Presents
by Te
September/October 1998

Disclaimers: If they were mine, I'd hardly spend time 
*writing* this stuff, now would I?

Spoilers: Not a one, though some vague references to The
Red and the Black.

Summary: Alex drops by with a bag of goodies. 

Ratings Note: NC-17 for poor language and M/K 
relations. 

Author's Note: A gift for the marvelous Imajiru, who made
me a page of my very own. *happysigh* It's here, btw: 
http://unicorn-x.net/te/

Acknowledgments: To Rachel for being an enthusiastic and
encouraging audience. To Dawn Sharon for more of the same
as well as many helpful comments. To Spike for fine, fine 
beta, and to Sister Blue just because. 

Feedback: Yes, please, always. A thousand times yes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Presents
by Te
Daddy793@aol.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Mulder finished off his draft of the report with an 
unnecessarily vicious jab at the enter key, selected print, 
and leaned back in his chair. His vision was grainy, hazed 
around the edges and blinking didn't help at all. He 
considered changing his font again. He wondered when he'd 
begun using the concept of "drafts." 

He remembered being fifteen, looking at the gushing praise 
scrawled redly all over the back of one of his term papers 
and realizing just how pointless things were, really. Of 
course, Mulder was also aware of how stereotypically 
adolescent the belief was, but the knowledge had been 
unhelpful. Not when he knew full well that the paper in 
question had been rushed out in an insomniac haze the night 
before it was due... So long as he was quiet his mother 
wouldn't catch him awake. So long as he was neat the 
teachers would adore the work and him by association. He'd 
given up bothering with drafts. Until Scully. 

No, he was willing to admit that wasn't fair. The X Files 
in general demanded the sort of ruthless creativity he'd 
only ever been able to manage with the help of illegal 
drugs and sleep deprivation before his impression of a 
career had begun. Scully just made it *official* that he'd 
have to work a little harder to get by. 

Times like these, vision gone dull with exhaustion, hearing 
treated to nothing more musical than the uneven patter of 
drizzle outside his window, he couldn't help feeling it was 
a bit unfair. Couldn't help wondering with shameless 
morbidity if it would only get harder as he got older and 
weaker. Wearier. 

So he couldn't quite bring himself to care overmuch about 
the barely audible creak of a floorboard behind and to the 
left of him. About the wash of wet leather that made his 
tongue ache. About the prick of ice cold steel against his 
throat. But it was, perhaps, a good time to make 
conversation.

"A little low tech for you, isn't it, Krycek?"

"Call me Alex."

"Because you have a knife to my jugular?"

Low chuckle and a shift that brought Alex a little closer. 
Close enough to make the hairs on the back of Mulder's neck 
prickle in a way that seemed to demand a lolling back. A 
nuzzle into the hard belly just behind him. "Not really, 
Mulder..."

It was hard to stay still. "Then why?" The knife traveled a 
little further down, ducked between the collar of Mulder's 
t-shirt and the flushing -- he could feel it -- skin of his 
throat. The placement was no longer one of immediate 
deadliness, but he was... tired. "Why?"

The sound of his t-shirt being neatly split in half was 
obscenely loud, but still nowhere near enough camouflage 
for his gasp. Mulder had to admire the immediate jerk of 
the knife away from his heaving stomach. It made the cut 
uneven, but it implied that Alex wasn't planning to scar 
him. This early. Alex's voice was a lazy purr. "Just 
because..."

He ran the flat of the blade back over Mulder's torso and 
pressed in closer from behind. Mulder was positive that, 
were the back of his chair to melt away, he'd be able to 
feel nothing but heat. This was moving too fast when it 
shouldn't have been moving at all. "What the hell do you 
want, Krycek?"

The knife was immediately removed, the heat as well. Mulder 
had a sudden flash of distaste at the idea of turning to 
face his visitor, at himself for hating the idea of motion 
more than the inevitable result. It had to be done, though. 

Alex was holding out an open backpack, worn to battered 
softness. His expression was careful and placid, though his 
eyes were bright with mischief. The silence was starting to 
stretch uncomfortably, the sort of weight that made Mulder 
long to jump in with any one of the smart-assed quips he'd 
begun storing as a child. Sound and energy to fill the 
blank spaces... but the encounter was entirely wrong. The 
air was cool and heavy with fall moisture on his chest and 
the man in front of him wasn't doing this right, at all. 

