Hurts So Good
(Originally posted to the MKFight Club Whipping Post as an apology
fic sometime in February)
Mulder was in pain, pain like he hadn't been in for many years. And he was sorry,
oh so very sorry. Sorry he had managed to
get himself into the ignominious position being of sunny-side up over the back of
Alex's couch, and bare-assed besides. Sorry
he had pissed Alex off so badly that he was now systematically beating out a
rhythm on his butt with an archaic wooden
backed hairbrush given to him by his mother as some perverse reminder of his
errant youth, and extremely sorry that the man
was further swearing to continue until Mulder was hot and sore and filled with
remorse beyond the shadow of a doubt.
But he was sorry, he swore silently through clenched teeth. And it hurt. IT HURT.
Yes, of course it hurts. They're supposed to hurt, Alex told him, and then proceeded
to spank him even harder, snapping his
wrist to deliver quick, stinging blows, leaving no time for recovery, not even time to
properly catch a breath.
Alex had never done this before, never taken it to this point. Playful slaps during sex
but this was different. Oh, he had
threatened to a few times. One instance in particular stood out in Mulder's mind
with Alex hissing in his ear to "stop acting like
a brat or I'll treat you like one", that threat alone was enough to make him curl his
toes, but he never fully admitted whether it
was out of fear or anticipation. He questioned whether it was wrong to surrender to
this man who had no moral problem with
putting him over the chair-arm, couch-back or even across his knee. The shrink in
him said 'no'. The adult in him said 'maybe'.
He sided with the shrink and wondered what his neighbors were thinking as he
howled his remorse.
And the assault continued.
Knowing Krycek would be nothing if not thorough in his task of methodically
seeking out new spots and hitting them with
uncanny accuracy, he tried to protect his burning flesh, covering it with his hands,
but they were quickly captured and held
firmly in place in the small of his back, making him feel even more helpless. Bent too
far over the couch-back to kick without
losing his balance, he had no other choice than to stay in the humiliating position
and ride out the storm of punishing licks.
Stoically, he made up his mind he wouldn't beg, he wouldn't promise anything
because he knew he couldn't keep it and it
wouldn't matter anyway. Nor would he say the one word that had the power to
end it all. No, he would simply take it; he
would stay in control. That was his plan, stay in control and cry hot tears as the old,
heavy brush turned his ass into a painful,
living canvas of vivid, varying shades of overlapping red blotches.
His determination weakened when a series of painful smacks landed below his ass,
catching instead the tender tops of his
thighs. Tossing aside his resolve, he howled promises of everything from goodness
beyond reproach to a blowjob fit for a king.
But a lifetime of tears passed before the brush ceased its painful cadence and yet the
pain lived on, radiating down to his core,
releasing a different type of heat.
Cool hands soothed his burning skin; his sob turned to a groan as Krycek sank one
then two fingers into him with no warning,
then gently scissored them.
Open-mouthed groans and freshly shed tears were his reaction to the intrusion as
he silently admitted his need for this contact
at this time.
Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease...
His hands free from human bonds, he grabbed at his cock and stroked himself
higher and higher, desperately trying to match the
tempo. Heavy balls slapped against his hot skin and the fucking became a spanking
of a different sort, one with the same
urgency and rhythm, but yielding decidedly different results.
Close. He was so very close when he cried out in a voice filled with need and want
at the intimate touch of the open palm
cupping and shaping itself to his burning flanks before delivering more hard slaps
that stole his breath.
Walking the edge, the quick, sharp spanks taking him closer and closer until he
came with a scream, spilling his seed, his
muscles clenching around the buried cock, milking the juices deep into his bowels.
And he wondered aloud why it felt so good to hurt so bad.
It's supposed to, came the quietly whispered reply. It's supposed to.
Heartware
(Sap and plenty of it for such a short piece. Originally posted to Ter/Ma as a
birthday snip January 2, 2000)
Krycek opened his eyes and squinted against the bright sunlight.
"You need to buy some curtains, Mulder."
"Why? Got something against morning?"
"Only when it happens before noon."
Mulder laughed and tossed a small, brightly wrapped package on the bed.
Warily, Krycek looked up.
"What's in the box?"
"A present."
"I got that part. Why?"
"Because it's your birthday, stupid, that's why."
"I thought we agreed—"
"No, Alex. We didn't agree. You agreed. I didn't say anything. C'mon, stop
making such a big deal out of it and open it."
Krycek looked from the package to Mulder and back to the package again, then
ripped the brightly colored paper off.
