Body
Tired.
Sticky.
And completely unsatisfied.
Oh, God, I've got to stop this.
Every damn night for how many months now? It's amazing I haven't gone blind
or
grown hair in my palms or something.
I don't know why, I don't... sure, I jerk off, but not this often.
I can't bring myself to stop. Maybe if I could get him out of my mind...
I've been thinking about him constantly since that night three months ago.
Haven't seen or heard from his since, but he won't leave my mind.
Dammit, leave me alone, please. I can't do this. I can't keep thinking
about
this, I can't. I mean, what the hell does it say about me? What kind of man am
I,
lusting after someone like him? How can I put aside everything I know about him
and think about nothing but those laser-green eyes, that perfect mouth,
those...goddamn beautiful eyelashes that pull me in with every sweep...
Hey, the body has a will of its own. It's a separate entity, ignoring the
wishes
and good sense of the mind. Just because my body hums in his presence...God, at
the very thought of him, it doesn't mean that my mind necessarily agrees.
So, it's my body that's in control. Like it is right now. Wonderful.
I've always been known as a man who lived in his mind...cerebral, if just a
bit
nutty, and I don't see so much of that right now. All I can see is a man in the
most basic sense. Sexual. Wanting. Body aching every night for something so out
of reach, so utterly unattainable, that the only thing left to do is relieve
the
physical tension and pray it's enough to allow me to sleep.
The physical tension.
Sounds like an implication of something more.
No. It's just the body's need for release. Nothing else. I can't let it be
anything else.
But how can I stop it?
Another restless night.
Just me and a handful of Astroglide.
They're getting longer, the nights. So long that I'm beginning to see them
turn
into day.
And the images, these sick fantasies of mine...they're getting more vivid.
More
intense.
More fucking painful.
I can't keep this up.
This obviously not being my dick. It refuses to lie down, and it
absolutely
will not shut up. It keeps demanding...begging for him.
Please, Alex, please? Just once. I promise I won't ask anymore after
that...
Bullshit.
Once would never be enough. I know that as sure as I know that once would
never
happen in the first place.
I have to put an end to this once and for all, and the only way I can think
to do
it...the only way I can erase all doubts...all possibilities from my mind is to
face him. I gotta see the hatred in those amazing eyes and hear the venom
falling
from that fucking beautiful mouth, and then, maybe...
Please. Been there, done that.
A good ass-whipping...
Oh, yeah, sure, that'll work. What's the first thing I do when I come back
to my
room, bloody and bruised? Strip and stand in front of the mirror, taking
inventory of all the little gifts he gave me. And then I jerk off, remembering
what it felt like to have his hands on me.
There's only thing that would truly end this. And maybe if I make him mad
enough...maybe if I make it easy for him, he'll make it all go away...
God, somebody tell me why it is I'm not dead.
I came home after a long, rotten day at work, wanting nothing more than a
hot
shower and a cold beer, and I got neither of those things. What I did get was
the shock of my life, and then a near-stroke.
I walked into my bedroom, unknotting my tie, and almost jumped out of my
skin.
There he sat...on my windowsill...dim moonlight reflecting in his eyes and
throwing shadows across most of the rest of his face. Arrogant little tilt to
his
head.
I froze, not speaking...not breathing. Common sense told me to turn a light
on,
but for some reason my hands wouldn't cooperate.
He shifted a little, and I could see his face just a bit better. He looked
as
though he might have been smiling, but there was something in his eyes I
couldn't
quite put my finger on. He said hello to me, and my knees just about buckled.
There's something in the way he says my name. Now, everybody calls me Mulder,
but
somehow he makes it seem like such a personal thing.
I got my shit together, drew myself up with all the righteous indignation I
could
muster, and asked him what the hell he was doing in my apartment...in my
bedroom.
He gave me one of those careless shrugs that make me want to blacken his
eye, and
he said that there was something I needed to know.
I asked him if a phone call wouldn't have done just as well, and he smiled
at me
and asked if I wouldn't miss him if he didn't pop in on me from time to time.
