Hope Springs Eternal
Fandom: The X-Files
Category/Rated: NC17 for sordid sun worship with suction.
Year/Length: ~890 words
Pairing: Mulder/Krycek
Spoilers: Terma of course.
Disclaimer: Oh, me miserum! Angst! Angst! I never wanted them more than right now, and I've been turned down by the surf nazi.
Summary: Are you kidding?
Author's Notes: The reason why I wrote this...Spike wanted us to write about their thoughts when spring went boing...this is the image I had.
Sunshine rippled like butterscotch, pouring thick sweetness over the man who lay on his belly in the long grass. He'd lurked in shadows all winter, and today he was taking a day off. His leather jacket lay discarded, and he was dressed in a white T-shirt, which revealed nicely muscled shoulders. He wore a fake arm, and his first care had been to verify that there was nobody in the vicinity before he had exposed himself in his self-perceived infirmity. Now, he lay, as already stated, in the sweet-smelling spring grass, on his belly, overlooking a low bank beside which a family of fox cubs were frolicking under the watchful eye of their mother. His field glasses were trained on them, and he had a curious smile on his face as he observed the cubs squabbling and tumbling.
He liked foxes.
Eyes closed, long, thick lashes sweeping his cheeks, he sniffed the pollen-rich air, feeling curiously carefree and boyish. He was taking a break from his troubles and no mistake. The sheer mindless lust for life washed over him in waves. Turning, he swept the horizon for a moment with his field glasses. One could never be too careful. Satisfied that he was unobserved, he trained the glasses back on the small, pretty animals and once more became absorbed in watching them play.
He really liked foxes.
Time passed, perhaps an hour went by, and the vixen called to her cubs. Still frisking they obeyed her and disappeared into the burrow that housed them. He watched them go and missed them when they were no longer in sight, felt their departure like a wrench to his emotional soul.
God, he liked foxes!
It must have been around noon and the sun was at its height. The man's hair was glossy in the liquid trickle of gold that bathed him. He rolled over onto his back, listening to the early drone of bees seeking out the payoff from fragrant bluebells and hyssop that covered the bank below him with hazy blue. His hand moved to his belt, paused, and began to unfasten it. Slowly he slid out of his clothing, luxuriating in the warmth on his skin and the feel of moist earth on his back. His skin was the white of too many winter days closeted in dark hallways and back alleys. The flesh of his belly was almost translucent, and the sun warmed him inside and out. He stretched luxuriously, eyes veiled by those lashes, and wriggled, burying fingers deep in the grass.
A thickening warmth glowed from within him to greet the sun, and he put his hand down absently to caress his slowly thickening penis, particles of grass and leaf on his hand giving a faintly sharp tang to his voluptuous self exploration. He gasped as the feelings grew within him. Time seemed to slow, the lazy air throbbed with life, and he spat once into his hand and closed it over himself, sliding it gently as the mood of the day filled him. He was in no hurry. Cliched as it might seem, he felt one with the universe, and when he spilled his seed, it would be in celebration of the renewed earth. He would empty himself in gladness, but not just yet. Right now the sensuality of the moment prevailed, and he did not wish to hurry himself. He gloated over each trickle of sensation, each tiny stab of pleasure that shot through him.
He continued to stroke himself lazily, limbs sprawled on the rich green turf, eyes closed against the brightness of sun, enjoying the sybaritic pleasures of the day. From time to time as his orgasm grew closer, he would leave go of his erect cock and bury his hands in the grass in a pantheistic worship that surprised him even as he performed it. His whole body became a conduit through which the sun poured, stirring up feelings that transcended the ordinary and made him feel as if he were floating, weightless, adrift in the cosmos. Vaguely he heard the baby foxes return, but he was content to lie and adore the spring, worshipping with his body in the primitive fashion celebrated from the dawn of time.
He lay spread-eagled, gasping as the intensity of orgasm hovered just behind his balls. His head was thrown back, neck arched and eyes closed, toes curled into the grass as he offered himself to the light, every muscle taut.
The shadow fell on him suddenly, and warmth engulfed his cock as wet suction was suddenly applied. The intensity of the shock caused him to ejaculate, screaming, as the tide rushed through him to suffuse his body with piercing sweetness. Locked for that moment in ecstasy, he cried out again, a strange, wordless ululation that was part pain and part unbearable pleasure.
Finally able to relax and open his eyes, he saw Mulder grinning down at him, wiping his chin as he tidied himself up. He lay, limp, relaxed and at peace.
Did I tell you how much the man loves Foxes?
The End
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