Frustration! Frustration! Nothing but frustration!
Raietta sat before the glowing computer monitor, shoulders slumped, her
posture negligent and unbecoming, and glowered. After a moment of
extremely charged silence, her fingers rose to the keyboard and began to
type. Tippity, tippity, tippity, tap, tap, tippity tap—
Then one finger pressed vehemently down on the backspace bar and deleted
three pages' worth of fanfiction.
Nothing! Nothing at all! It was all trash! Trash! The worst sort of
garbage!
Raietta howled her frustration to the ceiling. "Why can't I write this
damn story!!??!!" she wailed, and fell to the floor and writhed around
for a while in misery.
Finally, she sat up and said aloud to the wall in very dramatic tones,
"Desperate times call for desperate measures."
Before the eerie glow of the monitor, she raised her hands and closed her
eyes. Tracing airy gestures with her hands, she intoned, "By the bond
that connects us, by your word and mine, O great Prince, dark Lucifer,
heed my call! I summon thee!" She traced more fluid gestures in the air.
Purple smoke wafted into the room, billowed about the furniture. A
pentagram etched itself in lines of red in the air. "I summon thee! Heed
my call! Come to me, Prince of Lies!"
A sharp bang then issued forth, and there appeared Satan, lounging on
Raietta's bed and reading an issue of "Cosmopolitan". It was the European
edition. He seemed very absorbed in it.
"Yes, dear?" he greeted, not looking up from his magazine. "Something you
want?"
"I can't write this damn fanfic," Raietta complained, gesturing at her
computer. "It simply refuses to go where I want. Mulder keeps on acting
like a prize idiot, and Krycek is simply impossible. He won't say
anything I want without sounding out of character. I need your help with
it."
The Devil, upon hearing the word "fanfic", closed his eyes as if in great
pain and flopped backwards on Raietta's bed, arms flung out, the image of
wild despair. The Cosmo mag fluttered to the floor. "Fanfic?!" he cried.
"Fanfic?! I'm sick and tired of your damned fanfiction! That's all you
ever summon me for! Mulder this, and Krycek that! If I have to provide
inspiration for one more slash story, I'll... I'll..."
"What's wrong with slash?!" Raietta squawked indignantly, bristling. Her
eyes took on a dangerous cast.
"Nothing!" Satan was quick to reassure, changing tactics. "It's just,
that's all I ever do for you. Wouldn't you rather me give you
immortality, or world domination, or a million dollars, or something a
bit more... life-altering?"
"Nope," said Raietta. "Just inspire me, please."
"Oh, all right..." Satan groused, moseying over to the computer. "You
know, you really ought to get yourself a muse, if all you need from me is
inspiration."
"I can't afford a muse," Raietta replied, slouching by Satan's side,
twiddling with the modem cord. "They require lots of money and caviar.
You just want my measly old soul."
"I really need to start considering other currency," Lucifer mused,
mostly to himself.
"Now, c'mon, Mephisto," the pushy writer commanded, "get on with the
fabulous fic writing, here."
"Well, how about this for a storyline? Mulder gets a tip about a secret
government operation taking place in Guam, and, for a real plot twist,
takes Scully with him to investigate, instead of ditching her, as usual.
There, they—"
"No, no, no!!!" Raietta cried, scandalized. She staggered around the
room, arms flailing from the enormity of emotions that Satan's words had
brought about. The Devil scrunched back against the wall to get out of
her way. "I don't want a plot, I want sex! I want Mulder and Krycek
to do the nasty, and do it titilatingly. No Scully. I want bombs to go
off when those two get their hands on one another." She added, "And no
angst. This must be a happy fic. And Krycek's got both arms."
"Ah," the Fallen One said, as if receiving an epiphany. "A happy fic. No
wonder you're having trouble. Have you ever actually done a happy story
before?"
Raietta eyed him balefully. "Just get on with it, Azazel."
"Must the story be just about sex?" Satan implored, giving her a puppy
dog look. "If I must help you with a story, why not a Pulitzer
Prize-winning Great American Novel? I could—"
"No! No deep thoughts! No angst! No character development! No tropes! No
literary merit!" Raietta shouted, her eyes beginning to bug out a little.
"Just sex! Sex! Sex! Sex! All I want from you is sex! So put out, horned
one!"
