Luke watched as Alex toed off his sneakers and socks and casually unbuttoned his jeans, his long hair falling about his face as he concentrated on pushing the worn denim down over his hips. He stepped out of the jeans and placed them on the table to one side. Hesitating momentarily, his fingers hovering over each button on the shirt, he forced each through its hole until, at last, the material hung, separated, against his chest.
To be standing in the same room as the man who filled his dreams was unsettling to say the least. He was still as gorgeous as Luke remembered. His eyes focused entirely on the glimpse of black that lay under the dark material of Alex's shirt. He took the single step to stand in front of the tall man, his own fingers itching to touch.
"You need to take off your shirt completely," he said gently, his voice low and rough. From the instant Alex had started to strip Luke had become impossibly hard in his own jeans. Jeez, he hoped Alex wasn't a freaking mind reader. He blinked steadily as Alex shrugged off the shirt, letting it pool in a tumble of material on the floor, until at last, Alex stood in cotton boxers in front of Luke. It was impossible to see the man in front of him as just a collection of clues and hints of a lost past. He was gorgeous. Perfect. There were no other words for it. The tattoos curved across a smooth, hairless chest and crossed hard, defined muscles. He stood with his arms loose at his sides, and Luke lowered his gaze past the black cotton boxers, settling momentarily on strong and steady thighs. The man in him appreciated every single beautiful inch, and he settled on what he imagined the black cotton hid.
"You're in my dreams, you know?" Alex said. His tone was gentle and his words careful. "I dream of a woman—"
"In white? Falling into fire?"
"Yes." Alex didn't sound surprised that Luke knew that.
"You're in my dreams as well," he admitted. "Every time I shut my eyes you're there."
"Awake as well as asleep."
"Yes."
"In my dreams we make love," Alex said. He whispered the words so quietly that Luke leaned in to hear. They were impossibly close and the scent of this man was overwhelming, a mix of the sea and the air. In the dreams he had, strong passionate dreams, Alex was in charge, telling Luke how to move, what to do, making it the best it could be for both of them.
"In mine too," Luke acknowledged. He wasn't going to lie if Alex was going to be so damned open and honest. Alex lifted a hand and Luke thought he was going to touch, but he held it still and unmoving an inch from Luke's face. His blue eyes were filled with emotions that Luke couldn't even begin to decipher. Pain and sadness and lust. Alex dropped his hand.
"I wish we could have met in another time and that things could have been different," Alex said. His voice held the same sadness that had filled his eyes.
God, how Luke wished things could be different. Preferably horizontal. Jeez, where did that thought come from? Carnal lust and thoughts of sex didn't very often push Luke's thirst for education out of his head.
It had been so long since he'd had a lover, but there was something here, a longing inside Luke he had never felt before. Alex looked like the Greek gods that Luke only read about. He was tall, proud, and confident with a body carved by exercise and nature. Luke looked down as he tried to get a hold on his needs. When he lifted his gaze, he was embarrassed to see a quirk of amusement on Alex's face. He concentrated hard on pushing the male in him back and pulling the professor to the fore.
"Let's see what we have here," he said. Changing the subject was as good a way as any to break the sexual tension between them. Luke focused on the marks but he couldn't take it all in. There was so much black, some curving symbols familiar, some reflections of what he had seen in the translations in the Morgan collection, others intricately cut, straight lines.
To have this done must have been agonizing. Why? What had driven Alex to endure this? Above all, what pattern had someone followed to create such intricate beauty on warm sun-washed skin?
"Who designed this, Alex?" Luke asked. His fingers were an inch from touching.
Alex sighed, and grasping Luke's fingers in one hand, he guided Luke to trace one of the larger tattoos, the tail of an incredibly detailed bird that curled up his arm. Luke frowned. Under the tattoo was raised skin, a ridge of scar tissue that was covered in the black.
"No one," Alex said simply, stepping away and dropping Luke's hand. "No one that we know of. I had these scars when I was found as a child. The tattoos, well, I had them traced over and around existing scars."
Luke stumbled back as Alex released his hold, realizing he had stopped breathing as he stood tracing the shapes. "These patterns were"—Luke looked at the designs—"carved into your skin, before the tattoos?" he asked, horrified. The pain this must have caused. A sense of anguish built inside him for this strong man to have endured such agony. Luke couldn't stop the horror from showing on his face.
