Other Paths I: Lucky Men
by Te
9/98

Disclaimers: Boy, do they ever not belong to me. If I get 
sued, they're welcome to *all* the Def Leppard tapes and 
other  mistakes I made in the 80s.

Spoilers: None, really.

Summary: Alex drops by to have a chat with Walter. 

Ratings Note: NC-17 for m/m interaction.

Author's Note: I dreamed about this. Twice. I'm just trying 
to purge. This could be considered a sequel to "Nameless" 
and "Distance and Possession," and, well, almost any one of 
the weird ass M/Ks I've been writing lately. 

Acknowledgments: To Spike, Rye, and Nancy for *marvelous*  
beta in the face of my many neuroses and *ahem* artistic 
temperament. Thanks also to J. and Carol for many helpful 
comments.

Feedback: PLEASE. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Other Paths I: Lucky Men
by Te
Daddy793@aol.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walter Skinner was dreaming about a hanging. His own. The 
landscape was sere and bleeding more shades of beige than  
he'd ever thought he could distinguish. The stubbled, dusty  
men watching him had cold, dead eyes of a uniformly 
poisonous olive. Being hung was surprisingly painless, and, 
despite the breeze, he wasn't swinging. He didn't think he 
was that  heavy....

Eight pairs of olivine eyes blinked twice, slowly and 
evenly.

For some reason, that was the absolute worst part of the 
whole experience, and he set about jerking his weight in an 
attempt  to snap his own damned neck. 

"Stop that."

Abruptly, Walter realized that he wasn't asleep, though he 
certainly felt muzzy enough to be so.... Eight dusty, 
stubbled men resolved into one, not-so-dusty, but 
definitely stubbled  Alex Krycek sitting crosslegged on the 
foot of his bed several  feet away. He twisted his neck 
again, not so vehemently. Completely free.

His arms, on the other hand...

He looked up to find himself cuffed neatly and firmly to 
the braces he'd installed just inside the southeast corner 
of the ceiling. The manacles were fur-lined, the chains 
thick and  strong. It had been a wilder, emptier time. 

Walter sighed. This was bound to be painful and 
embarrassing or, at the very least, tiresome.

"What do you want, Krycek?"

"Just a place to stay for the night, really. The land is 
dangerous these days."

"And you're in my apartment. Why?"

A moderately off-centered shrug. "Seemed like a good idea 
at the time."

Walter stared at Krycek for a long moment. The face was as 
placidly smooth and innocent as always. 

//Born liar.//

Walter shifted, pleased to find he didn't feel the 
slightest bit strained despite the awkward position. He 
enjoyed a moment of quietly smug pride that all those hours 
of weight-training had paid off before it occurred to him 
that his feet were firmly planted on a scuffed leather 
ottoman. It had originally gone  with one of the world's 
most comfortable chairs, lost in the horrible Nephew 
Incident. Walter hadn't had the heart to ditch the ottoman, 
too. He tried to get his mind to choose one particular 
question to ask his apparent houseguest/captor,  but 
couldn't quite get it to settle down and *go* with  
something.

It was irritating not to be able to feel irritable about 
it. He did his best to *glare* his questions at Krycek, but 
was morbidly  sure he looked as bemused as he felt.

Surprisingly, Krycek didn't look nearly as self-satisfied 
as it seemed he should. 

"What? Oh, sorry. Don't worry about the muzziness, I 
slipped  5 mg of Ambien into your takeout. Mild as sleeping 
pills go,  but I'm guessing you're pretty damned stoned 
right now."

Walter nodded and with a pleasantly nauseating roll he was 
back on the horse.... Horse. Somebody was supposed to smack 
the horse.

"Waaaalterrr..."

Well, that was something Krycek had never been allowed to  
call him. Even when they were... whatever they had been. 
Back in the saddle, as it were. 

"Why... why did you...?"

