Title: My Favourite Game
Author: Nicole S.
Rating: NC-17 for bad language, violence and m/m sex.
Archive : You betcha baby.
Send feedback to firstname.lastname@example.org
Web Site : http://members.tripod.com/Nic-S
Disclaimer: Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox own 'em, I don't. I'm just doing what they WANT to do to each other.
Summary: This is for the Fight Club tour. M/K, a fight, and a fuck. But you can file it under PWP.-
check it out at http://punched.com/mkfightclub.
Comments: Beta by Amy B, Aries, and Orithain. Big thanks to LeFey and Tyler for support. Warning - I have a two-armed Krycek, and I know how to use him! Title blatantly stolen from the Cardigans.
My Favourite Game
by Nicole S
I look at myself in the mirror and notice there's blood smeared across my face and into my hair. I'm not sure if it's all mine or if some of it belongs to Mulder. I'm pretty sure most of it belongs to me, as the cut on my cheek under my right eye has opened up again.
I start to clean the blood off and look more closely at my reflection. Tiny wrinkles are forming under my eyes. They seem to get deeper every time I look at them. My eyes are still green, but they don't have that same fresh look like they used to. They've seen so much it's a wonder I don't go blind. I notice the bags showing under the bruises, so deep and black, reminding me of Lurch from the Addams Family. I look tired. I've been doing this too long, doing all this dirty work, and dirty work's a tough job.
I can't think of where I've been, or what I've done in the past few months. I get weary of all the names, dates, and faces that run through my brain. It's better to push it away and not deal with it.
I rummage through the first aid kit on the small counter next to the sink and tape the cut on my cheek back together. I notice I'm low on gauze. A well-stocked first aid kit is essential in this... I want to say relationship, but I'm not really sure what it is.
We've been doing this for months, this fighting. This dance with each other, that leaves both of us spent and panting. I've become accustomed to wearing dark sunglasses and keeping my head low as I travel, trying to keep my scrapes and bruises away from the prying, concerned eyes of other people. Long sleeves, baseball hats, and turtlenecks are a must. My superiors want to know what I'm doing, why I look this way. They say they're concerned and are genuinely worried about me. That's bullshit. They're just being nosy. The last meeting I went to, I had a black eye, split lip, and other injuries that couldn't be seen, but I'm sure they had suspected were there. The smoker came up to me, and started in with his prying questions, but I gave him the brush off. Now two men are following me, but I'm too smart and manage to evade them. But that can't last forever.
And neither can this.
I'm finished taping and work on disinfecting the scrapes on my hands. Slowly, I wash away the blood, not wincing as the peroxide bubbles and sputters in the wound. The pain isn't as sweet as when it was first felt, but it reminds me of what happened tonight and the rush I felt with every blow.
I waited for Mulder for almost an hour, cruising by the place we were to meet under the QEW at Cherry. There was a patch of vacant land nearby, enclosed by a fence that was a perfect location for a battle.
I drove around for that hour, up and down the highway, watching the lights from the city sparkle on the lake, my cock hard in my pants, wondering if Mulder even realized why I had picked this place?
"Toronto?" he'd said when I phoned him. "What the hell's in Canada?" I didn't reply; instead, I hung up.
This was where Cronenberg filmed Crash, and I wanted tonight to be just like that. All violence and twisted metal, and blood, bruises and sex. There was an abandoned, burnt out car hidden behind the tall grass that the loser would undoubtedly get fucked over. And that excited me a lot.
The traffic was minimal, this being in the middle of the night, so I knew it was his car when the headlights swung over me as he exited the elevated highway. My cock got even harder, and adrenaline shot through my veins. I had to force myself to calm down, because one blow to the groin, and I would be hurting something fierce for a long time.
He drove over the downed chain-link, through the tall grass, and stopped beside me. He got out of his car, confident and ready. I sized him up; he looked fucking terrific as always. He carefully took off his jacket and pulled off his sweater. I did the same.
"You ready, Krycek?" he purred, hands clenching into fists.
"As ready as you are."
We started at each other, hands gripping flesh, arms around each other, trying to wrestle each other to the ground. Then he started hitting me. The first blow was a crack up against my jaw, making me see stars and sending a ripple of pain through my head. God, I'd missed him.
I got him in the abs and face, then tripped over a rock and fell. I winced as my body hit the dirt and felt a rock cut my cheek but didn't have any time to catch my breath, as he hauled me back to my feet and punched me in the side. I let out a howl. His fist landed where a deep bruise remained from last time.
