Find Your Way
by Shannon
Website:
Pairing: M/K
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Not one of the others ever gets half what he does. But of course, I make all of them…every last one…call me Alex.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Archive: Yes, to lists it's posted to. Anyone else just ask.
Date of First Posting: 06/03/04 to the M/K Lyric Wheel
Note: This is somewhere between Apocrypha and Tunguska, but assume M/K canon just went haywire somewhere after our poor rat gets put in the silo.
Thanks: To Siberian Skys for the beautiful song!
He doesn’t ever call me Alex.
I have my face in his crotch now. He’s not touching me. I’m licking through the moist bush of burnished hair around his heavy cock. I’m cleaning him.
Lick me, rat.
And I do. Soft and sweet or ravenous for his taste, all musky hot under my tongue. Sometimes it matters. Sometimes it doesn’t. He wants his rat hard and cool, willing and fever-bright. I wax and wane like the moon for him, but I’ve yet to find out what it will take to make him call me by my first name.
Fuck it, bitch.
Me, with my own fingers up my lubed ass. Three fingers pushing, I grunt with the exertion, but I can still hear the sound of my own digits squishing up into my ass over and over.
Mulder watches me fucking myself. He licks his lips and moves in closer. When he comes it’ll be on my hand, my fucking fingers, and I’ll make sure his semen gets pumped up my ass on them just how he likes it. It’s warmer than the lube.
Good boy.
I like it, too.
I like it too much.
He can make me come that way. With just the touch of his jizz on my open hole.
Not one of the others ever gets half what he does.
But of course, I make all of them…every last one…call me Alex.
Mulder knows about all of it. My catting around. I make sure he does. I come home with their scents on me. His nostrils flare with the stench of testosterone as I breeze past. We’ve had this arrangement for some time. A year maybe? Me living here with Mulder. Sleeping with Mulder. Fucking Mulder. Eating Mulder’s food and getting myself clean in his shower.
He knows that sometimes I get an itch. He just doesn’t know why. He thinks he’s not enough for me. He thinks I’m a fucking whore who can’t get enough dicks shoved up his ass.
He thinks the wrong thing all the time.
I’ve never told him that.
I’ve never told him that the itch has everything to do with him. And that I leave him because I can’t stand it anymore. Because I want him to make me come back. Because I’m waiting for the night he doesn’t let me go.
Most of the time I don’t even fuck anybody. I go to the bars like a good little faggot and I check out the talent. I spill beer down my throat and make sure to bump into the sweet-smelling queen at the end of the bar. He flits his pretty blues at me, and I grimace.
I’ve gone so far as to buy a bottle of cheap aftershave at the drugstore, splashing it on in my car and tossing the barely used bottle into the gutter, never having hit one bar or club all night.
I always hold my breath when I get back home. I wait to see his eyes. To see the apathetic glare that cuts me to shards of myself before he turns his attention away. Or… If I’m lucky…
That dangerous, beautiful man who still carries a grain of hate around in his heart for me. Who’ll touch me like he remembers why he started fucking me in the first place: that malignant hunger, always a breath away from violence, only the space between our naked bodies separating us from bliss.
He knows it. I know it. And it always seems to trip away on the dawn, leaving us to ourselves when the night left us to each other.
I’m having a lite beer in a diner just off the highway. I had to get out of town. This place is known for two things: greasy cheeseburgers and the restrooms out back where you can get your dick sucked at all hours and by all kinds. A guy three booths down has been eyeing me for an hour.
I want to go home. When I left, it was for a job. Mulder knew. I don’t do my old work anymore. I do it Mulder’s way and for a cause he and I share. Beyond a little breaking and entering, some not-so-petit theft…I’m out of the old game.
Mulder nodded at me as I slung my jacket on. He gestured toward my Glock, hanging against my ribs.
“I’ll know, Krycek.”
He doesn’t have to say anything else anymore. I’ll always understand what he means. He doesn’t want me to kill anyone unless it’s self-defense, and he’ll know if I do. It’s all part of the arrangement and if I fuck it up, I’m out.
I haven’t fucked up. And I won’t. But he still says it to let me know he’ll never quite trust me.
I nodded back to him and walked out. I did the job, keeping my hands clean, and when I was done I found myself heading west on the freeway, out of town rather than home to him.
Every mile was a balm. And an ache.