The words *felt* nice rolling off his thick tongue, but.... 
Walter decided Krycek hadn't been telling him the whole 
truth about just what he'd been dosed with. Perhaps to get 
him to try to escape so Krycek could beat him. Of course, 
the younger man could have killed him easily already, 
but.... The idea that the headache he was developing was 
far too muffled in inebriation  to be bothersome was an 
item of unique horror.

"The ottoman?"

Walter blinked in a way he sincerely hoped implied the 
affirmative.

"Well, I really didn't want you to be uncomfortable..."

The words were allowed to dangle in the chill, air-
conditioned room for a while. Krycek continued to stare, a 
flat ophidian  stare that gradually developed a small 
measure of discomfort. The younger man appeared to be 
worried about something. 

"You've never taken any sleeping pills, have you?"

Walter decided it was a bad idea to shake his head.

"Shit. Well, it's probably a very good idea for you to 
talk. Don't move too much, just talk. Get it out. You 
already slept for...."  A moment while the younger man 
checked his watch. "About  five hours. You should start 
getting *relatively* sober, soon."

"All right." The... serenity... was a trial. "Why are you 
here?"

"I already told you, I needed a place to stay."

Walter sighed. "So you chose here. Despite everything."

Krycek nodded, smirked. "You could say *because* of 
everything. The last time wasn't so bad, once you got those 
punches out of your system--"

"And you couldn't just let me sleep it off while you did...  
whatever it was you're here to do?"

"Sleep. And I did sleep. I'm awake now."

"Mulder kicked you out?"

Krycek frowned, eyed him narrowly. Walter hadn't meant to  
say that. It was a distinct relief when the younger man 
simply snorted and shook his head. 

"I shoulda known you'd know about that.... You're a player,  
too. Or were. I'm curious, though..."

"Yes?"

Walter really didn't want to be having this conversation, 
but  just beyond the unpleasant focus of Mulder getting 
fucked with apparent regularity by Krycek was that beige-
on-beige-on-beige slice of hell his subconscious apparently 
identified with drug- induced sleep.

"How did you know?"

"He's been walking around with this permanent look of.... 
of  smug satisfaction and guilt for about 4 months now. 
Scully's fingers twitch when I call them in for briefings."

Krycek put his head in his hands and shook with that brand 
of stifled laughter that only the very private and 
deceitful can produce. There was a definite edge of 
hysteria to it, and it  lasted long enough that Walter 
couldn't entirely convince  himself that it was merely his 
own fractured time sense that  was turning the minutes to 
taffy. Finally, finally, Krycek  looked up at him again. 
The thick lashes were damp; the smile, rueful.

"Yeah, that's Mulder, all right. My Fox. You seem far too 
calm for this, even for the drugs."

"Which of you am I supposed to be angry at, Krycek?"

Quirk of finely turned eyebrow and Walter remembered what 
it had been like to run his tongue over it after they'd 
fucked; remembered Alex's shameless giggle.

//Alex. He'd been Alex, then.// 

But his words had earned him a momentarily unguarded look 
of speculation, shuttered quickly as he flowed to a stand, 
and looked up into Walter's face. 

"I'm not here to hurt you, you know. You don't have to try 
to flatter me."

"Why are you here, again?"

"Just needed a place to stay... that didn't have a Mulder. 
Why didn't you ever fuck him, anyway?"

Walter laughed, then. Long, loud, and helplessly. Krycek 
looked bitter but merely cocked his head to the side, 
patiently. Moved a little further into the older man's 
unprotected personal space and damned if he didn't smell 
the same.... Shift and *now* he was swaying and it was that 
first time...

But not the *real* first time, just the first time his 
favorite little rentboy had shown up, freshly scrubbed and 
legal, in his office. He'd had a solid thirty minutes to 
calm down from the incipient heart attack that had 
threatened upon viewing the picture in  the file, but 
still...

"Come on back, Waaaalterrr..."

"Do you have any idea how irritating that is?" His eyes 
swam back into focus, into the beam of the world's sexiest 
smirk. "Strike that, of course you do. You always did." The 
smirk faltered. Only a little, but it was worth it.

"Tell me why. I know he wants you. Says he has to beat off  
every time you growl at him." 

