The Price

Rating: NC-17 [slash sex and a bad word or two]
Pairing: Havok/The Fallen - Mutant X
Archive: Okay, if you ask nicely.

The man stirred on the bed, groaning slightly but not awakening, a restless shape in the flickering candlelight. The blow to his head had broken skin and a dark mat of blood stained his bright hair. He would awaken soon. The watcher knew this, conscious of the sense of departing Death. The man on the bed was dressed all in black, white rings in the center of his broad chest, heavy golden bands around his wrists and waist. Accenting his strength, funneling his power. To the watcher, the choice of color seemed nearly an insult to the bright gleam of the soul contained within. He should be clad only in sunlight and dreams. A ray of hope in this dark world.

Havok.

The name was strangely appropriate. They had known each other for years, both before and after the fall from grace. Until a few months ago, the watcher had thought the texture of this one's soul to be nearly the same as his own - gray and formless, more a lack than a true possession. But then had come the accident. And the change.

This Havok glowed like the sun. And not just from the energy he could channel through his mutant cells. His soul, his spirit, his essence was pure as well. So unlike the Havok of old, leader of the Six, even the red-haired bitch had noticed. The Goblin Queen. Alex Summers' wife. She would be wondering, soon, what had become of them. Care was necessary to keep his presence in his tower sanctuary concealed. But his need was greater.

The man on the bed groaned again, his head rolling to the side, his eyes fluttering. Nearly awake now.

With a rustle, The Fallen slowly descended from the ruined stairwell hidden in the shadowed darkness, leathery wings spread wide for balance. He paused beside the bed, looking down at the man upon it. His claws flexed out and in instinctively when he scented the drying blood. Prey. But not this one, not his leader, his . . . friend. Nor the bright stranger who had taken his body, his family, his life. Who still answered to the name Alex Summers and spoke of a world much different from theirs. A place that, while harsh, still held hope.

The Fallen had forgotten hope in the gene-tanks of Apocalypse.

He found himself leaning over the bed, wings arching high above as he touched the crusted lump on the man's golden temple. Painfully swollen, bruising dark under fair skin, but the blood had finally stopped flowing. He lifted his pale blue fingers, staring at the streaks of blood on them with hunger. Without thought he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean, savoring the bright flash, the glimmer of purity. Such a one! To taste him, to feel him - it was the ultimate temptation.

"Warren?" the voice was faint, shaken. The name, old, nearly forgotten. But not by the bright one.

"Rest, Alex," he found himself saying, his voice a low rumble. "Everything's all right."

"The Six?" Alex asked, blinking his eyes painfully even against the candlelight. The leader ever concerned for his followers over himself. Admirable. Brave. Foolhardy. He found himself leaning over the bed, smoothing the golden hair back from the damp forehead. The normally intent blue eyes were clouded, squinting and struggling to bring him into focus. Alex tried to lift his head off the pillows, but groaned and fell back, a shaking hand rising to press against the side of his head, his breath hissing in painfully when he found the lump.

"Rest. All is well. You were hurt and must recover," the Fallen said, his voice a low croon that he scarcely recognized. Alex sighed and relaxed, letting those deep blue eyes close. Then they flashed open again.

"Scotty?" he demanded, trying to sit up and nearly succeeding. Concerned for the boy - the son that wasn't truly his but who had flowered under the kindness and love of this stranger who had somehow taken his father's place. The Fallen placed his hand in the center of Alex's chest, pushing him gently back down. Savoring the brief contact.

"Safe and well, Alex," he said quietly, not knowing or caring if it was the truth. "Rest."

"Thank you, Warren," the bright one replied, relaxing at last, swiftly falling into a more natural sleep. Battles had been fierce lately, there had not been much time to rest. The Fallen stood over him, his wings furled as he stared down at the sleeping man for a measureless time, watching. Time was nothing to him.

Resolve firmed with the easing of tension in the sleeper's face, temptation beckoned. The black had to go. Pale blue hands slid over the slumbering body, releasing the bands, gently removing the clinging suit. Dull black gave way to creamy flesh, warm and pulsing with life. He didn't even hesitate at the pants, but stripped everything away. Then he stared down at the muscled body revealed beneath him. Beautiful. Sculpted. Strong. He could not look away.

