Mulder has finally lost it. I mean, really lost it. He's gone around the bend.
He's one fry short of a Happy Meal. The man's insane.
Why, you ask. Well, first of all he doesn't even try to fight back when I grab
him by the collar and pull him into the alley. Then he doesn't call me any of
those pet names he has for me—you know, pond scum, ratbastard, and
sonofabitch.
Actually, he calls me Alex. That takes me back—right back to the good old
days of Agent-Alex-Krycek. Which isn't my least favorite memory in the world—but the end result of that particular episode in my life wasn't exactly what I'd
hoped for. Not that it could have ended any other way... Well, I guess it could
have. I could've told him everything, saved Scully, and ended up dead for my
trouble.
Some days that almost seems preferable to what did happen.
Which is neither here nor there. I have a reason for waylaying him—a good
one. Now, if I can just ignore my body's rather enthusiastic response to his
closeness and remember what the hell I came to tell him...
I should have expected my unknown assailant to turn out to be Alex Krycek, but
for some reason I didn't. Who else would it be? Hell, despite what others
might believe, I don't actually have people grabbing me and physically hurling
me into dark alleyways all that often.
I think he's lost it, this time. He's standing in front of me, pressing me up
against the wall. And I think he's happy to see me. Or he's got a gun in
his...pocket. Uh-huh, right.
I only recognized him when I found myself face to face with him. I'm starting
to wish I hadn't had that drink in the bar after leaving work.
Uh-oh. He's got that familiar look in his eyes, the one he had just before he
leaned in and kissed me that night in my apartment, when he came bearing tidings
about invasions and rebel leaders on air force bases.
I clear my throat. "Alex? Are you going to tell me what we're doing here? What
do you want?"
Calm as you please, he stares at me. Asks me what I want. And pushes his hips
- ever so slightly—against me.
He's hard, too.
See what I mean? He's not right in the head.
Who is this man and what has he done with Mulder?
"Shut up," I say.
He meets my eyes calmly and licks his lips. Nods once. Doesn't even struggle
when I reach in under his jacket to remove his sidearm.
I'm seriously worried here, folks.
So, here we are. I've got him up against this wall, I've got his gun, and I've
got his attention... And I can't for the life of me remember what the fuck I
wanted to tell him. Not with him pressed so close, his cock as hard as mine,
hazel eyes watching me expectantly.
I open my mouth to speak—don't bother to ask, I have no idea what I'm gonna
say, when he does it again.
"Alex?"
Okay. That settles it. No questions left in my mind—nor siree, he's insane.
Or he's a very clever shapeshifter. I frown, give it a moment's thought,
conclude that an insane Mulder is preferable to an alien Mulder, and decide to
take a chance. After all, what good is an insane Mulder if you can't play with
him a little?
So, I kiss him.
Oh. Wow. Okay... Alex Krycek, devious manipulator and Consortium Player, is
kissing me.
I was starting to worry, I'll admit it. I thought maybe he wanted to throw me
another tidbit of information, something to lead me down the primrose path to
inconclusive outcomes—yet again.
I have to confess, too, that in the back of my mind, I've always wondered what
it would feel like to have those pretty lips on mine. Yeah; 'pretty'. Lying, as
well. Pretty, lying, warm, kissable lips...
He hasn't been drinking, so what the hell is up, here? I can tell, because his
mouth is open and my tongue is sliding oh-so-easily between his lips to taste
him; finding his tongue is no problem. And I'm the only one who's been drinking
tonight. Although one glass of scotch hardly constitutes 'drinking'. But it's
the only way I'm going to explain why I'm letting this kiss carry on for so
long.
This is not what I expected, the next time our paths crossed. I'm beginning to
realize that he must have wanted this; the clues were all fairly hard to miss.
He's always making eyes at me and that first peck on the cheek was a dead
giveaway. So I'm not surprised to find the two of us here like this at last.