"I won't even attempt to address all the double entendres glaring from
that little diatribe of yours," Satan sniffed.
""We have a deal, Beelzebub," the cranky writer reminded him, scowling.
"Come through."
"You know," Lucifer began, tactfully, "Beelzebub and Satan and Azazel and
the Devil and all those other names aren't actually the same evil
entity."
"Whatever, Mephistopheles," Raietta said, rolling her eyes. "Just get on
with the story."
The Devil eyed her distastefully. "I can't believe I ever struck a
bargain with you."
"Satan..." Raietta began warningly. She picked up a mechanical pencil to
show that she meant business. "Don't make me stab you with this."
"Fine!" Lucifer huffed, annoyed and sulky. He plopped himself crankily
before the computer and glared at the humming screen. "Sex you want, sex
you get."
"Fine!" Raietta snapped back, and waited as Satan began to type.
CHAPTER ONE
Breaking into Mulder's apartment was ridiculously easy, as usual. The
lock picks slid home without hesitation, there was a tiny click, and the
door swung open, invitingly. Krycek pocketed the picks and slipped
inside, shutting the door behind him. He had exactly thirty-four minutes
to locate a file on Mulder's hard drive, delete it, and destroy whatever
copies he might have made of the file. Plenty of time.
Krycek smiled, his teeth gleaming whitely in the darkness. Creeping along
the walls, he entered the living room, crouched before the window,
perused the scene, put away his gun, and sat before the computer and got
to work.
Imagine his shock when the front door flew open ten minutes into his file
search, and a tall, hazel-eyed FBI agent stumbled into the apartment.
Krycek swore creatively, threw himself from the chair, whipped out his
gun, and aimed at the man staggering into the room, all in under an
instant.
He trained the weapon on the man's brilliantly ugly tie as Agent Mulder
wove unsteadily across the floor and made toward his battered old leather
couch. Krycek froze, waiting for Mulder to realize that there was an
intruder in his apartment with a gun aimed at him and act in his
customary belligerent fashion, which always included asinine remarks and
fisticuffs.
Mulder shocked the triple-agent once again by flopping himself down on
the couch and sagging into the cushions, suddenly boneless. He abruptly
giggled, mumbled something unintelligible, and then just sat, lolling his
head a little from time to time. Krycek waited for a moment, a bit
bewildered, then finally spoke.
"Hello, Mulder," he rasped. Mulder's head flew up, and after a moment he
finally located Krycek, who was still crouching by the coffee table.
Krycek smiled a crocodile grin at him and watched the agent's eyes widen
with surprise. He didn't lower his gun.
"Krycek!" Fox cried, his voice slurring, and Krycek tensed up even more
than before as Mulder shot to his feet and stepped toward him.
"Freeze, G-man," Krycek ordered, his voice cold and hard, but Mulder
strode right up to him, tottering madly, and seized him by his collar.
Before Krycek had time to knock him unconscious, Mulder jerked him up
against his own lanky frame and was suddenly locking lips with him.
Krycek almost dropped his gun in astonishment. Mulder pressed Krycek's
suddenly limp body full against his own, never breaking off the kiss,
hungry and wild and drunk and demanding. Krycek made a little squeaking
noise in his throat, muffled by Mulder's lips on his own. 'Holy
mackerel!' Krycek thought, mind reeling, as Mulder began sucking on his
lower lip. 'Holy mackerel!' His brain couldn't seem to conjure up
anything else.
Mulder began running his hands over Krycek's leather-clad back,
insinuated them under his T-shirt, began to climb down toward his ass.
The squeaking noise in Krycek's throat grew louder. His gun dangled,
forgotten, from two fingers. It was only when Mulder squeezed his ass
that Krycek's brain suddenly woke up, and Krycek could think again.
"Stop!" he shouted, and tore away from Mulder, gasping, bringing up his
remembered Glock to aim at the agent's chest.
"No!" Mulder cried, starting forward after Krycek, who backed away
nervously. "God! I gotta have you!"
"What the fuck is going on, here?!" Krycek yelled, still aiming at
Mulder, still backing away as Mulder continued to come after him. "Stop
right now! Not another move, Mulder, or I shoot you! I mean it!"
