Mulder got to his feet and stood there staring, unsure about the best
approach to take when you're
held at gunpoint in flannel sleepwear.
And Alex grinned. "Hey, that's a good look on you. But I've seen my
fill, so take 'em off." Mulder
shivered and told himself it was just because Alex didn't close the
door properly. "Mulder—move it
or lose it—well, you're going to lose it anyway." Alex cackled nastily.
"High time we got that cherry
popped free, baby."
"Why don't you shut the door, Krycek. With yourself on the outside."
"Now, now. Aren't you glad to see me? And here I was touched that you
waited up for me." Alex
kicked the door shut and walked closer, dripping snow on the floorboards.
"Alex, all good snakes are out in the woods where they belong." Mulder
stepped back.
"Don't retreat, Mulder. I want to work for this. A little, anyway."
Mulder, on the verge of backing into the fireplace, stopped. "Are you
just going to point that thing
around, or do something with it...?"
"Your mouth hasn't changed a bit...thank god."
"Why don't you get out of those wet clothes and into a pair of handcuffs."
Alex dropped the gun in his haste to comply. He began ripping off his
leather jacket. Mulder
watched, smiling. Alex, flushed, slowed down a little. Peeled out of
his leather, tossed the jacket
aside, knocking over a lamp. He skimmed free of his sweater, chucked
it off too. In jeans and boots,
he looked almost like a normal boy.
Mulder moved to one side, so the light from the fire could fall on Alex.
He was watching intently,
taking in every graceful movement, every line of the other man's body.
But he couldn't resist saying:
"You couldn't have just gotten an ear pierced, Alex?"
Alex kicked off his boots. His dark hair fell forward into his face;
his skin gleamed in the firelight with
a sheen of breaking sweat. The gun lay forgotten on the floor; Mulder
was starting to feel entirely too
hot in his flannel PJ's, maybe he was standing too close to the fire.
The fire that was Alex, the fire that
had burned under his skin for so long now...
"Flannel, Mulder. I wouldn't have pegged you for something so wholesome.
Flannel's awfully hot,
Mulder," Alex said huskily.
Mulder was tugging unconsciously at the collar of his pajama top. "The
black lace is in the wash."
Alex blinked alertly. "I'll bet it is...they told me you were a pervert.
I always hoped they were right."
It was choking him. Maybe he'd better take it off. He took a step closer
to Alex and smiled. "You
wanna find out? Help me get out of this."
Alex whipped out a knife. "Let's do this the quick way."
A chill ran down Mulder's spine and before he knew it he was nodding,
waiting for the cold touch of
metal. "I might need those buttons later," he gasped out, as Alex flicked
the knife tip against the
collar.
"I'll save them for you." Mulder closed his eyes and groaned as the
knife teasingly stroked his nipple
through the fabric of his pajama top. A pervert? Was he a pervert for
liking this, the beautiful
menacing presence of a half-naked Alex Krycek, caressing him with a
knife blade? "I'll bet you've
got some other buttons, don't you, Mulder? Want to find out what they
are?"
"You want to push my buttons, Krycek?"
"You know it, partner."
I am a pervert, Mulder thought. He let Krycek cut him free of the
flannel, the armor of
wholesomeness. When the knife finished he stood, chest bared, gleaming
with an arousal to match
the other man's. It was a happy thought in its way; there was something
soothing about it, freeing. It
left him free to arch his back against the teasing touch of the knife,
free to look into Alex's glittering
green eyes and see his own desire mirrored there.
Firelight gleamed on the moving knife blade that he'd half forgotten
about, as it rose and touched his
cheek. "You can do better than that, Alex," he said.
"I could make you come just with this, Mulder. Do you believe me?" Oh
yes, he believed...
"Wouldn't you like a few scars to mark the occasion. A brand or two."
Alex jerked his head toward
the fire, face dangerous. Mulder couldn't tell how serious he was.
He let himself consider the idea,
touch it, skirt away from it.