Hell, I suspected even way back in ancient history before... Before Scully's
abduction and my father's death and—
I gasp and pull back at this thought. It intrudes horribly into the taste and
warmth of him. Reminding me sharply of exactly who it is who's shoved me up
against the wall and is grinding his crotch into mine. With both hands, I push
him back, hard. He wasn't expecting that.
Fuck; he's staring at me like I've hurt his feelings. What the hell did he
think I would do? Welcome him with open arms? I lick my lips, tasting him on
me still.
Sardonically, I ask, "What, are you hard up for a date?"
Oh, shit. I just fucked up. Bigtime. I'm talking disaster. Catastrophe. He's
got that look on his face—that
you-no-good-scum-sucking-sonofabitch-I'm-going-to-kill-you look.
Okay, Alex, think. Gotta be some way to save face here. Think, idiot, think.
He narrows his eyes at me and licks his lips again.
My cock jumps.
"Let's fuck," I say.
So much for thinking.
His expression blanks for a heartbeat, then he gapes at me. "What did you say?"
"Hmmm?" I murmur distractedly as I consider just what I'd like to put in his
mouth—which, by the way, is still hanging open in stunned amazement.
"Krycek," he sputters, "you're crazy. We can't—I am not—I..."
"Sure we can," I assure him confidently. "Yes you are—and so am I. So, let's
fuck."
Something tells me that laughing at him right now would be a bad thing. But,
damn, it's really, really hard to control my amusement. Against my will, my
lips twitch, just aching to smile. He looks so... ruffled, is the best word I
can think of to describe him. So discombobulated that he forgets to glare at
me.
Well, hell, since I've taken the dive, I might as well try swimming. I move
closer to him, press my hips against his and lean forward to whisper in his ear,
"C'mon, Foxy. We've been dancing around this issue for years, now. Let's just
do it."
Jesus! He really has lost his marbles! He obviously thinks he's got one over on
me this time, too, with that trademark smirk of his crossing his face.
Admittedly, his voice does have an effect on me, and I can't help catching my
breath as his husky tones reach in past my usual defenses.
Maybe he does have a point, after all.
Why not? Why shouldn't we just... get this over with? He's right. We've been
dancing around it for years. Around each other.
Maybe it's time to call his bluff. Maybe he thinks I'll back out of this, that
I haven't got the balls to follow through.
Maybe this is just another one of his little mind-fucks— mindfucks? Ha-ha.
Okay, Krycek. You asked for it.
I let a wide grin come over my face, not quite mindless but fairly reckless.
"Okay. Your place or mine?"
Did I just hear what I think I heard? I mentally rewind his last statement.
Yep. I did hear him say 'okay'.
I also heard... "Your place? Are you crazy? Jesus, Mulder, I have my kinks,
but I definitely don't want an audience for this. Everyone and his brother,
cousin and uncle has your apartment under surveillance. We'll go to my place."
He shrugs. "Fine. Where's your car?"
I'm really starting to like this new version of Mulder. He's actually got a
great smile. Especially when it's directed at me. In fact, I like it so much,
I just have to kiss him. And that turns out to be such a brilliant idea that I
do it again. And once more for luck—I've never believed in luck, you know.
But tonight, at this moment, Luck is my God.
Please, God, don't let him change his mind. I don't think I'll survive if he
backs out on me now.
"Alex?"
"Huh?"
"Your car?"
Oh. My car is right over... Um. It's, uh...
Where the hell is my car?
Shit. It's all the way down on the next block. I'm not too sure that I can
even manage to peel myself away from his body long enough to get to the fucking
car, much less drive all the way home.
Taking a deep breath, I step back reluctantly. "It's um... down there," I tell
him, waving my arm vaguely in the direction of the White House.
"Mine's right across the street," he says.
Well then, what the fuck are we waiting for? "Let's go."
I can't believe this. Shaking my head slightly, I glance at Krycek sharply.
Yep. He's gonna go through with this. He's serious about this. He's actually
willing to get into my car. This is... surreal.
