by A. Leigh-Anne Childe and torch
flambeau@strangeplaces.net, eliade@drizzle.com
Disclaimer: Well, we were in the rathole, and... Do not archive this story without permission.
Pyrolagnia
_torch_: Now I wanna see him in flannel PJ's.
AnnaB: Ooh yeah.
AnnaB: With aeroplanes all over.
_torch_: NO!
AnnaB: And a teddy bear clutched in one arm.
AnnaB: No planes?
_torch_: No bloody aeroplanes or UFO's or goldfish...
AnnaB: No bear?
_torch_: No planes, no bear, no daddy Skinner.
AnnaB pouts and clutches Mulder's bear.
_torch_: Just Mulder in a cabin somewhere on a reluctant vacation, sitting in front of the fire wearing flannel PJ's because it's really cold
AnnaB clutches Mulder's bare unmentionable.
AnnaB: Ooh, lovely lonely Mulder.
_torch_: and he's feeling lonely and thoughtful, when he hears a soft tap on the window
AnnaB: And in comes Alex, shaking off the snow...
AnnaB: Holding a gun.
AnnaB: "Hey, that gun looks cold..."
Mulder got to his feet and stood there staring, unsure about the best approach to take when you're held at gunpoint in flannel sleepwear.
And Alex grinned. "Hey, that's a good look on you. But I've seen my fill, so take 'em off." Mulder shivered and told himself it was just because Alex didn't close the door properly. "Mulder — move it or lose it — well, you're going to lose it anyway." Alex cackled nastily. "High time we got that cherry popped free, baby."
"Why don't you shut the door, Krycek. With yourself on the outside."
"Now, now. Aren't you glad to see me? And here I was touched that you waited up for me." Alex kicked the door shut and walked closer, dripping snow on the floorboards.
"Alex, all good snakes are out in the woods where they belong." Mulder stepped back.
"Don't retreat, Mulder. I want to work for this. A little, anyway."
Mulder, on the verge of backing into the fireplace, stopped. "Are you just going to point that thing around, or do something with it?"
"Your mouth hasn't changed a bit. Thank God."
"Why don't you get out of those wet clothes and into a pair of handcuffs."
Alex dropped the gun in his haste to comply. He began ripping off his leather jacket. Mulder watched, smiling. Alex, flushed, slowed down a little. Peeled out of his leather, tossed the jacket aside, knocking over a lamp. He skimmed free of his sweater, chucked it off too. In jeans and boots, he looked almost like a normal boy.
Mulder moved to one side, so the light from the fire could fall on Alex. He was watching intently, taking in every graceful movement, every line of the other man's body. But he couldn't resist saying: "You couldn't have just gotten an ear pierced, Alex?"
Alex kicked off his boots. His dark hair fell forward into his face; his skin gleamed in the firelight with a sheen of breaking sweat. The gun lay forgotten on the floor; Mulder was starting to feel entirely too hot in his flannel PJ's, maybe he was standing too close to the fire. The fire that was Alex, the fire that had burned under his skin for so long now.
"Flannel, Mulder. I wouldn't have pegged you for something so wholesome. Flannel's awfully hot, Mulder," Alex said huskily.
Mulder was tugging unconsciously at the collar of his pajama top. "The black lace is in the wash."
Alex blinked alertly. "I'll bet it is. They told me you were a pervert. I always hoped they were right."
It was choking him. Maybe he'd better take it off. He took a step closer to Alex and smiled. "You wanna find out? Help me get out of this."
Alex whipped out a knife. "Let's do this the quick way."
A chill ran down Mulder's spine and before he knew it he was nodding, waiting for the cold touch of metal. "I might need those buttons later," he gasped out, as Alex flicked the knife tip against the collar.
"I'll save them for you." Mulder closed his eyes and groaned as the knife teasingly stroked his nipple through the fabric of his pajama top. A pervert? Was he a pervert for liking this, the beautiful menacing presence of a half-naked Alex Krycek, caressing him with a knife blade? "I'll bet you've got some other buttons, don't you, Mulder? Want to find out what they are?"
"You want to push my buttons, Krycek?"
"You know it, partner."
I am a pervert, Mulder thought. He let Krycek cut him free of the flannel, the armor of wholesomeness. When the knife finished he stood, chest bared, gleaming with an arousal to match the other man's. It was a happy thought in its way; there was something soothing about it, freeing. It left him free to arch his back against the teasing touch of the knife, free to look into Alex's glittering green eyes and see his own desire mirrored there.
