"Shh," Mulder hissed. "Keep your voice down. We
don't want anyone to overhear." He looked around,
surveying the small coffee shop from the vantage point of
their table—he'd purposely chosen the back corner booth so
that he had a view of both front and back exits, and could
see anyone coming or going. "Did you bring it?"
Alex nodded, and slid the manila folder across the
table. "Mulder—"
Mulder held a warning hand up when the waitress,
bearing a steaming pot of coffee, approached their table.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked, pouring Alex a cup.
"I'll have what he's having."
She nodded, and turned towards the kitchen.
When she was out of earshot, he asked, "What are
you having?"
"The special."
"Which is?"
"I dunno. I just ordered the special. What does it
matter?"
"It doesn't." Alex nodded at the still-unopened folder.
"Are you going to look at it here? We've only got forty-five
minutes before we're supposed to be back in the office."
Mulder gave one last look around the room, then took a
deep breath and opened the folder. He winced at the
photograph that first struck his eyes, almost closing the
cover again. "I can't believe that we're doing this."
"We don't have to, Mulder."
"No, I said that we would, and we will. It's just—
strange, that's all."
Alex grinned. "It figures."
"What?"
"Someone who deals, day in and day out, with
paranormal activities and X-Files, aliens, conspiracies, and
governmental cover-ups, intimidated by travel brochures.
Mulder, we've been planning this vacation for years, we
don't have to do it now."
"Well, that's sort of the point. We have been planning
for years. Too many years. I feel like if we don't do it now,
we never will." He paged through the brochures, highlighting
sunny spots, snowy spots, sandy spots, all with pictures of
grinning families and happy mom-and-dad couples on them.
"Have I ever told you how much fun Graceland was?"
"Frequently. And you've already been there. The point
of this vacation is to go somewhere where even if we hate it,
we don't have to leave the room."
"Well, if that's our only criteria, we could just stay home
and not answer the door."
"You are congenitally incapable of not answering the
door, Mulder. Or the phone. Or your e-mail. If we are going
to have a real vacation, we have to get away from all of
those things."
"If I didn't answer my e-mail, you wouldn't be sitting
here across from me right now."
"True. But if we're going to be working on X-Files and
you're going to be talking to the Lone Gunmen all the time
anyway, then there's no point in our going out of town, or
even taking time off of work."
"Except for the fact that we have to."
"Man cannot live without vacation, Mulder—despite all
indications to the contrary." Alex spooned sugar into his
coffee. "It's a proven fact."
"Proven by who?"
"Psychology Today. March '99."
Mulder raised his eyebrow, Alex grinning at him over
his cup of coffee. He looked so convincing that Mulder
decided to believe him, whether it was true or not. Damn,
he thought, -those eyes can get me to believe anything.
He sighed, and flipped through another travel magazine.
"Do you have a preference?"
"I have a preference against."
"What?"
"No cruises."
"You have something against boats?"
"Only since I saw 'Titanic'."
"Ah. We saw 'Fearless', and we fly all the time."
"It wasn't the sinking that bothered me. I just hate
Leonardo DiCaprio."
"I see. Okay. No Tennessee, and no Love Boat.
What does that leave us?"
"Europe?"
"Ugh. No, I don't think so—overcrowded and touristy."
"We could just get a car and drive somewhere."
Seeing the glint in Mulder's eyes, he augmented that, "Not
to Area 51."
"Party-pooper."
Alex wrinkled his nose, and pulled one of the brochures
out of the folder. "How about just picking a sandy beach
somewhere—"
"With oiled cabana boys?"
"Mulder! That is the gayest thing I've ever heard come
out of your mouth!"
"Alex, we've been sleeping together for more than five
years," Mulder said, dryly. "I think it's time that I came out of
the closet."
"Not if you're doing it to get your hands on oiled cabana
boys, it isn't." He put the brochure down. "Skiing?"
"As long as neither of us breaks a leg the first day out,
I'm up for it." Mulder shuffled through the brochures, then
picked up one that he hadn't seen before. "Oh. I think I've
found a winner." He held it up for Alex to see.
"Seriously?"
"Well, we are going on a 'honeymoon', aren't we?"
"I suppose so, but—"
"But what? You're the one who picked these out."
"I just asked for a mixed range from the girl at the travel
agency, Mulder, because I didn't know what you wanted.
