Afternoon Weirdness 15: Good Enough
by Te
12/98

Disclaimers: Not mine at all. Dammit.

Spoilers: None.

Ratings Note: NC-17 for poor language and m/m 
interaction. 

Summary: Another morning with Mulder and Krycek.

Author's Note: A while back I had a conversation with 
Viridian that I just couldn't shake *and* that (eventually) 
led to this story as well as to yet another nickname that I 
won't tell you. Oh yeah, and this is a possible sequel to 
AW10: Shameless. I don’t think it’s necessary to read that 
one first, though. 

Acknowledgments: To my Sister Blue, because she survived 
the holidays with her family without winding up jailed for 
multiple homicide. To Rae for fine audiencing, to Viridian 
and Alicia for many helpful suggestions and necessary 
pre-stroke, and to the wicked and wonderful Ladonna for 
great beta. All remaining mistakes and ambiguities are 
entirely my own fault, and you should feel free to call me 
on them at the address below. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Afternoon Weirdness 15: Good Enough
by Te
Daddy793@aol.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder slipped out of the bathroom, careful not to brush 
Alex as he went. The other man was still half-asleep -- a 
level of trust to be proud of -- and pissing steadily. 
Nothing wrong, per se, with a brush on his way out, but the 
act tended to do... odd... things to Alex if done while he 
was relieving himself.

Mulder was willing to admit the fault was his own. It had, 
after all, been his idea that night to use the shower for 
those purposes. Mulder swept his gaze over the other man
and decided that those purposes demanded a repeat 
performance.

In the meantime, though, it was another sunless Saturday, 
January chill and grey, and there was little romance to 
being nude at such times. On the way to the dresser, 
though, something on the bed caught his eye. 

He stepped closer to discover... an outfit. Pants and a 
shirt, nothing too outre, really, but it was velvet. Blue-
black of that shade best suited to a bruise on a Jamaican 
stereotype... and velvet. 

"Put it on."

Alex was just behind him, pressed promisingly close and 
nuzzling his ear lightly. His face was warm, abruptly alien
to Mulder. There were times physical contact became... 
difficult. When the feel of another body was suddenly just
too *different* to be borne. 

Mulder pulled away with a small shake, bent to finger the
material. Sat on the bed, turning to face his lover. Alex 
had pulled away himself, and Mulder wasn't sure whether
it was pique or consideration. He was naked, too, and 
leaned casually against Mulder's -- now apparently 
useless -- dresser. 

Alex's expression was of that pleasant blandness designed
to make people not look twice. It was a surprisingly 
effective mask on the man, considering the basic 
difficulties of hiding such an *odd* brand of 
attractiveness.

The only thing that it made *Mulder* do, however, was think 
of the days when they had been partners, and shudder. It 
had been far too easy for Alex to --

"Don't look at me that way."

Alex's nose crinkled into that painfully childish 't' of a 
frown and he cocked his head. "What way?"

"Like I'm just another mark."

"What do you --" Alex cut himself off with a grin. 
Unintentionally patronizing, it seemed less to say "you got 
me," than "you're so cute when you think you know me."

Mulder tried to shake off the run of his thoughts and eyed 
the outfit again. He felt his lips purse into a moue of 
distaste. 

"If you wanted to play dress up you could have just bought
me a corset or something, Alex."

"What's wrong with what I *did* buy you?" The stress was 
light, the tone as well. Alex's way of allowing him to move 
this latest game into the realm of humor. 

It was the sort of thing that made Mulder regretful, 
especially when something Alex said or did was simply too 
curious to let pass. As though he was scorning an 
unfamiliar generosity. 

"You're going to make me look like an aging club kid. Like 
at any given moment I'll succumb to the inherently 
annoying melodrama and spout off platitudes about how
it's my *right* to be depressed, man."

