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by AnnieAdded to the Roswell Slash Archive November 13, 2000
DISTRIBUTION: CKOS, Guilty Pleasures, Fanfiction.net
SERIES: Third in the Genesis Series
SUMMARY/AUTHOR'S NOTES: Kyle-o-rama. What would happen if Max saved Kyle from that gunshot wound instead of Liz? This fic resembles canon in no way, so let me slap a big AU label on it now.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters. I'm just playing with them for a while but I'll give them back as good as new.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please. Constructive if you can, but I'll lap up lavish praise too. Flames will be laughed at.
DEDICATION: To Nick Wechsler and Jason Behr, who make writing erotic scenes between two beautiful men so damned easy for me.
Kyle withered under his father's fierce stare. The man loomed over him with Kyle's shirt dangling in his hand and an expectant expression on his face.
"Well?" Valenti prompted. "Is there something you haven't told me about that day?"
Kyle's mind worked furiously, struggling to find a response, an excuse, under the fog of his dream. But whenever he came up with something even somewhat plausible, it drifted away as the memory of Isabel's--
(--you mean Max's, don't you?--)
--kiss swam up into his thoughts. He blinked and rubbed his eyes blearily, feeling disconnected from everything in the world.
"Kyle," his father barked sharply, an impatient scowl replacing the faux-pleasant smile he usually plastered on when interrogating someone. "I asked you a question. How did a bullet hole get in your shirt?"
Dazedly, he replied, "I don't know, Dad."
"Lift up your shirt."
That snapped him out of it. "What?"
Valenti waved his hand impatiently. "Your shirt, son. Lift it up. I want to see something."
"Dad, there's nothing there. I don't know what you're looking for," Kyle stalled. If his father saw the silvery handprint on his back, who knew what would happen to him? He knew his father loved him, but would the knowledge of alien presence and influence eclipse that? Would his father send him to some secret military/government base to be poked and prodded and experimented on? Would he raise a hand in defiance if the government saw him as a threat to national security and locked him up? And what would happen to Max? Would he be locked up too? Would he be--
Seeing that he was not getting any answers with his authority-figure bullying, Valenti changed tactics. His voice grew soft, coaxing. He sat down on the bed next to Kyle and patted his knee reassuringly.
"Kyle, I don't want to scare you. But there's something strange going on and I'm just trying to protect my family and my town. You understand that, right?"
The strange thing was, Kyle *did* understand that, and believed his father. Jim Valenti believed with the fervor of a prophet that he was doing his job, looking out for the well-being of all.
It was the legacy of his own father, the mockingly nicknamed Sergeant Martian. Joseph Valenti, son of the immigrant Giuseppe Valenti from the wine country of northern Italy, lived much of his adult life chasing after the fallout from the 1947 Roswell crash. He had passed his obsessions on to his son, a rite of passage that Kyle knew his father expected him to go through as well. Jim Valenti had faith that, sooner or later, a Valenti man would uncover all the secrets that lay buried in their sleepy little tourist-trap town. It was his destiny and his albatross wrapped in one.
Kyle nodded, and his father continued.
"There's something I need to tell you about, son. In 1959, your grandfather found a murder victim. It remains an unsolved case to this day and the only thing that keeps it from being a simple heart attack case is a silver handprint on the chest."
Kyle stiffened, sure that he was finally hearing the reason for his family's obsession with finding proof of aliens in Roswell.
"Your grandfather knew, and I know," Valenti continued, "that man was killed by whoever or whatever left that handprint. I just haven't been able to prove it. Yet."
"I-I, Dad, I don't know what to say. What does all of this have to do with me?" Kyle asked nervously. His father just smiled at him.
"I think the same kind of person or thing that killed that man did something to you in the Crashdown yesterday."
"And you want to see if I have a silver handprint on my body."
"Yes. Please lift your shirt, Kyle."
(--I'm sorry, Evans. I tried.--)
Kyle looked deep within himself and found a strength he didn't think he had and met his father's eyes without looking away. "No."
Valenti was startled, for once thrown off his game. "Pardon?"
"You heard me, Dad," he replied, a hint of steel creeping into his voice. Enough was enough. "If you don't stop now, everyone's going to think you're as crazy as Grampa. You want to know what happened yesterday? I was in the diner, a gun went off, I fell down, end of story. I probably tore my shirt in the process, but I *didn't* get shot and nobody left some silver handprint on me!"