I'm okay with surreal; I deal with surreal all the time.
I climb into the driver's seat and buckle my seatbelt. He gets in beside me and
I stare straight ahead for a moment, wondering. Turning to him, I ask, "Aren't
you worried that I'll simply turn you in?"
He grins at me, a feral Cheshire-cat grin that lets me know that he's still
Krycek, and can only be trusted as far as I can throw him. "Quit stalling,
Mulder."
Sighing, I start the engine. And wait.
Finally he says, "What? What is it?"
Lifting a brow archly at him, I remind him, "Buckle up."
He snorts quietly but he complies as I pull away from the curb. My hands are
gripping the wheel and I force myself to sit up straighter and relax. Take a
breath.
"So, are you on drugs, Krycek? What's the reason for this sudden change of
pace?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"The direct approach. Usually, trying to get a straight answer out of you is
like attempting to draw blood from a rock."
I shrug. "Well, there you have it. I'm getting predictable. Can't have you
getting bored, Foxy."
He laughs.
Well, I guess I'm not the only one breaking out of the mold here.
I notice that we're about to pass our turn. "Mulder, turn-"
"Left here," he says casually. "I know."
He does? "You do?" How the hell does he know where I live?
"Contrary to popular opinion, Krycek, I am capable of being devious on
occasion," he informs me gravely. "I followed you home weeks ago."
Weeks ago, huh? I'm still considering the ramifications of Mulder actually
getting the drop on me, when I realize that he's taking a route that will take
us around the construction on Arlington Ridge road.
Weeks ago.
Riiight.
The detour signs went up two days ago.
I tuck that little piece of knowledge away for possible future use and turn to
study him. He's a good looking man, Mulder. I'm sure you've noticed that. I
sure did—hell, I've been known to follow him to the grocery store, just
because I... Well, let's call a spade a spade, I'm obsessed with him.
He notices my intent gaze and frowns. "What?"
"Scully have an ultrasound yet?"
He eyes me suspiciously, nearly hitting a parked car in his distraction. My
yelp warns him of our imminent death and he narrowly avoids disaster before
responding. "Yeah. Why?"
"You see it?"
"Yeah," he's getting impatient. "Why?"
"Just wondering if the kid will have your nose."
By the time we both recover from our mutual—and admittedly overly hysterical—laughter, he's parked in front of my building, turned off the car and released
his seatbelt.
Casually, I say as I open the car door, "You'd know, wouldn't you?" I get out,
not waiting for him.
By the time he's standing, peering at me over the top of my car, I'm prepared.
"So, Krycek. I guess this is it."
"Yeah. Sure is." Krycek shuts his door, giving me a curious look.
Right. Like I'm going to back out now.
"It isn't too late, you know." I grin at him.
He gives me a twisted little smile. "Maybe not for you," he replies.
The implication is that it is too late for him... and I'm on the verge of
demanding an explanation when it hits me—maybe he really means this. Maybe
I'm the only one who's bluffing, here.
It kind of sucks the breath out of me, and my heart's pounding a bit harder as
he saunters in that damnably noticeable fashion up the steps. He turns to me
and says, "You coming in, then?"
My face feels hot. Damn him. He keeps offering me openings to back out, as if
he fully expects me to change my mind. I'll show him. I'll prove to him that I
can take this as far as he can.
"Lead the way." I walk up the steps, close behind him. Strangely, the tension
I can feel running throughout my body isn't due to any risk of betrayal, only my
proximity to him.
As he turns the key and lets us both in, I have to ask myself what the hell I
think I'm doing. But somehow, I get the gut-feeling that he means this. Taking
a deep breath, I enter the lion's den...
So.
Here we are. Here he is—in my apartment.
Bearing a striking resemblance to the proverbial deer caught in headlights.
Somehow, I think he's been under the impression that I'm bluffing. Time to rid
him of that notion.
I shrug off my jacket and let it drop to the floor, then reach under my shirt to
undo the straps of my prosthetic. "Jesus, I hate that thing." Tossing it
aside, not caring the least little bit where it lands, I move towards him.
