August 1999

Disclaimer: Did you know that in Venutian, "Chris Carter" means "one who
doesn't share pretty boys with the masses"? Neither did I.

Rating: NC-17 for m/m goings on.

Spoilers: Terma, The Red and the Black

Summary: A little harmless Alex babbling.

Notes: WARNING: Silliness and bad puns ahead. Thanks to Orithain, Sue and
Lucy, who read this, laughed (they were supposed to, btw) and beta'd. Any
remaining mistakes are mine. Also, this is for Sarah, who said she wanted a
happy story. Well, this is...not angst J

Archive: Anywhere...I'm easy.

Feedback: Anything...I'm easy.

Other stories:


Just Talking

by Frankie

August 1999


I love him. Three simple, straightforward words, right? Then why do I feel
like a complete jackass whenever I say them to myself? It's probably because
it's like saying "I love money," then waiting to see if my wallet magically
explodes and showers me with millions. Saying it doesn't make a difference.
I'm usually a man of action, but for some reason I can't bring myself to do
what's necessary to get what I want this time.

I did have a plan, you know. Unfortunately, it consisted of me grabbing him
off the street and plying him with words of love (not to mention lots of
liquor) in order to win his heart. I know it would never have worked, not
because of the nature of the plan, but because I'm not too hip when it comes
to the lingo of love. So, what does this mean?

It means I sit here, thinking about him, wondering when or if I'll get the
chance to see him again, and basically driving myself nuts in the process. I
also sit here playing out different scenarios in my head. They usually go
something like this:

Scenario #1:

Me: Hey.

Him: What do you want, you scum-sucking son of a bitch who isn't fit to
breathe the air I breathe?

Me: I was wondering if you were free for dinner.

Scenario #2:

Me: It's vital I talk to you.

Him: There's nothing you have to say that I want to hear.

Me: But, I love you.

Him: ::gunshots::

Me: Ow.

Scenario #3:

Him: What the hell are you doing here, you motherpighorsefucking psychotic
piece of shit?

Me: Just wondering if you'd like to go see "The Blair Witch Project" with

Him: ::punch::

Me: That would be 'no,' then?

See? They don't really work, do they? Okay, so my next course of action is
to hang out in front of his apartment building and hope to catch a glimpse
of him as he goes in and out. I know what you're thinking, but it's not as
pathetic as it sounds. What if he sees me out there, runs over, punches me a
couple of times, then drags me up to his apartment to really work me over?
Wait. That wouldn't happen. He'd just put me in custody. Next.

I've got it! I wait for him in his apartment, catch him off guard and tell
him that I have some vital information about the takeover of the planet by
extra-terres.....shit. I've done that already. Although I did get to kiss
him, it didn't exactly fulfill my wildest dreams.

I didn't even tell you what it is about the guy that drives me absolutely
crazy, did I? Well, besides the obvious attraction anyone with a pulse would
have to that magnificent physical specimen, there are the other little
quirks and habits that have endeared him to me. For instance, when we were
partners, I could watch him eat sunflower seeds for hours. Yeah, that ties
in with the physical attributes - those lips, those fingers, that tongue -
but the absentminded way he'd devour those suckers was adorable. Fuck, now
I'm using words like "adorable" to describe him. Remind me to shoot myself
later. Anyway, I also really loved to watch him drive. Like any man, I'd
make a bit of a big deal out of wanting a turn to drive, but that was all a
front. I loved the way his hands looked gripping the steering wheel, the way
he'd drum his fingers on the dashboard when we were waiting in traffic and a
good tune was playing on the radio...the way he'd turn the key to start the
car is still etched in my mind. Okay, I'm even starting to make myself sick,
so let's move on, shall we?

The bottom line is I love him, and he has no idea, and I have no clue what
to do about it. Is it too juvenile for a grown man to call the object of his
desire just to hear the voice he wishes would be the last thing he'd hear at
night and the first thing he'd hear in the morning? Probably. At this point,
I don't give a shit. I'm going to do it. BRB.

Shit. He knew it was me. I don't know how, but he did. I've blocked my
number from being seen on Caller ID, so I know that's not how he knew.
Unless he figures that anyone who calls him and doesn't say anything must be
me. That's pretty strange considering the weirdos who must call him on a
regular basis. Oh, in case you're interested, this is pretty much what he

Him: Mulder.

Me: ::heart racing::

Him: Hello? Who is this?

Me: ::heart pounding::

Him: ::looooooong pause:: Krycek?

Me: ::coronary::

Him: Alex? Talk to me. I need to know if this is you. There are so many
things I need to say to you.

Okay, I made up that last part. He just hung up after telling me to get a
fucking life. I suppose this means I'm back at square one. What to do...what
to do...