"There was gunpowder residue on your shirt--" Valenti began, suddenly on the defensive.
"Dad, I shoot guns on a regular basis!" He swung his hand around, indicating the various awards he had won for marksmanship scattered around his room. "You can probably find gunpowder residue on *any* of my shirts. I am *not* going to take off my shirt just so you can find nothing and make more excuses for chasing after monsters in the closet!"
His father was furious now, his face reddened with anger. "Now, you just wait one minute, son. I will *not* tolerate your disrespect--"
"Stop it, Dad!" Kyle yelled. "Just stop it! When are you going to let it go? Grampa died a bitter, hateful old man because of this crusade and you've already chased off Mom. You want to lose your son too? Is whatever you're looking for worth it?"
Deflated, Valenti's shoulders slumped. Kyle could see that he had won this battle, but the victory was hollow. He loved his father, cherished the man as the only family he had left, and he felt ashamed for using his mother's departure to hurt him. But despite his conflictions and the questions his father's story had raised, he knew that Max Evans had saved his life. Whatever else he was, he was a decent person and he deserved to have his secret kept safe.
Grabbing up the bundle of sleeping bag and blankets he kept in a corner of his room, Kyle left the room and his house, leaving his father staring at the floor, lost in the past.
* * *
Kyle drove around town for several hours, trying to let go of the resentment that had come to a head in the fight with his father. It had been festering inside of him for so long. He knew he unfairly blamed him for his mother's absence, but it was much easier than dealing with the reality that she just wasn't cut out for domesticated motherhood.
He stopped at a fast food drive-through and ate his dinner in the parking lot, not tasting any of it as he watched the vivid purples and golds of the sun setting. He knew he couldn't go home tonight, knew that both he and his father couldn't handle being in the same house together. He would head out to his place, wrap himself up in blankets, and watch the stars. They looked so different to him now. Instead of seeing diamond-cold pinpoints of light, he saw homes. Max Evans' home.
Before he could succumb to the pull of the desert, he had to make one stop.
He pulled in front of the Evans' house and hesitated, tempted to just drive away. But he had come this far, he had to see this through. He had to satisfy this--
--curiosity about Max Evans before any more time passed. Straightening his shoulders with resolve, he marched up to the front door and knocked firmly. It swung open and revealed Isabel. For a brief moment, an image from his dream of Isabel wrapping her impossibly long legs around him and grinding into his crotch sailed past his mind, and he couldn't speak.
"Uh... Is M-Max here?" he stammered.
Isabel glared at him. "What do you want? Don't you think you've done enough?"
He was stunned, not expecting her venom. "What are you talking about?"
She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. "I know all about people like you, Kyle Valenti. You think you're the king shit and you rule over all the little people. You use people for your own gain. But don't think for a minute that you're going to use me or Michael or especially Max."
"Isabel, you've got the wro--" he started, before he flushed with anger. "Now, wait a minute! You're no better than me. I see you strut down the halls with your entourage, surrounded by an adoring public. If I'm the king shit, you rule from the queen's throne."
She backed down, smiling ruefully. "Touche." Her features hardened once more. "Just take this as a warning, Valenti. You hurt Max, I hurt you. Got that?"
He nodded, prudently not pushing her buttons any further. "Understood. Now can I see Max?"
She disappeared inside and he waited. In a few moments, the door opened again and Max came out.
"Evans, we need to talk," he began.
Max looked concerned. "What's wrong?"
Kyle looked around, not seeing anywhere they could converse privately. "Can you come with me?"
Max hesitated and Kyle misinterpreted him. "I'm not going to hurt you, if that's what you're worried about." He added quickly.
To his relief, Max chuckled. "No, that's not it. I just haven't finished my homework and my parents might get on my case about going out this late on a school night. But I'll check." He slipped inside and Kyle waited again. After several long minutes, Max returned.
Kyle and Max sat on the hood of Kyle's car, gazing out over the edge of the crevasse. They'd sat like that for ten minutes, occasionally stealing glances at each other before looking quickly away. The silence was an ozone-heavy layer of tension and unspoken questions. Finally, Kyle couldn't stand it anymore and opened his mouth to speak but Max beat him to the punch.
"Is something wrong, Kyle?"
Kyle shifted, the hood buckling slightly under his weight. "No. Yeah. It's my dad. He's on to you."
"What did you say to him?" Max asked sharply.
"Nothing!" Kyle said defensively. "He found a bullet hole in my shirt and he... he told me some stuff about things he's found. I didn't say anything to him, Evans. I gave you my word."
Max relaxed slighty, but the tautness of his features told the truth of his fear. "What kind of stuff did he tell you? I need to know, Kyle."
"He said... when he was just a kid, his father found a body. It had this on its chest." Kyle slowly lifted his shirt and turned around to show Max the silver handprint marking his back. He looked back and saw Max reaching a hand out, before he pulled back and looked at Kyle inquisitively.
Kyle nodded and Max reached out again, matching his hand with the print on Kyle's skin. As they both knew, it was a perfect match. A shudder ran through Kyle's body at Max's warm touch and he drew in a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. He looked at Max and the other boy's dark brown eyes met his with a look of such openly naked longing that Kyle shivered again. Instinctively, he leaned into Max's touch and felt the hand on his back tighten.
An owl hooted nearby and the boys were startled. Max withdrew his hand and Kyle moved away.
"So what is it?" Kyle asked, relieved and dismayed that the moment had been broken.
Max looked down at his hand, the hand that had only seconds ago caressed the texture of Kyle's skin. "I'm not sure. I've never healed anyone before. But I don't think it will hurt you and I think it'll go away eventually."
"This body your grandfather found, with the other handprint, when was it?" Max continued, a note of hopeful desperation creeping into his voice.
"Um... 1959, I think."
Max looked dejected. "Oh. At first I thought there was a chance of finding someone else like me, like us. But 40 years was a long time ago. He or she may not be here anymore."
Kyle was irritated. "I think you're missing the big point, and why my dad's gunning for you."
"What's that?" Max replied, startled.
"That guy was most likely killed by whoever left that handprint. Murdered. Who's to say you wouldn't do the same thing someday? Say, if your secret was about to come out?"
"You think that I could kill someone, kill *you*?" Max was incredulous.
"Look, I don't know, Evans," Kyle persisted. "But you can do some pretty freaky shit and you've already gotten in my head. All I'm saying is, my dad sees you as dangerous."
"Do I what?"
"See me as dangerous?"
"Yes," Kyle answered.
(--Just not the way YOU think. You're dangerous on a whole different level, Max Evans.--)
To his surprise, Max didn't look hurt or offended. Instead, he nodded in understanding. "It really bothers you that I can feel things, see some of your memories."
"Wouldn't it bother you?" Kyle countered.
Instead of answering, he turned to face Kyle. "I've never done it before, but I think I can make it go both ways. The connection. Then we'd be even."
Kyle mulled it over, but his decision had been made for him the moment he spirited Max away from his house this night. He would see everything through, no matter what. "Let's do it."
"I... I need to touch you, to make the connection," Max whispered shyly.
"OK," Kyle agreed. Max lifted his hands and cupped Kyle's face, his fingers brushing the loose hairs on the back of his neck. The gentle touch sent ripples through Kyle's skin and he closed his eyes.
"I need you to open your eyes," Max said softly. "Clear your mind of everything and look at me." Kyle complied and gazed into Max's fathomless eyes, focusing on the reflection of his own blue eyes and letting go of all stray thoughts.
At first, nothing happened except the steady increase of the electric current running between Kyle and Max. Kyle concentrated on the rapid tattoo of his heartbeat, mentally commanding it to slow down. A part of him noticed that his breathing matched Max's and the faint pulse coming from Max's hands on his face matched his heartbeat. The feeling was euphoric.
Then, the flood of images, flashing past his inner eye like a schoolroom slide show on LSD. Colors were distorted, shadows stretched out to funhouse proportions, and Kyle could hear his blood rushing through his veins, a powerfully charged sound that drowned out the world.
A small boy and girl, holding hands and walking naked down a highway, fear stamping their faces. Headlights and warm, sympathetic faces bundling the children into blankets. The same two children, still holding hands, stepping off a school bus and looking around at the other students. The dark-haired boy spotting a child with dark blue eyes and a sturdy build tossing a football with a friend.