Firelight gleamed on the moving knife blade that he'd half forgotten about, as it rose and touched his cheek. "You can do better than that, Alex," he said.
"I could make you come just with this, Mulder. Do you believe me?" Oh yes, he believed. "Wouldn't you like a few scars to mark the occasion? A brand or two." Alex jerked his head toward the fire, face dangerous. Mulder couldn't tell how serious he was. He let himself consider the idea, touch it, skirt away from it.
Then he smiled. "Can't you touch me?" he asked.
Alex's eyes glowed darkly and he threw the knife hard over Mulder's shoulder. Mulder heard the dull soft thunk as it entered the wood of the wall. The sound was almost buried underneath the wild beating of his heart.
"You should be more worried about what I can do with my hands, Fox," Alex said in a voice that was no more than a breath.
Mulder caught his own breath harshly. The blood pounded in his ears and he wondered distantly if he was frightened. Or if he was too aroused to be frightened. That husky, whispery, fiery voice could make him come.
"Where will worrying get me?" he managed to say, through a flaming face and numbed, burning lips. Just touch me, he wanted to say, beg, plead, just touch me.
As if reading his mind Alex laid his fingers gently where the knife point had rested. It was the barest feather of a touch. It skimmed the rough edge of his jaw and flared under the skin, raising his blood to the surface. Mulder tried to keep from shuddering, but every part of his body strained towards that single touch, craved it.
"How long has it been, Mulder — I'll bet you've counted the days."
"Two-hundred and seventy-three." Alex blinked thoughtfully. "Since you left," Mulder finished softly.
He shook his head, half in denial, half because he didn't want to think about what he'd just said. Alex was staring at him with dark, unreadable eyes that a man could drown in. Mulder lifted his hand, slowly, as if it belonged to someone else, and watched it move towards Alex, settling on the curve of his shoulder. Mulder felt embarrassed at himself for the words that could not be unspoken, but his body moved with an instinct that evaded his control.
He brushed his thumb across the smooth skin, then slid his palm down the chest until it grazed a tightening nipple. His eyes darted to Alex's face, seeking a reaction. Alex's eyes had fallen shut and his face was pale and tense, as if he were focused elsewhere, or remembering. Did he feel anything?
Mulder remembered, too. His fingers remembered. They moved in lazy circles across Alex's chest, tracing the muscles, the solid strength that could be a threat or a comfort. He could feel the steady beat of the other man's heart, could feel the rapid increase as his breathing deepened and roughened. He wondered if he could make Alex gasp now, as he used to — did he still make those sounds — would he?
"Since I did this," he whispered and bent forward, unable to resist, pressing his lips against the other man's throat and biting down right there, in that soft hollow.
Alex caught him by the shoulders, his fingers digging in; his response was wordless but intense. Mulder's tongue flicked out and around the cup of salt he'd found, teasing in slow circles. He moved his mouth down, licking a line along the center of Alex's chest, tasting skin and sweat, the raw familiar taste, Alex, that he could never mistake for anyone else's. He could feel the light trembling in the other man's body, evidence of hairline fractures in his usual control. He was always so ferociously controlled, so fiercely withheld, that Mulder ached at every touch, as he did now, ached in helpless sympathy. He knew the painful nature of self-constriction. He and Alex were very alike.
Time turned inwards on itself, taking him back to those other times, every moment of their togetherness blending together. There was no longer anything strange about this. Oh, it was strange, and crazy and dangerous, but he'd stopped thinking about those things as anything other than minor, irrelevant facts. He didn't want to know how Alex had found him, what his intentions were — if they went beyond this. This was enough. Enough, if he could get Alex to cry out just once.
Dropping to his knees, he looked up at Alex, who took his face in both hands, cradling it hungrily. "What did you come for?" Mulder said roughly, voice low and dry and cracked, the voice of a man parched for drink. "This?"
"You," Alex said huskily. "I came for you."
"Yes." Mulder nodded. "Yes. I'll make you come for me."
Smiling, Mulder leaned in, his face still held in Alex's grip, and brushed his lips at the jutting curve of denim in front of his face. Alex jerked and his grip tightened. He ran his hands up Alex's thighs, willing his touch to burn the cloth away. Alex swayed as if at the wind's strong touch and groaned when Mulder's hands slid between his thighs. "Mulder, I'm having a hard time standing."
Yes, he thought, yes, let me hear it, that I'm doing this to you, that I can still do this to you. "So fall," he said teasingly.
Alex grabbed a handful of his hair. "If I fall, I'm landing on you, lover."
