice, that's what's wrong." Taking a second to rub the back of his hand angrily against his nose, he sniffles and adds, "I told him."

"I take it that didn't go too well, huh?"

He takes off his glasses and wipes them across his tee shirt. "You could say that. Told me thanks but no thanks. Said he was already 'involved'."

"Damn it, I'm gonna kill Mulder the next time I see him," I mutter under my breath.

"What the hell does Mulder have to do with anything?" he demands.

That stops me cold. "You mean. . .Mulder's not your mystery guy?" I question, somewhat confused.

He rolls his eyes so far he can see the wall behind him. "Oh, CHRIST, Frohike!" he exclaims. "Give me some credit here. Mulder? You know, the whole universe doesn't revolve around Fox Mulder!"

"I'm sure he'd beg to differ with you on that." I take a seat on his bed and watch as he leans against the wall, drying his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. "Okay, so if it wasn't Fox, who was it so I know whose ass to kick?

That little witticism earns me a smart-alecky smirk. He heaves a deep sigh, and announces, "Walter."

"SKINNER?!" I can't help but blurt out. "You have the screaming thigh sweats for Walter Skinner?!"

"So, Mel. . .are you STILL willing to kick his ass?" he asks, sarcastically, which explains the smirk that still graces his face.

Right. 5'4'', 147 pound, me up against a friggin' mountain. "Sorry, kid--I ain't suicidal." I sit there just shaking my head. "Man, you and Skinner. . .."

"What's wrong with Skinner?" he wants to know. "I think he's really hot in that hard-assed, authoritative, by-the-book way of his."

"Nothing's wrong with him," I explain, "but he IS a bit old for you, isn't he?"

He puts his glasses back on and shrugs. "Old guys are cool," he replies. He takes a step forward and flicks at my sheepskin vest with a finger, adding contemptuously, "Of course, there ARE exceptions to that rule."

Well, he was back to insulting my wardrobe. Things couldn't be TOO bad. I grab at his hand before he can pull it back. "I'm sorry, Ringo," I tell him, solemnly. "I really am. I never wanted you to get hurt."

Gently withdrawing from my grasp, he smiles a sad smile, before he turns away from me. With his back to the bed, his head hanging low, I can barely hear him mumble, "It was so stupid...what the hell would Skinner want with a loser like me anyway?"

I stand to join him, placing a friendly hand between his shoulder blades and tell him, softly, "Langly, stop it. You're not a loser. If anything, SKINNER is the loser for turning you down."

He sniffles again, and refuses to look my way. "Yeah, right. Thanks, Frohike, but you don't have to say that to be nice. I mean, who would find a geek like me attractive?"

Sliding my arm around his slim shoulders, I hug him close and confess, "I would."

I feel his body stiffen slightly, and the sniffles are momentarily stunned into submission. "Huh?" he asks, as if he hasn't heard right.

Moving until I'm standing in front of him, I repeat, "I said. . . I find you quite attractive, Ringo."

A look of skepticism crosses his oddly handsome face. "Great. Thanks, Mel. Just what I need--sarcasm."

"Dammit, Langly--I hate when you get like this. You know, contrary to popular belief, I think you're a pretty special guy."

He looks at me for a moment, to see if I'm lying to him. Reading only the truth there, his lower lip quivers slightly, and a single tear rolls down his cheek. "Really?"

I brush it away with my thumb. "Yeah, really." With that, he bows his head, turning his gaze from me once more. But he can't get rid of me that easily. I place my index finger under his chin and lift gently until he is again looking me in the eye. "VERY special," I reiterate, emphatically.

And I kiss him.

LANGLY:

At first, I'm totally stunned. I mean, one second he's standing there, doing his fatherly best to comfort me, the next, he's got me in a serious lip-lock. I'm so shocked, my mouth drops open in surprise, but Fro-man mistakes it for an invitation instead, and boldly slips his tongue inside.

It's at this point I begin to hyperventilate.

His lips are so soft and warm--his mouth is so wet and hot. Hell, this whole kiss is so fucking wet and hot! This is what it's supposed to feel like, not like with that dead fish, Skinner. Oh, God, I'm going to pass out if he keeps this up much longer.

What to do? SHIT! What do I DO?!? **C'mon, Langly, get a grip!** YES! That's it! Get a grip. . .

I grip his hips and pull him to me, wrapping my arms around his smallish body as I continue to immerse myself in his kiss. His tongue, slithering around mine, is making me light-headed and dizzy--even more so than usual. I want to help, want to reciprocate, but I don't want to do anything to screw up this perfect moment.

