Disclaimer: Children, what are you doing in here? Get out of here! It features angst, entertaining graphic sexual descriptions of two men in love doing terribly erotic things to each other, cameo appearances of friends of the author, many inside jokes, and the occasional naughty word. If you don’t like that sort of stuff, or know you are too young for it, you could go to www.tripod.com/fun_games/peeps/ and send someone you love a peep. Oh, and I don't own any of these characters. I'm just borrowing them for a little storytelling. They are all owned by Chris Carter, Fox, ten thirteen productions, and the rest of the people with the money. I don't have any. I do, however, have an overactive sexual imagination and a good grasp of how to drive a plot home. Oh, dear, that didn't come out quite right . . . oh, well.
Send comments to address above. And yes, I know the dates are wrong, but this is an alternate universe, after all. It works better this way.
Mulder punched in the code for the copier and started running off copies of his reports. Since it was Saturday, there were no secretaries for him to flirt with. Not that Mulder felt like flirting. The run-in with Kristen and the Trinity Killers had removed all desire for flirting from him. Sex with Kristen had been physically satisfying, but it had only made his present depression worse in all other respects. He’d almost started smoking again, but the image of himself as a cancer-ridden, bitter, manipulative old man had stopped him.
Scully was still gone. There was no sign of her, and no clues. No ransom demands. She had simply vanished. Mulder didn’t know if she were alive or dead.
He’d missed Valentine’s Day. He’d spent it alone, getting drunk in Alex’s empty apartment. The landlady didn’t know what had happened; she’d let in the moving people because Alex had left his key and a note with her saying he was moving in with a friend, and had paid through the end of the month. No one had moved in since then, so Mulder had broken into the apartment and lay on the floor where their bed had used to be and drank himself into oblivion.
Not quite what he had planned, but the times demanded improvisation.
It would all have been so easy if only I could convince myself to really hate Alex Krycek, thought Mulder. And that would be easy if it weren’t for the little things that Alex had done to worm his way into Mulder’s heart. Like the tapes, for instance.
At first, Mulder had thought Krycek had been killed after the incident with Duane Barry, or that he had moved on to do his master’s bidding by seducing another fool. But, that Friday, Mulder had received a package in the mail. It had come from Brisbane, Australia, and contained a tape of Alex reading the first chapter of “The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.” Alex was keeping his Christmas promise.
“I don’t remember where we left off, so I’m just going to start over from the beginning, okay?” that first tape had begun, and since then Mulder received a new chapter every Friday, from different places in Southeast Asia and Australia. He tried to resist listening, but failed every time. Mulder quickly figured out why Alex had chosen the story.
And then there was the journal. Mulder had been ready to believe that all the journals had been faked, designed specifically to lure him into a false sense of kinship with the owner/writer, until he found the one that Alex had forgotten in the office. It was his last one, and was almost full. Mulder had actually seen Alex write in this one, when they were discussing sex, love, and marriage after watching “Like Water for Chocolate.” He’d found that page, in fact, filled with Alex’s notes on their conversation.
“I would make someone a wonderful housewife,” Mulder could remember Alex laughing, and there in the journal, in Alex’s beautiful hand, Alex had scribbled ‘Fox William Mulder,’ ‘Alexei Mikhailovich Krycek-Mulder,’ then ‘Alex Mulder-Krycek - AMK!’ The handwriting on the tapes was the same as the handwriting in the journals. And seeing his own name written so reverently had brought him to his knees, sobbing, in his office, cradling Alex’s journal to his chest. So if nothing else was, this journal at least was real. His feelings for Alex, were, unfortunately, just as real.
So why had it happened? What had happened? Why hadn’t Alex trusted him with the truth?
Rather than think about it, and make himself totally crazy instead of only mostly insane, Mulder threw himself into his work. Which was why he was in the office on a Saturday afternoon making photocopies, instead of going to the office party for the engagement of two other agents going on upstairs.
A group of partygoers walked by. He vaguely knew most of them: Agents Strider and Stolzberg, from Computer Crimes; Agent Hickey, from Internal Affairs; and AD Amoon. “You look thirsty, Agent Mulder. Have you met ‘Agent’ Jack Daniels?” said AD Amoon, offering the bottle to Mulder. Mulder accepted the bottle, and took a healthy swig. He was planning to be here all day, after all. “Are you going to the party?” she asked.
