London, 1982
The pub had grown dark, shadows painting elongated fingers over the
walls and floor as twilight deepened, bathing the back tables in murky
relief.
But Mulder didn't mind the darkness; in fact, he was grateful for it.
It felt comforting in a odd sort of way, blanketing, shielding him
in
its thick velvety-black cocoon, complementing his mood—restless,
withdrawn, not sure why the hell he was even here, not much caring
either. All he wanted now was to sit here staring at nothing and drink
himself into a numb bottomless stupor and maybe even blot out the past
week he'd spent wallowing in hell...
He'd done it. He couldn't believe he'd actually gone through with it,
but he had. He'd broken it off with Phoebe, ended it after nearly two
years. Two years of great sex and clever conversation—
Two years of joy and pain and bitter recriminations and telling himself
a thousand times to just end it, cut himself loose from this fucking
mess that had become his life, but he hadn't, he'd kept coming back
for
more torture, more punishment, more of her twisted little mind-games...
In the beginning, he'd found her fascinating, brilliant, intriguing,
the curves and squiggles in her psyche weirdly stimulating, both in
bed
and out. It hadn't taken long for the fascination to pall, but by then
he'd been caught, ensnared in her brain-bending trap of screaming
matches, followed by long days of stony silence, never failing to end
with him caving and calling her, or turning up on her doorstep, begging
to start the whole hellacious circle all over again...
But not this time. This time he'd told her, told her to her face, then
hopped the first train down to London. He'd miss lectures for the next
couple days, but he didn't care. He'd stay here, riding out the worst
of it alone, staying drunk if he had to until the urge to backslide
finally passed. When he could sit five seats down from her in lecture
or pass her in the hallway or see her across a crowded room and not
feel fire tearing through him, that's when he'd go back...
He took his last gulp, gazing at the bottom of his pint glass as if
it
had some secret to tell him. His second glass in a little over an hour,
and he wasn't feeling the least bit buzzed. He hauled himself out of
his seat with a groan, shuffled over to the bar, calling to the barman
for another, rubbing a hand over his face as his glass was refilled—
"You're an American."
It took him a minute to register that somebody was talking to him.
Looking up and over a few barstools, squinting into the light, he
finally saw who it was, a tall, slender, dark-haired guy dressed in
jeans, battered black leather jacket and Georgetown University t-shirt.
"Um...last I heard, that wasn't a crime," Mulder replied.
"Look, I didn't mean anything by it," the guy put in quickly. "Guess
I've just been traveling so long it's kinda strange hearing a familiar
accent. New England?"
Mulder took a long pull on his beer, pondering whether to answer. Last
thing he wanted right now was to get involved in a conversation with
a
stranger. "Yeah," he said finally, nodding at the guy's shirt. "You
go
to Georgetown?"
"For awhile. Dropped out last semester."
"Flunking?"
"No. Just tired of all the bullshit."
Mulder couldn't help chuckling a little at that. "I know what you
mean." He tried taking another sip, but somebody jostled his elbow
at
that exact same moment, spilling his beer down the front of his shirt
and all over the bar. "Shit!" he sputtered, grabbing a napkin and
shooting the guy responsible a sour look, but the big burly oaf had
already sidled away to the far end of the bar, joining a throng
cheering at a soccer match blaring on the TV.
He ducked into the bathroom and managed to mop most of it off him
before it'd had a chance to soak in, but he'd still smell like a
fucking brewery until he changed his shirt—
And he'd left his backpack out in the bar, tucked under his table along
with most of his money—
He'd half-expected to find it gone by the time he got back, but he
definitely hadn't expected to find the dark-haired guy sitting in the
other chair, a fresh pint waiting at his own place. His gaze flicked
from the guy to the glass and back again, then he just shrugged and
sat
down. "Thanks," he said with a grin, "but you didn't have to come over
and guard the table—"
"Yeah, I did. Got half my cash stolen in Rome last month, and it wasn't
much fun."
He fumbled under the table just to make sure, finding his bag right
where he'd left it. He almost hauled it up onto the table to check
and
see if his wallet was still in it, but stopped himself at the last
second. If this guy was planning to rip him off, he'd have done it
and
gone by now.
