Chapter Text
The air smelled of damp sandy earth, fungus and tree roots dangled in long tendrils from the ceiling of the tunnels. Here and there shafts of golden light from up above shot through the ceiling, but as soon as Michael saw the blue candles strategically placed ans still burning...his heart plummeted to somewhere near his boots. Cold dread and an uneasiness he couldn't shake followed him as he walked behind Isobel.
The giant egg shape covered by a blue cloth should not have been a surprise and for a moment, a tiny span of time Michael dismissed it as just being Noah's crash landing pod. This he thought must have been where he disappeared to in the stretches of time where they could find no murders matching the hand print killer. Noah had slept here keeping the decades from showing and somehow entered and exited his pod at will.
He shuddered as he thought about souvenirs from his kills and what exactly where all those necklaces and bracelets decorating what honestly resembled a shrine, had come from. He hoped they were not from the young women he had murdered. He mused on the blue color choice, wondering if that was the equivalent of funeral black on their home planet, when he heard Isobel gasp.
Turning, Michael was confronted with his seventeen year old self's worst nightmare.
Gasoline burns marred once beautiful features, long dark hair floated in a halo around a face that haunted Michael's dreams and a pair of small hands were folded almost as she was in prayer in front of her bare chest.
Rosa Ortecho.
She floated, naked and half burnt in an alien pod, deep underground in a dank cave.
"Rosa..." Isobel said voice trembling with emotion and she reached out to grab Michael's jacket. He found her hand on the second try, his mind struggling to come to terms with this horrible reality.
----
To be honest, Michael had not been sure which of the three impulses lighting up his brain he would choose when he saw his brother next. Punch him for the hand, ignore him or be mature and focus on the crisis of Rosa? In the end, the girl floating in the pod won out.
The nineteen year old woman whose life had been stolen and in the process had changed the world for everyone who had ever known her. Rosa's murder had haunted them and defined them. It had defined all of his choices, for the ten years she had been gone. Now, her killer was finally dead and it was over, yet the indignity, horror and disrespect continued. The tight knot of dismay had taken up residence behind his sternum had him feeling sick, the sheer injustice of not even letting her rest properly according to her family's religious convictions and sticking her here? It was beyond all comprehension.
All he could say was that Noah was one sick bastard.
He had not even let her have a final resting place, he thought again miserably. The perverted bastard had kept her. Naked and dead. His stomach roiled as he considered what else Noah had potentially done. After all he had puppeteer abilities and she was right there and....
Max slammed the door of his Jeep, his brown eyes worried as he spotted Michael, throwing Michael back to reality and away from his horror-filled head. Not, Michael noted sourly, because of Michael's potential reaction to him- because clearly Max thought he'd done a good job - but for whatever had the green, queasy look appearing on Michael's. They both knew Michael did not freak out easily.
"What is it?" Max demanded giving him a once over, "What's happened?"
Michael was saved from answering by Dallas getting out the other side, "What is it man? I just got out of the shower when you were calling. I've a sermon in an hour. Woah...you look bad. What is it?"
Michael gestured to the tunnel and tried to find words. "Its bad." He croaked.
Without pausing he turned away and took Max and Dallas into the tunnels, moving fast enough to avoid discussion as he led the way back to Isobel who was standing where he had left her, a hand pressed to her mouth, her green eyes wide with pain and repugnance. She turned as they approached and without a word pulled the blanket off the pod. Dallas stumbled shocked and Max...just went pale as they took in the gruesome sight.
In the ringing silence, Rosa dominated the space. Unwillingly almost, four pairs of eyes traced over burns and the hand print across her mouth. Isobel's hand, Noah's mind. A silence that was broken by Max.
"He's had her here all this time?! Max cried in dismay, throwing the blanket back over the pod as if he too could not bear to look at her and backed away slowly.
"Dear Lord." Dallas uttered sounding winded. "I didn't think that bastard could get any more twisted."
"How?" Max barked in outrage.
"Dug her up maybe?" Michael tried, stomach clenching as he tried very, very hard not to imagine any of the sickening, dark, evil things that Noah could very well have done. This looked like a shrine and that was bad enough. Oh God...what was he going to tell Alex?
"He could have body snatched someone who works at the morgue, made them deliver her..." Dallas suggested slowly, looking as equally sickened. One glance told Michael that Dallas had looked at those dark pathways of thought too.
"Doesn't matter." Michael says harshly, "Her father thought he buried his eldest child. He has had her here all this time."
All the times her father had visited her grave to talk to his little girl, telling her stories of the week and putting little tokens by her side, candles and flowers, honoring her. All the times since she had come back, when Liz had knelt there and wept for her big sister....all the times they had come across him, fought him over the years and he had Rosa here. Trapped in the dark, on display, his plaything. At the thought Michael's stomach ached.
Max ran a hand over his face, agitated. "I...I need to call Liz and..."
That was the part that Michael could barely think about. Over the course of the last few months, Liz Ortecho had gone from trying to kill them, to being a good friend. She supported him and Alex, truly seemed to love Max back and miraculously had forgiven them for their part in the horror show that had been the loss of her sister. Now, all that pain was going to explode back.
"And Alex." Michael says hollow-eyed and Max throws him a commiserate look.
"And Maria is gonna find out." Dallas added sounding just as apprehensive. "Rosa was her light, her best friend."
"And tell them what exactly?" Isobel snapped, her grief and horror bubbling over in her voice. "That all this time Rosa has been some...some naked burned-up trophy on display?!"