Eyes wide, he backs up in a kind of reverse of our usual pattern, until his back
is against the wall and my front is against him. And, yeah, he feels just as
fine as he did in that alley. Maybe better now that my heavy leather jacket is
out of the way. Which reminds me...
"Off," I say abruptly.
He stares at me, without comprehension.
"The coat, Mulder. Take it off."
He gives it a try—and, I gotta tell you, I damn near come in my jeans when he
starts wriggling, trying to shed his outer layer with my weight pressed against
him. Since there's no way in hell I'm coming until we're both naked and
preferably, but not necessarily, horizontal, I move back a step.
He moves with me.
I like that, so I do it again. Again he follows. I like this a lot! Pausing, I
push his coat and suit jacket off of his shoulders. He pulls my shirt over my
head and throws it aside.
We take a couple more steps in the direction of the bedroom.
Shoes, boots and socks end up somewhere near the couch.
Several more steps.
Jeans and trousers land in the bathroom doorway.
We're getting pretty good at this.
Jockeys and boxers now adorn my dresser. They look good there.
And we're standing at the bedside.
Naked.
I turn, shift my weight just so, give him a gentle shove, and we're laying on
the bed.
I'll be damned.
This could get interesting. I've always wondered what it would be like to be
this close to Krycek, with or without clothes. Fox Mulder Jr. certainly finds
it interesting, so there's no backing out now under the pretense that I don't.
But somehow, the heady thrill of the power of having him here so obviously
willing and naked and... grinning. The bastard's smirking at me again.
I take a breath. And find myself running a hand over his neck, his shoulder,
down to his left nipple, casually noting the satin softness of his skin under my
fingers. And the heat of him—God, I want to just slide in closer, here...
That smirk is kind of irritating right now. I kiss him to try to wipe it away
and when I pull back to look into his eyes, it's gone. At last. Replaced with a
sort of wide-eyed hungry expression that suits him a lot better.
I clear my throat, feeling unaccountably awkward. I can't imagine why. After
all, we're laying on our sides, facing each other, with my leg trapped between
both of his thighs.
"Alex? What is this?"
He snickers at me. "What do you want it to be?"
I consider this, staring solemnly back into those indecently lashed eyes. "It's
real for me," I counter, wanting him to know that no matter how much of a game
he tries to say this is, or manipulation after the fact, that I'm not fucking
around.
Real?
What the hell?
My first instinct is to hit him upside the head and toss him into the nearest
dumpster. Then, it occurs to me that this is just another instance of Mulder
being Mulder. The jerk never did know when to shut the hell up—and, when he's
off balance, he does tend to say the stupidest godamned things.
So, instead of knocking him out for being an idiot—after all, he can't help
himself—I roll to my back and pull him on top of me. "Mulder, it doesn't get
much more real that this," I tell him, pushing my hips up and grinding my
erection against his.
He grins like the imbecile he is and opens his mouth to make what will
undoubtedly be another stupid comment. I forestall him by putting my fingers
across his mouth. "Don't," I say urgently. "Just don't say anything."
A little frown appears on his face and he considers me in silence, obviously
trying to decide what my agenda is and whether or not he'll come out of this in
one piece.
I reach up and smooth the lines on his forehead with a sigh. "Look, Mulder...
This has been between us for years now. Can't we just try this, see where it
leads? No hidden agendas, just... just us. Here. Now."
Krycek obviously thinks I'm a complete idiot, otherwise he wouldn't expect me to
swallow this without a single doubt of his sincerity.
Sincerity? Integrity? Please. The Alex Krycek I have known over the years
always sounds sincere at the time, then shows me how wrong I was to trust him
afterwards, usually in painfully treacherous demonstrations.
Still, he's right. It's hard to hide one's agenda when one's stiff dick is a
few centimeters from someone else's. Speaking of which, I'm starting to crave
even closer contact so I slide my hips forward to meet him, bringing the tip of
my erection bumping into Alex's.