Alex snickered, shifted a bit on the dresser before moving 
to the bed. He nudged Mulder's legs apart with a casual 
knee, knelt between his thighs. The positioning, as always, 
put a twitch in Mulder's cock and dried his tongue. He 
couldn't feel it yet, but he was sure that it would become 
obvious at some point that his IQ was dropping 
precipitously.

The look in the other man's eyes appeared to shuffle amid 
any number of expressions before settling, briefly, on 
earnest. Earnestly what?

Not enough time to ask the question, or even to answer it 
for himself, before olive eyes shifted to slow burn.

"Mulder..."

Husky and low, hint of an accent perhaps more seductively 
changeable than even his eyes. 

"Hmmm...?"

Quicksilver grin, perhaps at his inability to come up with 
something more intelligent, and a slight dip and shift of 
his head. Alex dragged not-quite-dry lips over Mulder's 
left thigh and Mulder caught himself spreading wider.

"What is it, Alex?"
 
Another nuzzle and then Alex was kneeling straight again, 
expression solemn, eyes sparkling. Mulder wondered, 
sometimes, whether it hurt to be on constant shuffle that
way. Sometimes he looked at Alex and thought of the scent 
of ozone and melted plastic aging stereo equipment 
occasionally gave off. But for now...

"Not all Goths are quite like that, Mulder."

Mulder shrugged, made a motion toward waving the assertion
off. A learned response so he wouldn't always have to say 
"yes, I knew that already." 
 
He knew Alex understood it.

"Besides, I wasn't necessarily thinking Goth so much as... 
pettable."

"Pettable."

Alex's hand on his left thigh, it should have been too soft 
to be so plainly possessive. "Yes."

"I'm not... pettable... enough au naturel?"

Fishing. Definitely fishing but there was a high singing 
wire of recklessness tightening around his throat. 
Razorwire, and, perhaps, when it had sliced through the 
flesh he'd simply tell Alex everything...

"...pettable, no. Kissable, yes. Fuckable, definitely. 
Spankable... any day of the week. But not pettable."

"I feel like I should be insulted."

"Don't be. No one who isn't fuzzy is pettable."

"Really?" Mulder ran one finger down the smooth -- he'd 
taken the time to shave -- line of Alex's jaw, down his 
throat, over one wing of the collarbone. Alex watched him 
closely, but did not move. In this position, the other man 
resembled nothing more nor less than a piece of brilliant 
machinery. It was really no wonder at all that an Alex in 
motion made every hair prickle in electric attention. "Not 
even someone with silk-smooth skin, creamy and inviting?"

Alex's expression turned faintly mocking, and there was no
sign of flattered embarrassment. Mulder was grateful for 
the moment of honesty, and moved his hand down to rub 
awkwardly at a nipple. Alex mmmed at him once before 
speaking.

"I need to get some sun and the proper term for people like
me is 'strokeable.'"

Mulder pressed a little harder before slipping around to 
Alex's back and tugging him closer. "Not pettable?"

"Not pettable."

Lazy play, the sort that could last for hours without 
either of them noticing, but time was always a concern and 
Mulder *wanted*.

"Get up here."

Speculative gleam this time and then Mulder was on his 
back, securely covered by Alex's warmth and flex. He tested 
his legs and found them free of entanglement, which was 
upsetting. He did his own tangling and nudged Alex's leg
just hard enough to make the man start to rock his lower 
thigh.

Too good for such a casual move and Mulder rubbed himself 
along the other man's thigh, ran the arm untrapped by 
Alex's grip down to the firm muscle of his ass and pulled 
hard. Alex responded by moving in for a slow, deep kiss and 
rotating his hips. The move brought to mind the dance as
foreplay, the effect that of watching any consummate 
performer -- lost to his act, yet fully aware of what he 
does to the audience.

Mulder groaned into Alex's mouth and had his tongue 
suckled for a brief moment of messily easy lust before the 
other man broke the kiss with a wet smack and an 
animalistic *push*. Alex used his face for such brute acts 
of gentle distancing, unwary of an angry snap or perhaps 
simply confident that Mulder would no more mar that 
beauty than scar himself. 