There needed to be harshly whispered secrets and excuses. 
He needed to bruise his knuckles on the bone beneath 
stubbled skin. There wasn't enough urgency to this and 
sleep was a temptation denied. 

"What'd you bring me, Daddy, hunh?" There was a depressing 
lack of intensity to the sarcasm in his voice. 

Quirk of an eyebrow and Mulder knew the other man had 
picked up on his own low... enthusiasm? Was that what was 
missing? It seemed obscene. Deeply sick to be disappointed 
he wasn't beating on Alex. Or rather, to be disappointed he 
didn't wish to do so.

"Did I come at a bad time?"

"Do you ever come at a good time?"

Alex snorted and tossed him the backpack, moving further 
away at the same time. A declaration of safety, then -- the 
sort of thing that should've been completely at odds with 
his shredded shirt.

"There aren't any nasty toothed things in here, are there?" 

"Not this time, no. And I... never mind."

Mulder paused with his hand half in the bag. "What?"

Alex shrugged, made his way over to the couch. "Toothed. Ed 
words in general. Very..." A smile he'd never seen before, 
brightly wicked, confident and calm. Mulder's knuckles 
itched. "Cute."

"Cute."

"Tooth-ed, fatigue-ed, arouse-ed..." 

"It's not every day I get my clothes sliced off, Krycek."

Brief frown. "Alex."

"What, before I even see what my prezzies are?"

"Tooth-ed. Prezzies. More demon children for you to put up 
with on the job?"

"You know how it is with these kids today--" Mulder bit his 
own words off, quietly appalled at their ease, quietly 
disgusted at his surprise. He began to rummage, growing 
frustrated at the disappointment of his sensory 
expectations. The backpack was nearly empty, no files or 
envelopes that he could feel. 

It occurred to Mulder part of the ease to the encounter was 
that he *did* have certain expectations. It seemed as 
though there'd never been a time that his professional life 
hadn't come with the occasional clandestinely received 
file, the whispered 3 a.m. phone calls that had left him 
numb to the expectation of tragedy. Last spring he'd begun 
discarding the packages, ignoring the calls.

In retrospect, it was only logical his shadowy 

//puppeteers//

presumed allies had decided it was time for a personal 
visit. And after... After that it was impossible to believe 
the putatively anonymous tips he continued to receive came 
from anyone but the man on his couch. But the only thing he 
felt of any consequence in the pack was a slim, cool 
canister. Entertaining thoughts of plague and alien 
organisms with something like excitement, he pulled the 
canister out. To see a gaily colored can of Redi-Whip.

"Whipped cream?" Mulder was grateful for the clarity of 
incredulity in his words, but the edge of disappointment 
was rapidly growing tiresome. "I'd have thought your kinks 
would be a *little* more interesting than this, Krycek."

"My kinks." A pause. "You've thought about my kinks?"

Mulder decided to let the silence hang, set the can aside 
and continued to rummage. Butterscotch sauce. He gave the 
plastic squeeze bottle an ostentatiously quizzical look, 
turned it on the man who'd brought the stuff to his 
apartment. Took the opportunity to get a better look. Sleek 
and well-fed even under the leather... new leather, too. He 
chose to believe the newness justified how the scent of it 
was still heavy on his palate. The past summer had been 
kind to some, it appeared.

"Just what *did* you have planned for tonight?"

Alex snickered, shifted a little on the couch. "Gee, 
Mulder, I think I'd much rather hear you speculate."

"C'mon, haven't we long since established I have a filthy 
mind?"

Broad grin and Mulder wondered if it was the same as the 
one Alex had worn that first night in the cell, in the 
dark. Dirty jokes and stifled laughter. Anything to pass 
the time. Well, perhaps not anything. 

"... mean I don't want to hear it."

Mulder snapped back to himself with a jerk he knew was all 
too visible. The eyes retained their humor but there was a 
seriousness beneath it. Speculation, indeed. For just a 
moment Mulder toyed with the idea of telling Alex precisely 
what he was thinking. Face down on the bed, jerking a 
little -- he'd be tied -- at the feel of cool sauce being 
squeezed down the length of his spine and beyond. Perhaps 
the jacket would be pillowed under his head...

"Nothing all that interesting, Krycek."

