Work Text:
October 2007
It’s just a normal Thursday in Roswell.
A normal Thursday, and Alex is making his way to AP Calc when Liz pops out of a storage closet, grabs his arm, and drags him in after her. A quip about not being into her like that dies on his tongue as his eyes adjust to the dark and he realizes just how many people are crammed into this tiny space. Isobel and Max Evans are glaring at him— well, Max is glaring at him, Isobel is glaring at all of them, Max, Liz and then Alex in turn. He doesn’t think he’s ever spoken to her, much less done something to earn that glare.
“What the hell, Liz,” he asks instead, rubbing his arm where her nails had dug into him.
“Did you drive to school today?”
“Yeah, of course. What—”
“Perfect, we need your help,” she says, decisively, gesturing over towards the Evans twins, and Isobel Evans’s glare turns towards her instead.
“You need me to drive you somewhere? Don’t you have cars?” Alex starts, at the same time Isobel Evans says:
“Listen, just because my idiot brother is dumb enough to trust you doesn't mean you can pull a rando into this—”
“He's not a rando, he's my best friend. There is no one else I trust more than him.” Liz sounds so confident, so sure, and a little bubble of warmth grows in Alex's stomach despite the confusion. “Look, you said this is urgent, and my sister took the car today. Alex can help.”
The Evans twins have some kind of freaky twin conversation with their eyes, and then eventually Isobel nods, arms crossed over her chest. “Okay, fine. If he even wants to help.”
“I’ll help,” Alex says, even though he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to. If Liz says it’s important, it is.
Which is how Alex ends up smuggling a feverish Michael Sanders out of the boys locker room and into the trunk of his fourth-hand station wagon. Isobel directs Alex towards Sander’s junk yard, which tracks, since that’s likely where Michael’s dad is during the day. That is, until they get there, and Isobel directs him over to a hole in the ground.
“I really think he should go to the hospital,” Alex says hesitantly, and Isobel wheels around to glare at him.
“No one asked you to think, baby Manes,” she snaps, and Alex bristles. “No hospitals. Just help us get him in there.”
‘There’ turns out to be some kind of old fallout shelter, outfitted with fans and— a bed? A futon, maybe.
“What the fuck is going on?” Alex snaps, one arm around Michael’s waist, and Micheal’s skin feels burning hot even through his clothes as he leans into Alex’s side, nose against Alex’s collarbones. “Is he high?”
“You smell nice,” Michael slurs, turning in towards Alex more, and Alex feels a weird surge of protectiveness. Are the Evans twins planning on locking him in here?
“Sure, let’s go with that,” Isobel huffs, and then turns her glare towards Max. “Handle this.”
“I will,” Max promises, hands deep in his pockets, rocking on his heels, looking for all the world like a scolded kid.
“You can’t just leave him in a hole in the ground!” Liz protests, and Alex feels a surge of relief, at least one other person here makes sense.
“They can and they will,” comes a gruff voice from above, and they look back up the ladder to see old man Sanders looking down at them. Alex’s hands ball into fists, and he never thought— nothing ever made him think Michael’s dad was anything like his, but who really knows? Who even knows what Jesse Manes is like, when Alex goes so far to hide it?
“No,” he hisses, arm tightening around Michael’s heavy frame. “You’re all fucking insane, I’ve been locked in a basement before, I’m not letting you do that to him—”
“We’re not your dad, kid,” Sanders calls down, a softer edge to his hard voice. “This is the best thing for him.”
“Locking people in boxes is never the best thing for them,” Alex shouts back. Michael flinches, turning away from the sound of the shout, and Alex feels a surge of guilt, mixing with the sour worry in his stomach.
Of all things, Sanders laughs. “Well, maybe there’s more of Tripp than Harlan in you after all.”
Alex’s blood runs cold. “How do you know those names?”
“Everyone in Roswell knows those names,” Sanders grumbles, shaking his head. “Look, he’ll be safe down there, and Isobel’s gonna hang out up here with me until she stops wanting to kill everyone who looks at him, so best you just get back to wherever you were before.”
Alex hesitates, looking over towards Michael. His eyes are glazed, but not like Rosa ever looks, when she’s out of it on something. He seems, more or less, cognisant. “Are you okay here?”
Michael nods, sighing. “S’nice. Cool. Dark. Safe.”
“Okay.”
It’s hard to make himself let go, but Isobel is there as soon as Alex does, a hundred times more gentle than she was even moments before as she helps guide Michael towards the futon. Alex looks over at Liz, and she looks as lost as he feels, giving a little helpless shrug. Max nods up at the ladder, and at a loss to do anything else, they follow him out.
_____
They reconvene later in the Otecho’s tiny cramped family room, Max and Alex and Liz sitting on the floor with a big pile of curly fries between them. Isobel, Max explains, won’t be joining them. Isobel’s going to stay and keep watch over Michael while he goes through some kind of— fucking Pon Farr or whatever. Because he’s an alien. Because all of them are aliens. They all hatched out of pods when they were seven years old and they have weird alien powers and weird alien sex drives. It’s the least believable story Alex has ever heard, until Max reaches out and heals a small scratch on Liz’s arm, acquired while climbing in and out of the fallout shelter.
It’s kinda hard to argue with it, after that.
“So, you're not really high school seniors?” Alex asks, picking nervously at the black polish on his thumbnail.
“I mean we are.” Max looks uncomfortable. “We're still the same people you grew up with. We’re just... not only that.”
“Where do you come from?” Liz asks, sounding much more collected than Alex feels. But she’s sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, like a barrier between her and the rest of them, so maybe she’s just better at faking it.
“We don’t really know,” Max admits with a shrug. “We don’t know much. Michael’s dad, Walt Sanders, he knew some of the survivors from the crash, before...” Here, Max trails off, eyes flickering over to Alex, and things click into place.
“The Air Force did something. Harlan Manes did something,” he fills in, and Max nods.
“We don’t know what. We don’t know much. Sanders was just a kid, he didn’t know much then, and that was a long time ago. But he kept an eye out for us, and then took Michael in when he could. Filled us all in on everything he knew.”
“But you must be so curious,” Liz says, excitement edging into her voice, that glimmer in her eye of a scientific puzzle laid out before her. “I mean, you’re from another world, you must want to know so much.”
“Michael does,” Max says, voice strained. “I know he does, though he’s real cagey about it. I dunno, I like just being a guy from Roswell. Please, you guys, you can’t tell anyone.”
“Of course,” Alex cuts in, before Liz can even speak. He’s so full of questions, about his family’s part in this story, and so full of fury too. How fucking typical, what a fucking Manes Man move, to pick on someone weaker than you. Resolve crystallizes in his chest. “We won’t. We’ll keep your secret. Right, Liz?” She nods, even though she’s got to be burning up with questions. Alex thinks for a minute Max is going to need more convincing, but his shoulders slump with relief.
And just like that, their social circle grows by three.
Isobel and Michael are back at school within two days, as if nothing happened. Maybe Michael seems a little sheepish, and Isobel a little extra bitchy, but that’s it. It’s weird, making space for new people, when it’s been Alex and Liz and Maria and Rosa against the world since the start of high school. But Liz and Max have been friends for a long time, and Michael, well—
Alex kind of always felt like Michael was watching him. Not in a creepy way, in the kind of way that made Alex feel flushed all over, pleased and embarrassed. A couple weeks into all of them eating lunch together, Michael steals Alex’s guitar from the music room. He makes some claim about wanting to learn to play, but Alex has the distinct impression that it’s Michael’s way of starting a friendship. It’s odd, but it works.
Michael works at his dad's junkyard in the mornings on weekends, and Alex works at the UFO emporium in the afternoons, so it’s hard to find time to hang out. But Michael never seems to mind just hanging around in the ticket booth while Alex is on the clock. It's never particularly busy, but it’s especially slow in the late fall, when most tourists can't be bothered to make the trek out to Alien Mecca or whatever. Alex usually spends the long empty hours of his shift doing homework, but he’d much rather spend it with Michael there, sitting on an overturned cleaning bucket, each of them sharing an earbud from Alex’s iPod. It’s Alex’s responsibility, he feels, to introduce Michael to literally any kind of music other than the old country western old man Sanders listens to and Isobel’s top 40 pop.
A couple weeks of Michael’s company eating up his homework time bring to life a very real concern that this new level of distraction might begin to affect Alex's grades. Alex is a decent student; he’s no Liz Ortecho, but he’s got a good head for numbers and skipping class is just an excuse for a beating so he doesn’t do it often. But he’s not good enough that failing to apply himself won’t leave him falling behind, except Michael is kind of freakishly smart, maybe smarter than Liz, and with absolutely none of her moral objections to letting other people copy off her work.
