RSA Main Fiction by Title Fiction by Author Fiction by Partners Slash Subplots Familiar Faces Links

Aphrodite's Palace: Kyle's Story - Workin' It Out

Reply to Christina or visit her website

Added to the Roswell Slash Archive October 28, 2003

TITLE: Aphrodite's Palace: Kyle's Story - Workin' It Out
AUTHOR: Christina
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Roswell or the characters. Please don't sue.
CATEGORY: Slash - Kyle/Max
SUMMARY: This is in the style of "Red Shoe Diaries and "Letters to Penthouse," where all of our favorite Roswell characters write in their dirty little secrets and fantasies. This is inspired by the rumors at the beginning of season two that Kyle would be having dreams about Max that had him questioning his sexuality. It's also part two of my Aphrodite's Palace Series, that started with Maria's story.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've never written slash before, but I decided to do this one for practice for another story of mine. It's been written for quite a while and I've just now worked up enough courage to post it. Hey, what do I have to lose?

      Warning, it's graphic. Maybe a little too graphic.

      You can find the first story in the series, Guess Who's Coming For Dinner (Michael/Maria), at Alien Blast.

      I'm your typical All-American jock. Captain of the football, basketball, and wrestling teams. Put a beer in my hand and a leggy blonde on my lap (preferably a cheerleader - I like 'em limber) and I'm all good.

      Four times a week, you'll find me at the gym late at night, pumping iron and fine-tuning various muscles. I like to go at night because there aren't so many people in the small gym and it gives me free-run of all the equipment without having to wait my turn. I'm not a very patient person.

      But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

      I'm as straight as the fine edge of a razor, or at least I always thought I was. Of course, that was until I started having dreams this past summer at football camp about a guy. Not just any guy, but the bane of my existence: Max. Fucking Max, who I despise with a fiery passion. The dick stole my girl, made my life a living hell, and then topped it off by saving my life when I was close to dying. Sure, that made it a little hard to hate him, but believe me, I put special effort into the endeavor.

      Still, even with all those black layers of enmity, a mild fascination needled just underneath the surface. There was something different about Max. He just rubbed me the wrong way and made me want to discover what made him so damn special, to unlock his secrets and use them to destroy him. It became an obsession.

      I guess it was only natural that he would start to appear in my dreams. They started out innocently enough. He'd be just another player in my subconscious, hiding in the background, as he had done for so many years in the real world. After a while, though, he became more and more pronounced, working his way up to the role of star, until it would be just the two of us. We'd always be fighting in one form or another, be it a good old fashioned pissing contest or physical violence.

      Then, one night, the plot of my dreams took a new path and never turned back. For lack of better words, they had become sexual. It started out innocently enough, just another dream where Max and I were beating the shit out of each other for no clear reason. He had taken the upper hand and had me pinned to the ground. Suddenly, though, our eyes met and it was like this live-current passed between us. The fight left our bodies.

      You know how dreams are, and how things can change in an instant and you never really question it? Well, the next thing I knew, our clothing was completely gone, and the violent way he had been pinning my arms down suddenly taken on a twist of eroticism. His lower body came down to rest upon mine and his hips undulated almost experimentally, bringing my limp cock to full-mast. The dream ended there, but damn, if I didn't wake up with the hardest, most painful morning wood in my hormone-driven adolescence. And the disappointment I felt...the fucking was unreal.

      After a few terrifying moments of confusion, I went about my normal routine of getting ready and put it as far away from my thoughts as possible. It was just a fluke. The memory would eventually fade, wouldn't it?



      I guess the joke was on me.

      The dreams returned the next night. And the next night. And the night after that. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the action was so fucking down and dirty that I would wake up in the middle of the night either drenched in my own come, or aching so bad that I would have to beat-off just so I could get a few more hours of shut-eye. My roommates gave me some good-natured ribbing about my nocturnal nutting, as it were, convinced that I must be going for the world record (Yeah, like these guys had any room to talk) but I had a hard time laughing it off. The shame of knowing that it was a guy putting the fuel in my pump was too disturbing to treat lightly, even if it was just for show.