There were times when Mulder eyed corkscrews and his 
own flesh with a brand of speculative desire. 

"Put it on? For me?"

"I feel the need to remind you that a, we're both already 
naked, and b, changing that state of affairs would prove 
terribly inconvenient, considering the fact that I'm, c, 
more than ready for you to show me just how fuckable I 
am."

Widely happy smile. "And spankable. Don't forget 
spankable."

"How could I? Move off me a little more, and I'll turn over 
so you can show me that, too."

Alex's smile mutated into something quite predatory and 
then Mulder was being bitten. On the cheek, on the chin, 
just below the ear, one nipple, two, a rib, his navel and 
there was the slickly hot tongue and then teeth again, just 
off to the sides of his genitals. Too close not to be 
feared, too far away not to be impossibly erotic.

"Alex--"

"Put it on."

Mulder met the other man's gaze with difficulty, finally 
propping himself up on one elbow and staring down the 
peppered-red length of his own body to do so. Alex was 
poised, crouched above his hips, lips parted, moving almost
too subtly to be noticed save for the hallucinatory flashes 
of teeth. It occurred to Mulder, perhaps a bit late, that 
*he* wasn't the one who needed to be leashed...

But there was no leash here, just velvet clothes, and 
Mulder realized that if he didn't put them on now, as 
distasteful as the idea was, there'd be just that much more 
time to be 
painfully unsatisfied. 

"You didn't say the magic word." That didn't mean he 
couldn't be irritating about the capitulation. 

Alex snickered, sucked hard for a tiny flash of hurt and 
*yes*, and then looked up again. "Please put it on, 
Mulder."

"Well, since you asked so *nice*..." And his voice was 
shaky, but he decided the effect was a pleasant one.  

The jacket-y shirt slipped on easily, the interior vaguely 
slick and satiny. Cool on his nipples, just tight enough 
that Mulder found himself hoping he wouldn't have to raise
his arms -- it would've ruined the lines. The pants, 
though...

He looked at the pants, his erection, the pants, his 
erection, Alex. 

"No chance of underwear, I suppose?"

Alex was lounging against the headboard, eyes roving along 
Mulder's body like a sprinkle of glitter on a sticky page. 
It was impossible to feel ridiculous in the beam of that 
gaze, naked from the waist down or no. 

"Do you really want to wear *boxers* under those, Mulder?"

It was the sort of smile that made a person want to change 
everything about themselves just to be able to say, "no, 
you *don't* know me, dammit," but Mulder decided it would 
be easier on his sanity to play along.

"Boxer briefs wouldn't disturb the... aesthetics... as 
much."

"Yeah, but I'd know. And *you'd* know."

Mulder ran one hand along his chest, winter-rough palm 
catching slightly on the subtle nap of the shirt. It didn't 
do too much for him, but then he was avoiding the sensitive 
spots. And he wasn't doing it for himself, anyway.

"Alex."

He could almost feel the pull as the other man dragged his 
stare up and over his body to Mulder's eyes. There was 
certainly something tugging on his cock, in any case, and 
Mulder had the distinct impression that this outfit 
wouldn't get more than one wearing. 

"What is it?"

"Don't you want to touch me yet?"

Alex winced like he'd been hit, hissing. It was the sort of 
cruelty that rebounded on the punisher, but Mulder had 
always believed Medea had had a point. And there was 
nothing quite like making Alex lose control.

"Of course I want to touch you..." 

Low, almost angry, certainly... impatient. Mulder didn't 
have a clue as to how much of the impatience was due to 
restrained lust and how much was just --

"Put the pants on and I will."

Mulder picked up the pants, held them against his waist. It 
would be a tight fit, but not an unforgiving one. "What are 
you getting out of this?"

"I'll show you when you're dressed." 

