Afternoon Weirdness 16: Seeing the Elephant by Te 1/99 Disclaimers: If they belonged to me... well, they don't. *sigh* Spoilers: None. Ratings Note/Warnings: NC-17 for m/m interaction, disturbing imagery, wrongness, oddity... Summary: Err... Author's Note: Distracting Viridian at work is a pleasant, fruitful activity. Title is hers... Acknowledgments: To Viridian for coaxing me until I stopped fucking around and actually wrote this, to Spike and Kix for *all* too necessary pre-stroke, and to Ladonna for fine, wonderful beta. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ AW16: Seeing the Elephant by Te Daddy793@aol.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ One day, you find yourself at the circus. You pretty much know right off the bat that it's a dream, because the bespangled woman balanced perfectly on the trunk of that elephant is Scully. You can't believe she's wearing pink. Your seat is small, uncomfortable, seemingly designed by and for sadomasochists. The leather is ripped -- you can feel it. And the floor... the floor is sticky. Clearly, this circus has been in town for a while. You start looking around for an exit, but then you see just who's flanking you. To your left -- didn't it have to be? -- is Alex, getting stickier by the second with his two-toned cotton candy. To your right is Fox, and now that you've seen him you can hear him pointing out all the ways circus performers manage to avoid getting their costumes wedged up their asses. It's abundantly clear that you've missed the early bits of that lecture. Suddenly, the circus doesn't seem so bad after all -- the boys are here -- and you note that there isn't a clown in sight. There is an abrupt shift in perception, and your internal voice is rather huskier than you remembered, and the taste on your tongue is far too sweet. Alex, then, and he's always loved cotton candy. The way it disintegrates in the heat of his mouth makes him feel like a hungry sun god, devouring the clouds as he makes his way across the sky. Slammed back into yourself, you eye Alex askance, but he shows no signs of noticing. And then you're feeling a little piqued, you hate being ignored. It takes rather a while to notice that you're looking at yourself from the right. You realize what a frightening thing a Jumping Spider truly is. But anyway. Fox stops talking when he realizes you've long since stopped paying attention to him, and turns to watch Alex eat. The wild lighting turns the blue stain on Alex's tongue and lower lip black for a few moments, and Fox is reminded of an animal. He's not entirely sure which, but that could just be because he's heavy, hot in his jeans. A part of you is praying that your forebrain doesn't remember you're not supposed to have a penis. "Want some?" Of course it doesn't work, you're you again. Fox leans past you immediately, rudely, but you don't *really* care, because Scully isn't doing anything really interesting on that elephant trunk, though her costume is now an infinitely more tasteful forest green. You're briefly impressed with her ability to change while performing, but it doesn't hold your attention. Alex's fingers are meeting Fox's mouth right in front of your face... Alex hears you gasp and you know -- *know* -- that even though he isn't *quite* looking at you, part of his smile is all yours. Fox, now... Fox doesn't seem to be focusing very well on anything not Alex's Fingers. Speaking of which, they've gotten awfully close to Fox's mouth, and his tongue darts out just as one of the spots whirls brightly over your section of the stands. You watch the candy melt seemingly *before* it actually touches that sharp, pink tip. The humidity of his desire is palpable, it seems, though it may just be the crowd -- whose pulse and yell you can feel in your bones. Even if you can't precisely *hear* it over the creak of leather to your left and the heavy breathing to your right. Oh, wait, that breathing is further away than it was a moment ago, maddeningly so, because you're bouncing through Alex's brain again. And Alex can't take his eyes off what Fox is doing. Lovers now for several months, the other man's focus was familiar, but seeing it in public is another thing entirely. Each suck, each lap makes it seem as though they're hopelessly, wonderfully connected. Part of the same being, if for no other reason then the fact that Alex simply *cannot* imagine Fox not feeling this *alive*. Not when he's devouring Alex's fingers that way, an ourobouros of the flesh, disturbing from the outside, irresistible from within. A rev of powerful engines far below, and Alex knows the motorcycle stunts are about to begin. He hopes, briefly, that Scully falls off her bike and gets run over six or seven times, but shakes off the thought as quickly as possible. He just *knows* Fox can read such things on his face. Anyway, the lights will start going insane right... about... now. And they do, and suddenly Fox's performance on his fingers, those soft, liquid caresses, is more than just erotic and mildly embarrassing. The speed of the lights creates a strobe effect, and it seems his lover is moving too quickly to be seen, darting here and there to