As Sands Through an Hourglass, by Alicia and Te Rated NC-17 for smut and still more appalling attempts at humor. Disclaimer: These guys weren't ours yesterday, and we doubt much has changed since then. But they still seem to want to play with us, and we hope CC and the rest of the gang won't object. Further disclaimer: Did you read A Day in the Life? Well, this is the sequel. Won't make any sense at all if you didn't read the first one (and maybe not even then). Even more over-the-top, if that's possible. Very Alternate Universe. No basis in reality whatsoever. Spoilers: Are you mad? azrkruzhol@aol.com and Daddy793@aol.com will wriggle for feedback For DBKate, with wuv. ***** As Sands Through an Hourglass, by Alicia and Te (azrkruzhol@aol.com and Daddy793@aol.com) Our Heroes briefly feared a trip to the emergency room would be required. However, they knew such an event would end their FBI careers in an instant. (Even Brian's friends in high places wouldn't be able to keep *that* one quiet.) Besides, the idea of traveling all the way to the street was . . . unappealing, to say the least. So they--very carefully--made their way to the shower (Alex viciously stifling a *thoroughly* inappropriate urge to whistle the theme to "Rawhide"), where judicious applications of hot water and soap eventually alleviated the situation. By the time they were able to towel themselves off-- separately--it was almost 2 AM, and their mutual exhaustion coupled with the knowledge that they had classes starting in less than 7 hours allowed them to tumble into their respective beds and fall asleep without embarking on the rather awkward conversation that was sure to be necessary at some point. ***** They awoke with barely enough time to get to class, and the day passed without opportunity for private conversation. Brian wasn't unaware of the abashed yet longing glances sent his way at least half a dozen times over the course of the day, however. Once classes had ended, it was only natural that the roommates would walk back to the dorm together. "Listen, Brian, I just . . . um . . . really, *really* wanted to . . . ahhh . . . apolo--" Brian cut him off with a forgiving shake of the head that nonetheless managed to convey a precisely calculated level of pain. "That's all right, Alex. It was an honest mistake. Could've happened to anyone." "It's just that . . . er . . . I, um, feel like I haven't really . . . ah, um, I mean, I'd like to, ah, make it up to you in some way, if I could . . . ." Brian put on a look of concern, though inwardly he was pumping his fist in the air in triumph. "Well, it's really not necessary, but if you want . . . ." The look on Alex's face made it quite clear that he *did* want, although after the last night's debacle he was too mortified to take any direct action. "Maybe we could discuss it over dinner," Brian continued. "Do you like seafood? I know a great little place . . . ." Alex, who had spent the entire day in a roiling combination of guilt and frustrated arousal, could think of many other things he'd rather do than sit in a public place that evening, but given the circumstances he couldn't possibly do anything but go along with Brian's suggestion. ***** The fact that Brian was greeted with a kiss by the Maitre d' did nothing to improve Alex's mood, but the restaurant, as promised, was lovely, the crabcakes superb, and as the meal progressed Alex found himself relaxing just a bit. For his part, Brian couldn't keep his eyes off that oh-so- perfect mouth situated so tantalizingly close by. Every sip of water, every bite of food raised to those pouting lips sent his blood pressure a notch higher. When a tiny dab of sauce found its way unnoticed to Alex's pointed chin, Brian couldn't help but reach over and gently wipe it away, bringing his anointed fingers back to his mouth to taste the combination of remoulade and essence of Alex. Unfortunately, Alex's reaction to the brief contact was rather more than Brian had anticipated. He started so violently the entire table jumped, and before either of them could react both their water glasses had overturned in Brian's lap. As Brian leapt to his feet, trying not to wince as the ice water mingled quite unpleasantly with the lower half of his body, Alex simply sat in shock, staring in horror at his thoroughly drenched roommate. His mind flashed back to the highs--and lows--of the previous evening, and he was suddenly and heartbreakingly convinced that this was it: he had now killed any possible chance of romance with this man. Regaining some degree of control over his body, Alex arose, pulled out his wallet and flung several bills on the table, and hastened to catch up with Brian, who was understandably making a beeline for the door. They traveled the short distance back to the dorms in almost total silence, with only Alex's occasional stammered "sorry" to punctuate the trip. When they got up to the room, Brian headed directly for the shower, leaving Alex to pace the small sleeping area in frustration. He just couldn't let a relationship that had seemed so promising slip through his fingers this way. Alex would have been significantly less perturbed if he'd realized that foremost on Brian's mind as they made their way back to the room was the urgent need to get out of his clammy clothes and into something more comfortable: specifically, the mouth that he'd been ogling all evening and that, even in the worst throes of . . . *shudder* . . . shrinkage, managed to keep his heart pounding. By the time the shower stopped running, Alex's innate optimism and resourcefulness had reasserted themselves. Brian emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and looking markedly more relaxed, to find Alex on all fours on the floor, picking up a sheaf of papers that had somehow strewn themselves all over the room. "Whoopsies!" giggled Alex, with just the slightest hint of a smirk (the one he would patent in later years), as he turned at just the right moment to "accidentally" knock Pendrell's towel to the floor. "Oh, Brian . . ." he tittered, "I've just been *so* clumsy all *day.