His hands slip around my neck, his fingers brushing through the sensitive, silky hairs at the nape, sending shivers down my spine as the kiss deepens. No doubt about it--Melvin Frohike is in a class by himself here.

I find myself being propelled backwards toward the bed--good thing, too, as my legs are like Jell-o. Just as we reach my bed, my knees buckle and give out and I fall unceremoniously onto the mattress. Only the jolt of the collision breaks our connection.

I just sit there stunned, looking at this man who for the past dozen or so years has been one of my best friends--a brother. Heck, even a father, sometimes. But the feelings I have for him at this moment are anything but platonic. I swallow hard, trying to get my breath back.

And then he laughs at me. "Hot damn, Ringo. . .if I knew that would've shut you up, I'd've kissed you years ago!"

"YEARS ago?" I echo in surprise.

He just gives me a sheepish grin. "Hell, Langly, you weren't the only one with a secret fantasy."

"You mean. . . ME?" I squeak.

"Yeah, *YOU*, Ringo," he laughs. "Maybe I need my head examined, but I've been nuts about you for a long time now."

"ME?" I repeat again, just to clarify.

He nods. "I figured you'd slug me if I said anything." His fingers trace down my jaw with a feather-like touch, and I purr in approval. "Look, kid. . .I know I'm not Skinner but...."

"You can say that again," I sigh, dreamily. "You're a much better kisser."

"Really?" He seems rather pleased with that knowledge.

"Ohhh, YEAH," I emphasize.

A small leer spreads across his face. "Sure you don't want another sample, so you can make a more expert comparison?"

"Well, if you're gonna twist my arm," I concede, and allow him to pull me forward for some more serious face sucking.

FROHIKE:

I grab his Tee shirt and yank it over his head, flinging it onto a pile of dirty clothes in the corner. The jeans take a little longer--why does he have to wear them so damn tight?! (Not that I've ever minded before.) My fingers keep fumbling with the snaps until they're finally undone; with some maneuvering and lifting on Ringo's part, I finally get them off and they join his shirt on the pile. I sink to my knees, intent on striping off his socks. One. Two. Onto the pile. Now he's naked. Gloriously, deliciously naked.

And harder than a rod of pure titanium.

I lean forward and pull him in for another deep soul kiss. He's a little clumsy, a little unsure, but his enthusiasm more than makes up for it. Pushing him backwards so he's lying flat, I soon begin to lay down a trail of butterfly kisses. . . along his chin, along his throat, along his firm hairless chest. The first pinkish nipple I encounter gets the full treatment--licking, sucking, nibbling--until I'm pretty sure he'll wake up half of Tacoma Park with his groans. Then I start on the other one.

He's so sensitive, so responsive, so fucking sexy. . .

In addition to the non-human sounds he's producing, he's squirming around like a sonuvagun, his hips bucking into the air, seeking contact, but that wasn't in my plans just yet. Hey, you only get one first time, and I was gonna give Ringo one to remember. I'm finally forced to pin his arms down by his sides to stop them from flailing about and causing injury while I continue my exploration.

Next stop--his belly button. Cute little innie one. My tongue darts in and spends some leisurely moments getting acquainted. From there, I make a quick detour and swipe my tongue along the appendix scar that mars his perfect pale skin. The volume, and the bucking, seem to increase exponentially the closer I get to the main event. Without further ado, I focus my attention lower.

His cock is standing, proud and tall, from a patch of platinum gold, baby-fine hair. Nice length. Nice shape. Nice girth.

Nice.

I bend over and wrap my lips around the circumcised head. His body tenses--"Oh, sweet Jesus!" he cries out--and flops back onto the bed. Taking my cue from his actions, I devour him hungrily, starting from the tip and slipping down in one fluid motion, until I feel him touch the back of my throat. I groan around his penis, as I feel my own dick stiffen and begin to throb.

My God, it's been so long since I've been with someone. . .even longer since I've been with a guy. And never one I wanted as badly as I've wanted Langly. I kneel there for a long while, hardly moving, savoring the sensation of holding him deep in my mouth and my throat. I know I promised myself that this was for Ringo, but at that moment, I try to excuse my selfishness. Only his tortured whimpers break the spell, and I go back to work.