The bitterness, oddly enough, was... muted.

"Why do you care, Krycek?"

"You have something better to do than explain it to me? 
While you're hanging from the ceiling, that is." Walter was 
still being assaulted by the almost-too-sweet scent that 
was Krycek  without the leather.

"You could just suck me off. I always did like your mouth."

Krycek snorted again, grabbed Walter by the crotch.

"I really, really don't think the Ambien agreed with you,  
*sir*."

Walter had to smile a little ruefully. "I suppose not."

"*Tell* me." 

In just the same husky whine that used to belong --  
exclusively, he'd thought --  to "Please let me come, sir."

Of course, the 'sirs' had never been entirely convincing. 
Krycek had the air of someone who desperately wanted to be 
a sub but could never quite pull it off. All he had was a 
basic laziness  when it came to interpersonal 
relationships, a desire to let someone else handle it, for 
a while, until he'd stored up  enough energy to rip the 
unlucky top's soul out for the offense  of taking up the 
insincere request.

Walter had understood it from the moment Krycek had walked 
into the office. The knowledge made the eventual discovery 
of  the younger man's true loyalties, if not especially 
comfortable  -- there remained, always, the threat of 
tapes, somewhere --  then at least not as world-shattering 
as it could have been.  You fuck a liar, you underestimate 
him, you get what you  deserve. None of the above, however, 
made the voice any less pleasant to listen to. Any easier 
to deny. 

"Cabin Boy Syndrome, Krycek."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Those old pirate books for boys.... The captain always had  
some annoyingly plucky and nosy little kid hanging about to  
be a 'valet.'"

"I always assumed the kids were fucktoys in tights."

"Knickers? Anyway. That goes without saying. *However*, 
even taking the sex into account, they were always getting 
into so much trouble. And rarely ever even being flogged 
for it."

Some part of his brain had, apparently, found its own sick  
little rhythm to follow. Walter really didn't have it in 
him to censor at this point. A stirring, oddly 
disconnected, and he  looked down to discover Krycek's hand 
had never left the front of his boxers. Perhaps an attempt 
to wake up the sleeper. The warmth was definitely 
appreciated. He realized he was still talking:

"... reason for it. I mean, why didn't the captains ever 
run the little bastards through?"

Krycek looked like he was just that close to more 
hysterical giggles. Walter had a moment to appreciate the 
fact he'd  managed to share the surrealism of his 
experience, somehow.

"It had to be some reason other than the sex and occasional 
flogging, you're saying."

Walter nodded, felt another shift -- much less pleasant, he  
was sobering -- and he was back in the office.

"The way I see it. *sir*, it behooves both of us to keep 
our  mouths shut."

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know, bo--  
Krycek."

"Of course not." Sleek and smooth as the obscenity of gel 
that had been his hair. "On the other hand, I wouldn't be 
averse  to continuing our... arrangement. Sir."

"The government already pays you a salary, I'm not 
subsidizing you anymore." He'd thought it was a sleazy 
little attempt at blackmail, began stockpiling his internal 
treasury of markers, but...

"I don't want your money. Sir."

And so it had continued, another few months of motels and,  
God help him, the office. Alex on his knees. Alex bent over 
something, anything. Alex's pretty little ass swollen and 
pink from his hand....

"Waaaalterrr..."

Krycek was rubbing him off. It was definitely starting to 
work. There was want in those wide, wide eyes, and a wealth 
of  memory. 

"Those boys, Alex..."

As expected, the use of the first name earned him an  
affectionate little squeeze.  

"Yeah?"

"They had something. Fairy princes, perhaps. In any case,  
they wrapped those sea captains right around their soft 
little  fingers..." And the strong, clever fingers were 
making him  harder and harder. "... some measure of 
psychological  witchcraft. Emotional fuckery. Something. 
Apple-cheeked  vortexes of need and obsession.

"Mulder has the Syndrome."

//My. I *am* delusional.

//Stoned. Just, stoned.//

Alex was silent, kneading him steadily, eyeing him  
thoughtfully.