“Are all of you secret geniuses?” Alex asks one afternoon, when Michael casually explains a Calc problem Alex had been stuck on for hours.
“Have you met Max?” Michael asks, and Alex snickers.
“I mean, he's really into poetry. Maybe that's his kinda genius.”
Michael scoffs, and Alex wants to kiss him. That's been happening more and more when they spend time together, this fizzling nervous excitement and hunger in Alex's belly when his eyes drift down to Michael's mouth. It's scary, but like... normal scary. It’s the kind of scary you're supposed to feel when you like someone, he thinks, not the kind of scary Alex is used to, the ‘will even thinking about this leave me dead in the desert’ kind of scary. He thinks, maybe, Michael's looking back. But even if he's not, Alex is sure Michael means him no harm. Maybe it's the mutually assured destruction, the fact that Alex could do worse to Michael if it came down to it, but it doesn't feel like it.
It just feels like Michael is a good person.
And it's making Alex reckless, honestly. He lies to his dad about going to Maria's, because he knows Mimi will cover for him, and he and Michael drive out to the desert to play guitar. Michael hasn't been lying when he said he didn't know how to play, but he has a better ear for music than Alex does. He might not be able to read a chord sheet, but once Alex teaches him the chords and the most common progressions he can improvise around them startlingly well.
“You should join the jazz band,” Alex says one afternoon, half teasing and half serious. He's playing the melody for a Bright Eyes song, and Michael's improvising a harmony. Totally made up and a perfect fit. “I'm serious, you're really good at this.”
“I like playing,” Michael says pensively, swaying a little to bump his shoulder into Alex's. “It makes me feel quiet.”
Alex stops playing, resting his arm on top of his guitar to look at Michael. “Quiet?”
“Yeah, like I've got all this chaos inside of me all the time? But when I play, it's like my entropy changes. Everything goes quiet.”
He looks up at Alex, all big sincere hazel eyes, and Alex's breath catches. He wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him, he wants it so much, and it would be so easy, Michael's eyes flick down to Alex's lips. Alex wants to kiss him, and he’s pretty sure Michael wants that too. He starts to lean in, just barely, those warm fizzy nerves in stomach, and maybe this is it, maybe he'll finally, actually get to kiss a boy. Not just a boy, Michael, and—
Michael looks away, back down at his guitar.
Alex kind of wants to die of embarrassment, but he is still pretty sure the risk of actual death is minimal, so. At least there's that.
Humiliation and worry hang over him for the whole rest of the day and into the next. The feeling that he's irrevocably fucked up a friendship he’s barely got a chance to have sits like lead in his stomach, and it follows him to work the next morning. It sticks to him like glue until Michael swings by at his usual time, and a wave of clear relief washes over Alex. It turns to bewilderment when Michael drags him out of the ticket booth by his wrist, and then to something else altogether when Michael kisses him.
Alex's head spins, Michael's mouth warm and a little damp on his. It's really obvious that Michael knows what he's doing, and it's probably just as obvious that Alex has no idea. But it’s hard to dwell on it too much, with Michael’s hands warm on the sides of his neck, cupping his jaw. They break apart and Alex doesn’t know where to look, Michael’s eyes or his lips, starting to spread into a lopsided smile.
Michael’s still holding on to him, even as they both lean back in, and Alex reaches out himself this time, his stupid visor falling from numb fingers. He doesn’t know where to touch, Michael’s face, his arms, his shoulders, the softness of his curls, all of it— Alex wants all of it, even as Michael pushes up on his toes a little, changing the angle so Alex has to tip his face up into the kiss. His hands slide easily around Michael’s waist, pulling him close, pulling him in, and that— Michael’s body is solid against him, all flat planes and boyish scent and Alex has never gotten hard so fast in his life.
But—
“We can’t,” he gasps, pulling his mouth away from Michael’s with a slick sound that makes heat curl low in Alex’s belly. Michael’s looking stunned, a little bit like he’s been hit over the head with something, eyes fixed on Alex’s mouth. Michael wants him, Alex realizes with a rush, and the temptation to back Michael up against the display case of fake alien skeletons and kiss him until he forgets his own name is so intense it makes his head spin, but Alex knows they can’t. “My boss will absolutely tell my dad if he catches us here.”
“Okay,” Michael says, and then— licks against Alex’s bottom lip, and his fucking toes are curling in his shoes, god, that should be gross, why does it feel so good— “How long until you get off?”
“Uh—”
“Of work,” Michael supplies, and Alex’s face burns. He drops it to hide in the crook of Michael’s neck, but Michael’s still holding on to him, fingers digging into his shoulder, smile pressed against Alex’s temple. “When do you get out of work today?”
“I’m supposed to stay ‘til five,” Alex starts, and Michael makes a distressed little noise that Alex feels deep, deep sympathy with. “But I can maybe plead school work and get out early. No one fucking comes here in the winter.”
“My dad’s working on a big repair for Valenti,” Michael offers, and Alex bites his lip, nervous excitement in his belly. “Our house is going to be empty for a few more hours at least. We could go there?”
It’s a risk, but it’s worth it. Alex nods, and with a monumental effort, peels himself away.
Michael’s home is a prefab three room place; two tiny bedrooms and an open space that serves as kitchen and living room and a cramped little bathroom. It’s nothing like where Alex grew up, but oddly it reminds him of the Ortecho's place: small, and full of warmth and love. Michael’s obviously comfortable moving through the space, throwing his keys easily into a bowl on the TV stand by the front door, and holding his hand out in a sweeping gesture. “Welcome to Casa Sanders. Probably most things on the tables will get grease on you, so heads up about that.”
“So I’ll smell like you, is what you’re saying,” Alex flirts, tries to, and it must work because Michael reels him in, leaning against the back of the couch to pull Alex close for a kiss.
“I can’t wait to make you smell like me,” Michael murmurs against his mouth, and Alex’s stomach swoops. He thinks he’s getting the hang of kissing, until Michael’s hands work up the back of Alex’s vest and shirt, fingers against the skin of his lower back, and then he forgets how to think about anything at all.
They make it to Micheal’s room on clumsy feet, and Alex absolutely does not take in anything about the space beside the twin bed pushed under the window. Michael gets his vest off, and then pulls away to pull his own shirt up over his head and suddenly there’s so much skin and Alex’s nerves crash back over him in full force.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Yeah, but not like—” Michael hesitates, and Alex feels giddiness expand in the wake of the nerves.
“With a guy?” he offers, half on a laugh, and Michael shakes his head, hand coming up to stroke down Alex’s sternum.
“Yeah, and— not with someone I’ve liked, as much as I like you.”
Heart thudding in his chest, Alex leans back in, kissing Michael tenderly. He doesn’t know how to give the words back, tell Michael that he’s never liked anyone as much as he likes him, has never felt so openly, freely himself with another person. He doesn’t know how to say it with words, so he tries to say it with his body instead, stroking his fingers through Michael’s soft curls, touch his chest, his neck, his fingertips rubbing against a spot on Michael’s neck that makes him let out the sweetest, softest moan, head tipping to the side. Alex, able to recognize a request when he sees one, moves his mouth to the crook of Michael’s jaw, kissing down to the spot that has Michael arching against him.
“Oh,” Michael breathes out, clinging to Alex’s shirt. “That’s—”
“Okay?” Alex asks, nervous, and Michael laughs.
“So okay,” He promises, leaning in— not for a kiss, but to rest his forehead against Alex’s, breathing in deep. “Now you really smell like me.”
Alex doesn’t quite have the brainpower to put that one together, but it doesn’t matter. Michael’s tugging off his shirt, and then they’re tumbling backwards to fall onto Michael’s bed, shirtless and hungry. Alex is hard all over again, and he can feel that Michael is too, grinding on Alex’s thigh caught between his legs. They could probably get off like this, that seems like a conclusion they’re heading towards rapidly, at this point, except Michael’s pulling away, open need on his face.
“Would you—” He starts, and then seems to lose his nerve half way through. Michael’s been so confident this whole time, it’s weird to see him falter, it cuts through the fog of want in Alex’s brain.
“What?” he prompts, noses in to kiss at Michael’s neck again, since he seemed to like it so much. The reaction he gets is incredible, and seems to succeed in making Michael forget his nerves.
“I’ve never been with someone who knows I’m different,” Michael says in a rush, and Alex’s insides do something complicated, a weird twist of sympathy and pride and possessiveness. “And when I’m in heat, I always just want something inside me. I want to know what that’s like. If— I mean, if you want that.”