Mulder shook his head. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Oh, I’ll talk to Skinner and smooth it out. He works you too hard. Come on, you need to have some fun.” The AD no longer sounded like she actually offering Mulder a choice, and the presence of the whiskey was a strong temptation. Mulder gave in, filed his reports and his copies, and joined the group.
The party was in full swing, but after a token performance at socialization, Mulder managed to avoid most of the conversation and find himself a spot against the wall where he could nurse the bottle of whiskey that AD Amoon had left with him and watch the party go by. If Scully were here.... Mulder cut off that thought. The next one was even worse: If Alex were here....
Mulder put the empty bottle down and let himself sink to the floor.
“How are you doing, Agent Mulder?” Mulder looked up to see AD Skinner standing over him, looking down with concern, probably instilled by AD Amoon.
“I’m all right, sir. Just a little depressed.”
“Yeah, I thought you might be. Why don’t you let me take you home?” Skinner’s concern was obvious, but Mulder suspected he was also safeguarding the taxpayer’s precious dollars by keeping a close eye on the obviously inebriated Agent Mulder.
Mulder staggered to his feet, and let Skinner half-carry him away. If it were anyone other than Skinner, Mulder decided, I’d have to wonder if he were trying to pick me up. Figuratively, of course, given that Skinner was picking him up literally. Skinner, despite the desk job he held, was in much better shape than Mulder. Hard muscles and broad shoulders, he easily helped Mulder walk out to the parking garage. Mulder tried not to flop into the car like a rag doll, but he was a little tipsy. Skinner buckled him in, touching him entirely too much for it to be merely accidental. Then Mulder decided he was insane. He couldn’t possibly be thinking that straight-as-an-arrow AD Walter Skinner was copping a feel from one of his own agents. “Just the alcohol talking,” he murmured softly.
“What?”
“‘S nothing, sir.” Mulder’s voice was slurred slightly, and he could hear the taint of Oxford creeping back into his voice. “Oh, my, I am drunk.”
Skinner looked at him oddly. “How much did you have to drink?”
“Jus’ the one bottle.”
“Just?” said Skinner incredulously. “Have you eaten anything today?”
“Nah, wasn’t hungry. ‘M still not hungry. ‘M jus’ tired.” Mulder slumped adorably in the front seat, watching Skinner concentrate on the road. “Wha’ time is it?”
“It’s about seven thirty.”
“So late!” Mulder twisted to look out the window, exposing the side of his neck to Skinner, who naturally thought unnatural thoughts about it. “How did it get to be so late?”
Skinner didn’t answer. He parked across from Mulder’s building. “We’re here. Let’s get you upstairs and into bed.”
“Okay,” said Mulder sweetly. That did sound like fun...being in bed with Skinner. He laughed aloud at the thought, and let himself be pulled out of the car and dragged up to his apartment.
“Where are your keys?”
Mulder fumbled in his pocket, trying to find them, and wasn’t particularly surprised when Skinner reached around him to ease his hand into Mulder’s pocket and pull them out. Mulder inhaled sharply, savoring the contact, and let himself half-collapse into Skinner’s solid mass.
Skinner opened the door, and gently pushed Mulder into the apartment, then handed the keys back to him. Mulder turned to him.
“Would you like to come in?”
“Yes, but I’m not going to.”
Mulder thought. Thinking is too hard, he decided. He leaned forward, and gently pressed his lips against Skinner’s, trailing a hand over the hard planes of the larger man’s abdomen as he did so. Skinner kissed him back, fiercely, but pushed Mulder away when his hands began traveling too far. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” Mulder asked again, resting his head on Skinner’s shoulder.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “You’re drunk, Mulder. You need sleep, and some peace and quiet. You do not need any more complications in your life.”
“Fine. How ‘bout just some cheap sex?”
“Sorry, Mulder. I don’t do cheap sex,” Skinner sighed. “Even when it means passing up an opportunity to get something I’ve wanted for a long time.” He pushed Mulder away, and closed the door.
Mulder stood by the doorway for a few minutes afterward, thinking about what Skinner had just said. Then he stumbled over to the couch and passed out.
I stared at the envelope in my hands. What a surprise; he was still playing his dirty little games with me. I could smell the cigarette smoke on the envelope. I wasn’t sure if I should open it, but I did anyway. I had to know. Curiosity, another major character flaw of mine.