Skip forward, the sturdy pre-teen crying shamefully underneath the bleachers, missing his mother and blaming himself for her leaving. The dark-haired boy watching him, sympathy and shared pain causing his own tears to streak his face.
Skip forward, the blue-eyed boy scoring touchdowns, winning the freshman Winter Ball Snow King crown, sharing a kiss with a girl in a hallway, lying bleeding and dying on a dirty tile floor. All under the watchful, concerned, admiring eye of a toffee-eyed boy.
Watching these images flow past him, images of Max's life and how he viewed it, Kyle was stunned, struck by one impossible-to-deny truth. A truth that shattered all of his carefully built illusions about the world and his place in it. As this truth engulfed him, Kyle found himself reaching for it instead of shying away.
(--Max Evans loves me. ME.--)
Slowly, reluctantly, he came back to himself, unwilling to give up the astonishing rush of knowledge and truth Max offered to him. He reached up and covered Max's hands, still touching his face, in his own and smiled tremulously. When he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion.
"Stay with me tonight."
Despite his nervousness, Kyle slipped into the familiar role of the leader. He pulled the pile of sleeping bag and blankets out of the car trunk and spread them out on the desert ground, being careful to clear away any new rocks that had appeared since the last time he had spent the night out here. Once he finished, he looked down at his handiwork, unsure of how to continue.
Max came to his rescue, sliding off the hood of the car and taking Kyle's hand. He studied him for a long moment.
"Are you sure about this?"
Kyle swallowed thickly. "Yeah, I'm sure."
He lowered himself to the blankets, pulling Max down with him until the two boys sat facing each other. The waning moonlight gleamed off Max's skin and Kyle reached out to touch it, feeling the skin tremble slightly. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and leaned forward, hesitantly brushing Max's lips.
Kyle was struck by the symmetry of it all. Twenty-four hours ago, he had kissed Max Evans for the first time, let his heart acknowledge these forbidden feelings for the first time. In the course of the last day, he had gone through what the shrinks called the stages of grief; reeling through denial, anger, depression, bargaining, and finally, acceptance. And now, at the end of his journey, he tasted Max's lips once again. The circle was complete.
He savored Max's warm lips and slid his tongue along their curves, feeling them part to invite him in. He took the invitation and danced his tongue into the hot recesses of Max's mouth, groaning piteously at the jolt it sent to his groin. All of his fears were gone, his only hesitancy in not knowing if he was doing this right. Judging from Max's rapid breathing, he was.
Kyle stroked Max's arms as they kissed, mouths aching to absorb every detail of each other. He felt Max's hands creep up and cup his face again, as he had when he made the connection. The two boys suckled at each other, feeding the flames with each caress, each wanton stroke of the tongue.
Max pulled his mouth away, tracing an impossibly hot path down to Kyle's throat and pressing his lips against the pulse stampeding away. Kyle dug his fingers through Max's thick hair and moaned at the sensation.
The other boy looked up, startled, and Kyle raised an eyebrow.
"It's just... that's the first time you've called me 'Max' instead of 'Evans'," he smiled, before reaching for him again, insistently tugging at Kyle's shirt.
Kyle returned his smile, knowing no response was needed. It was true. Somehow, in the course of the night, he had stopped thinking of Max as Max Evans or, in his more envy-ridden moments, Fucking Max Evans. Now, he was just Max.
He helped Max pull his shirt over his head, the gently cool night air nipping at his bare skin. Quickly, he yanked at Max's shirt and it soon followed his own. Laying down on the blankets, he pulled Max close to him and sought his lips once more.
The two boys ran their hands over each other's chests and backs and arms, marveling at the velvety tenderness of skin covering hard muscle. One of Max's hands brushed Kyle's nipple and he hissed, the fleeting caress sending a bolt of power and lust directly from his nipple to his crotch. He reciprocated the move and was satisfied to hear the same reaction from Max.
They kissed hungrily under the night stars, chest pressed to chest, a delicious friction building between them. Kyle squirmed and shifted his legs, coming in contact with the evidence of Max's arousal against his thigh. His own erection throbbed insistently, straining for Max like a junkie spotting a needle. Experimentally, he rubbed his thigh against Max's hardness, smiling at the skittery twitch he felt in return.
Cautiously, he reached for the buttons of Max's pants, just resting his hand on the firm muscles of his abdomen. He pulled back enough from Max's tantalizing kisses to look him in the eye.