"God, you're hot!" Mulder replied, his eyes feverish in his too-rosy
face. "I could just fuck you 'til dawn! I could fuck you through the
floor! God, you're hot!"
"Jesus Christ," Krycek swore, completely at a loss. He was still
back-peddling, and by now they'd both gone around the coffee table twice.
He was beginning to feel ridiculous. "What the fuck is going on,
here?!"
"I must have you!" Mulder cried, and suddenly lunged at the bewildered
assassin, tripping over the coffee table and slamming into Krycek,
knocking them both onto the couch. Krycek, who couldn't bring himself to
shoot Mulder, or even hit him, squeaked again as he hit the couch.
"Jesus Christ!" he shouted, repetitively, struggling wildly to get out
from under Mulder without hurting him.
"You magnificent bastard!" Mulder cried, scrabbling at Krycek's jacket.
"Look at those eyes! Emerald pools of limpid goo! And that mouth! Lips
like two satin pillows! Just wanna kiss 'em raw! Ooohhh, and those abs!
You must work out." Hot hands were now rubbing all over Krycek's torso,
grasping flesh and tweaking nipples. "God, you're sexy!"
"Mulder!" Krycek gasped, his voice strangling, as he tried to disengage
the FBI agent's hands. "Mulder! Listen to me! You have to stop this,
right now!"
"You sexy little mink!" Mulder replied, his eyes crazy, and thrust his
groin, which was rock-hard, against Krycek's thigh. "You sexy little
slut! Just wanna fuck you 'til the building collapses!"
"Jesus Christ!" Krycek shouted, his brain beginning to fry from the
sensation of Fox Mulder humping his leg. At least he wasn't thinking
'holy mackerel' any more.
"God, I'm horny," Mulder hissed, between kissing Krycek's mouth, his
neck, his stomach. "God, just wanna fuck you 'til you die! God, I
gotta—gotta—just gotta get in your pants!"
"Mulder!" Alex protested weakly, all his reason and resolve swiftly
flying out the window. His senses were beginning to overload. "What
happened to you? Why are you acting—" he gasped as Mulder's hot mouth
latched onto his crotch, sucking at the blue-jean fabric. "—acting like
this?"
"Ooohhhh, yeah, baby, that's what I like," Mulder growled, biting at
Krycek's groin. Krycek nearly shrieked. He writhed while Mulder began
fumbling at his own fly, frantic to get the zipper pulled down. "Had me a
little meeting with some mysterious Consortium associates, today," Mulder
said. Zzzzip, went the fly. "Gave me a little parting gift, after they
ripped my mind apart and stapled it back together. The drug they gave
me—to get me to talk—also made me as horny as a bitch in heat."
Krycek made a little mewling noise as Mulder began tearing at his button
fly.
"What a side effect, huh, babe?" Mulder grinned ferally at him as he
undid the buttons. "Gonna fuck you 'til you scream, handsome, gonna shove
my big fat dick right up into you—oh yeah—gonna fuck you hard and
long—"
Finally, Mulder's words sunk in to Krycek's lust-addled brain. Dr-drug?
Drug! Holy mackerel!
With supreme effort, Krycek placed his hands on Mulder's shoulders and
shoved, hard. Mulder toppled off of the couch and hit the floor with a
thump. While he sprawled loosely on the floor, one leg draped on the
coffee table, a dazed look on his face, Krycek scrambled off the couch
and swept up his gun, then dashed over to the doorway to the living room.
Krycek's heart was racing, his nerves were tingling with arousal. God
damn it. This just wasn't fair. He took in deep gasping lungsfuls of air,
trying to regulate his heartbeat, bring it down to normal. His groin was
singing.
This just wasn't fair.
"Ow," Mulder said, faintly, from the floor.
"Mulder," Krycek announced, his voice a husky, determined growl, "I'm
leaving now. But first, I'm gonna call Scully, because you definitely
need some help."
"Don't need help," Mulder said, "need sex. I neeeeed it, Alex! I need
it so bad it hurts."
Krycek stood, mired in indecision, biting his lip with anxiety. Mulder
scrambled to his knees and faced Krycek, his face pleading and open and
needful. "Please, Alex, please," he whispered. "Just a little fuck. Just
a little one, please? I promise it'll be good!"