Then he smiled. "Can't you touch me?" he asked.
Alex's eyes glowed darkly and he threw the knife hard over Mulder's
shoulder. Mulder heard the dull
soft thunk as it entered the wood of the wall. The sound was almost
buried underneath the wild
beating of his heart.
"You should be more worried about what I can do with my hands, Fox,"
Alex said in a voice that
was no more than a breath.
Mulder caught his own breath harshly. The blood pounded in his ears
and he wondered distantly if he
was frightened. Or if he was too aroused to be frightened. That husky,
whispery, fiery voice could
make him come.
"Where will worrying get me?" he managed to say, through a flaming face
and numbed, burning lips.
Just touch me, he wanted to say, beg, plead, just touch me.
As if reading his mind Alex laid his fingers gently where the knife
point had rested. It was the barest
feather of a touch. It skimmed the rough edge of his jaw and flared
under the skin, raising his blood
to the surface. Mulder tried to keep from shuddering, but every part
of his body strained towards
that single touch, craved it.
"How long has it been, Mulder—I'll bet you've counted the days."
"Two-hundred and seventy-three." Alex blinked thoughtfully. "Since you
left," Mulder finished softly.
He shook his head, half in denial, half because he didn't want to think
about what he'd just said. Alex
was staring at him with dark, unreadable eyes that a man could drown
in. Mulder lifted his hand,
slowly, as if it belonged to someone else, and watched it move towards
Alex, settling on the curve of
his shoulder. Mulder felt embarrassed at himself for the words that
could not be unspoken, but his
body moved with an instinct that evaded his control.
He brushed his thumb across the smooth skin, then slid his palm down
the chest until it grazed a
tightening nipple. His eyes darted to Alex's face, seeking a reaction.
Alex's eyes had fallen shut and
his face was pale and tense, as if he were focused elsewhere, or remembering.
Did he feel anything?
Mulder remembered, too. His fingers remembered. They moved in lazy circles
across Alex's chest,
tracing the muscles, the solid strength that could be a threat or a
comfort. He could feel the steady
beat of the other man's heart, could feel the rapid increase as his
breathing deepened and roughened.
He wondered if he could make Alex gasp now, as he used to—did he still
make those sounds—would
he?
"Since I did this," he whispered and bent forward, unable to resist,
pressing his lips against the other
man's throat and biting down right there, in that soft hollow...
Alex caught him by his shoulders, his fingers digging in; his response
was wordless but intense.
Mulder's tongue flicked out and around the cup of salt he'd found,
teasing in slow circles. He moved
his mouth down, licking a line along the center of Alex's chest, tasting
skin and sweat, the raw familiar
taste, Alex, that he could never mistake for anyone else's. He could
feel the light trembling in the
other man's body, evidence of hairline fractures in his usual control.
He was always so ferociously
controlled, so fiercely withheld, that Mulder ached at every touch,
as he did now, ached in helpless
sympathy. He knew the painful nature of self-constriction. He and Alex
were very alike.
Time turned inwards on itself, taking him back to those other times,
every moment of their
togetherness blending together. There was no longer anything strange
about this. Oh, it was
strange, and crazy and dangerous, but he'd stopped thinking about
those things as anything other
than minor, irrelevant facts. He didn't want to know how Alex had found
him, what his intentions
were—if they went beyond this. This was enough. Enough, if he could
get Alex to cry out just once...
Dropping to his knees, he looked up at Alex, who took his face in both
hands, cradling it hungrily.
"What did you come for?" Mulder said roughly, voice low and dry and
cracked, the voice of a man
parched for drink. "This?"
"You," Alex said huskily. "I came for you."
"Yes." Mulder nodded. "Yes. I'll make you come for me."
Smiling, Mulder leaned in, his face still held in Alex's grip, and brushed
his lips at the jutting curve of
denim in front of his face. Alex jerked and his grip tightened. He
ran his hands up Alex's thighs,
willing his touch to burn the cloth away. Alex swayed as if at the
wind's strong touch and groaned
when Mulder's hands slid between his thighs. "Mulder, I'm having a
hard time standing."
