He pulls the tape out of the plain cardboard sleeve. There's not art
work, no advertising blurb—nothing but the brand name of the tape.
Fuji, ST-160, Super VHS. The good stuff. The tape case is blank,
also—the black plastic free of any label or writing. He runs a
thumb over the plastic flap that guards the tape itself, thinking of
the flat, thin ribbon inside. Amazing what such a thing can hold.
He turns on the television, finding the right channel. They're
showing something from the early nineties—some 'gangsta' movie.
There's a shoot out going on, and he watches while one of the men
blasts away with an automatic, aiming with the gun twisted inward, so
that his forearm is flat from elbow to wrist. He snorts. "Fucking
amateur." He squats and hits the power button on the VCR, then
slides the tape into the slot. He stands and goes back to sit on the
couch opposite the television, knowing that the first minute or two
of the tape will show nothing but an empty room.
He sits, hand going out to the beer he'd placed on the side table.
The condensation hasn't had time to start to bead on the glass, but
it's almost frigid against the warmth of his palm, and the beer
itself makes his teeth buzz with the cold. This is the life—a lazy
afternoon, a cold beer, and a good, private porn tape. He studies
the empty room, cocking his head. It's mind boggling what they can
do with fiber optics these days. The only problem with this tape is
that it doesn't change angle, or zoom in. Other than that... The
door in the on-screen room opens, and he sinks a little deeper into
the cushions, lips curving in anticipation.
Two men enter the room—one in a neat suit, and the other in jeans
and a battered leather jacket. The first one runs a hand through his
hair, staring around the room suspiciously. The dark haired one is
locking the door, and, voice amused, "Go ahead and make a sweep,
Mulder. You won't be able to relax if you don't." Mulder shoots him
a sharp look. Krycek shrug off his jacket as he says, "I
understand. The meeting place was agreed on too far in advance for
you to be sure that there aren't any plants." He grins. "You won't
hurt my feelings."
Mulder hesitates a moment, then he moves quickly around the room,
pulling pictures away from the wall, tipping lamps to peer down into
the shades, looking in the closet. As he does this, Krycek is taking
off his shoes, then pulling his tee shirt over his head. Mulder
turns from the closet just as Alex is dropping the shirt on the
dresser. He scowls. "You're taking a hell of a lot for granted,
Krycek." Krycek's only answer is a smirk as he begins to open his
belt. "I mean it. I came here to talk."
Alex has pulled his belt free from the loops. "Oh, come on,
Mulder." He moves toward the FBI agent. "If you just wanted to
TALK," he swings the belt. It loops around Mulder's waist, and he
catches the end on the other side, then uses it to jerk Mulder tight
against his body. "We would be having a conversation in a bar, or a
restaurant—not a no-tell motel."
Mulder stands stiff with disapproval, but he isn't so tall that Alex
can't stand flat-footed and kiss him, so he does. He gets no
response at first, and pulls back slightly. "Huh, look at that sulky
mouth. You're going to be stubborn, aren't you? That's all right—I
love you despite your faults." He laughs when Mulder shoves him
away.
Mulder points at him. "You are a DEVIL." Alex sits on the edge of
the bed and unzips his fly, then reaches inside. His hand begins to
move slowly. Mulder watches for a moment. His hands drift up and
begin to loosen his tie, his movements almost unconscious. Alex
lifts his ass just enough to shove his pants down. He isn't wearing
underwear, and he's half-hard. "A green-eyed devil, and I'm fucking
possessed."
Alex reclines on the bed, stroking himself. "Yeah, you WOULD think
of that. No demon—just a plain old sinner..." he stretched, back
arching, erection falling back against his belly, "and I could use a
little help here." The suit is discarded in haste, the pants draped
over a chair, but the jacket ending up on the floor. When Mulder is
nude, Alex nods toward the door. "Going to turn off the lights? I'd
kinda like to have a good look at you this time."
Mulder crawls on the bed, spreading himself over Alex's
body. "That's right—watch me make a fool of myself."
Alex buries his hands in Mulder's hair, and this time the kiss is
deep, wet, and intense. "As long as you're just a fool for me,
Mulder."