A snort. "Liar."

//Yes, but that's what we're *supposed* to be doing.//

"Just tell me what you had planned, Krycek."

He was subjected to an eyebrow quirk in response, and his 
apartment seemed to be spinning rapidly out of sync with 
the rest of reality. This was wrong.

"Fine. What did you have planned, Alex?" There, the 
exasperation at least was perfect, but Alex only grinned at 
him. 

"Check your freezer."

Mulder sighed once, decided to roll with it. "Too much to 
hope for a corpse with mysterious circumstance behind its 
demise, isn't it?"

Alex shook his head. "I *knew* I should've brought the two-
headed tarantula instead."

Mulder paused on his way to the kitchen. He didn't trust 
his ability to hide a smile so he didn't bother to turn. 
"Instead of what?"

"Would you just go *look*?"

And Mulder went. At first, there seemed to be nothing out 
of the ordinary -- same old TV dinners, Scully's round and 
efficient little Tupperware dish filled with her attempt at 
casserole. That had been an... experience... though he had 
to admit the wine had been excellent, the conversation; 
reassuring. But there it was, right in front of his face. A 
half-gallon of premium ice cream. Vanilla ice cream. 

Vanilla.

Perhaps this was Alex's game. Frustrate him to the point of 
homicide with blandness before setting him loose on the 
world. He was willing to bet there weren't even any 
sprinkles. 

"Find it OK?"

Mulder couldn't help stiffening at the husky little purr 
from the vicinity of his left ear, the heat the man 
radiated. He was abruptly aware that his chest was still 
bare, and that his nipples were spiked with cold. It was 
all so annoying: the man could not only creep up on him 
without his knowledge but stock his *freezer*.

"I'm a trained federal agent, Alex." Low chuckle and 
suddenly there was a tongue in ear, lewd and shameless and 
Alex's arm was snaking around his waist, tattered edge of 
his t-shirt pressing into his belly, unmistakable hardness 
against his ass. "Fuck... don't--"

Alex backed off immediately and Mulder slammed the freezer 
closed, quietly shocked to find the ice cream in his hand. 
He set it on the counter and turned. Alex was leaning 
against the kitchen table, dangerously close to an 
extremely tall pile of old folders. His face was as calm as 
ever but Mulder couldn't miss Alex's quick swipe of the 
tongue over his lower lip. Or the ruthless adjustment the 
younger man made to the bulge in his pants. Mulder knew he 
was staring, but his mouth still...

"Ache..."

"What, Mulder?"

"Toothache. We're going to get toothaches if we eat all 
this ice cream." With a dreamy sort of horror Mulder 
realized the reason why he had no idea how Alex was 
reacting was that he was staring nowhere near the other 
man's eyes. Slow drag up over the torso and he was nearly 
caught again by the just-a-little-too hard breathing, 
smooth jaw, parted lips, and finally the eyes. Far too dark 
and serious. 

Mulder was struck with a sudden bone-deep belief that Alex 
was poised on the edge of pouncing on him. Slamming him 
back against the freezer and taking his mouth like he'd 
taken his ear. Gripping him roughly through the jeans 
and...

"... eat it all."

Mulder snapped his gaze back to Alex's face. "What?"

Another laugh, but shaky enough to be shattering in its own 
right. "I said, we don't have to eat it all."

"Oh, right..."

A move, too fast for reaction beyond the reflexive bend in 
Mulder's knee as he reached for his throwaway, but Alex was 
only wielding an ice cream scoop.

His foot fell with a thump. "Christ, Alex, don't you ever 
get mixed up?"

"You'd be surprised what a well-trained man can do with an 
ice cream scoop, Mulder."

"Really?"

"Well, no..."

"Part of you is going to be thinking about the problem all 
night, isn't it?"

Alex snorted once, gave him another grin. "I think that 
depends on you, Mulder."

He could take this as seriously as his own rapidly 
tightening jeans were insisting; he could take the 
invitation to laugh at all the obvious sexual tension. 
Mulder's neck prickled at the acknowledgment and he 
wondered when they'd gained so much *history*. "I'll get 
the bowls."

"Good call." And Alex waited until Mulder had moved to the 
opposite corner of the room before moving in on the ice 
cream. It was a courtesy that felt more like a tease, but 
Mulder had to wonder how much of that was his own fault. 
Which made him bang the cabinet door shut just a little too 
hard.