* * * *
"I don't remember," Alex hastened to reassure. "It was before I was eight, they were there when Thanos found me. I don't remember anything before then. I just know I arrived here to be with Thanos, at what he guessed was my eighth birthday, with the cuts and the burns." He shrugged casually, as if he was talking about the weather.
Luke reached to touch him again, startled as Alex moved back out of his reach.
"I need to…" Luke started. There was a helpless tone in his voice, and Alex could read what he was thinking as clear as day.
I need to touch, trace each mark to feel the scars under, I have to touch.
"No," Alex said firmly, he couldn't allow touching. He didn't know what it was about Luke, but something primal inside him was telling him Luke shouldn't be this close to him, let alone touching. He was trying to ignore the heat in his spine that continued building a degree at a time, and he strengthened his block against Luke's touch as it started to falter.
"Photos. Drawings. No touching," Alex finished, and Luke seemed to respect the words, nodding his agreement. Alex could see the man pushing back this need, this want, to catalog by touch. Luke opened his notebook, grabbed a pencil, and started to sketch the complicated designs. Once Alex was happy that Luke was concentrating more completely on his work, he risked relaxing a bit, still careful to maintain his guard, the heat in him lowering slowly.
Alex stood still, the only subtle change was in his breathing when the night air shifted in the room and the filmy material at the windows moved in the slight breeze. Luke detailed bold designs, added in the long, single line that passed across his ribs on one side, and Alex could see the man was frustrated at the destruction of the skin he was staring at. He asked Alex to turn to the side, gasping—an unconscious drawing of breath—at what Alex knew was a beautiful traced bird and at the sun, the sign of Apollo. The circle was bold and the rays pushed out and down on Alex's hips, the wings of the bird extended over his shoulder. One more turn and Luke was drawing symbols from Alex's back, the most intricate of them all. The rest of the bird, and stylized flames, flames spreading from the sun and climbing Alex's back, disappearing into his hairline.
"Can you lift your hair?" Luke asked gently, then noting the symbols that were hidden by the dark layers and before saying he had finished. "There is nothing on your face," Luke asked, "or your legs?"
"There is one more, on my inner thigh," Alex stated. Pulling up the bottom of his boxers, he showed Luke the small letters. Luke peered closely, his glasses slipping off his nose as he flushed with embarrassment. Then Alex was knocked back by a sudden rush of temper that pushed itself from Luke, and the thoughts in Luke's head were a confusing mess of jumbled emotion. Words flew at Alex and he stumbled back, Luke saying inside his head that he didn't need a translation to read the words, these two words.
Luke rocked back on his heels in disgust. "Is this some kind of sick joke?" he demanded, dropping his book and pencil on the desk, anger coiling in him that sparked and hissed through Alex's barriers.
Alex was stunned. Luke was thinking he had been played? Alex just looked mystified, letting the material back down to cover him.
"What do you mean?" I don't understand.
"I'm not some stupid hick that can be taken in by a con. Why is that tattoo there?"
Alex found himself suddenly on the defensive, a new feeling for him, and he stumbled over his words. "It was there when they found me, burnt into me, the same as the other cuts and burns."
Luke crowded Alex and he attempted to put up a barrier to stop the emotions flooding from Luke: anger, disgust, disappointment. He tried to listen as Luke spat accusations at him. Alex couldn't form words, his concentration was on the mask that he slipped over himself to stop the pain. Luke pushed further, his words vitriolic, his body language severe.
"Why, Alex, why blow it now, when you had me eating out of the palm of your hand, stupid gullible professor, drawn into your con? Why Alex?"
"Luke, please no." Alex's barrier was weakening, the rage and distrust in Luke seeping in through the gaps. He had no choice. Lunging out with a clenched fist, he punched the spitting, hissing Luke to the floor, fighting the emotions breaking through with his own physical force.
Luke rolled to one side, his hand going to his face, touching the blood that bloomed on his skin. "Why is my name tattooed there, Alex? Tell me that," Luke asked from the hard, tiled ground. Alex's mind went blank. Luke's name was on his body? Tattooed on scarred skin in a language so ancient no one except the professor at his feet knew of it.
"Luke, please, it's always been there."
"Fuck you!" Pushing himself to his feet Luke tried to stand solid, his fists clenched at his side.