Oh fuck. That is so good.
"Okay. Here and now," I agree, deciding that he's got to be at least partly
sincere about this because one can't fake arousal like the kind he's evincing.
For an answer, he growls in his throat and then swiftly attaches his mouth on my
neck, sucking and biting and licking.
There's a yelp, and embarrassingly enough, I do recognize it as mine.
I thrust forward again, letting our dicks rub silkily together, which serves
simply to make Alex savage my neck even harder. His hand reaches down to grab
my dick, then goes lower to cup and fondle my balls. I suck in a breath at the
sensation—there's nothing like having someone who's already familiar with the
terrain let loose on that part of the anatomy.
I can't get enough of this. Having my hands on him is a kind of balm, soothing
away the nettling anger that still surges despite my best intentions in his
presence and replacing it with the satisfaction of seizing hold of him and not
letting go.
Gasping, I finally pull back, and manage to form the words, "Lube? Protection?"
What? I open my eyes and stare at him in confusion. Why is he talking and not
doing?
"Alex? Condom? Lube?"
Oh. Okay. "Drawer," I manage to enunciate, as the fog of lust clears for a
moment. "Table," I elaborate, waving at the bedside stand.
A gasp escapes me as he shifts over to reach into the drawer in search of the
needed items. I can't help it—not with the way he manages to grind his cock
into my hip in the process. His grin tells me that it was not entirely
unintentional.
Condom and lube in hand, Mulder pauses to stare at me, brows lifted in question.
What now?
"What do you... I mean, how do we do this?"
Oh. Oh, wow. I... he's asking me, actually asking me who's going to do what
to whom. Will wonders never cease? Actually, I'd been working on the
assumption that there was no real question on that particular matter. It never
occurred to me that I had a choice.
Now that I have one, I find that I don't want it. What I want is for him to-
"Fuck me, Mulder," I murmur.
Jesus—There is something so sexy about hearing Alex say that. I'd love to get
him on tape, and then sample it, so I could replay it as a wav file over and
over again...
"Sometime tonight would be good," Alex adds, dryly, noting my dazed, distant
expression.
"Um." I close my mouth. Yeah, he's right. Again, damn him. Actually, the
thought of fucking him is so close to what I have always wanted to do to him,
that it fits in quite nicely with my usual fantasy of shoving him facedown over
my desk and pulling down his jeans. I never get farther than that before
coming, actually. But this, now; this is another matter entirely. "Don't
worry," I inform him gravely. "Your ass is mine, no doubt about it." I kiss him
again and then stand up beside the bed.
He raises his brows at me and that little look crosses his face, the one that
usually eloquently lets one know that he is not impressed. "Less talk, I
think," he says. "More action. Come on, Mulder."
Thoughtfully, I squeeze a helping of lube onto my fingers. "You know, for
someone whose ass about it get royally fucked, you're being rather pushy."
"Yeah, well—if it gets me fucked any harder, then it's worth it," Alex
retorts.
I have to take a breath at this image as it rises sharply to the forefront of my
mind. "I can do it hard," I promise.
"I'm counting on it," Alex says. "Now put your money where your mouth is."
"Sure. Just as soon as you turn over and spread your legs. Alex."
He complies in a slow, flowing motion, all one movement, parting his legs on the
bed and leaving that absolutely fuckable ass vulnerable before me. I clamber up
quickly behind him and place one hand on his butt to steady myself as I kneel
there.
I'm holding my breath, waiting for him to get started. I exhale loudly,
impatiently, hoping that will catch his attention.
Still waiting...
"Mulder?"
"Hmmm?"
"What are you doing back there?" I turn my head to see that he's staring,
apparently quite entranced by my ass. I'm glad he likes what he sees, but I'd
be a whole hell of a lot happier if he'd show his appreciation in a slightly
more tactile fashion. "Mulder!"
"What?" He looks up at me, obviously confused by the sharp tone.