His hesitation must have flickered across his face, for the corners
of
the other man's mouth quirked up. "If it'll ease your mind, I'd be
happy to let you frisk me," he said.
Mulder'd just started to take a sip of his beer, but that comment came
close to making him choke on it. "That...um, won't be necessary—"
"My name's Alex, by the way," the other man said, holding out his hand.
Mulder stared at it, then took it after a second, his own fingers
trembling slightly for no reason he could fathom, a molten chill
snaking up his spine at Alex's hand closing around his for a brief,
fleeting moment, the other man's touch firm and strong without exerting
undue pressure, his skin warm, soft, smooth for a man's—
"What's yours?" Alex's voice cut in.
"What?"
"Your name?"
Jolted, he let Alex's hand drop, his mouth suddenly feeling like it
was
lined with cotton. "I, um... Fox. My name's Fox."
Alex grinned. "Guess your mother was prescient, huh?"
The warm flush creeping up his cheeks nearly choked off his reply.
"B-but everybody calls me Mulder. In fact, I, um...kinda insist on
it."
"Mulder? That's your last name, I take it?"
This time all he could manage was a nod, taking a grateful mouthful
of
beer, his gaze locking on Alex's over the rim of his glass. The other
man's eyes were green, clear jade green with silvery highlights, though
for some reason he'd thought they were dark brown or black when he'd
first seen him over at the bar; it must've been the pub's dim lighting
that had thrown him off. They were gentle eyes, beautiful eyes,
friendly, inviting—
Maybe a little too inviting. The guy'd been coming on to him like crazy
ever since he'd gotten back from the men's room. For a second he
considered making a flimsy excuse and a quick exit—
But he didn't. He was tired, tired of running, from Phoebe, from
himself, so tired just thinking about moving made his muscles moan
in
protest. This wasn't the first time another guy'd ever made a pass
at
him; as long as they stayed out in public, he could handle it. He had
to admit, it'd be relaxing to talk to someone about the States, about
home...
"So what're you studying at Oxford?" Alex prompted.
That gave him another start. "How'd you know I was—"
"The insignia's on your backpack."
"Oh...um, psychology."
Green eyes widened. "You're gonna be a shrink?"
"Why's that so surprising?"
"I dunno, you just don't... look the type, I guess."
"What type do I look?"
Alex lifted his glass to his lips, half-smiling. "That's a loaded
question."
He could feel his face growing hotter. Jesus, he'd walked right in-to
that one. Time to take control of the conversation. "So what were you
studying? Political sci? Economics?" he asked, downing another gulp
of
beer.
"Little of everything. Never got around to declaring a major," Alex
replied. "I was only there a year anyway."
"Sounds like you've got a low tolerance for bullshit."
He shrugged. "That and boredom, I guess. My sister's always telling
me
I'm too damn impatient—"
Mulder stiffened. He couldn't help it.
Alex's gaze flicked over him, wary, questioning. "What'd I say?"
"N-nothing, you just... reminded me of someone..."
"You got a sister?"
"Had," he murmured, looking away, off into the corner, into the
shadows, not sure why he was telling Alex this, something he'd never
even told Phoebe. "She's, um... gone... been gone a long time."
He closed his eyes then, letting the darkness enfold him, bracing
himself for a trite "I'm sorry" that never came, half-hoping the chair
across from him would be empty when he finally opened them again—
//But it wasn't Alex was still there still looking at him with those
intense inscrutable green eyes saying something to him sounded like
he
was asking him if he wanted another beer but he wasn't sure the sound
was all screwed up thick garbled like they were both under water—
//And the room swam tilted blurred colors light and dark and red and
black and blue all running together crashing inside his brain and
suddenly he couldn't do it couldn't keep his eyes open—//
"Let's get out of here," Alex said, speaking slowly, distinctly, mouth
close to Mulder's ear, shaking his shoulder, "looks like you've had
more than enough."
"N-no, tha-that's s'okay," he slurred, "I-I'll be fine—"
"Jesus, Mulder, you're passing out here at the table. C'mon, I've got
a
hotel room around the corner. You can sleep it off there."
