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I See You, Part Three
Reply to AK-77Sent to the Roswell Slash Archive May 25, 2001
Title: I SEE YOU 3
Rating: PG-13, R
Pairing: Kyle Valenti/Max Evans
Disclaimer: the characters don't belong to me; no money for me by this
Note: not my native language + not beta'd = spelling- and grammar mistakes
Feedback: Yes! Hell. And *before* I die, please!
Distribute: fine with me as long as I get to know first
Max Evans thought of Kyle Valenti.
He tried not to, but from time to time Max would see him at school.
Nevertheless, Kyle was cooperative. Everytime he'd notice Max, he would quickly look away, his face blank.
And it wouldn't take long for Max to find other things to occupy his mind with.
He thought of Liz.
To Max's surprise she had called him yesterday. Even hours after he'd put down the receiver Max still hadn't been able to believe that this conversation had really happened.
It was somehow downright laughable, apart from him feeling so miserable with his role.
Liz had excused (!!!) for behaving the way she had the night after their date. Had excused for overreacting, for panicking although having been the one who had asked Max to come up.
Then Max had excused for going so fast about it. They had both laughed a little embarrassed, and finally Liz had asked him to accompany her to a party this night.
He was absolutely not in the mood, but how could he have said no after listening to her excuses, though the only one who had behaved (totally) jerk-like had been him?
Kyle would be there.
No way would Kyle Valenti and his bunch of dullards miss that event.
Max was not into parties that much, had never been, but he had heard enough about it the last years. Maybe even Michael would be there, if he felt like it the very moment. If Michael felt like it the very moment he wouldn't give a damn if he was invited or not, Michael would invite himself.
In a way Max envied Michael his impulsiveness, though he would never admit it, least to Michael himself. To act like this meant that trouble was inevitable. Michael had proven that repeatedly. But still Max imagined it as extremely liberating.
There were many secure things to think about in Max's life.
Unless he saw Kyle again somewhere.
Or unless a line of thought lead to Kyle.
Or unless someone asked him about Kyle.
"What did he want from you?"
Michael leaned against the wall, watching the traffic flow of students across Max's shoulder with a somewhat bored expression.
Michael took down the milk carton he had half chewed on, half drunk from and looked intensely at Max.
"Yesterday. First break. You. Idiot Valenti. Talk?"
"Yeah. Sort of."
Now that was easy. "Liz."
Michael snorted. "Something's wrong with that guy."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he's never been that much of a 'bright young spark', but now I start to believe he's simply stupid."
Every thought about Kyle was definitely one too much, but curiosity already held Max in it's tight grip.
"What gives you that idea?" he asked, making it sound indifferent.
"The thing with Liz. For months he's all cool bloke, and the moment you get her, he starts crying his eyes out. Now if that's not slow on the uptake."
"He's hopeless." Max agreed, trying to disregard the kick in the stomach Michael's words felt like for a second.
That were the days.
Then there came nights.
They were worse.
He masturbated often. It was an attempt to get rid of the images that haunted him. And the annoying desire they provoked.
It did never last.
It made him feel sick afterwards, but it exhausted him, too, and that was a significant factor affecting his battle against sleeplessness.
Kyle Valenti was drunk. Again.
He knew it happened way too often, but - to hell with it!
He'd tried to get at peace with it through Buddhism.
Buddhism was good, but there was no way it could take problems of that weight class on.
Not for Kyle.
Extreme situations show you who you are.
They grab your head and push your nose into it, as if you were some stupid dog that won't get house-trained.
But he'd learned.
Abstinence didn't make him sleep at night.
That stuff did.
It lined his brain with cotton, keeping a tight rein on his thoughts that raved there like lunatics inside their padded cells. Unable to harm anyone.
After making sure a third time that there was nothing left in the bottle, Kyle threw it away. Displeased with the thud that reached his ears when the bottle hit the sand, he spent some minutes pining for the more satisfying sound of glass breaking into lots of tiny pieces.
It was getting dark, and his bottle was empty, and it was lying in the desert now, anyway.
He took a deep breath that didn't seem to nearly satisfy his lungs and got up.
His buddies were waiting and so was the party with it's alcoholic liquids and it's girls from out of town.
Kyle looked into the distance one last time, not registering any of the things that could be seen there, if one was sensible for the beauty of a desert landscape darkening in the fading light of the setting sun.
He padded the sand off his trousers and trudged back to his car.
Driving was fun. He took the bends in wide circles, unintentionally getting on the opposite lane everytime it came to a right-hand one. He laughed, feeling irresponsible due to his lack of control and enjoyed the effect of the centrifugal force that tugged at him.
He spotted the convertible in front of his house and turned into the driveway without lowering speed. His car came to an halt with squealing tires, knocking softly against the bumper of his fathers'.