Alex stirred slightly, chilled by the air. The Fallen drew up the blood-red sheets, covering that glorious form reluctantly. But he didn't want him to awaken. Not yet.

Desire, something once as familiar as his own name and now a distant stranger, filled him. He wanted the man that slept so trustingly in his bed. Wanted to feel his life, his heat, his glow. The Fallen didn't hesitate - he stripped away his own dark blue-and-red uniform, feeling the chill of the cavern air on his pale blue skin. Then he slipped under the sheets, keeping his bat-like wings furled tightly to his back.

Alex moaned when he felt legs brush his, first moving toward him, the reaction of a man used to sleeping with another. With his wife. The Fallen accepted his movements, gathering the other man up against himself in preparation, savoring the bright pulse of life within him. Desire burned through him as he watched and waited with infinite patience. Such a beautiful mouth, such bright hair, such fair, tender skin. Blue eyes fluttered open, clearing slightly with shock as they stared into his face, now so close.

"What are you doing?" the other man muttered with the beginnings of outrage. The Fallen said nothing, and instead bent over him, covering his mouth with his own. Alex struggled against him, stiff with shock, twisting his head away, freeing his mouth.

"Warren. . ." he began, then froze - eyes wide as a threatening flicker of flame, of infernal heat emerged from the Fallen's mouth. The Fallen's arms were tight about the other man, his hands crossed behind his back and clutching his shoulders, pressing him close, trapping his arms. Their bodies were sealed together; his arousal plain.

"That is no longer my name," the Fallen said, fiercely. "And you are my guest, my prize tonight, Alex. I brought you here, with your sweet blood dripping, your bright soul tormenting me and let you be. Reward me. Give me something to appease the beast within."

"Don't do this, War - Fallen," Alex said, his eyes angry, his expression wary. "I won't forgive or forget." His body was tense, no answering desire within. But the Fallen did not care. He leaned forward, letting his dark blue lips brush across Alex's cheek. Defiant now, Alex did not pull back.

"That doesn't matter," the Fallen said. "I want you." And he rolled his hips against Alex, letting him feel his desire. Alex flinched finally, defiance giving way to uncertainty, then sheer bluff.

"I could kill you," he said tightly, blue eyes fierce. "Blow you through that wall with a plasma burst." The Fallen raised a brow, staring into those eyes, feeling the confusion, the fear, the hesitation behind them.

"You will not. This is not reason enough for you to kill," he said with certainty, confident in his measure of the other man's honor, the purity of his soul. He met him glare for glare until Alex bared his teeth at him, then closed his eyes in surrender.

"No, it's not," Alex said, his voice hollow. The Fallen leaned forward in triumph pressing his mouth against the other man's, feeling the bitter resignation fill him. It didn't matter, the bright core was still there. Alex lay tense in his arms, his mouth slack under his, giving him no cooperation. So he simply moved his mouth on, tasting the warm skin, feeling the heavy pulse under his lips as he moved them slowly down the other man's neck.

"If you run, I will catch you," the Fallen said against the skin of his chest as he loosened one restraining arm. "And I would pursue you until I receive my due." Alex shuddered but remained still, allowing him to stroke lightly down his chest and side, just the tips of claws extended.

"The sooner this is over the better," he snarled, angry and embarrassed and trying not to show his fear. The Fallen let a faint smile touch his mouth.

"Eager? I can oblige you," he said, looking deep into Alex's eyes as he rolled his pelvis against the other man. The faint fear flared higher in those blue depths, the lovely mouth firmed as his full intent was realized.

"Damn you," Alex hissed, eyes narrowed.

The Fallen let a cold smile touch his lips. "Far too late," he said, pressing Alex's shoulders down into the bed with hard hands, sliding his own thigh along the top of Alex's strong legs, urging them to open for him with an insistent knee. Blue eyes burned with outrage, but, in his sweet ignorance and foreseeing no harm in that small surrender, Alex allowed him to part his thighs. The Fallen slid his slender hips between with a hiss of satisfaction, his cock lying hard between them, settling himself in the reluctant cradle of the other man's thighs. His wings surged forward, bracing him over the bed, freeing his hands and creating a cocoon of darkness over them, the candles just eerie flickers through the dark membranes of his wings.