Jesus. The man is as impossible in bed as he is anywhere else. Okay, how to
get him moving without hurting his oh-so-sensitive feelings... "Um, don't take
this the wrong way, but I'd be very grateful if you'd get on with it right now.
You can stare to your heart's content after we fuck. Okay?"
He's silent for a beat and I'm beginning to worry, but then a slow smile appears
on his face. The hand on my ass strokes lightly, while his other hand, the one
with the lube—this is a good thing—moves between my cheeks, sliding easily
along my crack to massage around my opening.
"This what you want, Alex?"
"More."
"Pushiest godamned bottom I've ever seen," he grumbles as one long finger slides
inside of me.
Damn, that feels... really good. I grunt and move my hips encouragingly. My
reward is another finger. With a sigh, I relax and just float in a haze of
pleasure, making small sounds of approval and encouragement, while he prepares
me to accept him.
I'm getting the message loud and clear, here. He wants it quick, dirty, hard—no lingering or admiration. Appreciation of the act itself is fine for him, as
long as we 'get on with it'. I'd like to go slower, take our time with this.
I'm starting to wonder if maybe he's not feeling as secure about this as I'd
thought. Actually, I'm starting to feel sorry for him now; is it always like
this for him? Grab a few spare moments to get laid and then in a whirl of black
and leather he's off again? What a way to live. I can't complain or compare; I
rarely get even that.
Still, I'd like to enjoy this. I'm rather proud of how steady my nerves are
right now. My fingers aren't trembling at all as I move them in and out of his
delectable, tight, hot little opening. He gives an impatient wiggle and I pull
them away. Slicking up my cock, I toss the lube to the side of the bed and move
into an even better position over him, running the head of my dick along his
crack.
Laying down along his back now, I tease him with my cock pressing bluntly
against his hole but not sliding in just yet. I murmur in his ear, "You want it
hard. But do you want it fast, Alex? Remember, the quicker we do this, the
quicker it'll be over."
In response, he bucks back against me, causing my eager cock to breach him at
last, by a good three inches. We both suck in a breath and he curses under me,
his voice strained.
"Just fuck me, for God's sake, Mulder."
But I can hear the desperation underlying his tone, now. I grin and chuckle
behind him, against his neck. I let myself slide all the way into him in one
motion, up to my balls in his tight, heated depth. "That good for you?" I ask,
mildly, ignoring the impulse to shove it into him again and again and just blast
his insides with hot jism. No, I want to draw it out, make him squirm. Make
him like it. Make it something he'll remember. He's been controlling the plays
throughout this entire encounter. Time for me to have it my way while it counts
the most.
And we both know damn well this isn't just about sex. At least, I know it
isn't. I pull back and then let the natural momentum of the expected thrust
carry back inside of him and he cries out. It's music to my ears, and it makes
my cock twitch inside his ass. I close my eyes and try to keep hold of myself
here. It would be so easy to lose control.
Mulder's inside of me, on top of me, all around me. And I like it. Do I like
it too much? Do I care?
His mouth opens against my shoulder and I can't control my response. I moan and
push up against him. I need more. More of this, of him, and if I have to beg
for it, I will.
"Mulder, please." my voice is embarrassingly needy —moreso than I've ever
heard it before.
He pulls almost all the way out of me and pauses. "What do you want, Alex?"
What do I want ? I want... I want him to make lo-
Oh shit.
I think I fucked up. I shouldn't have done this. No, I really, really should
not have ever let him this close. My muscles tighten in near panic, and I move
a little spastically as my body fights my mind's instinctive flight response.
And Mulder, well, Mulder's apparently way ahead of me. "Shhh. It's okay, Alex.
Just us—here—now."
As much as I want to run, that much and more do I want to stay. To accept him,
this, us. He seems to understand my inner turmoil, because he rests his weight
on top of me, his hands petting my shoulders and hair, his lips close to my ear,
whispering soft words of comfort.
