Damned Old Dog
Fandom: the X-Files
Category/Rated: NC17 for sexual content.
Year/Length: ~1265 words
Pairing: Just Alex.
Disclaimer: How could he belong to another? sadly, very easily.
Author's Notes: This is my response to Torch's masturbation story challenge. Hey, whatever gets us through the working day! I resisted the temptation to write the one about Spender and his anatomically correct inflateable sheep. The song is "Damned Old Dog", by Margaret A. Roche. I had no permission to reproduce the lyrics.
Beta: No Beta, this is solitary self abuse and it would be inappropriate! Besides, only a master-beta could have done it...
It was dark now. It felt to him as if it had always been dark. He remembered a time long ago when there were sunny days, but even then he had stood in the shadows and watched, knowing that he was there under false pretences.
He sighed. Pain was his constant reminder of things that could never be changed. He hurt. His left arm hurt. It itched, but there was little he could do except put up with it. His mouth tasted like something one found on a tar road on a hot day. He needed to sleep, but he needed to clear his head first.
He cast his mind back to earlier in the day. He had tossed scathing words lightly at Mulder.
"I could beat you with one hand." Mulder had of course been lightening fast in his response. His usual snarky manner should have alerted Alex to the fact that there would be a riposte, but as usual, he had jumped in with both feet, too eager to see Mulder again after all that time to do more than react as the situation unfolded.
So then what had happened? They had traded pseudo- witticisms. He had become irritated and instead of the truce he had wanted, there had been an unsatisfactory, didactic little lecture. Then he had left. Correction, he had kissed Mulder and left.
He paced up and down, caged creature of the night. He felt so stupid. He could have spent a little time, not been so damned defensive, but he had just ploughed in as usual, glorying in generating friction, pissing Mulder off. What a shithead he was. He looked around at this place that was his home. It wasn't much. He had a bed, a chair and a small stove. There was a shower but no tub. His clothes hung neatly on an open rack to one side of the bed. His guns, his wallet and his prosthetic arm were laid beside his bed, and his stereo was stacked up in the corner, loose wires trailing to speakers angled so that the bed would be optimally placed for sound. There were photograph albums and a few magazines in a neat pile on the bed itself, and on the wall beside the small window there was a row of books on a plain wooden shelf. It was not a place that gave much insight into the occupant's personality. Everything was utilitarian, clean but disposeable. There were no family snapshots on the wall, and no ornaments.
Alex Krycek paced, and tried to get his head together. He couldn't go out tonight. There were too many people looking for him. He had barely gotten away from Mulder's apartment before there were men with guns on his tail. He would just have to make the best of it. He moved to the stereo, hunted through some CDs and hit the random play button. The song that came first was one that completely encapsulated his mood, and he moved to the bed, flinging himself down boots and all to listen.
Do I wanna be a dog?
Any diddlin' male would do
If I was a damned old dog
I wouldn't be fussy for you
This wasn't good. This was not good. If he carried on in this vein he would be suicidal by morning. Damn, but he needed sleep. Getting up he started to undress, deciding that a shower would make him feel better.
His clothes were removed neatly, methodically, and each item placed in its accustomed corner. Alex folded things, hung them, tossed his socks in the laundry basket....a cardboard box that stood under his sink.
Do I wanna be a housebroken dog?
Eat better than an old indian?
I don't wanna be a damned old dog
I just wanna lick your chin again
Naked, he stepped through the curtain that disguised the small bathroom, flicking on the light. A door would have been nice, but there was no room for a door. Studying himself in the fly-blown mirror, he saw a green eyed man with eyes that had seen too much looking back at him, pale body gleaming in the glow of the single bulb. He turned on the shower, waiting for the crazy banging that signalled hot water running through the pipes, then testing the temperature and stepping in.
I thought that I could convince you
I thought that I could get through
Chew out a hole in the fence you
Barked up between me and you
If he only could...how could he ever repair the rift that lay between him and Mulder? Mulder! He cast his mind back to his bete noir. He could picture him in the steam, hazel eyes fixed on his, lean, strong body lounging negligently as he watched Krycek. Alex shuddered. His penis twitched and began to rise as the mental image took shape. Grabbing the shower gel, Alex began to soap himself, moving his hand down to his groin as he did so.
In his mind, Mulder was telling him that enough was enough, that they should forget their differences and be friends again. Alex craved his touch, supplying it for himself when it did not come.
His breathing grew heavier, he clasped his hand around the base of his cock, moving the skin up and down steadily as he did so, thumb curved to ensure that the tender spot just below the crown was getting its fair share of stroking. His mind focused firmly on Mulder's lips, his tongue and the feeling there would be if those lips closed around his cock, and that tongue swirled around the head. His movements speeded up and he began to pant. He wanted Mulder. He could see him in his mind, down on his knees, lips wrapped around his prick, taking it all in, deep in until Alex cried out for joy.
"Oh, yeah, take it Fox! Suck me dry! Oh Fox!"
Limping around in the moonlight
Coverin' up what I did
Words decompose all around me
Nuisances I committed
The tightness in his balls began to bubble up along his penis, hot flashes of spiky delight shooting through his belly, and making him tingle. As he choked out his longings to the empty night, he shot once, twice, and again, the thick white ejaculate first hitting the tiled wall, and then washing down to run away into the plug-hole.
"That's gotta be symbolic!" He spoke out loud. "It's the story of my life. I'm alone. I waste my efforts. It all goes down the drain, and it wasn't even as good as I thought it was going to be." He sighed and rinsed himself off, delicately stroking his now subsiding penis.
Still wet, he turned off the shower, wandering into the living area dripping as he went. Picking up the phone he dialled a number he knew off by heart.
"Mulder!" The voice at the other end of the line was rough, as if the owner of it had woken from a sound sleep. Alex stood, patiently listening. He made no move to reply. The silence grew and the voice became impatient. "Hello? Scully, is that you?"
Alex silently replaced the phone on its cradle.
Do I wanna be a dog?
Cut the heat out of me
If I was a damned old dog
I wouldn't have to goddamn human be
"Bow wow!" The words were bitter.
Taking a towel from the neat pile at the end of his bed, Alex began to dry his skin. Maybe he would be able to sleep now.
Maybe!
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