He touched the warm body below him, fascinated. Alex was semi-hard, an involuntary response to the rub of skin-on-skin that obviously embarrassed him. His fair face flushed as he glared at the Fallen, daring him to comment. But the winged man said nothing, simply running his hands over the pale chest beneath him, shaping the skin, the bones, the muscle with something akin to wonder. Avoiding the other man's sex. He had no real interest in that.

"So bright, so beautiful," he murmured, staring beyond the captivating flesh with the hated senses that the Great Enemy had given him. Alex stirred nervously beneath him and his attention snapped back. He let the smile fade from his lips. His hips began a gentle stroking, feeling the heat of the body under his, the crisp texture of the fair hair of Alex's groin against his own hairless body, the slow, reluctant swelling of the cock under his own. Those eyes, filling with trepidation. That mouth, parted on anxious breaths. He wanted . . . so much.

"I could hurt you," he said, staring into Alex's eyes thoughtfully. "Do you want that?"

"What? No!" Alex said, shifting uncomfortably. The Fallen smiled tightly then leaned over Alex, pressing himself forward, reaching out with a clawed wingtip until he could reach the small stand beside the bed. Alex crushed himself back into the mattress, wincing at the pain in his head, the pressure on his own sensitive places. His evasion only a minor rebellion, a futile attempt to avoid contact. The Fallen lay pressed against him from crotch to shoulder, body hot and lean. He groped in the tiny drawer, finding what he sought with ease. Then he drew back down, letting his body slide against the trembling one beneath him. He re-positioned himself between the other man's thighs, a hand now resting on his hard, narrow waist, feeling the nervous breaths taken under him with some delight.

"Warren, don't do this," Alex said tightly, his voice alarmed as he recognized the tube in his free hand. The Fallen ignored his words, concentrating on his task. He flipped open the lid and poured out a generous amount of fluid, dropping the tube onto the bed beside them. Then he took his own blue cock in his hand, smoothing the glistening lubricant over it. With the extra he reached between Alex's legs, gently pushing aside his balls to reach the small opening beneath.

"Not Warren any longer," he crooned as he stroked the slick stuff into the tense body, with first one finger, then two. Stretching. Easing. Feeling. Alex was panting hard, his breath whistling between clenched teeth. "Not the Warren you knew. And you are not my Alex, Bright One. My Alex would have killed rather than submit."

There was no reply to his mocking words. This Alex just braced his hands against the mattress, his eyes narrowed, his expression fierce, his thighs clenched tightly around the Fallen's hips. His cock was hard now, bouncing against his own belly. The Fallen lifted his attention briefly from his work to give him a narrow, sardonic smile. Then his hands reached back, one slick, one not and caught under Alex's knees, lifting them, pressing them firmly up. Alex rolled his head back, his hands fisting in the sheets, gasping as he was opened wide, exposed. Understanding flashed in those blue eyes, followed by swiftly controlled fear, then resignation. The Fallen dropped one hand off a knee long enough to place his cock against the prepared opening and push forward slightly. Alex grunted in pain, his eyes squeezing shut. The Fallen pushed further, feeling the slick heat, the too-tight entrance, the resistance.

He could coach him, ease the lovely one into this, but he chose not too, savoring the small flare of pain, the bright flash of heat, the stoic fortitude as he surged slowly inside. The Fallen threw his head back, his eyes closed, his hands tight on the other man's thighs, his wings shuddering around them as he leaned against them, giving them his full weight. They were far stronger than his original feathered ones had been. The Evil One cared only for strength, not beauty. He pressed on, savoring the sensation of tight heat around his cock. The man beneath him let out a long, pained groan as he seated himself fully.

Only then did he open his eyes, looking down into the flushed, pinched face of the man below.

"Beautiful," he crooned, eyes mere slits as he examined his reluctant lover. Knuckles white around the bunched red sheets, body sweating, forehead damp with a trickle of fresh blood. The Fallen stared at him, entranced.