Alex was digging into the ice cream with the scoop, small 
frown of concentration doing far too little to mar his 
features, and there was a chance -- a good one -- that some 
of that new-leather wash of scent had attached itself to 
the little plastic thing. He wanted to find out. He wanted 
to walk over there -- as he was doing now -- rip the scoop 
out of Alex's grasp, and lick it clean. Just to find out. 
But he settled for placing the bowls down, trying not to 
hover. 

He could go out to the living room and take the plastic 
wrapper off the butterscotch sauce. Presumably Alex liked 
it, or he wouldn't have brought it. He could pop the cap on 
the whipped cream and take a massive hit of nitrous. He 
suspected he'd be disappointed at how the effects would 
compare to this night, though, or even his life in general. 
He could lean a little closer... 

Mulder gave up and ran his nose along Alex's shoulder, felt 
the younger man stiffen and fisted his hands in the 
leather, digging in slightly at Alex's waist. Continued the 
journey up around the collar and felt the tickle of short 
hairs against his forehead.

"Mulder, what..." 

And the sound of Alex's voice made him remember the point 
of this exercise was to breathe deep. And he did, groaning 
because it was just as good as he'd imagined, sharp and 
strong at this distance. He pressed himself harder against 
Alex and continued, halting his hands' progress over the 
trim waist and down by tightening his grip on the jacket 
until he'd reached the abrupt end of the other shoulder. 
Then he reminded himself to let go.

"Living room, then?" There was a brief jab of pain in 
Mulder's hands, another reminder of encroaching age and 
winter, but his voice was admirably steady.

Alex didn't turn immediately. "You are *such* a pervert."

"I'm not the one who brings whipped cream and butterscotch 
sauce and then expects people to actually *eat* it. With 
*food*."

There was an edge in Alex's laugh and that was just fine, 
too. Mulder grabbed a spoon from the dishrack, retrieved 
his bowl, and left the kitchen. Felt eyes on his back and 
wondered how much longer they were going to play at this. 
Set his ice cream on the coffee table. Flopped easily on 
the couch, and wondered if it was too early to throw one 
leg over the back of the thing. And then there was the 
thump-clatter of a bowl hitting the end table behind him 
and a cool hand gripping his chin and tilting his head 
back. The kiss was awkward but the taste was sweet -- Alex 
hadn't waited before digging in. His tongue was a casual 
invader, and as soon as Mulder began sucking on it the hand 
began to rove: tickling his throat, lingering alarmingly 
before finding a nipple and squeezing not hard enough. 
Mulder growled once before reaching back and yanking the 
other man up and over his body. 

Alex giggled and allowed himself to be manhandled, the 
tangled sprawl of their limbs resolving itself with them 
both more off the couch than on. A vicious bite to Mulder's 
calf made him jerk hard enough to land them on the floor, 
but he couldn't bring himself to regret that. Not with Alex 
obliging him with bites all the way up his thigh. 

Mulder tried to get both his jeans and the tattered remains 
of his shirt off at the same time, finally gave up on the 
shirt as a lost cause when he realized Alex was hovering at 
just that point where things got interesting. Moving from 
thigh to thigh, then back again, teeth digging in at the 
exact same pressure each time... Mulder's fingers were 
suddenly, hopelessly clumsy, and he vowed never to purchase 
button-flies again.

"Fuck! Alex, what the hell did you do with the knife?"

He paused mid-bite and Mulder swore he could see the corner 
of his mouth twitch. Laughter in the middle of sex was a 
good thing, but he'd be damned if he'd give the man enough 
time and freedom to indulge in it right *now*.

"Gee, Mulder, you reacted so *badly* to it before... I 
thought you might like it if I took it a little easier, 
instead." And he ran a slow, meticulously gentle hand up 
Mulder's flank. 

Too much. "Just get my fucking pants off and suck me, 
dammit!"

Mulder felt fingers tighten briefly on his hip and then 
Alex was nosing his crotch, less a nuzzle than a full-
facial rub. Animalistic, harsh on the both of them. With 
unerring instinct Alex found the trapped head of his cock 
and sucked hard, growled and Mulder was arching into the 
heat, helpless and needful and it felt so good...

