Title: Her Peja-ortative Majesty's Request

Her Peja-ortative Majesty's Request
by Ursula

Waking, Alex reached for his gun, rolled out of bed, pulling Mulder with him, and fended off the wild punch from his suddenly awakened and belligerent lover.

Fiercely, Mulder whispered, "What in the hell was that? Did your old instincts for assault and battery suddenly assert themselves?"

"Shut the fuck up," Alex hissed. "Someone is trying to break in."

No longer distracted by his natural irritation at having been dragged from a sweet sex dream and thrown to the floor, Mulder grabbed his own gun and crouched next to his partner in life and love.

Naked, unless you can count two Glocks, one an approved FBI Semi-automatic .40 caliber Glock model 22, and the other a customized, high powered hybrid whose veneer was polished by daily maintenance and an occasional loving stroke from its owner, the two men were feral, totally in tune with each other, and ready for whatever faced them.

Listening to the scratch at the door, Mulder said, "Look, if this is the newest attempt to kill us, the poor guy deserves a refresher course on breaking and entering."

"It could be a trick," Alex said, combat crawling to the nearest monitor for the outside security cam.

Mulder stayed where he was to enjoy the view of the shapely haunches bouncing enticingly. It was good to be King.

"It could still be a trick," Alex muttered as he peered into the monitor.

Joining his lover, snuggling his sharp chin into the recess of Alex's neck, a hollow as well fitted to that body part as Alex's sweet ass was to Mulder's cock, Mulder snickered as he saw the intruder. A tall, thin dog pawed at their door, tongue lolling out of a muzzle nearly as thin as an anteater's. A silken flag of a tail wagged playfully.

"Alex, it's just a poor starving dog," Mulder said with relief.

Darkly, Alex answered, "It could be a shape shifter."

"Yeah, right," Mulder said. "It's a shape shifter. It will entice us to let it in and then strangle us with its collar."

Looking closely, Alex said, "It doesn't have a collar."

"You're right. Poor baby, he must be a stray. I'm going to let it in and feed it. The poor fellow is all skin and bones," Mulder said, getting up.

"Mulder..." Alex whined, but his lover wasn't listening.

"Anyway, it's not starving. It's a Borzoi. They always look that way." Alex said to his partner's admittedly lovely back.

Carefully covering Mulder, Alex aimed his Glock in the direction of the door as Mulder opened it.

No aliens or black clad Ninja warriors burst inside. There wasn't so much as a liver-eating mutant in sight. God, Alex hated it when Mulder was right.

The dog thrust its elegant nose in Mulder's crotch, causing the lanky man to leap gracelessly in the air.

"Hey, Alex, I think he's related to you," Mulder said. "At least, he likes having his nose in the same place."

Dropping to his knees, Mulder ruffled the dog's silken blond hair and said, "Oh, you are a beauty. Where did you come from? Hey, Alex, are Borzoi dogs supposed to have blue eyes?"

"Hell if I know, I'm a double agent, not a Westminster judge," Alex said. He was feeling a little bitchy now that the adrenaline rush was over.

The dog came wiggling up to Alex, wagging his tail and kissing him as raptly as if his bitchy mood conveyed bitch in heat.

"Knock it off dog! It's no use sucking up to me," Alex said.

"I don't know about that," Mulder wisecracked. "Once I sucked up to you, it seemed to have gained your loyalty."

"Shut up, Mulder," Alex said.

Mulder opened the fridge and looked for something to feed the dog. "Poor dog is starving."

"Mulder, I may not know if a normal Borzoi has a blue eyes, but I do know that they all look like that. After all, they are wolfhounds, bred to run for miles after a wolf. They're build for speed," Alex said.

"Oh, I love it when you get all pedantic," Mulder said. "I think I fell in love with you when you first quoted DOT statistics."

"You say the sweetest things," Alex purred. He could tell that Mulder was half way serious despite the comic tone. Wow, imagine if Mulder had said that when they were partners. What a lot of pain that would have spared them.