Yes, he thought, yes, let me hear it, that I'm doing this to you,
that I can still do this to you. "So
fall," he said teasingly.
Alex grabbed a handful of his hair. "If I fall, I'm landing on you,
lover."
He reached up and took a firm grip around Alex's hips, and pulled him
down. They fell in a heap,
rolling across the floor to lie in front of the fireplace. Mulder made
a small throaty sound, almost a
purr. "Deja vu."
Alex unsurprisingly maneuvered himself on top as the roll ended. Mulder
lay flat on his back, looking
dreamily up at him. The close contact, body to body, was heated in
a way that their previous teasing
hadn't been and Mulder smiled, desire melting in him, making him languid
and happy. "I can't reach
you like this," he said softly.
"That's the plan," Alex said, eyes narrowing. "It involves getting you
just where I want you."
He arched up in slow motion, pressing himself against Alex, then sinking
back into the softness of the
sheepskins. "Mmmmm. Where do you want me?"
Alex, losing track of his thoughts, murmured back, "Hmm?"
Anywhere, he thought, and you know it. Anywhere, it doesn't matter.
Alex pulled himself upright to
straddle Mulder's hips and began tracing patterns on the other man's
bare chest. Firelight flickered on
the smooth almond skin. "You never did get that nipple-ring, Fox. I'm
disappointed. I thought we had
an agreement."
"You left. All contracts null and void. I bought a new belt instead."
"Pervert," Alex said fondly.
"We can make a new agreement," Mulder suggested, arching, purring, gasping.
"Mm. Such as?"
He twisted into Alex's touch. "Kiss me and I'll think about it."
Alex leaned in, a panther settling over its prey. "I might be giving
up my bargaining chips if I kiss you."
Mulder watched Alex's face, his eyelids sinking, his lips parting in
anticipation. "Oh, I think you have
more than kisses to bargain with..." He groaned a little, an irritable
but attractive sound, as he well
knew.
Alex looked smug. "Well, you haven't forgotten me, I'm honored."
Forgotten... no. If there was one thing he was never going to forget
for as long as he lived... Mulder
sighed. He didn't want to think. He wanted that mouth on his own, now.
"I haven't forgotten,
Krycek. But if you kiss me, I'll promise to try."
Alex's eyes seemed to shadow briefly, but then he smiled. Mulder lifted
his head towards Alex's,
ignoring the strain in his neck muscles. Their lips touched briefly,
then just as Mulder was about to
give up, Alex curved a hand behind his head. Alex lifted Mulder into
a kiss that slid like a hot knife
into his mouth. This was what he had waited for and what he had been
afraid of, more than the cold
kiss of the blade before. He could feel it carving him to pieces, shards
of flesh, bleeding and hot. He
was in ribbons. He was undone. It sliced through thought and feeling,
reducing him to want,
need, a creature of elemental desires, a craving like fire possessing
him and leaving him mindless
and barely breathing.
He thought of demons that were said to slip into the rooms of people
who slept and steal their breath
as they dreamed. This was worse; he was conscious, he was lost and
falling like an angel from
heaven. He cried out then, into Alex's mouth, and struggled up against
him without thinking,
desperate to feel every inch of his body against his own.
Alex shoved back with hands and hips and mouth, meeting him kiss for
kiss, breath for breath. Their
bodies, in erratic synch, caught and sustained a newer, more urgent
rhythm. They were caught in
each other, tangled together with all the small sharp hooks of their
being, and when they pulled it was
to draw closer, not to break free.