Somehow Alex shouldered his backpack, looped his arm under Mulder's
arm and around his back and hauled him out the door, the chill night
air
stinging Mulder's skin, shocking him to semi-awareness, clearing his
head a little—
"D-didn't have that m-much to d-drink," he mumbled, his free hand
scrabbling at the side of the building, trying without much luck to
wriggle out of Alex's grasp, somehow get his legs to work on their
own.
"Take it easy, Mulder, a few more steps and we're there—"
"B-but I-I only h-had two beers..."
"Sometimes that's all it takes. Look, just hold onto me, okay? I won't
let you fall."
And then he was floating, blanking out again, only the sharp click of
footsteps on hard wood or marble telling him they'd entered another
building, then the sick sensation of his stomach plummeting as the
elevator rose—
His vision didn't stabilize again until they were there, inside a room,
Alex's hotel room, Alex shutting the door, stooping to lock it as best
he could with Mulder still slung over his shoulder, hobbling them both
over to the bed. He heard his backpack thumping to the floor, felt
the
solid warmth of Alex's arm across his back suddenly gone, then his
jacket sliding off—
Felt his own fingers fumbling with his t-shirt, trying to pull
it from
the waistband of his jeans, but he couldn't do it, both hands had gone
numb, limp as overcooked spaghetti, though for some really strange
reason he seemed to be standing on his own with no problem—
Then again, maybe not. One foot dissolved under him, and he wobbled,
swayed—
And didn't fall. There were hands on him, two hands holding him at the
waist, steadying him, a body behind his, letting him lean back, taking
the burden of his weight—
Alex's hands. Alex's body...
Alex's fingers working his t-shirt up and over his head, lingering
there on his shoulders, brushing the hair from the nape of his neck—
Then something else, something warm and moist and gentle following
the path already traced, whispering in its wake, shattered quicksilver
fragments spiraling through his veins, crawling down his spine, pooling
its warm, sweet ache right there in his groin—
And he buckled, crumpled, landing flat on his back on the bed, Alex
beside him, green eyes gazing down at him for an endless moment, hand
cupping, caressing Mulder's cheek, mouth turning up at the corners,
smiling, moving closer—
Making contact, soft and tentative and curious, whisper-light, the
barest touch of living silk, trembling, heated from within—
And his lips parted, opened of their own accord, wanting more, shudders
shaking him as their tongues brushed, entwined, slow and languid and
thick as honey, but bitter too, bitter and tart, just like the beer
they'd
drunk—
//Oh, Jesus... the beer—//
Somehow he got his hand to work, pushing Alex abruptly up and off.
"Y-you put s-something in my drink, d-didn't you?"
Alex started, momentary bewilderment fading as Mulder's words sank in,
looking away, but saying nothing.
"W-was that your plan, Alex? Knock me out, d-drag me back here and
rape me, was that it?"
"Doesn't look like I need to rape you," he shot back, then leaned down,
expression softening, brushing a stray lock of hair from Mulder's
forehead with two fingers. "You didn't tell me to take a hike when
I
approached you in the pub... and you weren't exactly fighting me off
a
minute ago."
"Why me?"
"What?"
"There were plenty of other guys in that pub. Why'd you pick me?"
Something flickered in his deep green eyes for a second, something
cold, hard, almost angry, and then in the next second, it was gone.
"I,
um... was on the same train with you coming down from Oxford. I saw
you. I wanted you."
"So you just... decided to seduce me? Just like that?"
"More or less," Alex replied softly, coming closer, mouth hovering bare
millimeters from Mulder's, grinning at Mulder's sharp, sudden intake
of
breath. "Look, all I was trying to do was relax you a little bit. You
seemed kinda uptight back at the pub... I just wanted you in a more,
um...receptive mood."
Jesus, he could barely see or hear or think through the blood thrumming
in his temples, pounding in his groin, but he forced himself to close
his eyes, hoping, praying that not looking at him would give him back
some small measure of sanity. "I'm not gay, Alex."
"Oh, yeah?" he laughed. "Guess that's why you got a hard-on the size
of
the Eiffel Tower, huh?"
Mulder's hand moved on reflex, darting straight to his crotch, but
Alex's hand beat him to it, closing over the hard bulge straining there
against his fly, squeezing just enough to make him whimper, eyes
finally opening, staring up into glinting, fathomless jade.
