Afternoon Weirdness 18: So Tired
by Te
2/99

Disclaimers: No one here is mine, dammit.

Spoilers: Vague references to S.R. 819, Two Fathers/
One Son. Sort of. 

Summary: Yet another sign of the Decline and Fall of 
Slash Fan Fiction.

Ratings Note: PG-13.

Author's Notes: Myyyyyy Rae... is a veryveryvery fine 
Rae...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AW18: So Tired
by Te
Daddy793@aol.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


When the complicated, vaguely disturbing black leather 
harness arrived, Alex began to worry.
 
It hadn't been the first gift. 

Sure, he'd received gifts like those before, and it 
certainly wasn't odd that they be anonymous -- few movies 
had the Romantic Lead providing the Love Interest with 
clutches of beautifully arranged surgical gloves -- but...

This wasn't just a crashpad, it was his *work* address.
 
Not that there were sniggering co-workers to be concerned
about, but *still*....

There were only a few people who should have known he 
was here, and Jeff was the only cute one. Conveniently 
living with him after the nasty mess with his father, 
too.... But Jeff was also the only one who *hadn't* eyed 
him like a heart patient eyes a thick, juicy 
steak.

He hated hetboys. 

But that left several people he never, ever wanted to see 
naked. Again. Or to see him in the harness dangling from
his hand, or any other harnesses for that matter.

It made him wonder about all the times Papa Spender 
called him Alex. It made his balls want to crawl back into 
his body. He was positive they were *trying* to do so. 

The only consolation was that the old men *he* knew 
would just order him to bend and spread, so maybe there 
were just a few more rebel alien moles. 

He stuffed the harness into the bottom drawer of his 
desk and headed down to the parking garage. Another day 
behind the wheel followed, most of it consisting of Alex 
not thinking about his secret admirer, and wishing that 
better engineers would get involved in the limo-building 
process.

The next day arrived with yet another box from the 
tasteful leather shop downtown. He swallowed hard. 

It *had* to be more rebel alien moles. Rebel alien moles 
that wanted his ass.

Highlighted nicely with buttless chaps. 

The rest of *that* day was spent in assorted beatings, 
and Alex found himself looking at how the eyes of his 
victims swelled shut. The forcibly blind look just didn't 
do it for him, though, and that evening was spent in 
intensive ice pick practice. 

Nothing came the next day, which was good because the 
weekly meeting was held in his office. He was on 
tenterhooks the whole time, though. It was far, far too 
easy to see the hard, curious looks from all the old men.

All except for the one who would be eyeing him 
hopefully from across the room. Maybe smiling at him. 
With bad, grey teeth. 

He came *that* close to snapping his little pointer in 
half and threatening to run anyone who so much as 
*looked* at him too long through.

And then came the hotpants with the insulated codpiece 
for storing chocolate. Well, it only said 'candy,' but 
*Alex* knew what they meant.

And the studded collar with monogrammed pendant.

And the dildo carved into a -- mercifully mostly 
flattened -- caricature of Nixon. 

The smoker, who had yet to notice that his *arm* had 
grown back, commented on his jitters. Asked if he needed
a vacation. Put his hand on Alex's shoulder.

Alex shot him in the head, six or seven times, Jeff walking 
in on the fourth shot. Fortunately, Jeff was still feeling 
a little bitter about that attempted murder thing, though, 
and helped him dump the body. 

Which was really nice, when you thought about it. 

Later, while Alex was concocting plausible reasons for 
the smoker not to exist anymore, he asked Jeff a few 
leading questions about latex. The other man just scooted
a little further away, though, so Alex was stuck hoping 
he'd shot the right guy.

The arrivals of the suede flogger, home piercing kit, 
brightly colored lube assortment, and volume of Walt 
Whitman poetry suggested he hadn't. 

Alex started killing everyone who got within three feet 
of him. The lack of consequences made him wonder why 
he hadn't tried this before, but some of the joy was lost 
with the continued deluge of presents.

The Maybelline travel kit was especially painful, as were 
the size 13 fuck-me pumps. In purple. He really, really 
hated purple. 

And he was out of space in his desk, and storing them in 
the back of Jeff's little closet just earned him more looks 
and the other man stopped coming home at night which 
was depressing because killing all your business 
associates is a lonely-making thing. 

On the day the erotically streamlined defibrillator 
(with heart-shaped paddles) arrived, Alex sat down and 
cried, right in the doorway. He couldn't even wait until 
after he'd terrorized the delivery boy some more.

Alex was very, very tired.

When he heard the footsteps coming down the hall, he 
couldn't lift his head, and barely managed to get his 
gun up. He fetched a heavy sigh, and waited. 

And was terribly disappointed to have only a bouquet 
of roses -- thorns clearly visible -- shoved under his 
nose. 

"Just put it with the cock ring sampler, please."

"Are you sure you don't want me to put them in this 
vase?" 

And then there was a penis-shaped porcelain vase in 
his face. With veins. But Alex knew that voice...

He looked up slowly to find Mulder staring down at 
him with a criminally cheerful grin. 

Dammit. 

He really, really should have known. 

"Hi, Alex!"

"I just have one question, Mulder."

"Yes?"

"How did you get this address?" 

"Oh, I've been stalking you for months. And then you were
running around in that long, brown wig... Well, it just 
gave me ideas."

"You've been stalking me."

"Yes. And I like the wig. Do you still have the wig?"

"If you were stalking me, then you know..."

"That you're a lying, sadistic, arrogant prick who's living 
with a guy I really, really *hate*?"

"Well... yeah."

Mulder nodded. "I've known that for a *long* time. But 
something about that wig... and all that sexual *tension* 
in the way you look at me when I'm beating on you --"

"You mean like this?" Alex put on his best smolder. 

Mulder licked his lips and squeezed the penis so hard it 
shattered in his hand. Alex winced. 

"Yeah... yeah, that's it right there."

"Uh, huh. You know, that look was supposed to encourage
you to *stop* beating on me."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Sex now?"

Alex looked deep into Mulder's eyes, reveling in the 
lust-glazed greed. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he 
could get the other man to say something reassuring, 
like that he *really* wanted him because Alex had just 
taken out the entire Consortium. For now, though... 

"Well, OK.... But no chaps."

"Damn. I had those tailored --"

Alex started humming to himself, stopped thinking, and 
closed the door behind them.

~~~~
End.
~~~~