"Hush," he says. "You're safe," he tells me. "I won't hurt you," he promises.
I do wonder briefly how this happened. I was so firmly in control earlier. Knew
exactly what I was doing. What I wanted from him and what I was willing to give
him in return. Now, now, I don't know anything—except that I do want him.
And, amazingly enough, I think I trust him, too.
I've got him right where I wanted him. So why can't I be less tender? I'm
surprising myself with the magnanimous gesture of gentleness in this remarkable
setting and position we're in, especially when I think of all the times we've
met before and the violence that accompanied those meetings.
But it's so damned irresistible, particularly since he's laid out under me like
a banquet and his ass is mine at last. It feels so good to give in to the
impulse to lay a long, lingering kiss to the back of his neck, as I pull a
couple inches out of him and then quickly slide back in again. And again. All
the anger and pain has given way to this melting, delicious luxury of pleasure
and warmth. Pleasure shared is pleasure doubled? This is certainly better than
beating myself off in the dark. Damn. If I'd known it would be this good,
fucking him, I'd have suggested it a long time ago.
It's kind of sobering to realize that he knew, from the very start, how it was
between us. It feels so natural to have my cock rammed all the way inside him
and to be whispering endearments in his ear while laying over his tense form.
But he's still shaking after his little panic attack when he realized just
exactly what this had turned into, so I'm going to put us out of our misery. I
start to move a little faster, a rocking rhythm in and out of him. I groan with
feeling, the sensation of his clutching, silken, hot hole gripping my dick is
almost unbearably sweet.
Hard, right—he wanted it hard. I let myself go a bit more, letting the need
to drill him with my dick take over. I don't want this to be a punishment, but
the knowledge that he won't be able to sit down for a week makes me drive my
cock into him even harder, and I pick up the pace.
Urged on by the noises he's making beneath me, I manage hoarsely, "Mine, mine,
you're mine." It's not really what I mean to say, but they're the only words
that make sense from the feelings of possessiveness and delight in his body
that's swimming around in my head disjointedly along with the pure lust. And I
can feel myself nearing that point of no return...
Oh God! Finally, he's doing it, fucking me nice and hard. Once again in
familiar territory, I groan my pleasure and let myself revel in the physical.
Then he starts talking. "Mine," he says. "You're mine."
And I... well, he's right. In this moment, I am his. Not gonna tell him that
though. Uh uh, I've revealed entirely too much here tonight. I just can't give
him this, too.
He shoves into me forcefully, the bed quakes under us, and suddenly I'm agreeing
with him. "Yours," I admit.
"Yes," he hisses, thrusting with increased vigor. He changes his angle of entry
and I'm screaming—yes, screaming—as the head of his cock brushes against my
prostate.
"Fuck!" I'm shouting and writhing under him and I think a sob may have escaped
me somewhere along the line. "God, Mulder... Shitfuckdamn! There! Yes—again!"
He's gasping and shuddering and I just know he's about to lose it and I'm
determined that he'll come first because... Oh fuck it—I don't stand a chance
and I know it. He's got me, I'm his and I'll do what he wants.
In bed, I will.
Hands braced on either side of me, Mulder raises his torso and the sudden
arrhythmic movements of his hips tell me he's right on the edge of losing
control.
I'm gasping in breaths, belatedly, realizing that he hasn't come yet, and I'm
just about to, right now. It's going to happen now, now, now. And so I reach
down my hand, trying to grasp hold of his cock, but there's no space between his
body and the bed. Fuck it. I concentrate instead on keeping this angle, the
one that has him wailing every time I thrust into him.
His legs are spread under me, practically frog-legged, and I'm nearly shaking
myself now with the tension. And fuck—
Fuck! He's so beautiful like this, writhing around like a speared fish under
me. I could come just from the fact that he's there at all. Not to mention
that he's making the most incredible sounds and shuddering. I want to make him
come with my dick.