There were three pictures, and one sheet of paper. Two were of my lover, kissing some unknown woman in one, and Walter Skinner in the other. The other picture was a head shot of a man I knew only vaguely; he did occasional jobs for the Consortium. The note read: “Either you kill this man or he kills Mulder.” There was also a date, probably of some public affair where Mulder would make an easy target.
Damn him! Damn that smoking bastard! How had he found me? And of course, he knew I was going to come out of hiding now and hightail it to D.C. to protect Mulder. Damn him.
I looked at the pictures of Mulder again. It looked like it was really him, and he probably had really kissed the woman and Skinner. He was lonely, of course. Maybe he even thought I was dead, and probably was planning to kill me if I wasn’t already. Not that I deserved to have him back. But maybe... Just maybe...
Strangely, confusion and unacknowledged sexual tension did more to bring Mulder out of his depression than he would have expected. Mulder found himself talking to the people in the office on Monday as a result of having to walk on eggshells around Skinner. AD Amoon seemed pleased, and by the middle of the week, Mulder had regained some equilibrium around the office. He gossiped at the water cooler as much as he ever had, and hid out in the basement when it got to be too much. Basically, normal behavior for Spooky Mulder. By the end of the week, most of the strangeness had faded, since both men were pretending that nothing had happened.
“So, Mulder, are you ready for tonight?” asked one of the faceless agents at the coffee machine.
Mulder groaned into his coffee cup. The FBI was running security for an Federal Communications Commission Conference at the Plaza Hotel, where a number of prominent Senators and international figures would be in attendance. “Yeah, that’s just how I wanted to spend my Friday evening. At least I get to wear a tux.”
The gathered agents laughed. “Can’t wait to see that,” leered one of the female agents. Mulder smiled weakly in return, which was more than enough flirting to encourage her.
By the time Mulder made it home, he was actually looking forward to the conference. He took a quick shower, and started to get dressed in the outfit he had laid out earlier in the morning. It was one of his more elegant tuxedos, more Cary Grant than James Bond. He set out his linen shirt and handkerchief, black cummerbund and button covers, but his pearl cufflinks were missing. He’d been unable to find them this morning, and now he was running out of time.
Mulder approached his jewelry box carefully. His diamond cufflinks were still at the jeweler’s, being reset. That left the gold cufflinks that Alex had given him for Christmas. The debate he had with himself over wearing them was fairly short; his subconscious had planned to wear them all along.
Mulder finished dressing, then looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked good. Alex would have liked it. Thinking of Alex reminded Mulder to check the mail before he left. There was no tape. Mulder tried not to feel too disappointed. After all, why should he expect anything from Alex Krycek besides more pain? He pushed all thoughts of treachery and love aside, and grabbed his keys.
Mulder arrived at the party only a few minutes late, but was just in time to see Senator Hong and her husband arrive, lending her glittering beauty to a Donna Karan dress and carrying her ubiquitous laptop. He eased past the Senator, and found the Security Control Room.
“Mulder! You’re late,” snapped Skinner, and thrust a floorplan of the Hotel into Mulder’s hands. “You’re on Security Detail A6. Your rounds start in six minutes. Go.”
Mulder nodded, and quickly committed his route to memory. More government officials arrived, filling the hallways of the Plaza. Mulder blended in perfectly, sipping at his mineral water and making pleasant chitchat with dignitaries as if it were the most natural thing in the world as he made his rounds. The small chamber orchestra from Catholic University was decent but nothing more, and unobtrusively filled the background with Rachmaninoff and Stravinsky.
The evening promised to be quite boring, and more than fulfilled that promise, with the sole exception of the suicide of the one of the hotel’s patrons. Mulder wouldn’t even have known about if he hadn’t seen the ambulance pull up. Mulder stopped at the bar to refresh his mineral water. “Excuse me,” said a rough voice. Mulder turned, and found himself facing a tall, grey-haired man smoking a Morley. “I was just noticing your lovely cufflinks. Are those Fabergé?”
Mulder choked down his surprise. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “They were a gift.”
“Ah,” the man nodded. He put out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “May I take a closer look?” Mulder reluctantly handed one over. The man examined it carefully. “Why, they’re genuine,” he said in mock surprise, showing Mulder the maker’s signature ‘F’ imprinted on the back. “Do you have any idea what these are worth?”
“No,” growled Mulder. He didn’t like this game. He didn’t like this man.