No one made promises like Alex Krycek. Mulder was 
reasonably positive that nothing short of throat cancer 
would make it any easier to refuse the man when he was 
*really* trying. A distressing power imbalance, unhelped by
the knowledge that he could make Alex do quite a few 
strange things himself. 

The skirt came to mind, for an example, but then.... Mulder 
couldn't help believing there was no real *effort* on the 
other man's part when it came to his requests. Alex 
certainly never made *him* work this hard. And yet, it was 
far too easy to turn what had started out as a perfectly 
healthy criticism into just another reason to berate 
himself when the man, 
inevitably, left.

Same smooth and cool interior as the top, but this was 
different somehow, more noticeable. It was a pleasant 
distraction to try to decide *why*. It could've been the 
no-going back finality of stepping in and pulling up, with 
its uncomfortable resonances to childhood. It could've been
the simple fact Mulder hadn't worn anything this tight on 
his legs since college, while he wore tee shirts quite 
often. It could've been the perverse-bordering-on-idiotic 
act of putting *on* clothes when his cock had been aching 
so long that pain was becoming a highly sexualized 
familiarity. 

Which brought Alex to mind again, and he paused at the 
moderately terrifying task of zipping the fly to take 
another look at him. Hungry and that wasn't going to help 
him get that fly up. Stroking himself and no Russian dog 
ever reacted so predictably to such a sight. Mulder prided 
himself on his ability to redirect the learned urges.

"Do it for me, Alex."

A quirked eyebrow and then Alex was sliding off the bed 
and on his knees. He used his hand to push Mulder's cock 
back out of the way, and his teeth to tug the zipper up. 
There were times that Mulder didn't mind the fact that he 
couldn't *quite* call Alex his lover. 

Alex stood then, careful to rub his entire front along 
Mulder's body as he went. He was happy he hadn't taken the 
time to raise the thermostat this morning, because long 
sleeves and long pants were anything but conducive to heat. 
The pants were already much too tight, the force of his 
erection seemingly enough to stretch the fabric obscenely 
over his ass.

Mulder was too warm and too hard and all he could think of 
himself as was shrink-wrapped meat. Alex grabbed his ass 
and pulled them together hard, thrusting against Mulder 
with instinctive rhythm, but not kissing him. Alex held his 
face perhaps three inches away, a distance that Mulder used 
to find impossibly provocative but was now only troubling.

"You're beautiful. I should have brought some eye-liner, 
maybe kohl --"

"You do realize what a ridiculous statement that is to 
make to someone you *had* naked, don't you?" 

By the easy chuckle he received in response it was clear 
that his attempt to pull the fear and bitterness out of his 
tone had been all too successful. But then Alex began 
kissing him, soft on his eyelids and cheekbones, sensuously 
slow and 
pressured on his lips. And his hand never stopped moving.

"Come back to the bed, Mulder. Please."

A mockery? A remembered consideration? The careful act of
a man whose fantasy is perhaps mere moments from being 
fulfilled? It didn't matter, it didn't matter. Mulder was 
on the bed and subjected to the restless *petting* of a man 
there was never enough touch with, anyway. 

Thumb over a nipple and there was that curious shiver that
came with being fondled while clothed, that abrupt need to 
keep one's eyes wide and watchful, lest one find oneself 
touched by the dead. 

But Alex... Alex was all flesh and alive. Nude, moving over
him like a skittish dog, fast and light. The strain of 
muscle was easy to see -- he was holding himself back from 
crushing Mulder, or perhaps just from getting enough 
physical contact to come. But a hand here, his cheek there, 
his thigh oh christ his *thigh* --

Mulder had never thought he would look back on those 
drunken, over-heated grope sessions with fondness, and this 
wasn't *really* fondness, but if Alex kept doing that he 
was going to lose it in his brand new pants. And not care 
at all.  Flex and thrust, flex and nudge and there was no 
real rhythm to match so Mulder didn't even try. Let loose 
to find his own pleasure, so long as he continued to 
surrender his velveteen body to the endless strokes--

"Hey, I thought this was supposed to be about petting."