My
immediate answer was no, of course, and he just gave me this curious look.
I asked him again what he wanted, and he gave me some useful but not
especially
earthshattering information.
And then he just sat there. Looking at me.
I stared at him for a minute, trying to read him, then told him if that was
all
he had for me, he could leave.
But he stayed, and his expression changed to something even more perplexing
than
it had been.
I looked away, unable, for whatever ridiculous reason I told myself, to keep
my
eyes on his. My gaze happened to fall on the bed, and I noticed that it was
rumpled like someone had been sleeping in it. Wasn't me; I spend most nights on
the couch.
I looked back up at him and asked if he'd been lying on my bed. He told me
he'd
been there a while waiting for me to get home, and he got a little sleepy, so
he
took a nap.
I told myself it was the damned gall he had to fall asleep in my bed and
then
admit it that made me close the distance between us and snatch him away from
the
window. I blamed that fucking insolent little grin of his when I slammed him up
against the wall. I held the warm, pristine green of his eyes responsible when
I
knocked him onto the bed with a hard backhand.
He lay there, looking up at me, wincing with the pain of the blow...blood
trickling from the corner of his mouth, but he refused to fight back, and that
made me more angry. I stalked over to the bed and kneeled on it, pulling him up
by the collar of his jacket. I pulled my weapon out and held it under his jaw,
and he did nothing. He said nothing. He just stared up at me without an ounce
of fear in his eyes.
My hand started to tremble at what I did see. He was challenging me to do
it.
And behind that challenge there was the same look I'd seen earlier.
Heat. Like, lust.
I let him go as though touching him had burned my hands, and I secured my
weapon.
Slapped him again and told him that he wasn't worth the bullet. He lay there,
sprawled on my bed, eyes closed, head turned to one side, panting like he'd
just
sprinted for two miles. The cut I'd given him with the first blow had opened
wider with the second, and the blood flowed more freely now, running down along
his jaw to his chin.
I beat down the urge to touch my tongue to the corner of his mouth and spat
out
some inane statement about him bleeding on my bed, then I ordered him to get up
and get the hell out of my apartment.
And there was that look I'd always wanted to see. That wounded, dejected
expression.
A few seconds passed, and he sat up, wiping the blood from his chin with the
back
of his hand. He wouldn't look at me as he got to his feet and started to move
away.
All at once, I panicked. This wasn't what I wanted. I couldn't let him go,
but
what the hell was I going to do to make him stay?
I fucked up.
When he had the gun on me, I should have said something to insure that he'd
pull
the trigger. Something about killing his father, maybe, but I said nothing. I
just sat there daring him with my eyes. It wasn't enough.
Well, at least I thought that at the time.
After he refused to shoot me, I lay where he let me drop, descending back
into
the hell that would be mine for the rest of my worthless life, and then he told
me to get up and get the hell out. I didn't know what else to do, and, figuring
that I deserved what I got for being inefficient enough not to make sure that
he
finished the job, I got up.
I couldn't look at him. What would be the point of torturing myself further?
I
started toward the door, and a hand around my wrist stopped me short.
I think I stopped breathing completely for the time it took him to complete
his
walk to my side. I kept my eyes to the floor, but I couldn't stop the fucking
tremors that passed through me as he lifted my hand and licked some of the
blood
away.
I made a sound. I know I must have whimpered or something, because he froze.
Like
he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He brought his hand up under my chin
and
tipped my head up, then he moved in and licked the blood from my jaw. The room
started to spin, and for a minute I thought I'd passed out because I felt
myself
falling. But instead of hitting the floor, I hit the bed. And so did he.
Before I could get my brain to function well enough to process what the hell
was
happening, he was on top of me. And he was kissing me. And I was kissing him
back...with all the passion that had been welling up in me for the last few
years.
I surprised him again with that kiss. He pulled back and stared at me for
God
knows how long. I didn't wait around this time, hoping that my eyes would tell
him all he needed to know. I stated it flat out. I told him that I wanted him.