He reached up and took a firm grip around Alex's hips, and pulled him down. They fell in a heap, rolling across the floor to lie in front of the fireplace. Mulder made a small throaty sound, almost a purr. "Déjà vû."
Alex, unsurprisingly, maneuvered himself on top as the roll ended. Mulder lay flat on his back, looking dreamily up at him. The close contact, body to body, was heated in a way that their previous teasing hadn't been and Mulder smiled, desire melting in him, making him languid and happy. "I can't reach you like this," he said softly.
"That's the plan," Alex said, eyes narrowing. "It involves getting you just where I want you."
He arched up in slow motion, pressing himself against Alex, then sinking back into the softness of the sheepskins. "Mmmmm. Where do you want me?"
Alex, losing track of his thoughts, murmured back, "Hmm?"
Anywhere, he thought, and you know it. Anywhere, it doesn't matter. Alex pulled himself upright to straddle Mulder's hips and began tracing patterns on the other man's bare chest. Firelight flickered on the smooth almond skin. "You never did get that nipple-ring, Fox. I'm disappointed. I thought we had an agreement."
"You left. All contracts null and void. I bought a new belt instead."
"Pervert," Alex said fondly.
"We can make a new agreement," Mulder suggested, arching, purring, gasping.
"Mm. Such as?"
He twisted into Alex's touch. "Kiss me and I'll think about it."
Alex leaned in, a panther settling over its prey. "I might be giving up my bargaining chips if I kiss you."
Mulder watched Alex's face, his eyelids sinking, his lips parting in anticipation. "Oh, I think you have more than kisses to bargain with." He groaned a little, an irritable but attractive sound, as he well knew.
Alex looked smug. "Well, you haven't forgotten me, I'm honored."
Forgotten, no. If there was one thing he was never going to forget for as long as he lived... Mulder sighed. He didn't want to think. He wanted that mouth on his own, now. "I haven't forgotten, Krycek. But if you kiss me, I'll promise to try."
Alex's eyes seemed to shadow briefly, but then he smiled. Mulder lifted his head towards Alex's, ignoring the strain in his neck muscles. Their lips touched briefly, then just as Mulder was about to give up, Alex curved a hand behind his head. Alex lifted Mulder into a kiss that slid like a hot knife into his mouth. This was what he had waited for and what he had been afraid of, more than the cold kiss of the blade before. He could feel it carving him to pieces, shards of flesh, bleeding and hot. He was in ribbons. He was undone. It sliced through thought and feeling, reducing him to want, need, a creature of elemental desires, a craving like fire possessing him and leaving him mindless and barely breathing.
He thought of demons that were said to slip into the rooms of people who slept and steal their breath as they dreamed. This was worse; he was conscious, he was lost and falling like an angel from heaven. He cried out then, into Alex's mouth, and struggled up against him without thinking, desperate to feel every inch of his body against his own.
Alex shoved back with hands and hips and mouth, meeting him kiss for kiss, breath for breath. Their bodies, in erratic synch, caught and sustained a newer, more urgent rhythm. They were caught in each other, tangled together with all the small sharp hooks of their being, and when they pulled it was to draw closer, not to break free.
There was a moment when they were all awkward knees and bones, and then Mulder felt his thighs nudged apart. The breath caught in his throat and his head fell back in a mute gesture of acceptance, of certain knowledge that this was what he wanted. Alex's body wedded itself to his, and the fit was so perfect Mulder shuddered and lifted and his throat opened as if to sing. Alex thrust his hips once, twice, working his still-clothed erection over Mulder's like a bow across an aching clutch of violin strings. Heat went through him in dark heavy pulses, pushing his body into a wilder and more exquisite tension. Notes from the music gathering in his body loosened and floated free like dark moths, rising. He could hear his own throat stroking itself with soft wordless cries.
He raised one leg, drew it up, wrapped it around Alex's working hips and the weight and friction was almost too much for him suddenly, and he was fighting himself, arching up, struggling in small frantic shivers. "Oh, Christ," Alex said, driven to speech by the unexpected pressure. He arched, his chin lifting, eyelids and dark lashes stuttering on his cheeks.
Mulder sucked in air, fought for control, slid his hands down Alex's smooth back until they bumped into the waist of the jeans. Get these damn things off, Alex...
"Alex," he managed to say aloud. "Fuck the jeans!"
It wasn't what he'd meant to say and Alex gave a small choking sound of laughter. "What d'you think I'm doing?" he breathed back, giggling.