There was a moment when they were all awkward knees and bones, and then
Mulder felt his thighs
nudged apart. The breath caught in his throat and his head fell back
in a mute gesture of acceptance,
of certain knowledge that this was what he wanted. Alex's body wedded
itself to his, and the fit was
so perfect Mulder shuddered and lifted and his throat opened as if
to sing. Alex thrust his hips once,
twice, working his still-clothed erection over Mulder's like a bow
across an aching clutch of violin
strings. Heat went through him in dark heavy pulses, pushing his body
into a wilder and more
exquisite tension. Notes from the music gathering in his body loosened
and floated free like dark
moths, rising. He could hear his own throat stroking itself with soft
wordless cries.
He raised one leg, drew it up, wrapped it around Alex's working hips
and the weight and friction was
almost too much for him suddenly, and he was fighting himself, arching
up, struggling in small frantic
shivers. "Oh, christ," Alex said, driven to speech by the unexpected
pressure. He arched, his chin
lifting, eyelids and dark lashes stuttering on his cheeks.
Mulder sucked in air, fought for control, slid his hands down Alex's
smooth back until they bumped
into the waist of the jeans. Get these damn things off, Alex...
"Alex," he managed to say aloud. "Fuck the jeans!"
It wasn't what he'd meant to say and Alex gave a small choking sound
of laughter. "What d'you think
I'm doing?" he breathed back, giggling.
Mulder laughed too, helplessly, as even the shaking of laughter provided
its own interesting friction.
Mulder banged his head once against the rug and the hard floor beneath.
Once, twice—
"Get them off, damn it!" Alex twisted half off and wrenched at the fly.
The pain in his head provided
the next words. "I want you to fuck me, Alex, not your goddamn Levis."
"I'm working on it, Mulder!" The words were ground out through clenched
teeth. "You're not
helping me much!"
That set him off again; he laughed, and rolled his head this way and
that on the soft sheepskin. "I'm
holding still," Mulder pointed out, in what seemed to him a reasonable
tone, when the first glissade of
laughter slid off.
The dark look Alex gave him sprung forth another weak hiccup of mirth.
But it did occur to him that
things would go better if he also took off the rest of his clothes,
so he struggled up on his elbows and
started to slide out of his pajama bottoms.
"Button-fly!" Alex said, like a curse.
Alex finally managed to work open his jeans, and between groans he rolled
to one side and kicked
out of their tangling hold. Mulder rolled after him. "Not into the
fire, loverboy. You'll burn something
important."
"I'm going to burn these fucking jeans," Alex seethed, tossing them
into the dark recesses of the
cabin.
Mulder just smiled, and pressed himself close against Alex's body, hissing
with pleasure as they finally
touched skin to skin, head to toe. Alex seemed to lose his ire then,
too, and groaned roughly as
Mulder moved astride him. He was quickly taking on the stunned, stupefied
look of a man in thrall to
every nerve ending at once. And it was beautiful, irresistible; Mulder
wanted to devour him, and did.
He rediscovered Alex with his mouth, with painstaking care, working
from the silken hollow at the
base of his throat to the gemmed flat vault of his chest, then lower.
It was almost frightening to find
how well he remembered every special touch, every intimate secret,
and how openly Alex responded
to his caresses. It stunned him now anew that a man so hard, so self-contained
could release himself
to Mulder, and surrender to his touch and pleasure.
When he dipped his tongue into the shallow indentation of the navel,
he knew before he heard it just
what kind of breathy gasp Alex would make. And when it reached his
ears, a sharp slap on the air, it
impacted on his skin as well. He could feel the burn of stricken flesh
all along his body, from his
flushed cheeks down to the curling ache of his balls. The taste in
his mouth was a familiar one, the
sharp flavor of wanting.
He pressed his burning face to Alex's hip, next to the rising brief-cached
curve of Alex's shaft. Alex
hissed his frustration and tried to shift his head. Mulder curled closer,
and breathed through the cloth,
soft warm breath.He rubbed his hair teasingly across the strained cotton,
half smiling, lips parted.
Alex swore in some strange language and one trembling hand found Mulder's
chin and tugged it
desperately. Mulder kissed the nudging spear of Alex's thumb and heard
his own purr. He smiled,
feeling wicked and happy, and curved his fingers into the waistband
of his lover's briefs.