"You really believe that?"

"What about you? You're here by choice. He didn't kick you  
out, you ran away."

Alex finally pulled away, settled himself back on the bed 
with  one absent lap at his own hand. The loss of heat was 
more  than a little upsetting. 

"Cabin boys. Fairy princes."

"Yes."

"There's a joke in there, somewhere." 

"Probably several."

"But it's too fucking true." Alex sighed, an unconscious 
act  of -- perhaps perfectly justifiable -- melodrama. 

"Well, you did ask why I never got involved with him. I 
spent  17 years married to a beautiful, brilliant, needy, 
paranoid  psycho. Mind you, I certainly gave her reason to 
be all of those things..." Small sound of amusement from 
the bed and Walter couldn't help but feel a moment of 
kinship. "But I didn't --  and still don't -- need another 
one. As relationships go, our little... arrangement... was 
probably healthier. In the long  run."

"You still want him, though."

It wasn't a question, Walter didn't bother to answer.

"Fine. *Do* you want him?"

"Are you trying to hand the man off?"

Alex gave every impression of thinking the question over  
seriously, but Walter thought he knew the answer already.  
"You couldn't if you tried. You need it now."

Sour little glance and Alex flopped back onto the bed. "It  
wasn't so bad at first, you know."

"I'd be more amenable to conversation if you unchained me, 
I think."

A snort. "Always about your needs, isn't it?" But Alex was  
flowing off the bed again, producing a key from God knows  
where and Walter's arms were falling with an undignified  
thud. "Please don't try anything, I'm too tired to do 
anything  but shoot you dead."

"You should probably sleep more, then."

"That's it, no more drugs for you. Here, where do you want 
to sit? The chair?" None too subtle glance at his 
burgeoning  erection. "The bed?"

"Chair's fine for now, Alex."  "Anything you say, sir." It 
was, as always, far more convincing  when the younger man 
was conscious of his own self-mockery.  Alex helped him to 
the wingback in the corner, the swell and roll of the 
carpeting making him wonder just where his own cabin boy 
was. The loss of altitude upon sitting made the world a lot 
more sensible, though.

"Now you were saying?"

"Would you like a drink? Water or something else safe. 
Drinking alcohol would probably be a profoundly bad idea 
for you. For me, now..."

Alex was less asking than babbling to himself. "Get me some  
water. Get yourself some Scotch."

The younger man nodded absently and Walter drifted off to 
the sounds of cabinets opening and closing around the 
apartment, a lone car alarm far, far below. A mouth on his 
cock, oddly cool  yet... burning? Walter looked down to 
find Alex on his knees, a vision that had never once lost 
its appeal. He was holding a  tumbler half-emptied of 
scotch on the rocks just to the side,  and lapping and 
sucking. Walter decided that anything that  allowed him to 
just settle back and *enjoy* being blown, with a bare 
minimum of the urgency, was a good thing. 

"You really like waking me up, don't you?"

Flat-tongued rasp along the underside and Alex was 
standing, setting the scotch on the dresser to retrieve the 
older man's water. A shrug while Walter sipped, a casual 
and none-too-thorough attempt to slip the older man's 
erection away.

"You know how it is.... Take your joys where you can find 
them."

Walter nodded, shrugged. "You're just stalling because you 
don't want to talk about Mulder."

"Can't a man suck cock without an ulterior motive?"

Walter chuckled a lot more lazily than he intended to, but 
the  effect was pleasant. "Not if he's you."

A twist that, on any other mouth, would be unpleasant and 
Alex was settling himself at his feet with scotch firmly in 
hand. Walter could see the bottle settled evenly on the 
floor beside the younger man. He had a strong urge to pet 
the softly spiky hair and he indulged. Alex twisted around 
to smirk again, but it was gentle,  and the touch was 
allowed.

Comfortable silence while Walter was reminded that even  
something as prosaically unpleasant as pins and needles 
could gain charm when stoned.... It had been a long time. 
Gradually,  he became aware of his companion's voice, 
paradoxically softened by the liquor.