Just as suddenly, Alex pulled himself off and knelt up, 
straddling him. "Please--"

"Grab your fly and hold it away from yourself... Oh, Jesus, 
don't... don't rub like that, Mulder, I'm not that 
good...." 

Another shaky laugh and Mulder finally had a decent grip on 
nothing but the pants, abruptly grateful for his own poor 
eating habits and positive he'd be grateful he'd chosen 
briefs this morning. Alex had the knife in his teeth, 
ludicrously piratical but the practiced shimmy out of the 
jacket inspired nothing resembling humor. 

Knife in his hand, now, and Mulder waited. Watched Alex 
*glare* at the hand until it stopped trembling and then 
Alex cut in just below Mulder's thumb and ripped the fly 
free. Complex little motion and Alex was gripping the knife 
by the tip, seemed poised to toss the thing at some random 
wall. Mulder caught him by the forearm, felt muscles tense 
interestingly under his palm.

"Why don't you just... set it aside for now, Alex?"

"For now."

Not a question so Mulder chose not to answer, instead 
running his hand along the other man's arm, digging his 
thumb in small, suggestive circles on the smooth wrist. He 
could feel Alex's gaze demanding a meeting and he complied, 
smiling once into the gleam before leaning back on his 
elbows and bucking as much as he could under Alex's warm, 
solid weight.

Thick lashes fluttered closed. "Mmm... yeah... you wanted 
me to suck you..."

Mulder chuckled low in his throat and made spreading 
motions with his thighs. "That was the plan, yes."

Wicked grin and Alex was scooting back and flattening 
himself, grabbing the waistband of Mulder's briefs in his 
teeth and yanking them down just far enough. Short laps 
along his shaft and each was its own slash; wet bladed cuts 
that left him squirming and groaning. Begging with the 
mindless snap of his hips toward a mouth that refused to 
descend properly.

"Don't... don't tease please I want to come in your 
mouth..."

Alex nosed his sack out of the way and bit him high on the 
thigh, sharp and warningly but the pain shot to the base of 
his spine and mingled with everything else and he cried out 
for more. Alex bit him again and suckled, and Mulder knew 
he'd have a bruise tomorrow but all he wanted -- all he 
could care about -- was the concept of more. Abstract in 
the extreme but *good*.

Alex began yanking at his ruined pants, growling soft and 
low and Mulder reached down to help as much as he was able, 
lifting his hips and 

"Christ, Mulder--"

wriggling to make it easier, or perhaps just for the sheer 
joy of wriggling and Alex was back down again, bracing his 
forearm low on Mulder's abdomen and sucking in the head of 
his cock. Bright heat and near-pain and not enough time to 
work it out in his head before Alex was taking him deep. 
Mulder could feel throat muscles working and he let his 
head fall back to the floor, grateful for the carpeting and 
the enthusiastic suck and the oh Christ *hum* --

"Alex--"

And then his own voice was a mystery to him, flat and 
shameless but it was probably just more and Alex again and 
again and his body was restless under Alex, snapping and 
rolling like he'd wanted to do since the first guileless, 
lying "C'mon," since the first time he'd felt that lean, 
hard length struggling against his own....

Alex pulled back until he had just the head in his mouth, 
pulled hard once, twice and Mulder *would* make him tell 
who'd taught him how and he buried his hands in the soft 
dark hair and the flow of it was an eternity of water and 
Alex took him deep again. One last, wet moan around his 
length and he was coming hard, deep into Alex's throat and 
the rough cry was broken glass in his throat.

Mulder opened his eyes to a view of plain white socks, toes 
wriggling a bit within their confines. Clink-scrape from 
above and he craned his neck to see Alex stretched out on 
his couch, eating ice cream and still mostly clothed. 
Mulder looked down at himself, took in the shredded t-shirt 
puddled around his shoulders, kicked off the tangle of his 
pants. 

The thought of some faceless drone pawing through his trash 
and finding his clothes was almost pleasant enough to 
ignore the picture of calm on his couch. Almost. 

Mulder forced his sex-slackened limbs to motion and stood, 
still wobbly.

"Do you have any *idea* how sexy you look with just that t-
shirt, Mulder?"

He refused to be distracted. "You're eating the ice cream."

Alex smiled, got himself another liquid spoonful. "I am, 
indeed."

"It's not even a solid anymore, it's... it's vanilla 
*soup*."

