WAKENING
by Alison
Fandom: The LoneGunmen
No. 5 in the "Waiting" series: starts the night after "Wondering"
Feedback to: xalison@excite.com, lammasday@yahoo.com
Category: Langly/Byers implied slash
Disclaimer: They're not mine etc
Archive: Lone Slasher, WWOMB, Basement, Ephemeral, Gossamer, anyone else just ask
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: Byers is getting all hot and bothered.
WAKENING
by Alison
Day 1, 5 AM
November is not a good time to have a sleepless night. Long, dark, cold night, and the dawn is a long time coming.
Byers couldn't remember a night when he had lain awake without sleep at least touching him briefly. Until tonight.
Ringo.
//Jesus. How long has this been going on? How long has he felt like this? Why didn't he tell me?//
- Listen, you stupid bastard. Of course he didn't tell you. What would you have done if he had? If the situation had been reversed, would you tell *him*?
Byers sat up in bed for the twentieth time and buried his head in his hands.
//I don't know. God . . I don't know anything anymore. What the hell do I do? 5 a.m . . . .How do I face him in the morning?//
- Get up and do something. Anything. Don't just lie there beating yourself over the head.
He hauled himself out of bed and shuffled into the office, switching on his computer on the way to the kitchen. Back to the office with a cup of tea, sit down and log on. Do *something*. *Anything*.
He did manage to lose himself for a while in the DOD personnel files, to the extent that when the door to the sleeping quarters crashed open a couple of hours later, he nearly jumped out of his skin. But it was only Frohike on his way to the kitchen, bleary eyed and yawning before his first cup of coffee. Byers breathed a sigh of relief. Not Langly then, thank God. But when he wakes up . . .
"Hey Byers, take this in to Langly willya?"
"Whaaaa?"
"C'mon, do me a favour, take this in to Langly. He's awake and complainin'."
Oh shit.
Oh well, better get it over with. He took the glass of water and packet of Tylenol and headed towards Langly's room. Hesitated outside, his stomach fluttering. Oh god . . .
//What are you scared of? It's only Langly. He doesn't know that you know. And he doesn't have to. Stop making like a timid virgin. Get in there!//
He knocked briefly, once, and pushed open the door.
Langly was propped up against the headboard, his eyes closed. He had taken off his filthy teeshirt from the night before and was bare chested. Smooth bare chest, nice pecs, firmly defined biceps . . . Byers' mouth was suddenly dry. Jesus, what am I thinking of? It's not like I've never seen him before.
Langly opened his eyes. "Hi".
"Er . . . hi. How're you feeling?" Oh, very intelligent John.
"Whaddya think, like shit of course. Is that Tylenol?"
"Oh, yes. . ."
"Well, I can't reach it from here John. Can you bring it over here?"
"Um, yes, here you are." C'mon, he won't bite! Act natural for gossake! Or he'll realise something's wrong.
He forced himself to walk across the room and even sit down on the bed next to Langly. Langly took the packet with a grunt of thanks, but yelled as Byers nearly dropped the water glass in his lap in an effort to hand it to him without touching him. "Jeez Byers, anyone would think it was you that got smashed last night."
Langly gulped the pills with what was left of the water and leaned back, closing his eyes again. Byers swallowed, unable to take his eyes off Langly. He felt like a rabbit in the headlights, unable to move. So close to him now, he could see the thick fair eyelashes against the pale skin, the gold stubble coming through on his cheeks, the tangled mess of blonde hair on the pillow, on his shoulders . . . . how come he's built like that when he never works out? Even I take more exercise than he
does. He's even got nice abs and all he does is sit at the computer all day . . .
Langly's eyes suddenly snapped open and he met Byers' gaze. Byers instantly blushed scarlet, feeling as if he had been stripped naked in front of Langly. He felt as embarrassed and guilty as a six year old boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Panicking, he leaped to his feet, babbling.
"Um . . . I'll let you rest, okay? Er . . . take it easy and I'll see you later . . . "
He got out of the room quicker than anything he'd ever done in his life. Shut the the door behind him as if it held nameless terrors. Tried to bring his breathing back to normal.
//This is Langly, okay? Same old Langly you've known for ten years.
Omigod.//
*
Day 2, 3 PM
Byers was poring over an aerial view of Area 51, a satellite photo they hadn't seen before, using some pirated enhancement software to bring out details too small to see before. His nose was only inches from the screen.
"Found anything, Byers?"
Byers leaped about six inches in the air, and swivelled round. Langly stood there, loose limbed and relaxed as always, the usual slightly scornful, almost contemptuous expression on his face. Byers felt himself beginning to blush again and thanked God for the low lighting level.
//He startled me, that's all. No more than that.//
- then that's why your heart is going a mile a minute?
//Look . . . maybe I was mistaken. He couldn't possibly be interested in me like that. He still calls me Narcboy, still sneers about my working for the FCC. He thinks I'm a geek!"//
Langly leaned forward, waving a hand in front of his face. "Hello? Anyone home?"
"Er . . sorry, um . . .yes. . . wanna take a look?"
Langly came close and bent down to look at the screen. Then he squatted down for a better look, right next to Byers. He steadied himself with a hand on the armrest of Byers' chair. He was close enough for Byers to see the fair down of hair on his forearm. Byers could smell the mingled scents of him, aftershave and faint whiff of soap and, stronger, the sharp male smell of musk and sweat. Byers inhaled again, deeper, almost dizzy from the intoxication of it.
