Author: Juxian Tang
Pairing: Marty/Michael (1st season, "Genderbender"
Thanks: Many thanks to wonderful Awena - you did for me much more than just
Disclaimer: They are not mine, etc.
Comments: Do you remember that "Genderbender" episode of the 1st
season where Nicholas Lea played a part before he became Krycek? I think you
must! He was Michael, the one who survived the encounter with Marty. I just
thought it could be fun to tinker with it a little bit.
Summary: Marty comes to finish what he (she?) started.
I don't remember where I have seen it - perhaps it was as much as some
refined advertisement: one of those bits and pieces that I used to pick up from
humans. "I was a mermaid in my past life. I fell in love with a seaman and
carried him off to the sea ground with me. I didn't know that people couldn't
live under the water."
Well, I knew. I did.
Shadows made it easy. I leaned on the wall when somebody passed me by - and
they didn't notice me. As usual. They never noticed me before I touched them.
I entered his ward quietly. He was alone there. No guard. They thought he
was safe, I wouldn't come back for him. They thought I would have other things
to do. And I did have - yet I came.
In the dark room his face seemed very pale - and his hands so white against
his blue hospital shirt. He tossed restlessly, nightmarish or delirious, making
small unconscious sounds. I took a glance at his data. So, his name was
Michael. I didn't have time to ask him then.
I stood and looked at him for a few moments. His eyelashes were two ideal
overturned arches on the whiteness of his face and they fluttered minutely as
if his closed eyes watched something scary. Then he tossed his head from side
to side, coughing, and suddenly his eyelids snapped open.
His pupils were so dilated that his eyes seemed black even though I knew
they weren't. He stared at me, unseeing at first - but he had to feel my
presence, even at the distance; we *mixed* enough for it. Then I moved closer,
stepped out of the twilight - and his stare locked on me, huge, widening even
more when he recognized me. Of course, he recognized me. He had seen me only
for a moment through the misted glass - but he wouldn't forget: he had been
dying at that moment.
"You..." he thrashed, trying to sit up, ripping the needle out of
Yes, fight if you want. No, don't scream.
In one step I covered the distance between us and pressed my fingers to his
mouth, shushing the noise he made. His lips were like a flower under my hand. I
felt his mouth trembling, wet a little bit, as he tried to say something - but
he quickly submitted.
Very quickly. And looking down at him, I saw almost with sorrow that even my
brief touch was enough - just the tips of my fingers. He slackened almost as if
boneless, leaning back against the head of the bed. His stare was desperate -
and yet it was submissive, too.
"I had to find you," I whispered sitting down on the bed near to
him, my fingers tracing his upper lip, passing over his cheek. His skin was
moist very slightly; he still was battling inside - and already losing his
battle. Against his body - for his life.
"No... Please," he said very softly. It was not that he spoke to
me - I think he had to know it was useless. Maybe, he tried to convince
himself. I stroked his cheek - the fineness of satiny skin and hardness of
cheekbone and I thought - no, don't ask. You can't help it.
"I know what you want," I said quietly, so that he could barely
hear it. "I know you want it. I'll give it to you."
His skin was like living silk, with blood beating under it - so warm and
open and responsive. Humans are like that. It was what inevitably fascinated me
since the moment I first felt it. They were so vulnerable and keen under my
caress, reacting to every little touch of my fingers, my lips... my cock and my
cunt. It compared to nothing, feeling the energy flow from my body into theirs
through the merest touch - and how greedily their bodies drank it.
And now I was going to give him all I had - again - as I always did. But I
was also going to take what he had. Was it too big a price? Was it, Michael?
In his entranced state he reached his hand slowly to my face - the same way
as I did to his - tracing my cheek, the hardness of my jaw - as if memorizing
me by touch. Did he like what he looked at? Yesterday he was not charmed by the
girl, not until she laid her hands on him. And now he had the man. He had
probably never ever touched a man like this. He had been as straight as an
arrow (the girl chuckled inside me maliciously and I cut her short). It didn't
matter now. Nothing mattered. I came for him and he was mine.
I could feel tingling both where my hands touched him and where his palm
cupped around my jaw - and I knew he felt the same thing, in his own human way.
I will never know for sure what they feel. I knew just that what was harmless
pleasure for me would be another step to death for him.
I bent down to him and pressed my lips to his mouth. He tasted sweet and
human. I rubbed my fingers gently over his neck while kissing his mouth - and I
could feel how his arms clasped convulsively around me when this new sensation
reached him. That was it. There was no stopping now.
Even if I wanted to leave him now, he wouldn't want it. But I wouldn't leave
Don't worry, my Michael.
I kissed his face, placing little light kisses on his eyes, cheeks,
half-parted lips. His eyelashes trembled when I touched them - so soft, so
light - like dove's feathers. I tugged the sheet away from him, reaching under
his shirt - and then his hands stopped tugging at my clothes urgently and fell
down as if he was already drained of any strength.