The elastic pulled away from the flesh, and the heat that rolled into
the air was like the edge of a fire's
flames. The sight and sound of Alex straining towards pleasure had
blunted the edge of his own need
for the moment. The almost unspeakable need to fill his mouth with
his lover's thrusting desire made
him dizzy, made him feel as if his head was stuffed with heated fuzz.
He could hear his heartbeat in his
ears, could taste the wet fire of saliva on his tongue, as if he were
a dog trained to lust for a treat.
Mulder touched his lips in an airy, casual brush against the hard shaft,
holding himself back, teasing
them both, drawing back again. He wanted, wanted so badly that neither
his heart nor his mind had
words for it and only the aching hardness of his cock and the tight
pressure of his balls could
understand it. He drew the bunched cotton lower, pulling it free of
Alex's uplifted erection, down
over his balls, but left it there, too stricken to think about removing
the briefs completely. Too
focused to consider taking on such work that would distract him from
the display in front of him.
When his tongue flicked out, he had no conscious control over it. It
curled, pressed against his teeth,
demanding to be allowed to taste. Alex jerked under his light flickering
gift.
"Alex, you've grown a few inches?" Mulder whispered, with breathless,
goofy tenderness.
Alex groaned and swatted him, a gesture that incidentally allowed him
to pull at Mulder's head and
draw him closer. His long fingers tangled in Mulder's hair, intimate
and strong. Mouth pressed against
hard flesh now, he did not try to resist, but parted his lips and slid
them around the slick head. A wet
cap of pearled fire, salty, masculine, slid past his parted lips, into
his mouth. The sensation made him
moan; it was fully as sensual, nearly as satisfying as receiving such
an intimate caress would be. He
ran his tongue around the furled base of the cockhead, then flicked
it back and forth deliberately. He
wanted to feel Alex lose it, wanted to feel him wrest control into
his own hands and take what he
wanted, but he couldn't speak his hunger. When Alex bucked up, deeper
into his mouth, he sucked
more strongly, then slid his mouth back up the shaft slowly. Both Alex's
hands clung now in his hair,
and stroked there, twining, gripping with rhythmic endeavor to draw
him further in.
It was strangely sweet to be trusted like this, to hold Alex in his
mouth and tongue his desire, lick his
exposed need, the core of his desperate wanting trapped between Mulder's
lips. Mulder let Alex pull
at him, allowed his lips to slide further down. He began to feel a
familiar loosening in himself as his
control slid away; he was surrendering to the rhythm Alex was setting,
and riding the other man's
escalating pleasure. He wanted Alex to fuck his mouth, and deliberately
teased the other man toward
this purpose, tightening and easing the ruthless grip of his mouth
and tongue until Alex was sounding
his pleasure harshly.
The thrusts of Alex's hips had begun to sharpen and focus into hard,
quick jabs. Alex's cock struck
into Mulder's mouth like the whipping bite of a snake. The moans scraped
along his nerves, and he
closed his eyes, concentrating on the powerful thrusts of the hard
flesh in his mouth. It was making
him dizzy, driving him to unexpected heights. He could feel his breath
thinning, and it was the edge he
needed for his own lust. His own cock, half-forgotten, drove back and
forth across the rough furred
nap of the rug, through flannel and cotton, a suddenly sparking counterpoint
to the spearing fire in his
mouth.
He couldn't come from this, could he, the sound, the taste, the intense
sensation, feeling Alex wild
with pleasure on his tongue... He wouldn't have thought so, but the
frenzied drive of his hips was
quickly matching Alex's, and he nearly cried out at the cracking whip
of lust that was short-circuiting
his body. The harsh moan he heard was his own, he realized, breaking
from his throat to stroke
Alex's cock. And as if sound were the razor's edge Alex had craved
he suddenly began to come.