I was on my bike, and I parked it close to the diner windows to keep an eye on it. When I killed the engine, I could scarcely hear the music wafting out through the rusty screen door on the smell of hashbrowns. Under that, quiet. It’s what I wanted. Just quiet. When I’m with Mulder, even when we’re just sitting trying to ignore each other, it’s loud. His energy is like an AC/DC concert, and everything he doesn’t say screams at me across the room.
So I’m here, drinking beer so that my breath will stink with it, sour with guilt. I finish it, sighing as I watch the condensation trickle down the cool glass bottle, warm in places from my hand.
I look up and find the man’s eyes three booths down.
He sat behind me on the bike and I drove him down the side road, toward the lake, past the restrooms. He told me his name was John, which was most likely bullshit, but I didn’t care. I told him my name was Alex.
His cock was hard against my back. When we got there, a clearing in the trees close enough to the black water to hear it licking the sharp sand, he told me he wanted me to fuck him. Over the bike, no less. I told him no.
“Get your cock out,” I instructed, and watched him fumble with the new-looking jeans. Like he bought them today. For this.
He looked good, not great, and I made him jack me through my pants. I stayed half-hard while his trembling hand touched me. I made him touch himself, both hands full of cock, his breath coming up short.
I let him go at it for about five minutes and then I slapped his hand away from my unenthused crotch and took his slick hard-on in my grasp. I pulled hard, making him stumble and whine. He came in my hand and into the dirt, wailing my name, and then watched as I rubbed the goo over my fly, massaging it into my balls and down my inner thighs.
“Thanks, John,” I said, getting him back on the bike.
I dropped him off at the diner and got back on the freeway for home.
Mulder didn’t do much at first. I threw my keys on the dining room table and he barely spared me a glance. I got a beer from the fridge and came to stand by the couch, drinking a long swallow and making him look back up at me once Kobe Bryant took it to the hoop to make it a two point game against the Kings.
“How’d it go?” he asks now.
I nod, gulping the beer, hip cocked, standing a little too close. I swallow and get out, “Good.”
And that’s when his eyes drop to my crotch. I’m harder now than when “John” was fondling me in the woods. Mulder’s gaze goes hard, too, seeing the wet spread of cum marking my Levi’s. He grabs me by the hips, forcing a gasp out of my mouth, and hauls me in, putting his face right in the heft of my cock and inhaling deeply.
When he lifts his gaze back to my face, there’s a deep frown etching its way between his eyebrows and his thumbs are tightening on my hipbones.
He knows it’s not mine.
By smell.
My heart squeezes under my breastbone and I feel my cock pulse with need. That Mulder knows this about me, has memorized the pungent aroma of my ejaculate and can discern it from that of others, is almost enough to rock me to my knees. I look down into his eyes, now narrowing, and see a flash of hurt before he shoves me away from him, standing.
“Strip,” he commands, but then doesn’t allow me to obey. I set the beer down and I’m only half out of my T-shirt when he’s on me, ripping it and then yanking at my hair, biting my mouth and tearing our clothing.
By the time he’s wrestled me into the bathroom, we’re both naked and hard and hot against each other. He pulls me into the shower with him, turning on the pounding spray and pulling me under, kissing open-mouthed under the deluge and humping roughly between my thighs.
Mulder grabs my ass and then slaps it, the wet, sharp sound even louder bouncing off the tile walls.
“Wash. Now,” he says, water pouring off his bottom lip. He looks mad…diseased with possession. It’s stunning. I do as told, quickly ridding myself of the foul semen stain, hand working between my legs, lifting my balls for him to see. His eyes go hooded, but they’re still a gold so deep as to flicker amber when they blink up to meet mine again.
“Did he fuck you?” he asks, his throat closing off like a fist around the words.
I lick my lips and shake my head no.
“Clean your asshole,” he orders even still.
I reach a soapy finger around behind and penetrate myself, lips parting on the easy, slick fuck. We stare at each other as I soap my anal canal for him. Then I drop my eyes and watch his little, dark-pink nipples go hard.
“Enough,” he breathes. “Turn around and bend over.”
I do it, bracing my hands on the wall, and before I take a breath he’s inside me. Long, naked prick slicing me open. It hurts and I shudder, mouth open yet unable to scream. He thinks I’ve been worked over once already tonight, so he crams his cock up into my body without heed to preparation.
“Nobody comes here,” he gasps, already riding my asshole with a desperate whipping of his hips.
I claw my hands on the tile. I hear him spit water out of his mouth.
“Just me, ratfuck,” he growls. “Just my cum up in here.”
