From: syzygyshan@warpmail.net Date: Sun, 29 Aug 2004 01:31:26 -0400 Subject: [atxc-pi] NEW: A Jog in the Park -NC-17- (0/1) Source: atxc Title: A Jog in the Park Author: Shannon Kizzia Feedback Email: syzygyshan@warpmail.net Author's Website: http://www.hegalplace.com/shannon Archive at Gossamer: Yes to Gossamer Status: NEW - Series Size: 8k Category: Humor, PWP Pairings: Mulder/Krycek Rating: NC-17 Gossamer Category: Vignette ~ Sex (PWP), Humor ~ Slash Summary: It's all in the title. Pretty much. Part 1 Please see part 0 (template) for story information. Title: A Jog in the Park Author: Shannon Kizzia (shannon@hegalplace.com) Website: http://www.hegalplace.com/shannon/ Pairing: M/K Rating: NC-17 Keywords: PWP, Krycek POV Spoilers: The Red and the Black Summary: It's all in the title. Pretty much. Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, Chris, yadda yadda yadda... Archive: Sure! Date of First Posting: August 9, 2004 Favorite Fic-Writing Songs Right Now: Cold Hard Bitch by Jet, Feelin' Way Too Damn Good by Nickleback, and Sexy Boy by, (I think), Kinky Boyz. It's on the Queer as Folk soundtrack at any rate. Author's Notes: This is the first of (right now) three stories making up The Athletic Series. It's unabashedly PWP. Pure erotica for erotica's sake, Mulder and Krycek transmuting through SEX! Enjoy! ...................... My lungs burn, my legs are melting, and the only thing keeping me going is the sight of his sweet little ass bouncing on ahead. He's not wearing a shirt today, and I agree, it's too hot. But I keep my black T on and the bill of my army-green cap pulled low over my brow. Sweat's running down my legs into my socks. I'm stalking him. God knows how it came to this. Maybe it was the fact that he let me kiss him and didn't kill me for it at our last encounter. I'm not an optimistic man. The physical sensation of hope has been absent from my body for years. I think I left it in North Dakota, buried deep in a cement grave, five hundred feet under. I know it abstractly now, as something outside of me, something other people get teary-eyed over. Hope and I parted ways bitterly. We've only very recently hooked back up. Hope's a slut and I'm horny, I guess you could say. But I really only meant the kiss as an insult. I've got the gun, Foxy, and I can do whatever the fuck I want to you. That kind of thing. I hadn't meant to give over the gun. But the high I got from brushing my lips over that soft skin, so close to his shiny, wet lips that I could feel his panicked breath, was so collosal, it swept me up into insanity. I got cocky. I had to risk it all and see where he'd go with it. And when he didn't shoot me...I nearly came in my pants. And now here I am, three months later, stalking the man. At first it didn't feel like stalking. It was surveillance. It was reconn. It was business. I could write it off on my taxes. I felt good about it. One needs to keep an eye on Mulder, afterall. He's a key player. He can make or break either side, invasion or resistance. It's only smart to have someone on him, watching his every move. So I hired the best man for the job. The pay ain't good, but the benefits package is outstanding. I tilt my head, panting, and watch his slippery back and tight butt as he runs. Yeah. Great perks. Anyway. It wasn't stalking. It wasn't. Mulder was back in the game. He'd rocked the Gibson Praise case, displaying cognitive leaps that had him in a class just shy of the wonder kid himself and getting everybody's attention. And I mean everybody's. I got Spender down from Canada just to watch the show. Mulder was It-Boy. He was on fire. And then so was his office. It knocked him out for a day or two, but he got back on the horse and hung on like a rodeo champ. All the shit they slung at him just slid right off. I take some props for that. I reinvested him with Wiekamp, afterall. He's my pet project. I should be the one to keep an eye on him...make sure he doesn't get himself killed, get himself in too deep, get a hang nail... Who better to take up being obsessed with Fox Mulder than the man who first got his trust, then screwed up his life, then screwed some more (On top of the clothes, of course, and nobody came, though there was a little blood every time. I'm talking about Hong Kong and Tunguska, mind you.), and then after some questionable activity on my part in Russia and then my descent into mayhem (Don't try it at home; it hurts.) actually came back in the bottom of the ninth and re-won his trust on his own living room floor? I tell you, sex isn't better than that shit. So who better to be Fox Mulder's shadow? Huh? Nobody. I was made for this job. But of course, it's not a job. Is it? As we've established, I'm stalking him. I'm a stalker. I stalk. I mean, nobody's paying me for this, I have to take time out from my actual work to do it, and it's becoming increasingly clear that it really should be filed in the Pleasure rather than Business category on my tax return. No refund for Alexei. In essence, I dig this gig too much for words. I'd probably pay to do it! And I'm not stopping. No way. I'm addicted. As he flashes into a copse of trees, I pick up my pace, realizing I've fallen back a little too far. That's always a rush. Getting as close as I can without him spotting me. Feeling the spark of fear when he turns his head at sidwalk intersections, checking for on-coming strollers and out of control labradors. His profile, sweat-enhanced, casual, and me too close behind, no cover in diving distance. What a mental orgasm. I blow air out through pursed lips, pushing