Alex turned his gaze to the bowl, wobbled it a bit. "You 
have a point."

"Why aren't you fucking me?" 

//OK, that wasn't in the script.//

The other man just tilted the bowl up and slurped the mess 
down, not even bothering to wipe away the vanilla mustache 
melting its way over his lips. Quick and mostly ineffectual 
swipe of the tongue. "It's not *every* day I get the chance 
for a good bowl of ice cream."

Mulder nodded once, picked up the knife, and advanced. 
Settled himself on Alex with a moan and leaned in to clean 
away the offending ice cream with his tongue. Alex dropped 
his head back against the arm rest and lay nearly passive 
under Mulder's attentions, only his thumb moving, working 
Mulder's nipple with restless focus. Finally, Mulder let 
his tongue slip inside and couldn't hold back the moan at 
the taste of himself mingled so decadently with cool 
sweetness. 

That spurred Alex to action and Mulder was treated to the 
singular sensation of having his own tongue licked with the 
sort of regard for detail that would make a CPA proud. The 
twitch in his still over-sensitized cock was, perhaps, the 
most obvious sign that it had been too long. Never mind 
that he was grinding himself, heedless of pain or shame, 
into another man. Never mind said man was Alex Krycek...

No, he'd have to take that back. It was Alex Krycek licking 
his tongue, and Alex Krycek stroking and petting and 
gripping him hard, and it was Alex Krycek whose dick would 
be as far up his ass as he could convince the man to go. 

Mulder stood up again, letting Alex's hand catch nothing 
but his t-shirt, reveling in the odd sensation of freedom 
as it was finally pulled away from his body as he made his 
way to the bedroom. Brief twist ensured the knife remained 
firmly in his grasp, loose-limbed dip and he had his own 
bowl of vanilla soup. A creak of old leather and Alex was 
behind him again, he knew it, and damned if he didn't 
intend to keep him there.

"Bring the whipped cream."

"Yes, *sir*." And the smile was audible, but Mulder found 
he was growing a little used to it.

"And the butterscotch sauce."

"Way ahead of you."

Mulder thought about sharing his musings about the benefits 
of Alex staying behind him but decided against it in the 
darkened bedroom. The streetlights only enhanced the gleam 
in the other man's eyes and Mulder set the bowl down on the 
end-table; tugged the toppings out of Alex's unresisting 
grip and tossed them on the bed. Made his own ridiculously 
clumsy cut with the knife -- Alex wasn't laughing -- before 
finally tearing the thing off. Tossed the knife away, 
pleased at the satisfying thunk into his wall. Finally 
allowed himself to take in Alex's naked torso. 

Scarred, asymmetrical, but essentially *Alex* in a way that 
was terrifyingly easy to believe in. Beautiful. Mulder 
shook off the momentary paralysis, caught Alex by the jeans 
and pulled him close, claiming another kiss.

Still sweet-bitter, still intoxicating and Mulder was 
grateful his hands were finally behaving, yanking open the 
jeans and catching Alex at the root. The move earned him a 
gasp and a bite to the lip. Perfection but Mulder wanted 
more. Tossed Alex on the bed and yanked the jeans and 
boxers off, and reminding his body of the lessened urgency 
didn't make it any easier to move as slowly as his mind 
desired.

Alex was hard and ready for him and there was so much he 
wanted to do and feel and... taste. Mulder felt his mouth 
curl into a smile but the look of encroaching apprehension 
on Alex's face was a better gauge than any mirror of how it 
must look. He dumped the ice cream soup unceremoniously 
along the other man's length to the accompaniment of a 
truly inspiring shriek. 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Mulder!"

"Oh, c'mon, it's not *that* cold." He punctuated his 
mollification with a lick of promise along Alex's softening 
cock. And reached for the butterscotch sauce. The squirm 
was an entertainment in itself, but...

"Jesus-- the *sheets*!"

"We'll burn 'em with my clothes. Knees up and spread." Alex 
obeyed with a giggle, followed by a reflexive jerk as the 
new positioning caused some of the mess to move to more 
interesting areas. Mulder considered the whipped cream, 
decided it might be a little much. He surveyed his 
handiwork and grinned ruefully. Alex was a mess, although 
Mulder had to admit he was a terribly attractive and 
tempting one. 

