Act of Desperation

One day, quite out of the blue, Michael Scofield vanishes from the face of the earth. Alexander doesn't understand how. He was on the trail, deciphering the clues. Closing in.

Then, he blinked, and Michael was gone.

One week. One week since there's been so much as a peep. Alexander has had to concentrate on the others, the ones who aren't with Scofield. They've gotten leads on David Patoshik and Benjamin Miles Franklin. They've had several leads on Fernando Sucre.

But Michael, the prize, has disappeared.

Alexander is left at odds. Frustrated. In every way possible. He can't sleep. His pills aren't working. His head aches constantly. His hands shake and he can't breathe and he snaps at everyone he sees.

It gets so bad, his agents speak in hushed tones. They cringe when he walks into a room. And they're trained Federal agents.

Something has to give.

And, so. He makes the call he swore he never would.

His house has grown in the past year. Fortress like, the way the shadows cling in every corner. The way steps seem to echo, even on demure carpeting and walls muffled with paintings and other decorations he's never taken down.

He hates it. Hates the size, hates the emptiness. Can't leave, of course. Not with the memories that glide in the air. The ghosts that haunt the grounds.

He's in the back, gazing into the birdbath as is his habit, when he hears footsteps behind him. Sneakers, broken in. A hesitant step in the shoes used to taking bold, confident ones.

"Hey."

Alexander straightens his back. Pulls his gaze away from his reflection in the birdbath. He turns. "Billy." He hasn't called the kid that since the first time they'd met. Not since Billy had been pulled into headquarters and needled for information on Oscar Shales. Back when their relationship was completely different than the consumer one they had now.

The boy frowns at him. He looks at Alexander with uncertainty before he slips his backpack off, hooking it around his elbow. "Okay, I know you said it wasn't about the pills, but I brought them anyway." He unzips it and pulls a bottle out. "Just so, you know. You don't freak out like last time." He holds the bottle to Alexander.

"How sweet." He takes the bottle. "You brought a present." He puts it into his pocket.

"You're a lot nicer when you're not tripping," Billy says.

"Thank you." He thinks about apologizing for the last time, but brushes it away. He pays Billy well and, moreover, doesn't throw the kid's sorry ass in jail. Billy can put up with some assy behavior for that.

Billy nods, bottom lip caught under his teeth. "So." He digs his toe into the grass. "You catch those guys you were after? The one with the tattoo and all the others?"

"Did you see me on the news saying I had?"

He smirks. "Like I watch the news." Then he turns contemplative. "Though maybe I should. Least then I'd have heads up when you start going through those things like candy."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the money he owes the kid. Steps into Billy. Keeping eye contact, he slips the money into Billy's pocket. "I take a regulated does," he says. "I do not go through them like candy."

"Right." He raises an eyebrow when Alexander doesn't step away. His eyes--intense and beautiful, but not quite what Alexander wants to be looking into--flick over Alexander's body. He licks his lips. "So. Why'd you call?"

In reply, Alexander touches Billy's cheek with his thumb. Drags it down, over his mouth. Down his chin. Then he steps back. Waits.

Billy rolls his eyes and closes the distance between them. "I was wondering when you'd hit on me." His fingers curl in Alexander's shirt. He tugs and brings their mouths together.

There's a scratch of facial hair against Alexander's face. Again, not what he wants, although by now he supposes that the smooth shaven baby-face of the mug shot and other photographs could have given way to nature. But the mouth is talented and the tongue plays against his skillfully. Alexander can't even begin to imagine what Michael is like in bed and, truth to tell, right now, he doesn't want to. In the arms of a substitute, it seemed dirty and sordid to even think about the man currently haunting his every waking and sleeping moment.

"Took you long enough," Billy whispers into his mouth.

"Why were you so sure I would?" Alexander allows himself to be tugged towards the house. Across the grass, the patio. Into the living room, so clean it looks like no one lives there. And no one does, not really. Not for a long time.

"I know what I've got." He gives Alexander a cocky smile. "Know my strengths. Besides, anyone who comes to me for drugs and is just a little bit bent? Eventually expresses an interest in other things as well." He stops, back bumping into the wall. Kisses Alexander under the jaw.

"You give to all of them?"

Billy shakes his head. "Only the ones I think are sexy as hell." His fingers release Alexander's shirt and he slides them down his belly to Alexander's trousers. Carefully, he undoes the button. Unzips him. "So. How you want to play this?" he asks as his fingers slip down the front.

Hot fingers wrap around Alexander's cock and stroked, tugging with sure strokes.

Alexander gasps, surprised at the intenseness of the sensation. Billy's hand is calloused, big. Strong. And it's been a very long time since Alexander had been touched.

