Reaching back in his memory, he decided to try a trick his mother taught him as a
youth. Rather than counting sheep, she had once told him to use the alphabet to
fall asleep. It had been one of the few kindnesses he could recall from his
unhappy childhood, a rare moment of caring from the woman he called mother. He
had been only four or five years old on some stormy night when she had suggested
he list out his ABC's and for each letter think of something he liked, something
that was special to him. If he tried this, she promised he'd soon be dreaming
about all his favorite things.
So on this sleepless night in some god-forsaken motel room, he decided to try her
little game. Rolling over onto his stomach, he pushed aside the useless pillow
and began at the beginning...
A, A was for apple. Ripe, juicy apple. Red apple. Smooth red skin. Skin.
Smooth. Apple. Adam's apple. Alex's adam's apple. Smooth. Skin. Alex's
skin. Lickable skin. Alex. Lickable. Alex's adam's apple. And up, higher to
the line of his chin. Nibble. Bite. Kiss. Devour. Taste. Alex. Sweet apple.
Sweet adam's apple. Sweet Alex. But he must move on, drive the thoughts out of
his head. Move on, move on. Alex was the last thing he wanted to be thinking
about on a night like this.
B, B was for bat, baseball bat. Baseball, his favorite game. Baseball. Baseball
bat, made of wood. Hard, rigid wood. Alex's bat, swinging, dangling, tempting
him to do things he shouldn't. Alex, walking around the apartment naked, like
nothing really mattered, like sex didn't matter, like need didn't matter. Alex.
Need. Desire. Alex. Baseball bat. Hard, swinging, bat. Alex's bat.
This wasn't working out, this wasn't supposed to be happening. The game was
supposed to relax him, make him drift off to sleep. But he was relaxing, the
knots in his back were slowly releasing and he felt the blood pumping through him
again, taking away the aches in his body. But the blood was coursing other
places as well, filling him up and making him hard. He tried to adjust himself
under the mattress and relieve some of the strain. He tried to continue, unable
to think of a way out of the situation.
C, C was for cat, Alex's cat like reflexes his sinuous muscles wrapping around
him, manipulating his body, the dirty dog.
Dirty dog. Alex was a dog. Dog, dog, dog. Doggy-style. He wanted to do it
doggy-style. Mulder's body began to push against the mattress, rhythmically.
Alex was a dog, a dog down on all fours, begging for it. Begging for it. The
pace of his thrusts increased as his hands gripped the folds of the old bed
sheets.
E, E was for, was for, oh hell, he didn't give a damn what E was for, E was for
everything, every inch of Alex's body. Alex's legs, toned and tanned from the
sun. Alex's arms, strong and demanding, pinning him against the wall. Alex's
lips, his hair, his fingers running along Mulder's spine, his eyes glowing in the
dark, his everything. Everything. Alex. Everything.
And oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Oh god, god damned Alex, god damn him for doing this to him.
Mulder continued to thrust, ever more violently into the helpless mattress, his
body like a piston slamming into the weakening surface of the bed.
"Oh hell, oh hell," he shouted out as his body reached the edge of resistance.
His head pulled up and his back arched, with the final slam into the mattress.
For a split second his entire body froze in place and his lips quivered, until
finally screaming out, "Alex!" and his body exploded.
He let the pleasure surge through him, like a passing electric current, tracing
every neuron in his body. Within a few moments his sanity was restored and he
was made whole again.
Oh hell, just once, just once he'd like to make it past H. But he couldn't, he
couldn't control himself. Just once he'd like to make it to something higher
like K or L. L. L was for... L was for, for a word he could never reach, a
word he could never let himself say, not when it came to Alex. Not with Alex.
Not the L word.
Finally, he collapsed, completely spent. His eyelids struggled for a few
moments, but then gave in to the sleep that was finally overtaking him.
Alphabet Soup
by the lopsided weevil
Fox Mulder lay there in the bed, unable to sleep. It was now well past 2 a.m.
and he was desperate for the slumber that would not come. He lay on his back on
the lumpy motel mattress, his only comfort was the equally lumpy pillow balled up
under his head.