Alex bites his lip, trying really, really hard not to think too much about it, lest his over eager body rob him of the chance. “I really want that.”
It’s a bit of a surprise, when they finally get their pants off, and Alex finds Michael already slick between his cheeks— slick and opening easily under two fingers, and Alex knows that’s not normal for a human, but Michael looks he feels fucking amazing, so Alex just rolls with it. Puts on a condom with shaky fingers and sinks into the welcoming clutch of Michael’s body, slick and tight and hot. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt and he’s inside Michael, and Michael’s clinging to him, eyes blown black and so turned on he’s shaking.
It probably lasts about five minutes until they’re both coming, Michael first and Alex giving into the clench of muscles around him. But it feels like it rewrite’s Alex’s cellular make-up down to his DNA— he’ll never be the same person after this, and that’s not the sex. It’s Michael. The whole axis of Alex’s orbit recenters itself to the warm body trembling in his arms.
Nothing else will ever matter more than this.
_____
January 2008
Three months fly by like nothing.
Alex learns a lot about sex, learns a lot about Michael, too, and the difference in their biology. They try just about everything they can try, but Michael's built for bottoming. His body wants it, and though it’s fun to switch, and Alex likes the feeling of being full, it's hard to argue with how easy it is the other way around. It's fascinating, honestly, the way Michael gets all squirmy when he's turned on, the way his body responds to Alex. Half the time they can't manage to get further than hands down pants hidden in the desert, but the way Michael sounds when Alex gets his fingers down the back of Michael's jeans and finds him slick and open is truly life changing.
They're laying out under the desert sky after school one afternoon, satisfied and catching their breath, when Michael says, “My next heat is coming on soon. I think it’ll hit this weekend.”
“You can feel it?” Alex asks curiously, twisting a little so he can meet Michael's gaze.
“Kinda? I mean, usually when it’s coming I just feel super horny but, like,” he gestures between them, and Alex smiles shyly, pleased and embarrassed. “Kinda hard to tell that, right now. When I’m in the middle of it, the world feels really big and bright and scary, and I just want to be somewhere dark and safe. But before it really gets going, like right now, Iz and Max can smell it on me, I guess. I think our sense of smell is more advanced.”
Alex slides his fingers through Michael's, still not over how amazing it feels to touch him. “What do I smell like?”
“Right now, you smell happy,” Michael says thoughtfully. It's true, and Alex has no idea what to do with it, how happy it makes him to be around Michael. It's all he ever wants to do. “And like you want me.”
“I must smell like that a lot,” Alex mutters, nosing in to kiss Michael's soft mouth, once, twice, again.
“Mmhm,” Michael agrees, nudging his nose against Alex's until Alex smiles. “I dunno, you smell like Max, kinda? All humans do. Whatever makes Iz and I different, I don't think humans have it. But you don't have triads, so I guess that makes sense.”
“That's why she's so protective of you during your heat?”
“I don't know. It feels like...” Michael makes a frustrated noise, then shakes his head. “It just feels like she's supposed to be. That our triads are there to protect us until...”
“What?” Alex prompts, nudging his knee against Michael's when he stops talking.
“I don't know,” Michael sighs, and that frustration is still there, bleeding into his voice. “We don't have the words for it. There's not exactly anyone to teach us. My dad knows a little but he was like, seven years old when he knew my mom. She wasn't exactly explaining sexual biology to him. She just explained the triads as family units, like siblings but more, and not blood related. It just feels like Iz is supposed to protect me during heat, until there’s someone else to do it for her.”
Alex’s stomach drops. “Someone else like her,” he says, dully. That makes sense, probably. If the whole society is set up around triads, there’d be someone else, many someone else's, like Isobel, with her instincts and her biology, to fulfill Michael’s needs. Whatever Max is, if that’s what Alex is closest too, it’s not what Michael needs. He sits up, feeling a little dizzy all of a sudden, needing to put space between them.
“Hey, what?” Michael protests, sitting up too. “I don’t give a shit if you’re like Isobel or not. I like you, I like being with you. I really like having sex with you.”
“No, but Max only likes girls, right? It makes sense, if your reproductive biology means that—”
“The fuck, man? Are you, Alex Manes, talking to me about reproductive biology?” Michael snaps, indignant. “You’re fucking queer, well maybe I am too! We’ll never know, because all the aliens are dead! The only person like Isobel here is Isobel, and she’s my sister. And even if she wasn’t, you don’t get to tell me what I want.”
He’s glaring, full of stubborness, and it’s probably wrong that all Alex can think is how beautiful he is. How much he likes that fire in Michael. “You’re right,” he says, instead of continuing the fight. “I’m sorry. I just wish I could be what you need for this, whenever it hits.”
Michael sighs, laying back in the truck. He’s giving Alex a speculative look that makes his skin prickle in the best way, like Michael’s considering where best to lick him first. “I think you could be,” he says, voice a low rumble, and Alex turns to look at him more fully.
He’s spread out in a lazy sprawl, one arm up by his head, the other resting easily on his stomach, right above where his t-shirt is riding up. The skin on his belly is soft and pale, dusted lightly with hair, and Alex’s mouth waters with desire to taste that soft skin, nudge down the still open fly of Michael’s jeans and take Michael’s cock inside his mouth. He swallows, dragging his eyes up to Michael’s face. “Not to be a teenage boy about it, but a weekend of just sex sounds pretty great.”
Michael smiles, and Alex’s heart flutters. “Most of the time it just sucks, but— I think it could be great, if I wasn’t alone.” He reaches out, fingers catching on the hood of Alex’s sweatshirt and tugging until Alex rolls his eyes and lays back down again, the corrugated texture of the truck bed hard against his hip. “I think it could be really fun with you.”
Alex bites his lip, brain spinning even as Michael moves in to kiss him again. He kisses back automatically, and then when they part for air, he says, “Would Max’s parents cover for me?”
Michael pulls back, brows furrowed. “What, you mean— tell your dad you’re at Max’s for the weekend?”
“Yeah,” Alex breathes, nuzzling in, breathing the scent of desert rain that always lingered on Michael’s skin. It’s reckless, probably a really stupid idea, but— “C’mon, it’s not like my dad can even pretend that I’m sleeping with Max, when the whole town knows he’s been in love with Liz since he was nine years old. And the Evans’s are, like, respected. He wouldn’t throw a fit at them, lest they stop hosting charity fundraisers for the VA or whatever.”
“Alex,” Michael says, hesitant, his hand coming up to hover over the tender bruise on Alex’s shoulder, where he’s been so careful not to touch all afternoon. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”
“I’m going to get hurt anyway,” Alex says, matter of fact, and Michael blinks, startled. “It’s always going to be something with him, Sanders. I mean— why do you think I dress like I do?”
“Because you think Pete Wentz is sexy?”
“Well, I mean, he is,” Alex allows, tilting his head, and Michael snickers. “But at least I know what my dad’s going to go after. I got my nose pierced when Greg joined the Navy, because I knew he'd be pissed about that and I just— I wanted to know where the attacks were going to come from, you know?”
Michael’s hand falls to rest on Alex’s cheek, thumb coming up to brush against Alex’s septum piercing. “That’s really brave.”
“It’s survival.”
“It’s more than that,” Michael says, all sincerity and big hazel eyes. “You know I— I was never really after guitar lessons.”
“Gee,” Alex snorts out, laughing, “Really?”
“Yeah, fuck off,” Michael says easily, rolling forward until he can slot his knees between Alex’s, settle in close. “I just liked watching you. You’re so defiantly yourself, all the time. All I’ve ever known how to do is blend in.”
Alex looks down, away from the admiration on Michael’s face. “Blending in isn’t always an option.”
“Yeah,” Michael agrees, pushing forward until their foreheads are touching. “So you got brave instead.”
Alex wants to argue, Michael’s pride feels like warm water on frostbite— so much it hurts. He swallows instead, and says, “Then let me bravely be there for you.”
“Okay,” Michael whispers, voice quiet in the echoing silence of the desert, and Alex seals it with a kiss.
_____
It doesn’t take a lot of convincing to get Max and Isobel on board. Alex gets the impression that Isobel would give Michael just about anything if he can make a strong enough case for needing it, when it comes to heat. With all four of them working together, they can play it smart. Max puts on a big show with his parents about being worried about a history project and convinces them to call Alex’s father themselves and ask that he be allowed to stay over for the weekend to work on it. Alex makes sure to seem neutral on the prospect— if it’s not something it seems like he wants to do, then maybe his dad won’t think too much about it. Probably he’ll pay for it later, in some new and exciting way, but his dad agrees, and that’s all that matters.
All that’s left is to figure out what, exactly, Michael is going to need from him. Unfortunately asking Michael directly results in getting suggestively groped behind a shelf in the library and not much else, which, while exciting, isn’t exactly helpful. That leaves Alex with exactly one other option, and twelve hours to get Isobel Evans away from everyone else to ask her. He catches up with her in the parking lot after school, grabbing a hold of her elbow and pulling her off the path to Max’s jeep and towards his own car instead.
“Watch it, grabby,” she snaps, pulling herself from his grasp, arms crossing over her chest. “What do you want?”
She’s posturing, snappy and hostile the way Alex remembers her being last time. Protective, reacting to need within her triad. Alex takes a deep breath and lets his posture go docile, demuring, harmless. “Sorry, I just wanted to ask, is there anything I should know before this weekend? Things Michael might not think to tell me to bring?
“Water bottles and protein bars?” Isobel offers, giving him a flat look, and Alex rolls his eyes.
“Not funny.”
“I don’t know, Alex. He’s my brother, I actively try not to think about what he needs during sex. That’s your job. And it seems like you're doing a fantastic job of it, judging the way he drives back into town with a dopey smile on his face everytime you both disappear off into the desert, so. Just do that, but more.”
“This is different though,” Alex says stubbornly, setting his jaw. God, he probably looks like his father. With conscious effort, he makes himself relax again, keeps his posture placating. “What does he need, Isobel?”
Her nostrils flare, and he remembers what Michael said about their sense of smells, how they can pick up emotions on other people’s scent. The idea of being able to be read in a way he can’t understand, can’t control or anticipate, makes all of the danger bells go off in the back of Alex’s head. The part of him that’s been conditioned to look for and anticipate negative reactions is standing on high alert, trying to adapt to a new set of circumstances.
But whatever Isobel’s getting off him must be deemed acceptable, because she uncrosses her arms from her chest, slipping off her queen bee persona like a mask. Alex blinks, and then she’s just a girl his age, looking a little unsure. A little scared. “If I was— trying to take care of someone like that. I’d bring them things that were soft, that smelled like me. That’s probably what he wants.”
“Like, clothes?”
“Hoodies, maybe? You’re into that whole I-wore-this-to-Warped-Tour aesthetic, right?” Alex rolls his eyes. As if his father would ever let him go to Warped Tour. “But more like blankets, I guess? If you can manage it.”
Hoodies would definitely be easier to smuggle out of the house than blankets, but Alex could try. For Michael, he would try. “Okay, I can do that.”
“And I was kidding about the protein bars, Michael’s dad will definitely make sure you guys have food, but like. I dunno, I’d want to bring food, something to share.”
“Okay, so ‘provide and protect’? That’s the picture I’m getting.”
“I mean, yeah, basically.” She shrugs, raising her chin in a challenge, fierce and direct. “Too weird for you, baby Manes?”
He meets the challenge head on. Isobel Evans is nothing on the spectrum of things Alex has faced down. “It’s Michael,” he says simply, tugging the sleeves of his shirt down over his hands. “I want to do this right, whatever that means.”
Somehow, that seems to be the right answer. She nods once, and then says, “Oh, and bring acetone.”
“Like— nail polish remover?”
She tips her chin down towards the black polish on his fingernails, just poking out from his sleeve. “Sure, you’ve got some right? Just make sure it’s the pure acetone kind. But drinking it helps us with pain.”
“You drink— Sure, okay, I don’t know why that’s the weird thing here. Yeah, I can bring some.”
Isobel nods once, and turns away from him. Alex lets out a breath, tipping his forehead forward against the door of his car. He’s sure he’s in the clear, before she wheels around and says, “Oh, yeah, and condoms. Definitely practice safe sex, last thing we need is you knocking him up and having to explain that to a human doctor. Wrap it before you—”
“Okay, Isobel, I got it,” he cuts in, face burning. She gives a perky little grin and a definitely not regulation salute, pony tail bobbing, and then flounces away. Alex contemplates death, and celibacy, and then gets into his car to go buy nail polish remover and condoms.
_____
Hoodies, and blankets.
The reality is, Alex doesn’t have much that smells like him that wouldn’t be missed. He’s not under the illusion that his dad won’t go picking through his room this weekend. Alex has been taught better than that: when your enemy provides you an opening to gather intel, you exploit it. He’s half tempted to leave a box of condoms behind on purpose for his dad to find, just so he can anticipate what form the rage will take, but the reality is something like that might provoke a strong enough reaction to have his dad marching down to the Evans’s to check on him. It will be a miracle if he doesn’t manufacture a reason to do it anyway— best not to leave him one outright.
So he can leave the condoms and the nail polish remover stashed in the glove compartment of his car, but he needs things that smell like him that won’t be missed. He stays awake until an hour after he hears his father’s door close, and then another thirty minutes just to be safe, and then slips out of bed. All of the sheets in the house are the same, basic white cotton, and he’s been expected to make his bed to pass military inspection since he was ten years old. He can do it quickly, and quietly, and it’s easy enough to slip the used sheets into the bottom of his duffle, and layer some black hoodies on top of them, and some school things on top of that, then finally the clothes he’d need, if he really were sleeping over at Max’s for two nights.
He doesn’t expect to need much in the way of clothes where he’s really going, but it does have the advantage of adding additional cover.
The weekday expectation is that he will be dressed and downstairs before Jesse leaves for the base in the morning. When there were more of them in the house, it was the job of the oldest to make sure everyone was fed, but it’s just Alex left, and he doesn’t feel like eating. He’s sitting (slouching) at the table by the door when Jesse walks down, his duffle sitting on top of his skateboard at his feet. Jesse’s eyes rake over him, taking in his shitty posture and the bike-chain necklace he’s wearing, the chipped black paint on his fingers, and his canvas shoes decorated with Rosa Ortecho’s bleeding roses.
“On your feet,” Jesse snaps, and Alex sighs loudly, putting on a show of standing slowly.
“What? I need to go pick up Maria before school, Mimi can’t drive her in today.”
“Open your bag,” Jesse says, voice flat, and Alex’s heart starts racing. There’s no reason he could possibly offer to be bringing his sheets to school. A normal kid might be able to get away with bringing a pillow to a sleepover, but Alex has been taught to sleep on the bare ground since he was a child— any pillow is a luxury, in Jesse Manes’s world.
Anger covers fear, though. Alex is angry all the time. He rolls his eyes and tosses the military duffle down onto the table. “Open it your own damn self.”
He’s expecting it when Jesse’s hand cracks across his mouth; not hard enough to hurt even, though it still sends a spike of shocked adrenaline coursing through Alex’s system. Certainly not hard enough to split his lip or leave it swollen, but enough to remind Alex those things could happen. Have happened. “Watch your language when you're talking to your superiors.”
It’s a fine line. Mouth off too much, and Jesse will make him turn the bag over item by item. Put up no resistance at all, and Jesse will be suspicious about what he’s trying to hide. Alex stays silent, but rolls his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest, making it clear he’s not going to open the bag himself. It’s the level of resistance he would offer even if he had nothing to hide, and Jesse seems to take it as such. He zips open the duffle and turns over the layer clothes to see the row of textbooks and Alex’s second hand laptop sitting at the bottom. He doesn’t move them, and the sheets stay hidden as he zips it up.
“The Evans’s are good people. Honest, hard working Amercians—”
“Rich, white Republicans,” Alex translates out aloud.
“—and if I have any reason to think that you are taking advantage of their kindness, I will drag you back to this house by that ring in your nose. Are we clear?”
Alex picks up the strap of the bag, pulling it over his shoulders with a sarcastic, “Sir, yes, sir.”
He does swing by Maria’s, even though he has no idea what Mimi’s actual plans are for the day. But Maria is always happy to have a ride to school that isn’t in her mom’s truck, so he sits in the DeLuca kitchen and lets himself be plied with cinnamon sugar toast until Maria’s ready to go, and they drive to school together, aux cable plugged into Maria’s MP3 player and the volume cranked up. It feels like an auspiciously good way to start the morning.
Michael isn’t at school, but Isobel is.
“Relax, he’s just taking a quiet day,” Isobel explains when Alex corners her outside her home room for an explanation. “He’s fine, but the last thing we need is another locker room situation, so his dad called him out today.”
“Should I go now—”
“No, dummy! What you should do is exactly what we planned. Drive your car to our place after school, hang out with Max and actually work on your project for a couple hours where my parents can see it, and then I’ll take you out to the Junkyard. Someone will definitely notice if you miss a whole day of classes.”
She’s right of course. Still... “My dad might come poking by your place this weekend.”
“If he does, I’ll send him away before he gets to the front door. Make him remember something else he needs to do more.”
“No part of my dad wants to trust me, Iz.”
“Alex,” she says, and her voice is softer, kinder, than he’s ever heard directed towards him. She only ever talks to Max or Michael like this. “I’m trusting Michael with you this weekend, but I’m still going to protect him. And that means protecting you, too. Okay?”
Alex has no idea what to do with that. No one’s ever protected him before. “Okay.”
“Besides, Maria and Liz and Rosa are all coming over tomorrow. Between there being so many teenagers in the house, and my powers, my parents literally won’t notice you’re not there.”
“I’m kind of jealous to miss out on the party,” he jokes and Isobel rolls her eyes.
“That won’t last,” she promises, reaching up to condescending pat his cheek. “But we can do it again sometime.”
_____
It’s well past sun down by the time Isobel pulls into the junkyard.
Michael’s father is hovering around near where the hole to the bunker is, and Alex looks over at Isobel questioningly. “And you’re for sure not going to stay.”
“No,” she says, a thoughtful look on her face. “It doesn’t feel like I have to. He’s not going to be alone.”
Alex shakes his head. “I wish you had words for literally any of this.”
“Me too, baby Manes.”
It’s a calculated risk. Everything is a calculated risk. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Alex says, looking down at his hands, but he can still see Isobel looking over at him in surprise from his periphery. “No one hates my family more than me, okay? What do I have to do to stop being a Manes to you?”
“Keep turning up, I guess.”
“I can do that,” he says, and she nods, serious.
It feels like such a weird, adult moment, and then Alex is collectinging his things from her trunk, and the nerves kick up again. The responsibility of taking care of another living being when they’re vulnerable— it’s a lot, but he knows he can do it. He’ll be eighteen this year, old enough to vote, old enough to go to war. He can handle a weekend.
A whole weekend of Michael, no interruptions or distractions, beyond whatever Michael’s biology throws at them. They’ve never had that kind of time before. Alex smiles a little to himself, can’t help it, as excitement joins the nerves. It’s Michael, and Alex likes him so much, he could spend a whole weekend watching him pick out chords on a guitar or listening to him talk about spaceships or complex irrigation systems, literally anything. Just to be next to him for two whole days feels too good to be true.
Sanders is waiting at the door to the bunker, and it’s hard to read his expression with one eye and a face that’s seen too much sun, but Alex is about to go fuck his son for 48 hours, so— best to be polite. “Evening, sir.”
Sanders scoffs. “Yeah, okay, none of that. I already told you, I’m not your dad, kid.”
Alex pauses, stays quiet, assessing. Eventually he says, “I’ll take care of him. Michael, I mean.”
“I’m sure you’ll do your best,” Sanders grumbles, and Alex frowns, but Sanders waves him down. “Don’t look like that, I just mean you’re a kid too. There’s only so much you can do. I wish I had more to offer either of you than privacy and food, but— that’s my son down there. I’d do anything for him, you get me?”
“Yes,” Alex says, throat dry. He can’t imagine what it’s like to be loved like that.
“And that means as long as you’re good to him, I’ll do it for you too.”
It’s the same sentiment Isobel expressed, and Alex still has no idea what to make of it. All he can do is nod, and wait for Sanders to haul open the door to the bunker. Climbing down with all his shit is kind of awkward, but he can feel the familiar cushion of Michael’s powers against his body before he’s halfway down the ladder, supporting him as he makes his way down.
“Hey,” Michael’s voice carries up to him, loud enough to be heard over the sound of the bunker swinging closed.
“Hi,” Alex calls back, turning from the ladder to take in the four walls which will contain the next two days of his life.
Alex hadn’t really gotten to take a good look around the last time he was down here, too confused and hopped up on adrenaline. He looks around curiously now. It’s like something of a mix between a bedroom and a workshop— tables and cabinets line one side of the bunker, scattered with sheets of paper and glowing luminous chunks of some material Alex has never seen before. The walls are plastered with maps of the night’s sky, photographs, and old newspaper clippings. All of it gives the impression of some kind of sci fi lair— which is kind of exactly what it is.
Michael’s sitting on the other side of the room, cross-legged on the old futon, spread out in bed form, with Greg’s old guitar propped up on his knee. Alex smiles a little shyly at him, duffle slung over his shoulder, the drugstore bag in one hand. “I like your Batcave.”
Michael grins, setting the borrowed guitar aside and standing up. He’s sockfooted, wearing a loose t-shirt and some flannel pajama pants and he looks so soft to the touch, Alex wants to touch him so much— and there’s no reason not to. Michael meets him halfway across the room, his arms coming up to wrap around Alex’s waist while Alex’s curl around his shoulders, pulling him close. Michael leans into him, face against the collar of Alex’s shirt, breathing deep, and Alex strokes his free hand up into Michael’s soft curls. His skin feels hot; he always runs hot but it’s more noticeable now.
“How are you feeling?” Alex asks, a soft murmur next to Michael’s ear, and he can feel Michael shiver in response, pushing in even closer until they’re touching all the way down to their knees.
“So much better now that you’re here.”
“I, um— brought you some stuff,” Alex says, half a question, and Michael backs off, a curious look on his face.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Alex laughs, that same shyness still stuck to him. “I did ask Isobel for advice, so if I got this wrong it’s because of her and not my fault.”
“Excellent, just what sisters are for.” Michael’s fingers hook in Alex’s belt loops, tugging him forward by his hips until they stumble into the futon, twin smiles on their faces as they sit, knees tangled.
First, he fishes in the pharmacy bag, holding out the two bottles of nail polish remover. “If you’re actually gonna drink that, you better have a toothbrush down here, or I will not be kissing you after.”
Michael laughs, taking them from Alex’s hands. “Will swishing with water be enough?”
Alex tilts his head, thinking. “Guess we’ll find out. If I die from acetone poisoning, I will haunt you.”
“Deal.”
“How’d you even find out you could drink that anyway?”
“It smells good,” Michael says with a shrug, reaching out to take one of Alex’s hands, playing with his fingers. “Sometimes I can smell it on you, if you’ve just taken your polish off. Makes me want to suck it off your fingers.”
Alex swallows. It’s starting to sink in that he’s here for a whole weekend of sex, Michael’s eyes hot and fixated on him. “Um,” he says intelligently, and Michael smiles, leaning in enough to kiss his cheek, and Alex is fucking blushing. He dumps the rest of the contents of the bag onto the futon just to have something to do, two boxes of condoms and a giant family pack of trail mix and a box of granola bars tumbling out. “Food options were limited at the CVS, sorry.”
“You brought me food?” Michael says, and he sounds— soft, and vulnerable, surprise written on his face when Alex looks up.
“Yeah, and also— hang on.” Alex drags over his duffle, nudging all the extra shit away to pull out armfuls of hoodies and sheets. “Um. Iz said you might want this? Hope it’s not weird.”
“No, it’s perfect. You have no idea how much I just want to roll around in your scent right now. Budge up so I can spread it all out.” Alex does, watching in fascination as Michael sets to work with the pile of fabric. He doesn’t use the sheets as sheets so much as sort of pile them in a kind of nest, pinned under pillows until he can flop back into the pile without stuff moving around too much, curls spilling all over the place. Dreamily, he says, “This is amazing.”
“I’m glad,” Alex says hesitantly, perching on the edge of the futon with his hands tucked between his knees. Michael’s looking at him, and Alex looks back, taking him in.
“You’re not wearing eyeliner,” Michael observes, reaching out to catch a hold of the edge of Alex’s shirt.
“Yeah, I took it off at the Evans’s. Figured it’d just end up smeared everywhere, so.” He shrugs.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without it,” Michael says, knuckles brushing against Alex’s hip.
“You definitely have, we’ve been going to school together since we were nine.”
“Doesn’t count,” Michael says confidently, fingers tugging a little more insistently at Alex’s shirt. “Hey, c’mere.”
Alex toes off his Vans and goes, settling down into the pile of fabric next to Michael’s warm, pliant body. “Hey,” he murmurs, once they’re nose to nose, hand sliding up the back of Michael’s loose t-shirt to pet the skin of his lower back, slightly tacky with sweat.
Michael makes a soft, pleased sound, tipping his head to the side in a now-familiar gesture. Alex smiles as he drags his nose down Michael’s cheek to rub his face against the sweet spot on Michael’s neck. It feels noticeably hotter than the rest of his skin, and Alex pulls back to look, curious. There’s some slight swelling visible, a redness to the skin. Alex brushes his thumb against it, and Michael moans, melting back into the futon.
“More sensitive than normal?” Alex asks, and Michael nods, rolling his head to meet Alex’s gaze on a slow blink.
