drmcsexy | Welcome home, Doctor

Welcome home, Doctor

Returning to Roswell had never been Kyle's plan. Not when he first left with a full ride scholarship to Michigan, and not when a bad tackle had literally ripped any pro dreams out of his hands when it had caused a tear in his knee and ankle. Surgery had fixed them enough for him to walk without a limp, but his future career had been ruined. It was his surgeon who had talked him into switching over to sports medicine, realizing he had the grades and the mind for it. Even if he hid it a lot behind bravado and machismo.

It was then he had started to change. Realizing the asshole he had truly become, and the man he had thought he would be. Throwing himself into his classwork, his labs, pulling himself out top ten of his class and with a lot of prospects.

And then Lovelace Regional had called and everything changed. Suddenly he's back in Roswell, facing a town he never thought he'd see again.

That night is meant to be a celebration, but in the end Kyle realizes he's really like none of his friends still in town. They had never grown, never changed, and now he is becoming the man he wants to be, and it's not like these assholes. Which is what started the fight.

If not for Maria they would have come to blows, and she ordered the others out after they had circled Kyle, ready to take him down, and shoved Kyle at the bar, pouring him a shot and ordering him to behave.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Michael's been hanging out at the Pony like always, because Maria hasn't kicked him out this week, and he's even behaving. That said, when it looks like a fight is about to break out, Michael's on his feet to get involved, because it's been a boring week at the ranch, he hasn't found any new ship pieces, and he's getting tired of reeking like cattle.

He ambles up to the bar (because he's trying to avoid Max and his buddies), and leans forward to drum on the counter. "Next round's on me," he calls to Maria. "Gotta reward a guy for..." Except, then he sees exactly who he's about to buy a shot for. "Actually, you know what, pour the shot still," he says, instead of cancelling it. "Your cheapest, shittiest liquor, please."

Glancing sidelong as he tosses back the shot, going still as he realizes who's standing beside him. Slowly he lowers the glass. "This is the best day ever," He says with fake cheer. "First I find out my mom set me up to come back home, then I lose all my friends in a single moment of not being a racist, sexist bitch and now Guerin. So glad to be home," he says, spinning to look at Maria. "Bring the whole bottle."

Jesus, what had he gotten himself into coming back? Why did he think things would be normal? Be okay? Obviously not.

Michael slides onto the stool because you know what? If it's this or dealing with Max's cronies or Racist Hank, then yeah, he can cope with Valenti if given a lot of alcohol. "Notice you didn't put homophobic in that list, so you still going around punching dudes who like hot dogs," he quips, with enough acid in his voice to strip paint.

Kyle's been an asshole and homophobic and while Michael hadn't been out, he'd felt it a little. The truth is, though, that he's pissed on Alex's behalf. It's been eight years and he's still pissed, and he doesn't see that changing.

"Because they weren't harassing someone about being gay," he says with a roll of his eyes. "They were saying shit about Maria, and to me about Liz. If they'd been saying shit about a gay guy, I would have said shit about that," he says with a snort, rolling his eyes.

"But hey, if you want to take a swing for the asshole I was in high school, be my fucking guest," he says, downing his drink and giving Maria a look as she brings the bottle. "Promise, Maria. NO fighting," he says, glancing at Michael. "You in on this bottle?"

Michael is narrowing his eyes at Valenti, but honestly, the grudge he holds against him is because of Alex -- who has been gone for eight years and even though Michael still considers him the love of his life, what he'll do for him is beginning to wane.

Plus, Valenti is offering him partial ownership of a bottle. "Yeah, I'm in," he agrees, holding up both hands. "No fighting, at least not Valenti," he guarantees, and reaches over the counter for two glasses, shooting Valenti a curious look. "So, you went from being the asshole who was obsessed with tacos to, what, a decent human being? What changed?"

"Cool." He pours them both a double, lifting his glass. "Means I'm not drinking alone," he says, knowing he shouldn't do this that badly, but he's going to.

"And... somewhere between losing my sports scholarship and getting my medical degree," he admits, figuring it's going to get around eventually. "It helps when you're saving lives and realizing it's what you want to do. Help people."

Michael pours himself a little more and he'll fully admit to being an asshole who's watching Valenti's drinking pattern so he can time this right. "Oh, is that what made you tolerant of people liking their own sex?" he quips. "For me, it was just seeing someone with a great ass."

Alex, of course, but then, Alex has the best ass he's ever seen.

Valenti might run away with the abs category, though, not that Michael intends to tell him that. "Also, if you're after sympathy, whining about how you're a successful doctor isn't gonna be how you get it, especially not in a bar like the Pony and not to a guy who's working a dairy farm job."

And he nearly does spit it. "For fuck's sake, Guerin. Shit." He picks up a napkin, dabbing at his nose. "I was a dick, okay? I get that and trust me. I hate myself for what I did to the one good friend I've had in my life" And he gets that they kind of went separate ways on seeing a great ass. "And fuck you. I wasn't looking for sympathy. You asked. I admitted the truth. And successful?."

He snorts at that, downing his drink. "Yeah, that's a word for it."

He hadn't meant to ever come back here, and he's suddenly remembering why. So he decides to change the subject.