She put together a broad spectrum of stuff, all different
things." His eyes roved over the cover of the brochure. 'A
Town for Lovers' was emblazoned over the front, with a
happy pair of his-and-hers models hugging each other. It
was cheesy, it was over-the-top, it was the stuff of
middle-American fantasy.
It was perfect.
"It's perfect," he said.
"I told you so." Mulder smiled at the waitress, who
brought over their lunch plates, placing them in front of each
of her customers. "Ketchup?"
"Please."
She brought it, filled their coffee cups, and left.
"Well, this doesn't look too bad."
Alex looked at his plate. A mound of greasy french
fries and a hamburger almost as big as his head. He felt his
arteries clogging just looking at it. Mulder was happily
digging in. He took a forkful of coleslaw that probably, at
one time, had been green. "So we've decided?"
Mulder nodded, wiping his chin with a paper napkin. "I
think so." He raised his coffee cup, waiting until Alex did the
same, and then clinked them together. "Niagara Falls, here
we come."
Three days later, he found himself at a much nicer
restaurant—no sticky floors, no coffee cups with lipstick
already on them. Cloth napkins. He shifted a little
uncomfortably in his seat, waiting for his lunch companion to
arrive.
"Here you are. Wow, it must be serious."
He nodded at his red-headed companion, as she sat
down beside him. They hadn't seen each other in a while,
but they made it a point to at least have coffee or lunch once
or twice a month, as schedules permitted. He missed the
middle-of-the-night phone calls, but they were both different
people now, with different—grown-up—lives. "Why is that?"
"You're having something green, Mulder. Is that a
salad?"
He looked at his plate, then up at her. "Is it green?"
She grinned. "Yes. What's wrong?"
"Oh, you know—I'm getting older." He patted his
stomach. "Gotta think about cholesterol and fat content."
"Ha." She looked at him critically. He didn't look much
different than he had when they'd first met—could it possibly
have been ten years ago? More than that. Wow. He still
had his swimmer's build, still rumpled brown hair, still
twinkling hazel eyes. She didn't think he had the type of
physiology where he'd ever have to worry about his weight,
but she nodded, approvingly. "So, what's really wrong?"
"Why do you ask that?"
"You only get concerned about yourself when you don't
want to think about what you're really concerned about.
Alex dump you for someone younger and more flexible?"
"Scully!"
She rolled her eyes. "Mulder, really—what do you have
to be concerned about? You've been together a long time—
longer than Walter and I, even. Now I, on the other hand
—" She sighed, heroically. "Try having kids, then you'll
understand the meaning of the word 'worry'."
"Missy's only three, Scully. What do you have to worry
about? Whether or not she can make her 'e's the right
way?"
She ticked her points meticulously on her fingers as
she listed them off. "Day care, pre-school, elementary
school—private or public—high school, prom, dating,
college, university, career." She put the cup of coffee down
on the table. "Why? What are you worried about?"
He stared at her, his mouth open. After a moment he
closed it and shrugged. "Nothing important."
She raised an eyebrow. "Mulder. Tell me."
He looked sheepish. "Vacation," he mumbled.
"What?"
"Vacation," he said, louder.
She looked at him, and started to laugh. "Vacation?
Walter threaten you with gunfire unless you take some time
off again?"
"Something like that. Plus the fact that I promised Alex
—"
Her eyebrow raised again. "You did? Huh. When?"
"A while ago."
She stared at him.
"Okay, okay—five years ago."
"Five years ago? You know, I'm having him
nominated for sainthood one of these days. There should
be hazard pay involved for being your significant other."
He grinned. "You'd qualify for a retroactive cheque,
Scully. You were my significant other, for four years."
She smiled. "And it was real, Mulder. Thank god we
didn't really end up together, though—if I'd had to wait five
years for a honeymoon, I'd have shot you again."
He grinned. "Ah, I miss the good old days."
She laughed out loud. "I could borrow Walter's gun, if
you want to make a run for it one of these days."
"Just give me a head start."
"Not a problem." The waiter brought her a salad. "I
didn't—"
"I took the liberty of ordering for you," Mulder said.
"Oh, well, thank you, then." When the waiter
disappeared, she whispered, "Do I want to know?"
He thought it over for a moment. "Better let it be a
surprise."
After days of frantic packing and arrangements for the
X-Files and instructions to the Gunmen, debates over cell
phones and call-forwarding and who would take care of the
fish, the actual trip was an anti-climax. The flight was short
and relatively painless. Alex was surprised when Mulder
ushered him from baggage claim to a limo for the drive to
their 'cabin of love', as he gleefully insisted on calling it.