"Is this for me?" Alex whispered, dipping down, touching his lips to
Mulder's, taking Mulder's hand at the same time, intertwining their
fingers, pressing both hands to Mulder's erection. "I'm not gonna rape
you, Mulder. If you really don't want this, just say the word and I'll
sleep over there on the couch."
A choice. Alex was giving him a choice, to either end it now or go on,
it was all up to him—
Who the hell was he kidding? It was already decided, had been from that
first moment down in the pub, the first time they'd made eye contact
across that table—
A choice that was no choice at all. He wanted this, craved it more than
air or sunlight or water, more than he'd wanted anything in as long
as
he could remember, more than he'd ever wanted Phoebe, more than even
wanting to be free of her—
He'd once thought of Phoebe as fire, but she wasn't, she was acid,
devouring him all the way to the bone, consuming him body and soul,
taking everything for herself, giving him nothing back—
This was different, this was fire, real fire, blinding-bright as dawn
in July, a white-hot knife blade thrust between his ribs, searing,
ripping him open, burning him, but without pain, without the paralyzing
fear he usually felt—
He was safe in this fire, safe here, in this hotel room, safe with Alex,
with
this stranger whose name he hadn't even known two hours ago. Yes, this
was what he wanted, needed—no curves, no squiggles, everything made
plain between them from the start. No mind-games, just simple,
uncomplicated sex...
"Get up," Mulder rasped.
"Huh?"
"Stand up and take your clothes off. I want to watch you do it."
Alex couldn't scramble off the foot of the bed fast enough, toeing off
his sneakers as he went, grinning as he undid his fly button, pulling
his t-shirt free, yanking it up and over his head, dark hair spilling
over his cheeks and forehead—
Black hair, Mulder realized, breath catching as his gaze swept the
other man from forehead to waist; black and shiny as polished onyx,
though for some reason he'd thought it was dark brown before—must've
been the pub's waning light. He'd looked different back at the pub,
a
lot different, tougher, older, but he'd appeared to have shed much
of
that along with the leather jacket. Not to mention the t-shirt...
God, he was gorgeous, beautiful, taut ivory skin kissed golden by the
sun, accenting the subtle play of tendon and sinew beneath, muscular
without being overly defined, solid shoulders and smooth chest tapering
downward into slender, almost boyish hips—
And a rising bulge at his crotch that matched Mulder's own.
He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed before it even
occurred to him to think it strange that he'd suddenly regained
his
ability to move, his eyes locking on Alex's, Alex coming closer,
stopping right in front of him, Alex's fingers brushing, tangling in
his hair, softly, gently—
His arms went around Alex's waist, his lips touching the warm skin just
above Alex's fly button, tongue darting, stabbing playfully at his
navel, fingers searching, finding his zipper, easing it down—
Thumbs hooking in the waistband of Alex's jeans, sliding them over his
hips, down long, straight, athletic legs—
Jeans, but no underwear, Mulder realized with a sudden, ridiculous
pang, seeing none pooled there on the floor with the heap of denim
Alex
was stepping out of, kicking aside—
And he looked up, up into Alex's eyes, dark now, dark like forest moss,
then down again, straight ahead—
Reaching out with one shaky, tentative finger, tracing the length of
him, a rosy arrow jutting from that crisp, springy thicket there
between his thighs, long and slender and beautiful, just like the rest
of him—
He'd never touched another man before, not like this, he didn't even
know if he was doing it right, but that didn't stop his fingers from
closing around Alex's hard shaft seemingly of their own accord, thumb
barely brushing the pulsating blue vein that ran along the underside,
Alex jumping, gasping at the exact same moment—
Leaning forward, he let his lips brush the very tip of him, amazed at
how warm and satiny-smooth he felt, like peach-skin, tasting the
essence of him, musky and sweet, pearly droplets leaking from his tiny
slit—
He wanted more, and he wanted it now. Engulfing the tip, he sucked it
into his mouth, gently at first, then with greater insistence, Alex's
moans and gasps urging him on, fingers winding deeper in his hair as
he
slid down, taking as much of him as he could without gagging—
And he glanced up at that precise moment, right at Alex, right into
his
eyes—
And in the next second he found himself lifted up and off, pushed back
onto the bed again, Alex landing next to him, mouths melding,
devouring—
"Wh-why'd you d-do that?" Mulder demanded when they finally broke
apart, gasping, gulping in air. "I-I wasn't finished—"
"Yeah, you were. A few more seconds of that, and it would've been all
over."
