Disclaimers: Only Chris is mine.

Spoilers: Sleepless.

Fandom: XF/Buffy/Angel crossover thing. Part two. Comes after
"Parole." Won't make *any* sense without it.

Ratings Note: NC-17. Slash this time.

Acknowledgments: To my brain, who always encourage my freakishness.

Feedback: Please. leytelj@gmail.com

*

Daddy793: OK, gimme an improv. I wish to make with the write
write for you.
debitchan: okay. <thinking>
debitchan: gun, mouth, tree.
Daddy793: Oh. Wow.

The first time Alex met Chris, Alex's gun was too far in his mouth for
any formal introduction to be made. Alex had walked Chris into the car
waiting for him, nestled comfortably against the door, and came perilously
close to breaking a few of the fine bones in Chris' face when he'd tried
to speak. Brought the man back to the current HQ.

It turned out that Chris had been sent to be his new partner, which,
combined with the archly aggrieved look on Chris' face, had sent Alex
into near hysterics.

Whoops.

He'd narrowly escaped psych. eval. for that, but it had made Chris'
expression turn... amused. Alex shrugged at him for an apology -- the
man's face was turning spectacular colors, and they both sat and waited
for their first assignment together. Their next assignment.
Whatever.

And that had been the slow, careful goading of one Augustus Cole
further and further into his own messianic fantasies. Alex had nothing
like the look for it, but Chris was pale and ascetic, mildly curly hair
cropped short, tailored wire rims and smug, knowing insanity in his
eyes.

Shrink look.

And the V.A. Hospital of Orange, New Jersey was as easy to crack as
an egg, and nearby Seton Hall University's off-campus housing was
ridiculously luxurious, and they'd spent three long, careful months in
the heart of wealthy, tree-lined suburbia -- shaving close and carrying
backpacks being enough to gain access absolutely everywhere. And unlike
past and future partners, Chris and Alex had talked.

A lot.

It was weirdly... comfortable to be disturbed by Chris' obsession with
Clive Barker novels, to wonder if he would ever *really* use them for
inspiration on the interrogation subjects.

He was a quiet little geek of a killer, preferred methods: Sniper attacks
and sharp, sharp knives. Razor cheekbones and sweet mouth and blue, blue
eyes.

Undeniably attracted to Alex, and one night Alex had woken up with the
discovery that the feeling was mutual.

Slim hips seeming so fragile between Alex's hands as he'd pushed and
pulled and maneuvered the man more just because he *could* than for any
practical purpose. Moon pale smooth skin, scarred only once -- five inch
knife slash on his lower back, serrated. Alex remembered seeing it, all
at once.

It would have been his mother, or maybe his sister. In the kitchen,
staring with horror at Chris' bloody hands and the mangled corpse of
some small animal pulled out of the dumpster and just... scrabbling. Steak
knife.

And then having to, *needing* to just lean down and run his tongue over it,
push the man, the boy around and bite him and mark him and have him.

Again and again.

Take him and smack him until Chris' gasps and tiny grunts became
full-throated moans and screams. Yelling his pleas and pleasure to the
whole world and looking at Alex, wide-eyed and needful.

Owned.

Suddenly they were pulled out, and the Mulder assignment began, and
Chris disappeared under the tutelage of another of the old men. Unspoken
promises and need. Half-forgotten, buried under years, but when Alex woke
up next to Faith he ached for two hands to grab her lush hips and... push
her around.

Just a little.

And laughed at himself, because it was joke and the answer all at once.
Faith would wake up with her full Slayer powers, his ally... for now. He
would have to find a way to brace her belief. Perhaps show her some of
his other souvenirs from all the labs he'd found his way into.

And leading right to Chris, because hadn't he been the one obsessed about
souvenirs? An old white t-shirt of Cole's, a bit of his crinkly hair...

Scary little freak.

Owned little freak, and, yes, part of this. As sure as anything else. Still
alive, as of the last tally found among the old Brit's secrets. Notes on
his careful, methodical mind. They were training him for research now, put
that icy little soul to work. None of *them* knew he could scream, too.

Ran his hand over Faith's hair, tugged gently at a tangle. She was only
pretending to sleep, Alex knew, but it was all right. She was good at it.

He leaned down, pressed his lips against her ear, nuzzled the strange,
small fuzz there. "There's this guy I really want you to meet."

Slow, lazy grin. "No gang-bangs 'til the third date."

Barrage of images, fast and heating. His cock was greeting the morning
in its own special way. "Mmm... he's intensely disturbing, Faith. I think
you'll like him."

"Charmer. Lemme sleep more."

"For you, princess? Anything." And watching her stiffen and relax was...
interesting. Alex watched her sleep until the small worry line smoothed
between her eyes, then rose.

There were phone calls to be made, planes to be booked, obstacles to roll
over... Alex may not have had access to Mulder's mind, but there were
always alternatives.

End.