He couldn't believe it, couldn't believe him. Here they were, trapped
in a freezing pitch-black room about six feet square, and he sounded
calm enough to lapse into a coma. "I can't sit down, I'm too fucking
nervous—"
"Then stand still. You're making me dizzy just watching you."
Oh, that was funny. But he stopped anyway, rubbing his palms up and
down both arms, finally giving up, sliding down the splintery wall
beside his partner with a dejected sigh. "How long?"
"An hour, maybe two. The air'll last longer if we don't talk."
The silence was worse, though, a lot worse. This'd been a bad idea,
luring Mulder out to this abandoned mountain mine on the pretense of
investigating a suspected haunting, when all he'd really wanted was
to
get him alone on another out-of-town trip, engineer a perfect
motel-room seduction that night. He hadn't counted on a load of loose
shale showering down, sealing off the entrance. Fuck. Guess he should
be careful what he wished for...
So here they were, shivering and suffocating by slow degrees, with
nothing either of them could do about it. Mulder's cell phone had been
damaged in the landslide, but he'd gotten a call into 911 before it'd
conked out completely. Now all they could do was sit and wait, while
the air seeped away...
"Alex?" He wasn't sure if it was the sound of his name or Mulder's hand
on his arm, but he jumped. "You okay?"
"No, I'm not fucking okay, I'm fucking dying, and so are you—"
"Why didn't you tell me you're claustrophobic?"
A protest hung on the tip of his tongue, dying stillborn at the feel
of
fingertips skimming his jaw, gently tipping his head back—
Lips touching his, Mulder's lips, soft and sensual and full, teasing
him open, tongues delving, sweeping like wet velvet, hands exploring,
tearing each other's flies open, both of them rock-hard in a matter
of
seconds—
"Turn over," Mulder whispered roughly, pushing Alex onto his stomach,
yanking his slacks down over his ass, spit-moistened fingers probing
his tight hole, opening, stretching, swiftly replaced by the tip of
his
erection, shoving in with one sharp thrust—
It hurt, hurt like hell, burning, tearing him apart, forcing the breath
from his lungs, but he didn't care, if he had to die he wanted to die
like this, Mulder's warm, jerky breath feathering the nape of his neck,
Mulder's hand snaking beneath him, curling around his shaft, stroking,
milking him—
Mulder's soft gasps and cries mirroring his own, exploding, unraveling
them both at the same time—
They lay there a long time, Mulder still draped over his back, not
moving, barely breathing. The air was thin now, musty-tasting. Not
much
time left...
"How'd you know?" he whispered, fingers wrapping around Mulder's palm.
"That you wanted—?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe because I wanted it too," Mulder replied, softly kissing his
hair.
Then there was a sound—a loud thump and crunch, and suddenly part
of
the roof caved in, dumping dirt and shale a few feet away from them—
Letting in sunlight and air, cool, fresh, rain-soaked air. "You guys
okay in there?" came a voice.
"Looks like we're rescued," Mulder murmured, standing up, straightening
his clothes.
He got up, doing the same, dragging in deep breaths, waiting for the
rescue team to clear an opening big enough for them to climb through.
They weren't going to die, not in here, not together...
Part of him couldn't help feeling disappointed.
The End...
Landslide
by Sugar Rush
"Sit down, Krycek. You're using up all the air."