"Sorry, dad." he mumbled and got out sluggishly.
The boys in the car greeted him gushingly when he reached the convertible. Kyle felt their good mood blend into him and welcomed it.
Opening the door, Kyle got in, grunting disapprovingly when Dan started the car before he had pulled both of his feet inside and closed it back.
They had kept the passenger seat save for him, since he was the leader, and remembering that experienced practises, laid down by nature itself, made Kyle feel home.
Yes, he thought. Go back to where you came from.
Be, what you are supposed to.
Act in ways that are familiar.
And don't, don't deal with things you're not able understand.
Maybe things were looking up.
The airstream cooled his face in a pleasant way, and he sighed.
"You're a small-town bore, Kyle Valenti." he said to himself, and Dan giggled the giggle of the half-drunk.
"It could be worse." said Terrence from behind and gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.
"It *is* worse. I'm the leader of all small-town bores."
Joint laughter surrounded him, and Kyle lifted his eyebrows, not even trying to think out the unpleasant realizations that started to form in his head, concerning people laughing at jokes about themselves.
He was ten minutes here now, and he hated it already.
Max was fond of loud music, because it made sure that there was no obligation to talk with anybody. He could hide in it.
But that didn't make up for everything else.
There were definitely too much people. Too much drunk people and too much dumb people. And most of them were both.
Well, Liz was here, looking beautiful again, but Max couldn't help feeling uneasy around her.
He knew it wasn't her fault.
Still he had always the impression of being under observation, as if this was the last time he got the chance to make it right - or wrong.
Despite the noise Liz was able to communicate with Maria, and Max was somehow glad to be excluded.
He needed something to drink.
When he got Liz's attention, Max lifted one hand to his mouth as if drinking, then looked at her with a questioning expression.
Liz laughed and nodded all to clearly, as if Max was not only deaf but also mentally retarded.
Cursing he forced his way through the mass of people that seperated him from the drinks. Isabel had to be here somewhere too, but the house was huge.
He turned his head when suddenly cheering spread by the entrance. Someone called Kyle's name, followed by a series of greetings and more happy 'Kyle'-shouts.
Then Kyle, beaming, giving an impression of importance due to the following team mates, all at least by half a head taller than Kyle himself.
Somehow he felt offended by Kyle's presence and by Kyle's obviously *fantastic* mood.
Angry with himself Max turned away to continue his way to the kitchen.
About two hours later he thought he needed a break.
He'd spotted Kyle again and again. Everytime it had looked as if the boy was really enjoying himself, chatting with his buddies, flirting with some of the girls and drinking incessantly.
Then a slow song had started, and Liz had asked Max for a dance.
So they were dancing.
First he'd been glad for having something to sidetrack his mind with, to keep it from thinking.
Liz in his arms, her head on his shoulder, it should have been enough.
But Liz could be on another planet.
His eyes searched for Kyle, and when they found him they decided to stay there. At least Kyle didn't seem to notice. Neither did Liz.
It reminded him of the scene of a poor movie.
A very poor movie.
Everything was chaos.
There was this pressure.
First he'd thought he had to convince Liz of a relationship.
But Liz wanted this relationship.
And the pressure was still there.
Then he'd thought he had to convince himself of a relationship.
But he was sure for a long time, wasn't he?
His eyes were sure.
When Liz looked up at him, as if trying to bring Max to bend down and kiss her with the gaze of her huge dreamy eyes, he stepped back.
Confusion on her face made Max stammer something about having to use the bathroom, and he left the dance floor in a hurry.
He was totally plastered, not able to focus on anything.
The stairs wavered before Kyle's eyes as he went up, followed by the dolled up tart he was going to screw.
There was a hall.
There was a dark room behind one of the doors, probably the parents' bedroom.
There was a big soft bed Kyle fell on, when the girl whose name he had forgotten flang her arms around his neck.
Giggling she landed on top of him and began to kiss him tempesuously.
An odour of strawberry gums invaded his sense of smell, and Kyle started to feel sick. It was a suffocating smell that was all in his nose.
He closed his eyes, trying to shut everything out, but opened them immediately when dizzyness started to grab him, pushing him and pulling on him, back and forth and around. He moaned.
The girl shifted and began unbuttoning his shirt, scraping Kyle's chest with sharp, golden-polished nails.
And he was lying there, unable to move, while concentrating on taking deep, even breaths, although he knew it wouldn't stop the room from rotating.
He felt trapped.
He didn't want this tounge on him and this face so close with it's glitter make-up.
He didn't want this.
"Stop..." he said weakly.
She didn't seem to hear, so Kyle wiped her hands away and repeated it, louder this time:
She paused and laughed, unsure how to assess the situation, and Kyle fighted the urge to throw her off of him and off the bed.