      The more the dreams progressed, the more I sheltered myself in a nice sheath of denial. I immersed myself fully in every activity so I wouldn't have the time to dwell over my dreams, or what they were trying to tell me. I'd be the most boisterous when hanging out with the guys and bragging about my (mostly) fictitious conquests. When the weekend rolled around, my friends and I would crash parties at the local college and I would make it my mission to hook up with as many girls as I could. Just doing what I could to assert my manhood.

      By the time camp rolled to an end, I was fully convinced that I was just going through some sort of a phase - every guy gets curious, right? Right? - and that it would eventually go away if I just waited it out.

      I should have known better.


      I'm convinced God has a twisted sense of humor. Because only He could foresee what was about to happen, and not do a damn thing to stop it. Perhaps it's time to give Vishnu and his holy counterparts a try. Nah, too many gods in Hinduism. I know; Buddha. Yeah, I think it's time to look him up.

      Did I tell you that I like to work out at the gym?

      So my first night back, I went to the gym to resume my normal workout pattern. It was late, just like I liked it, and I was alone, save for the desk-jockey and the janitor.

      I was doing leg-presses when I became aware that I was no longer alone. I looked around and saw that it was Max. Of course. And I can't say I was surprised. Max has a presence about him that seems to fill a room. There was an awkward moment when our gazes met. The explicitly erotic dream I'd had the night before flashed through my mind in that instant; our sweaty bodies pressed together, limbs and...other things intertwined, molten hot tongues... I hastily looked away, terrified that the images painted by my obstinate mind would show clearly on my face.

      "Kyle," he said after a beat, "I didn't realize you were back."

      I sat up, wiping my neck with a towel. "Yeah," I more or less grunted. "Just this morning."

      "How was camp?"

      "Why do you care?"

      His grin was infuriating. "Just being polite."

      Max disappeared into the men's locker room. I didn't acknowledge him when he returned, though I was overly aware of his every move. I stole surreptitious glances his way, reluctantly noticing how well-developed his muscles were under his sweaty ribbed tank-top. Each one was cut and sharp. It was surprising. His loose fitting clothes typically hid that unexpected fact from the world.

      I leaned over the bench press and began to do curls. Like most guys who are obsessed with their bodies, I was looking in the mirror. My eyes again strayed to Max, who was doing chin-ups ten feet behind me. I couldn't look away from the way his muscles rippled under his skin. He had taken off his shirt, and was now all sweaty and bare chested. Bastard. I watched, mesmerized, as a bead of sweat dropped from his chin to his chest, and, ever so slowly, trickle down the ridges of his abdomen, his navel, and disappear into the loose waist-band of his pants. My eyes instantly went to his powerful thighs, and I watched in fascinated anticipation for that drop to reappear.

      The sound of Max clearing his throat tore me away from my morbid trance. I looked up to see him gazing at me with an odd question in his eyes. Shaking my head, I looked away and swallowed, horrified to feel the first stirring of life in my groin.

      I thought I was going to have a nervous break-down. It was bad enough wanting him in my dreams, but in real life? I kept telling myself this couldn't be happening. I couldn't even bring myself to look at him again, terrified that he'd witnessed me ogling him, or noticed the tenting material of my shorts.

      What can I say? I began to panic. I had never held anything but contempt for gays, and here I was, getting a boner over a guy. I dropped the weight right there and tried to cover my erection with my pants.

      It was definitely time to go take a shower.

      Maybe five minutes had passed before Max walked in, all naked and hard and sweaty. Before I could stop myself, my eyes resumed their exploration of before, coming to rest on one of the most impressive cocks I've ever laid eyes on. I must have gasped, because he caught my eye as he walked by. That odd, quizzical look returned.

      Mortified, I instantly turned and began to lather up, wanting to finish up and get the hell out of there. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. I was no gay. And in the slim chance I ever decided to start playing for the other team, I couldn't see Max being the guy I'd be pitching or catching for.

      "Damn. Uh, Kyle...would you mind if I borrowed your soap? I forgot mine."

      Going still at the sound of his voice, I glanced back over my shoulder. Max stood under the hot stream of water directly across from me, water sluicing over his head and body. The request seemed innocent enough. I shrugged my shoulders. It was just soap.

      He came up behind me, so close that I could feel his cool breath on my shoulder blade and neck, and took the soap out of the soap dish on the wall behind me. "Thanks," he said softly by my ear. As he turned to go I felt the brush of his cock against my upper thigh and ass. My normal reaction would be to punch his lights out right then, but I didn't. To tell you the truth, I was aroused by it, evident enough by the instantaneous stirring in my groin.

      I turned around and began to rinse my hair. He stood facing me, soaping up his broad muscled chest. Then, his hand slid down and he slowly began to lather up his cock and balls. I think he said something to me, but I can't remember what it was or if I even answered. I was too mesmerized by the sight of his soapy hand sliding up and down the shaft of his enormous rod. My fists clenched and unclenched, suddenly itching to stroke rub it's smooth, veiny surface, the silver-dollar sized bulbous tip...

      I was jolted out of my reverie when Max cleared his throat.

      "So tell me, Kyle," he said in a low voice. "Since when did the sight cock start getting you all hard?"

      I was appalled at what he said, or rather, him catching me with a hard-on. I couldn't answer or move. My eyes flickered down again, and I was stunned to see him getting hard. I was floored by the course of lust that traipsed through my body; I really, really wanted to see him hard.

      "Kyle," he said, once again sounding completely innocent, "would you mind washing my back?" His hand held out the bar of soap, expectingly, almost like he was confident I would honor his request. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him to go fuck himself, but isn't that the show I'd wanted to see anyway? Instead, without saying a word, my legs began to move, carrying me over to where he stood.

      I held out my hand for the soap and he placed it on my palm. He turned around, bracing his hands high and wide against the tiled shower wall. I ran the soap between my fingers, creating a thick lather before placing the soap in the soap dish. I touched him tentatively at first, telling myself that I shouldn't be doing this because I'm not gay, and I've never touched a man like this before. Soon enough, though, I was reveling in the soft and wet feeling of his flawless skin, tracing the lines of his muscles with my fingers, stroking my palms down to the slender curve of his waist and back again.

      The way his shoulders rolled back reminded me of a jungle cat - graceful and powerful. He sighed, then moaned. I told myself I was only washing his back, that there was nothing sexual about this, but a moan is a moan, and the sound got me so hot I thought my knees would buckle.

      I had to bite down to suppress my own moan from escaping when his head dropped back and his middle arched forward, thrusting his ass checks back so that they brushed over my cock, which felt so hard it could have cut diamonds.

      He turned suddenly and faced me. I couldn't suppress the moan from escaping this time as I saw that his cock was rock-hard and standing straight up, jutting proudly from the thick thatch of his dark pubic hair, and pulsing with every beat of his heart. There was no smile on his face this time, only a dark heat burning in his eyes as he very softly asked, "Would you mind washing my chest, Kyle?"

      I felt weak and couldn't utter a single syllable as I began running my soapy hands over the perfectly delineated ridges of his pectorals and abs. For the first time, I resigned myself to what was going to happen and began quaking with anticipation. I gave up trying not to look at his cock and openly ogled it while my hands slowly explored his chest.

      His hips thrust forward when my fingers brushed over his nipples. The pads of my thumb circled the darkened flesh and I pinched the nipples between my fingers, smiling at the low moan rumbling in his chest. The sound of his labored breathing pleased me inordinately. It told me that he was just as affected by the touching as I was.

      Shuddering, he took hold of my wrists with his graceful fingers and led my hands to his hips. Then his hands were on my hips, and he was pulling me forward until our straining cocks were touching. We slowly moved against each other, and I couldn't even begin to describe the sensation.

      "How's this feel, Kyle?" he said, a smugness in his tone. "I know you've been wanting this for a while, haven't you?"

      "Fuck you," I spat between gritted teeth, but the feelings were so intense, that it sounded more like a plea. A pyrotechnic shower exploded before my eyes as we both thrust forward, pumping our erect dicks against one another harder now.

      "Rest assured, I plan to."

