Chapter Text
Alex isn’t nervous. He’s not. it’s just that it’s the first time he’s visited Michael at UNM. They haven’t seen each other in a few months but they’ve talked on the phone and emailed and texted. Initially just the communication of friends, born from their desire not to lose touch, which eventually morphed into something flirty that makes Alex’s heart ka-thump every time he gets a notification.
They haven’t exactly named what’s going on between the two of them yet, which is fairly on brand for them, Alex supposes. But given that their second-to-last phone call had resulted in the best phone sex he’s ever had, and the follow-up phone call had involved making plans for this weekend, he’s pretty sure he’ll be driving back to Roswell calling Michael his boyfriend.
The thought of which, at the age of twenty-eight, is just as thrilling as it was when he was seventeen.
Michael’s last few texts still sit at the top of his messages:
[Guerin]: yeah let’s meet @ pub @ 5
[Guerin]: srsly
[Guerin]: can’t wait 2 see u
Alex is at the UNM campus pub ten minutes early, so he doesn’t expect Michael to be there yet. Whatever amazing things he’s doing now that he’s enrolled in college, living up here and going to college without the alien-themed Damocles’ sword hanging over his head, that much probably hasn’t changed.
Which is why, when he catches a glimpse of those beloved curls across the room, his breath catches in his throat.
Michael’s leaning casually against the bar, one foot propped up on the stool, nursing a near-full bottle of beer. He’s wearing a black bomber jacket that looks like it might have the UNM logo on the side, and jeans that are slightly faded but don’t seem to have any holes in them. And those curls - soft and falling in ringlets across his forehead, eliciting a sense memory for Alex of his own fingers threading through them. His gaze finally lands on the bright, patterned socks, visible only because Michael's jeans are rolled up past the ankle, and Alex officially wants to melt into the floor.
Then Michael’s head turns and he catches sight of Alex, lips splitting into a wide grin that lights up his whole face.
Alex might actually melt into the floor.
He makes his way over to the bar slowly, mindful of his leg. He’s got the crutch in his car, expects to have to use it all day tomorrow, but he doesn’t want Michael to see it and worry. Not tonight.
The man in question is busy slipping off the stool and standing to greet Alex, pulling him into a hug with one arm around his shoulder to pull him in and the other going around his lower back. Alex melts into it, like he’d wanted to melt into the sticky bar floor, and lets his eyes slip shut for just a moment. His own arms slide around Michael’s waist, squeezing lightly.
“It’s good to see you, Private,” he hears in his ear.
The nickname doesn’t sting like it used to, maybe because he knows the intention no longer skews that way. Instead it makes him feel the same that darlin’ or sweetheart do, drawled down the phone line and whispered over the miles that separate them, warm and pleasant echoing around his chest.
They pull back after way longer than is socially-acceptable and Michael takes a step back to look Alex over. His gaze drags down slowly and Alex fights to keep still. He knows, objectively, that he looks good. He’d picked the good pair of jeans that hugged his thighs, an old airforce jacket over a black t-shirt, and his hair was sticking up from having the car window down as he drove. Where Michael is mostly clean-shaven with a little scruff on his chin, Alex has grown out a little facial hair, and he sees the way that Michael’s gaze lingers on the hair above his top lip.
Well.
They sit and talk. Michael tells him about speeding through the coursework, already six months ahead of schedule and looking at an early graduation. He talks about his lab partner, the party that a bunch of twenty year olds invited him to last week, as well as the party that he actually ended up going to with more age-appropriate peers. Alex updates him on what everyone is Roswell is doing, complains a little about the work he’s doing for his latest client, shows Michael a picture he took of Buffy just yesterday.
It’s nothing they haven’t talked about before but there’s an added thrill to it when he can look up from his drink and see Michael right there, just inches from him. And every time he’s reminded of how Michael looks tonight...
“It’s getting late,” Alex says purposefully.
“You - uh. Wanna go get food or something?” Michael asks.
Alex blows out a slow breath and presses his thumb against the rim of the bottle. “Later, maybe. Right now, I think you should invite me back to your place.”
Michael blinks at him for a second before he’s rushing to pull his wallet out of the bomber jacket. Alex laughs and stops him, placing a bill down instead. They quip about it good naturedly for a moment before Alex reminds him private contractor now, Guerin, and Michael acquiesces with a smile and a dip of his head.
It’s a short walk from the pub to Michael’s place, a small but (thankfully) single occupant apartment because I’m twenty-eight, Alex. Of course I’m not sharing a dorm room with a bunch of kids. Alex nods and smiles as Michael unlocks the door to let them in, then pushes Michael up against it the second it’s closed again.
“Mmph. Hi.” Michael says a few minutes later, when they pause to breath.
“God, you look like you walked out of a frat house,” Alex pants, unzipping Michael’s jacket and getting his hands underneath Michael’s shirt.
“Oh,” Michael says, and Alex looks up to see his brow furrowed in confusion. “Do you - not like it?”
Alex leans forward and gives him a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, not pulling away until Michael is groaning and out of breath.
“Like is not the right word for how I feel about it,” Alex tells him, scraping his teeth over Michael’s jaw and working his hands further up Michael’s chest, nails dragging slightly on the hair there. “You look - you look good, Michael. Happy and healthy and so fucking soft. I wanted you the second I walked into that bar.”
Michael shudders under his touch and words. His hands come up to fumble at Alex’s jacket, pushing it down his shoulders and onto the floor behind them. “Well, you’ve got me now, darlin’. What’re you going to do with me?”
“As much as I want to blow you against this door,” Alex says conversationally, kissing the corner of Michael’s mouth softly. “I need to take my leg off. Where’s your bedroom?”
Michael swallows thickly and points to a door on the right, down the hallway. “Do you want -”
“I want you to get naked,” Alex interrupts him, already moving towards the room. “I said I’m not going to blow you against the door. Your bed will do just fine.”
Michael grins at him as he kicks off his shoes, leaving an unimpeded view of the patterned monstrosities on his feet.
Alex takes a second to look at him; mouth red from kisses, eyes wide and curls a mess. “On second thought,” he says, biting his bottom lip. “Keep the jacket on.”
Then he disappears into Michael’s bedroom, already thinking about getting his hands back on his soft, frat-bro (almost) boyfriend.