From: AndSilence Subject: All the Wrong Questions (1/1) M/K 17+ All the Wrong Questions By Silence DISCLAIMER: They're not mine. CATEGORY: VRA KEYWORDS: M/K, MS UST RATING: 17+ FEEDBACK: Please. andsilence@aol.com ARCHIVAL: Gossamer, yes. SPOILERS: None. SUMMARY: Love and lust and loss and all the wrong reasons. XXXXXXXXXX He always came to me in darkness. Straight from her arms. I knew she wasn't fucking him. The two of them were too goddamned uptight for that. But with every word and gesture she lowered herself onto his body and he furiously thrust into her. Emptying himself into the vessel of her body. Metaphorically, of course. And then he would come straight to me. I was his whore. He paid me in pleasure. Mine? Yes. His? Perhaps. I could never quite tell. And it was in the dark where I had my power over him. XXXXXXXXXX 11:47 PM 22 Oscar Avenue Mulder knocks on the door twice, waits two seconds, then knocks again. Their prearranged signal. Alex stifles the thought of showing up at the door in a green peignoir and remains seated. Waiting for him. The door locks tumble and Mulder enters. The hurricane blows in, skipping the outer rings and turning straight into the eye. Both men save their talking for after fucking. Perhaps Mulder needs to use conversation to unwind, to come back to himself. Perhaps Alex needs it to reach out to Mulder in the only way the other man will let him. Something about tonight is different, in an almost intangible way. Maybe the air in the apartment circulates in a different pattern. Maybe they breathe more deeply or shallowly than before. Maybe Mulder doesn't look at Alex with slightly contemptuous indifference for once. Maybe this time Mulder will feel it too. Mulder stands naked before Alex. In his secret fantasies, he calls Mulder "my lover", though he knows he will never be called by the same endearments - at least by Mulder. Still, imaginings are everything we want them to be. And Alex is a romantic underneath the leather and posturing. He waits patiently, his lover naked before him, clothes an overtaxed burden on an overtaxed soul. Alex wants to laugh at the bizarre aroused/world-weary look on Mulder's face. The other man never quite got the hang of this - Alex suspects he was Mulder's first man - and despite his supposed brilliance he looks like he still doesn't quite know what to expect. His arms bend at 90 degree angles and he turns his hands until his palms are upwards. To an observer it is a gesture of supplication. To Alex it is a question: "What will you do for me?" Mulder's response is to drop to his knees and begin to remove Alex's pants. Trying to keep his knees from failing him and showing weakness, Alex bites the inside of his cheek as his lover quickly opens his mouth to Alex's cock. The two sensations are oddly similar: warm wet skin tortured by nipping teeth which easily contain the power to sever. His face is out of Mulder's sightline so he allows himself a sardonic grin. Why does Mulder do this? And god damn, he did he get so good at it? ...teeth sliding... He'd always thought of Mulder as a clueless het boy, one who had no idea how fuckable he was, especially to gayboys like Alex. So he'd set himself to the mission of acquiring Mulder, like his grandmother in Kiev collected ugly crystal figurines. And like his grandmother, he knew they had the potential to break - which was the true thrill of the acquisition. ... tongue circling... oh my god... But he hadn't counted on one thing: Mulder was already in someone else's possession. Scully's. Whenever he meets his lover, Alex half expects her to walk through the door with him, arms linked like some bizarre artist's rendering of the Bobbsey Twins. It would be easier that way - Alex could erase her with black paint. ... pressure building ... god, it's close... I'm not jealous of her, he reminds himself. Mulder's not eating her out right now, he's blowing me. But as Alex comes, he knows: Mulder wants her. He watches Mulder escape to the bathroom, followed by the sound of spitting and mouthwash - a bottle Alex had bought after their first time together. The request was one from the invisible laundry line of questions that always hung in the air between them. One of them was not, "Do you love me?" Alex already knew that answer. But the most important question remained unasked and unanswered: "Do you love her?" Alex knows that answer. Leaning against the wall, feeling his blood redistribute itself throughout his body, Alex asks himself one of the questions: "How did it come to this?" How did one night's desperation and lust become such a self-destructive cycle? Mulder needs this, Alex knows. He needs the sexual gratification, but especially with someone else, as if that validates the experience. Alex also knows that Mulder wants that other person to be Scully. Oh, Mulder never admits it, perhaps doesn't even realize it, but Alex can sense it all the same - in the way he holds his breath and tenses just a little bit when he sees her, or how he hisses a long "S..." when he comes, stopping just short of the glottal sound to begin the completion of her name. If Alex were a better man, he would give Mulder up, push him toward Scully, let them live happy ever fucking after. But he is a selfish man. Selfish and hard and complex and oh GOD! he loves Mulder too much. Far too much for peace, for sanity. For insanity. Mulder returns from the bathroom and settles himself on Alex's battered old sofa. Alex suddenly finds himself unable to even breathe the air that Mulder has exhaled. He wanders over to the kitchen and rummages through the liquor cabinet until he finds an old bottle of cheap Stoli in the back. Taking a sip straight from the bottle, the acidic liquid screams through his mouth then whispers down his throat, inflaming every scar Mulder has given him. He returns to the living room and finds Mulder passed out in front of the television. It drones in the background as Alex strips off his clothes. Some trashy talk show, with women telling their boyfriends about their secret lesbian affairs with his sister or what-the-hell-ever. Alex knows that he and Mulder have enough dysfunction to film a week of episodes - but they never include gayboys, do they? He had never been asked, never told, but everyone knew anyway. He was too pretty, and pretty boys are always gay, right? Are pretty boys always in love with the wrong man? Picking up the phone, Alex dials the number he remembers as Scully's. He lets it ring until she picks it up, then furiously disconnects before she can be heard saying, "hello?" She has call identification. She will track Alex down. And so Alex sits on the sofa, naked, clenching his fists to smother the urge to cradle Mulder's head in his lap, and watches the circus on TV, waiting for the knock at his door. XXXXXXXXXX END