I pull off of him entirely, despite his noisy protests--I have other ideas tonight. Deciding my hands could be really helpful, I risk letting go of his arms, and wrap one leather-gloved hand around the bloated shaft of his cock, stroking him gently but firmly. I find myself dropping my mouth lower, so I can sample the contents of his ball sac, lapping at the plum shaped orbs, and licking the sparse, silken hairs flat against the skin. As I continue to luxuriate in them, Lanlgy's breathing becomes shallow and ragged and I try to remember if a mind-blowing blowjob can trigger an asthma attack.

After a few minutes of this treatment, I go back to his cock, and deep throat him, down to the short and curlies. Up and down. Up and down. I lick--he groans. I suck--he moans. I don't let go, even as his hips buck off the bed, practically throwing me off of him. By his gasps and erratic movements, I can sense it won't be much longer, but even I am not prepared for the end when it comes.

He thrusts one last time and releases a high-pitched girlie cry as he erupts a lifetime worth of cum. I stay put and swallow all he has to share. Yeah, it's risky behavior, but knowing his past sexual history (or rather, lack thereof), I figure I'll take the chance. He tastes sweet and tart, salty and tangy, very earthy. . .

Very Langly.

I nearly shoot off myself.

A couple more hip jerks, and he collapses bonelessly to the bed, completely spent, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. I rest my head on his belly, and listen to his breathing become more even and normal, and release my own sigh of relief.

"Urrggghhgg. . ." he gurgles, and I smile. Well, at least he's TRYING to talk. I inch my way up until I'm peering down at him; brushing some of the sweaty strands of hair away from his flushed face, and removing his fogged up glasses, I lean in and kiss him tenderly on the lips. "Congratulations, my lad," I whisper in his ear. "Today you are a man."

A smile spreads across his face as he looks up at me, his eyes still fever bright. "Not quite," he fairly wheezes.

"Huh?" Okay, I'm not my most articulate when I'm having sex.

He sits up, which knocks me off balance a bit. "What about you?"

I edge away from him and stand up by the bed--I'm so hard, I'm in pain, and all I want to do is get back to my room so I can jerk-off. "Ringo, tonight was for you, kid. Don't worry about me--I'll be fine."

The smile quirks into a classic Langly smirk. "Oh, yeah. . .I KNOW you will." Before I can stop him (right, like I would have) he's reached out, unsnapped and unzipped my pants, and has pushed them over my hips, my hard-on bouncing up full and proud. His eyes all but light up, "Wow! You've been holding out on us, Frohike."

I shrug, "Actually, it's just average sized, Langly. Just my stature makes it look. . ."

"Whatever," he interrupts. It's the last word he speaks as his mouth descends upon me.

Closing my eyes, I feel Langly's hot lips wrap themselves around my dick head, his tongue teasing the little slit--the boy is a natural! I feel his hands reach around and cup my asscheeks, massaging them skillfully. My own hands find themselves tangled in that silken mop of his, easing him further down my pole. He slurps loudly as he sucks, and much like his kisses, there's very little style or panache, but his eagerness to please is quite evident, and I fear I'll pass out from the pleasure he is giving me.

I don't last long--hell, I was so far gone to begin with. With my last coherent thought, I try to pull him off me, but he just looks up, a demented twinkle in his eye, and deliberately plunges as much of my cock into his mouth as he can. That does it, and I growl deliriously as I explode. The first spurt catches him off guard, but he quickly gets the hang of it. If I wasn't so angry with him, I'd give him points--no way I swallowed the first time.

When I'm finally able to get my breath back, and stop my heart from beating out of my chest, I let him have it. "Langly, that was the stupidest stunt you've ever pulled! With all the diseases out there, to just do what you did was the ultimate. . .."

Cutting me off in mid-rant, he states, logically, "I knew you would have stopped me if I was in any danger." He bends forward, and places a tiny kiss on my inner-left thigh. "Right, Fro-man?"

Of course he's right. I never would have let anything bad happen to him. If I hadn't been sure I was 100% clean, I wouldn't have ever let it get this far. And his faith and trust in me not to harm him touches me deeply. Pulling up my pants, I marvel, "You're an amazing man, Richard Langly," before leaning down and giving him another thorough French kiss. Petting his cheek affectionately, thankfully, I turn to go.

"Mel. . .where are you going?" he asks, timidly.

I stop, my hand on the doorknob, and look back at him. Big mistake. "Well, it's late. REALLY late. Thought I should head off to bed."

"Oh." He sounds so disappointed. "I just thought you might. . ." and he tilts his head slightly, gesturing to the bed.

Is he asking what I THINK he's asking? "It's been a long time since I've slept with someone, Langly," I tell him honestly.

"And I *never* have," he answers, quietly.

