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Reply to Debbie or visit her websiteSent to the Roswell Slash Archive February 20, 2001
Author: Debbie, firstname.lastname@example.org
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. They all belong to Melinda Metz, et al.
Feedback: This fic is unbeta'd, so if you have any suggestions for improvement, by all means let me know. Just be polite.
When I went to Sweden I learned a lot of things, like how cold -10 C really is, and how to say "I don't like herring" in Swedish.
But, surprisingly, the most important lesson I learned was to appreciate each new experience as a gift, even if it doesn't feel like one at first. And I've learned not to question these unexpected gifts. I just accept them.
During my trip I came to realize just how big the world really is, and how many amazing things there are in it, things I'd never seen, heard of, or considered before. And even though some of them were strange or uncomfortable at first, in the end a lot of those experiences had the greatest impact on me. So too was the case tonight, when I got stuck in a cave of blue alien crystals with Kyle.
It's funny -- considering that we're both good friends of Liz, and that we're both unwittingly tied in with the aliens -- Kyle and I hardly ever talked or even interacted much at all. We've both been on the periphery of the same group, and yet our paths crossed only rarely. I guess I just saw him as the popular jock, and he probably saw me as the computer nerd, and we just wrote each other off as being too different. What could we possibly have in common?
As it turns out -- quite a lot.
And here's where that weird "gift" idea comes in. Trust me -- if this morning you had given me the choice between being trapped for hours in a cave of semi-sentient blue rocks from another planet, and being safe at home with my laptop, you *know* I'd choose the latter. But since I *didn't* have that choice, I have to say I'm actually glad how things worked out after all.
What do you do when stuck in the dark with only one other person? You talk, of course. Kyle and I talked a lot -- first about superficial stuff like school. Then we got into the common bond of our strange companions -- how we'd first learned about the aliens, what things we'd lived through so far, commiserating over the weird things they'd asked us to do for them. Next came discussions of favorite movies and music and things like that. We even starting singing some of our favorite songs. There we were in the dark, crooning to 'American Pie' and I began to notice how well our voices matched. Kyle has a pretty nice voice, considering he's not really the type to be involved in any musical groups. And then our eyes met across the blue-lit space -- and I suddenly felt that more than our voices were matching. Like there was a new and unexpected connection forming between the nerd and the jock. I could see the acknowledgment in his eyes too.
Neither of us said anything then, but as the hours ticked by our conversations got a lot more personal. We shared our beliefs, our dreams, we discovered things about each other and about ourselves. I know I said things that I'd never told anyone else and I'm guessing he was doing the same. After all -- there was the distinct possibility that this might be our last chance to talk to *anyone*, and, besides, who else was there to talk to at that point anyway? There was just me and Kyle. It turns out that we had a lot more in common than I had ever thought possible -- we were forming a bond I had never dreamed of as we sat there, side by side in the dark. But it wasn't complaining. Like I said before, I've learned not to question these unexpected gifts.
And when I found myself admiring Kyle's firm mouth as he talked, I didn't question that either.
Max, Liz and Tess don't know everything that happened to us down there. They don't know that I kissed Kyle. They don't know that Kyle kissed me back and that he didn't question what was happening either. They don't know that despite the damp chill of the cave our clothing became too restrictive. They don't know that our underground blue prison became a shelter where we were free to lay each other bare, where the last remaining secrets of the mind and body were stripped away.
This wasn't because-we're-about-to-die sex, although I've heard that the body can react that way in reaction to stress or a sense of doom. This was sex as a natural progression of the connection we had already forged, of the intimacy we were already experiencing. Yes, a guy can use the word 'intimacy' without running -- and really, there is no other word for what I felt. It wasn't "casual" sex. Even if it never happens again between me and Kyle, I'll never be able to think of it as "casual." It was necessary. And it was amazing. I'll never forget it.
It's funny -- you'd think that after two guys unexpectedly make it as we did, there'd be one of two reactions: either we'd freak out and pretend it never happened, or we'd suddenly announce our everlasting love for each other. But that's not what happened with us tonight. After we dressed we lay back down again head-to-head. It's not really love that we were feeling, not in the traditional sense. The sense of connection remained strong, stronger probably, after the experience we had just shared. But it's more of a spiritual bond, a joining of minds, and thus to lie connected at the head--the source of our bond--gave us a tremendous feeling of peace and rightness. If not for the fact that our lives were in danger, I felt like I could have stayed down there like that forever.
Don't get me wrong -- I am totally thankful that the crystals melted and that we were able to live to see another day. And I'm sure that Kyle and I will make a point to do more things together now. But I'm not really sure if anything more will happen between the two of us, now that we're away from that blue cocoon. I'm not entirely sure what I want to have happen either.
All I know is that I've been home for a couple of hours now, but I just can't get this out of my head:
Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.
Continue to 'Living'
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