Out of breath, I swung back and got him upside the head, which sent him reeling. That afforded me a few seconds to breathe some air before going back at him again. I kicked him in the thigh, hoping he'd go down, but his stance was sturdy. Then he got me in the gut, and I couldn't take it. I fell to the ground on my knees, hands clutching my abdomen, then puked.
He stood over me, fists at the ready, waiting for me to get up again, but I didn't.
"Okay," I said weakly. I wasn't going to beat him tonight, no matter how much I tried.
He smacked me on the back, then went to his car. I knelt there for a few minutes, then slowly went to my car, opened the trunk, and unzipped my overnight bag. I hadn't slopped all over myself, so I didn't need to clean myself up. I grabbed a small bottle of Listerine, took a swig, swished thoroughly, then spat to the side. That was much better.
He was now beside me, watching me with a condom and lube in his hand; I wasn't getting out of this, no matter what. And I didn't want to.
He looked at me, silently telling me he was ready for me, his eyes smouldering with lust.
I reached out and kissed him hard, backing him up against my car. His hand cupped my face, and he started grinding his crotch into me. "Fuck me over the car," I whispered against his lips. "That burnt out one in the corner."
He pulled away from my lips and dragged his thumb across them, before hauling me over to the hunk of twisted metal next to the concrete pillar and shoving me over it. I moaned, not out of pain, but of knowing what was coming next. My cock was hard, and my ass was aching to be filled. He pulled down my jeans, prepared me hastily, and then shoved his cock into me.
I reared up and tried to reach back to kiss him, but he leaned over me and held my hands over my head. This was better. I loved it when he took total control over me.
"You like that, Krycek?"
"Harder," I whimpered
"You're a slut, you know that?" He slammed into me harder. "An insatiable slut."
I could only moan as he pounded into me.
"Such a beautiful, fucking slut."
Mulder slammed even harder, and I came right then and there; he didn't have to touch my cock. I cried out and came onto the hulk that used to be an automobile, then heaving a shuddering breath. He wasn't too far behind, chanting the word, "Yeah."
He stayed in me longer than usual, his head on my shoulder, breathing into my ear. After a few minutes, he pulled out of me and pulled the condom off, unceremoniously dropping it on the ground. Then he kissed me for a long time.
We got this motel room after he'd fucked me against the car, both of us wanting more but not willing to get caught doing it. The man at the front desk didn't ask any questions about the blood and dust covering us or the ripped jeans or the fact that the bruise on Mulder's cheek matched the pattern of my knuckles exactly, as people that work at motels like this tend not to. Instead, we paid our 40 bucks, the man gave us the key, and we went up to the room. The man behind the desk gave us a weary look, as if he saw people coming in here looking like this every day. Then again, he probably did.
When we got inside the room, Mulder shoved me back against the wall, rough like he always was with me. My spine was jolted as my back hit the plaster with a thud. He kissed me hard, but gentle at the same time, his tongue caressing mine, our teeth clicking together for a brief instant. He needed me; I could feel that he wanted me. I wanted him just as bad, even though I'd just had him twenty minutes ago.
"Fuck me, Mulder," I moaned against his mouth.
He didn't say a word; instead, he kissed me harder, and slid his hands up and under my t-shirt.
I let him strip me, then he took off his own clothes, everything mingling in a heap on the dirty carpet. I could see bruises blossoming over his torso and thigh, where I had hit and kicked him. God, he was beautiful.
Then his mouth was suddenly all over my body, nipping and licking everywhere. We'd never done this before, never been with each other besides a victory fuck or two. I could feel the tension in the air as he laid me down on the dirty coverlet on the bed. We'd crossed a line; we'd taken a step in a new direction. Could we handle it?
With us it was fists and fury and adrenaline sweat. We had a set of rules; the winner won and took his reward. The loser gave him his all, his body, his flesh, and the winner's cock sliding into the loser's asshole was the sweetest thing ever felt. But now, aggressive as he was, I felt a need for him to be close to me. I needed to be close to him, too. It was nice, here in his arms on a bed, not caring what would leave stains on the already stained bedclothes.
Slowly, Mulder explored my body, mesmerized by the mass of contusions and scars that covered it. A sense of pride washed over his face as he ran his tongue over the cuts on my face and abdomen that he had made, like he owned a piece of me.
And he did. Mulder's the only person I can do this with. He's the only one that I can share this bloodlust with. With Mulder, it's not about domination; it's the ultimate power exchange. We give each other our pain and relish every blow. Every cut, every bruise, every scrape of the flesh is a badge of honour, worn to impress each other.
It's not like when I have to do my job and be aggressive with someone. When I'm on the job, I'm there to intimidate. My job is to hurt people. I give people pain, and they take it and keep it inside themselves until they can't take it any more. With Mulder, we share every pulsating, screaming nerve ending, and the more we hurt, the better it is for the both of us.