The words were easy to choose, but difficult to speak, since his tounge seemed to possess an own will he had to break first.
"Leave. Me. Alone."
But they came out of his mouth, and they were understood.
The girl stood up a little hesitantly.
He couldn't even be bothered to take his eyes from the ceiling.
"What's the matter?" she asked defiantly, and he heard her straightening her blouse with angry tugs. Kyle knew exactly what would come next. "Are you gay or something?"
A laugh escaped his throat.
A laugh that didn't stop.
It still didn't stop when she started to call him names, until she was so furious due to her own helplessness, that she stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her annoying ass.
It took some minutes till Kyle was able to control himself enough to stifle his own laughs. He rubbed his face with one hand, fighting the strong feeling of sickness.
"No show tonight?"
Kyle jumped inwardly at the voice coming from the arm chair standing in one of the dark corners of the room, but his body continued to lie on the bed like a big stone. It would probably take a crane to move it from there.
He didn't answer.
He was drunk, he was not expected to be intelligent.
Even not drunk, he wasn't expected to be intelligent.
He sat up a little with an effort, feeling at a disadvantage.
"What was not right with her?" asked Max in his calm voice, and Kyle thought he saw a little smile.
An evil little smile.
But he could be mistaken.
Kyle rubbed his face again, not looking at the other.
"Wrong eye-color." he muttured and felt the beginnings of another laughing fit be on the way, but managed to restrain himself.
God, he felt so sick, and that flashing eyes burned into him, Kyle could almost smell the stench of singed flesh.
His singed flesh.
"What are they supposed to be like?" Max said, standing now.
He began moving towards the bed with leisurely steps.
Kyle looked up, wedging in Max's gaze.
"Brown, like yours." he answered, and it seemed to him as if he had never been that honest about anything.
It didn't matter how unimportant it was, or that it sounded like a bad pick up phrase.
Max had paused briefly, but continued now to shorten the distance between them. He didn't stop when he finally reached the bed, and Kyle took a nervous breath when Max climbed on it and came up to Kyle on hands and knees, causing the matress to sway under him.
Kyle felt dizzy again, but this time he didn't mind.
He felt close to throwing up, too, but he didn't mind that either.
Max stopped, one knee between Kyle's legs and his arms on each side of Kyle's chest. They barely touched, but still Kyle sensed the warmth of Max's body, seeping through the pores into his own skin.
He lifted his hands and put them loosely on Max's face, his fingers brushing through silky hair, touching the skalp behind Max's ears.
Max closed his eyes under the caress and lowered his head, and his breath on Kyle's face alone sent shivers down Kyle's spine. He inhaled it deeply, taking in Max's scent, till Max's lips were so close they touched his own, and he wasn't able to breathe anymore.
It was a cautious kiss, not veiled by desire but absolutely clear, making Kyle's over-sensitive lips register every little movement, as if his mind had sharpened due to the awareness of this opportunity.
Max's wet lips sucked and nibbled slowly on his, and Kyle sighed into the other's mouth when he let himself go, sinking back into the pillows.
He felt Max's tounge lick the dried sweat off his upper lip, then pushing into his mouth, roaming about restlessly and letting him taste the salt of his own sweat. He let out a muffled moan and pushed back, examining the cavern of Max's mouth, the place everything Max ate or threw up had to pass sooner or later. How much closer could one get? He got turned on by that thought.
But it was still more.
Kyle lost himself somewhere in there, behind the swollen lips and the smooth rows of teeth, inside the taste of Max on Max's tounge, on Kyle's tounge now and forever inside Kyle, too.
And Max's groans in Kyle's ears, stroking his eardrums.
Max lowered himself down, and Kyle could feel Max's legs touching his through the fabric.
His heart beat fastened.
The temperature went up steadily, and Kyle asked himself briefly if Max could get drunk from the residue of alcohol in his mouth.
Not breaking the kiss, Max put his hands on Kyle's that still rested on Max's head. He felt Max's fingers enclose his wrists and leading them to the bed above Kyle's head, where they were pressed down into the pillow.
The kiss became more urgent and Max's feverish lips moved over his jaw and to the side of his neck, sucking and biting, forcing a breaking moan from Kyle, while never losen the grip on Kyle's wrists.
By the time Max's mouth was on his again, both of them were panting, and his heart was drumming rapidly inside his chest.
Then, all of a sudden, Max went still, and it took Kyle some time to register that something had happened. He didn't understand completely, until he heard someone speak by the door.
"O my god."
It had been spoken low but clearly, making Kyle turn his head slowly, noticing Isabel who stood frozen in the doorframe.
Suddenly the feeling of sickness was back again, with full force, and Kyle managed to free himself from Max's grip in time to bend over the bed before throwing up.
It was a desaster.
Isabel had caught him, in the parents' bedroom at a party, making out with an other boy, making out with Kyle Valenti, who apparently was losing the battle against vomiting again.