That I needed him, and I even went so far as to tell him how many years that
need
had spanned, and then I waited to see what he would do once the shock wore off.
What he finally did was very nearly the death of me.
He didn't say anything. I think he was too overwhelmed to make a sound, but
he
kissed me. Not hard and desperate like the first kiss. This one was soft. I
couldn't believe how soft. He pulled back, cocked his head to a different
angle,
and kissed me again. And then I felt his hands pushing my jacket away from my
shoulders. I don't remember helping him get it off, but I must have. I was way
too busy trying to comprehend the fact that his tongue was now in my mouth,
stroking so gently over mine. I didn't know what the hell to do except hold
onto
him and let him take me wherever he wanted to go.
It's not like I was inexperienced. God, far from it, but with him, it
was...I
don't know...surreal, I guess I could say. I'd never felt like that before in
my
life, and though nothing had really happened yet, I knew that from that point
on,
I was all done. I'd never in my life want anyone else.
Jesus, how could a man's mouth be so sweet?
I didn't want to stop kissing him. The taste...the feel of him was
intoxicating,
and I never wanted to stop. I managed to get his jacket off, returned my
concentration temporarily to his mouth, then my hands started to wander. I
could
feel the way his muscles tightened and relaxed under my fingers, and I needed
to
feel his skin. I needed to see how close the real thing came to what I had
imagined.
I pulled his t-shirt out of his jeans and slid one hand underneath. I was
surprised to see how accurate I had been.
Satiny smooth, almost hairless chest. Muscular...so warm. My hand passed
over his
pounding heart then came back to rest there for a minute. Our eyes met, and I
pushed the shirt up and over his head, then pressed my lips to the place where
my
hand had been. I felt him twitch and suppress a moan, and I continued on,
kissing
and licking until he couldn't hold it back. He made this sound that was
something
of a cross between a groan and a whimper, and my already rock hard cock swelled
a
little bit more.
I had him. Alex Krycek...here in my bedroom, half naked...making the most
amazing
noises...for me.
I dragged my tongue across one of his nipples, and he started to squirm. I
looked
up and remember seeing his hands. They were clutching the pillow under his head
so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. I reached up and made him let
go, then draped his arms around my neck. He sort of froze for a minute but
recovered when I kissed him again and asked him to touch me.
God, he wanted me to touch him. Who was I to say no?
I slid my fingers through his hair, amazed at the softness of it...thinking
that
if something as simple as this could make my dick throb, what the hell would I
do
if he actually fucked me?
As I moved down to his shirt and started undoing the buttons, I was telling
myself I couldn't think that far ahead. But that's where this was going, wasn't
it? I mean, it'd be pretty insane to think that we were going to undress each
other, do a little light petting and then go our separate ways, though some
part
of me was scared to death that that was exactly what was going to happen.
I watched him watching me, and the look in his eyes was sheer lust. No
anger, no
hatred. No disgust. He wanted me. Christ, thank you, he wanted me.
I got his shirt undone, and he helped me take it off. He didn't wait for me
to go
for his undershirt; he pulled that off right after his shirt hit the floor.
His skin was so hot...or maybe that was me, but it felt so goddamn good when
he
relaxed on top of me and laid his head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around
him, and my hands started to move, rubbing his back. I turned my head and
buried
my face in his hair, learning the smell of his shampoo, and then I started to
kiss him...the back of his head...his neck...his shoulder.
I felt his mouth on me too, working its way to my throat then back up to my
mouth. He kissed me once then pulled back and brushed his fingers over the cut
at
the corner of my mouth. He didn't say anything, but his eyes were full of
apology. At least that's the way I saw it.
He moved his fingers away and kissed the wound, and I just about fell apart.
I
don't know why, but that one simple little action really did me in. My eyes
started to burn, and I had to keep blinking to clear them.
To make sure that he didn't keep his attention focused on my face, I slipped
a
hand between us and unbuttoned his pants while I nipped at his throat.
He was all for that. He lifted himself up a bit, giving me better access.