*" Brian, somewhat taken aback at the sight of his roommate in almost the exact position he had been fantasizing about, could only respond with a feeble "That's okay," before Alex continued. "I'm just *so* sorry . . . ." Was Alex actually batting his eyelashes at him? "Gee . . ." Bat, bat--yes, he could almost feel the breeze from those unnatural things. "That looks uncomfortable . . . Is there anything I could do to . . . help?" As Brian remained speechless, Alex decided to take matters into his own hands--in a manner of speaking. Pendrell's goal of the previous day was achieved in short order, as he stood looking down at that indescribably delicious mouth, now very enthusiastically doing penance for Alex's sins--to the immeasurable benefit of Brian's once-again-throbbing cock. Brian's own musical tastes ran more to Handel than to Tchaikovsky, and very soon his blood was pounding like timpani and he could have sworn he heard the trumpet flourishes from the Hallelujah chorus. Some time later . . . . "Brian?" Alex heard something that sounded suspiciously like "Phbloo," and tried again. "Brian?" "Hmmmm???" "Can I get up now?" "Wha--?" Brian suddenly realized he was standing in a semi-catatonic trance, his hands gripping Alex's hair a little more tightly than he'd intended. "Oh, sorry!" (Years later, upon first meeting A.D. Skinner, Alex would speculate briefly on the cause of the unremittingly surly man's baldness . . . .) Brian quickly moved to help Alex up, and they both collapsed onto the bed. As blood began to flow back into Brian's brain (and Alex's slightly rugburnt knees), the two men snuggled in the unspoken knowledge that amends had been made; that all had been forgiven. Marveling once again at Alex's unearthly beauty, Brian took his lover's face in his hands and began showering it with soft kisses--on the soft eyelids, strong cheekbones, feline jaw, and most of all on the mouth that had brought him so much pleasure and promised still more. Under Brian's ministrations, Alex's lips parted and a small sob escaped him as their tongues met, flickering together and sending lightning throughout both men's bodies. When the thunder eventually faded into the distance, they slept. Alex found himself in a dream involving tumbleweed, six- shooters, and . . . chaps . . . when he awakened to the heavenly sensation of Brian's oh-so-talented mouth, once again set to its sweet torture. With a truly impressive amount of control, Alex managed to avoid uttering the incriminating "Yippee ti yi-yay" that trembled on his lips, and reached to gently urge Pendrell's lips from their prey. "Wha--?" Brian asked. "I want you--" A smile crept across Brian's face. "You got me." ". . . Inside me." Brian's grin broadened and he bestowed one last soul- shivering, cock-burning, how-does-he-feel-about-spurs- wondering lick between Alex's legs before very carefully reaching for the lube. With the assistance of *real* Vaseline this time, the two men achieved their mutual goal with far less effort than had been required the night before. ". . . Oh . . . " Brian thrust forward. "Ahhh--" Alex arched upward. "Mmmmm . . ." Brian skillfully performed the slashfic- patented Angle Adjustment. "Omigod. . . . Amaaaaazing Grace how sweeEEEeet the sound . . ." Brian grinned again . . . he was feeling pretty religious himself. That saved a--oh *Christ*!--Hey . . . um . . . Brian? "Oh--oh--yeah?" "Did you know that you could sing . . . oh, oh, . . . the theme to Gilligan's . . . AH!--Island to the same tune?" Brian paused for a fraction of a second before replying, "Ahhh . . . actually, I was always . . . um . . . more of a Love Boat man myself." Slowing his pace a little, Brian quietly started singing again: "The Love Boat . . . mmmm . . . soon will be making another run . . ." A strong, if somewhat strained, tenor soon joined his baritone: ". . . The LooOOOOve Boat . . . ahhhh . . . excitement for everyone--" Alex's harmony was interrupted by a particularly stimulating PendyPound(tm). "Ohhhh . . . Oh, Isaac!" "'ISAAC?!'" A flurry of outraged and apologetic limbs, followed by the thud of bodies hitting the floor amidst the remains of Alex's class notes. After a moment of readjustment, however, Brian overrode Alex's incoherent attempts at explanation and fixed him with a fond glare. "Oh, if *that's* what you want: 'Who's the black private . . . unh . . . dick that's a--mmph--sex machine with all the chicks?'" "SHAAAAFT" was audible from quite a distance away. ***** The skills Brian honed while creatively explaining the stains on Alex's Behavioral Science homework would stand him in good stead throughout his FBI career, particularly in the analysis of a certain equally pouty senior agent's, ahem, extreme possibilities. *****