4. The X-Files

 

There's a cross-over story, and something clicks and he rents The Red and The Black and replays the kiss until his throat is dry, and he thinks he knows what it would've felt like. Brush of lips against the corner of his mouth, trace of plastic and leather at his shoulder, and he asks Lisa not to tell Nick, this time. Goes up to her with the list of words scribbled down and says, staring at her hands, polished pale pink nails resting calmly on the keyboard, "And don't tell Nick, Lisa."

His voice cracks a little and he thinks he should add please, but he doesn't want to. He's almost fifteen, and she works for him, not Nick.

She looks at him until he looks back, and then she takes the piece of paper, reads it and says, calmly, "Alright."

He's pretty sure he still hates her.

She gets him the boxed DVDs and a couple of glossy photographs. The blooper reel takes longer, but he watches it, and then boxes it up and sends it home to Angel. She's gotten tired of Harry Potter too, or maybe she just has more free time and she finds the best stuff anyway.

He flies her to San Francisco for the weekend, and they stay in a hotel and watch the DVDs. He kisses her and she tastes the same, everywhere.

Scully, he thinks, and Angel has thin wrists, shivers when he tongues her clavicle, the valleys of her ribs, the curve of her stomach.

Ginny, he whispers in her ear, and she turns and smiles sleepily at him.

 

 

He has nightmares about the aliens, about black oil. He wakes up, panting and soaked through with sweat. In the shower, he jacks off, thinking about Alex, thinking about betrayal. He thinks about Lou Perlman and the way Nick's face tightens, shadows under his eyes. He moves his hand faster, fumbling for the conditioner, anything slick, because his dick is raw, and he aches, shaking with nerves and terror coiling and uncoiling in sharp, final shudders when he comes.

He has breakfast with his mother and discusses Leslie again. He doesn't shout, and when it's done, his mother smiles and lets him have the day off. He thinks about playing basketball, calling up some friends. He goes back to his room and sleeps, and doesn't dream.

He stops reading X-Files, but late at night, on the bus, when he can't sleep, he closes his eyes and is back in San Francisco, back in Orlando, and he's warm. Held close by someone else, and the darkness is all the same wherever he is.

 

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