Once I
got the zipper down, I brushed my fingertips over the bulge that had seemed to
swell even more in its loose, silk enclosure. He pressed his face into the side
of my neck and clamped his mouth on the skin there, sucking gently as I
continued
to stroke him through his underwear.
I wanted to finish undressing him. I wanted so much to see him naked and
beautiful...to touch him and kiss him everywhere, but I kept thinking that any
minute I was going to do something to jar him back to reality, and he would
push
me away. If he did that, his very next move had better have been for his gun,
because I don't think I would have wanted to live if he had rejected me then...
I could feel the apprehension in him, and I knew that if we were going to
take
this all the way, it would have to be up to me.
I lifted myself away from him and kneeled between his legs. I heard the
breath
catch in his throat as I pushed my pants and underwear down to my knees. I
didn't
move for a few seconds after that, I just knelt there, letting him look at
me...loving that hungry gleam in his eyes. I sat back and pulled everything
off,
and when I came back to him, I was completely naked.
And that's the way I wanted him.
After winning an age-long wrestling match with the button on his jeans, I
discovered that it wasn't the only one.
Button flys. Wonderful.
I groaned, made some remark about burning the damn things after I finally
got
them off of him, and he smiled. Not the usual smug, sarcastic smirk I was used
to
seeing, but a genuine, unguarded, beautiful smile that left me speechless.
The moment seemed to put him more at ease, and he assisted me in getting the
rest
of his clothing off. After I flung the jeans across the room, I turned and
looked
down at him. He was as gorgeous as I knew he would be. Graceful and taut, not a
single inch of him wasted. Efficient, solid muscle sheathed in luxurious, soft
skin...
I started at his chest, running my hands lightly over every contour,
watching
each sinewy ripple, and listening attentively to the minute changes in his
breathing patterns as I moved lower. I avoided his cock, which by the way was
one
of those things that wet dreams are made of, and caressed his legs, paying
special attention to his inner thighs, which I learned quickly were wonderfully
sensitive. By the time I made it back up to his cock, he was wrecked.
Shit, he's beautiful when he's desperate and begging for attention.
I let my fingertips just barely graze the underside of his cock, and a drop
of
semen appeared at the tip immediately. I bent to lick it away which, looking
back, might not have been such a good idea for either of us. I loved the
velvety
feel of him on my tongue...had to have more, and that one, brief touch wasn't
going to get it for him, either. So, I opened my mouth and slowly took in every
last inch of him.
Jesus Christ, he swallowed me whole, and I was sure that the world was
coming to
an end. It had to be; why else would my wildest fantasies be coming true...
Everything at that point just went out of focus and turned sort of a dull,
reddish-black, and I didn't give a damn if I was ever able to see again. All I
wanted was to stay forever in that soft, hot mouth.
But the coiling in the pit of my stomach told me that wasn't happening any
time
soon.
Something I must have done...some sound I must have made clued him in too,
and he
pulled away.
I still can't believe it. No one in the world has ever made me beg like
that, but
he did. I needed him more than I have or ever will need anything in my life. I
tossed every bit of pride I had out the window and pleaded for him to fuck me.
Thankfully, he took pity on me and pulled his nightstand drawer open. He
rummaged
around for a while, and I was just getting ready to tell him to forget the lube
when he pulled a small tube out. He made some crack about it probably being all
dried up, then unscrewed the cap.
There did turn out to be some useable bit in there, and just as he was about
to
squeeze it out into his hand, he stopped. Gave me a little smile, then took my
hand...
I squeezed what little lube I could get out into his hand, then straddled
his
waist and waited. He reached out slowly and took my cock in his palm. His
fingers
closed around it, and I had all I could do to remain kneeling. My legs were
shaking almost as much as his hand, but I managed to stay upright until he
finished. I stretched out then, lying on top of him, his legs bent on either
side
of my hips. I kept my eyes on his and with one hand, worked my cock into him. I
had to stop at least six times before I made it all the way inside. Either he
was
too close to the edge, or I was, or we both were. When I was finally in him
as
far as I could go, I relaxed on top of him...as much as I could, and we lay
quietly together. He knew like I did that if I had continued to move, it would
have been over inside of twenty seconds.