"B-but I wanted to... wanted to taste you," he murmured, running a thumb
along the soft, sensual line of Alex's lower lip, breath hitching at
the feel of Alex's teeth faintly scraping at the soft pad of flesh.
"I
don't mind if you want to—"
"I mind. Jesus, you've got no idea what you do to me, do you? One look
at you with your lips wrapped around my cock almost sent me straight
over the edge." As if for emphasis, he dipped for a kiss, slow and
sweet and drugging. "Not yet. When I go, you go with me."
"Alex..."
"Think you can stand up?"
"I, um... dunno..."
"Try."
"Why?"
"Trust me."
Part Two
To his surprise, he got up with no problem, only slightly wobbly now,
his head spinning a little at first, forcing him to take Alex's proffered
arm, leaning on him as they moved to the bathroom together.
The sudden glare of the overhead light flicking on stung his eyes,
making him blink, finally realizing where he was. "What're we doing—"
But Alex was there, right in front of him in the next second, eye-ball
to eyeball, hand cupping his throat, thumb splayed over his cheek.
"I
thought you trusted me?"
"I didn't say that..."
"No, but you're here. And you know what they say about actions speaking
louder than words..."
Jesus, this was too much... Alex's closeness, the soft taste of his breath
was
making his own legs go rubbery again, threatening to dissolve under
him
any second. "What d'you want me to do?"
His only answer was to yank back the shower door, twisting on the water
until steam rose, hazing the air. "Take 'em off," he said, turning
back
with a smile, nodding at Mulder's jeans. "I want to watch you this
time."
Dizziness nearly overcame him then, but he grabbed the edge of the sink
with one hand, steadying himself, his free hand popping loose his fly
button, slowly, carefully working the zipper down, the sensation of
fingers and cloth and metal raking over his arousal a delicious agony,
his breath catching, hissing out in a rush as he finally sprang free
of
the confining denim—
He kicked off his shoes, skinning jeans and underwear down and off in
one jerky movement, shoving the whole discarded heap aside with his
foot, looking up at Alex, the other man's gaze sweeping him from
forehead to ankle and back again, lips parting in a little half-smile,
eyes sparkling now, not green like moss, green like the color of the
sea on a warm summer day—
"C'mon," Alex murmured, so quietly the soft patter of water on the
shower tiles almost drowned out the words, stepping under the spray—
And Mulder followed, getting in, ducking his head, water sluicing him,
a long hot shock smashing into him like a concrete wall, legs finally
buckling—
And Alex was right there, arm sliding beneath his own arm, across his
back, easing him up and over, out of the spray's direct path, until
he
felt the slick, vaguely chill solidity of tile pressing against his
back—
And Alex pressing against the front of him, one hand at his waist, the
other tracing a slow, feather-light fingertip trail up his wrist to
his
shoulder, lingering at his collarbone, up the slope of his throat—
Tilting his head back, Alex's wet, sweet mouth finishing the journey,
tongue darting, licking, teasing the soft hollow, flicking along the
line of his jaw, shivers dancing a deranged tango along every nerve
ending—
And suddenly it stopped, Mulder groaning in bereft protest, eyes
snapping open just in time to see Alex moving back, leaning over to
grab a bar of white soap from the nearby soapdish, turning back,
grinning, rolling the soap in both hands, working up a lather—
Reaching down, grasping his own erection in one soap-slicked fist,
Mulder's mouth suddenly tasting like he'd swallowed a fistful of dust,
his entire body flushed with fresh heat watching Alex stroking himself,
watching his slim rose-colored shaft gliding, sliding between slippery
fingers—
The air felt like it'd turned into soup, too thick to breathe, clogging
his nose, his throat, every breath a gulp of flame—
Flame that went out of his lungs in a searing rush as he saw, felt Alex
reaching for him, for his erection, fingertips slipping underneath,
cupping, rolling the soft sac there, squeezing it, soaping it, then
stroking upward, engulfing Mulder's twitching, straining length, still
caressing himself with his other hand—
He thought for sure he'd fall this time, but he didn't, fingertips
scrabbling on the wet tile behind him, somehow gaining purchase—
//God this is not happening can't be happening I can't be standing here
in a goddamned shower with another guy sweating like I'm running a
marathon getting ready to come in his fucking hand for Chrissakes—//
And then Alex's hand was gone, both hands gone, but only for a second,
slapping the tile on either side of his head, Alex's face right there
in front of him, smiling, Alex's mouth coming closer, dusting the
corners of Mulder's mouth with tiny butterfly kisses, biting the
tender, bruised flesh of his lower lip, teasing him open, bringing
his
own hips closer, erections finally brushing, making contact, dazzling
white light shooting through his brain, overload looming—
"This is your, um... first time, right?"
It took a few moments before Alex's low, husky words sank in, but even
when it did all he could manage was a shaky nod.
"S'okay, Mulder, I'll take good care of you," he murmured, kissing him
again, deeply, wetly, thoroughly. "Rub against me, and we can bring
ourselves off together."
"B-but... don't you w-want to—"
"Not this time."
"Alex, I don't mind—"
Alex's mouth stopped his, descending with brutal, crushing intensity,
tongue pushing inside, rough, insistent, all spicy-musk, hips rolling,
pushing into his belly, pushing their erections together, moving,
sliding against slippery, heated skin—
And Mulder moved too, thrusting back, giving as good as Alex gave him,
a battle of strength and will he wasn't sure he could win, breath and
hips jerking with greater urgency, plowing Alex's belly, issuing a
challenge—
And Alex's fingers were in his hair, grabbing a wet handful, dragging
his head back, baring his throat, nipping at the pulse roaring there,
roaring through his head like a freight train at full steam, roaring
and pounding—
Pounding in his groin, rippling all the way down the length of his
erection, Alex's breath coming rapid, humid on his throat and shoulder,
one hand snaking down to Mulder's waist, holding him there, holding
him
still—
And he thrust once more, twice, and again, gasping, groaning into
Mulder's shoulder, warm silkiness spurting between them, splashing
both
their bellies—
Alex slumping against him, mouth pressed to the hollow of his throat,
finally catching his breath, hands on the tile again, pushing himself
up and away—
Eyes meeting Mulder's, lips parting as Mulder whimpered, his
still-unrelieved erection prodding Alex's belly—
And Alex moved back, just far enough to let the water hit both of them,
rinsing away milky, sticky streaks of soap and semen, barely lukewarm
now, but even that couldn't ease the bonfire blazing, unfurling in
Mulder's spine, burning up his brain—
He'd been hard so long he couldn't remember any other state of being,
feeling like he was going to die and at the same time afraid he
wouldn't...God, Jesus God, being stretched out on a rack had to be
better than this, at least it'd be over with sooner—
"S'okay, Mulder..." Alex whispered, giving him a slow, sweet kiss, hand
gliding down, fingers gently wrapping around Mulder's erection, "I
said
I'd take care of you, didn't I?"
"Alex..."
"You trust me?"
"Yeah, anything you want, just do it, Alex... please..."
And Alex sank to his knees with a triumphant grin, Mulder gasping,
hissing at the first hot, moist flick of tongue curling around the
tip
of him, head thrown back as Alex plunged, swallowed, taking half of
him
in one stroke—
Fingers tangling, twisting in slick black silk, he thrust hard and
deep, hitting the back of Alex's throat, dimly realizing he had to
be
choking him, not caring, nothing else mattered now, nothing but
fucking, raping this wet velvet mouth, teeth scraping, working him
like
a freshly-sharpened straight razor—
And it happened, boiling, ripping from the base of his spine with such
force he knew this was it, the end, he was dying, screaming,
shattering, dissolving—
And suddenly it was gone, the mouth, the heat, his eyes snapping open,
seeing Alex sliding open the shower door, cool air whooshing in, a
welcome shock wafting over him, finally letting him breathe again—
And then Alex was back, grinning, leaning in for a kiss, deep and
thorough, tongues delving, sweeping his mouth with their mingled
flavors, sticky-sweet, sharp and spicy all at once—
Smooth like honey, stinging like fire.
Somehow they stumbled back to the bedroom, collapsed onto the bed and
fell promptly asleep, spooned together.
The clock on the bedside table read a glowing green 2:05 a.m. when Alex
stole a bleary glance at it, sighing, gently rolling away from Mulder,
onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Anything to keep his mind
off
having to walk out that door in a few hours...
He should never have let it happen. Getting on that train coming down
from Oxford, following Mulder to that pub—yes, he'd had to do that,
it was part of his assignment, to watch, to observe—
But never to speak to him, or let Mulder see him or speak to him, never
to make direct contact—
And he'd obeyed that edict, playing the hand dealt him, following all
the rules like a good little soldier for almost a year—
Eleven months, fifteen days, God only knew how many hours and
minutes...
Eleven and a half months of watching him, always from a safe distance,
watching him go to lectures, watching him alone in his room—
Watching him with her, that red-haired bitch, watching them make
love, watching them arguing, screaming—
Watching Mulder go back to her every single time, slinking back to her
like a beaten dog—
So when he'd seen him heading for the train station this morning, he'd
gone too, telling himself he was only following his assignment, knowing
all along what he really intended to do. He'd been carrying that
sedative around in his pocket for weeks now.
He'd jeopardized the assignment, and the old man'd probably have his
balls on a string for it, but he didn't care. It'd been worth it, worth
swallowing his anger and pride every time the old man told him he had
no rights, only orders to be carried out—
Yeah, it'd been worth it, every mind-shattering second of it. He'd been
having sex since he was fifteen, he'd had men and women, but he'd never
experienced anything half as intense before. And they hadn't even gone
all the way yet...
He'd wanted to, God, how he'd wanted to turn him around, bend him over
and ream that tight virgin ass—
But he hadn't; he'd been too scared of the whole scene getting too
rough, scared of freaking him out so bad he'd bolt—
Mulder stirred, mumbling something in his sleep, rolling over next to
Alex, snuggling close, one arm flung over his midriff, finally lying
still. Shifting, Alex tried to nudge him, move him off gently, but
when
the hint failed to take he relaxed, giving in to the inevitable,
tangling a hand in silky chocolate-brown hair, lips barely dusting
his
forehead.
He wasn't sure when it had happened, but it had. He'd lost his heart
to
this beautiful young man, to full, sensual lips that begged to be
kissed until both their mouths ached, to those incredible eyes, deep,
rich hazel, pupils softly ringed with amber—
Deep, rich hazel eyes that fluttered open at that exact same moment,
blinking. "Wh-what time's it?" he asked groggily.
"Still early. Go back to sleep."
"Why're you awake?"
"Dunno, just am. Go back to sleep," he repeated.
Neither of them said anything for so long he assumed Mulder was asleep,
and Alex was starting to drift again himself when he felt a warm, moist
path being kissed across his chest. "Mulder... c'mon, lay off awhile,
okay? You just about wore me out in there..."
Mulder's disappointed sigh gave his ego a welcome boost, but relief
still swept him as Mulder finally settled back down, cheek warm and
smooth against his own skin. "Thanks," Mulder mumbled.
"For what?"
"Banishing the shadows."
Silence.
"Alex..."
"What?"
"How long're you staying in London?"
He shrugged.
"What day's it?"
Alex twisted, looking at the clock again, doing a quick mental
calculation. "Um, it's a little after two in the morning, so that makes
it... Friday."
"Hmmmm... not much point in heading back up to Oxford, the train'll take
a big chunk out of the day anyway. Might as well stay the weekend."
That floored him. "Y-you want to spend the weekend here? Together?"
"Something wrong with that?"
"I dunno, I guess I just...assumed this was gonna be a one-night thing,
that you just wanted to satisfy your curiosity about... um, doing it
with another guy—"
"Alex..."
"What?"
"Shut up and get some sleep," he replied, glancing up at him with a
drowsy-little-boy grin. "I guarantee you're gonna need it."
The End...
Demon Poetry
by Sugar Rush
"Fire's got a certain genius, y'know, a certain demon poetry... it's
like it's got a mind of its own..."
—"Fire" by Chris Carter, 1st Season