“Approximately four million dollars, I would say. Of course, you couldn’t actually sell them, since they’re one of Russia’s national treasures, and are protected by law. But, since they were a gift, as you say, you should enjoy them while you can.” The man smiled. “Do enjoy the party, Agent Mulder.”
Mulder replaced his cufflink and watched the man walk away. What was that scheming bastard up to? Without even the ghost of a clue, Mulder stopped wondering about it and concentrated on the mundane details of security. Finally, the conference ended, and the dignitaries and the musicians departed. The staff and the agents helped themselves to the leftover food and alcohol, despite the official noises of token protest from Skinner and Amoon.
Mulder drank, socialized and flirted, but rebuffed anyone interested in anything more than mere words. Before he got too drunk to remember what his conscience sounded like, he slipped away from the party and made it to his car.
The concierge followed him. “You’re not going to drive home, are you?” she asked, since Mulder was obviously drunk.
Mulder smiled politely. “No, ma’am. I reserved a room two days ago for jus’ this occasion!,” he said, pulling his overnight bag out of his trunk. “Room 1715, a quiet room, at the end of the hall. I’m anticipatin’ a killer hangover.”
“Ah,” sighed the concierge. A very wise drunk, she thought to herself. “Let me get your room key, sir.” She led Mulder back inside to the front desk, and pulled out his key with bright smile. “Enjoy your stay!”
Mulder staggered over to the elevator, which was comfortably decorated for the enjoyment of the patrons of the Hotel. He leaned against the wall, and drifted on the edge of consciousness until he reached his floor. Mulder pulled himself out of the elevator with a sigh, and walked down to his room.
Mulder could hear someone walking down the hallway, but otherwise it was quiet. He fumbled with the key for a bit, before someone reached around him and took the keys away. “Let me get that,” said a soft, familiar voice, almost right in his ear.
Mulder whirled around to see Alex Krycek standing behind him, barefoot and wearing nothing but a pair of half-buttoned purple silk pyjamas, and holding a bucket full of ice. “I used all your ice tokens, sorry,” he said unapologetically, as he opened the door. “Here, let me get your bag.” Krycek shifted the ice bucket to one arm and picked up Mulder’s bag with the other, and then walked into the room.
“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded Mulder. He looked into the room. The lights were off, and there were lit candles adorning every flat surface. The table was covered with covered trays, except for one plate of Middle Eastern pastries Krycek had already started on. At the moment, Krycek was putting a bottle of wine into the ice bucket, having already deposited Mulder’s bag by the bed.
“Mulder, come in before you pass out in the hallway.” Krycek sounded a little impatient.
The voice was too real to be a dream, and too needed to resist. Mulder gave up and walked into the hotel room. “If those are the nifty sunflower seed and honey pastries from Byzantia, you might be able to convince me not to shoot you immediately.”
Krycek laughed, and handed him one. “You aren’t going to shoot me, Mulder.”
Mulder ignored him and savored the wonderful honey concoction instead. He loved these things, but he could never remember the name.
“You know, those are supposed to be for dessert.”
Mulder stared at Krycek. “I thought you were dessert. Really, Krycek, the way you wear clothes, you might as well be naked.” Krycek blushed. “And you’d think assassins involved in governmental conspiracies would learn not to blush so often. Or is it something you do on command?”
“No, Mulder, it is not something I do on command,” said Krycek angrily. “And I’m not involved, not the way you think.”
“Really, Krycek, how do you know what I think?” sneered Mulder. He sat down on the couch, where he could easily peek under the trays. “Ooh, kebabs and couscous, potato balls, and - what’s the word? bisteeya. Did I say that right?”
“Yes.” Krycek opened a bottle of wine, a deep red wine that smelled rich and earthy as he poured a glass for himself and for Mulder. He brought the glasses over, and warily sat down on the couch next to Mulder. “So, what do you think?”
“I think I’ll start with the bisteeya.” Mulder helped himself to a square of the rich meat pastry. “Did you order this from Byzantia, or did they finally let you into the kitchen?”
“They let me in. I had to beg, but I got in.” Krycek reached for a potato ball, only to have his hand smacked by Mulder.
“Hey! Those are mine.” Mulder grabbed a potato ball and popped it into his mouth. “All right, you can have one.”
“Mulder, what on earth is wrong with you?” demanded Krycek as he accepted a potato ball from Mulder.
Mulder looked at him. “What do you think is wrong with me? What is this supposed to be, anyway? Just a romantic evening out with the assassin?”