"Maybe...we don't... put it like that." Michael suggested throwing his hands up.
"No." Dallas agreed, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture as tempers flared. "The Ortecho family has been through enough. Alex and Maria have too. This was the time they finally put her memory to rest."
"Well she's not in rest." Isobel snaps.
Wide-eyed Max looked at Michael out of all of them. He wasn't sure why; if he wanted his support as someone else with a loved one whose heart was gonna break over Rosa or for his approval. "I can't keep this secret from her. Or Alex. Maria...she's different. She doesn't know about aliens. We have no way of explaining this to her. But..."
Michael took a deep breath. "It's gonna break their hearts." He said softly, pained.
Isobel looked at Michael and then back at Max. "This will haunt her nightmares." She argued.
Clearly Iz was in the camp over hide the evidence and tell no one. Dallas shook his head and ran a hand over his face. "He stole her from her resting place, from her family. It is another deeper wound."
Max tilted his head considering and then said "What if..." He turned and walked back to the covered pod, touching the blanket-covered surface. "How long do you think she was dead, before he put her in there?"
Isobel frowned at him. "Max, you tried to save her ten years ago ."
Max had that manic look back in his eyes. "What... what if we're only using a piece of our potential? What if we could unlock more?"
"You mean like different powers or..." Dallas suggested
"Or stronger ones?" Isobel finished, curiously.
"Noah was more powerful than us..."
Michael couldn't take much more. This was too much. "Stop!"
Startled they all looked at him.
"As proud as I am that you've finally embraced being alien, you can't resurrect a girl that's been dead a decade! She was never treated right in life. We didn't do right by her ten years ago. Life has moved on. Experimenting on her? That ain't right. You can't undo the past." Michael said holding out his hands, letting his heartbreak wash over them. It was spilling out, like tears only his eyes were dry. "We can make a plan, once things are settled to give Rosa a proper burial."
"You're right." Dallas said gently, subsiding. "There is no reason we can't bury her in the grave where her family already mourns for her. That would be right. Liz and Alex can stand for her, even if her father never finds out. This is going to break their hearts, but Rosa deserves better than being kept a secret once more."
Michael nodded miserably. Maybe... once we do, we take the time to just be normal. Happy maybe." It felt impossible right now, but Michael didn't think he could take any more pain. "She deserved better. Her dad...Liz, Deluca and Alex..they deserve better."
Slowly Max nodded. Isobel squeezed his hand as she passed him and Dallas pressed hand to his shoulder as he followed her. Silently, Max looked at Michael for a long moment. Michael waited and watched him, waiting for whatever he wanted to say, but Max kept quiet. Maybe he didn't need to speak though. This, right here was the nightmare. Ten years ago he and Max had put Rosa in that car and torched her. The burns scarring her face were their doing. Leaving her here felt like the long walk to that car, that night.
Max dropped his hands to Michael's shoulders in a half hug of commiserating pain, sharing that thought, that feeling and then turned Michael around.
In sunlight, the world didn't look any better.
------
Time ticked by. The walk back from the mine and his Chevy was a smudge, a barely there imprint as his body operated on pure autopilot. He couldn't remember what day it was or if had a shift at Sanders. Work had been his escape for a long time but he couldn't face the garage at the moment.
The hours passed blended and condensed into a fog of blankness. Isobel was okay. He taken her at her request to the house she and Noah had shared and made her something to eat. She told him eventually, firmly and sadly that she was going to call her mom and then sleep for a year.
Dallas was okay. He had his sermon to perform and then he said he was planning on going back to Isobel, to check on her. Maybe fit in seeing Maria to cancel on their date. It wouldn't be right, he said, to take her out when all this was happening. Isobel needed them and they needed to sort what to do about Rosa. Dallas had hugged Michael for a moment, his brown eyes full of sympathy. Rather than be disgusted over what they had done covering up Rosa's death, Dallas understood that this latest discovery had ripped open wounds. The guilt, the horror, the pain. What they felt was nothing to what Liz and her dad had suffered, but Dallas knew that it was never what they had wanted and they had lived with it badly for a decade. Especially Michael.
Max was weird but okay, all but shoving Michael out the door, so he could deal with his shattered doors and the blood pool. Not that Michael wanted to deal with that.
So here he was, with no where to be. Michael stared at the red traffic light, not willing it to change to green at all but just staring at it. He can't remember a time when he felt this tired and this wretched, which for him was saying something. Of all the things he had suffered and survived, right now he felt the worst he had ever felt.
The trailer was the obvious next step or a bar to drown this emotional vortex, until he was numb. But for once, he didn't want either of those options.
Getting drunk would hurt Alex and lead to an really uncomfortable argument. An acetone stupor would scare the hell out of Alex too. And he had to admit it was a dead certainty that Alex would be looking for him at some point today.
His gaze dropped to the steering and then glanced at the sunglasses still gracing the dash. It was funny he thought, how you could go from no contact to finding pieces of a person everywhere, dotting your own personal landscape like special markers. Five years of painful silence between them and now he had Alex's t-shirts in his laundry basket and his sunglasses in his truck. There were two toothbrushes in his bathroom and a spare set of meds, a fuzzy rug below the bed so Alex didn't step down on the cold trailer floor. It wasn't just the Airstream either. Alex had somehow wrangled Michael into using his washer and now he had ironed jeans smelling lightly of dryer sheets. He had a purple toothbrush in Alex's bathroom and a bottle of nice hair conditioner on the shelf.
Five years of silence and months of slowly enmeshing their lives.
Michael's mind unfortunately decided to pick them up. Realizing they were hovering above the dash, he snatched them out of the air and looked around. The truck driver beside him was too high up to have seen and the red pickup seemed to be the battle ground of a shouting match between two women. Relieved, Michael cradled the cheap glasses and...he wanted Alex.
He wanted Alex's voice and to curl into his arms. He wanted his presence and just...Alex.
He thought about what Izzy had said before the discovery of Rosa and asked himself what he wanted right now, what was the one thing that could make him feel better? Alex. Cheap booze would numb the hurt for a while, acetone in enough quantities could get him to a mentally drifting place. He didn't want violence and the open country. He wanted Alex.
Picking up his phone he saw that Alex had called him twice and sent him three texts. Michael cursed quietly and opened up their most recent text chain to send a new one. There was no way to apologize over a text and vague would only worry Alex.
After a minute he settled on: Can I come to your house?
Alex's reply was swift. He didn't berate Michael for not calling him back, only sent back: Of course. Let yourself in. I'll be right there.
Maybe Alex already knew from the hand print that Michael felt like he was crumbling, maybe he wasn't angry. Alex is so kind, he thinks.
How is he going to tell him?
The light turned green.
The truck took a left and the pick up truck roared off, some truce laid down in the cab. He wished them well.
Michael decided not to let himself second guess and drove across town to Alex's house. Alex's battered second-hand Ford Discovery wasn't parked in the driveway, the street empty now the rush to work had passed. Although Michael had to confess that every time he came here it was quiet.
He wondered where Alex was, something mundane like grocery shopping or important over at Deep Sky's top secret facility? It was easier to think about Alex.
It still felt weird to come here without an invite or some decent excuse like food or beer. Some context where he could offer something else alongside himself, like a devotee at a shrine. But he didn't let himself dwell on that. Couldn't, or else he wouldn't commit. Michael was learning that he could just come to him and Alex's door would always be open. He tried not to let insecurity say that Alex wouldn't want him clinging to him like a drowning man, or his long ugly history tell him that no one stays and no wants someone broken like he is.
The walk to the door might as well have been a hundred miles, the door a gateway to another realm. If this was the moon, his dusty cowboy boots would have left prints all along this driveway. This quiet house on this boring street, holding an alien's heart.
It took a thought at that to unlock the door and a second to shut off the alarm. The hallway loomed long and silent. By habit, Michael looked in his home office as he took off his boots and jacket, smiling a little at the complicated computer set-up. There were memories in this place now, good ones bound up in soft kisses and strong warm arms, moments of bliss and the feeling he had chased nearly all his life. Belonging. So he toed off his dusty boots, not wanting to blemish the floors with filth and looked down at his blue socks, feeling tears rise. There was so much to grieve, where to even start? His socked feet walked down the hall and there was no sound, the world hushed even here.
Unlike the tunnels holding Rosa, this wasn't a gloomy quiet. The air smelled of lemon polish and Alex's aftershave. On the shelf, Michael could see the framed photo of them, taken a few months ago. Alex had it printed out and framed it, this casual beautiful proof of them. Out in the nice area of the city that saw a new beginning for them, where no one knew them. Alex was holding onto him for support more than romance, arms locked around his neck, but the sultry curve of his face was stunning as he pressed close and his lips were on Michael's cheekbone, his brows charcoal pencil sweeps, his dark eyes on Michael, heavy-lidded.
Love, that picture said. Michael's arms were tight around his waist, mouth smiling as the heady excitement of having Alex Manes in his arms, out in public was strumming in his veins, more than the alcohol. A couple in love, out on a date in the middle of the big city. He loved this picture. In it, Alex didn't look like he was going to let go of him any time soon, a message he was starting to accept.
They had come a long way he thought, from two broken down kids beneath a desert sky. They had come a long way from that duplex up north with Alex shaky from pain and Michael half-sure he was gonna be asked to leave any moment. A long way from sitting in the airport, prayers on his tongue and a battered bag in his hands, a heart full of jagged glass and hope.
Michael looks at everything needing distraction. The new things that had found a place here and there, making it more like a home. The blanket he pressed into Alex's hands as a house-warming gift, trying to play it cool but smiling when he saw it put in pride of place on the couch. The pottery Alex has collected for years. The couch he wrestled into place for him. The coffee table he made. The small glass spheres he had created and kept as little experiments, which Alex loved.
He felt like a fool standing in the middle of the house, an intruder or a supplicant come to worship at a shrine and ask for blessings. Religion was not his comfort. Exorcisms tend to put you off, no matter what Dallas says. He looks at the picture on the shelf and then sees the other one, unframed and tucked between the pottery.
They were sitting on a log out in the middle of nowhere, beneath the shade of a tree. Alex's arm was looped around his, his eyes on the camera, on Liz. Michael though didn't need self-awareness to see how besotted he was, their knees pressed together, his hat in Alex's hands, bodies tilted towards each other with the pull of gravity.
Turning away, Michael looked at Alex's keyboard and then spied his guitar.
There were nights when Alex would play for him and sing so beautifully, but it was always with a whisper of sadness and guilt. The scars marring Alex's heart were visible in the low light of a safe space, love in his eyes and pain that was never his to hold and carry. Him playing was a gift and a trembling voice to the pain of the past. Alex understood that music could deafen the chaos, a remedy that had been taken away in blood and cracked bones, replaced by alcohol and a fist. Him playing for Michael was putting a smile on his mourning, no matter what Michael said.