Oh boy. This was a big step. This was a HUGE step. This was a no-turning-back kind of step. Was I ready for this? Was he? I gaze again upon the young man sitting there, flushed and dazed, stripped completely bare, both inside and out--just watching me, expectantly. How could I possibly walk away from him, and all he was offering? "Give me a couple of minutes to lock up, okay?" I whisper, distressed by the tremor in my voice.

In all the years I've known Langly, I've never seen a smile like the one that crosses his face at that moment--it would have out-shined the sun. "'Kay."

LANGLY:

I watch him leave, then crawl into bed--remembering to first retrieve my glasses and set them on my nightstand--and reflect on what has just happened. Man, what a weird night! Not only have I lost my virginity, but it was to my friend, and colleague, Melvin Frohike.

Correction--this needs a whole new definition for *weird*!

But--it was good. Damn good. Fucking great! My first time was with someone I knew and liked and cared about. . .and who cared about me, too. Okay, so he wasn't Walter Skinner. And so what if Frohike wasn't the most handsome man in the world--heck, who was I to talk? There is so much more to a person than just their appearances. Melvin is a good man, with a good heart, and he made me feel special. And loved.

Plus he's an unbe-fucking-lievable kisser! What more could I have asked for?

He wanders back a couple of minutes later, just as I am drifting off to sleep. He has on that red-velvet Hugh Hefner robe of his, and I can't help but smile. For some reason, he looks sexy in it tonight. I turn down the edge of the blankets, inviting him in. By the look on his face, he's obviously surprised at my boldness.

He shucks off the robe, revealing clean red-striped boxers, and nothing else. Boy, the guy is hairy. . .nice and hairy. Why do I feel like I have a really goofy grin on my face? He slips into bed beside me; I wait until he's settled and comfortable, then I punch him hard in the left shoulder.

"OWW!!" he protests. "What the hell did you do THAT for? I swear, Ringo, if you're into that S and M shit, I'm outta here!"

"Damn you, Frohike!" I chide. "Why didn't you TELL me how you felt?! We could have been doing this for the past decade!"

"Hey, whoa!" he fires back. "You weren't the only one afraid of getting shot down. You admitted it yourself--I not exactly your ideal fantasy man."

"No, you're not," I agree. "But the reality is so much better than the fantasy ever was."

He actually sounds embarrassed. "Oh, Ringo."

Outstretched arms reach for me, and I crawl into them eagerly, resting my head on that yummy furry chest. How could I have longed for Skinner all those years when I had THIS right under my nose? "I can't believe it," I mutter. "32 years! Man, am *I* an idiot!"

"I've been saying that since the day I met you," he snickers. "So. . .it was worth the wait?"

Nuzzling his neck, I sigh, "Frohike. . .I don't know how to begin to thank you."

"We'll talk about a payment plan in the morning," he answers me, planting a kiss on my forehead. "Got a lot more to teach you, my boy."

I can't help but smile--it wasn't going to be just a one-night stand after all. "You're going to teach *ME* something? Well, I guess there's a first time for everything," I comment, the bravado back in my voice.

"Watch it, punk-ass," he growls playfully, "or you're back to stroke flicks and blow-up Lara Croft dolls."

My smile grows as I snuggle close to him. "I'm very eager to learn all your kung-fu, Mel. But what are we going to tell Byers? And Jimmy?"

His lips in my hair smother his words. "Well, after all the moaning and groaning you were doing, I'm sure they already know."

Had I been THAT loud?! "You think so?" I ask, warily.

"And if not, we'll tell them they're on their own Saturday nights from now on. I've got dibs on you."

I tilt my head up and smirk. "Just Saturday nights?"

A kiss lands on my cheek. "And Friday nights." Another kiss graces my nose. "And Tuesday mornings." A third kiss scores a direct hit on my lips. "And Thursday lunches."

Chuckling, I lay my head back on his chest, and can't resist taking a swipe at the nipple closest to my mouth, grinning at the low moan it produces. Oh yeah. This could be LOTS of fun. "Mel. . .?" I whisper.

"Hmmm. . .?" he answers, removing his glasses and placing them next to mine on my nightstand.

"I'm. . .I'm glad Skinner turned me away," I stammer.

A small laugh rumbles in his chest. "Well, his loss."

I giggle myself. Walter's loss was Frohike's gain. . .and mine. "Mel. . .?" I whisper again.

"Hmmm. . .?" he answers again, sleepily, happily.

"I'm glad I waited. For you."

He kisses me again on the forehead, as he shuts off the light. "Me, too, kid. . .me, too."



The End