"Why are you wasting time with me? Has to be someone in here you hate a tiny bit less than me. Mostly everyone," he says, remembering his face that night at prom. "Not that I mind the company." Which is the truth, at least, and more than he likely wants to admit.

Yeah, he already feels better for nearly having made Valenti spit out his drink, so he's going to roll with that and let himself coast on the wave for a little while. "Good," is all he says firmly, seeing as Valenti has a lot of room to make up for when it comes to Alex.

As if Alex gives a shit. If he did, he'd be here, wouldn't he?

"You're a doctor and I bet you have a decent place, that's successful to me," Michael points out. He snorts and gesturing around the bar. "Wyatt and Hank? Yeah, because I'm sure they'd love to hear about how I like to fuck dudes occasionally. Or maybe Deputy Evans and his buddies who'd love to arrest me. Or Maria, who'll tell you I'm her least favorite customer," he suggests, arching a brow.

"You're not even middle of the pack anymore, Valenti, you're rising to the top."

"I have a hotel room for now," he says, refilling his glass. "I hadn't planned to come back to Roswell. Then Lovelace hits me up right before graduation, offers me a damn good job, hometown boy and blah blah." He snorts, rolling his eyes because he'd been a fool. "The sheriff apparently had a word with them when I told her I was considering Doctors without Borders."

He'd fallen for it too. Absolutely.

"And do you lead every conversation with that? I mean, just saying," he mutters, taking a drink. "Damn, your life is going downhill then," he says, shaking his head. "Sucks to be you if that's the case." He makes a face. "Or I've had a shit ton to drink before I got here, so ignore me."

Michael snorts as he listens about a mother meddling, which would've been nice to have. Still, this isn't about them throwing a pity party for him and he doesn't want to talk about his shit luck with parental figures, especially not when there's liquor. "How's that hometown welcoming working out for you?" he asks, lifting his glass to salute Kyle.

"My life's been downhill since I was seven years old, don't act shocked it never got better," he says, and that's not entirely true. For a little while, just a little, he'd thought maybe Alex could rescue him from it.

Shows how little he knows. "Oh, c'mon, is it really that bad?"

He glares at Michael, sipping his drink but not looking at all happy about it all. "I knew it would be bad but... Jesus, they couldn't see me more than five minutes before making comments about Liz and her family," he says, shaking his head. And it would have upset him alone just it being about Liz, but he realized in that moment how much he didn't want to fit in with that group if it meant being that guy he was before.

"Sorry to tell you, I hadn't noticed. Which is on me, so I suck," he says, shrugging, but he actually look sincere about it. He knows he sucked and he was a monster. Or had been. Or so he reminds himself when he has time to think about it, when he sees others hurting and knows how long he'd done nothing for them.

"Tonight? Yep. After my hangover tomorrow I'll go back to what I've done the last five years. Throw myself into my work and not worry about it."

Michael's gonna blame the liquor and the mood, but maybe he's realizing Valenti isn't as bad as he'd thought before. Yeah, it's definitely the liquor and the loneliness, especially when he's thinking that maybe he's definitely kind of good to look at.

Maybe he's not that far off from his type, anyway. Brown hair, sassy, pretty. "That sounds like you're missing out on the opportunity to get laid and at least make the hangover worth it," he insists, which is his go-to most nights here, though tonight's not looking so promising.

"Or are you seriously that boring now?"

He makes a face at that, rolling his eyes because damn, Guerin has a one track mind apparently. First his own tastes, and now about fixing problems by getting laid. Yeah, no. He's not sure he's really up for rushing into that.

"Yeah, I'll get right into asking the blonde hanging on Max's every word if she wants to go home with a doctor," he says. Though in fairness she is the hottest chick in the place besides Maria, but he always worried that Maria just saw right through him no matter what he says or does. Kind of scary to have someone know you that well.

"If things were that good in here tonight, I am betting you'd have someone better to talk to."

Michael glances to Cameron and snorts. "Yeah, I already tried that, but she and Max have got an arrangement going," he says, smirking because he's kind of proud of dear old deputy brother for scoring that, even if it had messed up Michael's flirtations way too many times.

He finishes his glass and lets his attention slide over Kyle. "I am talking to someone better, we went over this," he reminds him. "Not asshole Long, not moralistic Max, and not judging Maria," he lists. "Plus, you're easy on the eyes, even I know that."

"Holy shit. Seriously? Max Evans is nailing her?" He turns to look over that way, just not even sure what to think. "Is she blind?" Okay, he's being a dick but he knew how Max stared at Liz. He's a jerk but he's not stupid.

He smirks though, his gaze coming back to Michael as he refills his glass. "Wow. I think there was a compliment there," he says. "Nearly." Setting the bottle down, he leans in closer to Michael. "And you're really going to lose here if you think playing gay chicken is going to work because I was an asshole before."

"The last time I got arrested, I definitely overheard something I wasn't supposed to," he guarantees with a snort, and the words 'scratch that itch' had been audibly said, which really hadn't helped Michael's post-revelry soaked brain. "People go where they need to, and convenience can be a sexy thing."