Alex slammed his forehead against Mulder's shoulder a few 
times. "I lied. Look, if you *really* want me to just *pet* 
you, you can slip off this bed, rest your head on my thigh, 
and prepare to be otherwise ignored for several hours. I've 
been told the game has its merits, but I don't think either 
of us have the attention span."

"I've got some Ritalin in the bathroom..."

"No you don't, I checked."

Mulder froze for a moment -- only then realizing that he'd 
continued to undulate despite the lack of attention -- but 
refused to allow his mind to make him more wary of Alex. A 
little voice spoke of one-eighties, but it was far too 
quiet beneath the pound of his heart when Alex flipped him 
over.  Hands and knees, no, wait, knees and shoulders. His 
head was turned awkwardly away from the other man, his body
a rough triangle. 

Mulder watched his shadow move on the opposite wall, warm 
golden light of lamp providing more than enough 
illumination for this small show. His shadow's legs 
could've been naked, were it not for the fuzzed up remnants 
of Alex's passing, Impulsive, forgetful of his audience, 
Mulder braced himself on his arms just long enough for him 
to be able to develop an undulation, a dance ridiculous in 
three dimensions rendered sublime in the two. 

Alex had no place in this nightshade narcissism. Sophistry 
to say the two of them were proper opposites, two sides of 
the same coin. Mulder's only opposite was himself, and 
watching his shadow move was educational in the ways of 
war and love, showing Mulder that it would, eventually, 
take more than the creeping tenderness of the hand cradling 
a leg left trembled in its stretch to lose him this battle 
between himself and his needs. 

More than the solemn lust in Alex's eyes as he moved 
Mulder's velveted ankle low and slow down his purpling cock 
and rubbed. More. Just more than this, because this wasn't 
enough to explain the slack-boned lassitude of his body, 
the sensation that all his joints had been oiled with 
hashish before he was left to find a way to survive in such 
a state. Each move was a small explosion of surrealism 
behind Mulder's eyelids. 

Melting clocks and tiny sharp fingers, invisible and in 
motion, over the edge of his hallucinated vision and Mulder 
could feel, just beneath the skin the march of legions. 
Gathering in force under his throat, his nipples, his 
aching cock, but also spread along a thousand other loosely 
connected points. Alex slid up to join him on the bed 
again, ran his hand up over the shirt with a small purr of 
pleased ownership and tweaked his nipple.

Painful, muffled slightly by the cool, gentle fabric, 
slicker now with his sweat. A dreamy torture, second only 
to the rub and slide of Alex's body along his *again*. Alex 
wanted, and that was obvious, but Mulder was positive 
there'd be no satisfaction of the desire until the other 
man figured out precisely which thirst he needed slaked. 

"What is this proving to you, Alex?"

Mulder felt reckless, far too free. Not for the first time 
he wondered why the two of them had never taken the time to 
lay down a few ground rules. Here, like this, here in the 
thick grey morning of winter, Mulder was free to ask what 
he liked and damn the consequences. 

"Fuck me first, if you want, but tell me what this is doing 
for you?" 

Alex pulled off, curled at his side, and began to stroke 
his body in smooth, steady motions. Down an arm, over the 
waist, tracing the slight curve of a hipbone, finally 
settling on the already-stained crotch of the pants. Mulder 
moaned and tried to keep hold of his thoughts, all the 
while bucking into Alex's hand. 

The hand... the hand gave every impression of being an
entirely separate entity. Alex didn't bother to watch what 
he was doing, simply stared at Mulder. Mulder did the 
watching for both of them, fascinated by the turn and 
caress of knuckles, the strange sensuality of a body part 
out for its own pleasure as opposed to that of the body it 
was attached to, or even Mulder's own. 