Hold on. I have to take off this damn's annoying the hell
out of me, more so than usual. You know, rationally speaking, I should be
madder than hell at him for screwing up my plan to get us out of that prison
camp. Unfortunately, I can't be. I understand that it was a matter of
self-preservation on his part. As for my arm...that'll teach me to depend on
the kindness of strangers.

Okay, that's better. Where was I? I know what you're thinking. How on earth
could I say I love him when every confrontation we've had has been violent
and unproductive as far as furthering our relationship goes? I'll explain.

There are certain types of people who will put up with any amount of abuse
if it means they can spend time with the object of their affections. They'll
endure pain, both physical and emotional, rants against their character (or
lack thereof), and even the occasional oilien possession. I'm no different -
though I don't know of many people who get possessed by oiliens *and* are in
love with Fox Mulder. I'm not counting that Covarrubias bitch even though
that's more a case of lust than love. Don't ask how I got the gory details
about that, but if you want to know, remind me to tell you later.

Anyway, I'm a pathetic loner who loves from afar, bleeds from a near and has
no chance of my feelings ever being returned in kind. It doesn't bother me,
though. No, really. I've come to the conclusion that a person like me isn't
meant to be happy or content or any of the other things that normal,
law-abiding folks happen to be. I'll just be happy to live out the rest of
my days alone and lonely with only my memories of the time we had sex at
work to keep me company. Oh, didn't I mention that as one of the reasons I'm
still obsessed with him? My mistake.

We'd been working late, and the bullpen was deserted except for the two of
us. I can't remember what case it was, but that doesn't matter. I do
remember that we'd been arguing about some of the facts in the case, and it
got pretty heated. Having a no-holds-barred discussion with this guy is the
best kind of foreplay I can imagine. He gets so passionate, and his eyes do
this strange flashing thing that would probably cause seizures in lesser
men. Not to make him sound like some Japanese cartoon, but that's the only
way I can think of to describe it. Anyway, he was trying to get through to
me about whatever it was, and I was starting to get extremely turned on. My
adrenaline was pumping, I was feeling attacked, I was about two feet away
from the guy I'd been finding it harder and harder to fight my attraction
to, and he was looking rumpled and tired and like he needed to be fucked. If
you know of a more dangerous combination, please tell me because as far as
I'm concerned, that's the most lethal one I know.

So, he was looking hot, I was feeling horny, and there was no one around.
Something tells me the planets were aligned just right as well because he
suddenly stopped arguing and stared at me. It made me really uncomfortable
because I was sure he was reading my thoughts, and the last thing I wanted
to do was have him reject me while I was feeling vulnerable. [Laugh at that,
you're dead). I asked him what was wrong, and he answered,

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

"I was listening to you. Isn't that what you want me to do? Just listen and
never cross you or contradict you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know that you don't respect me. You expect me to go along with whatever
you think I should, and the moment I don't do that, you go ballistic."

"I wouldn't characterize this conversation as me going ballistic, Alex."

"Then what would you call it? You've done everything but call me a
brainless, mindless idiot who doesn't know his ass from a hole in the
ground. Believe it or not, it's not good to know that my partner doesn't
think I know what I'm doing."

"I never said you didn't know what you're doing. I just think that in this
case you're a little misguided."

"Okay. So you're going to impress me with your superior knowledge and set me

"That's what I was attempting to do, but you wouldn't shut up long enough to
hear me out." [This is where he flashed me the sexiest smile I've ever seen
on anyone to date]

I admit, that made me want to smile, but I couldn't give him the
satisfaction, no matter how much I wanted him at that particular moment. At
that point in my life I actually had some pride left. I didn't say anything
to him, just started to gather my things and got ready to go home. That's
when he said,

"I respect you, Alex."

I still haven't heard words that made me as happy as those did. I was struck
speechless for a few moments. When I did regain my wits, I told him,

"You have a strange way of showing it, Agent Mulder."

"You can call me Fox, you know."

"I thought you hated to be called Fox."

"I do. I just thought that I could make it up to you somehow. It's stupid.
Forget it."

"What the hell does your name have to do with making it up to me...wait,
make *what* up to me?"

"The obviously shitty way I've treated you. I had no idea you were feeling
this way, and I want to apologize for my lack of professionalism. I don't
know what I can do to make amends."

At this point, I began to feel as if I was the star in some porn movie and
was waiting for the music to start to signal that I was about to get laid.
It didn't, and I decided to make my own kind of music. [You can boo that
later, btw.]

"I'll give you one guess what you can do, Fox." [I admit that he did wince a
little when I said his name. Score one for me.]

"Name it. You want football, hockey, basketball tickets? Tell me."

"I think this may be a little better than that, actually."

"Oh? Does it involve certain favors from a member of the opposite sex? I may
be able to work that out."