I gasp and turn my face into my armpit. “Yes,” I hiss back to him, sliding back and forth on his cock. I close my eyes, feeling my own cock on the verge of exploding. “Yes, Mulder,” I plead.
He roars and spills his seed deep in my bowels, fucking it in. I feel him slipping in his own semen as it floods through me, squeezing past his cock and my gripping anus to leak down my legs. I come, too, firing jets of it out onto the wall and floor of the shower and groaning luridly. He didn’t even have to touch me.
When we’ve both cleaned up again, he steps out of the shower and grabs a towel. He dries me himself, taking pleasure, I think, in rubbing the rough terry cloth between my legs.
He watches me brush my teeth, silent but vaguely threatening, and then he takes me to bed. He pulls me under the sheet, not allowing me to dress, and gets me situated up against him. I can tell we’re not going to sleep, but it’s all right with me. I’d rather be awake all night, lying in the cradle of his arms.
He was showering again when I woke. The morning was tense and void of eye contact. I fried up some potatoes in olive oil, and unlike most mornings, Mulder didn’t reach around me to grab up a slice and pop it into his mouth before they were done. I took a piece myself, wondering if I’d salted them enough. I rolled it in my mouth and squinted as the sun burst over the window sill and splashed across my face.
Mulder took the plate I offered into the bathroom with him and ate while he shaved, pausing mid-bite to peel the blade up his throat. I watched him from my place at the table, feigning interest in the front page news. I could only see his face in the mirror, reflection specked with dots of toothpaste.
He came out with his tie half-done. I set my paper down.
“Your greens don’t match,” I told him.
He frowned, looking at his tie and then reaching over for my coffee mug, nearly draining it before setting it back down in front of me. I looked at it and then at him.
“What?” he asked.
I stood and pulled his tie loose. “This is lime green. Your shirt’s olive.”
He took the tie from my hands, careful not to touch my fingers and retreated to the bedroom. He came out in a different tie, glancing at me for criticism. I just nodded. He cleared his throat.
“Later, Krycek,” he said and was out the door before I could respond.
He looked fucking beautiful.
Ty’s crotch is in mine when he leans in and asks, “Buy you another, Alex?”
I’d say no. But he called me Alex. I nod and Ty smiles, chinning the bartender over while his dick tries to bury itself between my testicles. In my head, I substitute Mulder’s voice.
“Buy you another, rat?”
It makes me smile.
“What?” Ty asks, tilting his head so I get his good side…the maximum value of the sly grin he’s perfected over years of picking up men in bars.
“Just kiss me,” I say, feeling a little sick. I never ask them to do that. I haven’t kissed anyone but Mulder in years.
Ty’s lips descend quickly, as if seeing my hesitance. His kiss is wet and toppy. He’s all tongue, hard and poking into my mouth. Soon I’m pushing him away, smiling slightly to soothe his ego and drinking to clear my palate.
“You wanna dance?” he asks.
I never dance with them either. But I let him pull me out onto the floor, regretting that I didn’t hedge until the song changed. It’s something slow. Something that will force our bodies into intimate contact. Not for the first time, I think this is a big mistake.
I came here early, wanting to be gone when Mulder got home from work. All I could think of all day was watching the stupid fuck try to shave and eat at the same time. How studiously I regarded his reflection. And how his eyes didn’t turn to find me even once.
I move in closer and make sure to rub my hipbone into Ty’s erection as we move. We turn, and he situates his thigh between my legs, pressing a suggestion into the malleable softness of my genitals. It’s late now, and I’ve had just enough to drink to feel like I’ve gone too far. Just enough to let Ty’s hands drop to my ass and stay there. Just enough to touch him back.
And on one of our revolutions under the flashing lights, I see him. Mulder. Here. He’s leaning casually against a cement pillar, arms crossed over his chest, back-lit. And he’s watching me.
My cock, formerly quiescent and uninvolved, blooms to full erection, plumping up…out…wanting, straining, at the mere sight of him. Jesus.
Ty turns me and I squint into the shadows. The lights throw themselves over Mulder’s body once, long and easy there in the darkness. His expression melts into shadow before I can tell what I see there.
I peer past the smoke-clogged strobe, trying to know anything more than he’s letting me see. Mulder doesn’t move. He’s still, looking unconcerned except that he hasn’t once looked away. I feel his eyes on me, and his gaze holds a hundred mysteries, holds me, tight and true…and cold. But I run hot for him, always.
The song is one I don’t know and I don’t care. On every revolution, my eyes find Mulder, so quiet there in the dark while the lights flash over me. My partner’s hands wander my body and Mulder lets him. His lips find my neck and open there, and Mulder doesn’t move.