“Please don’t call me that.” Krycek looked adorably annoyed, and didn’t seem to appreciate his captured potato ball, eating it without really noticing.
“Duane Barry?”
Krycek sighed. “Think of it as a mercy killing, Mulder. He didn’t have anything left to tell you.”
“How do you know?” said Mulder. He was seriously nibbling on the food as they talked, testing each dish. Krycek was eating somewhat distractedly, trying futilely to read Mulder’s emotions from his calm face, and eating something when he got too confused.
“If he hadn’t been about to die, they wouldn’t have let you talk to him.”
Mulder thought about that for a moment. Actually, he’d figured that out himself; he had just wondered if there was any better justification for Krycek’s behavior. “And the tram operator?”
“He was dead when I got there.” Alex frowned at Mulder’s disbelieving look. “It’s the truth, Mulder. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on you, but you ran off without me - something you do a lot when the X-Files are involved.”
“So what happened with the tram, when I was climbing up? That was you, wasn’t it? What exactly were you doing?”
Krycek sighed in exasperation. “Mulder, the tram operator was dead. I didn’t know how to work the damn thing. And what the hell were you doing, climbing up the cables anyway? You could have been killed!”
Mulder nibbled on a chunk of lamb kebab. “Better be careful, Krycek. I might start to think you really care.” He grinned at Krycek’s noise of annoyance, and downed most of his wine.
“You know, Mulder, you really are a pain in the ass.”
“Ah, I knew that would enter the conversation somewhere. Wine and dine me, then some sex. Was that your plan, Krycek, to get back into my good graces?”
“Something like that,” Krycek admitted as he sipped at his own wine. “But it’s starting to lose it’s appeal.”
Worried for a moment that he had gone too far, Mulder looked seriously into Krycek’s eyes. “Liar,” he smiled at the need and hunger he saw there. “You’re obsessed with me, sweetheart. Especially when I give you my patented ‘intense’ look.” And then Mulder did just that.
Memories flooded back to him, and Alex gasped. “Don’t do that!”
“Why? It’s not like we’re at work or anything. Look, I haven’t had anything to think about for the past two weeks except Scully’s abduction and your disappearance. I’ve pretty much worked through all your excuses and explanations already.” Mulder gobbled up the last square of bisteeya, and finished his wine. Krycek immediately poured him another. “So unless you have something really earth-shattering to say, let’s just skip to the sex. I really like that part.”
“Oh?” Alex felt himself teetering between being flattered that Mulder still thought about him, and terrified that Mulder had come to the wrong conclusion because of it. “Is that all you want?”
Instead of answering, Mulder wiped his hands clean, then reached out to trail a finger along Alex’s neck until he found the chain. “Why are you still wearing this?”
Alex blushed, and tried to hide his other physical reactions to Mulder’s expert touch. “I like it.”
Mulder continued to play with the chain, finding the ring and the Valentine’s Day key hanging on it. “So, the imagery of wearing my ring doesn’t bother you? Commitment and all that?”
Alex looked down at the chain he wore, and the simple gold band. “Do you want me?” he asked quietly, almost daring to hope.
Mulder pulled Alex closer, using the chain like a leash. “I barely trust you. I can’t keep you with me. I believe about half of what you tell me. But, yes, I want you.”
“You have me,” Alex smiled, lighting up the room with the intensity of his smile. “Although I’m hurt that you don’t believe me.”
Mulder rolled his eyes. “One of us is crazy,” he muttered, and kissed his lover for the first time in what felt like a century. He was everything Mulder remembered, and Mulder felt a shiver run through him at the fear of never kissing Alex again. He pushed Alex down, not letting go of the chain, and kissed him again, harder, then harder again, until he heard the man underneath him moan. “Show me how much you missed me, Alex. Make me believe you.” Mulder let go of the chain, and gathered Alex into a fiery kiss. He could feel Alex’s hardness grinding against his own. Mulder let his hands roam all over the body beneath him, treasuring the feel of soft silk over hard muscles. He spared a moment for a playful pinch, “You’ve been hitting the ice cream a little hard, honey.”
Alex laughed breathily, and wrapped his legs around Mulder’s waist. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you interrupted dinner to jump me, then.”
Mulder rearranged himself, pushing Alex’s legs down a little farther so that he could lean back and look down at Alex. He let his hands go back to exploring Alex’s body again, and when he was no longer able to resist the tantalizing touches of Alex’s skin under his clothes, he yanked off the pyjama top, ripping it in the process.