To Michael, it was special. It was more romantic than spinning stars above them and sunset walks.
Once, he stole a boy's guitar, half to talk him, half for a moment's peace. The chords had taken him from the chaos, given him a tiny span of solace from his own head. Then that boy had given him his brother's guitar, with hope in his brown eyes and for days they had played together, dreaming and hoping. In those brown eyes he had found a home and in the melodies coaxed from strings, he found a haven.
Almost as if he was a trance, Michael stole the same boy's guitar from its stand. The arch of the light wood had rested on the same thigh so many times, Michael could almost imagine the warmth. The fret board had been held so many times by the elegant long hands which touched him so gently.
Sitting down on Alex's orange leather couch, his left hand curved perfectly, fingertips finding the strings. No pain, no cramp. It had felt wrong...but oh right now, it felt so right.
From the massive collection of songs in his head, Michael began to play. The opening chords of Fast Car by Tracy Chapman filled the air. The lyrics had always reminded him of them really, the two kids in the desert beneath that blue, blue sky.
He closed his eyes and just played. The pain in his heart didn't vanish, the grief was still there, but he no longer felt as if he was being crushed by it. All his fears and worries faded away and maybe that was wrong, considering...but right now he didn't want to be at fault, didn't want the hate and blame. Didn't want to drown himself in the toxic pool of pain. He wanted to think of something other than his mother's face or Rosa floating in a pod.
He played song after song, lost in the music of his mental jukebox of songs, before going back to Fast Car, letting himself remember him and Alex singing out the lyrics driving into the desert, that soaring feeling of freedom.
As his mood changed, he surfaced not sure what to play next. The choice called him from his blissed out state. Michael blinked open his eyes and found himself back in Alex's living room staring into the wet, shining gaze of the man who owns his heart, kneeling before him in the mellow fading light of the day. Lost in his head, in the music, he had somehow missed the long fingers that were wrapped around his calf, the other on his knee. A hushed, delighted smile was curving a poet's mouth and tears fell in gentle rivulets.
In Alex's warm bone brown eyes, this moment was a miracle and Michael saw some of those scars fade, some of that pain lifting away.
Alex.
It was worth it, Michael thought wildly. The hand was worth it for this look right here. He could remake himself again. Dallas was right, Alex deserved better.
But Michael knew he could not leave Alex now, not that he had ever really had the strength to anyway. He was pretty sure it would kill him now that he was finally, somehow Alex's boyfriend. And Alex would not let him. Not without a fight, not without exhausting every avenue, not without breaking Alex too.
"Don't stop." Alex said in a soft rush as if he could barely get the words out and risk breaking the spell, dark eyes imploring. "Please don't." A trembling hand rose from his knee and caressed the fingers of his left hand. Choked, Alex murmured his eyes so full of emotion, "I love hearing you. I've... dreamed of this."
Speechless at this plea and confession, Michael took his right hand off the strings to touch Alex's face. His eyes closed and he leaned into Michael's hand, lips pressing a kiss to his palm. Licking his dry lips, Michael asked huskily, "Sing for me?"
Without any hesitation, he began to play the melody of the song Alex had written down a few weeks ago, but had been writing in the quiet moments of his last tour. Slowly but surely, he was coaxing those songs out of his songwriter.
Alex looked like he was going to cry hearing his own song played by ear and shrugged out of his black leather jacket. He used the sleeve of his wine red sweater to dry his eyes, his smile so bright. His rich, soft voice wavers slightly but he recovers, eyes foxfire as he gazes up at Michael. Love resonated in his words, in his voice.
"Something in the air tonight,
Makes me wanna run,
Something in the smiles tonight,
Makes me feel alone,"
The tears fell again as he shifted closer still, so he was between Michael's knees, as if he couldn't get close enough. He thought of these lyrics alone in his bunk out in the barracks in another distant country, feeling alone. He always felt alone before Michael. He told him that drunk once. It resonates in the song and Michael marvels at how many songs Alex has created, how so many of them are love songs about them.
It makes him realize that Alex never gave up on them either. He dreamed of them too. It makes a warm, tender knot of feelings blossom in his heart, love most of all. There were days across ten years where Alex thought of him. He wasn't some blur in a rear view mirror but there was a place in Alex's heart where he was kept cherished.
Had they looked at the stars at the same time and thought of each other?
Alex can feel it, one hand pressing to the hand print and he swallows, before he sings the chorus.
"Just when I start to come undone,
The way I often do,
All of the lights just fade away,
And it all comes down to you,
And it all comes down to you."
Michael played, fingers strumming deftly despite all the years since he last held a guitar. Alex shuffled closer and caressed Michael's knee, bending to press a kiss there.
"Sometimes the world is too much for me,
I think I'm gonna drown,
But you make me come alive,
Whenever you're around."
Alex voice trailed away into aching softness as he sung the last chorus,
"Just when I start to come undone,
The way I often do,
All of the lights just fade away,
And it all comes down to you."
His eyes closed and then opened slowly, "Michael," He whispered reverently, his name cherished in Alex's mouth, then he was rising up. Michael was enraptured by the passion in those dark eyes, the relief that he was back in Alex's orbit. Alex made the decision for him, cutting through the noise in his head. One hand on his neck, the other covering his left hand on the fret, as he kissed him almost chastely.