The heat and shame of my anger rises up and blushes my skin. My ass is tender where he screwed me open last night. The remembered feel of his naked body curled into mine protectively as I tried to breathe like I was sleeping stings my lungs now. Now, as he watches me, unfolding his arms and slipping his hands deftly into his pockets.
The light strikes his face once more, flaming his eyes to caramel shine. I swallow down the lance of pain when our gazes lock, and then I move my body on Ty’s, pressing our chests together and then rolling my pelvis into the fit of his thighs. I watch Mulder closely. The parting of generous lips. Lips that find my cock in the dark and take me home to his mouth.
I wrap my arms around Ty’s neck, moving like a pro, slipping out of the grasp of Mulder’s stare and closing my eyes. I must look like I’m loving it. When really it hurts more than I could express with three languages at my disposal.
I work my body against my partner’s, turning my back to Mulder, imagining his gaze dropping, lingering on the slope of my butt proprietarily.
We turn again, and once more I find Mulder across the room unerringly.
He stares at me, the charcoal mockneck he’s wearing making him look every bit the sophisticated, off-the-clock executive fag. I want to shimmy the soft cotton up his belly and lick him. He’s magnificent. I wonder if he dressed for me.
And just when I start to hate him for letting me do this, he slowly pushes off the pillar, pulls his hands from his pockets, and begins pushing through bodies toward me.
My breath falters under the seductive melody. With each turn my partner and I make, Mulder is closer. He’s what I spot…what I center on so I don’t get dizzy. But I still do. Ty disappears, his ghost arms holding me in place so that I don’t fall into Mulder, letting him devour me beneath the stroking lights.
He’s close. My elbow bumps him on the next rotation.
“Excuse us,” Mulder says to Ty, somehow being heard over the music though it doesn’t seem he raised his voice. He’s looking at me, his attention a skewer through my flesh.
Ty turns and smiles at Mulder. It’s disbelieving. A real ‘as if’ look. I extricate myself and go to Mulder, leaving the other behind.
Mulder reaches out and takes me in his arms, and in turn my arms go tightly around him. Bastard, I think. Uncaring, unfazed. The song defuses into something softer…romantic even…and Mulder’s body fits up against mine, warm.
I hate you, I think. I smell the burning need of his cock and the sheen of sweat he wears like cologne. Suddenly, I can hardly stand. I drop my head onto his shoulder and he turns with me. We’re dancing.
Hate you, I try again. Hate how easy I am for you.
“I found you, ratboy,” he murmurs into my ear.
I am consoled by the steel rod his cock has become while we’ve danced. His hands don’t grab or restrain me. There’s nothing holding me down. Only the gossamer haze of yearning binding me to him. And I’m helpless to walk away.
The singer croons over the speakers as Mulder breathes in my ear and I think, why can’t you stop hating me?
I feel his inhale like an indictment. He draws away so I can see his face and he mine. I curse the moisture creeping up over my eyes.
His hands wander up my body, unhurried, until he’s cupping my face in between them. We’re too warm, like summer without wind.
“Can’t you feel it?” he asks me, and what I think was supposed to be flirtatious turns with the edge of frustration as it leaves his mouth. But he’s still dancing…moving casually between bodies that reek of sex and alcohol. His look is harder than his words and somehow that comforts me. Still… My eyes are refugees trying to outrun him. My mind fills with lies. My heart thickens against hurting him…him hurting me.
All I can think about is how much I don’t want to answer him. Because I do. I feel it like poison. He seeps through me and allows nothing else but him. There’s no room. No space for anything that goes against him. I’m lost until he names me, collars me, and drags me home to him.
“Pretty rat…” he sighs as his hands slide down my neck and throat. His lips hover over my own, letting them tingle with just the suggestion of his kiss. Then he’s bruising my lips and searching out my tongue with his and I can do nothing but hold on and try not to fall too far.
When he pulls away, it’s to move out of my arms completely, and my fingers drag on the soft material of his shirt. His hand strays on my cheek and he smiles a little.
“Go and have your fun,” he orders, and though my heart skids to a stop, not wanting him to leave…wanting to go with him because there is nothing fun about making myself do this…I let him back away from me. The tips of his fingers brush my raw, kissed lips.
“Don’t get so drunk you can’t find your way home.”
The words are flippant as is the smile that caresses his generous mouth. But under the words themselves, hiding beneath the smile and hovering at the corners of his eyes where the lines have started to form, I see what he’s really saying.