suckle like some pornographer's idea of a hummingbird. The fact that Alex can *feel* just how slowly Fox is really moving just doesn't help. Alex has never particularly *wanted* to star in his own acid trip, but he decides that if it was anything like this he could cope. Not that you could. You fear what would come bounding out of your subconscious at the addition of certain pharmaceuticals, and that's all it takes for you to be back on the damned ripped seat again. You're watching Alex's face intently, wanting to see just how all this suckling is affecting him. Creeping flush, frown of near pain... you'd have to say Fox is being pretty devastating. The question has changed from 'what will they do?' to 'what will *you* do when one or both of them decides you're an obstacle to be crawled over for the sake of the greater goal?' Which is, of course, the two of them, coiled naked around each other and holding on for that brand of dear life that always seems rather fatal. You decide to be proactive about the whole thing, and slide under their still-small contact, right into the seat just below and in front of you. It's a good thing that woman with the sombrero decided to go to the ladies'. You know full well what that line will be like, and settle in happily to watch the shows. They're playing "Paint It Black" during the knife-throwing act, which is pretty much asking for it as far as you're concerned. Sure enough, it doesn't take long before Scully -- in top hat and tails -- starts aerating the poor fool on her wheel. The meaty thuds fit right in with that familiar, rubbery bass. The audience is chanting... something. It has a nice beat. You glance back to see how your erstwhile companions are taking the circus' change in tenor, and find that they've managed to push the armrests up. They've made themselves a loveseat, and if you weren't already sickened by those tastes of cotton candy you'd probably think it was sweet. Now, though, it's annoying as hell -- *your* armrests are *nailed* down -- and you can only console yourself with the convenience of it all. They'll be getting down to business soon -- And hey, that's nearly vertiginous because there's a hand on the back of your head and you're being *shoved* down into darkness. One black-jeaned thigh is against the back of the seat, the other is a mass of tense muscle beneath your hand. There's something coiled around your gut at the scent and heat, Alex, need Alex, and he needs you so bad you can already taste it so good to be between his legs again and you're reaching into your pants because you have to get off *now*, and god, your fist on your cock has never been better -- The dissonance nearly knocks you off the chair this time, and you wrench your own hand back to the armrest. There's something so *easy* about Fox... at least when he wants this badly. You look at Alex again and blush because he's looking straight at you, but then you get a good look at his eyes. He can't see a damned thing. Or rather, he can see the lights start to blur at the edges of his vision because he's forgotten how to breathe with that lush, greedy mouth wrapped around him like that... yeah, just like that, Fox, and Alex isn't sure if the other man can breathe like that, but he just can't let go. Fox's hair has begun to grow out again and it feels impossibly good on his palm. Fox pulls back a bit and his hips follow helplessly -- he can't *not* fuck that mouth, he's not strong enough -- You decide that you're going to kill every spider you see from now on, just on general principle. You sigh disconsolately and steal the popcorn from the kid seated next to you. When he starts to bawl you nod pointedly at the center ring. Scully has acquired two large, scarred men who are, in turn, acquiring her new volunteers for the wheel. You've never seen her look so *happy*, flushed and smiling... It gives you a warm feeling, and you sincerely hope you're able to escape *long* before Scully's muscle makes it to section 41G. Something hits your chair with a wet smack, and you turn to find Mulder moaning around Alex's length, Alex himself arched and gasping. It doesn't surprise you one bit that you're stuck firmly in yourself for this part, but hey, the popcorn is good, the butter is real, and you've always liked the way Alex -- "Christ, yes, Fox--!" -- screamed when he came, so rough and hoarse, so raw. You're treated to some nuzzling and whispers, and it's good to be around for this. Alex's mouth on your own is always tender at these moments, and you've always liked tasting yourself -- whether you could admit it or not -- and it's the best kind of confusion while it lasts. Which, unfortunately, is never very long. The boys fade a little more with each whisper, and soon you're squinting at a perfectly empty sofa, which morphs itself back into stands, and grows spectators. The woman with the sombrero is back. Glaring. You turn to the rings, and there's nothing more entertaining than dancing dogs and bears. Even the dark stain where the wheel used to be is shrinking onto itself. You sigh, hand the smirking brat next to you the empty popcorn carton, stand and stretch. It's time to go back home. ~~~~ End. ~~~~