Pulling back, Michael smiles and looks down at the guitar, then back up. He traces Alex's lips with his left hand, reverent. "I stole a boy's guitar. Think I like him. Think he'll mind?"
Alex lets out a wet laugh and buries his fingers in Michael's curls. "I think he's had a crush on you for a long time."
Michael watches as Alex kisses his fingers almost desperately and presses his wet cheek into his hand. His fingers are caressing the now smooth, perfectly aligned bones of Michael's, the skin so sensitive. "Think I really love him." Michael confesses, looking at this man, so selfless and kind, so sacrificing and strong willed. "Really want to make him happy you know?"
Alex made a choked noise and kisses his palm, his eyes are so wide. "I think I really love him too. Really want to make him happy too." Alex tells him softly, "Think he'll mind?"
Michael smiles and pretend to think about it. "I think... him and me? We're cosmic."
Alex sucks on his bottom lip for a second and nods seriously. "I think so too." His lips tremble. "Michael,"
Michael kisses him and gently puts the guitar down, floating it over to the chair in the corner where it will be safe. He kisses Alex like the world is ending, like their very first kiss, teasing his full bottom lip and soothing away any sting with his tongue.
Alex surges up higher moving deeper into the cradle of his legs, hand in his hair tightening, a noise akin to a plea falling between them and Michael doesn't know if its his sound, or Alex's. Maybe both of them.
Free of the guitar, Michael's hand drifts up and presses against Alex’s heart, feeling the rapid beat there and hears Alex's whine as the hand print opens up. Michael only lets the love he feels for Alex cross the line, lust and that same reverence. Between them is no place for grief. They've caused each other enough of that.
Alex's grip on his curls tightens, body slotting between Michael' knees, head tilted to grant Michael full access to his mouth. This kiss is not devouring for all the heat that drenches them, for there is too much love tangled up in every slide and press. In seconds, Alex licks into his mouth, the tip of his tongue stroking against the roof making him moan, then skillful strokes as Alex makes his full claim.
Its heady when Alex forgets not to be possessive.
Lungs burning, Michael pulls back and dark eyes blink open to meet his. Alex's body melts into the curve of his, both of them breathing hard, curling into each other.
Michael thinks about that phone call, about that flight heading to Alex and all the heavy emotions that had followed him. He thinks about that hospital room and Alex's first shaky steps, his eyes so vulnerable. He thinks about another flight, Alex heading towards him like a missile, kissing him hello in a way Michael could only have dreamed of. He thinks about rainy afternoons in the soft light of the world against the windows in a little duplex. He thinks about all that Alex knows and how none of it has been enough to get him to run. He thinks about mornings when he woke to an empty bed after hollow words the night before, feeling cheap. He thinks too about mornings now, with Alex sprawled alongside him, hands grabby and kisses affectionate, dark eyes barely open and yet crinkled at the corners.
Who they are today, is a long way from who they were even a year ago. Secrets are shared, pain vanquished or carried together.
Alex delves back in like he can't help it, restless hands pawing at his jeans-clad legs. Michael lets out a helpless moan as Alex turns the kiss wetter and messier. Its filthy in all the right ways. The sound spurs Alex on, giving himself over to the kiss, to the love Michael is sharing.
His mom died in an explosion after being tortured for seventy years. She had wanted him to live. She had loved him. Alex loves him.
Maybe Max was right. Maybe for a long time he had been living with an eye on his rear view mirror, maybe not for the reasons Max thought, but sometimes the road you've traveled is better than the road you're on.
The kiss breaks and Alex pants against his mouth, fingers scrabbling at Michael's belt making Michael throb with desire. His entire body felt hot under Alex's gaze. "Love you," He says hoarsely etching the words into Michael's jaw. He does too, Michael thinks. And any road that means he gets to be with Alex, is worth any hell.
Alex's eyes are smouldering, desire mixing with a craving for intimacy. Sex earlier had taken off the edge, but they still communicate best with their bodies, with touch. Alex wants him. Its undeniable when he's biting his lip like that and trying to pull up Michael's t-shirt.
"Need you. Need to feel you." Alex pants and kisses Michael again, but Michael is smiling too much for the kiss to work and Alex huffs, half a laugh. "What?" He pants, but his eyes are sparkling. Alex looks at him like he's a wonder, something amazing and too good to be true.
"You. God, I love you." Michael tells him and Alex's eyes go so soft and he kisses his cheek uncaring of stubble, then his nose.
"So much Michael. So much." He breathes like he can't contain it. "I can't breathe without loving you."
Michael kisses his chin and Alex nuzzled his nose into his cheek, then dips to kiss his neck, his jaw, his hands curving over Alex's ass pulling tight, to the music of more soft moans. Alex, he has realized can spent hours mapping Michael's body. It came as a surprise, because sex has usually been fast and hard for them, but now he knows with Alex in this tender mood, he might be waiting a long time for clothes to even come off. And he wants to worship. He wants to take his time and create ecstasy for Alex.
He's pretty sure Alex wants his mouth on him judging by the frantic tug on his belt, jeans coming loose - and it makes him bite his lip for control because goddamn is Alex good at giving head - but Michael wants him in his arms. Plus, who know how long Alex has been kneeling on the floor listening to him play? The floor is no good for his soldier. His power has Alex gathered up along with Michael's hands, taking his weight so he's as weightless as an astronaut. Some might yelp or something, being floated by their boyfriend, Alex however clings tighter so he can kiss Michael again and moans. Aliens powers are such a turn on for him, Michael thinks fondly.
Alex has no choice really but to unravel himself now he's abruptly standing. Michael wastes no time as soon as Alex is steady. He tugs Alex into his arms so he straddles his lap, hands caressing his thighs and hips, face nuzzling into his washboard abs. Alex groans softly and his hands find Michael's shoulder and his curls. Michael cups his ass again and blinks as right hand meets the softest material he's ever felt when he pulls up Alex's sweater to caress his back.
Huh. Wait...Its a nice sweater. Michael lets it go and smooths a hand over the material, with the added benefit of feeling rock hard abs quiver.
"Did I tell you how gorgeous you look?" Michael asks taking a second to really look his fill. "Because darlin' you look gorgeous."
Above Michael caught in his arms right between Michael's spread thighs already touch-drunk, Alex looked like a vision. His dark hair is disheveled, lips kiss-bitten red, eyes foxfire bright, that peachy blush tracing down from his cheeks. The neck is round and hides the hollow of his throat. Another time Michael could drive Alex half-crazed by kissing the column of his neck, dipping below that red collar line while caressing his very sensitive nipples underneath the sweater... endless possibilities... Alex does love Michael pressing him against a wall and spending long minutes just touching him.
Right now, the sweater was rising up a little giving Michael a glimpse of a steel core, his black jeans are molded to his legs sexily, pulling deliciously over the bulge in the front and he was wearing the bracelet Michael had made for him.
Wow.
Alex blushes, his ears going red enough to compete with the sweater but he shoots Michael a disbelieving look anyway. That expression is genuine. For all Michael seriously doubts that anyone else who knows Alex would believe that the tough-as-nails, ultra-competent captain gets bashful when his boyfriend compliments him. And that if said at just the right moment, Alex gifts him this sweet, shy look, clearly pleased Michael noticed. "You...like it?"
Well that answers that question. Alex has done this for him.
"Beautiful." Michael tells him and caresses his hips and then strokes the material over his abs.
Okay, so Alex had put effort into looking nice for Michael....only he wasn't sure why. Alex looks beautiful at any point, day or night and Michael was the last man on earth who cared about fashion. Alex had no civilian clothes post-Iraq really. He was taking this time to experiment with who he wanted to be and Michael got to admire him openly, knowing that wardrobe makes armor. That's what they do. Every choice Alex makes about this house, about his clothes is another mile away from Jesse's influence and cruelty. Michael's role is to support him.
Except...this wasn't an experiment. This was date night grade clothing. It had taken Michael a little time to realize that Alex made the effort for him. To look good for him. That he thinks of Michael as someone to look good for. Which was not the normal course of things in Michael's life. When they went out, Alex never just threw on jeans and a clean t-shirt.
Alex had shaved to faultless perfection, put on the nice aftershave he only really wears when they go out on dates and a nice, new sweater in wine red, new black jeans and Michael thinks, his new boots. Colors that he knows Michael likes on him. He was utterly perfect, handsome and nervous about it.
Did...had he expected to go to Isobel's house to see officially how she was doing? Had Alex had made a distinctive effort for Michael, to look amazing? Had he wanted Michael to...hold his hand in Isobel's living room and feel like he wouldn't embarrass himself or Michael, if he put that effort in? Well...it would probably be wise. Sensible, even if Michael wanted to cringe in mortification that Alex might feel he needed armor to spend time with his sister. Though, right now his sister was in an understandably foul mood, vulnerable and upset. Now more than usual, she was guaranteed to make a snarky comment or embarrass Alex for not making an effort to look good. One of her, 'did you plan on matching or just couldn't find anything clean?' comments.
"Was...I suppose to be somewhere?" Michael asked with trepidation suddenly very aware he was in dusty jeans and a clean if not nice white t-shirt.
Alex blinks down at him, his mind switching tracks. There was something in his eyes that clearly said, yes Michael, but the he smiles warmly. "I was at the trailer. Waiting for you actually when I got your text. I thought..."
Michael blew out a breath that was half a wolf whistle. "Damn...probably better Sanders didn't get to see me drop to my knees. That ain't the kind of oil change he pays me for."
Alex let out a startled giggle, the rarest sound of them all not expecting that.
He doesn't ask Michael where he was and he's thankful for it. Plenty of time later for that awkward, horrible conversation. Michael unzips his jeans before Alex can throw on another protective layer, hiding the delight as the Manes conditioning takes hold. That joy, is his to keep, he thinks ardently.
"So beautiful. Classy too. I like it." Michael slides his hands beneath the red material and caresses the planes of his abs, pressing a little harder in that one spot. "And you know what black jeans do for me baby. And you in red. So hot." He leans up and kisses where his hands have been, Alex's fingers falling to his curls with a moan.
He cups him outlining the hard, hot shape of him just to tease, just because he can. In his own jeans he's throbbing, the zipper an almost painful pressure but oh he loves the soft whimper Alex makes into his panting mouth. Michael leaves his front to sculpt his hands to Alex's perfect thighs, fingers dragging at the back of his legs and Alex's hips jerk. He pushes the sweater up as he goes, laying his hand against the alien print.
Alex spine goes taut, before bending in a sensuous arch with a soft wail, hands cradling Michael's skull to keep Michael as close as possible. Michael pours love and devotion into that connection, uncaring about later for once, he makes Alex feel how much he adores him, how perfect he is in Michael's eyes, the bliss of having him in his arms.