“Dammit, Mulder, I liked those.” Mulder merely grunted, and bent his head down to take one of Alex’s taut nipples into his mouth. Alex arched up with a light cry. “Oh, I missed that. I missed your mouth, Mulder,” he moaned.
Mulder sucked harder, and lightly brushed his teeth across the tender nub. “That’s it, Alex. Keep talking. Tell me what you missed. Tell me what you want.” Alex shivered under him.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Alex whimpered. Mulder looked at him encouragingly, and licked his chest, moving his head to the other side, so that both of Alex’s nipples were hard and wet. Alex decided to try his best. “You have the best mouth, Mulder. I missed the way you would taste me, the way you dragged your tongue-” the rest of his sentence was lost in a strangled cry, as Mulder began dragging his tongue in ever-widening circles around Alex’s nipples, pausing occasionally to blow warm air over his lover’s skin.
“Go on,” Mulder smiled. Alex was panting hard now, and whispered something that Mulder didn’t understand. Mulder looked up. “English, Alex. Play along here.”
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this. You know I can barely think when you touch me, how do you expect me to talk?”
“You seem to have no problem complaining,” Mulder grinned. “Just try, for me?” he smiled sweetly, his head resting on Alex’s chest.
Whimpering, Alex thrust himself up against Mulder, holding him close. He closed his eyes, bit his lower lip, and finally hissed, “I missed your mouth on my dick, Mulder. I missed the way you would suck me, then lick my ass until I almost came, then fuck me so hard I would scream.”
Mulder smiled triumphantly. “Is that what you want, Alex?”
“Yes! Why are you doing this to me? You know what I want, just fuck me, please,” wailed Alex, writhing helplessly against Mulder.
Mulder laughed, burying his face in Alex’s neck, taking in the warm familiar scent. Cloves and brown sugar, like a stolen Christmas cookie. “There’s just something so wonderfully erotic about hearing you beg. It’s a real turn on. You’re so easy, I thought I was making it all up to soothe my ego. But you really are this easy.” He savored his lover’s need like a drug. “And you really are this beautiful, I thought I dreamed that too,” Mulder leaned down, to kiss one corner of Alex’s mouth, “and your taste, I almost convinced myself that you were just a horny fantasy, Alex.” He moved his lips to cover Alex’s, and kissed him one more time. “But you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re mine, Alex, all mine.”
“Yes,” groaned Alex, kissing and licking Mulder’s lips hungrily, “yes, Mulder, yours, yes, oh god, yes. Take me, take my body, take anything, everything,” the words poured out of Alex between kisses, until Mulder took him at his word, pulling him from the couch and leading him toward the bedroom.
Mulder threw him onto the bed, and quickly pulled off the rest of their clothes. “Kneel,” commanded Mulder, gesturing Alex to the headboard. Alex arranged himself, his knees spread, with his back to Mulder, gripping the headboard tightly. Mulder lay down on the bed and slid underneath him, where he could easily reach Alex’s cock and ass with both his hands and his mouth.
Alex shivered in anticipation, and Mulder didn’t disappoint. He started by kissing the tip of Alex’s cock gently, then moistening it with his tongue before gliding his tongue down the length of Alex where he could kiss the balls that hung there, and then lick them as well. Alex groaned with need, but Mulder ignored him and continued to tease with his lips and his tongue slowly and gently, until Alex’s cock was thoroughly wet and hard.
Only then did Mulder let it enter his mouth, and begin sucking slowly and steadily on his lover’s throbbing penis. He gently caressed Alex’s balls and backside with his hands, while he worked him with his mouth. Mulder could feel every trembling breath that Alex took, and every beat of his lover’s heart. Mulder decided to give in to his baser desires, totally ignoring Alex’s need, and slid down so that he could slide his tongue into the sweetness of Alex’s hole. Alex jerked sharply at the first touch of Mulder’s tongue.
“Oh,” Alex breathed softly. “Please.”
Mulder smiled to himself, swirling his tongue around the edges for a few moments before giving his mouth free play. He set his hands firmly on Alex’s ass, spreading him wide and holding him still. His tongue flicked in and out of Alex, occasionally slipping all the way in and coming slowly out again, or slowly working from side to side before exiting completely. It wasn’t easy for Mulder to breathe properly in this position, which was part of why he liked it so much. He generally came really hard from rimming Alex, and adding the adrenaline rush of oxygen deprivation made such moments incredible. Alex was begging for more, but Mulder didn’t feel like moving just yet. Instead, he licked one finger and slid it into Alex, stroking his prostate while he continued to lick him.