      The softy spoke promise - or was it meant to be a threat? - spurred me on so much that my hips began ramming against him, almost at a frantic pace. I kept telling myself to slow down, that I would come much too soon, but my excitement was too much to control. I was getting close. I could feel my balls drawing closer to my body. My eyes clenched shut. I began bracing myself for what I knew would be the most powerful orgasm of my life.

      And then it stopped. Max pulled back. My eyes flew open and I simply stared at him in disbelief to see him grinning. Make no mistake that he wanted to come just as badly as I did; I could see the raging heat in his eyes, the agony. But he was making a statement, asserting his position in our interlude as lord and master.

      "You bastard," I growled in disgust. At him for not letting me finish, at myself for being lead by my dick, for knowing I would willingly play his bitch as long as he let me come.

      His grin widened. He knew I was his. He could see it in my eyes.

      His hands once again gripped my wrists, only this time he thrust them down towards his stone-hard prick.

      I didn't resist. There was still some soap on my hands, so my fingers slid up and down with very little friction over his cock, which had to be the size of my forearm. It really was a thrilling and beautiful sight. For the first time I wondered what it would be like to have his cock in my mouth. I didn't have to wonder long, because things started happening really fast.

      I looked up into his eyes again and a sort of understanding past between us. My hands were still working him over when I felt his hands pushing down on my shoulders, urging me to my knees. I was scared at first, unsure how to proceed. I placed a few soft kisses along the ridge of his penis, hesitant to take it into my mouth. I had never imagined I would or could do something like that, but it seemed that was a night for firsts.

      Finally, I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply and slid my mouth down his pole. I heard a long-suffering groan of pleasure above me and relaxed a little, realizing I must be doing something right. I told myself to go with it. Give what I liked to get.

      My tongue wrapped around his length and I slowly massaged it by moving my head up and down. Max's continued to groan, his pleasure punctuated by intermittent grunts. He gyrated and bucked as if here were riding an untamed bronco. I didn't want him to come too fast. I pulled back and probed his slit with my tongue, and was rewarded with a few oozing drops of pre-come. He tasted salty with a hint of sweetness.

      He tasted good.

      Resting back further on my haunches, I ran my tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock. I followed the path all the way down, stopping only when my nose was against his balls. Opening wide, I took them into my mouth, twirling my tongue around them, then sucking and tugging. Soon I was licking his cock again with the gusto of a cheerleader on prom night. I stuck with this teasing treatment for a few minutes, allowing him to gain some control, before engulfing his dick completely.

      He grabbed the back of my head, driving his dick deeper down my throat, and slowly started pumping. As his excitement grew, so did the force of his thrusts. He was fucking my throat and I was holding on for all I was worth.

      Suddenly, I felt him tense. My eyes looked up to his face to see his jaw clenched and his eyes squeezed shut. With a deep, chest rattling groan, he was shooting his come down my throat. I started swallowing as fast as I could, but it's very hard to do with your mouth open that wide. I started choking, drowning in his juices. He swiftly pulled his cock out of my mouth and continued to spurt his come over my chest.

      After that, Max went wild, consumed with a raw passion, abandoning himself to the sensory. I couldn't believe that he was still hard after the treatment I had just given him. He pushed me down on my back and sprawled over me, grinding his dick over mine. The uncomfortable tile of the floor bit into my back, and I was sure I'd have cross hatches imprinted on my skin for the next month. Then he began working his way down, and I forgot about my discomfort. He started with my nipples, sucking and biting the tender flesh until I was writhing. He was a pure, raw, sexual animal, and I was a moaning, quivering mass under the onslaught of his mouth.

      He continued his trail down my body, and, as I had done to him before, took my throbbing dick in his mouth. His warm, moist mouth surrounding my cock shot waves of pleasure through my body. Every inch of me tingled. It felt so fucking unbelievable! Too quickly I was on the brink again, still aching from before, and I knew I would come any second. Somehow, I managed to hold back, enjoying every glorious thrust, suck and lick.

      Max's head bobbed up and down on my shaft, slathering every inch while he continued making his guttural animal sounds. Never would I have believed that two men could have such an intense sexual experience without a slice of pussy around, but there you have it.