He keeps sipping his drink and stares at Kyle dubiously. "Who says I'm playing gay chicken?" he whispers right back, because he's not. It's objective -- Valenti's hot, anyone can see that.

"Huh. That's... Whatever," he says, figuring there has to be something about Max Evans he's damn well not seeing. Even now when he's got his head out of his ass about men, and what he might find attractive in men. Not Max Evans, that's for damn sure. "No. Intelligence and competency are sexy. Convenience is why you end up hitting on me now, Guerin."

Smirking at him though, not sounding at all bothered.

"I figure you think I'm going to back down and say something stupid and you'll have a right to hit me," he says, being drunk enough to be honest. "I told you things have changed. I've changed," he says, shifting so that he can whisper softly against Michael's ear. "You wouldn't even be the first guy I've left a bar with," he tells him, even if it was nothing like this. "Possibly the most brilliant though," he adds, remembering Liz complaining about Guerin's test scores compared to her own.

Well, he hadn't actually been hitting on Kyle so much as noticing him, but hey, if that's what Kyle wants to notice, he's absolutely not gonna say anything to go against it. After all, things have changed a whole lot, and Kyle's not wrong about it being a little bit convenience.

He laughs, though, when Kyle leans in, so close and his breath hot against his cheek. "Are you telling me I have a shot at walking out of here and scoring a hot doctor? My mother would be so proud," he deadpans as if he even has one of those and as if she'd even care.

He turns, just enough that some of his long curls brush Kyle's temple. "What if instead of hitting you, I decide to get at your body in a different way?"

It's probably the dumbest idea he's had. Barely back in Roswell, nearly been in a fight, drunk off his ass, and now considering talking Michael Guerin home. It would be all over town by morning. His mom would hear about it, especially with a few cops sitting in the corner. It be one helluva reputation he'd be starting out with, and much as that's a secondary thought, it's not even the first thing he's considering.

It's that he'd turned into a raging homophobe because looking at his best friend had gotten him hard at a party, and now he's thinking about going home with the guy that had obviously had a crush on said friend. It's wrong, and kind of twisted, and he's not sure he wants to do the right thing.

Not to mention he kind of likes those curls. A lot.

"I'm thinking you'd better be damned good given how much you keep bringing up how much you like fucking men." Which isn't exactly how Michael had worded it, but two could play this game.

Michael eases away from Kyle to maintain both their reputations, sipping the shitty liquor that he'd asked for, snorting when it comes to Kyle's demand. "I mean, the first guy had no complaints," he says, seeing as Alex had been plenty happy with how things had gone.

Since then, he's had handjobs, blowjobs, and other things in dark alleyways, but never sex with another guy, because it got too complicated explaining his heart was somewhere else. Kyle would understand that, though.

He shrugs and drains his drink. "Offer's on the table, that's all I'm saying."

The first guy. Alex. It has to be. Huh. Not surprising and yet... It shouldn't be sexy either.

Instead of answering, he takes a drink, staring behind the wall at the mirror there. He really should just go home and sleep it off.

"I'm not in the mood for a blowjob in the bathroom. You want to meet me at my place or what?" He's not assuming Michael would want to be seen walking out with him, after all.

Michael lets his tongue peek out, hovering at his lower lip as he works it for a long moment, thinking that oh yeah, he wants to take Valenti apart and if he can make him beg, then it'll be even better. He digs out his phone and slides it over the counter. "Gimme an address and I'll meet you there," he says, casual as you like.

"I'll even leave a few minutes after you, so you can pretend you're not going home with a guy," he says, and he's making the offer genuinely, seeing as he could really use a good lay and if Kyle's any good, he wants to keep that door open.

Watching Michael more intently than he is the phone, he puts the address for the place he's renting in, considering that he should really get a cab rather than driving home. He'd spent way too much on his ride to wreck it his first day back in town.

"Less worried about that than about it going back to the Sheriff," he says, rolling his eyes. "You don't need that kind of shit to deal with," he says, glad Michael's cool about it. "At least at my place I've got top shelf to drink," he smirks, downing the rest of the glass. "Try not to be too long. Kind of got this desire to see how hard I can pull on those curls before you get pissed about it."

Smirking as he slides off the stool, seeing Maria's look almost instantly. "I'm not driving," he says. "Just make sure they don't tow me. Or those shitheads don't come back and ruin her."

Turning away carefully not to let the alcohol go too much to his head and heading for the door. "Try can stay out of trouble, Guerin," he calls over his shoulder. As if he hadn't been the one nearly in a fight a bit before.

When Valenti leaves, Michael swivels back on the stool and keeps drinking for a while, easing his phone into his pocket with ease. He stays for about fifteen minutes, stretching and paying a bit of his tab, though not all of it, before he takes a piss and then heads outside.

It's not easy lingering so long because honestly, the idea of Valenti's hands in his hair is definitely a tempting one. He slides outside and he is the kind of idiot who drives over to Valenti's even though he's been drinking, but he has just a little bit of a death wish (only a little) and also? He doesn't care.

He stumbles his way up to the apartment, knocking on the door with his fist. "Better not have sent me to some prank address," he calls.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject