"You are pretty sticky," Alex noted. From his
reclining position on the bed, he could see the dried, shiny
traces of Mulder's pleasure on his muscled flesh.
"I'd say it's pretty obvious then that you didn't lick me
enough," Mulder said. He didn't quite pout, but a certain
voluptuousness of lower lip was evident.
"That could be implied as a criticism," Alex said
back seriously.
"Critique is a nicer word, I think."
Alex, who'd been slowly stretching his arm above him during
the conversation, suddenly flipped the pillow out from behind his
head and sent it flying at Mulder's own. Its plump mass sailed by
Mulder's right ear without quite touching it and whomped gently
against the far wall.
"Your firearms instructor would have something to say
about that, Alex."
"Hey, it wasn't my gun arm. But if you want to call him,
go right ahead. Yes, this is Fox Mulder of the D.C. office,
there have been some serious questions raised about the rigor of
your trainee instruction—now I have Agent Alex Krycek here with
me, we're naked, and he just tried to hit me with a
pillow—hello—?"
Mulder laughed. "I wouldn't say it like that. I'd
lead up to it, gradually."
"This is very naughty, you know, Mulder." Alex
shifted, settling further down into his heaped nest of pillows.
"You need to tell me that?"
"You ever done this before—with another agent?"
Mulder came back to the bed, sat down on the edge facing Alex,
with one knee drawn up and his foot resting against the inside of
his other thigh.
"A few times," he said. His voice was easy but the
expression on his face was that mild, neutral one Alex had come
to recognize meant: stay back!
"Come on, Mulder—'Toy Boys in Blue', 'Bottoms with
Badges'—don't you have any war stories you want to relate?"
Alex plastered an alert and interested expression on his face,
and quirked a brow—once, twice, three times—with serious
lasciviousness.
"Good trick," Mulder said, smiling and reaching out
to stroke a fingertip along the arch of fine hair.
"Evasive action, Mulder." The chide was mocking,
knowing.
"Sorry, I just... there's not that much to tell, and
it's not something I can talk about. You know that."
Mulder's hand, which had slid up to stroke Alex's tousled hair,
moved back down the edge of his face, tracing cheekbone, jaw,
chin.
Alex's face tightened slightly. "Yeah, well, the bureau
would really love this, wouldn't they? Two fuckin' queers
shacking up in a hotel room on the old expense account."
"Do you really think of yourself like that, Alex?"
Mulder asked quietly, searching the other man's face.
"Don't even start that psychotherapy bullshit with me,
Mulder." Angrily, Alex pulled away from Mulder's touch and
slid out of the bed. He moved, naked, to the bathroom, but Mulder
followed, coming to lean in the bathroom doorway.
Watching me piss. Great. Alex ignored the other man's
gaze, but felt the skin of his arms and neck crawl. This is
way more intimacy than I need with an investigative target. I am sucha
fucking idiot.
"Are you afraid of getting found out?" Mulder asked
him conversationally.
It took more self-control than expected for Alex to bite down
on his first, reflexive response, which would have been obscene
and very likely more revealing than he could afford. He couldn't
react too strongly to such comments, though he tended
instinctively to read them as threatening. There was no way he
would hand Mulder any advantage that might be used against him
later. Well, okay, he already had.But he wouldn't
hand him any more if he could help it. Suppressed anger nagged
and itched at him like a fever, but his face remained cool. He
didn't look at Mulder, and when he spoke his tone was carefully
offhand. Casual. "Aren't you?"
"Not exactly."
Alex looked at him now. An odd, ironic half-smile had edged
its way onto Mulder's face. As naked as Alex, there was something
about Mulder to suggest he felt faintly uneasy without clothes,
what might have been a vague echo of Puritan discomfort in the
posture of his body—arms crossed, shoulders slightly hunched.
Despite this, he made no move to cover himself. Masochism or
masculine pride, Alex wondered. Maybe both. He was beginning
to suspect that Mulder's motives and character could very rarely
be isolated and simplified.
"Actually, I've always been out... more or less,"
Mulder continued.
"Yeah, right, Mulder. You're just brimming with queer
spirit." Alex pushed a soapy toothbrush in his mouth, poked
it around briefly, then spat. He turned a blunt look on the other
man. "Mulder, I didn't even peg you. Not a single
blip on the radar. I didn't know until you wanted me to
know. And you're going to tell me you're not closeted? Mulder,
you're a fucking FBI agent. Give me a break." Alex could see
from Mulder's tensing face that he was beginning to get angry.
"Just because I don't fit some preconceived image you
have doesn't mean I'm closeted. And being an FBI agent—"
"Means they can fire your flaming ass any time they feel
like it," Alex interrupted intensely. He moved closer to
Mulder, leaning one hand on the counter, toothbrush gripped in it
like a pointer. "Do you realize how easy it would be
for them? I could get you kicked out of the bureau, Mulder, you
know that, don't you? We're not talking about a letter of censure
in your file—you'd be lucky if you pulled a four-bagger.
But you wouldn't. They'd kick you out so fast by the time you
realized what happened you'd be ten light-years past Voyager and
accelerating."
Mulder stared at him, face unreadable but still slightly
flushed. "That would be kind of self-defeating, wouldn't it?
For you, that is."
"Yeah, it would," Alex said frankly. "And you
can bet your cute butt that this isn't going into my
autobiography. What I do in bed is nobody's business."
Suddenly, he flashed Mulder a smug grin. "Except for those
lucky enough to benefit from my generosity."
"Those who survive," Mulder replied, eyelids
lowering a notch. His eyes remained cool, his tone ambiguous, but
the taut muscles of his face had relaxed again slightly, and
there was a tiny twitch in more southerly regions that boded
well.
Compliment their ass, Alex thought with satisfaction. Works
every time. Quite casually, he let a feather-light glance
glide down Mulder's body, then turned away and considered himself
in the mirror, rubbing at his jaw and flicking loose hair from
his eyes. "You're the one who wanted to play death games,
Mulder," he said, making small, skin-pulling faces at
himself in the mirror as he spoke. "I just obliged."
"You were very obliging," Mulder said quietly.
Alex watched Mulder's reflection slide into the mirrored world
behind him. Mulder's face was reserved—he might have been
reading the Timesobituaries for all the excitement
his face revealed—but Alex felt a hard, hot press of flesh nudge
his ass. He smiled to himself, but didn't let the feeling rise to
his lips. "That get you hard, Mulder? The D-word—the final
naked-boner, the last big bang?"
"Not really. But every now and then the urge needs to be
filled."
"The urge," Alex repeated (rather more dreamily than
he realized). He stared at the image of Mulder's dipped head
nuzzling his shoulder and wished he had an equally good view of
what Mulder's hand was doing. Mulder didn't respond to the echo,
but his hand slid lower, and Alex had to grip the edge of the
sink to counter the floor's tendency to slide out from under him.
He didn't particularly want to speak, didn't really needto
speak, but curiousity prodded him to see what effect morbid
chit-chat would have on Mulder's actions.
"How close to the bone is it, Mulder, hmmm... "
Mulder's hand slid lower still and Alex had to stifle a small
cry. Oh, Jesus... fuck, how can someone look that sedated, he
looks like he's coming down with a coma, and still be able to dothat?
Alex could feel a hot, painfully sweet ache begin high up
behind his balls. Mulder's fingers were obviously fitted with
some kind of subdermal joy buzzers. Either that or he was
channeling the spirit of an electric eel... a very skillful,
erotically inclined eel...
Alex closed his eyes. Unable to resist the tickling lures
being played across its flesh, his body had begun succumbing.
Alex could feel his legs spreading, his breath quickening in his
chest, his heart attempting to scale his ribs and crawl its way
up his tight throat.
"Dying while living, Alex. It's a motif in every major
tradition, East and West. The Sikh call it surat shabd yoga... many think of it as the ultimate union between the lover and
the beloved... 'die while living and ye shall find the creator'."
Mulder might have been musing to himself; his utterances had a
hypnotic absence of inflection. By appearances he had just
located a hidden microphone at the base of Alex's spine, into
which he was speaking with measured deliberation. Where his mouth
rested, a hot, focused cloud of heat grew and rolled in place, a
micro-cyclone over trembling skin.
Alex shuddered and bent slightly against the edge of the sink
to give Mulder better access. "Do notstop doing
that," he snarled when the busier of Mulder's two hands
began to drift. "And don't quote any more fucking
Shakespeare to me, and don't tell me that's not Shakespeare, and
just—fuck—just keep doing that... oh god... "
Alex began to arch and rub against Mulder's hand. "Oh
god," he said even more softly, his voice lowering to a
stunned, helpless whisper. His thighs tightened and then shifted
open again, and then Mulder's other hand slid down off his hip
and skimmed up his inner thighs to join its partner. He
wouldn't, thought Alex, not daring to hope. He spread his
legs further, so close to ecstasy that if he'd allowed himself
any sound it could only have been a whimper.
Alex opened his eyes, catching sight of himself in the mirror:
lips parted, eyes glassy and heavily weighted, face and throat
flushed with lust. Mulder's fingers worked between his legs like
invisible sea anemones, like something submarine that lives and
breathes only below the sea's surface. Alex couldn't remember the
last time he'd been so conscious of his ass, the last time so
much heat had been generated in the swells of that flesh. When
Mulder's mouth brushed a descent from the hollowed heart of his
back across one cheek and then the other, Alex closed his eyes,
bent his head, prayed. And Mulder moved his mouth lower, and his
tongue flicked with the delicacy of a lizard's or a snake's,
between his cheeks, then further.
Alex moaned harshly, the sound escaping the imprisoning clench
of his teeth. He could not help himself, he laid himself out like
a sacrifice across the sink counter, pushing back into Mulder's
face, feeling his tongue stab out to meet him thrust for thrust.
"Oh god—"
"You're religious now," Mulder laughed, his words
and that laughter so soft and so brazenly, intimately located
that Alex began to arch and pump into the warm hand that cradled
his cock. Rough, unshaven jaw rubbed like sandpaper across his
ass. He bucked forward and then back into the teasing mouth, and
its silken dagger continued to meet him touch for touch, skidding
and stabbing wetly into him in a manner so unutterably raw that
Alex could only gasp—gasp aloud—and twist his body once again,
lifting his head, attempting to find the one, perfect position
that would keep him centered on that exquisite mouth, that
flame-striking tongue, and still allow him to shout forth his
gratitude to the heavens. Yes, he was feeling religious. Oh yes.
Alex's body arched and wrung itself, desperately seeking an
impossible union, the translation of some exaggerated, idealized
tantra that would allow full and utter impalement. Yet his
ideal—a swollen, improbably lengthened member, thick and heavy
as a cock, sinuously mobile as a tongue, onto which he could drop
the burning globe of his ass and rotate—felt surprisingly close
to fulfillment. Every stroke of wet hot flesh was bringing him
closer to relief, to something pure and bright within the
shimmering crystal of his skull.
"Oh, fuck, oh Christ, oh god yes—yes—Fox—fuck!"
Alex gasped, nearly fell as the slippery fire removed itself,
left him bereft and smoking, flesh seared and screaming. "Bastard!"
His rising voice leapt once to nearly a yelp, then broke down
into a whispery gasp of agony. "Oh, you fucking bastard—"
Alex whirled around, knocking Mulder back a bit with the
swinging movement of his body. Off-balanced, the other man fell
back to rest lightly on one arm. Mulder's eyes were glittering
like sun-struck ice, but he was breathing heavily and his lips
were still parted—and so indecently, sensually full that Alex
immediately reconsidered his first, raging impulse to strike out.
And even as Alex was forcing his stunned body into motion, Mulder
was licking his lips, parting them wider, and he looked not at
all surprised when Alex grabbed him by the back of his neck and
pulled him forward onto his cock, driving deep into his open
mouth. He was lifting his hands to cup Alex's ass, lifting
himself to his knees, shoving his mouth forward onto Alex's
aching flesh.
Knees nearly buckling, Alex just managed to stay upright.
"You know what, Mulder," he gasped out, thrusting as he
did. "Good thing you're a sick fuck, because you'd be
getting yourself into some ugly trouble other—otherwise—"
He cried out and bucked forward hard, sliding into a tight,
throbbing, screwing source, as powerful as a whirlpool, as primal
and savage as a panther rending and swallowing its dinner, raw
and whole. Alex bucked again, striving toward pleasure, relishing
the incredibly entwined sensations of soft, tightening heat
around his cock and the shattered-silk fire of a man's hair
filling his hands. Mulder's. G-man the Generous. The scalding cup
of his mouth strained around him, drawing out along his length
with glistening strokes, then stretching back down to take him
all.
Alex rubbed naked shoulders, cupped Mulder's ears and jaw,
tried to put his hands everywhere, wanting to feel every
cooperating muscle that was working at him, so that every time he
watched Mulder speak and eat he could think of this. He stroked
the warm, vulnerable nape of Mulder's neck, palming its prickly
verge of hair, then brushed up into the skull cap of soft fire,
where he abruptly strengthened his grip, plaiting his fingers
into the soft strands and pulling Mulder's head back further,
driving in deeper, hearing the choked sounds of the other man's
pleasure. He could see that pleasure too in Mulder's contorted
face, could feel it in the painfully deepening grip of his hands.
Likes to be choked. Alex couldn't keep the words out of
his head. Likes to be choked, likes to be choked... He
almost grabbed Mulder's neck at that point, but didn't think he'd
be able to exercise enough control. His hips were beginning to
buck, he could feel the red-hot tip of his cock scraping like an
abraded match-head across the roof of Mulder's mouth, then
slipping down even further, trying to light itself. Back and
forth, back and forth—Alex groaned and looked down at Mulder's
face, absorbing his erection and reflecting the utter abandon of
a man who truly enjoys giving a blow job. Who'd a' thunk, Alex
thought wildly, just as his body was clenching and finding its
peak—and then Mulder's hand drew to the fore of his body and
slid under his cock, squeezing and cutting him short.
"Oh man," Alex said weakly, and heard himself make a
sound suspiciously like a whimper. "Man, oh, Mulder, this... you... " He had no curses in him to hurl at Mulder's head,
no spite or ire; he wanted only to plead. Pleeaaaseeeee... finish!But he couldn't bring himself to speak. It
would have been too much of an effort. He hung his head and
waited, dazed, for Mulder to take pity. But Mulder merely licked
the head of his cock with fond interest and then stood.
"Shower, Alex, shower... " He kissed Alex's mouth,
hard, then drew back just as abruptly. His eyes were happy, his
hair mussed. Grinning at Alex, he asked, "What are you
thinking?"
"No blood is getting through to my brain right now,
Mulder." Alex's voice was a dry, thick mutter.
"Nothing?" Mulder pouted. "Come on, not even
one sweet nothing?"
"Mmm... " A wicked grin found its way to Alex's
lips despite the neediness of his body. "Your mouth is like
a turbofan engine on a B2 bomber... ?"
"Well, a man can't hear thattoo many
times," Mulder said, then laughed with him breathlessly as
they kissed again.
"Is there a chance, Mulder, I'm going to get out
of the bathroom this morning with my balls any color but
blue?"
"Delayed gratification," Mulder said simply, as if
this were an answer. "You need to discipline yourself, Alex.
Pull back from orgasm six or eight times—"
"Christ!"
"—and you'll be drilling a hole through the ceiling
tiles when you come—or maybe the back of my skull." He
looked rather pleased with this idea.
"But I'll be dead by then too, and unlike you I won't
enjoy it."
"Stop whining."
"You've been waiting to say that," Alex said darkly.
"Hey—where are you going?" God, I'm notwhining... am I?
Mulder paused in the doorway with that grave, da Vinci smile
of his, and a tiny indentation between his brows. "I was
just going to get the handcuffs—you don't mind, do you?"
Alex could only shake his head dumbly. He watched Mulder
leave, then turned to stare at himself in the mirror again. Hello,
I'm Alex. Who the fuck are you, you lucky son of a bitch?He
shook his head at his reflection in dazed wonderment. His
reflection grinned back. Christmas in August. Or maybe
it's my birthday? I definitelyneed to take advantage
of this, whatever it is. There's no way something this good could
come more than once a year.
Mulder wandered back in, attention absorbed by the cuffs in
his hands. "I took yours. This is the key, isn't it?"
He held up a key from the bunch, then at Alex's nod tossed the
whole ring onto the floor by the tub. "You know," he
said, suddenly looking up. "I love this job. There aren't
too many professions that let you carry around your sex toys
openly on your belt."
"Was that the motivation behind your career choice,
Mulder?" Alex asked, shaking his head once with dry,
sardonic amusement as he reached to turn on the shower.
"Is there any other?"
They got into the shower, maneuvering in its narrow confines
with careful shifts and a few not unpleasant bumps. Mulder had
brought condoms and lube, which he deposited in the soap cache
before turning to Alex and giving him some soapy regards. He
kissed Alex several times without ceasing the lathering movements
of his hands, warm tonguings that somehow suggested the intimate
caresses of some very friendly animal's flipper.
"You're laughing," Mulder said, speaking into Alex's
mouth.
"Flipper," Alex whispered, trying not to snort.
Mulder pulled back, looking unexpectedly irritated. "What
is that, your idea of an endearment?"
"Sorry," Alex said contritely, not wanting to annoy
the other man. Jerking off was always an option, but he was
primed for so much more that he didn't think he'd be able to
stand it if Mulder pulled out of the game now.
Mulder did not immediately resume his intimacies, but
continued to scowl at him with suspicion.
"Sorry, Mulder," Alex whispered, eyes gleaming with
happy amusement as he ducked his head and kissed the side of the
other man's neck. He brushed his way back up toward unsmiling
lips. "You're much more fun than Sea World, I swear."
"Why do I get the feeling this is the beginning of a
dangerous friendship," Mulder sighed. With subtle
resistance, his face evaded Alex's kiss, not quite allowing him
to regain his lips. "You done this with anyone else—other
agents?"
"Um, not sure—would you call the director an
agent?"
"You do realize how credulous I am."
"So they say."
"Mmm... it's getting kinda steamy in here." Mulder
shook his head, sending tiny droplets of spray flying.
"We're not paying the water bill."
"So, just who is this Alex Krycek person?"
"Not now, Mulder."
"Be careful, you can really bang up your knees doing
that. If we have to chase anyone down—hmmm... " Mulder's
voice trailed off and his fingers began kneading Alex's shoulders
with the intense, self-centered rhythm of a smurgling cat.
"Hey, Mulder," Alex said around licks, "what's
the forty-second element of the periodic table?"
"Oh, oh... molybdenum... why?"
"Just testing."
"The boiling point is 4612 degrees Celsius... you're
pretty close... "
"You really are fucking gorgeous, Mulder." Alex
paused just for one appreciative moment before continuing his
licks. "Anybody ever offered to cast this for you?"
"Sort of... but I think they meant a body cast."
"That'd be good too. Might as well get it all in."
"... you like it then?"
"Which?"
"Mmm, give me some compliments... "
"With my mouth full?"
"Oh please,Alex, please please—"
"Shut up already!" Rather viciously Alex
altered his angle of approach and nipped at Mulder's balls,
bringing a little yelp from above. "Yeah, mm... well I don't
know, Mulder, Christ, I'm not usually talking and fucking
at the same time, unlike some people... mm, well you've got that
whole flesh-colored mushroom look down—up, I should say—very
nice—"
"What kind of mushroom?"
"Hmm?"
"Death cap—wine cap maybe?—portabella, shiitake,
button—"
"Well, you're no button, Mulder," Alex interrupted.
He slid his grin onto the member in question and heard a small,
pleased oh drift down.
"Are we talking... Playgirl centerfold... quality?" Mulder gasped out.
"We aren't talking," Alex muttered, rather
unintelligibly. He sucked hard, harder than he ever had in his
life he suspected, and felt Mulder's hips buck out to meet him.
Strong fingers embroidered themselves in his hair and then sharp
cries broke free at last—"Alex, oh god, Alex!"—and
Alex felt the hardening flesh in his mouth tighten further, and
the soft doubled sac of flesh he was stroking lift and give a
stridulating tremble—and then he drew his mouth off.
Immediately.
Mulder made a stunned, pathetic little sound very much like
the weep of an abandoned puppy.
"Oh, didn't you want me to do that?" Alex asked,
smirking up at him. "Self discipline, Mulder. How many was
that for you—one, two—out of, what—eight?"
"Don't listento me, Alex," Mulder
pleaded.
"I've got to get up. I think I've channeled about a
hundred gallons of water down the crack of my ass—"
"You too?" Mulder's voice was lust-roughened and
breathless, but the quip still came quickly.
"I really don't want to know," Alex said,
standing upright again next to Mulder, and hearing his knees (damn)
creak.
"I'm not that weird, Alex." Mulder looked at him
searchingly, almost worriedly. Steam and sex had plastered his
hair down to his scalp, and his face was suffused with warm
arousal. "You don't really—"
"Oh yes"—Alex interrupted them both,
laughing—"you are."
"But it's a good weird, right?"
"Oh, yeah," Alex assured him, grinning. "The
best kind of weird."
I shouldn't be fishing for compliments, Mulder thought.
This is too needy. I guess it's been longer than I remembered.
I really need to get laid more often.
Alex was continuing, "You know what kind of
dumb-as-lumber beefcake I've been working with in special ops?
Jesus, Mulder, somewhere there's cattle being cloned that we know
nothing about." He stepped up and grazed their slippery
bodies together, nipple to nipple, belly to belly. Their cocks
pressed close, nuzzling like horses whose masters have stopped in
the road to speak. Alex's voice dropped to a husky whisper.
"I'd love to show them a thing or two, wouldn't you,
Mulder—put a twitch in their bloodless dicks. Bet they'd pick up
some stuffing to take home to wifey, hmm? Which division, Mulder,
which one—we'll give them a home movie—I'll bend you over the
desk of your choice, show those sublimated cocksuckers how to do
it—"
Mulder arched into him, gasping. Alex spun him around
awkwardly in the wet narrow tub, splashing the stream of water
that still hissed and slithered across their feet. He found the
cuffs and with two quick snaps fastened Mulder to the towel rack,
then ravished every inch of available skin he could put his
hands, tongue, and teeth on, until Mulder was shouting loudly,
his cries bouncing off the steaming tiles, mingling with the
water's harsh, ongoing din. Alex, down again on one knee, thrust
a soapy finger up Mulder's ass, then two, working with brutally
efficient thrusts until he felt—heard—Mulder nearing climax
again.
"Oh god, please, Alex—I'm begging—fuck—" Hands
pulled ineffectually at cuffs, flesh and bone twisted from
fingertips all the way down to dancing, clumsily splashing feet.
"God, I need you in menow!"
Alex followed fingers with tongue, ignoring the pleas. Mulder
began to jerk his hips in short, frantic snaps that threatened to
bump Alex off and send him tumbling back across the tub's slick
surface. Pulling away, he slapped Mulder hard, across one cheek.