Quiet settled over the room while he read the card. It took one long minute before
he opened the small box and took the gift
from its satin folds. Reaching up, he touched Mulder's cheek. "Thank you."
In his hand he held a simple chain with a medallion that bore the word love on one
side and lyubov', it's Russian equivalent,
on the other.
Mulder kissed him gently and said, "I wanted to give you something you could wear
near your heart. Happy Birthday, baby."
Santa Claus is Coming to Town
(previously posted to M/K Fight Club on December
25th, 1999)
8:15 a.m. December 25th, 1999
Clinton Crossing
Clinton, Connecticut
The hard blow to his stomach sent Krycek to his knees with a groan. The fact that he
saw it coming didn't lessen the pain, only
the shock.
"Doing a little early morning shopping, Alex? Stores are all closed and these look to
be a bit out of your league."
Krycek fought hard to regain his wind before saying, "Mulder. How nice to see you
again and here I thought I was the only one
doing the morning route. I was actually just looking for a place to get coffee. What
are you doing this far north?"
Ignoring the question, Mulder said, "Get up."
Krycek looked up into Mulder's face warily. Get up? That's it, he thought, one blow
and you're quitting? "Why?"
He heard the unmistakable 'click' off to his left and decided it was in his best interest
not to question again. A beating he could
handle but a bullet...
"Fine. I'll go but if Santa catches you doing this, there'll be coal in your stocking
when you get back home."
They made their way to Mulder's car and drove for a few miles to a deserted park
where Mulder killed the engine. Krycek
knew what was happening and tried to ignore how the thickening in his groin was
tightening his faded blue jeans to an almost
uncomfortable level. Before he could speak, Mulder grabbed and kissed him so
harshly that he knew he'd feel the throb long
after their lips had parted.
Pushing hard against him, ignoring the inhuman feel of the left arm, Mulder said,
"Get out of the car. Move Krycek. Now."
Krycek stood in the bitter cold and waited for the pain but felt... nothing. Over his
shoulder he said, "Okay. I'm out. Now
what?"
He turned back and noticed Mulder unzipping his jeans. Letting them drop to the
ground and trying without much success to
ignore the cold, he turned and bent over the hood of the car.
Krycek felt his cock grow harder. "Jesus, Mulder. You want me to...? Now? In
broad daylight? Why?"
"It's Christmas, Krycek." As an afterthought he added, "The lube's in the glove
compartment."
Not waiting for a second invitation, or worse, the chance to wake up from what he
knew was surely a dream, Krycek retrieved
the supplies from the interior. Spreading them on the car hood where Mulder could
see them, he ran his hand over the firm
muscle before him and felt it quiver. He let his hand drop. "Turn around, Mulder."
"It's going to be tough to do it that way, Krycek, can't you—"
"Shut up and just do it."
"Fine."
Turning slowly, he looked Krycek in the eyes and saw a flicker of something he'd
never seen before. Emotion, he thought.
Instead of dead, cold eyes, he saw emotion.
Mulder watched as Krycek dropped to his knees and nursed his quiescent cock to
life using deep, sucking motions. He chewed
back the first moan that threatened escape but gave the next one the freedom it
deserved.
He tried to resist the urge to grip Krycek's head but his hands kept straying to the
sleek skull and in the end all he could do was
surrender to the sensations, holding on tightly while he shot his load down Krycek's
waiting throat.
Minutes later, Krycek stood wiping the last of Mulder's seed from his lips, licking his
fingers with great care and avoiding the
muddy hazel eyes. Finally, he turned on his black booted heel and walked away,
saying over his shoulder, "Merry Christmas,
Mulder."
"Krycek, wait..."
Looking back at the visibly stricken man he said, "No. I don't think so, Mulder. Let's
not make more of this than there really is
because you and I both know that when tomorrow comes, we'll go on as if this
never happened." Alone No More
(smacks of schmoop and sap—previously posted to Ter/MA on December 24th, 1999)
"Alex? Hey, Alex? You awake?"
Krycek's sleepy voice dripped with irritation. "I am now. What is it? Christ, Mulder
it's—"
"It's almost Christmas."
Hearing the wistfulness in Mulder's voice, he silently cursed himself for being such a
jerk. Pulling him close he whispered,
"And?"
"When I was a kid, Sam and I had this pact... if one of us was awake at midnight on
Christmas Eve, it was mandatory that we
woke the other one up, that way whoever was awake wouldn't feel alone in the
dark."
"You're not alone, Fox."
"She is."
"You don't know that though, not for certain."
"I know I don't. I was just awake and felt..." Mulder's voice faded into the still air.