So, there I was. In Fox Mulder's bed. Naked under afore mentioned man with
his
cock as far up my ass as it could go. Somebody please name one thing I'd ever
done in my life that was good enough to deserve that.
I hugged him to me as he lay there, gently kissing every inch of skin I
could
reach without jostling us around too much. Neither of us was in very stable
condition at that point, and it wouldn't take much more than a sneeze to set us
both off.
A few minutes later, he lifted his head from my shoulder, took a deep
breath, and
asked me if I was all right. I nodded...he kissed me, then he started to move.
I wish I could accurately describe the sensation of being fucked by the most
beautiful man to ever walk the face of the earth. It's like nothing else I've
ever felt in my life. Every tiny movement vibrated in me like a four point zero
earthquake, and I was fully aware of each brush of his skin against mine. Every
time he withdrew, the loss of his presence inside me left me with such an
agonizing sense of emptiness, I could hardly stand it for the few seconds it
took
him to return.
When I felt his hand slip between us and close around my cock, my head
started to
spin. I wanted to come with him in the worst way, but the idea of having to
leave
that heaven filled me with a sadness like I've never felt. But he started to
stroke me in time to his thrusts, and emotion took a back seat to raw need.
I pushed harder into him, my hand moving at the same speed over his cock,
and
although I wished that it could have gone on forever, our bodies were telling
me
no. Alex bucked against me, begging me to fuck him harder, and I obliged
without
argument. I gathered what little strength I had left in reserve and gave him
everything I had. It must have been enough, because in a matter of seconds he
was
screaming like an animal, clawing and convulsing, and I felt the rush of hot
fluid over my hand. I came then, too, in pretty much the same way that he did.
The windows were closed, but I'll bet a week's pay that people out on the
street,
four floors below, heard us loud and clear.
The world went black, and all I could do was feel. I felt every last bit of
energy drain out of me. I felt his skin against mine, soft and slick, and I
felt
his heart thudding as hard as mine had been. I don't remember anything after
that. I guess I passed out for a while because the next thing I knew, I was
opening my eyes and the faint light of dawn was filtering in through the
blinds.
I focused on waking up, and I realized that I wasn't lying where I had
fallen
asleep. I was now actually on the bed, lying on my stomach. I hadn't looked up
yet, but I could feel him there next to me. I looked up and was surprised to
find
that his eyes were open. He watched me with a wariness that I hadn't seen since
the night before, and when I said nothing to him, he lowered his eyes and slid
out of bed.
I didn't even get two steps from the bed when he asked me where I was going.
I
shrugged and told him that I was leaving, and he asked me why.
I had no answer. I guess I just thought that I should.
He stared at me for a while then lowered his eyes and watched his hand draw
the
sheet down. He looked back up at me and waited.
He wanted me to stay, and I don't think it ever would have occurred to me to
refuse him. I moved slowly back to the bed, checking with him once more before
I
slid in beside him.
His expression hadn't changed. He lay there still waiting, and as soon as my
head
hit the pillow, he was there, pressed against me, hand sweeping over my chest.
He
told me that in case I was wondering, as far as he was concerned, what we did
was
no mistake. It was not a case of temporary insanity, and he had no regrets.
What's more, he said that it was the most incredible sexual experience of his
life, and he hoped that it wouldn't be a one shot deal.
Before I could really think about it, the words were out of my mouth. I
asked him
how he could hate me so much yet want me in his bed, and his answer was simple.
He'd wanted me for years, and with all that had happened between us, he hated
himself and me for it. Violence had become his answer...the way he denied his
desire for me, and last night it all came crashing down on him. He got this
overwhelming feeling that if he didn't act on his desires right then, he might
never have the chance again.
I asked him what made him even think I'd be receptive to a thing like that,
and
he smiled. Reminded me what field he was trained in and that trying to figure
out
what made me tick had been a side project of his for years. He admitted that he
didn't have me figured out completely, but there were a couple of things he was
fairly sure about, and my lust for him was one of them.