Krycek stood, frozen. Mulder continued to stare, his face achingly
vulnerable and full of pain. His hard-on was extraordinary to behold.
Krycek swore under his breath. Holy mackerel.
What was a triple-agent to do?
INTERLUDE
Raietta sat on the bed, crossed-legged, and munched cookies and read a
Kabuki comic book while Satan sat hunched over the keyboard.
"How's it going, over there?" she asked.
"Fine, fine," the Morning Star replied distractedly, typing furiously.
His eyes never left the screen.
"Milano cookie?" Raietta offered, holding out the bag.
"Why, sure, thank you," the Devil accepted, and leaned over and took a
cookie. Chewing on the outrageously high-priced baked good, he turned
back to the computer and resumed his warp-speed pace. "Hey, these're
right tasty," he said out loud, spewing crumbs.
"They're more than a treat, they're a rewarding and pleasurable
experience," Raietta recited, digging into the bag for more.
"I'll say," the Dark Angel agreed, and reached out a hand. "Break out
some more," he said, and Raietta was happy to comply.
CHAPTER TWO
Decisions, decisions. Krycek pondered them while staring at the
delectable man kneeling across the room from him. Should he call Dana
Scully up on Mulder's speed dial and have her come over and take care of
this, or should he take advantage of this singular opportunity and fuck
Mulder into exhaustion?
The pros of walking away now... hmmm. Well, he'd have a clean conscience,
for once. That must count for something. And Mulder would owe him, and
hate it, once he was back to normal. That was good, too. And... and...
and... well, shit.
The pros of giving into his baser needs and letting Mulder have his way
with him? His brain nearly exploded from the sudden onslaught of reasons
to do the wild thang with Fox Mulder.
Besides, he was an evil amoral/immoral two-timing double-crossing rat
bastard. It was expected of him to take advantage of a chemically
manipulated special agent. Why, come to think of it, it was his duty as a
twisted sometimes-Consortium assassin to have sex with Mulder!
Chain-smoking assholes everywhere were counting on him! Well-groomed old
British fogies who might or might not be dead were counting on him! Why,
how could he not have sex with Fox Mulder, with all of these shady
characters expecting him to do the right thing, which was, in this case,
to screw Agent Mulder, both literally and figuratively?
"Please," Mulder pleaded breathlessly, across the room. His eyes were
large and liquid in the close darkness. "Please, Krycek, have sex with
me."
"Well, okay," Krycek finally acceded, and put down his gun. Mulder
launched himself at the spy, slamming him into the wall.
'Holy mackerel!' Krycek thought wildly as he and the throbbing agent slid
to the floor, groping and squeezing and kissing like mad.
"Oh, Jesus, yes!" Mulder howled, fucking Krycek through two pairs of
pants. His tongue slithered over Krycek's jawline. "Yes! Yes!
Fan-fucking-tastic! You are the yummiest thing I have ever seen! I could
just eat you up, you delicious suckable kissable fuckable thing, you!"
"Yow!" Krycek cried, arching his back in ecstasy. Mulder grasped one
sensitive nipple between finger and thumb and pinched, hard. "Yeeow!"
Krycek yelped, jerking under Mulder's hand. His jacket flew from his
body, closely followed by his T-shirt. Krycek reached up and yanked
Mulder's own business jacket and shirt off, tossing them in a pile
somewhere on the floor.
"Yes—yes—" Mulder growled, biting Krycek's right nipple, trailing his
tongue down his pectoral and along his ribs. "Wanted you for years and
years, but of course I'm so anal and paranoid that I'd never admitted it,
even to myself—but this drug they gave me is so freeing!"
"I'm glad for you," Krycek replied, then squealed as Mulder dug his
tongue into his ear and tried to poke his brain out through the other
end. "You're gonna burst my ear drum!" he cried. Mulder then attacked his
lips, sucking and biting, then trailed down to this throat, leaving all
sorts of interesting ink-blot-like red smears on his skin.
There was a tugging on his boots, and then they were gone, followed by
his socks, then his jeans.
"You're a fucking Adonis!" Mulder cried, with abandonment, jerking at his
own pants and shoes. "How do you feel about spankings?"
"Urrgh," Krycek replied woozily, unable to process Mulder's words, by
now. His mind was singing a chorus of 'holy mackerel's over and over
again.