"Alone?"
"A little. I'm sorry, I just wanted to—"
"Shh. No apologies. I'm glad you woke me." Krycek wrapped his one good arm
around his lover and kissed him deeply,
silently vowing that this man would never feel alone again.
They held each other close and listened to the clock in the living room chime 12
times.
"Merry Christmas, Fox."
Mulder heard the smile in Krycek's voice and answered, "Merry Christmas, Alex."
His Mouth
(submitted as a snip to nixxers and slashx on July 26th)
If I remember nothing else of Alex when I die, I will remember his mouth, that cold
cruel line cut into his handsome face and
when he smiled, how it instantly softened. I will remember his lips, firm yet softly
pliant when kissed, how they yielded to
mine when stroked with my tongue, the way they parted, inviting me inside to taste
tart and sweet softness crowned by the
hard edge of his teeth.
I will remember for all time the heat of that first forbidden kiss. The crush of his lips,
the bittersweet ache in my groin as his
tongue found mine, claiming it, as well as my heart. Powerless to stop my mouth
from answering his, I surrendered to his kiss
and losing never felt so good or so right.
Others may remember his eyes, aquamarine flecks rimmed by dark thick lashes,
with a stare that bore through until it found
your soul or maybe his voice; smooth and welcomed as warmed brandy on a cold
winter's night but I... I will remember his
mouth.
Untitled
(5/19/1999) (Posted to nick-fixx. Contains spoilers for 'Biogenesis',
read at your own risk.)
Familiar boots pass by my head and I smell your scent, that tang that's more you
than bottle bought. I remember it from long
ago, back when we were partners and from that cell in Tunguska, same scent but
fear sharp. I remember it from my apartment,
still sharp but musky as well. It drifts up the stairs with you.
I hear your voice and others. Pain grips my head once more, leaving my mind to
scream 'help' because my mouth can't form the
word.
Time passes but how much? Minutes? Hours?
"Mulder, who do want me to call? Skinner?"
Oh thank God, I didn't think you'd come back. Fighting hard to respond because at
this point I'm not above begging, even
begging you, for help. "Scu—lly." It hurts so damn much to speak and the voices are
so fucking loud. Please help me, Alex.
"I can't call her Mulder, she'd never let me go and I can't leave you here alone.
Never mind, I know who to call."
The strains of your one-sided conversation filter through the voices in my head. I
lay here catching stray words like 'hurting',
'help' and 'too late' before falling prey to the pain again, and silently beg you to
come back.
Your hand softly rubs gentle circles on my back.
"Help is on the way. I know she's not your first choice. She's not mine, either. I tried
Skinner but no luck. Don't worry Mulder,
I'll get you out of here."
Your touch is so soothing, leaving conflicted feelings to rattle through my mind,
pushing the sounds of chaos to the
background. I wanted your help and yet if given the opportunity, would I have
reacted the same way? My already bruised
faith takes another beating.
The sound of light footsteps, the scent of Chanel #5, the swish of nylons. I know
them all but can't place them. My head hurts
so much.
"I'll take it from here, Krycek."
Diana? No! Alex, don't let her take me. The heat from your hand vanishes. Your
voice grows distant.
"I should say 'thank you' but I won't, not yet. Get him some help Fowley, because if
you don't, if you use him... if you hurt
him, there's no place in this world you can hide that I can't find. Remember that."
"I'm surprised you're giving up this opportunity, Krycek."
"What opportunity would that be?"
"To ingratiate yourself. Gratitude is a powerful aphrodisiac, you know."
"That's the difference between us, Fowley. I want it to be real. You'll take it anyway
you can."
The rhythmic pound of your feet on the steps confirm what I already know. You're
gone, taking your scent and touch with
you.
Untitled
(5/12/99)
He awoke in time to see to the first wisps of silvery mist heralding the summer
morning sunrise. A sidelong glance to his left
proved the bed was indeed empty but still bore a telltale imprint. He gave a quick
smile and shook his head. As his feet hit the
floor, Mulder knew he'd have to move fast. Ignoring the coldness of the hardwood,
he searched for his discarded clothing.
He found Krycek sitting on the abandoned wooden dock; his long legs hung over
the edge, swaying to an easy unheard rhythm,
a thermos and two mugs by his side. Steam rose from one of the mugs, sending its
curling tendrils into the cool morning air.
Mulder toed off his sneakers and sat down next to him, covering them both in the
multicolored quilt he had grabbed on his way
out of the cottage. He poured the coffee into the other mug, wrapped his free hand
around the heavy ceramic and drank slowly,
letting the hot liquid slide down his throat, warming him from the inside out.