Alex screamed.
Mulder added another finger, and then moved his other hand down to his own cock. Alex began bucking back and forth on Mulder’s hand, never quite losing contact with Mulder’s talented and eager mouth. Mulder began stroking himself, getting off on the power and the music of Alex’s screams, and not quite able to breathe. He came sharply, shooting all over his hand and his stomach. He thrust his fingers all the way into Alex as he came, still whipping his tongue into and around Alex’s hole.
Alex tossed his head back, arching into Mulder’s fingers and mouth, and came with a hoarse cry. He sank down to the bed, stretching himself out next to his lover. Mulder, still a little dizzy, wrapped himself around Alex. Alex sighed with pleasure, and draped Mulder over himself like a blanket. After lying very still for about a minute, Alex pulled off a pillowcase and used it to wipe their sweaty, sticky bodies clean.
Mulder drank in the smooth, graceful motions of Alex’s body, and felt his starved and tortured body begin to stir again. He pulled Alex back to him. “Didn’t fucking you so hard you would scream appear on tonight’s list of scheduled events?”
“Well, I’ll understand if you’re too tired,” Alex smiled. But his green eyes were like small fires, and he was trying to ignite Mulder with them.
“Tired? Please,” Mulder sneered, “you’ll probably find me still hard at my funeral.”
“And if your other guests don’t mind, I’ll probably fuck you.” Alex thought about it. “Nah, I’d fuck you anyway.”
Mulder’s erection was alive again, and pressing hard into Alex’s thigh. “Well, quick, before I’m dead. Hop on the pony ride, baby.”
Alex stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t think I’m going anywhere near anyone who say something so horrible, do you?” Alex shied away from Mulder’s grasping hands.
Mulder laughed, and tried to grab Alex and pull him back, but Alex dodged. The two began wrestling. Mulder decided to cheat and started pinching and tickling.
“Oh, you bastard!” Alex snarled as he gasped for air, and locked his legs around Mulder’s waist, and flipped the larger man onto his back and pinned him there, arms held high above his head. “Don’t do that!”
Mulder smiled. “Oh, yeah, here’s a position I don’t want to be in.” He shifted slightly, so that his cock could rub freely against Alex’s. “Sheer torture, really.”
“You are the most exasperating, irritating man...” Alex’s words were cut off by the motion of Mulder’s hips underneath him, rocking slightly, and bringing their hardened cocks into electrifying contact. “And that’s why I love you. Oh god, Mulder,” he whimpered. Mulder twisted slightly, looking around. “What?” asked Alex.
“There’s got to be some lube around here somewhere,” Mulder muttered. He spotted it, lying on the nearby table. “Ah!” He stretched out, leaving himself open for another rain of kisses from Alex, and grabbed the essential little bottle of lubricant. With Alex still straddling him, he reached down and began working the lube onto his stiff cock. “You know you want it, baby,” he grinned, stressing the pet name. “C’mon, darlin’, let’s ruin these sheets forever.”
Alex winced at Mulder’s terrible pillow talk. “Why are you doing this?” But he didn’t let that stop him from shifting back, or from reaching behind him to grab Mulder’s cock and position himself over it.
Mulder met his eyes hungrily, and thrust into Alex’s restraining hand. “Now, Alex,” he growled, setting his hands on Alex’s narrow hips.
Alex gave him a wicked little half-smile. “Aww, sweetie, doesn’t this feel good?” he grinned, stroking Mulder roughly.
Mulder teetered on the razor’s edge of control, and finally Alex relented, and sank down onto Mulder’s cock. Mulder snapped his hips up, impaling Alex in one cruel thrust and wrenching another scream of pleasure and torment from him. Mulder couldn’t hold back, and pounded mercilessly into his lover, desperate and hungry for release.
On top of him, Alex rocked back and forth, and then began stroking himself in counterpoint to Mulder’s thrusts. Sweat poured off his body, glistening in the dim light from the candles in the other room. Mulder was panting, digging his fingers into Alex’s skin, and Alex felt something like awe overcome him at the beauty of the man beneath and inside him.