The idea of such detached lust wasn't entirely alien to 
Mulder, there had certainly been more than a few occasions 
when his cock had proven more mercenary than himself, but
hands... hands were supposed to be innocent. Mulder didn't 
think he'd be able to watch the other man pull his 
ever-present gloves off again without aching for the 
selfish touch.

"... tell me yourself?"

"What?"

"Why don't *you* tell me what I'm getting out of this, 
Mulder? C'mon, I wanna know what you think about me."

I think you're beautiful. I want you. Get out of my life. 
Put on the skirt again. Don't leave me yet. Let me -- "I 
think you want to create some distance between us."

Gentle kiss on the mouth, but Mulder wasn't quick enough 
to hold him there before he pulled back again.

"I don't think we're... all that close to begin with."

"We're not -- don't stop -- but this... what we have. It's 
not an *easy* thing--"

"Nothing's easy." 

Thumb running up and down the fly... metal pressing 
against him, pain seemed imminent, but there was no way 
not to arch up into the touch, attempt to inspire Alex with 
his own whore of a body. 

"Keep talking, Mulder."

"You don't... don't seem all that interested..."

"I am, oh, I am... I know you. You'll tell me something 
that makes sense eventually. Or are you trying to..." Shark 
smile and another kiss. "... protect me?"

"Protect myself."

"It's too late for that."

"No--"

And then he was free again, bobbing against his abdomen, 
aching. It seemed ridiculous that any clothing could 
possibly be darker than his blood-thick cock, but there was 
no room for analysis after Alex licked his own palm and 
began to jerk him expertly. 

"Yes. Too late to protect yourself from me, Mulder. Just 
talk."

I can do whatever I want, asshole. But right now I want to 
come in your fist. "F-fine. You did this to see if you'd be 
immune to me in different clothes, a different form. Here, 
I'm just an aging stereotype. I don't even have to be 
Mulder at all -- just a dissolute former pretty boy looking 
for a quick fuck and maybe some pill money."

"Why, Mulder... you make it sound like I care." Whispered 
against the underside of his cock with high good humor that 
sat poorly in Mulder's stomach. 

"But your trick didn't work, did it, Alex?"

It was impossible to read the other man's expression with 
his own cock bisecting his vision with perfectly obscene 
obliviousness, but the brightness was clear and clean as 
any knife.

"We won't know that until I come back... or don't."

And without another word Alex took him deep, no time for 
shame, no space for recrimination or retaliation, just 
Mulder's favorite prison of wet heat and suction. Getting 
blown by Alex was like life in a wind tunnel, buffeting and 
strange, no world but his cock and Alex's mouth and 
whatever cries Mulder could squeeze past the sudden vacuum 
of his throat. 

He wanted to make it last, wanted to hold back and reap 
some reward for the seeming stretch of years Alex had been 
punishing him, but the pants were no longer up around his 
hips and there was a cool, slick finger up his ass. Mulder 
was hooked by it, landed and bucking and he could hear 
himself begging but chose to let the sound fuzz to 
meaninglessness in the pound of his own pleasure.

Closer and closer and it seemed Alex really *would* just 
let him come, finally, but the sadistic little jerk on his 
balls disabused him of the notion quickly.

"Oh you sonofabitch--"

"Shut up, Mulder. You *did* say I could fuck you."

Mulder panted up at the other man, wired and hurting. 
Alex was expressionless again, but the man's dick put the 
lie to any mask he might've been trying to wear. One-handed 
condom application and Mulder wondered just how much 
practice the man had gotten at the act. Or whether he had 
just sat in some quiet little room with a case of Trojans 
and worked until the action was a reflex. 

He couldn't decide which thought was more innately 
disturbing. 

But Alex was still yanking at Mulder's pants and his body 
was far more interested in getting naked again than in 
letting him be still long enough to thoroughly pick apart 
his sex life. Finally off his ankles and Mulder planted his 
feet firmly on the bed, trying hard to believe that, 
whatever else the other man thought of him, the sight of 
Mulder spread and waiting for him would always be enough to 
bring Alex back to him. But still...