Mulder grabbed a pillow and set it under the other man's 
willing hips and began to lap. "You couldn't just get some 
chocolate sauce?"

Alex had begun to tremble with the first touch of his 
tongue along his perineum, words spoken there made him 
jerk. Mulder wrapped his arms around the lean, sticky 
thighs to hold him steady.

"I didn't... didn't want to be too predictable Christ don't 
stop..."

Husky and hoarse and wanting and impossible to resist. 
Mulder tightened his hold on Alex's thighs and did his 
level best to lick him clean. And then gave up on that and 
just rimmed the man. He hadn't done this for another man in 
years and it was just as good as he remembered. Dark taste 
losing nothing to the cloying sweetness, moans and pleas 
sending him quietly reeling...

But he wanted more. One final stab and Mulder ran his 
tongue back up, pausing to suck on Alex's lightly quivering 
sack before giving it a firm tug with his fingers.

"Bastard!"

"This isn't the time for your latest excuse about my 
father, Alex."

Alex's breathy laugh was more than a little tinged with 
shock, snapping Mulder far enough back into himself that he 
could decide, for perhaps the thousandth time, that he 
really was quite fucked up. That taken care of he could 
continue licking just enough to get Alex's cock condom 
ready. And then just a little bit more because that hand 
massaging his scalp was a fine thing and he could get used 
to butterscotch so long as it never lost the gift of 
bitter, pearling fluid and sharp cries...

But he wanted more. Mulder pulled off, narrowly avoiding 
losing a large tuft of hair to Alex's fingers. He fumbled 
in the end table for condoms and slick and the purr he got 
when they landed on the bed was the sort of thing that 
coiled around the base of the spine and settled there with 
sleepy contentment. 

"How do you want to do this Mulder, hmm?" Hand stroking his 
thigh, tugging a bit at the short hairs.

"My way."

Short bark of laughter and Alex was settling his arm behind 
his head, laying himself out obligingly. "You know, if you 
keep behaving this way I'm *never* going to bring the two- 
headed tarantula."

Mulder rolled the condom on Alex, taking far too long, but 
there was all that damned sticky stuff to be considered 
and... "Was that supposed to be a threat, Alex?" Brief 
squeeze to get another moan.

"N-no... I'm just... absolutely terrified about what you'd 
*do* with it."

"Are you..." The feel of the lube was cool on his fingers 
and made Alex move encouragingly under his hand. Had to be 
instinctive. He doubted anyone -- faced with a flushed, 
moaning, and fully erect Alex -- would be able to do many 
things beyond the obvious. Unless, of course, they *led* to 
the obvious. 

"Am I what?"

"Hmmm...?"

"Mulder... take it easy..."

Mulder shook himself out of it again and positioned himself 
above Alex, squeezed more slick on his fingers and began to 
rub a little warmth into it. "I was going to ask you a 
question..."

"Yeah?" Alex eyes were burning, wholly focused on what 
Mulder was doing. He licked his lips again and Mulder 
hissed at the sight, decided if he was going to get himself 
done he'd have to avoid it for a while.

"Do you honestly mean to tell me you *weren't* planning 
this when you packed all the dessert toppings?"

Alex laughed, groaned and rolled as the sound apparently 
shot to his own cock. "Well... I never thought... thought 
you'd go through with it..."

A small voice began to yell at his pride for feeling 
bruised, but some things weren't to be borne. "Really."

Again, not a question and Mulder didn't bother looking for 
a response, just reached back and took himself, knowing on 
some level that Alex would never do it this hard but it 
felt *good*. He could feel his spine arching as he worked 
his fingers, a twist and he was crying out, eyes long since 
closed and of course he knew how to do this for himself... 
but it was almost too much to think about the fact he was 
doing it for someone else this time.

Better for it to be a solitary game, better not to think 
about the thighs flexing restlessly between his own, the 
meaningless string of hoarse pleas raining on his ears... 
better to be alone in this, fingers deep and flexing, cock 
painting his own abdomen with the promise that yes, he'd be 
allowed to grasp it soon, stroke fast and hard but that 
wasn't *his* hand on his cock...

"Mulder, please--"

Well, that game ended quickly but Mulder couldn't bring 
himself to regret it, not when he could catch Alex's cock 
by the base and position it, not when he could sink down 
and gasp at the blunt reality, further and sob, just a 
little... Alex still held him and began to stroke, just as 
carefully as he expected but the hand was callused and 
strong and it was enough to make Mulder move. He pulled 
off, aching at the loss despite his control and slammed 
back down, pinioning himself wonderfully and he wanted.