I may not last long enough. In fact, oh God, that wave of pleasure slams into
me and what the hell was I waiting for, anyway?! Fuck! Just... why wait? I'm
ramming into him over and over, and giving it to him. I'm sobbing against his
neck, and emptying myself into his ass, it's so fucking sweet, so good, so
fucking good...
I'm shouting out loud as I jerk a few more times atop him. I don't want to
stop, don't want this to end. Why can't we just stay here on this high point
forever, together? The heat is still pouring off of me along with the drops of
sweat and our skin is so slick, our bodies are sliding against each other. So
perfect, this heat and the pearly warmth of his ass around my cock, still
holding me to him as he shakes with his own orgasm.
I'm humbled, he sounds so beautiful as he cries out. I want to keep him. And a
horrible suspicion creeps into my brain in the immediacy of my climax and the
aftermath: he fucking set me up! He knew it would be this good... And now I'm
fucking addicted to him. Damn him!
He's twisting under me with the tremors of his own aftershocks. I'm not getting
off of him though. I'm not letting go. I can't bear to let go. Not now, after
all this time, after this long wait. I feel an anguished lump in my throat and
I swallow, hard. Fucking bastard. He knew, didn't he. That we'd end up needing
this.
"You bastard," I whisper, feeling despair at how much I don't want this to end.
It was over too soon. And I get the feeling that even if we were to stay in
here for the next two weeks solid and do nothing but fuck each other's brains
out, it would still be over too soon. How can we possibly fuck long enough and
hard enough to make up for the last several wasted years?
"Bastard," he whispers. "You fuck, you knew. You fucking knew ."
Uh oh. I think he now knows what I've known from day one. And he's not happy
about it. Not that I blame him. Hell, I'm in just as deep as he is. And I've
been here one hell of a lot longer that he has.
Still, resting under him in the afterglow of what was as incredible as it was
inevitable, I'm feeling generous. "Mulder, what happened happened—we can't
change it, hell, even if we could go back and do it all again, I don't think we
could do it any differently. Just... can't we just be grateful that we're
alive and that finally, after so many years, we've managed to do something
right?"
He's silent, thinking about what I said, and I lay in a happy daze waiting for
his answer. I can afford to be happily dazed right now because as much as he'll
rage against it, he now knows what we can have together and Mulder hasn't had
any more pleasure in his life than I have. He'll eventually accept this.
I hope.
I'm almost asleep when he moves, shifting his weight to one side. We both groan
as his softened cock slides out of me. And, ugh, being awake means that I now
feel the wet spot I'm laying in. I wait until he's settled, then move myself,
wiggling around until I'm curled back against him my one side, narrowly avoiding
the dreaded wet spot on the bed.
On of his arms steals around my waist and I sigh with contentment.
My voice is noticeably lacking its usual acid note when I ask Alex, "Happy now?"
There's a brief pause, Alex hesitating while he undoubtedly tries to come up
with an answer devoid of wistful longing, although I can hear it in his voice
along with the resignation: "Delirious, Mulder."
I nod. "Good. Me too. You're right. I wouldn't change a thing. We did
something right." I whisper this last bit and then kiss him on the neck. I
have a thing for his neck. In fact, I have a thing for all of him. I can feel
Mulder Jr. stir restlessly, raising his head sleepily but I know it'll be a
little while before my gonads can catch up with him.
Alex is quiet for a spell, then he says, "Good." He sounds relieved.
I chuckle silently against his neck and he burrows backwards into me a bit more.
And I sigh contentedly, taking his advice. I like this, actually. Just letting
go and being happy in the moment. I don't dare think about the future. Hell,
maybe the future is just a myth. Here and now is really all that counts.
But I need to remind him that he hasn't maneuvered me, here. I intend to keep
us on an equal footing. So I clear my throat and quietly say, "This isn't over,
Alex. Get some sleep while you can. We'll have a rematch later."
I can practically hear his mind chewing on that one, and I grin to myself, kiss
him, and snuggle into him, to sleep.
Don't Stop Me Now
by Illne Vertell
It's official.