I couldn't have denied it even if I'd wanted to. Not after last night.
He asked me why I never fought back on those occasions when he attacked me,
and I
gave him a faintly smug grin and asked him if he hadn't come to any of his own
conclusions about that.
As a matter of fact, he had.
He told me that he thought I had come to think of the violence as a
substitute
for what I really needed from him...that I'd derived some degree of pleasure
and
satisfaction from it. That said, he also concluded that his failure to initiate
any kind of physical contact during the course of our last few meetings had
frustrated me and possibly got me thinking about it more than I ever had.
He brushed his fingers across my mouth and asked me if he was right.
All I could do was nod.
He went quiet for a minute then asked me why I would have let him kill me
last
night.
I asked him if he could please tell me since he was on such a roll.
He lay there, saying nothing for a long while, then shook his head. He said
he
guessed it was one of those things about me that he just couldn't figure.
Yeah. Me either.
Things got a little awkward, and a heavy silence fell between us.
He was obviously disappointed with my answer, and I started wondering what
it was
he expected me to tell him. I had already told him not more than a few minutes
before that I hadn't been able to figure him out completely.
I suppose I could have just asked him to tell me what it was he wanted me to
say,
but I got the distinct feeling that he wouldn't have told me even if he knew.
Damn, but I hated seeing that injured look in his beautiful eyes. I wrapped my
arms around him and rolled him on top of me, then I kissed him and asked him to
fuck me.
He just stared down at me, a little hesitant at first, but the emphatic
stiffening of his cock against my thigh told me that he was coming around to my
way of thinking very quickly. Just to help things along, I slid both hands down
over his ass...God, he's got a nice ass...and pulled him more tightly to me. I
rocked against him so he could feel how hard I was already, and I saw the light
slowly returning to his eyes.
It was my turn. My chance to show him...to make him want only me. It was my
opportunity to prove to him that I could give him everything he'd ever need.
I shoved all the baggage aside and did just that.
I went after him with everything I had, and inside of five minutes I had him
whimpering my name and clinging to me like he was drowning.
He was like a summer thunderstorm that just wouldn't let up. Seductively
fierce
and hypnotic in his brilliance, he pulled me into the center of that crackling
energy and refused to let go.
Not a single inch of me went untouched, and I found myself shuddering
uncontrollably as his hands and his mouth drove me closer and closer to the
edge
of total meltdown. By the time I felt him lift my hips and drive his cock into
me, I was very nearly hysterical with need.
Even through the deluge of blinding lust, a tiny little voice in the back of
my
head was telling me that I was toast. That from here on out, it would be Alex
or
nothing for me. If the thought was supposed to scare me, it didn't. I'd known
for
a very long time now, even without having had the benefit of fucking him,
that
it was Alex or nothing.
How many different ways are there to fuck a man? I mean, when it really
comes
right down to it, aside from varying speed and strength, the actual method is
pretty cut and dried...I thought...
Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was so overjoyed to finally have this man
inside of
me that my mind endowed him with all sorts of magical, mystical powers. I don't
know. What I do know is that he tore me down. He shredded me to tiny bits,
and
when he was finished with me, I couldn't move. I couldn't speak, I couldn't
see,
I couldn't hear...I don't know how I kept breathing. Everything just went
black,
and it seemed like weeks before the feeling began to return to my extremities.
When I was finally able to open my eyes and focus, I realized that he was
now
lying beside me, and that he was asleep. I watched him, amazed at how the demon
who had so completely possessed me earlier could look so positively angelic
when
he was at rest. I wondered how he could be such a stone-cold, manipulative
bastard on the outside, and so sweet and unsure and outrageously seductive on
the
inside.
A disturbing, even frightening puzzle for most people, but as Scully would
so
smugly point out to me, I'm not most people.
I'd figure it out, I told myself as I dropped a soft kiss on one
heavily-fringed
eyelid. I'd figure it all out.
Now, I had the time.
Mind, Body and Soul
II
by Aries
Here I am again.