The movements abrupted.
"Oh!" After this brief exclamation of surprise,
Mulder's voice lowered to a soft murmur. "Please..." He arched again, laughed once with unthinking
pleasure.
"Slut," Alex said, kissing the slap-blushed cheek
instead.
Mulder shuddered, half in need, half in fear. God, this is
going too far... Mulder. FBI. Mulder tried to regain himself
in the dizzying whirl of his desires, but all he found was his
present hunger. Mulder. FBI. Mulder... god, I need this man
up my ass RIGHT NOW. Instinctively, to stave off panic and
quickening lust, his mind started sifting through its freight of
countless words—Heraclitean aphorisms, Air Force test-flight
crash statistics, Elvis lyrics—but he managed to bite his tongue
before the babble started flowing again.
"God, how a man could look at your ass and not want to
bone it is beyond me, Mulder. What a fucking peach... "
Alex nuzzled him with tongue, nose, chin, pushing into
soap-slicked flesh, teasingly widening the cheeks of Mulder's ass
with his tense fingers. "This is inspiring, actually—maybe
I will keep talking—you want me to call you names, Mulder—want
some fuck-film action?"
"Yes—oh god—yes—"
Alex stood, pressing his swollen dick between Mulder's cheeks,
rubbing it in and receiving a series of hard, welcoming squeezes
in return. He slid his hands around to Mulder's front, stroking
his nipples and his lifted cock, and whispered things in one ear
that made the other man's face flush deeply and his body buck
back into Alex's cock with an increasingly urgent rhythm.
"Please—do it to me—" Mulder whispered. "Please,
Alex."
"I shouldn't," Alex said, but his own head was
swimming. The shower's steam had eased somewhat but the
encurtained tub was still densely, tropically humid and he didn't
know how much longer he could hold his load in. His cock was
pulsing, thick and heavy with blood, his balls ripe with seed;
every desire of his body concentrated in that crux. Unable to
tease either of them any more, he groaned, pulling away only long
enough to find a condom, lube, wishing he could just do
without—at least the first—but he was of the times, he hadn't
been fortunate enough to live before the imperatives of latex.
And, if truth were known, he was rather fastidious, so perhaps it
was just as well.
"Oh—oh—" Oh god yes. Mulder was gasping and
laughing together in one breath as Alex began pushing into him.
He wanted to howl with delight, but could only moan softly. The
swollen sagittate point, thick and smooth, pressed against him,
cockhead to calyx, then began nudging in, kiss by kiss, inch by
inch. It was arguably the most exquisite feeling a body could
host. He'd always wondered if it was the same for women—or
similar, depending on the orifice in question; but those he'd
asked had rarely been experienced enough to make a good
comparison (something wrong there: how come he could never pick
the fun ones?). And though a few had given favorable testimonials
Mulder suspected that possession of a prostate was nine-tenths of
the thrill. (Phone sex girls were another story. Their enthusiasm
on the subject—"Oh, baby, yeah, I love that big hot meat up
my ass"—had to be taken with a grain, maybe a shaker even,
of salt.)
"Hey, Mulder, you with me?" Alex said, biting his
right earlobe hard enough to draw blood.
Mulder yipped his assent.
"I'm going to buy you an earring for this hole,"
Alex murmured.
"That sounds very painful," Mulder gasped back, as
the last few inches began to find their way inside him.
"Idiot. How come you don't wear an earring?"
"I'm an FBI agent, idiot," Mulder grated out in
reply. His eyes shut, his head dipped back to rest on Alex's
shoulder. Oh god, oh god. It was so amazingly good. The
braceleted mangle of his wrists was beginning to aggravate
him—the links were really too short to allow much play (in every
sense of the word)—but he managed to find a better grip out of
sheer necessity.
"Man, I'd have loved to have seen you ten, fifteen years
ago... wild child. I know it."