my muscles to sprint me forward and back into view of him. But when I round the corner and get a clear shot a full two hundred yards ahead, he's nowhere to be seen. Shit. "Shit..." I slow to a jog and then pound to a stop all together, peering around myself. Is there some trail shooting off this one back into the trees? He never takes it if there is. He does vary his route, and it's never quite the same, but he's never diverted off course here. The trees are too thick off the path. He'd have to slow his run to a fast walk in order not to hit anything. I frown and pant, turning around myself. Maybe he's faster than I thought, or he took off at a dead run for the fun of it and he's halfway home by now. Whatever it is, I've lost him. I sigh through my labored breath, turning to start back down the path, when a hand goes around my mouth, my arm's wrenched up behind my back, and I'm pulled roughly off the jogging path and into the trees. Before I can get my footing, my back hits a tree, nearly knocking the wind out of me, and his face is in mine. "Daydream much?" he breathes, tugging on my aching arm. "C'mon, Krycek, I almost lost you back on Myrtle. You feelin' all right?" He tugs again, biting his lip. "Huh?" I'm speechless, wind or no wind. My eyes are wide, my brain working to process that he knew, that he knows, has known... Fuck! "Whassa matter?" he murmurs, face an inch from my own. The bark is digging into my back and I gasp. "C'mon... What, I can't count on you now to keep up with me? You gonna start falling behind?" His breath is like non-dairy creamer. Sweet with coffee and synthetic sugar. I'm dizzy. He's hurting me. I'm caught. I'm dead. Shit. His grip loosens just the slightest bit, but he's still pressing in, his body threatening mine, claiming Alpha-male status, trying to cower me straight down to the ground. I almost fall. His eyes on mine are holding me up. "You get distracted? Huh?" He almost sounds concerned. He's so wet. He's drenching my shirt with his sweat. "Can't keep your mind on it? That it, Krycek?" Then he butts his pelvis between my legs. "'Zat because of this?" he asks, and I realize I've got a hard-on in my shorts. "You need to take care of something, Alex?" His voice has dipped down now, like molasses about to drip off the rim of the bottle, hanging there heavy with suggestion...the promise of eminent release. "You got a problem there? It makin' it hard to think straight?" Then he grins, flashing teeth, amused with himself. It's unprecedented and therefore terrifying. He grinds his own swelling cock into my eager erection. I choke down a moan and end up whining instead. "How you gonna keep up now?" he chides. Then, keeping his eyes wide on mine, he slides to his knees in front of me. My arm is free. I'm free. But he's pulling my shorts down to my ankles. I look around frantically. He chuckles, gaze now steady between my legs when I peer back down. I should be rejoicing. It's what I wanted! He's what I wanted! But I'm scared shitless. Mulder pulls my cock out of the slit in my underwear, grasping the weighty shaft, and then takes it in his mouth, closing his eyes. "Fuuh!" I yell, banging my head back against the tree, which hurts like hell but I could really not care less. Mulder's cheeks hollow out around my cock he's sucking me so hard, and then his tongue dances around the head, flicking me in his mouth and then licking into the hole that's already oozing, whoring itself to him. "God!" I choke, free hand wrapping around the tree behind me, legs trembling. Then he's working my cock down his throat, swallowing me and burying his nose in my bush. "FUCK!" He slaps my haunches and I press my lips together, tears forming in my eyes. He starts to bob his head, taking me down his throat rhythmically. I look down in utter amazement. My expression probably most closely resembles horror. But it's just that I can't believe him. Mulder's blowing me in a public park on his knees! But he looks as calm as if he's just sitting down to go over his expense reports. I hit my head again but don't even feel it this time. "Ohshit," I whisper. It's a miracle I'm not drawing an audience as it is. He's fucking incredible! He's...he's...oh God, he's gonna make me come! He reaches up and takes my balls in the palm of his hand, squeezing his fingers closed around them. I inhale to scream, but all that comes out is a strangled cry as his tongue works at my cockhead now while I start to shoot. His free hand grabs the base of my cock and he releases me with his mouth to just lick the tip. I watch, dumbstruck and still coming, as he lets it splash his lips and chin, licking enthusiastically at the very tip of my cock, smearing the hot jets of spunk around the head before finally lapping it into his mouth and taking the next load on his tongue, swallowing. I moan high in my throat, finally finished, and watch him take one last lick before standing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I'm breathless, my cock dripping what he left onto the ground between us. "You gonna tail me, Krycek, get your goddamned dick under control." Then he takes off at an easy jog away from me. I stay leaned against the tree, cock hanging lewdly from the saliva-wet slit in my briefs until it's put it away or risk getting arrested. Then I walk dazedly back to where I parked my car, wondering what the hell went wrong that things could go so right. Wondering what just happened. Wondering what I could do to make it happen again. END (To be continued...) Feedback appreciated greatly at shannon@hegalplace.com! ### The End ###