"... -ing wonderful at first. Couldn't believe it. All I 
had to do was get a hand on his cock one of those times he 
was pummeling me and it was all over. Clawing and biting at 
me. Sucking me down. You know, I had to tear him off? 
Thought I was gonna lose something important.

"Makes sense, though. All that time he spends shouting  
absurdities, throwing himself against brick walls.... He 
had to  be waiting for someone to stop him."

Walter nodded, dimly aware that Alex couldn't possibly see 
him, knowing it didn't really matter at this point. He 
could never quite pull his fingers from that dark hair.

"Then there was the first time he hit me. Well, obviously 
not the first time, but the first time after we'd... 
started fucking is both crude and inaccurate. Started a 
relationship? Optimistic, but  yeah, that's how I thought 
of it, then."

"I never would've considered you the romantic type, Alex."

"Yeah, well, this was supposed to be different. You'd 
think,  being with someone like Mulder, *everything* would 
be different."

"Understood. Different is, of course, not always better."

"No need to make me feel twelve, Walter." Soft, musical 
tinkle of liquor over ice. 

"Sorry, habit once you work for the government for any 
length of time." Walter could almost feel the smirk. 
"The... legitimate... government." Brief nod and the finely 
shaped skull was moving,  his fingers flowing through the 
pelt of an animal who'd  condescended to taming. "But, 
Alex..."

"Yeah?"

"One benefit of a relationship with a man is that when he 
hits you, no one is going to bitch and moan if you hit him 
right back."

Full blown cackle. "Think that through. Just what do you 
think Mulder did once I hit him back, I mean really hit 
him?"

"Hmmm... I can think of several possibilities. None of them 
especially pleasant."

"The look of utter shock right afterward almost made the  
screaming fit worth it. Our very first argument entirely 
free of  sexual tension. He kicked me out *that* night."

A long pause and Walter could feel Alex shifting a bit, 
finally settling his head on his thigh. It was at that 
point that Walter looked down and realized what a dissolute 
picture he made.  Sprawled

//I wasn't made to sprawl.//

low and spread-legged, boxers gaping over a semi-hard. It 
made  the unreality slam home in a way that unreality 
shouldn't be  allowed to do. Abruptly, Walter saw himself 
inviting the other  man up into his lap, perhaps pulling 
him close to take in one flat nipple, suck and bite until 
that hand pulled him close, work his  cock between 
conveniently nude cheeks....

He settled for grunting in a vaguely sympathetic manner.

"Anyway, it didn't take long for him to set his own 
personal little freak squad on my trail. Tracked me down 
with a new bag of  tricks. 'We'll work out the aggression 
in a structured, safe way,  Alex,' he said.

"This is where that 'vortex of need' thing came in."

"I would think so, yes." Walter let his knuckles drift down 
along  one elegant cheekbone, was gratified by the casual 
welcome of a nuzzle he was given.

"Never once used the safeword. Ever."

"He wouldn't, no."

Alex got up, then, and walked in that consciously steady 
way the very drunk have to put the vastly depleted bottle 
away.  Walter resisted the urge to grab the younger man by 
the  waistband of his jeans and yank him back.

//Not like he'd be able to keep his balance at this point.

//Neither can you.//

He did his best to straighten up a bit, gave up when Alex  
positively prowled back into the room. Walter took in the 
outfit for the first time. Alex was wearing -- and rumpling 
-- one of  his dress shirts over jeans. Several buttons 
were undone. The  eyes were burning at him. The bulge was 
noticeable. Despite the aborted blowjob earlier, this was 
the first time Walter was  absolutely positive of what 
would happen. Just as soon as the  world stopped swaying. 

A blink and Alex was leaning over him and a liquor-smoked  
tongue was familiarizing itself with his mouth. Drinking 
him  for a long moment of slow-burning lust before pulling 
off again,  pulling him up -- an experience not nearly as 
disorienting as  he'd expected -- and pulling him over to 
the bed. The gentle  shove that sent him to his back on the 
coverlet was welcome,  and he propped himself on his elbows 
with relative ease. 