“Everything is,” he breathes out, fingers twisting in Alex’s shirt. “I can feel my shirt rubbing on my nipples. It’s so much, I’m losing it.”
Curious, Alex smooths his palm down across Michael’s chest to rub at a nipple. Michael’s whole body jerks in reaction, and Alex swallows. He wasn’t sure if they’d hang out for a bit, or just get right to it, but— he’s here for Michael, whatever that means. “Want me to get you off?”
Michael makes a sweet little sound that Alex has never heard before, almost a trill, rolling in towards Alex’s body. “I just want to be close right now.”
“Okay,” Alex agrees, and then— “Want to be close and shirtless?”
“You have the best ideas,” Michael sighs, already wriggling out of his t-shirt, and Alex follows suit, stripping his sweater up over his head. It’d be a little chilly in the bunker, if Michael wasn’t radiating heat, but as it stands it’s the perfect excuse to scoot in close and press their bodies together, get Michael into his arms and hold him. They haven’t even kissed yet, and Alex remedies that with a sweet hello kiss, warm and easy.
“Is it weird that I missed you?” Michael asks when they break apart, Alex’s fingers sifting softly through his curls. “I saw you yesterday.”
“I think you get a pass for weird feelings,” Alex points out, teasing. “Given the weird alien hormones causing them.”
“Not weird to me,” Michael hums, eyes sliding shut as Alex’s nails drag gently on his scalp. “Only hormones I’ve ever had.”
Alex doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just kisses him instead. Making out for hours is a comfortable space for them, and Alex falls into it easily. Little differences register in Alex’s brain, small changes in feeling or behavior. Between the two of them, Michael has more experience with sex, and he’s never been shy about sharing what he knows. It’s one of Alex’s favorite things about being with him, actually, he never makes Alex feel bad for being new to something, or treats it like getting a first is a bigger deal than it actually is. Michael’s taught Alex about sex the same way Alex taught him to play guitar: eagerly, for the joy of getting to do it together.
He’s always responded positively when Alex felt confident enough to nudge them in one direction or another, sweetly eager with Alex’s hand in his hair or Alex’s leg between his. Now, though, it’s more than that. He’s pliant and yielding, like would never occur to him to try and lead Alex anywhere. It’s equal parts nervewracking and hot, the way Michael is just opening up to him, mouth warm and inviting, holding Alex in the cradle of his hips like he’s never wanted anything more than Alex’s weight pinning him to the futon.
Alex has spent his whole life clinging to scraps of control, trying to direct his father’s rage and cruelty when he can and grasping for a future that feels worth living for, and here Michael’s handing him all of it. He feels dizzy; he feels powerful. He feels so fucking in love.
Michael, who’s making soft sounds of need into Alex’s mouth, trembling with every pass of Alex’s tongue between his open lips. “Michael,” Alex murmurs tenderly, touching him tenderly, trying to write that tenderness into his very skin. Michael whimpers, a hurt little sound, hips rolling under Alex’s weight. He’s hard, they both are, but he’s not moving like he’s trying to get friction on his dick. “What do you need?”
“Fuck me, need— god, fuck me, Alex. Please, please, please, I need it.”
The words come pouring out like something uncorked inside Michael, and Alex does the best he can to give him what he’s asking for. Getting them both out of their pants is a challenge, getting out of skinny jeans is always a challenge frankly, and Michael’s too squirmy to be very helpful. As soon he’s free of the flannel bottoms, Michael’s rolling over, braced on his knees with his head and shoulders down against the bed, ass on display.
It’s— holy fuck.
Alex reaches forward, fascinated, to pull Michael’s cheeks apart with his thumbs. The rim of Michael’s hole is slick, red and gaping, like he’s already taken something inside him. The slick is everywhere, really, a slow lazy drip making its way down towards where his balls are drawn up tight against his body. Captivated, Alex nudges his thumb forward to rub gently at Michael’s hole, feeling the muscle tighten weaky and relax under his fingers, drawing a reedy moan from inside Michael’s chest.
“You’re so open,” Alex murmurs, and Michael shudders under him.
“Feels empty,” he moans, and Alex blinks, the note of distress breaking through his sex-drunk brain. “Please, Alex.”
“Yeah, I— just hold on, I’m here.” With clumsy fingers he scrambles for one of the boxes of condoms. Stupid fucking cardboard puzzle boxes, he can’t get the fucking thing open and ends up just ripping off part of it, scattering little foil packets on the floor, but he gets ahold of one, and that’s what matters. Rips it open with this teeth, vaguely remembering that you’re not supposed to do that and then discarding the thought, rolling the fucking thing on with all of the will power he has, and thank god he’s been having sex for three months, thank god, or this would all be over in seconds.
It still might be, with the sound Michael makes as Alex sinks into him, all the way in, buried to the root in the inhuman heat of Michael’s body. A ragged sound tears from Alex’s throat, gripping Michael’s hips desperately, fully seated inside his body. Michael is boneless, yielding and pliant beneath him, and god the sounds he makes when Alex starts to move inside him. He tries to be good at it, tries to take what he’s learned and apply it, adjust the angles of their bodies so he’s aiming right, dragging over Michael’s prostate. It— honestly doesn’t seem to matter much. Michael’s reactions are just one long, starving torrent of need, and as long as Alex is in him, that need seems to be met.
He knows, knows within minutes, that he’s not going to be able to last as long as Michael needs, at least not this time. It would bruise his ego, except his laughably human dick has never been asked to rise to an occasional like this before, and fuck— it’s not like he won’t get another chance to prove himself, and soon.
“Michael,” he pants out, voice strained. There’s sweat prickling at his hairline, threatening to slide down into his eyes, Michael’s body is so hot and Alex is losing it. “I’m gonna— do you want me to come inside you?”
It’s like he’s touched Michael’s dick, the reaction he gets to those words, Michael clamps down on him and keens out loud. “Please, please, please, give it to me.”
Literally nothing in the world could hold Alex back after that. Hands sliding on Michael’s sweat slick skin, he fucks in once, twice, again, and gives in to the pleasure blooming inside him, a bright crest and break as he spills into the condom deep inside. Michael moans in sympathy, clenching down on him, and Alex tries to reassure him, ends up just patting awkwardly at the small of his back, his coordination shot.
“No, no, no,” Michael sobs, as Alex starts to slip out, gone soft. There’s a real edge of distress in his voice and Alex has no idea what to do, panic kicking up, burning away the fog of afterglow. “No, don’t go, I need it, Alex.”
“I’m here,” Alex reassures, dealing with the condom quickly and tying it off, tossing it somewhere in the direction of his abandoned pharmacy bag, a problem for later. With trembling hands, he pets his palm over Michael’s heaving flank. “Hey, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. What— what’s happening?”
“Too empty,” Michael whimpers, grinding his face against Alex’s sheets, shifting his balance until he can reach one hand helplessly back to slide two fingers in.
“Hey, I can do that,” Alex murmurs, shifting position until he’s seated between Michael’s spread thighs. Gently he guides Michael’s fingers free, replacing them with two of his own, sinking in easily with no resistance at all, all the way up to the join of his hand. “Better?”
“Better,” Michael agrees, pulling his arm back up to brace again, riding back onto Alex’s fingers. “Can you— More?”
“Yeah, shh, I got you,” Alex soothes, pulling out enough to slide his ring finger in, easily, still so easy. “God, Michael. How are you feeling?”
Michael just moans, weaky. “I just want to keep you inside me.” Alex’s spent dick throbs weakly, a sharp pang of oversensitivity, no way he can get hard again this soon but that’s not going to stop his body from trying. He concentrates instead on rubbing his fingertips down, feeling for the swell of Michael’s prostate. It feels more prominent than it usually does, like the gland in his neck, and Alex can only hope that’s normal. It makes it easier to find, at any rate, ringing soft sounds of pleasure out of Michael. His voice is ragged when he speaks, “Can you— more?”
Alex blinks, looking at where he’s sinking three fingers deep into Michael’s body. “That’s— are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Michael pants, and Alex wishes for the first time that he could see Michael’s face. “Need it.”
Carefully, Alex tucks his fingers together in a bunch and slides them forward, pushing into Michael’s body. There’s slick dripping down his wrist, everything is so wet, and he’s still not meeting any resistance to speak of. He pushes into the swell of the knuckles, and then, heart slamming in his throat, past it, and in, until half his hand is disappearing inside Michael’s hole.
“Fuck, oh fuck, oh—” Michael chants, rocking back, and then— “More, please, more—”
“I can’t— more is my whole hand, Michael.”