//No, stop, concentrate . . .//
His head only a couple of inches from Byers' arm. His hair brushed Byers' sleeve.
//I could brush it off . . . that would be a natural thing to do wouldn't it? Not suspicious? Just touch it casually like that?
Touch it . . . it would be so soft . . .
Omigod.//
Day 3, 8 AM
"Hey guys, either of you seen my Pink Floyd teeshirt?"
Byers turned in his chair at the breakfast table. Langly was standing by his bedroom door. Wearing jeans. That was all. Tight. Very tight. Very revealing. Revealing every muscle in his long thighs, the slim hips, prominent bulge right *there* and . . .
Frohike piped up from the other side of the table. "If that's the one you dropped on the bathroom floor last night, it's still there."
Langly grunted and turned back to the bedroom. Those jeans sure were tight. Tight on his hips, his ass . . . the way he moves . . .
Byers gulped and nearly inhaled the last of his coffee. Avoiding Frohike's snort of amusement, he headed back to the office. Logged on to his email and tried to work. Tried.
//. . . . standing there in just his jeans, like an alabaster statue, no, like marble . . . like Michelangelo's David . . . smooth and cool and beautiful . . . only not cold, no, if I was to reach out my hand and touch him, he'd be warm, warm, and his muscles would slide and move under my hand, smooth like silk, firm and strong, I could feel the pulse of him, the blood running under his skin, heating my hand, heating him, feeling his heartbeat through my fingers . . .
This is ridiculous. I've seen him hundreds of times like that. And I'm not interested in guys. Not any more anyway. Not for years. I've grown out of all that. It's just . . .
Omigod.//
*
Day 4, 6 PM
Byers leaned against the counter top in the kitchen, staring out of the small barred window. Behind him he could hear the routine noises of the HQ, whirr and chatter of machinery and air conditioning, tap of computer keyboards and the occasional muffled remark.
//Only four days . . . it feels like four years. I've got to work this out.//
Four days of jumping like a startled deer whenever Langly addressed a remark to him, four days of blushing furiously whenever he came within touching distance. Feeling his stomach churn in embarrassment and shyness whenever Langly looked in his direction. Going through the most amazing contortions to avoid having to touch him, even to hand him a piece of paper.
//He's going to notice. I've got to get myself under control or he's going to notice. Goddammit, why can't I handle this? Why should I be *shy* with Langly of all people?//
- Because you never thought of this. Never thought of him in *this* way.
There was always Susanne in the background, as long as you've known him. And guys . . . well there was Steve back in high school, and Chuck at college, and . . . well, then you always thought you'd grown out of all that. And then there was Baltimore, and Susanne.
But now . . . Susanne has gone. You accept that now. But . . . Langly?
//No, no, I couldn't . . .//
*
Day 5, 9 PM
Langly was bored. Looking for amusement.
"Hey Byers, did you look at my Celebrity Skin? Left it on the desk for you. Pretty hot babes in it."
"Um . . maybe later. Er . . . give it to Mel first if you like."
"I'm asking *you*. C'mon John, don't be shy. You can borrow it, I don't mind. Don't you wanna look at it?"
//Oh God, he's coming over. Leaning across me, hand on the corner of my desk as he leans across, grabs the magazine. His hair's brushing my cheek, I can feel his breath on my neck, oh god, please, do something ... If I turned my head right now . .//
But Langly straightened up. Clouted Byers casually on the top of his head with the magazine, rumpling his hair. Byers flinched involuntarily, startled. "Langly!" Hating the whine in his voice.
And Langly ostentatiously raised his hands, moved away, smirking. "Woo, boy, touchy tonight aren't we? Shorts too tight, are they?"
Byers turned back to the screen, angrily. Hating himself.
//I lost it. I should have said something. *Done* something. Stupid, stupid . . .//
*
Day 6, 12.30 AM
Langly was lying on the couch. Taking up all the room, sprawled full length and fast asleep. That didn't matter too much since Frohike had gone to bed some time ago and Byers was comfortably established in the armchair. He was watching the rerun of an episode of Stargate he'd missed first time round. Or trying to watch.
//He's asleep, and still he distracts me. Just lying there and I'm aware of him with every cell in my body, every nerve ending.//
Sprawled there in complete relaxation, like a leopard sleeping after the hunt. Soft even breathing, chest rising and falling regularly. Fingertips twitching slightly as he dreams.
He drew a deeper breath and turned towards Byers. Hips stirring slightly, a soft moan escaping him. Tongue slipping out to moisten his lips, eyelids fluttering. His hand traveled down to his groin where the telltale bulge was growing. Hand pressing on his cock and his hips thrust gently.
Byers couldn't drag his eyes away. Heat poured up from inside him like a wave, centring in his chest, his belly, his cock. His throat was tight, his breath coming short.
//If I was to get up and go to him now, sit down beside him, touch him, my hand over his on his groin, pressing, caressing . . . then when he opened his eyes and saw me, then it would happen, it would be so natural, so right, so easy . . .
No. No, I can't do this. I just *can't* . . .//
He scrambled to his feet and dashed for the bathroom. Blissfully cool, private, alone, he leaned his back against the door and slid his hand inside his boxers. Now, yes, oh Ringo, yes . . .
Oh God.
I want him.//
End