For the next few minutes, the sky changed from hues of deep gray and purple to
bright brilliant pinks and lavenders. Mulder
watched out of the corner of his eye as Krycek's breath came out in a long puff of
steam, timed almost perfectly to the sun
cresting the horizon.
Krycek's sandpaper whisper broke the silence. "You know, I never paid much
attention to things like sunrises before." He
shook his head slightly and continued. "I just looked at them as a sign I had lived
through another night."
"Interesting take, Alex. So what's different now?"
Their eyes met briefly before Alex's stare turned back to the sea and newly risen
sun.
"You."
Dark Line
(Previously posted as an apology snippet with some very
minor additions.)
Alex emerged from the bathroom, all dewy skin and spiky hair, with a brown terry
towel slung low around his hips. Wisps of
sage scented steam followed closely behind him, warming the air and filling the
room with its clean scent.
Mulder lay comfortably sprawled on his stomach in the rumpled bed, with a damp,
freshly fucked look about him; his skin
flushed, eyes half-lidded. The tan blanket thrown haphazardly over him left one
finely muscled leg exposed.
Sighing inwardly, he forced himself to find the glittering eyes in the clean-shaven
face rather than follow the line of dark hair
that began at Alex's naval and trailed enticingly southward past the barrier of cotton
toweling. Don't look, Mulder Š not
there or you won't get to work on time. His cock made a valiant attempt to firm
but failed. A wry smile crossed his lips. Too
soon. I must be getting old.
"Fox? Hey... get up or you're gonna be late."
Mulder smiled his acknowledgment, most of which was lost in the pillow beneath
his head. He watched through lash veiled
eyes as Alex stepped closer to the side of the bed. Oh yeah, c'mon, that's right...
closer, just a... little... bit... closer. Yeah... that's it, right there. The fine line of dark hair was within arm's length. He chewed
his lip in an effort to eat the groan that
threatened to escape. I shouldn't, I really shouldn't. We'll both be fired for sure. Ah
fuck it. They wouldn't dare.
Mulder's hand snaked out from under the blanket, found the warm, silky skin
before him and traced his index finger down the
line of hair, starting at the naval and ending with his thumb and finger hooked over
the top of the towel. He felt the warm skin
quiver and when he heard the soft hiss of breath, looked up at Alex's face and
smiled.
"It's like a map, you know? Just like a map. Buried treasure." Mulder continued, his
finger lazily stroking the soft skin above
the towel. "I don't want to go to work today Alex, do you?"
"No, not really." More breath than sound.
"Good."
The brown terry towel fell forgotten to the floor before their lips touched.
Waking
(Previously posted as an untitled apology snippet. I was asked to finish it Š so I did.)
So here we are once again, Alex. Just you and me in some decrepit motel in the
middle of the night. In the middle of nowhere.
Ever wonder why we do this? Why we're here stealing forbidden moments of...
well, certainly not love but maybe... need?
Companionship? Yeah. Right. Whatever.
Do you remember the exact moment we crossed the line and formed this tenuous
trust?
Of course you'd scoff at the word 'trust', maintaining you don't trust anyone, least
of all me. Still, there must be some form of it
between us for you to sleep, hell for you to even blink, around me. I could kill
you. I should have at least a thousand times
over for what you've done, for what I've let you do. And for what I've prayed you
would do.
Instead here I sit, watching you sleep because sleeping is the only time you don't
look haunted... or hunted. Your features
soften in sleep; not quite angelic but not quite the devil I thought you to be. Your
mouth parts slightly and those damnable
lashes settle in perfect symmetry on sallow cheeks. You need to stop living in the
shadows Alex, it does nothing for your
color.
That body of yours carries more scars than I care to count. Some a direct result of
our previous meetings and others... well...
let's call them an indirect result.
Tunguska.
I never did tell you how sorry I was for what happened there. Not that you would
have accepted the apology. You'd have
looked at me and cut me off before the first words left my mouth. You'd have told
me it wasn't my fault... or tried. In the end
it wouldn't have mattered. I wear guilt well, or so you say.
You're restless now. Quiet sighs and languid moves. That internal clock of yours is
telling you it's almost dawn. I'll make it
easy on you... me... hell, on both of us.
I'll leave first this time.
Just one last kiss...
"Mulder."
"Jesus, Alex—"
"Stay."
Damn.
Busted.
And just how long have you been awake, Alex? How did I not know?
"You were watching me. Why?"