They'd settled on the hotel with adjoining private cabins
outside, managing to secure one of the last available.
Apparently it was honeymoon season for everyone; either
that, or it was always like that in Niagara Falls. The limo
shushed past tourist traps and the Falls themselves, finally
pulling up in front of their Love Shack. Alex had been a little
concerned about their reception, until he talked to the desk
clerk, who assured him that they were indeed gay-friendly.
"Oh, this is perfect." Mulder was grinning hugely, and
Alex shook his head and tipped the amused-looking bellboy,
who set their bags down by the bed, then left, locking the
door behind him.
And what a bed it was—huge, heart-shaped, covered in
yards upon yards of red satin. Red and pink satin pillows,
also heart-shaped, were strewn over it. Alex looked up,
hoping against hope—ah, yes, there it was. Mirrors on the
ceiling. And if he wasn't mistaken—
Mulder had taken his leather jacket off and was already
flopped down in the middle of the bed, in anticipation. "You
got any quarters?" he asked.
Alex held out some change. "Of course."
Mulder slid the coins into the slot, and held out his
hand. "C'mere."
Alex snorted, and let himself be led to the bed. Mulder
hit the slot just as they sat down, and then they were
shimmying and shaking as the bed began to rock. He
began to laugh in earnest.
Mulder joined him. "Woo hoo—this is going to be fun,
baby!"
"Well, it will take some of the work out of this
honeymoon."
"Oh, I don't know—maybe we can make this bed rock
and roll without the money."
"You think?"
"It's a distinct possibility."
Alex got up off of the bed, leaving Mulder sprawled
across the blood-red cover, shimmying away. He peeked
into the bathroom, almost unwilling to turn on the light. "Oh,
my god."
"What?"
He shook his head. "I can't describe it. It has to be
experienced."
Mulder came over beside him and stared into the room.
If the bedroom was a paeon to bad taste, the bathroom
was the pinnacle. It was a white-trash Nirvana, a low-rent
Paradise. Not only the ceiling, but every wall, as well, was
mirrored. There was a shower with glass doors, with
cherubs and hearts cut into the smoked glass, and a tub
built for more than two—heart-shaped, like the bed, with
gold fixtures. Everything was pink—Pepto-pink, Jayne
Mansfield pink. So pink that you could die and still keep
seeing it.
Alex peered over the side of the tub. "At least it's a
jacuzzi."
"Kind of makes me wish I wasn't colour blind."
"Damn! I keep forgetting about that. Hell, I'm never
going to be able to forget this, and you're not even seeing
it."
Mulder shrugged. "It could be worse."
"How?"
A slow grin spread across his face. "I could be
seeing it."
It only took a second for Alex to dash across the
bathroom, but Mulder had a head start. He had to make a
flying tackle in order to catch him, and they both ended up
once again across the bed, laughing. Alex stayed where he
was, sprawled over Mulder's back and legs. "You are pure
evil," he said, panting.
"I know."
"It's a good thing you're so good in bed."
"Care for a demonstration?"
"Love one."
Mulder wiggled. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Get off of me, and I'll show you."
"Uh-unh. I think I like being right where I am. In fact,
I think I might just stay here for the entire week." He
pressed his groin against Mulder's ass for emphasis.
"Ohhhh," Mulder managed, trying half-heartedly to get
Alex off of him. "And here I thought you were going to
punish me."
"Don't tempt me."
"I did bring my handcuffs."
"So did I."
"I love a man who thinks ahead."
"I love a man who thinks with his head." Alex shifted
over, allowing Mulder to turn on the bed, and then straddled
him again, holding his wrists down on the bed and kissing
him.
When he moved his hands away, Mulder stayed in
place. Alex reached for his t-shirt, pulling it up out of his
jeans and, when Mulder lifted up, up and off of his body.
Then he unbuttoned the jeans and pulled them away, down
to mid-thigh. Mulder was, as usual, wearing his vivid silk
boxers—green and purple happy faces, this time—and they
were starting to strain against the swelling of his cock.
He nuzzled the erection through the silk, rubbing the
fabric against both his tongue and Mulder's cock. It moved
easily, even when it became damp, and he continued the
erotic torture until Mulder's hips began to writhe, as well.