It was impossible! Alex couldn't stand against this much emotion at such close range, and he stumbled back another step. The wave of anger that emanated from Luke was going to be his undoing if he wasn't careful.
"Luke, I promise you I'm not lying." Words were so hard to find, the chaos in and around him rendering him incapable of rational thought. "I'm telling you the truth. I don't know why they saw fit to mark me with your name."
Luke seemed to snap, reacting instantly with clear derision, his lip curled in disgust.
"They? They? For God's sake, Alex, stop pretending there is a mystical they and just tell me the goddamn truth! Is this some kind of government con? Is Samuels in on this?"
The truth? What else could he say? Luke had the truth in front of him. "What do you want me to say?" Alex pleaded, in shock as much as in defense of the markings on his inner thigh connecting him to this man. He squeezed his eyes shut as the pain building inside his head started to weaken him. It was always like this, the extremes of emotion, they pulled and tore and ripped his barriers into pieces. He wasn't sure how long he could keep himself isolated from the suspicion and distrust in the room.
How could he defend himself when even he wasn't sure of his story, his origin? How could he even start to convince a man of the present that Alex belonged in the past? He didn't have the words.
He took another step back, away from Luke. His hands were behind his back, touching the hard wall, anchoring himself to the here and now, the rough texture hard and scratching against his skin. He moved his hand, feeling the welcome scrape of rough plaster, and before he even realized what he was doing he was grounding his emotions with pain, pushing harder against the plaster. Luke just stood there, his face twisted with a mixture of disgust and resentment, his eyes flashing fire, unaware of what Alex was doing.
"I want a cab now! Get me the fuck off of this island," Luke spat in obvious anger.
Alex staggered at the venom in Luke's voice. As it washed over him, his knees being locked and the wall behind him became the only things stopping him from falling. "Luke." Alex pulled his hands out from behind him, half bending at the waist as he looked at his hands. Blood speckled where he had rubbed the skin against the wall. Exhaustion built at the base of his neck, a familiar tightness in his throat. He heard Luke's "what the fuck?" but knew the words hadn't been spoken out loud, just in Luke's thoughts, and saw Luke's horror at the blood coating his hand.
He knew his barriers were slipping; it wouldn't be long before he crumbled entirely and lost every ounce of control he had built throughout his life. He would be like a man starved of oxygen. The instinct for connection was there, so visceral it carved a path of need from his heart to his fingers. It buzzed through his veins and arteries so loudly he wondered if Luke could physically hear it. Alex was close to shutting down completely. He could feel it, taste it, the bliss of unconsciousness barreling toward him.
"Let me show you?" He knew he had shouted the words, heard them in his own head, but all Luke did was backpedal until he stopped against a solid wooden side table. Alex stumbled away from the wall and took two steps toward Luke, crowded him back against the table, hovering his hand over Luke's clenched fist and staring deep into brown eyes. "I don't understand this any more than you do," he finally managed to say.
Luke still seemed pissed, frustrated, shocked, and Alex went on blindly, hoping he could bridge the gap between them before Luke pushed him away and left. There was only one thing he could do now, and that was let Luke see him. "Touch me," Alex whimpered. "Touch the word. See how it is raised."
"Touch the word?" Luke stuttered.
The smell of Luke, the touch of Luke in and around him, sent Alex's senses on overload as he closed his eyes, collapsing into Luke like he had lost the ability to stand. What Alex wanted didn't matter. He couldn't control the overwhelming need to connect to Luke. There was no choice, no hesitation. It was so simple, lowering his barriers. With just a decisive snap Alex was there. Inside Luke, around Luke—part of him—and Alex could see Luke's horrified, open-mouthed expression as blue light travelled from Alex's hand to touch Luke's skin, tingling and burning as it touched.
"Alex?"
Alex heard Luke whisper his name, heard his own sigh, and felt Luke relax to lean against the table, trapped between Alex and the hard, immovable wood. Then he was guiding Luke's hand to touch the tattoo on his thigh, pushing the cotton material to one side. A sob caught in Alex's mouth as he tried to hold on to his sanity.
"Touch the letters," Alex ordered again, and Luke was tracing the letters and shapes. Luke was feeling the ridge of a burn scar, the twisted skin highlighted in the ink in his mind's eye. Gently, Luke pressed at the flesh. Alex reeled at the touch, reliving stories of an age long gone. He hissed when Luke moved his head to allow Alex to rest his head in the space between ear and shoulder, his open mouth tasting the skin at Luke's throat, inhaling air and the scent of the man who held him.