"No. It involves certain favors from a member of the same sex, namely you."
[Yes, I know that could be straight out of a skin flick, but I was
attempting to be seductive. Fox didn't notice that I sounded like a complete
idiot, bless him.]

"Excuse me?" [I know I saw him blush, but he denied it later.]

At this point I figured I had nothing to lose, which may explain what I did
next. I knew that it was only a matter of weeks before I'd be out of there,
so I decided to go for it. If my partnership ended sooner than my employers
intended, so be it. I stepped closer to him and felt this amazing heat
radiating from him. I didn't know if it was the fight we'd just been having
or the fact that I was exciting him somehow, but I wanted to have that
warmth covering every inch of my body.

I took his hand and put it on my crotch. I was already kind of hard, but the
minute I felt his touch, I thought I'd come in my pants. Luckily for me,
that didn't happen, but it sure would have jibed with the kind of day I had
been having up to that point. So, I was standing there holding Mulder's hand
on my aching hard-on, hoping he wouldn't freak out yet curious as to what he
was going to do about it. I lowered my voice and said,

"Make it up to me."


I've always been good at staring contests, so I made sure not to break his
gaze. There's no way I'd be the first one to look away. If it had been
anyone else, I would have started to feel uncomfortable at the intense way
he was looking at me, but all those eyes seemed to do was root me to the
spot and make me forget about everything I was supposed to do or say or get the idea. Imagine those eyes looking at you as if you were a
piece of meat and he was a carnivore. I've got goosebumps thinking about it.

He smiled and I was immediately relieved. I figured he wouldn't do anything
too bad to me if he smiled first. I moved my hand from his, and he
maintained the contact with my now throbbing erection - for a second I was
concerned that my heart had dropped below my waist. He started moving his
hand, rubbing it over the straining material of my trousers, and I lowered
my eyes. I wanted to grab him and kiss him so badly, but I wasn't sure what
he wanted to do other than torment me with his touch.

"Don't do that."

When he said that, I wasn't sure what he was talking about. At first, I
thought maybe he was telling me to stop getting hard and was about to tell
him he had to be kidding when he raised his other hand and ran his thumb
over my bottom lip.

"Look at me. I love your eyes, Alex."

I looked at him again and saw that the smile was still there. Before I knew
it, he was leaning toward me and kissing me. God, it was so incredibly
sensual and tender but still commanding. He knew exactly what he wanted and
had no trouble taking it. I stood there, not knowing how to react to him,
when my common sense kicked in, and I put my arms around him. I could taste
the salt on his tongue from his latest seed binge and started returning the
kiss with the same force, no, ferocity, he was showing me.

Sometime during our lip lock, he'd unzipped my pants and had slipped his
hand inside my briefs. This man could use his touch as a form of execution
in any state where they still use the electric chair...I seriously thought
my dick was going to catch fire. If I ever get a death sentence, please let
me die with Fox Mulder's hand around my cock. Anyway, to say I was happy
would be an understatement. I think I might have asked him what he was doing
because he laughed and said,

"I knew you were green, but don't tell me you've never done this before."

"I just never expected you to..."

Then he shut me up by giving me the deepest, wettest, probably noisiest kiss
I've ever experienced. One of those 'I hear a lot of groaning, oops, it's
me, I think' kinds of kisses. I can still taste him, and if I close my eyes,
I swear I can feel his tongue sliding over every inch of my mouth as if he
were trying to memorize it. I remember laughing because I had an image flash
through my mind of his tongue sweeping my mouth for bugs and wanting to tell
him that my fillings weren't listening devices.

"Why are you laughing?" [okay, imagine hooded eyes, red, shiny lips and him
starting to jerk me off. Or, imagine him jerking you off - whatever works.]

I'm not sure how to spell the sound I made, but it went something like


which got another laugh from him. Did I mention that his laugh could be a
cure for every known cause of depression? Trust me on this.

"You like that, Alex?"

By this point, I knew that trying to speak was going to be an uphill battle,
so I nodded my head and closed my eyes. I could feel it as precome started
leaking from the slit of my cock - kinda like peeing in a warm bathtub, to
be honest...hope that's not too...I was going to say graphic, but if you're
reading about a guy getting a handjob from another guy, it's not really a
problem, is it? What was I saying? Oh yeah, so he traced the tip of my penis
with his thumb, and I could feel the precome smearing all over the head, and
I wanted to tell him that not only did I like it, I loved it and wanted a
life that consisted of nothing more than him touching me like that until one
of us died from malnutrition.