Find your way home….
I nod mutely. And then I let him walk away until he’s out of sight.
My key scratches the lock. I’m clumsy with exhaustion, the alcohol having worn off long ago. After he left, I sat at the bar and drank club soda until the place closed. I turned down all offers of drinks, dancing, and sex. I turned off to any thoughts that didn’t boast him as their star. I thought about his words: can’t you feel it?
The ride home was cold and dark and lonely. I needed it. The solace of knowing the bike under me, the sky over me, and everything in between flying by too fast to stop and think about.
Except Mulder. Always Mulder.
Can’t you feel it?
It appears nothing can make me stop.
Now I open the door and creep inside like a teenager home late. It’s dark, but the second the door closes, the living room light comes on. My head turns quickly and my mouth opens on a gasp. But it’s just Mulder, standing in the middle of the living room, looking at me.
“Mulder…” I breathe. “You scared me,” I sigh, stripping off my jacket and hanging it on the peg. I start to pull my T-shirt free of my jeans when he speaks.
“Stop.”
My hands immediately still and I find his eyes in the new light. I frown a question at him. He walks toward me.
“You have fun?” he asks.
My frown deepens and I have the urgent desire to back up against the door. Nothing about him promises violence. But there is menace in him, bleeding from him as from a wound. Something worse than punches and guns. I swallow.
“Did you, Krycek?”
I take a breath to answer, my fear wafting up to my nostrils. “N-No,” I whisper truthfully.
“No?” he repeats, still approaching. I take a step back.
“No,” I say again, voice like roughened honey.
Suddenly he stops. Close enough to threaten but not close enough to reach out and touch.
“Take off your shirt.”
I exhale, relieved that he wants this from me. If he wants sex, even angry or hurt or whatever it is that he is, I can give him that. I know that. I strip my T-shirt over my head and let it drop to the foyer floor. His eyes drop to my chest, touching my nipples like fingers, pebbling them small and hard.
It’s only then that I see he has something in his hand. It catches the light, winking at me coldly.
A needle.
I suck my breath in, wide eyes finding Mulder’s again. He’s licking his bottom lip slowly.
“I have something for you,” he says, now taking another step in.
I swallow, unable to answer. Adrenaline shoots through my system like a drug, executing my exhaustion and replacing it with fire. My gaze drops to his right hand. He’s turning the needle, manipulating it with dexterous fingers.
“Look at me,” he demands softly. I do, and he takes one more step. I tell myself it’s not a gun he has, not a knife, not anything lethal. I feel the door at my back and itch to find the knob with my hand.
He holds the needle up. “You’re going to let me do this, rat.”
I blink spasmodically. Another step. A drop of sweat strokes my temple. Suddenly he reaches out with his left hand, arm striking like a snake, and he grabs my hair painfully and holds me in place with his eyes.
“Nobody else,” he says tightly. “Never again. You hear me, Krycek?”
He pushes me against the door with his hips, his cock strong and solid and prodding my thigh. My fear begins to melt, molten and dripping off my body like sweat. In his eyes, I recognize his own fear, the first glimpse of real longing I’ve seen in him. I’m at once hard and warm and shuddering against him.
And then I feel the bite of the needle. I struggle not to gasp, to flinch. He just rests it against the tightly drawn bud, waiting, weapon and benediction.
Mulder blinks, staring at me a moment longer, then he slowly drops to one knee in front of me. He touches sure fingers to my nipple, holding it in place, and begins to drive the needle through.
I bite my lip as the pressure increases and it punctures my flesh. I ball my hands into fists and look down, and we both watch it push through farther. The endorphins rush my bloodstream and wash over the pain as Mulder keeps pushing, relentless. I feel the sharp end finally pressing against the other side, wanting out. Mulder guides it through, increasing the pressure enough to break the reddening skin.
“Hold still, rat,” he murmurs, licking his lips and reaching for the ring I hadn’t noticed on the entryway table. It’s simple. Small and gold. I can’t help the tear that falls as Mulder places it at the end of the needle, ready to thread it through.
He glances up at me and sees the tear. His lips part and he pauses. I nod down to him.
He bends his head to his work once more, careful and confident as he puts the ring through my nipple and finally finishes by twisting the ball into place so the fragile gold circle is complete. My breath leaves me in a shaky rush as I look down at Mulder and at my ring. He’s looking at it, too, an expression of wonder and pride on his face. He leans in, making fear burst along my veins, but he places a kiss just over the deep-red little hurt, over my heart, lingering there hot and wet.
Then he rises up off his knee, leaning in close, his breath hard on my face. He’s trembling.
“Hurt?” he asks, little more than a whisper.
I nod, hands reaching up and finding him as his are finding me, cupping, holding, stroking as my nipple stings and aches. “Yeah,” I husk, not knowing what comes next.
“I guess it’s supposed to,” he says, fingers drifting so close to where the pain is. Then he leans in still more and tilts his head, hot mouth finding my ear as I watch his fingers inch down, my own breathing halted by the movement. He brushes the tip of his middle finger over the swelling nub and my loud gasp almost drowns out his choking words. “God, it hurts to love you this much.”
I don’t know who’s breathing here, him or me. Maybe neither of us. But then he turns his head, closing the distance, and kisses me and it doesn’t matter anymore.
And I thought what I needed, all I needed, was for him to call me Alex.
I close my eyes and shiver.
We’re on my bike. It’s colder. Moving out of Fall and into something more sinister and surreal. Christmas trees and commercials. I’m taking him to the beach. We needed to get away.
It’s not the first time he’s ridden with me, but it’s been a couple of months, and the rush I get with him glued to my back, arms tight around my middle gives me a boner the size of a summer sausage. I lean down and go faster, pressing the weight of my cock down onto the harsh drone of the bike I’m straddling. Mulder hunkers down with me, us against the wind, and he mimics how I lean with the curves.
It’s very erotic. Being with him like this. Not talking. Pressed close together. But not screwing. I could get off with just his hot breath on my neck and the vibration of the engine.
I like that we can’t talk to each other. The silence between us feels more organic, less like old pain and more like anticipation.
We’re almost there. But I don’t want to relinquish the feel of him behind me, spooning atop my chopper, rebels with a cause so daunting it’s nearly killing us.
We can see the ocean now and it’s all a matter of finding a stretch of beach that looks good. I slow down a little to let him scope out the view. But instead he scoots closer, letting me get a good feel of his hard cock, and he reaches up under my jacket, finding my left nipple and flicking it idly.
My arousal pitches into a dangerous range where I’m afraid I might come soon and kill us both, so I slow the bike and pull off onto a shoulder. Now the roar of the bike harmonizes with the ancient surf, singing languidly between my thighs.
Mulder pinches my nipple and I think I snarl, turning my head to look at him. He’s smiling.
“Is that your signal that you want to stop?” I ask, unable not to return the smile.
His other hand works its way down to cup my cock and balls through my jeans. I growl, “Mulder…”
He relents and lets his hand rest on my leg. “Looks like a good spot,” he allows, nodding.
I look out over the beach. The tide is in and the sun is coming down out of the clouds like the hand of God, dipping into the water halfway from here to the horizon.
“You like it, Krycek?” he asks.
I look back at him, his patient expression. I lean in and kiss him once, licking his bottom lip before withdrawing and cutting the engine.
“Looks good to me,” I tell him.
The walk down to the water’s edge is quiet and calm. All hell will break loose when we fuck, of course. It always does. But until then, we just walk, ignoring how our hands reach out and touch each other. Ignoring how they stay and link. We’re just watching the water and walking.
End
Not your traditional white wedding, but hey, the guys aren’t exactly the traditional type. At least Krycek got himself a ring!
Feedback loved for as long as we both shall live at shannon@hegalplace.com !
Save The Last Dance For Me
By The Drifters
You can dance every dance with the guy
Who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight
You can smile every smile for the man
Who held your hand beneath the pale moonlight
But don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darlin' save the last dance for me
Oh, I know that the music's fine like sparkling wine
Go and have your fun
Laugh and sing, but while we're apart
Don't give your heart to anyone
And don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darlin' save the last dance for me
Baby, don't you know I love you so
Oh, can't you feel it when we touch
I will never never let you go
Oh, I love you, oh, so much
You can dance (You can dance)
Go and carry on till the night is gone, and it's time to go
(You can dance, you can dance)
If he asks (You can dance)
If you're all alone (You can dance)
Can he take you home (You can dance)
You must tell him no (You can dance)
'Cause don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darlin' (save) save the last dance for me
But don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arms your gonna be
So darlin' (save) save the last dance for me
Save the last dance for me
Save, save the last dance for me
(Save) Save the last dance for me
(Save) Save the last dance for me
Save, save the last dance for me
(Save) save the last dance for me
Save the last dance for me