Slow and sadly awkward crawl up along his body and there 
was the *real* first time, anonymous motel and dirty money 
and all. Echoes were nothing but the ghosts of sound, 
though, and the flesh under the fabric was warm and needful 
of no one but him,  for once, for real.

Hazy strip and Walter took in the changes to the form. 
Leaner, darker, scarred. Lovely. He indulged himself in the 
musk of an  armpit, the salt pool of the navel. There was 
no point in musing on the assorted problems in this action. 
Alex was here, now, and it had been too long. 

"When did he stop making love to you?"

"Unngh... don't stop, Walter. And don't make me be 
rational."

The older man tugged at the darkly golden hairs leading 
down  under the jeans, smiled into jumping flesh. "I'll 
settle for a  ramble, Alex."

Drunken giggle and Alex was doing his futile best to catch 
him by the limited hair at his nape, tug him down and down. 
"Shit... I forgot what a fucking sadist you were. Ummm.... 
had to be  right after the first time I flogged him to the 
point of tears...."  Walter undid the jeans. "Then I... I 
pushed him... to his knees and fucked his face. Do... do 
*not* stop doing that." 

Walter pulled off with a light kiss for the straining 
flesh.  "Jesus, Alex, even I was never that..."

The younger man groaned, let his head fall back to the 
pillow with a thud. "Yeah, well, I was never built for this 
shit, Walter. You  *know* that."

Walter nodded, nuzzled the tightening sac. "So what 
happened when you told *him* that?" The vibrations of his 
voice made  Alex buck and Walter wondered how the hell he'd 
ever lived  without this.

"What, you think... you think I didn't?" Breathy and 
hoarse. Beautiful.

"I didn't say that, Alex..."

"Shit, I know, lick me some more.... I'll tell, I'll tell." 
Walter  looked up and smiled, by chance Alex caught it, 
returned it in spades. "You're a voyeur, you know it?"

Walter caught the bobbing cock by the base, squeezed Alex 
into another buck. "Good thing you're an exhibitionist, 
hmm?"

"Yeah... yeah..."

Walter set about bathing the other man's balls with his 
tongue while setting a slow, even pace with his strokes. 
"Answer the question." The hips gained a sea roll... and 
that was just fine for this night. 

"Question.... question..." Alex's hand had made its way 
down to twine itself with his own, warm and slick. Walter 
had a moment  to wonder if hands, given the opportunity, 
would have lives of  their own, and then that lust-
roughened voice was beginning  again. "Oh, yeah... what 
happened... What would you have done...  if I'd stripped 
naked in your office one day and... wriggled onto  your 
lap? While you were... on the phone so you couldn't do a  
thing about it? Whispered, begged you to hurt me, spank me, 
fuck me?" 

The words were tortured and harsh and went straight to the 
older man's cock and he did his best to return the favor, 
lifting up the sac to go just a little further back...

"Yes! Please..."

A few firm strokes of the tongue along the perineum and 
Walter pulled back again, never releasing his hold on 
Alex's cock. He  wasn't sure his hand would obey him if he 
tried to make it do so, anyway... The hot, heavy solidity 
of the thing was both welcome and addictive.

"It's... possible... that I would've pushed you off as soon 
as I  could've hung up the phone. Ordered you to leave. 
Found some  way to torture you later on..."

Alex leaned up on his elbow and eyed Walter with unalloyed 
skepticism. 

"Entirely possible. If I'd had my genitals removed earlier 
in the  day."

"Exactly. Now lick me some more."

Walter snorted. "Yes, *sir*. But..."

An exaggerated groan. "Wha-a-a-a-at?"

He grinned as wickedly as he knew how. "Tell me more."

"You're not even going to pretend to have anything but the 
most prurient of interest in this, anymore, are you?"

"Well, how much bullshit can one relationship stand?"

"Good point. You lick, I'll talk."