"You fucking me was dependent on you telling me what this 
was all about."

Finger in his ass again, unsubtle professionalism doing 
absolutely nothing to lessen the pleasure. "You just never 
quit, do you, Mulder?"

Mulder wondered how long it had taken Alex to figure out
that the best way to shut him up was to use his body 
against him. It seemed perfectly obvious to Mulder, but 
then the workings of the other man's mind had always seemed 
complex to the point of an Escher print -- enough to make 
the brain hurt, yet with a simple pattern buried somewhere 
within. He *would* find it.

Blunt nudge and he was ready, ready for it and needful. The
burn was always the same and glorious. Necessary proof for
later that Alex had been there, no matter how quickly the 
shadows and gloom of his own life rushed to fill his 
absence with normality. 

"Did you ever consider that the velvet might have had no 
more meaning than what I told you?"

Balls flush with his ass and Mulder slid his legs up to 
find their own home around Alex's waist. 

"No."

Short, workmanlike thrusts. More test than pleasure in the 
intent but it was the start of exactly what Mulder wanted.

"I don't always lie."

And there was a hand creeping over the damned shirt, 
settling unerringly on a nipple and teasing ruthlessly.

"You always lie to me."

Alex didn't bother to respond to that, just slipped out far
enough that when he slammed his way back in, Mulder 
could do nothing but gasp. Or perhaps it was a response,
another punishment... it didn't matter, Alex was deep 
inside him, and there was no way Mulder would let him go. 
Mulder was determined this time; he *would* match each 
thrust with one of his own, giving as good as he got.

However, as always, there came a point where there was 
nothing he could do but stay as open to the other man's 
pitiless fuck as possible. Too good not to enjoy to the 
fullest, too good to even consider the alternative, which 
was now just as foolish and ill-thought as any dead fashion 
craze. Mulder was there for the taking, and no one took 
like Alex. 

Eyes closed, muscles strained and flushed, sweat rolling in
solitary droplets down the hairless chest to patter on 
Mulder... He pulled him down to taste him, not brooking 
the automatic resistance, demanding Alex rest his weight 
on Mulder's body. He wanted to *feel* him, because, even in 
this, the belief the other man would always be there, 
always inside, was too ephemeral to hold to. 

There was no faith but that in his own eventual 
breathlessness when the kiss was broken, in the belief that 
he would come and come hard just as soon as Alex touched 
him there--

"God, Alex--!"

And there it was, the hand on his cock simple and rough and 
how he'd ever thought the *other* touches were anything but 
cruel teases was beyond him. This grip, this iron fastness 
of slide and squeeze, was all the truth he needed in these 
moments. In this mindless pulse of pleasure he could look 
up into Alex's face and see... whatever he wanted to.

Later, Mulder couldn't quite stop himself from tugging at 
the other man like a blanket, an encouragement that felt 
more -- to his pride at least -- like a plea. Alex didn't 
hesitate to drape himself half on him, though, which eased 
the discomfort somewhat.

"You planning to sleep in that?"

Mulder plucked at the thoroughly ruined shirt, not 
bothering to open his eyes enough to get a good look. 

"Not if you plan on getting up to put the heat on..."

Easy snort, and Mulder wondered if his own laziness was 
doing the apologizing for him, if there needed to be an 
apology, if he even wanted to apologize at all--

"It really does look good on you, Mulder."

"And makes me biddable, yes." Mumbled into the pillow. 

Soft kiss on the back of his neck, arm over his waist 
pulling him back into warm, sticky flesh. 

"Nothing short of drugs and re-education could make you 
biddable."

"Mmmph. I suppose you'll just have to put up with pettable, 
then."

"For now." 

But the arm briefly tightened, and Mulder supposed that was 
good enough.

~~~~
End.
~~~~