I ran my hands over his body, caressing and probing where I could reach. He was on top of me, licking the hollow of my neck, and plucking my nipples with his fingers. I loved it when he was on top of me; I felt safe and wanted. When I lost to him, I gave myself to him completely, cherishing every stroke that he pounded into me.
I love winning as much as he does, but I lose more often just to feel his large cock up my ass. But that's something he'll never know.
I sucked in my breath as he pinched a nipple harder. My cock was hard and leaking, and I was squirming under him, trying to get him to fuck me, but somehow I knew he was going to prolong my frustration as long as possible.
His mouth moved down my chest, sucking the salty, dirty skin, not caring that I was salty and dirty. I could smell our musk, blood, and arousal mingling together, longing to taste the combination on my tongue. I moved to sit up and do just that, but a strong hand pushed me back into the bed.
So I just lay there, letting him move down my body with his tongue. When he reached my groin, he rested his head on my thigh and blew on my cock, sending shivers up my body. Then he started massaging my balls, his fingers delicately squeezing them, pulling on the hairs that covered them, driving me absolutely insane.
I was whimpering, "please, please, please," under my breath, and twisting the dirty coverlet in my hands out of frustration. He kissed the top of my cock then ran his tongue down one side and up the other. My breath caught in the back of my throat. I'd wanted him to do this to me for such a long time. I thought I'd surely died and gone to heaven.
He didn't do that for long. I was almost ready to explode, and he sensed that. Instead, he reached down to the floor and picked up his jacket, removing a tube of lube from the pocket. He squeezed some of the gel onto two fingers, then slowly worked them into my ass.
I held my legs wide as his fingers probed forward. I was already somewhat loose from his victory fuck earlier, but it felt good for him to do this to me. He applied more lube, then entered another finger. Then another. When he tried for more, I gasped and shook my head; this wasn't what I wanted right now.
"Not yet, hmm?" He came up and kissed me on the mouth, so sweet and tender, that I thought I was having an out of body experience. "Soon," he promised.
He rolled on a condom, looking at me the whole time, his gaze not leaving my own. Then he slicked up his cock, while I held my legs wide for him, waiting for him to plunge into me. He moved his hands over my body gently, before entering me slowly.
Mulder settled on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't believe this was happening. I was so used to rough and tumble fucking, not making love.
His hips moved back and forth, at first slow and shallow, kissing me tenderly. I kissed him back and cupped his ass. My cock was trapped between us, smearing fluid on both of our bellies. Then he stopped and just lay there like a blanket on top of me, not moving. He felt so good inside me, hard and throbbing.
After a few minutes, he kissed me, then sat up on his knees. I looked into his eyes, and I'd seen that look before. He meant business, now. He hauled my legs over his shoulders and started pumping hard and deep. I pushed my shoulders back into the mattress and whimpered every time his cock hit my prostate. He reached forward and stroked me exactly three times before I came. Sweat rolled down his cheeks as he kept up the pace, faster, harder, eyes shut tight, lower lip caught between his teeth, until he finally collapsed on top of me, panting, kissing my ear, and whispering my name.
I close the door to the bathroom and start the shower. I have to wash some of this grime off of me that's been collecting for days, as I've been travelling. The warm water feels good on the cuts, stinging them, reminding me of what happened earlier. God, that makes me hard, which is surprising, considering Mulder just had his cock up my ass for the past hour.
God, he can fuck. He angles his cock just right, so it connects with my prostate, and I'm screaming his name as I come harder than I've come with anybody else. His cock is large, and he can stay hard for a very long time. A shiver runs up my spine, and I start to harden as I think of him.
My hand moves down to my cock, but I just wash it, saving what I have for Mulder. Soon, I exit the shower and dry off, then open the door. An orange rectangle of light bathes his naked form under the sheet and blanket on the bed. His back is towards me, and I can see his strong back rising and falling with his breaths.
I should just leave.
But I don't.
Instead, I turn the light off, crawl into bed and curl up against Mulder's warm body.
He turns over and looks at me in the dim light coming through the window. He brushes his hand over my cheek, caressing the cut that's there. "Next time, pick a place without all those large rocks," he grins.
I grin back and kiss his nose. I'm glad he doesn't think this is over. It's far from over. We need this, the violence and pain and blood. It's a part of us now, and I know we can't let go.
I snuggle into his embrace and lay my head on his shoulder. His arms come around me, and it feels good.
I close my eyes and start to drift off, knowing that we'll fight again, and this won't change anything, but now there is more to fight for.