The fingers curled into his hair clenched harder, and the sudden stab
of pain shot through him and he
tasted his lover's seed on his tongue, wanted to scream with it. Seed
jetted from Alex's swollen,
pulsing cock and exploded against the back of Mulder's mouth and filled
his throat. He gasped and
choked and sobbed, his own hips working frantically. Stars filled the
dark vault behind his eyes and
his own cock bolted itself to his belly, a rod of near pain. And then
he was there—springing free from
the cliff—into the roaring crashing sea below.
His head fell against Alex's belly, resting heavily there. He was blind
and deaf, lost in the warm
darkness, with only the sweet taste of Alex on his tongue to remind
him of where and who he was. A
man without a name for a time. A man with no obligations, duties, conscience.
Free to take this—this
pleasure—and to give it. If he had had the breath for it, he would
have laughed with simple joy.
Instead he gave the slurred, wordless purr of post-coital contentment
that was all he could manage at
that moment. At such moments. Alex's fingers moved in his hair again,
a slow and disarmingly tender
touch. He shifted minutely under it.
"What are you thinking?" Mulder said, sliding his head up to rest on
Alex's chest.
"Thinking?" Alex's voice was slow and scratchy.
"Mm. . .the case. . .the mortgage payments, the kids. . .Scully's birthday
party Saturday—"
"I'm glad you set this up. It was good to get away."
"You usually give me such a hard time about these role playing games,"
Mulder murmured wickedly.
"It was good this time." Alex smiled. "Things were getting a bit. .
.humdrum."
"Humdrum?" Mulder tried to raise his head enough that Alex could see
him pout.
"Marriage is nice, but. . ."
"Sometimes I miss the old days. Our partnership was such a simple, black-and-white
thing then."
"Good guy, bad guy—Consortium, FBI."
"Right. Which one of us was which, again?"
"Asshole," Alex said fondly, stroking Mulder's wedding ring with one
exploring finger.
"Mmmm." Mulder stretched against his lover's body, lazy, content, thinking
slow pleasant thoughts
about what might happen once they both recovered.
"You've been wanting a second honeymoon," Alex said, looking at the
shadows on the ceiling. "We
could go back to Hawaii..."
"Too much sun," Mulder muttered. "And those shirts! Who'll take care
of the kids?" he asked, sitting
up and stretching.
"Scully said she would..." Alex tried to look innocent under his partner's
cool gaze.
"You've been planning this?"
"Well, our ANNIVERSARY is coming up and all."
"But you know how Walter spoils them!" Mulder was struck by a sudden
thought. "Hey Alex?"
"Yes, pumpkin?"
"You going to buy me that earring, then?"
"Damn right... but they don't call it an earring when you wear it there."
"I'm not going to—ooooh."
Alex's attack had been sudden and his capture was thorough.
torch throws her hands in the air
The End
Pyrolagnia
by Torch and A. Leigh-Anne Childe
torch: Now I wanna see him in flannel PJ's.
AnnaB: Ooh yeah.
AnnaB: With aeroplanes all over.
torch: NO!
AnnaB: And a teddy bear clutched in one arm.
AnnaB: No planes?
torch: No bloody aeroplanes or UFO's or goldfish...
AnnaB: No bear?
torch: No planes, no bear, no daddy Skinner.
AnnaB pouts and clutches Mulder's bear.
torch: Just Mulder in a cabin somewhere on a reluctant vacation,
sitting in front of the fire wearing
flannel PJ's because it's really cold
AnnaB clutches Mulder's bare unmentionable.
AnnaB: Ooh, lovely lonely Mulder.
torch: and he's feeling lonely and thoughtful, when he hears a soft
tap on the window
AnnaB: And in comes Alex, shaking off the snow...
AnnaB: Holding a gun.
AnnaB: "Hey, that gun looks cold..."
AnnaB chortles
AnnaB does likewise
torch: Anna love, it's midnight here—they may be up for another
round but I'm not!
AnnaB: Me neither. I need my dinner.