But his heart was hovering somewhere over their heads, humming happily to itself as Max stood there, trying to gather his thoughts.
He looked at Isabel, feeling the smile on his face and knowing both, that it was not so good to smile in such situations, and that he was not able to do anything against it.
"Liz is looking for you." Isabel said eventually, and fear began pulling his heart down a little.
"Isabel..." he said imploringly.
She closed her eyes briefly, face all tensed, as if praying. Or cursing.
When she opened them again, they were still glaring as intensely at him as before.
He was about to thank Isabel, to say that he owed her, and that she was the most wonderful sister one could imagine, when light steps grew closer, and Liz emerged behind Isabel and Maria behind Liz.
Seeing him, Liz pushed her way through Isabel and the door frame, coming up to Max with a worried expression.
She stopped in the middle of the room, looking from one of them to the other.
"He felt sick, so I brought him here." Max said quickly.
He looked at Kyle who was sitting motionless on the bed with his face resting in his hands, and remembered a conversation long ago, a conversation between him and Liz about watching Kyle puking after a binge. It was not nearly as disgusting as he had imagined it then.
Max knew he should not stare like this at that moment, but it was difficult enough not to reach out and touch.
"Guess I should have brought him to the bathroom." he added and scratched his nose to cover the grin.
Watched from a distance it was a most funny situation.
And he felt as if being far, far away right now, looking at the scene as if it was some fucking movie. That was the second time he had a thought like this, and Max wondered briefly what that said about his life, or which kind of movie described his life best. It definitely wouldn't be one by Walt Disney.
"We should bring him out of here." Liz said and stepped to Kyle's left to pull him up.
"Hey. I can walk on my own." Kyle protested. "But I don't wanna right now."
"You're not even able to open your eyes on your own." Max replied, while taking the other side.
Kyle was heavy, and he didn't bother supporting them a bit.
"I'll take him home." Max said to Liz. "Could you -" he nodded in the direction where Maria was standing, calm, but obviously disgusted. Strange to have her standing there without hearing her voice one single time.
"Yeah, I can drive with Maria."
"No problem." Maria consented curtly.
They made it to the jeep somehow, after passing masses of people who commented on Kyle's condition with a lot of approving laughter and one or the other sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
It was a short drive to the Valentis' house, but Kyle slept the whole time scrunched up in the passenger seat, smelling of alcohol and puke. He did not even wake up when Max had to pull around the steering wheel, just managing to swerve out of the way of an oncoming car he hadn't noticed while watching Kyle snoring softly, head bumping against the door repeatedly.
The sheriff's car was gone, so Max drew the conclusion that Kyle's dad had to be on night duty. He didn't know the sheriff very well, but his absence could only be to their advantage, he guessed.
Since he was more an unproblematic teenager Max wasn't able to fall back on own experiences, but he assumed that there were only two possibilities for parents to react in matters like this: worried or upset. Or both of them combined, which made three. Everyone of them meant trouble.
It was a hard job to get Kyle, who was obviously *not* in the state to walk on his own, out of the car and to the entrance. There Max pinned him to the front door with his side, in order to prevent him from falling over, while searching the boy's pockets for the keys.
He was grateful for Tess having occupied Kyle's room at the moment, since it spared him the necessity to drag Kyle's nearly unconcious body along the hall.
There was light coming in from the kitchen, so Max didn't have to reach for the switch, and with a relieved sigh he let the uncaring boy slump onto the sofa, panting with the effort. He didn't know if Kyle was sleeping there generally, but it would do. And there was a blanket.
Then Max stood there and massaged his hurting shoulder, while looking down at the sleeping figure.
A few minutes passed till his breathing became even again.
He could feel what his own face looked like at that moment, could feel the grim concentration harden the muscles there, while watching Kyle, who lay there like a dead so far away.
After a while he took the blanket and covered the boy's body, then turned to leave.
He woke up to bright light, and with the unpleasant but familiar feeling of his face resting in a wet spot of half-dried saliva.
He lifted his head a little and wiped the spit off his cheek.
No headache so far - the one and only positive about finishing the day with puking your guts out.
At least he remembered. Remembered Max kissing him, kissing im as if Max had longed for it the whole time as much as Kyle had.
It didn't take long for the butterflies in his stomach to become extinct. Apparently it wasn't the right environment. They never held out very long there.
Whatever feelings Max had seemed to have had yesterday, it would not be true. Kyle had to keep that in mind.
He could not afford to clinge to one of Max's whims.
Kyle would always come off worst.
Max would be with Liz again, and Kyle would continue to brood and to get drunk and dream about that moment. That moment he had almost believed everything would turn out alright.
Maybe a blackout would have been the better alternative, after all.
Continue to Part Four
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