Mulder laughed too, helplessly, as even the shaking of laughter provided its own interesting friction. Mulder banged his head once against the rug and the hard floor beneath. Once, twice—
"Get them off, damn it!" Alex twisted half off and wrenched at the fly. The pain in his head provided the next words. "I want you to fuck me, Alex, not your goddamn Levis."
"I'm working on it, Mulder!" The words were ground out through clenched teeth. "You're not helping me much!"
That set him off again; he laughed, and rolled his head this way and that on the soft sheepskin. "I'm holding still," Mulder pointed out, in what seemed to him a reasonable tone, when the first glissade of laughter slid off.
The dark look Alex gave him sprung forth another weak hiccup of mirth. But it did occur to him that things would go better if he also took off the rest of his clothes, so he struggled up on his elbows and started to slide out of his pajama bottoms.
"Button-fly!" Alex said, like a curse.
Alex finally managed to work open his jeans, and between groans he rolled to one side and kicked out of their tangling hold. Mulder rolled after him. "Not into the fire, loverboy. You'll burn something important."
"I'm going to burn these fucking jeans," Alex seethed, tossing them into the dark recesses of the cabin.
Mulder just smiled, and pressed himself close against Alex's body, hissing with pleasure as they finally touched skin to skin, head to toe. Alex seemed to lose his ire then, too, and groaned roughly as Mulder moved astride him. He was quickly taking on the stunned, stupefied look of a man in thrall to every nerve ending at once. And it was beautiful, irresistible; Mulder wanted to devour him, and did.
He rediscovered Alex with his mouth, with painstaking care, working from the silken hollow at the base of his throat to the gemmed flat vault of his chest, then lower. It was almost frightening to find how well he remembered every special touch, every intimate secret, and how openly Alex responded to his caresses. It stunned him anew that a man so hard, so self-contained could release himself to Mulder, and surrender to his touch and pleasure.
When he dipped his tongue into the shallow indentation of the navel, he knew before he heard it just what kind of breathy gasp Alex would make. And when it reached his ears, a sharp slap on the air, it impacted on his skin as well. He could feel the burn of stricken flesh all along his body, from his flushed cheeks down to the curling ache of his balls. The taste in his mouth was a familiar one, the sharp flavor of wanting.
He pressed his burning face to Alex's hip, next to the rising brief-cached curve of Alex's shaft. Alex hissed his frustration and tried to shift his head. Mulder curled closer, and breathed through the cloth, soft warm breath.He rubbed his hair teasingly across the strained cotton, half smiling, lips parted. Alex swore in some strange language and one trembling hand found Mulder's chin and tugged it desperately. Mulder kissed the nudging spear of Alex's thumb and heard his own purr. He smiled, feeling wicked and happy, and curved his fingers into the waistband of his lover's briefs.
The elastic pulled away from the flesh, and the heat that rolled into the air was like the edge of a fire's flames. The sight and sound of Alex straining towards pleasure had blunted the edge of his own need for the moment. The almost unspeakable need to fill his mouth with his lover's thrusting desire made him dizzy, made him feel as if his head was stuffed with heated fuzz. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, could taste the wet fire of saliva on his tongue, as if he were a dog trained to lust for a treat.
Mulder touched his lips in an airy, casual brush against the hard shaft, holding himself back, teasing them both, drawing back again. He wanted, wanted so badly that neither his heart nor his mind had words for it and only the aching hardness of his cock and the tight pressure of his balls could understand it. He drew the bunched cotton lower, pulling it free of Alex's uplifted erection, down over his balls, but left it there, too stricken to think about removing the briefs completely. Too focused to consider taking on such work that would distract him from the display in front of him.
When his tongue flicked out, he had no conscious control over it. It curled, pressed against his teeth, demanding to be allowed to taste. Alex jerked under his light flickering gift.
"Alex, you've grown a few inches?" Mulder whispered, with breathless, goofy tenderness.
Alex groaned and swatted him, a gesture that incidentally allowed him to pull at Mulder's head and draw him closer. His long fingers tangled in Mulder's hair, intimate and strong. Mouth pressed against hard flesh now, he did not try to resist, but parted his lips and slid them around the slick head. A wet cap of pearled fire, salty, masculine, slid past his parted lips, into his mouth. The sensation made him moan; it was fully as sensual, nearly as satisfying as receiving such an intimate caress would be. He ran his tongue around the furled base of the cockhead, then flicked it back and forth deliberately. He wanted to feel Alex lose it, wanted to feel him wrest control into his own hands and take what he wanted, but he couldn't speak his hunger. When Alex bucked up, deeper into his mouth, he sucked more strongly, then slid his mouth back up the shaft slowly. Both Alex's hands clung now in his hair, and stroked there, twining, gripping with rhythmic endeavor to draw him further in.