It progresses quickly. They move together, mouths wandering over
faces, necks, and hands mapping torsos and flanks as their erections
rub together. There is laughter when Alex almost falls off the bed,
leaning over to reach into his jeans pocket for lubricant and
condom. Alex threatens to make Mulder pay for that disrespect, then
makes good on the threat by driving his lover to whining, shivering
frustration with his slow, thorough preparation. The camera angle is
just right to catch the glistening slide of well oiled fingers in and
out of Mulder's anus, the shift of his balls just below every time
Alex finds his prostate, causing him to squirm in need. Finally he's
begging, and only then does Alex move up between his wide spread
thighs, pull his hips up, and mount him in one long thrust.
After that it slows. Alex fucks him slowly, and strongly. When
Mulder tries to thrust back and impale himself more vigorously, he is
held firmly, Krycek's fingers sinking deep into his hips as he tells
his lover to, "Hold up, hold up, now. No hurry, lover." Only when
Mulder has stopped his effort does Krycek resume his lazy thrusts,
the pale curves of his ass flexing with each plunge. He speeds up
gradually, his movements becoming sharper. Mulder is moaning
quietly, breath hitching each time Krycek's loins smack his buttocks.
Finally Alex slides his arms around Mulder's waist, hands gliding
down to grip Mulder's straining, dripping cock, and he begins to fist
it strongly. "All right, hot stuff. Go! Go!" With a small cry,
Mulder begins to shove back—spiking himself on Krycek's cock, then
fucking into his stroking fist. In only a moment he climaxes. The
camera even catches the flight of the drops of spunk as it splatters
the blanked beneath their heaving bodies.
Krycek finishes with a few hard thrusts, grunting with the effort and
pleasure, skidding Mulder forward with the force. Then they collapse
together. Mulder mutters, "Damn it, Alex, I'm gonna have fucking
blanket burns on my knees."
There wasn't much more. After a few minutes of rest, Krycek got up
and went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He returned
carrying two damp cloths, tossing one to Mulder. They cleaned
themselves in silence, then began to dress. There would be no
cuddling, no shared sleep, no waking up in each other's arms. This
had been just sex on one side—at least consciously.
Finally there was nothing more than what there had been at first—an
empty room. The only traces of occupation were a couple of soiled
washcloths, a condom wrapper, and a new set of come stains on the
already less than pristine blanket.
The watcher set aside the empty beer bottle and took a moment to
thoughtfully stroke the bulge that distended his fly. The very best
porn is the candid kind. He stood and went to the entertainment
center, knowing that he should remove the tape immediately. The
watcher had almost forgotten once. If the other 'star' had found it
in the VCR, that WOULD have made life interesting. Or what if the
tape got tangled up inside of the machine? They try to eat them
occasionally.
The tape went back into the case, and he ran his hand over it
fondly. I really ought to destroy this. God knows I've watched it
enough to memorize it. But I could get in a LOT of trouble—and so
could he. He went into the bedroom, squatted before the dresser,
and reached up under it, feeling. He found the shallow ledge, and
carefully tucked the tape back into its hiding place. Just in time—
he heard the door open in the living room.
He went and stood in the bedroom door, hands braced on the jamb,
watching as the apartment owner dropped his keys on the table beside
the couch.
Fox frowned. "I changed the locks. How many times have you been in
my apartment that I don't know of, Krycek?" The former agent
shrugged negligently. Mulder came over. His eyes darted past Alex,
flicking quickly over the dresser before returning to Krycek's
face. "What were you doing in my bedroom?"
Alex smiles slowly, remembering how he'd first broken in, almost two
months ago. Mulder had been in the field for some time, and Alex was
feeling bored. He'd gone into the apartment just to feel a little
closer to Mulder, to learn a little more about him by spending time
among his things. Boy, had he learned. He'd found the bland
looking tape almost immediately and, of course, watched it. And
watched it again. And again. It took him three viewings to believe
what he was seeing. I'll be damned. Well, I guess I shouldn't be
surprised. It isn't like he doesn't know the techniques, or have
access to the equipment. But he's a better actor than I gave him
credit for. I really thought he was skittish because he was
suspicious that I'D rigged the room. He had chuckled. Fox, I'm
proud of you. Then he watched the tape again, and this time he
jerked off. It had become his favorite viewing since then. Every
time he returned to the apartment, he was antsy till he reached under
the dresser and his hand found the tape. He wonders now how many
more viewings he will have before Mulder finally gets nervous with
finding him here to destroy it.
"And?" Mulder is waiting for the answer to the second question.
"Oh, I was just thinking that even when you believe you know
someone," he leaned forward and kissed Mulder, "they can surprise
you."
Pleasures—Guilty, and Not So Guilty
by Scribe