Walter pushed Alex's knees up and apart and began to work 
his tongue in gradually tightening circles around the bud 
of the  younger man's entrance. The sobbing gasps from the 
head of the bed suggested Alex might not be able to keep up 
his end of the bargain, but they gradually resolved into 
words.

"It... it never stopped, Walter. I swear... oh God, more... 
every  fucking day it was 'F-fuck me, whip me, need me need 
me need  me'.... Don't stop..."

"I won't."

As expected, the low growl against the sensitive flesh made 
Alex cry out. Walter wasn't sure how much longer he could 
drag this  out. "Keep talking." As incentive, he began to 
tonguefuck the  younger man steadily. More curses, 
shudders. Walter had to wrap his forearms around the leanly 
muscled thighs to keep Alex still.

"The only... t-time he'd ever t-touch me was to provoke me 
to hit him. We never... we never talk anymore. See, that's 
where your... theory-- Jesus, don't stop--"

"Just getting a few things we need, Alex." The younger 
man's  pupils were almost completely dilated. As expected, 
it was  impossible to disentangle his hand from Alex's, so 
Walter simply stretched to the bedside table. 

The condoms were of questionable age, but he couldn't bring  
himself to care. Gloved and slicked he turned his full 
attention  to the flushed length of man laid out before 
him...

"About my theory?" 

... and began to work in lubed fingers. It was even harder 
to keep control now that he could watch the flush get ever 
deeper, the sinfully thick lashes flutter, the lips part 
with Alex's moans...

//What the hell was Mulder *thinking*?//

"Mmm, yeah.... More. Basically, we were... were wrong about  
the fucktoy thing." 

The uneven rise and fall of the chest a perfect reflection 
of the  voice sliding up and down the scale.... Walter 
added another  finger, scissor twist and Alex was bucking 
and screaming again.

"How so?"

"It's just... just... Oh, God, Walter *please*... and we'll 
worry  about the irony l-later, I swear!"

It's damned near impossible to refuse a request like that. 
Walter fitted himself against Alex, laid the quivering 
thighs along his  own and rocked his way in, eyes shut 
tight against the near- unbearable heat. Finally, sheathed 
in Alex, Walter leaned in for  a kiss, lapping and sucking 
at the other man's tongue, reaching between them to stroke 
the mildly wilting cock back to hardness. When he could 
feel Alex bucking back against him he kneeled up again, 
looking down into eyes that managed to smile through the 
haze of lust.

It was easily the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. 

He pulled out slow, thrust in hard. Through the flares of 
his own vision he watched the elegant throat arch into a 
bow, reached out to run a finger along the sharply defined 
curve.

"So... what you're saying is that... the cabin boys weren't 
the real fucktoys, after all?"

Alex tightened his thighs around Walter and bore down hard.  
"The captains, Walter. Always the captains."

The only possible response to that was to let his hips take 
over  and lose himself in the feel -- missed far more than 
he'd allowed himself to admit -- of Alex, slick in his 
hand, tight on his cock, a litany of pleas and curses 
falling on his ears. And when Alex  reached up and pulled 
him down and down into another kiss  nothing else mattered 
at all but the hot splash on his chest and belly, the 
muffled cry against his tongue that sounded  suspiciously 
like his name, and the rhythm of his own hips  pulling him 
back to somewhere like home.

*****

Walter woke up to find himself draped, stickily and 
marvelously, with an Alex planting soft kisses along the 
center of his chest. It made his throat ache, and he pulled 
the younger man closer. He  had to ask, though.

"What about Mulder?"

Alex stopped kissing and banged his forehead once, twice, 
lightly against Walter. "Can we pretend he doesn't exist 
this..." Brief  glance toward the fully shuttered window. 
"... morning?"

Walter ran his hand along Alex's spine, trying not to pay  
attention to the twitch in his nether regions when Alex 
arched  into the touch. "We can, but--"

"He needs to be dealt with, I know." Alex snuggled closer, 
trailed kisses along Walter's jawline. "Just... just later, 
OK?"

"I can live with that."

~~~~
End.
~~~~