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Slash and Yaoi Fiction
Title: Marty
Author: Juxian Tang
Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: Marty/Michael (1st season, "Genderbender" episode)
Rating: NC-17
Status: complete
Feedback: juxiantang@hotmail.com
URL: http://juxian.slashcity.net
Spoilers: Genderbender
Thanks: Many thanks to wonderful Awena - you did for me much more than just beta!
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.
Warning: death
Summary: Marty comes to finish what he (she?) started.

MARTY

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 his vein.

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 him.

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 his.

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 pause.

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.

THE END

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