"Um," Mulder said distractedly, as full impalement
was his. He's babbling, I've broken him, he thought,
before thought spun away. "Stuff that washcloth in my
mouth," he said, nudging his head against the towel rod.
Alex's rhythms paused. "Are you serious—mm, cancel that,
don't know what I was thinking—" He stuffed the cloth in
Mulder's mouth, collecting a responsive moan that nearly made him
shoot his wad then and there. But he valiantly held back once
again.
"You want me to choke you?" Alex asked gently to the
warm, damp head that rested on his shoulder and rubbed pleasantly
against his neck. A vigorous head shake told him no. "Well,
I'm glad you're not that stupid. Someday you're going to aspirate
your own vomit, Mulder, and I don't want to be there for
it."
"Mmmph."
Mulder's ass was rubbing in cadence with the little shoves his
face made. You are a pro, aren't you, Mulder... Alex
wrapped his arms around Mulder's body and gave him every
attentive caress he could command. He worked his hand back to
Mulder's cock and slid his palm against its sleek length. He
really was a beautiful handful; Alex hadn't lied. The other man's
cock was a near perfect bow of flesh, nicely sized, springy and
somehow aerodynamic in design, with a neat cap like a furled
rose-petal, creamy-pink and just that smooth.
"You could be in pictures, Mulder," Alex whispered
in his ear. Mulder nudged him, stroking Alex's cheek with his
own. Alex reached up with his free hand and cupped Mulder's wet
skull. It felt so hot it might truly have been a cauldron in
which the soul's fire was held... a cup of flame... the neck a
wick, the body a swaying candle, melting from the force of its
own burning...
Alex pulled his hand away from Mulder's cock ("Mmmph!"),
and quick as a striking snake reached up and yanked the cloth
from his mouth. Another groan, not much more articulate than the
first, escaped the dam, then Mulder managed a gaspy, angry "What?!"
Alex twisted Mulder's head closer, found an angle that would
bring them to meeting and kissed him, tongue forcing him open,
painting broad wet brushstrokes around his mouth and feeling
Mulder's own tongue swirl greedily in immediate answer. He
slammed his hips forward hard, his cock up as far as it
would go, and felt sobs begin to break like iridescent bubbles
against his mouth, rising from Mulder's throat. He pumped
savagely, driving into rounded, tightly clenched flesh, and as
the kiss deepened further he fitted his hand to Mulder's
throat—and felt, as he'd expected, the spike of an even wilder
arousal, mercury shooting up a thermometer, impelled by fever,
boiling water, flame. Flesh gripped him tighter, sobs grew
louder, fiercer, and then were choked off—and then Mulder was
bucking hard, slipping in the water at his feet, liftingoff
the ground, trying to scream as he came, failing, and Alex felt
his own orgasm ripped from him by pure muscular force, pulsing
flesh yielding its strikes, a stutter that built under the skin
and then exploded. Alex looked down at Mulder as he stepped over him. "No
kidding. I've always wanted a medal. Which one."
"Purple ass, I think..."
"You staying there on the floor?"
Mulder's eyes had dropped shut. "I could, but who
would save your ass when you drive off a bridge?"
"There's nothingwrong with my driving, and
if you don't stop bugging me... this is New York City,
Mulder... and if you mention my left turn again I'm going to
toss you out the car and throw you to the gypsy cabbies."
"...you and you alone bring out the gypsy in me..."
"You can'tsing."
"...come to me, come to me do..."
"I'm going now... and you're coming with me. So if you
don't get dressed you'll find yourself dragged naked into the
Roger Smith lobby and then the dining room, and then out into the
street..."
"Gee, Alex, you really are tall for your age..."
If he weren't so damn cute... The End... sorta kinda.
Sleepless
A Little Take Out
Time for a shower," Mulder said, yawning.
"I'm going to see to it you get a medal for this,"
Mulder said, smiling with sated, satirical mischief.