The desire in Alex to share his Self, to have someone truly know him—hold him, help him—was a desire burning deep inside. Edward had seen some of this but never all. Alex had so many emotions welling inside him, making the whole of him. He was his own passion, he was Luke's desire, he didn't know where he ended and Luke began.
"See, I'm not lying." Alex keened low in his throat as Luke moved his hand, deliberately or unconsciously, his fingers brushed Alex's hard length. Alex tried to pull back, hunger sparking and hissing through his body, his brain signaling he should move, protect himself. But as Luke's hand moved, Alex flicked his tongue to taste the sweat collected in the base of Luke's throat, feeling the flutter of life beneath his tongue. In his mind's eye, he saw Luke naked and needy and spread under him, the same Luke from his dreams. Saw the older man, his head thrown back, his eyes tightly shut, moaning his need and want in the half-lit room. Was this the future? Was it the past? Luke moved his hand in gentle increments from the tattoo to touch Alex. Not a conscious decision, Alex could sense that, and suddenly he hated himself for perhaps making Luke want this.
How much of this was Luke, how much of it was Alex pushing his desires on the man? Luke paused, hesitating between one breath and the next. Alex needed some confirmation Luke wanted this, and as Luke rolled his hips toward Alex, gasping, hard, and needy, diving into the space between one breath and the next, Luke was telling him yes. Alex moved his head, the desire to see Luke's face, to see the craving in him a mirror to his own, at the front of his thoughts. Alex dropped a hand to the base of Luke's spine and pulled him in close.
"Alex, please."
Alex wasn't sure what Luke was pleading for, couldn't make sense of the room or the moment, his touches becoming kisses, staggering a path from Luke's throat to his lips, then a sudden deep twist of Luke's tongue that stole his breath. He was keening into the caress, hearing Luke whine in need. He was desperate for that touch and he gave in, with Luke tasting him, the anxious frantic sucking and pulling mirroring the final act itself. Luke was hard against him, and his hand weaved along his length, tight around him.
Alex used his height to manhandle Luke into not quite sitting on the table, forcing his legs apart, rutting into his hand, and growling low in his throat. "Can you see me, Luke?" He spoke clearly again, moving to anchor himself tightly against Luke, setting up a rhythm lost in profanity and desire.
Luke, for his part, seemed to realize Alex needed something and held on, just kept his hand tight, his body hard. Orgasm built in Alex's spine, heat touching every nerve ending, trust and truths spilling over into him, and he lost it, groaning as he came, hot and wet between them. Luke was coming without even being touched, pushing the rest of his orgasm against Alex's hand.
Falling, tripping backward to crash to the floor, Alex wrenched himself away, harsh sobs coming from his chest, hands over his eyes. Luke followed him down, kneeling next to him, his fingers tracing come against the tattoo of his name, his touch still like fire against Alex's skin. What they had just done, what had just happened, was so mind-blowing there was nothing they could have done to stop it, and now it seemed not even speech was possible. Alex had literally poured himself into Luke and Luke had accepted Alex willingly and, as much as he was able, shared himself back.
The connection was still there, deeply entwined between them, emotions tight, tense, and it was a long time before Alex felt able to even open his eyes. He had so many questions in his jumbled thoughts. Was it fate that meant those symbols had been carved and burnt into him? When had it happened?
Luke was sliding his hands up his height, electricity sparking at each bump and valley of taut skin over muscle, and Alex was subconsciously aware that Luke was still fully dressed and that he was nearly naked and pathetically curled on the floor. He tried to stand, he really did, but all the time he could read Luke's emotions so clearly he knew he would remain overwhelmed. He tensed as Luke slid his fingers to touch the pulse in his throat, pressing lightly, snapping Alex back to the here and now.
Alex was being driven by lust and the tangible need to touch. In seconds he was impossibly hard again, and he heard a noise, a soft pain-filled whimper, and was horrified to realize he'd made the noise. Luke bent low, resting his lips against Alex, licking at a pearl of blood that collected where Luke had lost control and bitten down on soft flesh, his eyes closing. Alex heard the question inside him before Luke pushed it into the room, his voice hoarse and harsh.
"Why?"