"Now, now, it's okay," I murmured to his mouth before gently
squeezing his lip between my teeth. His chest was so smooth and he moaned in my
mouth when he felt my hands roaming there. I could feel the contours of his
ribs under the satiny skin. His chest was so warm, the ribcage expanding
violently with his deep breaths. I pulled his shirt up and off of him, stopping
just for a split second to seize him with my eyes - his strong body, so fair
and fine-molded, with dark circles of his nipples and soft dark patches of
curly hair on his pubis and in the armpits. His hollow belly fluttered as he
panted. His eyes were like black oil lakes on his face. He waited for me to
return, to touch him again. Now he wanted it the as much as I did... So I sank
back to kissing him, covering his chest with kisses while my hands were hastily
getting rid of my own clothes.
I lay down on him, with all my body along his, pressing us as closely
together as possible. Then, in the car, he had tasted only a tiny bit of the
girl. He didn't know the bliss that almost verged on suffering. Now we were
pressed together - chest to chest, belly to belly, my hard cock jammed against
He looked half-coherent, swept with sensations. His eyes fluttered up and
down as if the eyelashes were too heavy for them. I gave him several moments to
perceive *all* the sensations - and then I put my hand under his neck, raising
his head up to me, to make our kiss uninterrupted - while my other hand reached
between our bellies and took hold on his burning erection at last.
He tossed his head back when I did it. His throat tensed and arched as if he
was going to cry out. But there was just a tiny sound escaping his lips. I
stroked his cock in long slow motions and my hand burned from the heat of it.
His pre-cum slicked the shaft under my palm, making the strokes smoother and
quicker and then I felt his cock contracting and his creamy white cum spurted
over my hand.
I felt dizzy with the pleasure feeling his fluid covering my fingers. I had
a craving for these things of human things - so full of life even when they
parted with the body ejecting it. I felt the urge to put it in my mouth - but
no, I needed it for another thing.
He was very soft under me, his eyelids lowered wearily - and I kissed his
forehead to wake him up once more. His eyes opened for me. There was no
resistance at all, just acceptance. I smiled seeing it. His eyes followed me as
I coated my cock with his own sperm.
"What is your name?" he asked suddenly.
"Call me Marty," I said. Not that he would have another chance to
call my name. His slightly gaping lips moved as if he tried it or wanted to say
something else - but he was too tired for it. I stretched over him once more. I
could feel his heart beating through both our ribcages. It speeded up and he
flinched when I found his tiny shut opening.
My arm was wrapped around him, caressing and comforting him, trying to wipe
away the pain, as he tensed against my penetration. For some seconds pain and
pleasure were equal for him and then, when I was fully in, only pleasure
remained. Now I was inside him - could there be anything else like this,
anything more than that?
He gasped as I started thrusting. These tiny choking sounds - I almost got
scared that it was *happening* too soon - but it was just the feelings
overwhelming him. I could feel his cock, hard again, between us as I thrust
into him. His eyes let out his torment and delight and I thrust faster and
faster looking in these eyes. My fingernails dug into his shoulders
instinctively, peeling the stripes of his skin, as my orgasm was approaching.
And at the same moment I felt how his fingernails stuck into my skin the same
way as mine did. The pleasure went through me like a bullet.
Was it because this was the first time I was fucking somebody who knew that
he was going to die with the same certainty that I knew it? Was that what made
all the difference? I knew. I knew it would be that way - that's why I came
back for him.
He groaned deeply and softly, coming, and I have never heard anything so
sweet and exciting in my life. I felt faint at once and at the same time a part
of me exploded - violent and exhausting. I shivered long after it was gone.
Then I leaned close to him, along him, with my arms embracing him. I didn't
know if he could feel more energy coming from me - he was so full with it by
now that it was probably impossible for him to feel more. But I still touched
him. I couldn't help it. I cupped my palms over his smooth face, fingered his
hair, trailed the contours of his eyelashes.
"Why did you come back for me?" he breathed out and even that
seemed too much an effort for him.
"I couldn't give you up," I said. "I can't give it up. It is
the most beautiful thing in my life. If I have to give it up, there will be
nothing to live for.'
"You are the most beautiful thing in my life," I added after a
I knew it was just minutes or moments before it had to hit him. But until
then I slid my hands over him, with my last poisonous touches.
You are dying, my Michael.
But I knew he would be back. Not the same. This was an innocent one - the
other would be deadly. He would slay instead of being slain. But he would be
the same beautiful. I ran my fingers over his left arm, so long and lean and
strong, feeling smoothness of its skin, the firmness of the muscles, the
warmness of the veins pulsating on the flexion of the elbow.
But I won't see you, I won't see you anymore.
I had him in my arms when the convulsions hit him. I cradled his head on my
lap as foam and blood appeared on his lips. He could feel the long strands of
my hair falling on his face - but he hardly could see it.