He toes off his shoes and braces his hands on the wall. Billy's mouth meets his again, sloppy and wet. Half kisses, half explorations with tongue probing deep, scraping along his soft palate, teasing soft, sensitive patches.

"So right here, then?" Billy asks breathlessly.

"What?" Alexander kisses down Billy's face to his neck. He bites the soft skin, hard enough to make Billy's head fall back and smash into the wall and groans.

"You want me here? Against the wall?" Billy drops his backpack and sheds out of the grey hooded sweatshirt he always is wearing. "Wanna pretend I'm that hot convict your chasing? The one with the eyes and the tattoo? What's his name? Scofield or something?"

He moves before he even realizes it. His hand is around Billy's neck, squeezing. He can feel his heart racing, rage and disgust pounding in his temples, stopping the breath in his lungs.

Billy's eyes--which are nearly as remarkable as Michael's--go wide. His face goes white.

"Don't talk," Alexander advises.

"Yeah," Billy says shakily. "No problem."

He cocks his head. "You want to leave?" Because, now that he's assaulted the kid, he knows he has to ask.

"Naw, it's okay. Just. Don't kill me, right?"

"I have no place to bury the body."

Billy looks only slightly mollified.

Alexander releases Billy and steps away. "I think we should take this to the bedroom." He turns and walks down the hall, past pictures he hasn't looked at in years, and into the bedroom. He removes his jacket and shirt, tossing them onto a nearby chair, without waiting to see if Billy follows.

"Is it safe to approach you from behind?"

He smiles for the first time. "Yes."

Slim, naked arms wrap around his torso. Lips press into the space between his shoulder blades.

Alexander turns and lowers his head to Billy's. Surrenders himself to the sensation of skin sliding on skin, hands caressing everywhere, fingers sliding into his hair, back down again. He hardly notices when he and Billy fall to the bed. When he strips them of their clothes and turns Billy onto his stomach. Prepares him with minimal precision before sliding home.

In his mind, he sees another body beneath his. One covered in tattoos so intricate, Alexander knows he could spend a lifetime exploring it. In his mind, he sees eyes so blue, so intense, they burn him even looking out of a simple photograph. He sees long limbs and artists fingers. He sees the incredible genius of a master, instead of the quick intelligence of a street urchin.

It feels so wrong, being here. Using one beautiful kid because he can't get another one out of his mind.

And so he moves faster. Pounds harder. Drinks in the way Billy takes the abuse, moves with his thrusts. Digs his fingers into the bed and arches his back.

In the end, Alexander isn't sure what he wants. To use Billy as a substitute for a man he can never have, should never want. Or to forget he ever existed, even for a moment.

If it's the latter, he's failing, because even as he drives into the supple body beneath his, all he sees is the fox who has continued to elude him.

If it's the former, then he succeeds with every wave of pleasure that crashes through him.

Pressure mounts in his body, pulses in his groin. He heaves Billy up. Sits back on his ankles.

"Shit, yes," Billy groans, softly, though. Following orders. Not ruining the moment. His hips move frantically, driving Alexander deep inside him. Passage tightening, body rocking, head falling back onto Alexander's shoulder so that he has to close his eyes so the fantasy isn't ruined.

Alexander's head is pulled down. Lips meet. They kiss until Alexander grows lightheaded and he's certain he'll explode.

"Alexander," Billy whispers, but it's in a rough, unrecognizable voice. Not his own, and Alexander can still pretend...

"Come for me," he demands, just biting off the name hovering on his lips. He takes Billy's cock in his hand and soaks it roughly. "Now."

Billy gasps, and in his mind Alexander can see Michael's full, perfect lips falling open. His pale cheeks flushing rosily. That beautiful face contorted with pleasure as he submits to Alexander's ministrations.

As his imagined Michael succumbs to pleasure, and the real boy on his lap does the same, Alexander is pushed over the edge. He comes, grip tightens on the man in his arm. He bites his lip again, stopping himself from groaning the name of the man he truly wants.

Sometime later, Billy stirs, drawing Alexander out of his post-coital haze.

"You are thinking of someone. Aren't you?"

Alexander sighs. Weary, he climbs out of bed and goes to the bathroom. There's an aspirin bottle in the medicine cabinet filled with his pills. He takes one out and swallows it down.

"It's fine, you know." Billy appears in the mirror, standing behind Alexander. "I mean, I get that you're all high stress and all. What you do, on top of whatever it is that's wrong, it's not easy. And now you're lusting after some dude."

"Thank you for the analysis, doctor," Alexander says dryly. "I think our session is over." Although, when he turns and looks over Billy's naked form, he has to wonder if he might be too hasty with that declaration.

Billy nods. "I can go. Question is, do you want me to come back?"

"We have an arrangement."