Alex heard the request and leaned back, bracing himself as 
much as possible and slamming hard, leaving Mulder to take 
his own cock and jerk. There was nothing quite like this at 
all, even with other men. Alex poured everything he had 
into his fuck, loud and reckless and just what Mulder 
needed. He screwed himself down, tossing his head back and 
groaning, begging for more when he was getting everything 
he wanted and more than he'd dreamed.

The night wasn't supposed to have gone this way, but Mulder 
could take it, take Alex and let himself be taken, lose 
himself in a brutal ride and the sound of his own cries, 
wonder if it would ever happen again. If he could ever 
*allow* it to happen again, but thoughts like that burned 
faster than the fuse of his spine. He was his aching cock 
and his marvelously split ass and nothing more than that 
could possibly matter...

And Mulder felt it start to build and fought it back for a 
few more precious moments of give and receive before losing 
it altogether, close to tumbling off with the strength of 
it but Alex's cock was its own foundation and force, 
holding him steady even while driving him mad, shouting and 
coming, rode to the sort of oblivion he dreamed of when it 
was cold and he was...

******

Mulder woke up alone. Or, so he thought at first. The empty 
space beside him was still quite warm and reeked pleasantly 
of Alex and far too much sugar. The sheets were hopeless, 
by the feel of them. He nudged himself out from under a 
soft mass of pillow, listened. There was the soft creak of 
a floorboard.

He pulled himself out of bed, glanced at the clock and 
winced. Tomorrow -- today -- would be a vacation day. Fuck 
the reports, he'd e-mail them in. For now, he needed to get 
some idea of what he should expect.

Made his way to the living room and found Alex on the 
couch, slumped against the back, eyes closed yet in 
constant motion behind the lids.

"Mmph. What are you doing up?"

Mulder shrugged, realized that further coherency was 
probably required at this point, realized he had no idea 
what to say, and moved to join the other man on the couch. 
Had to try, though...

"You know, you could --"

And the eyes snapped open immediately, fixed him with a 
look both wry and a bit rueful. "No, I can't."

Mulder nodded, picked up the backpack from where it had 
landed the night before. "So... what else do you have in 
here, Alex? Did I miss anything important?"

Chuckle broken with a yawn. "Not sure... haven't carried 
the thing in a long time."

"And yet you told me with a straight face there weren't any 
nasty tooth-ed things in here."

"Well, I was reasonably sure. Go ahead and rummage. Maybe 
you *did* miss something important."

Mulder obliged, pulling out an assortment of commonly 
pretty stones that got him a blush and a sour little twist 
of the mouth, a large New York City subway token with a "Y" 
punched out the middle --

"Hey, I said it had been a while, Mulder."

"Yes, but you weren't even--"

"A souvenir."

//Of what? Another time...//

The prize had to be the dark blue and extremely battered 
paperback copy of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ he 
found when he pried up the bit of cardboard that gave the 
pack shape. 

Alex reached for the book, turned it a little wonderingly 
before handing it back to Mulder. "I'd forgotten about 
that. I used to..."

"Used to what?"

Alex gave him a look of exasperated tolerance, shifted into 
a slightly more upright position. "I used to read a few 
pages of that every day to... Well, just because."

Mulder thought about it for a moment, before nodding his 
understanding.

"You can keep it, if you want. Tends to make everything 
else... normal."

Mulder breathed, set the book down, closed the backpack, 
set *that* down. Turned to look at Alex and twisted himself 
awkwardly, taking Alex's face in his hands.

//Come back soon.//

The kiss was slow and gentle and easy, though difficult to 
pull away from.

"Thank you."

Mulder took the bright grin for the farewell he hoped it 
was and went back to the bedroom. He really did need to get 
some sleep. 
~~~~
End.
~~~~

Note: When I asked Imajiru what I could possibly give her 
for providing me with a home (I have a home! I have a 
home!)  she replied:

"M/K, a knife, need, intensity, whipped cream, a toothache,
butterscotch sauce, and one of those NYC Subway tokens 
that went out of circulation 20 years ago."

Hope you like your present, chica!