Title: Futile

I have no ownership rights to XF at all - zip - nada - zilch - zed - zero - and so on.

July 30, 2003 - Peja's WWOMB - 5 minute Futile Challenge

Futile

by Flutesong

I wonder at myself sometimes. I really do. Not often, time for introspection is rare and usually to no avail, but occasionally, like now, it just comes over me.

Mulder is finally asleep. Took him long enough. It's one of the many pissing points we keep on one another; who gets the draw on their gun first, who throws the first punch, who bleeds and so on and
so on.

We don't fuck. Sometimes I think we want to, just to add more fodder to the contest. Who's got the bigger dick, which of us comes faster, who needs it more, who can get it up again... But we don't, which isn't saying I haven't come in my shorts a few times or jerk off the second I'm out the door and find anywhere halfway private.

It makes sense to me, as much sense as anything else that has to do with this man and me. We lock horns instead of lips, bust jaws and noses instead of suck each other off.

So that's what I'm wondering about this time, one of those rare times when he is near me and it's calm.

His eyes are open, liquidy and opaque in the thin light. I think he's dreaming because he doesn't tense up and start yammering away at me again. Instead he just stares and blinks slowly, like some version of a dimwitted child that he never was.

"Resist or serve?" He murmurs.

I don't answer. I still don't know if he's awake or dreaming.

He stretches and adjusts his wadded up jacket back into some lumpy semblance of a pillow beneath his head. Then he notices the leather topcoat covering his legs. He strokes the leather and I wish I hadn't just been thinking about sex.

He rolls over, taking the coat with him, so it ends up beneath his belly, under his groin, flat against the floor and his hips.

I wanna fuck him on my coat more than I've wanted anything in life.

He wiggles his way into a more comfortable position and I put my hand on my dick. He's not looking my way, I'm still not sure if he's awake and it's mostly dark in here anyway.

He wiggles some more and I realize he's unzipping his trousers.

If he jerks off on my coat, //fuck!// I unzip my jeans. He freezes and now I know he's awake.

Another contest? Why not? It's what we do best. After all, I'm the one who knows, if anybody does, resistance is futile.

End