It was strangely sweet to be trusted like this, to hold Alex in his mouth and tongue his desire, lick his exposed need, the core of his desperate wanting trapped between Mulder's lips. Mulder let Alex pull at him, allowed his lips to slide further down. He began to feel a familiar loosening in himself as his control slid away; he was surrendering to the rhythm Alex was setting, and riding the other man's escalating pleasure. He wanted Alex to fuck his mouth, and deliberately teased the other man toward this purpose, tightening and easing the ruthless grip of his mouth and tongue until Alex was sounding his pleasure harshly.
The thrusts of Alex's hips had begun to sharpen and focus into hard, quick jabs. Alex's cock struck into Mulder's mouth like the whipping bite of a snake. The moans scraped along his nerves, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the powerful thrusts of the hard flesh in his mouth. It was making him dizzy, driving him to unexpected heights. He could feel his breath thinning, and it was the edge he needed for his own lust. His own cock, half-forgotten, drove back and forth across the rough furred nap of the rug, through flannel and cotton, a suddenly sparking counterpoint to the spearing fire in his mouth.
He couldn't come from this, could he, the sound, the taste, the intense sensation, feeling Alex wild with pleasure on his tongue. He wouldn't have thought so, but the frenzied drive of his hips was quickly matching Alex's, and he nearly cried out at the cracking whip of lust that was short-circuiting his body. The harsh moan he heard was his own, he realized, breaking from his throat to stroke Alex's cock. And as if sound were the razor's edge Alex had craved he suddenly began to come.
The fingers curled into his hair clenched harder, and the sudden stab of pain shot through him and he tasted his lover's seed on his tongue, wanted to scream with it. Seed jetted from Alex's swollen, pulsing cock and exploded against the back of Mulder's mouth and filled his throat. He gasped and choked and sobbed, his own hips working frantically. Stars filled the dark vault behind his eyes and his own cock bolted itself to his belly, a rod of near pain. And then he was there — springing free from the cliff — into the roaring crashing sea below.
His head fell against Alex's belly, resting heavily there. He was blind and deaf, lost in the warm darkness, with only the sweet taste of Alex on his tongue to remind him of where and who he was. A man without a name for a time. A man with no obligations, duties, conscience. Free to take this — this pleasure — and to give it. If he had had the breath for it, he would have laughed with simple joy.
Instead he gave the slurred, wordless purr of post-coital contentment that was all he could manage at that moment. At such moments. Alex's fingers moved in his hair again, a slow and disarmingly tender touch. He shifted minutely under it.
"What are you thinking?" Mulder said, sliding his head up to rest on Alex's chest.
"Thinking?" Alex's voice was slow and scratchy.
"Mm... the case... the mortgage payments, the kids. Scully's birthday party Saturday—"
"I'm glad you set this up. It was good to get away."
"You usually give me such a hard time about these role playing games," Mulder murmured wickedly.
"It was good this time." Alex smiled. "Things were getting a bit humdrum."
"Humdrum?" Mulder tried to raise his head enough that Alex could see him pout.
"Marriage is nice, but..."
"Sometimes I miss the old days. Our partnership was such a simple, black-and-white thing then."
"Good guy, bad guy — Consortium, FBI."
"Right. Which one of us was which, again?"
"Asshole," Alex said fondly, stroking Mulder's wedding ring with one exploring finger.
"Mmmm." Mulder stretched against his lover's body, lazy, content, thinking slow pleasant thoughts about what might happen once they both recovered.
"You've been wanting a second honeymoon," Alex said, looking at the shadows on the ceiling. "We could go back to Hawaii."
"Too much sun," Mulder muttered. "And those shirts! Who'll take care of the kids?" he asked, sitting up and stretching.
"Scully said she would." Alex tried to look innocent under his partner's cool gaze.
"You've been planning this?"
"Well, our ANNIVERSARY is coming up and all."
"But you know how Walter spoils them!" Mulder was struck by a sudden thought. "Hey Alex?"
"Yes, pumpkin?"
"You going to buy me that earring, then?"
"Damn right... but they don't call it an earring when you wear it there."
"I'm not going to — ooooh."
Alex's attack had been sudden and his capture was thorough.
_torch_ throws her hands in the air
AnnaB chortles
AnnaB does likewise
_torch_: Anna love, it's midnight here — they may be up for another round but I'm not!
AnnaB: Me neither. I need my dinner.