"For pills. Not for this. I'm not a prostitute." He steps into the bathroom. "But I am willing to stop by once in awhile. Help you blow off some steam."

"What's in it for you?"

Billy smiles. "You're a great fuck, man. Besides, it's in my economic best interest that you not crack anytime soon. And you seem way tense."

Alexander sighs and traces the contours of Billy's face. "If I ever had any question as to the state of my eternal soul..."

"Hooking up with someone for sex isn't gonna damn you."

But that, of course, wasn't it. It wasn't even pretending Billy was another man.

It was who Alexander was pretending Billy was. Because, somehow, he knows that one day he'll regret this far more than he needs it right now.

* * *

It's not exactly late--only eight or so, but he and Michael are already in bed. Have been in bed since they first stumbled upstairs hours earlier and made love. They'd showered since, eaten dinner. Even played a game of checkers. Now, Michael was reading. Alexander was thinking, trapped in myriad of memories he would much sooner forget.

The sting of betrayal tore through him. Made it hard to breathe.

Then, as his heart and temples started to pound, and sweat gathered at the base of his spine, he realized it wasn't the sting of betrayal. Just the betrayal of his mind and body working against his reason.

"Excuse me," he said. He gently pushed Michael off him and rose from the bed.

"You okay?" Michael asked, looking up from his book.

He smiled wanly. "Fine." He bussed Michael's lips, then went into the bathroom.

His pills were still hidden in the aspirin bottle. He only hoped Michael never had a headache, and considered changing it for another, just in case.

"You're an asshole," he told his reflection after he swallowed them down. There was no reason not to tell Michael about his need for anti-anxiety drugs. Hell, he could return to the states, see a doctor, and get a prescription instead of relying on unconventional and illegal methods to get the medication he needed to get through the day without completely dissolving into unmitigated panic.

The feeling he was an ass didn't fade. Neither did the guilt. Even though the logical portion of his brain told him he was being idiotic, the panicked portion, not yet tamped by the medication, screamed at him of his sin.

He stayed in the bathroom, his hands clenched at the edge of the sink. He could feel them shake, feel the tension in his arms.

"Alex?" Michael called through the door. "Are you okay? You've been kind of been in there for awhile."

He swallowed.

The door opened. "You okay?"

"I cheated on you."

There was a moment's pause. "With who? And when? You've only been in here for ten minutes."

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Alexander turned away from the sink. "Cheated isn't the right word. I. Christ, I don't even know. While I was chasing you, I slept with a man and pretended he was you. It was sick and wrong and now that I'm with you, I can't help but feel guilty about it."

And Michael? Michael just shrugged. "Sounds like you used him. Didn't do anything wrong to me."

He rubbed his face. "I know. I know. But you're... and I'm..."

"Oh. If you dare say I'm innocent or pure or whatever, I will punch you in the face. And possibly kick you in the groin so hard you will never have sex again." He went further into the bathroom and put his arms around Alexander's waist. "Look. It's not that I mind the pedestal that you seem to have me up on, but don't go thinking I'm something I'm not."

He ran his hands over Michael's short cropped hair, feeling the silky bristles. "I don't. I'm not. I guess I simply feel... well. I've always felt guilty for what I was doing for some reason or another. Before it was for wanting and wanted fugitive. Then it was because I was unable to think of a way to exonerate you. And then, well. Let's just say my life went further to hell as it was before I was able to finally break away and find you. To see what if." He rested his forehead against Michael's. "Only to find you, here. Waiting for me. And practically untouched."

Michael laughed. "I wasn't waiting for you, you know." He kissed Alexander's nose. "And I hardly expected you to wait for me."

"I know." The medication was taking affect now, leaving him feeling incredibly stupid. When he worked, he could handle it, hide the panicked feeling behind barked orders and demands. It was in his personal life where it became a real problem. He either snapped at the wrong time, or he allowed the craziest, most inane thoughts to come to the forefront.

In the past, it was always accusations that he spewed during a downward spiral. He was so intent on things going perfectly with Michael, the accusations had apparently turned inward.

"What's this really about?"

He sighed and leaned further into Michael's embrace. "Nothing. I'm just being stupid. I'm tired."

"You're tense." Michael ran his arms up to Alexander's shoulders and squeezed. "I can help you with that."

"Can you?"

Michael smiled that cocky, all-knowing, all-powerful smile of his. "I've been told I give one hell of a massage."

"Do you now," Alexander said, interest piqued. The last of his anxiety melted away, and he was back in the calm, happy, nearly euphoric state he'd been living in since he'd gotten here just the day before.

Still smiling, Michael stepped back. His hands slid down Alexander's arms and closed around his hands. He tugged. "Why don't you come and find out."

Fin





+ Next +