“I can take it,” Michael pants, and Alex is left to wonder briefly if he can take it. If his own overworked nervous system can handle anymore of this. But, he promised to give Michael whatever he needs, so.
“Okay,” he breathes, holding Michael steady with his other hand, carefully pulling back enough to tuck his thumb in against the palm of his hand. “Okay, just— tell me if it hurts.”
“Nothing hurts,” Michael breathes out, rolling his head against the bed. “God, Alex, nothing hurts at all.”
“Okay,” Alex repeats, and pushes forward, heart in his throat. He sinks in, impossibly, fuck, this shouldn’t be possible, but Michael’s taking it.
Some instinct, flash of inspiration or just dumb fucking luck, has him curling his hand into a fist and Michael makes a soft, broken little noise, his whole body tensing as he comes in pulses, the muscles at his rim locking down hard around Alex’s wrist.
“Oh, fuck— what? Oh, fuck,” Michael pants, barely staying upright, muscles all over his body shaking. “I’ve— I’m— Alex—”
Bewilderment is curling in Michael's voice, reacting like didn't expect this, and that is... unsettling. Something protective stirs deep in Alex's belly, and he doesn’t freak out, because Michael needs him not to freak out. He can’t, there’s no possible way he can get his hand free right now, with the way Michael’s locked down on him, but Michael looks like he’s about to fall over. “Hey, let’s get you down on your side, okay?”
“Yeah, just— don’t pull out?”
“I literally can’t,” Alex says, an edge of hysteria in his voice, and he tamps it down. He helps guide Michael over on to his side, one leg pressed forward to leave space for Alex’s whole fucking hand, and settles in as close as he can get, head resting on the soft dip between Michael’s ribs and his hipbones. Nervous, he asks, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m real good. Fuck, I’ve never felt this before,” Michael sighs out, reaching a hand down to clumsy pat at Alex’s head. He sounds more coherent, anyway, like whatever had a stranglehold of his brain has let up. “God, Alex, it feels like I’m still coming, this is insane.”
“It’s not usually like this?”
“How would it be, how could I have been able to get a whole fist inside myself on my own?” Michael asks, breathless, almost laughing. “Usually it’s just that feeling of like— aching emptiness in waves, and getting off helps but it never really goes away, until the whole thing is over.”
Alex takes a breath and lets it out slowly, releasing the stranglehold on his own panic. At least it doesn't sound like he's broken Michael, so— that’s good. “That sounds pretty miserable.”
“I thought I was getting used to it, but this is so much better,” Michael sighs, his graceless patting turning into something more purposeful, fingers sliding through the short hair at the back of Alex’s neck. It feels really nice, and Alex lets it calm him, guide him into the afterglow he missed. The grip on his wrist is loosening in increments, and he gets the sense there’s not much to do but wait it out.
Eventually he is able to slide his hand free. Michael makes a soft, unhappy sound at it, but he takes the opportunity to roll over onto his back and stretch, so it must be okay. Alex sits watching him reach his fingers and toes to opposite sides of the futon, feeling totally out of his depth with this, all of it. God, Michael’s so beautiful, and Alex is an awkward human teenage boy whose only known what to do with his dick for a handful of months, why did he ever think he was up to this—
“Are you freakin’ out?” Michael asks, and he sounds more curious than bothered by the prospect, which is reassuring somehow.
“Maybe a little,” Alex admits, and Michael nods, rolling onto his side with one arm propping up his head.
“I really didn’t know that was even a thing or I would have warned you.”
“I know,” Alex sighs, flexing his tacky hand a little. There’s a stack of towels near the edge of the futon and he reaches for one to wipe himself off, offering it to Michael who looks at it distastefully, but does a cursory wipedown anyway. Then he reaches for Alex, tugging him down into the pile of fabric, sprawling out and pushing in and arranging Alex’s limbs until he hums with contentment, settling his cheek against Alex’s shoulder. Amused, Alex asks, “You good?”
“Yes,” Michael says decisively, and then, softer. “It was really good, Alex. I’m sorry I freaked you out, but it was really, really good.”
“Oh,” Alex swallows, looking down at the top of Michael’s head, at the riot of curls, dark brown streaked with gold. “Well, that is why I’m here.”
“See, you are brave,” Michael mutters, sounding half asleep, and Alex’s heart tries to crawl up out of his chest. He can just strain down enough to press a kiss to Michael’s curls, and breathe in the scent of rain in the desert that always clings to him.
_____
It’s hard to track time in the bunker, especially when they’re sleeping in broken chunks. Michael had been right when he said it comes in waves, need building in Michael’s body until it spilled over and drew them together again. Alex’s system couldn’t quite keep up, but the trick with his hand seemed to solve that problem and a whole other one besides, so. They're figuring it out. And in between, they catch snatches of sleep and eat and talk.
They’ve never talked so much, sitting naked together and sharing bits of themselves, hopes and dreams and fears. Michael talks about the agricultural engineering program at UNM, one of his usual favorite topics, but this time he admits the source of his interest, shares a story third hand about his mother and Louise making the crops on the Long farm grow. Alex listens, and admits to Michael how hard he finds it to think about the future, how it feels his whole life has led up to high school graduation, and in five months time, that'll be over. Michael asks him what he'd do, if he could do anything, and all Alex can think of is music.
Once the weirdness of it fades, it’s surprisingly easy to just— adapt.
There’s a spill of sunlight into the bunker at one point, when Michael’s dad lowers down a basket of food, and thank god they’re in a lull between waves of the heat at that moment, or Alex might just have to live down here forever in embarrassment. But as it is, they eat and then they fuck and then they fall asleep again, and Alex doesn’t worry too much about the sunlight. It’s probably still Saturday. He’s probably still fine. Isobel and old man Sanders promised to lookout for him, and he’s supposed to look out for Michael, so he does that, and trusts that they won’t let him overstay his short window of freedom.
“You cold?” he asks, as they lay tangled together at the end of another wave. Michael’s quiet, close, tucked in against his knee to chest as sweat cools on their skin.
“Nah,” Michael breathes with a shake of his head. God, he’s all eyelash, Alex just wants to stare at him. He feels drunk and stupid, exhaustion settling into his bones. He’s guessing they should try to sleep, but he doesn’t want to let this moment slip away, with Michael soft and pliant in his arms. Michael’s fingertips are running up and down his left arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. “What’s this scar from?”
Alex doesn’t have to look, Michael’s fingers tracing the line of puckered skin on his upper arm. His throat feels tight, and he closes his eyes. Michael, who’s become more hyper attuned to him with each hour, lets out a soft sound of distress, pushing forward to nuzzle his nose against the hinge of Alex’s jaw, right where the sensitive spot is on him. It doesn’t do anything special for Alex, but the contact is nice, grounding. It makes him brave enough to speak.
“When I was a kid, like ten or eleven? After my mom left, anyway. We used to have this big cabinet in the dining room. I think you’re supposed to store fancy dishes in them, but we basically just had random stuff in it. Maps, flashlights, work gloves, those kinds of things. Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” Alex cuts himself off, focused on all the wrong details in the story. Michael’s hand flattens against his ribs, slipping around to his back, pulling him close and touching him so kindly, so sweetly that Alex could cry. He blinks, trying not to do just that. “I did something to piss off my dad— I wanted to join choir, I think.”
“That how you learned to sing?”
“No, he didn’t let me.” Alex swallows. The memory of the scar is painful, but this— this one is precious. It’s almost surprising that he wants to share it. “My mom used to sing a lot when we were small. Kids’ songs, but also— navajo songs, traditional songs from her tribe. When I was really little and we’d still go out to the reservation for ceremonies, she’d teach us to sing them. Flint and Greg liked making things with our grandparents, but I just wanted to sing and dance.”
He can feel Michael’s smile against the skin of his throat. “My dad says that my mom and Louise... that they’d never heard music before. Roy would play a phonograph, and they’d dance in the barn. That’s when she told him about me. She wanted to play it for me someday. Music always makes me feel closer to her.”
Alex understands that this, too, is precious. That the memory might not be Michael’s, but it means as much to him. Maybe more— Alex’s mother is still alive, after all, just three hours away in Santa Fe, for all the difference that makes. He reaches up to rub his knuckles at the spot on Michael’s jaw, to feel him go boneless with contentment. “You’re a good musician. I’m sure she’d have loved to hear you play.”
“Thanks to you,” Michael murmurs, and Alex’s heart clenches in his chest, with nothing left to do but slide down and kiss him. Alex’s lips ache a bit from use but it’s still so good. He doesn’t think he’ll ever want to stop kissing Michael. When they break apart, Michael nudges Alex’s knees until he can slide his bare leg between Alex’s, and settle in close. “You didn’t finish the story about the scar.”
