From: daddy793@aol.com (Daddy793) Date: 1998/09/25 Subject: NEW: Necessities by Te Afternoon Weirdness 11: Necessities by Te 9/98 Disclaimers: I sent them home where they belong and the bruises hardly show at *all*. Spoilers: Small one for Pine Bluff Variant. This does not mean there's anything resembling a plot. Summary: Alex deals with a problem. Acknowledgments: To Spike and Nancy for fine beta in the face of shameless Tedrama. All remaining irregularities, oddities, ambiguities, etc., are entirely my own fault. Author's Note: Starts out weird, stays that way. No relation to any of the other AWs. Feedback: PLEASE. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Afternoon Weirdness 11: Necessities by Te Daddy793@aol.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dawn Pares: Tell me a story. A little one. About Mulder's broken finger. About what Alex would do/did to get around it? And roller skates. Te: Well, hmmm... Mulder is, of course, eager to see his rat and is all over him like gravy on biscuits from the moment he hears that familiar thump of bootheel on carpet, so much more muted than the one in his soul. Alex is pleased to oblige Mulder's welcome and they soon wind up on the floor, wedged -- mostly comfortably -- between coffee table and couch. "Owch." "What?" "Nothing, don't stop--" "What the *hell* did you do to yourself?" Mulder heaves a sigh. Does his best to coax Alex's hand; that fine, strong callused hand back where it belongs with a slow, tight roll of his hips. Alex groans but manages to remain focused on his face. He's waiting for an answer. It's infuriating, intriguing, and Mulder stores this evidence of control away for later play. "Some terrorists, a fuck-up of classic proportions..." A shrug, difficult when flat on one's back, but still feasible. "It's not like I broke anything *important*, Alex." Mulder lets his hips arch up into another roll. Alex's lashes flutter closed, and Mulder knows it is less the sluttish demands of his body than the flat affection of his voice. He has a moment to fear this power before Alex dives in fast, faster than he *ever* expects -- claims his mouth with bruising efficiency; centers himself within the cradle of Mulder's legs and thrusts. Mulder groans at the bright wash of sensation -- and then he hears the neat little *snick* of the cuff on his wrist. "Wha--" "Just a precaution, Mulder. Don't want you hurting yourself." Wicked knife-slash smile. "Any more than necessary." He's been cuffed to the coffee table. The coffee table. A moment and he can feel his cheeks flush with irritation but then he remembers his *other* hand is quite free. He runs it up the lean torso and catches a nipple through the t-shirt with ruthless ease. Alex moans and bucks and this is moving much too fast but it feels so so good. "You're right, of course, Alex..." His tone makes the deep eyes narrow at him-- it always does -- and Alex immediately sets to undoing his suit pants, cupping him roughly through the cotton of his boxer briefs. "How do you want this, Mulder?" A squeeze to buck into. "Hunh?" Thumb caress over the trapped and leaking head of his cock. "No rougher than strictly necessary..." His voice is hoarse and low but Mulder is pleased that he's able to tease. And then, without ceremony, Alex yanks down his boxer briefs and the night dusty air is chill and welcome on his cock. It seems impossible, suddenly, that he was ever anything but aching for this, whatever this should turn out to be. Alex jerks himself down Mulder's body and takes him deep into his mouth, pressing his forearm against Mulder's hip to keep him still. Mulder yells and jerks against the cuff. This is the hand he *usually* uses to guide Alex's head at times like these. The other hand is not slow to learn its new role, however, and soon his fingers bury themselves in the soft spikes of the younger man's hair. Just in time for Alex to pull off and begin torturing the head of his cock with his sharp, clever tongue. This is too much, and not enough and when an ill-judged glance at the clock shows that only a bare few minutes have passed Mulder feels something tighten at the base of his neck, some twist of sanity to be contemplated, or not, when this was over and Alex was going down again. The first graze of teeth is a warning and a promise and Mulder howls this time, harsh and needful, and that sleek furnace of velvet and knives Alex calls a mouth is a temptation beyond the definition of sin. There's nothing to do but surrender to this and he lets his body go, lets it struggle uselessly against the powerful arm holding him down, lets his hand flop to the side, clutch at the couch and hear the dusty leather make alarming ripping noises that only shoot more blood into his want-heavy cock and only a few moments more and he's arching into a bow, a weapon of flesh spending itself for the target of his lover. Minutes, days later his free hand has found its way inside Alex's jeans and the slick heat is a pleasure, and the way Alex throws his head back is, too, and the way Mulder's name shapes itself amidst the short, stuttery streams of Russian is warming and ominous. Alex comes quickly, with one last raw cry and slumps on top of him. Short, strangely intimate laps and Mulder's chin has been licked clean, a slow, sleepy kiss of bitters and satisfaction follows. He gives Alex time to pant against his ear, does his best to get comfortable in the tangle of limbs and rumpled clothing before he asks: "What do I get for a broken wrist?" ~~~~ End. ~~~~ Sorry about the roller skates... ~~~~ "Hey, you! You seem sick and twisted enough for the character I'm writing. Show me what a bad idea a relationship with you is!" -- Misha, the flirt...