"Lunch time!" Mulder cried, and dove right onto Krycek's cock.
INTERLUDE 2
"So," Satan began, "just how much sex do you want in this fic?"
"Shhhh," Raietta ordered, from the bed, where she sat with eyes closed.
"I'm having a really pleasant daydream about Stephen Dorff. You're
ruining the mood."
Satan glared at her, his eyes snapping red flares.
"Okay," Raietta said, after a moment, and opened her eyes. "I'm done."
Satan just blinked. "I want lots of sex. Sex and sex and more sex. And it
has to be happy, too. No angst or pain."
"Hmm," the Dark Angel said thoughtfully, and resumed his typing. "I'm
gonna get carpal tunnel syndrome, I just know it," he muttered.
"Quiet, you," Raietta replied indulgently, lounging on the bed and
engaging in another daydream, this time about Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp,
Jared Leto, and an ice cream scoop. Harrison Ford guest starred, bull
whip in hand and sporting his fetching fedora.
"Can I have another Milano?" Satan asked, glancing away from the monitor.
"Sorry, we ate them all already," Raietta replied apologetically.
"Oh," the Devil said forlornly, looking glum. His shoulders slumped.
"But I have some Pringles, here," Raietta continued, bringing out a can
and holding it up. It fairly gleamed with junk-foody goodness. "Want
some?"
"Sure!" Lucifer replied enthusiastically, and held out a hand. "Bring 'em
over!"
Raietta scooted over to the edge of the bed and handed him the can. Satan
looked up and eyed her middle.
"You know, you're developing quite a paunch, there, miss," Satan said,
and poked her stomach.
Raietta smacked his hand away irritably. "Just write the damn story,
Satan, and quit bothering me."
"Your wish is my command," Lucifer said mildly, and, dribbling crumbs
onto the keyboard, began to type again.
CHAPTER THREE
Writhing against one another, arms and legs entangling like lustful
lengths of twine, Mulder and Krycek made a mad dash for the bathroom, to
find some lubricant.
"I know I have some somewhere!" Mulder said anxiously, trying to screw
Krycek and find suitable lube simultaneously.
"Hand lotion?" Krycek gasped from the floor, rocking his hips against
Mulder's calf. His head kept on knocking against the toilet, but he was
too high with lust to feel it.
"Can't see any," Mulder wailed, his eyes growing desperate. He rifled
through his medicine cabinet, tossing toothpaste and dental floss over
his shoulder. Bottles of aspirin and cans of shaving cream sailed through
the air. With a triumphant cry, he spied a tub of Vaseline and seized it.
"YES!" he howled, and Krycek clapped his hands with admiration. "God
bless petroleum jelly!"
"Let's get it on!" Krycek cried, and Mulder flew to him, popping the lid
to the Vaseline and gripping his own cock with zeal. Then BOOM! Mulder
was tearing into Krycek with an overly proportioned penis that
practically dripped with Vaseline.
"Like Alice down the rabbit hole!" Mulder shouted, pumping madly,
scooting Krycek slowly across the bathroom floor one pump at a time.
"Tighter than a miser's fist on money! Smoother than cream, sweeter than
lollipops, better than a day at the beach!"
"What the hell are you babbling about?" Krycek gasped, his mind whirling.
His head connected with the bathtub, and he yelped. His insides were on
fire, his ass was screaming with joy. He felt like he was being torn
apart inside, but it was a good kind of being torn apart inside.
"You should be an amusement park!" Mulder cried deliriously, still
banging away at him. Sweat flew off of him, his hair was damp in his
eyes. Krycek's legs wrapped haphazardly around his hips. "People should
pay admission to ride you! You'd make a mint!"
"Are you telling me to be a prostitute?" Krycek asked breathlessly, as he
found himself being fucked right up over the wall of the bathtub and into
the cold porcelain well itself. Mulder clung to him, sucking and kissing
and pinching, and toppled with him into the tub. They landed together
with an oomph!, Mulder not once losing his rhythm. He pistoned into
Krycek, hips gyrating, and Krycek arched to meet every thrust. Sparks
flew from their merging. Mulder pumped faster and faster, gaining speed,
as if gearing up for a liftoff.