Mulder grunted loudly, and thrust as hard as he could into Alex one last time, making him scream. “See? I keep my promises,” he whispered hoarsely, uncaring if Alex heard him or not, and then he reached down to close his hand around Alex’s, and finished him off with their two hands joined over his cock. Alex came with a shudder that rocked his entire body. Mulder pulled him down to him, for another hungry kiss, and then they lay quietly next to each other again.
“Do you want to know what I missed most, Mulder?”
“Yes.”
Alex reached out his arms, and Mulder settled into them, and they held each other. Alex took a deep breath, and let himself relax completely. “I missed you.”
“I love you, Alex,” said Mulder simply.
Alex smiled slowly and hugged Mulder tighter. “I love you, Fox William Mulder. Now turn off the lights, so we can get some sleep.”
As he reached over to turn off the lights, Mulder stopped and looked down at his lover. “I have a question.”
“Just one?” laughed Alex. “What?”
“How did you get here? Into the building, I mean. And into my room, for that matter.”
Alex smiled, and pointed to a barely visible dark case in the corner. “I was in the orchestra. I told the concierge that I was a friend of yours, and you were letting me use your room to change.”
Mulder laughed easily, remembering the concierge’s smile as she handed him his key. “Is that a violin? You play the violin?” Alex nodded, and Mulder pulled him closer for a kiss. “You keep amazing me with all your hidden talents, Alex. What’s next? Tap dancing?”
“Uh, no,” said Alex unsteadily. Mulder was just too close to allow completely rational thought. All sense of self preservation seemed to have deserted Alex Krycek, replaced only by a need to be close, to prolong the physical contact with the object of his obsession. “Ballet.”
“Of course,” grinned Mulder. “All the accomplishments of a good Russian boy.”
Alex favored him with a dark look from under his long lashes. “That isn’t funny, Mulder.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” Mulder stared at him, still holding Alex’s head in his hands. “So, why are you here? More plots or another murder?”
Alex set his jaw, and Mulder could feel as well as see the tension there. “Actually, I was hoping to keep someone from killing you.”
Mulder closed his eyes for a moment. “That wasn’t a suicide.”
Alex pulled away from Mulder’s hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” Mulder nodded, and turned off the lights. “We aren’t done talking.”
Alex sighed, and pulled up the covers. “I know.” They snuggled quietly together, with Alex wrapped around Mulder, holding him to his heart like a talisman against evil.
Mulder whispered, “If you have to leave, it’s okay. We can talk later, I guess. But...” Mulder took a deep breath, trying to calm himself from the sudden fear that was running through him. “If you are going to leave, wake me up first, okay? Don’t just...disappear. Don’t let me wake up in the morning and find you gone. I hate that.”
Alex looked into his lover’s troubled hazel eyes, barely visible in the dim room. He understood perfectly. “I promise not to do that to you, Mulder.”
When I was a little boy, probably around four or five, my father took me with him to work. I had to sit very still in the back of the car, where his gun was hidden underneath a pile of my toys. He was standing outside, joking and laughing, waiting for the game to be played out. I didn’t know what he was waiting for, I only knew that I was to sit in the back of the car and play. Finally, my father opened the door and picked me up, out of the car, cradling the heavy Hammerli 208 between me and his chest. He turned to one of the men waiting with him, still holding me gently, and the other man took the gun and shot someone four times. I stayed perfectly silent, because I didn’t know what else to do. My father patted me on the head, and told me I was a good boy, and that I would do well. I was upset at the time, but since then, I’ve gotten used to being used as a prop. For a long time, it didn’t bother me. And then I met Mulder. Now I’m not sure what I am. I know what I want to be, but I’m not sure what I am.
The first time I slept with a man, I did it simply because I wasn’t supposed to. I wanted to see if a bolt of lightning would actually strike me, in the form of my girlfriend walking in on us. I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did. The tidal wave of guilt that hit me afterwards was awful. I went to church the next morning, and begged for forgiveness and guidance. I found the strength to resist for about a week, and failed miserably when a really nice lacrosse player hit on me. I gave up my religion after the third time, and then I stopped counting. I accepted myself as a slut, unable to resist any offer of sexual companionship. And then, of course, I met Mulder. I wish I still had a God in Heaven to turn to, and ask: “Now what?”
How could I be so stupid as to fall in love with you, Fox? How could you be so blind as to love me back?
Followed by: Party Rules IV: Never Play Truth or Dare with Agent Scully