Deciding, Michael scoots down a little on the couch and uses his powers to lift Alex up higher. He tips forward on his own on hand scrabbling at the small space on the wall between the art canvases, "Michael," Its not alarm in his voice, just surprise and lust, turned on further by Michael's blatant power use.
He's not wearing a belt, the jeans fitting so well Michael pulls them down slowly while Alex is lost to waves of emotion and adoration, then his boxers so he can finally get his mouth on him. Alex's moan is loud and honest as Michael sinks down as far as he can without choking. Alex cries out softly and clings to him, one hand still on the wall.
Michael knows exactly what Alex likes, what will bring him off fast or just make him forget everything else in universe. He alternates between a long slow suck and teasing the vein, tongue licking into the slit then around the flared head. Alex's back arches so far Michael is glad he has him telekinetically or he would fall. He doesn't know what to do with his knees, so Michael shifts again so he can drop one to the arm of the couch and push the other into the backrest. He can't fall, as Michael has him suspended.
Alex’s hand finally slides into his wayward wild curls, fingers sliding and winding through his whorls and he's so warm, so solid in his arms. The scent of him in his nose, clean and good, the taste of him so familiar. He's done this for Alex a million times, and yet each time its new. He revels in the tightening of Alex's pelvic muscles when the blunt head hits his soft palate, the moans, the way Alex's holding onto his head and bent over him stroking his curls almost feverishly, almost frantic in his caresses. The intimacy of the act, because Alex is never passive, never just takes. This between them is an act of love.
Michael presses the flat of his tongue fully against the pulsing vein along the base, causing Alex’s fingernails to bite into the back of his neck reflexively, his hips refusing to budge panicky over choking Michael. In response, Michael's mind goes white, sparks dancing along his vision. He moans, more vibration than sound really, hand snaking up to caress the hand print... and Alex... fucking wails.
This he thinks is his answer.
Rosa didn't get the life she deserved. His mom didn't. But he can make sure Alex does. Michael want desperately to good for someone, wants someone to keep him, rough cracked edges and all. And when Alex does this, forces Michael to stay close, body so honest with his wants, his voice and arms trying to shelter Michael from all the pain....all Michael wants is to give himself over to Alex.
Isobel thought he might shove Alex away in his pain and that wasn't a hard conclusion to come to. He does to that. Shove them out the door before they can hurt him more. Do it all on his own, because that's what works, that's what the knows.
But now....
Alex had been at his very worst, body broken and hurting. His soldier, was a captain of fucking independence more than the air force. He had vacillated with that need to struggle alone and yet had clung to Michael's hand down the corridor of the hospital, desperate to prove to himself he was still whole and desperate for Michael to hold onto him. It wasn't weakness to need help and receive it.
Michel had spent weeks, proving step by step, incrementally gaining ground in quiet victory. Alex now had no problems with asking Michael for his crutch, or letting Michael rub ointment into his stump. He let Michael bully him onto the bed or couch depending on whose place they were at, let him hand him an ice pack and worry over him. It had been hard work getting to that point.
And in doing that, Michael and unknotted some of his own problems. Claiming he could go alone when thy both knew he was heart-broken was stupid and hypocritical. It would undo all his work to earn a place as someone Alex could be totally honest with.
And he didn't want to. He wanted to curl up in Alex arms and get his shit together. He wanted to focus on Alex and being good for him. Because Alex, embraced all of him.
He pulls off of Alex and presses his forehead to Alex's quivering abs.
"Where did you go?" Alex asks breathlessly pulling him back from his abs, so he can look down in Michael's eyes.
Of course Alex noticed. Another bed partner would not but he does, so hyper-aware of Michael. "Thinkin' about you. How I couldn't do this without you." Michael tells him honestly, staring up into those dark eyes.
Lust gets sidelined in an instant, care and concern taking off. Alex caresses his face as if Michael is the finest porcelain and he kisses his forehead. "Always. You always have me."
Michael smiles up at him and then leans in to mouth at his cock again. Alex groans throatily "Michael. Less clothes. Want you."
Its tricky getting his jeans off carefully and then his prosthetic but Alex is impatient. At this point in their relationship taking off the leg follows his pants and its treated the same. Which is how Alex wants it. Alex peels off his jeans when Michael lowers him and Michael waiting for the signal, then pops the mechanism on his prosthetic, freeing his leg. Michael rapidly removes all his clothing while keeping Alex securely upright, until Alex swings his leg over Michael's thighs and straddles his lap like its a throne, a knee on either side. He's still wearing the sweater.
Michael kisses his sternum and then slides over to the handprint again. Resting his forehead against the pulsing connection is enough to have Alex shuddering. He pulls up the sweater mindful of the nice material, so he can lick over the sensitive nipple, then sets his teeth to it. The red wool brushes his nose as he tugs it up higher, Alex arching to throw it off, hips undulating. His name falls from Alex's lips in scattered cries as Michael lets him finally feel the lust just about held back by restraint.
Michael wraps him in his arms letting him breathe for a second, hands caressing every inch he can reach. He pays special attention to the pec not stained by a handprint until Alex is moaning, then switches, running his tongue back over the print.
Alex writhes. Sounds he has never heard before tumble free from Alex's throat. Words and his name bubble into the air, tinged with desperation.
Michael laughs softly into his neck and kisses Alex."Maybe I should be putting a hand on you more often?" He teases.
