Afternoon Weirdness III: Shadowsweat by Te 8/98 Disclaimers: They do not belong to me, I mean no harm. Spoilers: Doubtful Summary: Mulder does some thinking. Ratings Note: Strong R, I'd say. Author's Note: Yet another attempt to distract Alicia at work... Acknowledgments: To my darlingest Alicia, for yet another stunning beta job. All remaining mistakes are my own. Afternoon Weirdness III: Shadowsweat by Te Daddy793@aol.com ****** Long, long legs. You're not supposed to notice a man's legs, I know, but his were rather impossible to ignore. Even back then. Scissoring neatly at my side and just behind, the occasional bend and flex revealing a tantalizing hint of muscle beneath the horror of a suit. They made me want to kneel down and peel those wool-blend monstrosities off. Made me... No, you're right, there's no real point in being coy. Coy. That's how I thought of him. All husky purr and big green eyes. All too obvious in his schoolboy adoration, right down to the right phrases. The crowning touch was the occasional sharp little gleam. An invitation to share the joke, to take him aside and meet the "real" Alex. Yeah, I fell for it. Hard, too. I had any number of fantasies about it.... I could always count on my brain to provide just the right film reel for the impossible or simply wrong. My favorite, now.... That had to be the office one. One day I'd lean back in that awful bullpen chair and he'd say, all solicitude, "Is there anything wrong, Mulder?" Maybe even "Agent Mulder," if he was trying especially hard to be correct and good, or give the appearance of same. And I would say, "No, Alex, not really...." and wait for the gleam of pleasure -- it would be real, I was sure of it -- at my use of his first name, and then, "I was just thinking," Quizzical face. Cute puppy face. "I want to show you something." "Sure, Mulder." And I'd take him down *there*. To the office. And I'd show him everything, and I'd let the hope -- it would be real, I won't lie to myself -- that he'd appreciate it show. He'd say: "This really means a lot, Mulder. That you... you could trust me with this." Purring even more than usual. Laying it on thick. "How much does it mean to you?" A hint -- just a hint, mind you -- of what I wanted. But he was trained to listen for it, I knew that, too. He'd look at me, then. I knew how badly he wanted me, you see, even under the lies. That is, I thought I did. It took a while for me to get the control to slow it down at this point. "What do you mean?" He'd let his eyes roam, then. Maybe throw a glance at the door I'd closed and locked. It's a fantasy, I'm allowed to break a few policies. "How far are you willing to go for this game, Krycek?" "Wha--?" "Suck me." He'd reel back a bit, and the anger would peek through as he tried to figure out the best way to handle this little turn of events. Delicious. Then the game face would be back, nervous lick at his lips. "Mulder?" I wouldn't say a word then. Just undo my pants, whip myself out. Moment of truth. If he wasn't a plant he'd have to at least *pretend* to be outraged. Walk out. If he was a spy, even if getting in my pants wasn't the agenda, he'd have to do whatever I said. Gain my trust. Flaws in the reasoning, to be sure, but they're not the sort you worry about with your cock in your hand, heavy and slick. He'd kneel, of course. I'd lose myself in that sharp tongue at the slit, soft lips taking me deeper and deeper... "Look at me." Those lashes would flutter. Hard to keep your game face on with a cock in your mouth, but he'd do it. Confusion. Lust. Hurt... Maybe his lip would be split from the thrusts. I'd put my hand in the damp hair, caress in a way that could, possibly, be construed as apology. His hand, the one that wasn't pumping me nice and slow, would slip down to his own pants. "Don't you fucking touch yourself, Krycek. You're mine, got that?" Sometimes I could even fool myself that my voice would be steady and convincing at that point. In any case, I'd get another flash of anger. That "Just wait" look. But I'd rub the back of his neck a little. Make a few encouraging sounds. Just as his eyes closed again I'd yank him off. None too gently. He'd be a little off-balance. Definitely confused. I'd let him watch me stroke myself for a little while before moving closer. Run my cock over his cheek. Dirty that pretty face. This is exactly what you deserve, you son of a bitch. I think I could've kept myself from saying that out loud. His eyes would get a little dazed, then. He wants to be used. He knows he deserves it. He'd run his tongue out to catch at me. I'd backhand him. It took weeks before I could hold my load beyond that point. Point, point.... I'm sure I had one. It doesn't matter, now. Of course he was a spy. Who knows, maybe if I'd ever actually followed through instead of just jerking him off in some anonymous rest stop men's room it would've gone down exactly that way. Or maybe he would've looked at me, bold and shameless. Walked up to me and asked what I really wanted. I bet I would've told him... and then I would've *had* to kill him, one of those times. And it would've been over. And I wouldn't be sitting here, waiting for him to either suck my dick or slit my throat. Wondering if, at this point, it really matters which. ~~~~~~ End. ~~~~~~