“Right.” He stares at the concrete wall next to the futon over Michael’s shoulder, the irregular patterns in it, his brain automatically searching for images in the chaos. “Well, I wanted to join choir, and that pissed my dad off, and he threw me into the cabinet. Lodged a four inch piece of glass in my arm, had to go to the hospital and get stitches. He told the doctors I was horsing around with my brothers.”
“Jesus. He’s fucking evil,” Michael hisses. His hand comes up to cup the back of Alex’s head, stroking softly down through his hair, down the back of his neck. It feels so good, so soothing, so grounding, Alex has never been touched the way Michael touches him. “I hate that you have to go back there, I hate that I can’t keep you here with me always.”
There’s genuine distress in his voice, Michael’s emotions all over the place with heat, and Alex pushes up to hover over him. Arms by his head, knees on either side of his hips, caging him in, Michael unspools easily under him. “I’m not going anywhere right now,” he promises, leaning down to press a kiss against Michael’s jaw, his neck, his sternum. A sticky sweet intimacy is clinging to them, growing between them, and Alex thinks he could probably get hard again, if he tried. “Want me to fuck you? Or do you want my hand again?”
“God, please fuck me,” Michael sighs, arching up, pushing his chest out. Alex smiles, reaching down to run his thumb over one of Michael’s nipples indulgently, watching him react to it. “I’ll probably need your hand again in a bit, but— I want you inside me.”
He ends up with Michael’s ass on his thighs, knees in the crook of his elbows, thrusting up. Muscle fatigue is catching up to him, the burn of his abs and quads and glutes enough to distract him from climbing too high too fast, and god, Michael— Michael looks heaven sent, spread out like a feast, his cock weeping and neglected against his stomach, balls drawn up tight as Alex drags his cock in and out of him again and again. He’s so wet, slick coating his perineum, the edges of his ass cheeks, smearing all over Alex’s groin. It seems like that should be off-putting, but all Alex can think is how good Michael must be feeling. Alex wants that. Wants his pleasure in a hungry, starving way.
“Alex,” Michael sobs out, body tightening up in the way Alex is starting to recognize, trying to clamp down on something that’s not there. “Please, please, I need it, please—”
“Yeah okay, I’ve got you,” Alex pants, and it takes will power he wouldn’t have thought he had yesterday to pull out of the tight clutch of Michael’s body, clumsy left hand holding the condom so it doesn’t slip off. It takes almost nothing to slide three fingers into Michael’s body, four, he’s so slick it’s easy enough to tuck his thumb in and push forward and curl his hand into a fist and—
Michaels shouts, a sound somewhere between a sob and pure ecstasy, body snapping tight, the muscles at his rim locking down on Alex’s wrist. His next breath leaves in a shaky little moan, and then a mumbled, “That’s— Alex—”
“Still good?” Alex asks, trying not to sound worried. It’s his whole fucking hand, this is never not going to be a trip.
“So good,” Michael says, dragging the word out one a moan, and the sound shoots a pulse of pleasure down to Alex’s dick, a reminder that that he’s very much still hard, and just stopped fucking into a perfect wet, tight, warm space only moments ago. However, his right hand is very much occupied at the moment, so he just drops his forehead down against Michael’s hip and breathes slowly. “I can’t believe I didn’t even know this was what my body wanted. I’m never letting you out of my bed, ever again.”
“That sounds nice,” Alex laughs, rubbing his face against the skin of Michael’s abdomen. He reaches down to hold his own cock with his left hand, trying to push back the edge of need, and the movement must catch Michael’s attention because he reaches down to clumsily pat the top of Alex’s head.
“I’ll blow you after. Sorry.”
Alex almost laughs. “I don’t think you need to apologize for any of this. This is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m totally ruined for human sex now.”
“Good,” Michael says, practically purrs, and Alex grins. Bites the skin on his belly in retaliation, but that only makes him moan, hips rolling in a way that tugs on Alex’s fist inside him. Another lazy spurt of come leaks out of his cock, and Alex’s head spins.
So ruined for human sex.
_____
Alex wakes up the sound of the bunker opening.
He sits up quickly, immediately alert, heart pounding in his chest as Michael makes a groggy complaining sound next to him. Fuck, Alex has no idea how long they’ve been asleep, but—
“You should probably come up and hose off, kids,” Michael’s dad calls down to them, and Alex tries to relax, trying to calm the wild beating of his heart. “Isobel’s going to be here in an hour.”
“Okay, thanks,” he calls back, hating that his voice cracks on the first word. Michael hums, nowhere near loud enough for his dad to hear, so Alex has to assume that it’s for him. Cautiously, Alex reaches out, smoothing his hand through Michael’s hair. He really does look like a wreck.
“Are you gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, it’s passed,” Michael sighs, rolling his head into Alex’s hand a little. “I’m going to eat like three burgers and sleep for twelve hours, but I’ll be okay.”
“Right.” Just for a moment, Alex entertains the fantasy of a world where he could stay here for another night. Eat burgers and make shy, awkward small talk with Michael’s dad, hold hands under the dinner table. Fall asleep in a real bed together. It’s a nice fantasy. He leans down, kissing the bare point of Michael’s shoulder, and lets it go. “C’mon, we need to get up.”
Alex half expects to be hit with a literal hose, but it turns out there’s a little shower in the office of the junkyard. The water pressure is shit, but it does its job, washing all the evidence of Michael’s heat from his skin. They take turns, Alex then Michael, rinsing off in the lukewarm water. Michael looks as tired as Alex feels, and he’s clingy, attached to Alex’s side as soon as they’re both dressed and sitting outside, despite his dad’s watchful eye.
“I hate that you have to go,” Michael mutters, face tucked in against Alex’s neck, and it’s going to be like ripping his fucking heart out, to leave, but—
“I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“If he hurts you, I’m gonna come bust down your door,” Michael starts, and Alex’s blood runs cold at the thought, but he doesn’t have time to protest before Michael’s dad is talking.
“No, you’re not,” he says, stern in a way he’s never been around Alex before. He sounds like a parent, and it sets Alex on edge, but Michael just scowls at him. “Look kid, I believe you that Alex is different, he’s proven as much, but you’re not going anywhere near his dad.”
It has the cadence of a repeated argument, and Alex wonders about it. Wonders about the names Sanders knows, Tripp and Harlan Manes. What do they have to do with Michael’s people, with his family? He’s spent three months trying not to think about it, but he’s starting to wonder how much longer he’ll be able to get away with that.
“I’ll be okay,” he says to Michael instead, because he always is. He doesn’t have a choice but to be okay. Michael can dream of spaceships all he wants, but there’s only one way off this rock for Alex, and he’s found some pretty compelling reasons recently not to take it.
Michael kisses him goodbye when Isobel arrives, hands framing the sides of Alex’s face. “Thank you,” he whispers, soft and private, not for his father or his sister to hear, just for Alex. “This was the best weekend of my life. Thank you for being here with me.”
It takes a kind of strength Alex didn’t know he had to make himself turn and walk away. Isobel’s quipping something at Michael but Alex doesn’t pay attention, just throws his duffle into the trunk and climbs into the jeep, resting his temple against the glass. He can see Michael in the wing mirror, standing there in broken in jeans and a hoodie— one of Alex’s hoodies, fuck, how did he not notice— with his dad’s hand on his shoulder. Alex watches in the mirror as Isobel pulls out of the junkyard, and then sinks back into the seat, trying to sort through the mess of his feelings.
“Cheer up emo kid, you’re going to see him tomorrow,” Isobel trills, and, really? Her of all people?
“I thought you’d get it,” he snaps, glaring at her. “I don’t want to leave him, Isobel. I don’t—” He cuts himself off, biting at his thumbnail, shaking his head.
She looks over at him, a tremor of trepidation in her voice. “I haven’t— actually done this before, you know. It’s all theoretical for me. ”
He nods, looking back out the window. “I hope you get to.”
“I don’t see how I will,” Isobel says, something tight in her voice. “I’m not exactly built like a human girl, you know.”
Alex doesn’t know, and he really doesn’t want to. But— “Michael isn’t exactly built the same, either. He just trusted me enough to show me. I hope you get that, sometime.”
Isobel’s quiet for a long stretch of desert road. “You took good care of him.”
Alex swallows. “I tried to.” There are things he could or would do differently, next time, if they can manage a next time safely. Because above all, Alex thinks he’d do anything to keep Michael safe: lie, fight, go to war— whatever it takes.
He stares off into the late afternoon sun, staining the desert magic hour golden, and tries not to feel like he’s left half his heart behind.