Finding a few abandoned fish cakes, Mulder set them down with a flourish. "There you go. Have at it!"

Disdainfully, the dog curled its lip and batted the cold offerings away.

Hamburger, cheese, and some cookies were also refused.

The dog looked soulfully at Alex and whined.

"I don't know. Beggars shouldn't be choosers, but from one comrade to another," Alex said.

Breaking into his private stash, Alex supplied a feast of caviar, kabanosi, and a side of cold borsht. This offering the dog ate with great pleasure, wagging his tail from side to side.

Finished, the dog walked over and sniffed at the CD collection, pawing at the offerings with short barks of derision until he had skimmed past Mulder's Elvis collection and reached Alex's jazz. Delicately, the dog nosed out the Fremaux Integrate recording of Django Reinhardt. He whined until Alex inserted the CD then happily climbed on the couch and flopped on his back.

"I don't think dogs are supposed to be allowed on the couch," Mulder remarked.

Alex shrugged and said, "It's your old couch. Worse things have sat there." Under his breath, Alex muttered, "Fowley, for instance. Skanky bitch..."

Magnanimous because he had thoroughly reamed Alex's round ass earlier, Mulder ignored the aspersion on his ex wife. Reaching for the dog, Mulder said, "Come on, boy. I'll make you a nice bed in the corner."

Snatching back his hand before sharp white teeth could sever several of his long and useful digits, Mulder said, "On the other hand, he is a guest. We'll just let him hang out there."

"Good thinking, Mulder," Alex said.

As the dog started to lick its balls, Alex added, "I think he wants a private moment. Let's go back to bed."

OooOooO

Fierce barking woke the men for the second time that night. Grabbing guns, the lovers scuttled for the source of the commotion.

It took Alex only a moment to assess the situation. Black eyes, greasy with the hell spawn that inhabited the human-appearing body, glared at them.

Grabbing his trusty stiletto, Alex started with the Oilien that the borzoi had pinned.

Meanwhile, Mulder grabbed the rapier he had been given by a very strange ex-lover of his by the name of Adam and disarmed another of the intruders.

Alex managed to trip another of the creatures and dispatched it.

The borzoi somehow learned by watching Alex where the vulnerable spot was. He killed another of the intruders by tearing out the nerve center that had to be destroyed in order to stop the aliens.

"My name is Fox Mulder. You killed my...well, you tried to kill my lover. Prepare to die," Mulder shouted dramatically, striking off the head of his opponent.

Hmm, when Adam did that, there was a light show. Must be some kind of special sword that did that. Damn, it had been so very cool. Mulder was very disappointed that he couldn't produce the same effect.

Less than five minutes from the time the selfless dog had saved their lives by barking, all of the intruders were dead.

Grumbling, Alex called up the cleaners to dispose of the bodies.

Murphy and Camier, two interesting fellows in the assassin's trade, showed up promptly. They subcontracted clean up work as well, being industrious souls.

As they dragged the maimed bodies to their van for incineration at their facility, Murphy said, "You are aware we charge extra for crossovers?"

"No family discount?" Alex asked.

"My dear boy, there is a code, you know," Mr. Camier, the one with the delightfully long nose answered.

Murphy, the nearly bald one, added, "We're union, you know."

"Well, it's worth it," Alex said, "Besides, it's just Consortium money anyway. Here, have an extra thousand for fast service."

"Thank you for the gratuity," Camier said. "You should consider one of our punch cards. Nine clean ups or assassination and the tenth is free."

Being a frugal person, Alex took one of the cards and added it to the others in his wallet. Given the number of people who went after Mulder and himself, they could win that free cleanup or killing soon enough. He just hoped he wouldn't mistake it for the tenth free latte card from his favorite espresso stand.

Alex was happy that he ghostwrote, 'The Happy Assassin's Handy House Cleaning Corner'. He was able to remove all traces of the carnage with simple household chemicals such as meat tenderizer thanks to his research for the column. Mulder just hated anything that could reveal itself to later forensic analysis.