"Is this ok?"
Max trailed hot, breathy kisses down his cheek and nodded. "Yeah. You too."
Kyle immediately understood Max's huskily-voiced command. Pulling apart briefly, they removed the rest of their clothing and lay down again facing each other.
Stopped from continuing by a paralyzing bout of unsurety, Kyle openly gazed at Max's body. It was so similar to his own, sharply defined musculature and shadings of golden brown merging with pale white where tan lines from the summer remained. But it was also different; Max's chest smoother and almost completely hairless, his legs slimmer.
Blushing slightly, his eyes traveled to Max's crotch. For a moment, an absurd idea floated past his mind--
(--What if aliens don't have genitals?--)
--but it passed as soon as he was confronted with the evidence. He stared, fascinated by the pulsing length that stretched for him, only saved from embarrassment by the knowledge that Max was studying him just as--
--candidly. Unable to resist anymore, he snaked a hand out and smoothed a finger over the weeping head of Max's erection. It jumped violently at his touch and he jumped too, startled. He laughed at his own jumpiness and Max smiled easily at him.
"My manhood funny to you?" he teased.
That set Kyle off even more and he gasped with laughter. "No! I'm just... I've never done this before. I feel so clumsy."
Max grinned. "Ah, and you think I regularly seduce guys out in the desert?"
"C'mon, you know you're a big ho," Kyle taunted.
"Really?" Max lifted an eyebrow and winked at the same time, a maneuver Kyle couldn't help but admire. "You want seduction? C'mere." He pulled Kyle to him until they lay body pressed firmly to body, and kissed him deep and hard. Kyle felt that kiss spread from his lips all the way down to his toes and settle in his raging erection.
He shifted closer to Max, luxuriating in the devilish friction Max's body caused against his cock. He felt beads of sweat pop up on his skin as Max's lips and hands coaxed him to even more intense desire. His own hands stroked and rubbed Max's body, his thumb circling Max's nipples into painfully hard points.
Kyle moved again, wiggling until Max's penis lay flush against his own. He began to rock, almost imperceptibly at first. Moist skin met moist skin, a faint sliding sound audible in between oven-hot, open-mouthed kisses and gasping moans. He moved faster, thrusting his cock against Max's as his mouth latched onto Max's nipple and pulled.
He felt Max's hand grasp his penis and stilled his motions, shaking violently as the slick heat of the hand wrapped around him and slid upwards, spreading fingers over the head, before moving back down and repeating the motion. He whimpered against Max's chest, teeth nipping and leaving purple-red suction marks behind. Max continued to pump him rhythmically, setting a stop and go pace that took Kyle to the edge of relief before pulling him back. Another hand cupped his testicles and he jerked at the sensation.
Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and let the excrutiating waves of pleasure wash over him. Max's hands worked busily, coaxing him closer and closer until his whole body thrummed with the pulsations in his cock.
When he couldn't take it any more, when he was about to beg Max for release from the sweet torment, the searing heat of Max's mouth covering his erection sent him plunging off that precipice. He leapt for oblivion, yowling hoarsely into the endless night sky.
Floating back to earth, Kyle opened his eyes to see Max curled around him, a smug smile on his face like the cat that swallowed the--
--canary. Kyle brushed a lock of hair Max's forehead and kissed him softly. "Wow."
"Wow," Max repeated in a throaty whisper. "Told ya I'd give you seduction."
Kyle chuckled. "That you did. My turn."
"Not quite," Max replied ruefully. "I sorta... well, when you, um, you know... so did I."
"Really?" Kyle wondered.
"Yep. You just looked so... so happy. That made me... happy."
Kyle was astonished at the idea that Max could climax just from giving him pleasure. The very thought reminded him once again how utterly selfless and generous and loving Max was. It humbled him and he kissed Max fiercely, showing him in a way no words could how much the incredible gift touched his heart.
Parting their close embrace, Kyle adjusted the blankets to cover them both and settled down in Max's arms. He nestled close, savoring the steady drumbeat of Max's heart against his body. He lifted his head to capture Max's curved lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. He rested his head against Max's forehead and sighed contentedly. Before he chased sleep down a darkened path, Kyle heard the nearly inaudible murmur in his ear.
"I love you, Kyle."
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