Still he didn't let his dick free, although it was fuller now,
almost completely hard. Mulder couldn't do anything—his
legs were trapped in denim, still, which allowed him very
little movement, and Alex was on top of him. He had to
submit.
Somehow, he knew it would be worth it.
Finally, the head managed to peek out of the front
opening of the shorts, and Alex took it in his mouth. Mulder
shivered as he felt himself surrounded in warm, wetness and
teased with an incredibly busy tongue. Damn, Alex was so
good at giving head. His slit was licked and sucked, and
teeth just barely dragged over sensitive skin, not enough to
hurt, but enough to arouse even further. He felt as though
the skin over his dick was going to split, it was so distended.
"Alex—"
He paused his ministrations long enough to say, "no
talking," and then went back to the exquisite torture. Mulder
bit his lip in an effort to silence himself, all the while
screaming inside to be allowed to come. Alex would never
hurt him, he knew that—but sometimes it seemed as though
his levels of self-control were being pushed so far that he
wouldn't be able to stand it, and then—
- and then, Alex sucked down further, taking more of
his cock into his mouth, running his tongue down the
blood-filled vein on the underside, and then up again, always
concentrating the most attention to the head. He'd reached
one hand inside the still-present boxers and was massaging
Mulder's balls, encouraging the climax that he still wouldn't
allow.
Mulder tried to think of the most unsexy things that he
could—cigarettes, cancer, nuns, the Antarctic—but he kept
opening his eyes, seeing Alex's dark head going down on
him, and then he'd thrust a little more, a little deeper, and
Alex would take it. It seemed as though there was nothing
that he couldn't take.
Then, finally, he came to the point where he wasn't
capable of any further thought, and he was floating on pure
feeling, every nerve in his body seeming to be centred
around his cock, and he couldn't hold it any more. Mulder's
body stiffened, and Alex gave one final lick, before his
mouth was flooded with warm, salty jets of come. Spurt
after spurt he swallowed, greedily, his hand still massaging
the balls, prolonging the climax ever more.
They were both gasping and nearly insensate when
they parted, but Alex, still fully dressed, began to shed
clothes in earnest. He threw his own on the floor, and then
pulled away Mulder's jeans and the half-drenched boxers,
turning his body roughly and parting his legs. He spit on his
cock and thrust home, pushing into Mulder's body with the
ease of practice and a recent orgasm. His rhythm was
staccato and erratic, desperate, and he thrust hard, holding
Mulder's hips, plunging over and over again into the tight
heat of his body. It took just over a dozen strokes before he
was coming with a groan and collapsed, letting his
sweat-soaked body plaster itself over Mulder's back.
The last thing he thought before he lost consciousness
was I bet red satin is a bitch to clean...
They switched off the evening news, and lay back in the
bed. Missy was asleep, and this was usually the only quiet
time her parents had with each other every day.
"No plane crashes," Dana said.
"That's good. Where did they go?"
"They wouldn't tell me. Probably a tour of significant
alien sightings in the midwest."
"Area 51?"
"Maybe. Although Alex might kill Mulder if it's
completely business-oriented. I know I would."
"Then it's a good thing that I am much less dedicated
to my job."
Dana chuckled. "Oh, yes—you're practically a slacker."
Walter segued easily into his next thought. "Speaking
of overdue vacations—"
"Is this a hint?'
"Well, I've been thinking—maybe we should take a
second honeymoon. Get away for a couple of weeks.
Relax. Recharge the batteries."
She tilted her head. "I don't know—I don't really want
to leave Missy for that long—"
"So we'll bring her with us."
"Seriously?"
"Why not? Next year she's going to be in school. This
might be the last chance that we have to get off on a really
good trip without having to wait for summer vacation, when
everyone goes away."
"True. Did you have anything in mind?"
"Well," he smiled, letting her know instantly that he did,
indeed, have something in mind, "why not show her
Ireland?"
She smiled. "A true second honeymoon."
He nodded. "We can stay in the same places."
"See some more relatives."
"It'll be good for her to know where her mom came
from," he agreed. "So, what do you think?"
"I love it." She leaned over to kiss him. "I love you."
"Then you won't kill me if I tell you that everything's all
planned already?"
Her mouth dropped open. "What?"
He leaned back a little, as if hoping to ward off an
explosion by diminishing his proximity to the bomb. "Well—it
was supposed to be a surprise." He pulled an envelope
from the floor on his side of the bed. "We're leaving in two
weeks."
"Two weeks? I couldn't possibly get off of work with
only that much notice."
