Little League: A Slumber Party Vignette
by Te
6/98
Daddy793@aol.com

Note: Came about from several discussions with Viridian 
about the turn for the perverse our boys were taking, and a 
timely comment from Hong Evil Alternate Te.

~~~~

"What are we *doing* here?"

"You're the one who wouldn't make out with me in the car. I 
swear, Mulder, you are so damn picky sometimes."

Alex watched the older man's jaw drop as he struggled to 
come up with a response. Wonderful. He made a conscious  
effort to loosen his spine and molded himself to the other  
man as perfectly as he could, tasting Gatorade and caramel  
popcorn and the electrifyingly, irritatingly undefinable 
flavor that was only Mulder. Alex was quickly gaining a 
reputation with the other man for kinky seductions, but 
while the risk and wrongness of their rare encounters was a 
thrill, he knew that given the opportunity he'd take this 
man anywhere. 

A moan of origins not immediately clear and Alex was  
grateful for the sudden cheer that burst out above and  
around them. Another few moments and then warm, vaguely 
sticky fingers were working their way between them, pushing 
the younger man away and not lingering *nearly* long enough 
on his nipples.

"Alex--"

"Damn, I must be losing my touch."

"What?"

The former agent smiled broadly. "I was going for something 
like a "kiss-you-stupid" effect."

Mulder laughed breathlessly and ran a hand through his  
hair before seeming to collect himself. "What *is* it with 
you and children, anyway?"

Alex sorted through an internal rolodex of possible answers  
to that question, but settled, perhaps wisely, on a 
quizzically raised eyebrow.

"We are under the bleachers," Mulder pointed out.

An ostentatiously thorough glance to take in their  
surroundings: Empty cartons, little plastic drink covers  
catching the miserly bits of sunlight slicing and darting  
between the shifting legs above, a delightfully spotty 
hedge... dry Virginia summer's attempt to shield them from 
prying eyes.

"Yes, and?"

"At a Little League game."

"Your point being?"

Mulder shook his head and grinned helplessly. There was  no 
reasoning with perversion that deep. He wondered if  young 
Alison had woken up with unexplainable bruises...  His 
thoughts were interrupted by the crack of wood on  leather, 
a sudden thunderous pounding of hundreds of feet  above 
them as some apple-cheeked youngster in gleaming  little 
uniform popped one for the home team. And then there was a 
hand on his cheek... When had he gotten so close  again? He 
leaned into the touch and closed his eyes,  allowing the 
younger man to nibble and suck his way to  his ear.

"Eleven year olds don't wear guilty pleasure nearly as well  
as you do, Mulder." And there was that smile, seeming to  
hold nothing but simple joy as the younger man bent his  
forehead slightly and exhaled gently against Mulder's neck.  
Alex trailed his hand playfully up and down the other man's  
chest and waited for the inevitable...

But it was still a shock to hit the ground, a useful  (if  
somewhat painful) reminder that the older man *was* a  
trained FBI agent. A paper cup dug lightly into his back 
and he shifted to crush it more effectively. There, ah 
there and  Mulder was straddling him, catching the hem of 
Alex's  t-shirt and bundling it up and over his head. 
Buttons heated by the day burned gently as they rubbed 
along his naked  torso, and he spread his thighs a little 
to nestle the older  man where he belonged. A stifled groan 
as hardness found its like and began to grind. Alex reached 
up and yanked the other man down by the hair for an attempt 
at "kiss-you- senseless," and dimly felt he was succeeding 
when the  whistle tore through the superheated air.

Mulder broke the kiss and tried to stand, but was halted  
by the legs that had skillfully tangled themselves with his 
own.

"Dammit, Alex, we--"

"Relax, Mulder. Listen."

Mulder reflected that the task would probably be easier  
without the constant murmur and thump of the crowd...  or 
the finger insinuating itself under the waistband of his 
rapidly ruining suit pants. But then a chorus of voices  
slowly became clear... letters... chanting...

"BE! AGGRESSIVE! B! E! AGGRESSIVE! B! E! A! G! G! R--"

That finger executed a slow, teasing slide through the 
sweat at the base of his spine and Mulder surrendered to 
the mood, digging his own fingers between hot flesh and 
denim. A lazy  chuckle wafted from below.

"Mmm... that's it... Do it for the kids..."