Dusting his hands of the last traces, Alex said, "That should do it. I have to say, that dog is an angel in disguise. I don't know where he came from, but he can stay as long as he wants."

OooOooO

After a nice long sleep in to recover both from the struggle and the natural after effects of deep, down horniness that only three steamy rounds of sex could satisfy, the two lovers woke to smile lovingly at each other's sex and sleep rumpled hair.

"Love you," Mulder said.

"Ya vas liubliu, lis" Alex murmured back.

"I love it when you speak Russian, Lexi," Mulder replied, kissing up Alex's unblemished left arm. Thank God the Lone Gunmen had found that illegal arm's dealer for them!

Before Mulder's passionate kisses could spark a highly unlikely fourth bout of love making, loud knocking kept the slash sex from reaching the purple prose level of cumming.

This time, the two men dressed first. Whoever was at the door must be friendly. The blond borzoi stood wagging his tail, looking very happy.

"Hi," said the darkly handsome man with the crooked nose, the sexy smile, and twinkling brown eyes. "I'm Napoleon, Napoleon Solo. I think you may have my Russian wolfhound. He ran off in a snit because I had to pretend to date the latest super model that we found to help us in our case. Mr. Waverly doesn't mind what Illya and I do, but he does like us to stay in the closet. You know how U.N.C.L.E. is."

As a matter of fact, neither Mulder nor Alex had an uncle, but they more or less got the context. Napoleon had went out with a beard and the dog was jealous.

Scowling, Alex said, "If you think I'm going to give the dog back for you to commit unspeakable acts upon, you have another thing coming."

"Oh, good grief," Mr. Solo said. "I could try to explain, but it's simpler to show you."

Dangling a thin gold chain with half a heart as a pendent, Solo whistled and said, "Come, Illya, come here, boy."

The borzoi sauntered over and lifted a leg on Solo's leg.

Forcing a smile, Solo said, "I think he's still peeved with me. These Russians...so volatile." He looked mournfully down at the soiled cloth of his very expensive suit.

"Yeah, the mood swings have been known to kill," Mulder agreed.

Alex stuck his tongue out.

Dropping the gold chain over the blond borzoi's neck, Solo grinned, as the Russian wolfhound became a wiry blond man with big blue eyes, a diminutive chin, and delicate features.

"My Illya," Solo said. "Gentlemen, my partner and love, Illya Kuryakin."

"Wow, he's not a dog," Alex remarked.

"I'd say not," Mulder agreed, envisioning himself as the middle of a Russian wry sandwich of sorts.

After his foot was stomped by a jealous Russian, Mulder said, "Well, at least, I should investigate this as an X-File."

"It was a gypsy," said Illya. "One of those supposed love interests of the week. I was supposed to shyly seduce her but I just couldn't do it. Napoleon was my love and I was tired of hiding it. She was leaning toward me, her scarlet painted lips parted for my kiss, and I leaned right past her to my only true love."

"About time," Napoleon agreed. "The free wheeling sixties were about to erupt into the VD clinic seventies. I needed to settle down."

"I had to search the world wide to find a cure for Illya's canine condition," Napoleon said. "It wasn't easy. You can hardly find a decent mad scientist or benign gypsy hag these days. At last, I succeeded. As long as Illya wears the magic pendent and I wear the other, he is his normal human self. Last night, he made such a scene that he forgot and threw his chain back at me. He
promptly became his borzoi self and ran off. I've been looking for him all night."

"So no X-File?" Mulder said.

"None, all solved," Illya said, winding himself around his Napoleon and licking his ear.

"Well, what do we do for the rest of the story?" Mulder asked, bewildered.

Two pairs of Russian eyes met and Illya asked, "Does everyone know how to sing Volga Boatman?"

At the heads shaking no, Illya sighed. Brightening, he said, "Okay, let's have an orgy instead."

And they did.

Do Svidaniya, Sweethearts!