Alex's cock twitches at the idea and he whimpers. "Yes. I love feeling you." Alex gets out, voice wrecked already.
"Could put one anywhere." Michael continues, just to wind him up. The canvas of his body is on fully display, the hand print shimmering on his chest, those dark eyes smouldering. There is a bottle of lube stashed in the ceramic pot under the lamp. He grips Alex's muscular perfect ass and slides his fingers under so he can palm his taint as he undulates up, rubbing against the hot, hard line of Alex's cock. A broken moan is his answer.
"I don't want to not feel you." Alex gets out on a whine as Michael begins to scissor him open with lubed fingers. The tight hot velvet encasing his fingers has him humming as he kisses the underside of Alex's chin. "I know you're okay. I'm not alone..ah...our memories and...ah there...you're always with me...."
Did the link really mean that much to Alex? Michael thought shocked.
Michael crooked his fingers just right stroking along the bundle of nerves and Alex keened.
It was a difficult angle, but Michael with long practice, stroked and stretched the slick, aching heat of him until Alex lifted himself with a bitten off groan so he could take Michael in hand. "In me." Alex gasped, demanding. He took Michael with no hesitation, no time to adjust. Michael slid in to the hilt and Alex arched his back. Hands caressing restlessly, Alex waited the bare minimum before he took over. He rolled his hips sensually, rising and falling on the cock speared into him with more grace than Michael has ever managed. Michael kisses his chest lovingly, laves his tongue over the handprint, loving the sounds spilling from Alex's lips.
Love and lust twinned, wash over both of them. Michael twists his own hips just right so Alex's hands skitter for a moment across his skin, as pleasure spikes. Alex cradles his head in his hands, letting himself fully enjoy all the sensations, the indescribable pleasure and togetherness. They ride the waves together, in perfect tandem.
Climax almost comes as a surprise, Michael moaning into Alex's neck as he comes. Between the storm crashing over Michael across the open link and the wet hand working his own cock so perfectly, Alex follows with a jolt as lightning zips up his spine, crying out Michael's name.
He collapses forward into Michael, as every muscle in his body goes limp. Michael collapses deeper into the couch, grasping at Alex and breathing hard, pleasure still zinging along his nerves uncontrollably. "Alex, baby..." He breathes out in wonder.
When he has the brain function to remember who he is, his first worry is that he's crushing Michael, which is sweet but Michael is supremely comfortable with his face mashed to Alex's chest and has zero desire to part from his soldier. Helpfully Michael summons his t-shirt from the floor and wipes them down with a semblance of a plan to move them to the bed. Except Alex tugs him down, brown eyes barely open and hands demanding. "Sleep." He says on a yawn.
"Okay." That sounds fantastic actually, Michael thinks. Alex tips them sideways, telekinesis helping so they don't fall off. Alex moves so Michael is lying on top of him on the couch, making a pleased rumbling sound as Michael flattens him.
"I'm too heavy." He protests weakly. Alex seems to always like him resting in his arms, squishing him into the bed with his weight, head on his heart or buried in Alex's arms facing each until Michael eventually turns onto his back. It makes Alex happy.
Alex stuffs a cushion behind his head, seemingly indifferent to being naked. He just makes a sound of denial when Michael moves and throws his legs over Michael's, arms coming up and around Michael to holding him tightly in the cradle of his body.. Michael gives in and yawns. He snuggles down into Alex's embrace, using telekinesis to pull the blankets off the bed and wraps them into a cocoon.
The couch is miles more comfortable than the mattress in the trailer but its no good really for Alex. Sleep is important for Alex's pain management. Any attempt however to move more than a fraction from Alex, is denied by strong arms and a noise of sleepy protest.
Michael moves his feet over the other arm so he can lie with his head on Alex's chest and breathes in his scent. One of Alex's hands rests on the back of his head almost protectively, the other looping over his shoulders, his residual leg is stretched out along the back of the couch. He doesn't worry about them falling off the couch, both of them too used to the trailer bed and tiny bunks. Plus, Michael's mind will never allow Alex to fall.
The sound of Alex's heart lulls him into sleep, despite his fears of nightmares. In these arms he has a home after all, and all he needs is his Manes. Alex's nose is in his curls and his breath deepens into sleep, hands unforgiving tight on Michael, as he might fall or run.
Warm and happy, Michael smiles. Yes, he is home.
Later, he'll tell Alex about Rosa in the caves. Much later they'll have to figure how to stage Noah's body and do the funeral thing. He'll take Alex to Isobel's and he'll check on Max.
All of that is for a few hours Michael thinks, let the world keep its troubles for a little while longer.
In his arms, he has his soldier to finally keep. A home built for them by two souls forever entwined. His soldier came home to him after all. He'd like to reach back into the past and tell eighteen year old him, that one day ten years in the future, Alex Manes does come home and Michael is right there beside him. He'd like to tell him that things got better and that it is possible to be really happy, to feel safe and know you're wanted.
He'd tell that kid that Alex Manes chooses him, accepts for him for being a alien and really loves him. That the boy whose guitar he stole, will one day hold Michael as they sleep and proudly display a shimmering hand print of love shared.
Whoever he was, Michael sends a word of thanks to the nurse who called him that morning and told him that Captain Manes has been asking for him. Because he gave Michael both his heart and his home.
Michael kisses Alex's chest right over his heart. The hand cradling his head strokes his curls reflexively as Alex sleepily mumbles.
He's home.