That's what I like about you. Quick and to the point. I could lie but why bother?
"Because you look... I don't know... at
peace when you sleep."
Go ahead... laugh. Just do it quietly please. I'll wait.
I can see your reflection in the mirror on the dresser. Nice profile. 2 days worth of
stubble makes you look a good five years
older, at least 5 lb. thinner and let's not discuss the sinister part.
Let's not discuss the way your voice starts a slow burn centered deep and
dangerously low near my cock, either.
Shit. Eye contact.
That's it. I'm fucked. Plain and simple. Your eyes do it every time.
Have you ever wondered why I screw mine shut when you're fucking me? It's
because I can't look at you... at your eyes.
Those clear, piercing, look-in-every-dark-corner-of-my-mind eyes. Because if I do, if
I look even once, all of these lousy one
night stands in these countless, godforsaken motels, hotels and car back seats will
mean something.
Do we really want that?
Do we?
Do you?
Do I?
Ah shit... yes.
"Stay."
That voice, those eyes. Yeah... and this time, I might even keep my eyes open.
The Drive Home
(I don't think I'm quite cut out for writing unadulterated schmoop.)
It must have been the monotonous slap of the windshield wipers that lulled you into
closing your eyes. I hadn't noticed you'd
dropped off until you didn't answer my last question. It wasn't important anyway.
We'll figure out something for dinner.
Casting quick sidelong glances, I catch the years melting off your face as you drift
deeper and deeper into sleep. I love how
your mouth softens a bit, allowing your lips to part and show a glint of alabaster.
How the soft, lush fringe of your lashes
extend their reach over your cheeks, aided by the shadow of the setting sun.
I can feel a smile spread over my lips when the restless animal in you tries to
lengthen in the confined space of a compact car
seat, searching in sleep and vain for a comfortable place to stretch your legs. The
curve of your neck is all too inviting; my
tongue remembers its sweet salty taste, my cock remembers the rest. Shifting my
gaze back to your lips doesn't help. More
memories take turns jacking my restless member up another notch or two. That
warm, wet mouth should be declared illegal and
dangerous and I should know... I've been at its mercy, and yours, more than once.
Quiet moans. What are you dreaming about, Alex? Your tongue snakes out to
moisten dry lips. Holding my breath, I mirror the
action and taste not my mouth, but yours.
How long until we're home? An itchy, hot trickle of sweat follows the line of my
scalp. My mouth is desert dry and my throat
no longer functions as God or nature intended.
Turning off the exit brings us one mile closer to home and gives me strength to
resist the urge to stop the car on some darkened
road and suck you. I can only try to imagine your expression, waking to the
sensation of my mouth on your cock. Sex with
you is unbelievable Alex but there's a lot to be said for the quick blowjob, too. I love
feeling your pulse on my tongue, your
hands on my head with those long fingers tangled in my hair, pulling, begging me
with no words at all, only whimpers and
half-shouted screams. And the taste of you. So many words come to mind and none
do your taste justice. Nectar is the closest.
More than a little distracted I maneuver my way through the dusk darkened streets
of Alexandria, trying hard but not hard
enough to ignore the long legs and the bulge of your groin. It's just a short drive
home from here yet I still want to stop in one
of the dark alleys along the way and take you, drive into you, make you scream and
beg for more.
My hand, by will of its own, reaches over the short space between us and lightly
traces the outline of your penis. Deceptively
quiescent now but I know the power sleeping just under its surface. I've felt it
buried in me and tasted your salty-sweet juices.
My apartment building looms in the foreground. Oh thank God, we're home.
"C'mon baby, we're home." Is my calm voice is enough? Do you have any idea
what kind of drive it's been?
"Mmm. Awake. I'm awake."
No you aren't, not yet.
Shifting, you sit up straight by way of a stretch. Your eyes are still sleep dulled.
"I know. I fell asleep. I wasn't much company for you, was I?"
There's a sheepish apology buried in your tone. It's all I can do not to snicker.
"No problem, Alex. It gave me a chance to think about a few things."
"Oh. Anything good?"
Wide awake now and about as innocent as you can look. This is just too easy. I
should be ashamed or at least have the decency
to blush. But I'm not and I don't.
"Yeah, dinner."
Snippets
by Phyre
I wanted my snippets and blatherings to have a comfortable place to live. The
newest ones are usually posted first. Sometimes I
move them around and use them in stories. If one you've read before is missing, a
new story is usually the case.
(Originally posted on SlashX mailing list, with a few subtle
changes to appease the anal side of me.)