Krycek could feel himself spiraling apart. "Holy mackerel!" he screamed,
"Holy mackerel! Holy mackerel! Holy mackerel!"
"You're like a long cold frosty glass of lemonade after a hard, hot
summer day!" Mulder sang Krycek's praises, fucking Krycek up the tiled
wall. Soon, if the frantic pace continued, they would be standing
upright. "God, you're fucking perfect! That skin! Those muscles! That
tight ass hole! That perfect dick! Gonna fuck you up and suck you down!
Gonna go whole hog with ya, babe, gonna love you 'til there ain't nothing
left to love!"
"Holy mackerel! Holy mackerel!" Krycek bellowed in response, too far gone
to voice his suspicion that the drug had affected more than Fox's libido;
it had affected his mind. Not that it hadn't already been affected to
begin with.
Then someone's hand, Krycek didn't know whose, was on his cock, and
jerking it wildly, and now he was blind from the sudden rush of blood to
his already thrumming groin.
"You exquisite little whore! You delicious darling delectable dish! Gonna
rock your tower right from its foundation! Gonna let it all come out!
Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Ohhhhhhh, baaaaaabyyyyyy!!!!!"
"HOLY MACKEREL! HOLY MACKEREL! HOLY MACKEREL!" Krycek screamed, his voice
hitting an impossible pitch, and then hot slurpy semen was washing all
over his stomach, Mulder's middle, the tub itself, and Mulder was
shooting his own come into him, pumping and hard and hot, and the two
fell together in a heap in the tub, totally exhausted.
After a while, Krycek came to. He was still in the tub. Something was
sucking at his earlobe. He was glowing. He could feel it. Damn, was he
happy. His whole body was glowing. That had to be the best sex he'd ever
had—his brain had practically melted from it. "I'm so happy," he sighed.
Fucking Fox Mulder—or letting himself get fucked by Fox Mulder—was the
best decision he'd ever made in his life.
He turned to the man suckling at his ear. "Are you happy?"
"Damn, I'm happy," Mulder replied, nibbling delicately at Krycek's
jawline. "Getting abducted by Consortium thugs, subjected to hideous
methods of interrogation, getting drugged and almost losing my mind was
worth it. I've never been so happy in my life."
"Good," Krycek sighed, smiling happily. He was exhausted, but each cell
in his body was singing. He was just drifting off into a sweet dream
where he took over the Consortium, blew all the Elders away, and lived in
a mansion with Mulder as his personal sex slave when he felt a hand
massaging his limply satiated member. He cracked open an eye with shock.
"I'm still feeling horny, Alex," Mulder murmured into his ear, grinning
evilly. "Let's say we do round two."
"Holy mackerel," was all Krycek could say, before they were off and
running again.
THE END
EPILOGUE
"All done," Lucifer announced, standing up and stretching out his joints.
They popped merrily, and he shook out his hands.
"You are?" Raietta exclaimed, and bounced off of the bed and trotted over
to the computer, which hummed smugly at her. She sat down and began to
read.
Satan picked up his Cosmo magazine from the floor, straightened the bent
pages, and ate the last of the Ho-Ho's Raietta had shared with him after
the Pringles ran out.
"I'm out of here, okay?" the Light Bringer said, and turned to look at
Raietta.
Raietta was gazing in horror at the computer screen. "What did you do to
the story?" she gasped, dismay etched on her face. "What... what the hell
did you write, here? What is this crap?"
Satan just finished up the Ho-Ho and shrugged, leafing through his
magazine. "You wanted happy sex, I gave you happy sex. Happy sex, and no
Scully, no angst, no plot. Just what you ordered."
Raietta stared in silence at the monitor.
"I hate you," she whispered, her eyes never leaving the screen.
Satan closed his magazine with a snap and smiled. It was a very malicious
smile. "My work here is done. I'll be seeing you, Raie."
And with that, in a puff of lavender smoke, which smelled faintly of
Calvin Klein's "Eternity", he was gone. A pentacle glowed faintly in the
air for a moment, then faded away, and Raietta was alone in the room,
still frozen in her chair, staring at the computer, cursing the day she'd
ever made a bargain with a certain evil Biblical entity.
THE END
The Three 'S's: Satan,
Sex, and Snack-food; or, How Raietta Gets Her Gears Grinding
by Raietta
PROLOGUE