I didn't open my eyes until I felt him let go of me. I wanted to ask him
what the hell he was doing, when I saw that he was kneeling down. Something
told me he wasn't about to start I did. I looked at this one
ceiling tile, and it became my new god. It heard all my wishes, dreams,
hopes, confessions and the occasional 'hallelujah' because that's when he
put his lips around my cock and started giving me the only blow job that has
ever been worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize. Think about it - if every man was
too busy getting their dicks sucked, no one would have the time to fight,
right? Well, it works for me, anyway.

My knees went weak - imagine that - and if there hadn't been a desk behind
me, I could have fallen on him hard enough to kill him or at least really
hurt the both of us. I don't think worker's comp would have covered that
kind of injury, so I was grateful for the support. When he went down on me
completely, I breathed in so hard and fast, my lungs should have exploded.
Luckily for me, I just got lightheaded because I forgot to exhale...but I
did eventually when he made me come. It's hard to scream without expelling
air from your lungs, you know. Not to use a tired cliché, but I saw stars.
That could have been from the previous lack of oxygen, but I choose to
believe it was Fox's mouth sucking on my dick like it was the world's
biggest sunflower seed. That tongue was everywhere, the lips were tight
enough to matter but not enough to remind me of a Hoover (vacuum or J.
Edgar, take your pick, though I'm not educated on how the J-man gave head),
and he'd worked his hand between my legs, cupping my balls as if he was
deciding if he should throw the curve or knuckle pitch.

He didn't care that I sounded like the soprano section of my high school
choir when I came. When I felt myself totally lose control of my favorite
body parts, I shot my come down his throat and expected to see his head whip
backwards from the force. He kept sucking and making these really sexy
noises, though, and I put my hand on his hair as he continued to devour me.
A split second later, he lifted his eyes to look into mine, and I knew I was
a goner. No one could have resisted that gaze, but considering the crush I'd
been nursing for some time, I was really done for. Too soon, he stood up and
kissed me. I must admit I tasted better mixed with him than those damn
seeds, but I've never been accused of being modest.

"Did that work?"

I frowned because I wasn't sure what he wanted me to say. 'Hell, yeah'
seemed a bit too simple. He clarified.

"Did that help make it up to you?"

This time I laughed at him and nodded my head. I pulled him to me and buried
my face in his neck, smelling traces of sweat and his cologne. I remember
feeling the material of his trousers rubbing against my cock, and I wondered
why he wasn't hard. Then he moved to the side a little, and I felt something
hard say hello, nice to meet ya. I started to undo his fly when he put a
hand on my arm and shook his head.

"You don't have to do that."

"I know. I want you to fuck me. Please..." [I don't beg anyone for anything,
but I figured I may as well go for the Grand Slam.]

"Are you sure?" [Hey, the man can't be brilliant all the time.]


He must have believed me because he drew me in for another kiss and let my
busy hands finish their work. The first time I held his cock in my hands, I
vowed never to wash them again, then I realized that wasn't practical,
especially if I ever wanted to pursue my other career path and become a
surgeon. Hey, that's pretty ironic that I'm in the business of taking lives
and at one point I wanted to save them, huh? I never thought about that
before. Weird.

Anyway, we continued to kiss, and I started jerking him off. That's when he
turned me around quickly and pushed me down over the desk. It happened so
fast, it made my head spin - don't ask me which one, please - and nothing
would have been able to wipe the smile off my face. I started to ask him if
he had any lube, when I felt something cold and smooth being rubbed between
the cheeks of my ass (why are they called cheeks? When I see people smile,
it never reminds me of their backsides, but I digress). At that point in my
career, before I'd graduated from being a mere slut to complete whoredom, I
hadn't been with too many guys, so when he started to slide a finger inside
me, I panicked a little and pulled away from him. He was very sweet, though,
and rubbed a reassuring hand on the small of my back and told me to relax.

"I'm sorry, Fox."

"Shh. Don't worry about it."

He tried again and this time got a little further, but I was biting my lip.
I mean, I wanted this - *really* wanted this - and I knew that once he
started fucking me it would be incredible. Unfortunately, it was just kinda
painful at that point, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to go through with
it. Shit, if I couldn't take a finger up my ass, how the hell was he
supposed to get Mr. Happy up there? Hmm, I'm not sure if that's too much
information, but I don't care. I will spare you the details of the careful,
loving way he did finally manage to prepare me (let me just say that the man
has a gift) and turn to what it felt like when he started fucking me. When
he put the head of his dick against my

SHIT!!!! Someone's at my door, and they're going to wake up the entire
building if I don't answer it. Trust me, I don't want any attention drawn to
myself or where I live. BRB.

Fuck! It's him and he looks pissed. How the hell did he find me? I don't
care, I'll let him in and hope that he doesn't shoot me right away. I'll
finish this later...unless he should happen to kill me. It's a chance I'm
willing to take, and if he does, just remember that I told you I love him.
Three simple, straightforward words, right?