"Finish it," Alex snarled back, panting. He stroked across the other man's heaving chest with sure hands, tracing hard muscle and bone, feeling the pulse of life under his skin, through his own cock and the body surrounding it. Still bright, unstained, untainted. He wanted . . . so much more.

The blood scent overcame his reverie and he began to move, hands braced on the bed, slowly at first, then harder, deeper. Savoring the heat, the feel of the bright one impaled below. Who grunted harshly with each slick, sure thrust, his body simply enduring until the Fallen, with cool deliberation, subtly changed his angle and struck a place inside that made him cry out in surprised pleasure.

"What are you. . .oh, god, no. . . no. . . I feel. . . " he nearly sobbed, his head thrown back, teeth clenched. In desperate denial of the unexpected feelings of ecstasy. And the Fallen watched, as he satisfied himself. Thrust and strike; the smooth motion of lean flesh, the bunching of muscle. Tight heat. The pale hands clenching and releasing in red fabric. The reluctant wonder on a familiar, yet so unknown face.

"God, no!," Alex moaned, his head thrashing from side to side, his breath coming in harsh panting sobs. The Fallen could see the pleasure rising in the other, feel it in the slight flexing beneath him, the striving for an unfamiliar sensation. Heat blazed from the man below him, radiating in waves from his form as he moaned helplessly with each thrust, each filling of his body, each assault on his core.

"So bright," the Fallen murmured, feeling the end close, reluctant to reach it, but longing for the sharp flare of light, the promise of redemption. Then he was there, betrayed, as his body seized on pleasure too vivid to sustain and he drove deep, deep inside the other, holding still as he poured his essence, his very being into the bright one. Hoping for some of the light to shine upon him, to fill his grayness, to ease his aching soul. He cried out, lifting his head to the high ceiling as the hellfire inside him erupted from his mouth in a deadly gout of flame.

"Alex!" he heard himself shout, through the blinding surge, and below he heard the low moans of the man he longed for, grunting and gasping through his own tortured release. He felt the rush of heat against his narrow belly, the spurt of life-granting fluid on his sterile form. Wasted. And there was nothing more. No light. Only fading warmth, leaving him still hollow and empty.

There was no aftermath. He simply pulled free, heedless of the low moan of pain from his lover, rustling wings waving powerfully as he lifted himself off with a push. As eager to be away now as he had been attracted before, the Fallen flipped off the bed, his wings propelling him high and supporting him in the air. Looking down, he saw Alex lower his legs slowly, eyes tightly closed as he rolled onto his side, a shaking hand rising to touch the wounded forehead.

He watched avidly, the small, tentative motions of the man below, until, distracted by the slip and slide of sticky fluid down his belly, he stroked a hand down hard blue flesh, gathering the precious gift and carrying it, like the blood before, to his mouth. To sip it, the salty-sweet stuff of life, eyes closed head thrown back as his wings lowered him, rotating slowly, to the floor. He opened his eyes again, looking over a shoulder, past a spread wing, to see Alex watching him from the tumbled mess of the bed, face cold, brightness dimmed. A shiver raced through his body and he turned with lazy grace to stand facing him again.

"You did not even fight me," he said curiously, tilting his head to the side to examine the man lying on his bed.

The other said nothing at first, but slowly, painfully, rolled over to lower his feet to the floor. Then rose to his feet, naked and proud, despite the trembling of his limbs, the streaks of blood in his hair, the obvious pain in his head. He gathered up his black uniform and pulled it on with grim determination, pausing occasionally to breathe deeply. He stood, gaze raking the naked blue man before him with contempt.

"Now I know what you're capable of," Alex Summers - Havok - said through gritted teeth and fierce expression. "Don't turn your back on me again."

The Fallen's eyes widened at the surging flare of light and force, both real and otherwise that came from the man standing so shakily before him. And he fell back with a cry, his black and gray wings rising to shield him from the glare, the heat. When it faded, he lowered his wings, blinking stinging eyes against the lingering ghosts of light.

Havok was gone.

He stood then, silent and alone in his dark tower. And time was nothing to him as he contemplated his actions that night. The bright one was undiminished; still rebellious, still determined.

Perhaps, then, there was hope in the world after all. . . but not for the Fallen.

- - fin - -