"It's already arranged. You're having a month off."
He could see the warring emotions on her face—her
sense of independence, always a niggling point in their
marriage, as any union of strong people would be, dictating
that she be irked at not being consulted first; and her
flattery at the entire surprise, her more romantic side coming
to the fore. Luckily for him, the romantic won.
"You talked to my boss?"
He nodded.
She shook her head, but started to grin. "I could
never have swung a month off on my own. He's a
hard-ass." She gave him a gentle push. "Like my old one."
He chuckled. "Actually, I found him to be quite
reasonable."
"You would."
"We're playing golf on the weekend."
"Of course you are. Just be careful what you talk about
- the last thing I need is for my boss to know all of the
secrets of my personal life."
"Don't worry about it. I'll even put a good word in for
you. And, if I have to, I'll let him win."
"Well, don't go too far."
"You sure?"
"He's signed the vacation request, right?"
"Yup."
"And he can't take it back?"
"I don't think so."
"Then kick his ass."
He laughed. "Anything you say."
Alex woke up warm and clean and cuddled up in bed,
thanks, he guessed, to Mulder. Either that, or the Orgasm
Fairy.
He was wrapped tightly against Mulder's side. He
could tell by his breathing that he was awake, but his eyes
were closed. Given the opportunity, he studied his lover—
noting for the thousandth time the full lips, the high
cheekbones, the dark lashes, the unruly hair. So familiar,
changing so little over the years, and still—"Huh."
"What?"
"Nothing."
Mulder opened his eyes. "What?"
"You're getting gray hair."
"Where?"
"Right there." Alex pointed to a small patch of graying
hair along Mulder's left temple.
"Great."
"What? It happens to a lot of people, Mulder. At least
you're not going bald."
"Tell that to Skinner. And I'm not going bald, yet."
"If it hasn't happened by now, then it probably isn't
going to. Male pattern baldness tends to start in the—" He
stopped, realizing he was treading close to dangerous
ground.
"In the what?"
"Late twenties or thirties," Alex said, grinning.
"Oh, this is a wonderful conversation."
"Mulder, it's not so bad. A lot of people turn forty and
survive. They even go on to live long and productive lives."
"And what would you know about it?"
"I'm going to be forty someday."
"In six years."
"If I'm lucky, yes."
"You're a child."
Alex laughed. "Cradle-robber. I've always been
younger than you."
"Yeah, but I feel as though I'm getting older faster than
you."
"That's not possible."
"You're not the one with grey hair."
"Mulder, by the time that we're done with this
relationship, we're both probably going to be in his-and-his
wheelchairs. I'll be half-blind, you'll be half-deaf, and neither
of us will know what the hell is going on. And we'll still be
humping each other, even if nothing comes of it."
"That's so romantic, I think I'm going to cry."
"You know what I mean—I don't care what you look
like. I'm pretty much in love with you as you are, but I can
adapt." He propped himself up on one elbow. "It's the
person I love, Fox, not the package."
"Well that's good to know—considering what's
happening to my package." Alex grabbed him, causing
Mulder to rear up on the bed. "Hey!"
"Well, it seems to me that your 'package' is holding up
pretty well—for an old guy."
"Very funny."
"Hmm—you think?" He was now stroking Mulder's
cock. "How's this?"
"Hil-arious." He managed to catch his voice before it
squeaked. Alex had very good hands—very good mouth—
very good everything. And, what's more, he seemed to be
intent on proving just how good, all at once.
He reached down, stilling Alex's hand, but keeping it
just where it was, his own covering it. "Thanks."
Alex looked at him, mystified. "For what?"
"I don't know—for loving me, I guess. For putting up
with me. For being good in bed. For accepting me. For
wanting to be with me for the next couple of centuries."
"Side-by-side burial plots?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of the same casket
- or maybe a nice urn somewhere. It'll save money."
"Sounds good to me, Mulder."
Mulder raised his hands, placing one on either side of
Alex's face, and drew him in, kissing him deeply, thoroughly,
plundering the mouth that he still wanted as fiercely as he
had the first time, attached to the body that still drove him
crazy, and the man he still loved more dearly than he'd ever
loved anyone before in his life. When they parted, he
paused, smiling, and said, "Call me Fox."
The End
Ten
by Mona Ramsey
"I still don't know why we had to meet here, instead of
going over this at the office or at home," Alex said, sliding
into the booth.