      Finally the moment of truth came. I grabbed Max's wet head and pulled it farther down onto my dick. The friction of his five-o-clock shadow rasped against my thigh. I jerked once, twice, and then I was coming so hard that I thought I might pass out. Max didn't disappoint; he was there to catch ever single drop, making small moaning sounds with each swallow. Totally spent, I lay back on the tile, trying to recuperate.

      I couldn't look him in the eye. I was too embarrassed by what he had just done, and by what I had done to him before.

      Max, however, was suffering from no such embarrassment. He still had a raging-hard on. Sweat dripped from his body as he massaged my dick, trying to bring it back to life. His hands felt wonderful on my body, but at that point, there was no bringing me back to full-mast. But he persisted in massaging my body, relaxing me for further pleasure. He turned me over and climbed on to massage my backside. It felt great, and I wished it could have gone on forever.

      Max began licking my back, all the way down my spine and slowly moving down to my ass. No longer gentle, he gripped my hips and pulled my ass into the air, positioning me on all fours. I knew what was to come, and although I was terrified, I was also excited. It had been a night of so many firsts, all of them so intense and arousing beyond belief, that I wanted to experience everything.

      His hand slid around to my chest, removing some of the pearly cream he had deposited there before. I looked back over his shoulder to see him stroking his cock, lubing it up with his own juices. His knees were widespread and his hips rocked with each pump. I moaned at the sight and our eyes met. There was a question in his eyes. He wanted to know if I trusted him. That seemed to be very important to him. I nodded once. Yes, I trust you.

      I felt the tip of his cock resting at the entrance of my netherworld. His hands continued to massage my back and ass, trying to help me relax. Then slowly, oh, so slowly, he began to penetrate. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my jaw so hard I thought it might break. He was half-way in when he thrust forward and broke all the way through.

      I lost my breath for a moment and thought I might cry from the pain. For the following minute or two, his hips remained completely still, allowing me to accommodate his exceptional size. Then, he slowly began to move. The pain...god, the pain was exquisite. Slow, deep thrusts that burned and gratified at the same time. Pretty soon I was wiggling back against him, urging him to go faster, push deeper, thrust harder.

      The moments that followed his explosive cry were a blur. I fell to the ground, my eyes closed as I struggled to catch my breath. I could feel Max's weight upon me, feel him still inside me.

      Sometime later - seconds, minutes, hours? I don't know - the weight lifted, and my teeth gritted as I felt him pull out from inside me. I felt raw, physically and mentally. And so utterly exposed.

      I refused to look at him as I crawled back to the shower, still too shaky to walk yet. I tried to stand, but it was no good. I slumped against the wall instead. At length, I raised my eyes.

      He was in the same position as me. Mirror-images, I thought, both of looking across at each other, dazed expressions on our face, too exhausted, too numb to move.

      He looked like he wanted to say something. No words came.

      Eventually, he rose to his feet and finished his shower. I did the same. With my back turned the entire time. It's not like I was embarrassed. Now that I think of it, I wasn't feeling much of anything at that moment. Everything was too scary and too surreal for me to process, just yet.

      His shower turned off first. Still facing away, I expected that he would just leave. Hoped was more like it. Then I could begin forgetting this had ever happened.

      He didn't leave. Not right away. Instead, he walked up behind me and gave my shoulder a brief squeeze. "Welcome home, Kyle." And though I'm sure it was a trick of my ears, too much white noise of the shower pounding on the ground, but I thought I heard him whisper, "It was better than the dream."

      I tell myself now that it must have been my own thoughts playing tricks with me, projecting what I was thinking. Because it was true. It was better than the dreams. And more terrible. And though I went through my denial phase after that, and things went back to normal, and neither of us ever spoke of it or acted on it again, it's a night I'll never forget. I no longer have the energy to try.

      Am I gay? No.

      Do I still hate Max? Yes, and no.

      Do I still dream of him? Not as much as I used to.

      So what does this all mean?

      I really don't know. I guess I'm still workin' it out.

      Kyle - NM

Send comments to Christina

Return to Top