Disclaimer: No names mentioned, but similarities with two wonderful
men in CC's x-files are not
coincidental. No harm meant.
Ratings: NC-17, m/m sex
Warning: *death * story, and I wrote this when I was in a very depressed phase. The end surprised even me, 'though.
Spoilers: Small spoilers for Dreamland
Plot Summary: Mulder muses about sex, love and death
Sex, Love and Death
When I came home, I could sense that someone was in my apartment. I had already looked in each corner when I remembered that my bedroom now miraculously was tidied up.
Of course, I found him there, his slender form sprawled on the big water-bed.
"How did you get in here?" I snarled, arms crossed, remaining at the door.
He just smiled one of his wicket little smiles and answered: "Like I always do."
I wasn't in the mood for his games. All I wanted was to relax on the couch watching some brain-washing stupid movies. "What do you want?" I asked, wanting to get him out of my apartment before I'd do something I would regret.
"What I always want." he answered, looking up at me through his incredible eyelashes.
I closed my eyes, refusing to look at him, refusing to know what he wanted, what I really wanted.
"Nice waterbed" I heard his slightly mocking voice say. "Did you buy it for me?"
"I didn't buy it." I answered. I had suspected him to having cleaned up and furnished my bedroom. I still suspected him.
"Did you steal it?" he replied.
I looked straight at him. "Get out of my apartment." I said.
With feline grace he raised from the bed and stepped to me. "Do you really want me to do that?" he purred, just inches away from me. I closed my eyes to not have to look at him, but I could smell him, his unique, perfectly male scent, I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Do you really want me to leave?" he repeated, his hand moving under my jacket, up my shirt-covered chest. As always, his touch made my brains evaporate. It sent shivers down my spine, his mere presence making me hot, making me arch against his hand.
His lips touched my throat, gently, then suddenly sharp teeth bit down, while his fingers opened one, two buttons of my shirt and slipped beneath the fabric.
At the feeling of his fingers on my skin I couldn't hold back any longer, gripped him, one hand at his back, the other one on his ass, and pulled him nearer, rubbing our groins together. I pulled and teared at his leather jacket until it slid down his shoulders.
My hands roamed his back and chest, feeling his warm, firm body through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, while his fingers played with my rapidly hardening nipples, his hips moved against mine and his lips met mine in a mind-blowing kiss.
Never breaking the kiss, he removed my jacket and my tie. I jerked back as I felt the plastic of his prothesis at my neck. Now he took a step back, and I could swear I saw hurt in his usually so cold green eyes when he rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt and removed his prothesis.
I felt guilty at the hurt in his eyes. From all the reasons to refuse him, his lost arm should not be the one. So I stepped determinedly forward and shoved him towards the bed. We tumbled and fell, the waterbed's surface shifting underneath us, accommodating to our weight.
Frenzily we tore off each other's shirts, yearning to feel skin on skin. His hand moved down my side to my belt, reaching for my pair of handcuffs. I don't remember when we first started with bondage, but it had become a habit for us. Maybe because of all the reasons why we should hate one another, we needed the illusion that it happened against the other one's will.
We struggled for awhile for the cuffs, until I finally closed one around his wrist, the other one around the bedpost. He let me win; like most of the times.
Straddling his waist, I had him immobile now. Moments like that I felt as if I had at least an ounce of control over him. As if I ever could control him; he, who stepped into my life whenever he wanted to, then left without a trace.
I moved my hands up his torso, fingers spread as to reach as much of his smooth skin as possible. Then I bent down and took a mouthful of his flesh between my teeth, sucking and gnawing not-so-gently, pure want determining my actions. I licked down his skin a few inches, accompanied by his tiny mewling sounds, found a nipple and bit down hard, listening to his scream.
I sat up and looked down at him, face flushed, chest heaving in ragged breathing. Seeing him, his pure, incredible beauty always made me want to own him, to possess him, to keep him hidden in a cabin in some lonesome forest where no one could find us and he would be mine, all mine!
I moved my hands up his sides, then dived down to work on his skin with my lips, teeth and tongue. His tiny moans and the way he arched his back in combination with his taste made me grow rock-hard within seconds, my erection straining against my trousers, so I moved to the side to hastily take off my pants. I looked up as I felt the waterbed shift.
He had rolled to the side and watched me eagerly. As much as I enjoyed his hungry gaze, it was a shame that he had lost an arm - it was easier to chain him when he still had both. Now, when he was tied up, he was still much too mobile. I had to do something about that.
When I had removed my pants, I didn't linger on anymore, but reached for his belt, greedily opened up his pants and tore them down. He raised his hips in assistance and soon I had thrown his clothes to the floor. Before, I had removed the belt from his pants and now weighed it in my hands - it would serve as a good, solid shackle - , flogged his body four, five times just to see him squirm, folded the belt around his left ankle and tied it to the bedpost. I considered for a moment to use my own belt to tie his right leg, but decided against it - I wouldn't have been able to turn him around then.
I crawled onto the bed again, licking the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. I lingered on gnawing there for awhile, ignoring his throbbing cock, that was just inches away from my face, and the needful whimpers he uttered.
I watched his purple, swollen cock for a moment, then dived down to swallow and devour it. I enjoyed the taste of his beautiful sword as well as his sluttish moans and the way he writhed, while I sucked and lapped along his shaft.
I withdrew before he could come, probably I was smirking wickedly at his frustrated groans. He would come later; with my cock up his ass.
I turned him around so that he lied diagonal across the bed. I watched him for a few seconds, outstretched, chained to the bedposts, his slender arm and legs, his firm back and the most enticing butts on earth. I was already hard as a rock, but I forced myself to linger on a bit longer, for who knew when we would do that again. I moved my hands down his back, cupped is wonderful butts, clawed into them, admiring the way his muscles flexed.
I spent a few minutes doing everything I wanted to his ass, kneading, licking, biting, then I couldn't hold back any longer. I reached for the lube and the condoms in the bedside table and prepared him and me hastily, then I sat astride on him and sank in to the hilt. I heard him scream, or was it me who was screaming?
At the heat and tightness around me I almost lost it already at the start. I took a deep breath and started to move, thrusting in and out in a fast, hard rhythm. His hips bucked and he spat out all kind of Russian curses.
'Though I didn't jerk him off he came with a loud scream; his contracting muscles sent me over the edge and I shot out my lead in a seemingly neverending ejaculation. I saw stars, then everything went black.
I have no idea how long I had passed out; when I came to, he was protesting loudly for letting him being tied up for so long. I listened to him swearing for a few more minutes before I let him go - somehow I always tended to be mean to him. I wanted to punish him, not so much for all he had done, but for being on my mind all the time.
I watched him massaging his stiff leg, making no move to help him. Mentioning with no word how beautiful he was. I never did.
Without a word he took on his clothes and left my apartment. I didn't ask him where he was going nor tried to hold him back. Both would have been a futile task; and both would have revealed my true feelings for him.
He gazed back at me once more before he left, a desperate longing in his eyes. I knew, sex was not all he wanted, but I never told him that I only hated him because I loved him. That I didn't want to love him because it was just insane, but sometimes your feelings are stronger than your mind.
They found him today. Parts of him.
And I had never told him how much I loved him. Never treated him the way I should. The way I really wanted.
How can I live without him?