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Dangerous in the Kitchen

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Dangerous in the Kitchen by A. Leigh-Anne Childe

29-Oct-97
Short Story Challenge

Dangerous in the Kitchen
by A. Leigh-Anne Childe ()

Written for short-story challenge. 500 words. Archive wherever you like. M/K slash. M&K are registered trademarks of C.C. Abduction & Torture Co. Inc. NC-17 for enthusiastic sex and evil use of an eggbeater.


"Mulder, this is the sickest thing I've ever seen."

Mulder glanced up from his plate. "I'm dangerous in the kitchen, I said. You'd eat it, you said. You said you'd eat a horse, a small child, and a Reticulan. Suddenly you can't eat a nice omelette?"

Alex stared at Mulder, face squinched in a labor of studious fascination. "You're insane, you know that?" he said conversationally. He poked the omelette's fold with a dissecting finger. "*Green* olives--something that looks like a boil--"

"That's a cocktail onion."

"Shredded lettuce." A hard stare.

Mulder shrugged. "I thought it would be. . .edible."

"Corn."

"I've heard of corn in omelettes," Mulder protested.

"You've also heard of alien abductions and sentient computers and--"

"Don't be mean."

Alex had to laugh. The other man was scowling and slumping into the pleated chrysalis of his bathrobe. Alex pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, then lifted one foot to rest on Mulder's chair, between his legs.

"What did you do with that egg beater?" He smiled dreamily and nudged Mulder with his foot.

Mulder blinked, torn between sleepiness and sensual abandon. "Oh. ..um, why."

Not answering, Alex disappeared under the table, then resurfaced on his knees in front of Mulder. "Good morning," he murmured, flicking open Mulder's robe and nuzzling what it had hidden. He played his tongue around the uplifted welcome until his partner was gasping, only to pull away when the encouragement grew desperate.

"Egg beater," Alex repeated.

"Whatever you want, I'm *not* doing it."

"Pussy."

Mulder glared. "Anyway, it's a whisk." "Exactly. Handcuffs, belts, asphyxiation--you can't do a damn whisk?"

"No kitchen utensils. No light bulbs, no livestock, no adventures in scatology--"

"You're so *tame*," Alex teased, kissing the pearled tip of Mulder's cock. He looked up, green eyes twinkling. "Whisks give, Mulder."

Mulder groaned breathlessly, dismayed. "Just finish."

Five minutes later, he was bent over the counter, gasping loudly. "Oh, *god*, Alex--fuck, yes, don't stop--"

"Told you it would feel good," Alex said, between ragged breaths.

"How you know this I don't want to know," Mulder rasped back.

"You're lucky it's a small whisk."

"Take it out, finish me, or die."

Alex whipped the whisk free and slid hastily up behind Mulder. His foot kicked the device somewhere across the kitchen floor with a skittering sound. "Condoms--" he muttered.

"Just *do* it."

Alex obediently complied. "Butter works well," he observed, sliding in.

Mulder butted back against him and said something incoherent into a dish towel. A moment later he lifted his head and spoke as Alex rode him. "Don't let me forget to call Metro about Benny Williams--see what their pathologist has--"

"Shut up!" Alex slid an arm around Mulder's neck and tugged, to be rewarded by a sudden squeeze from below. He drove harder, trying to override Mulder's bubbling laughter.

"Inspiring case," Mulder said, nearly as he came. "'What's Cockin'?' Terrible title. Great spoon action. . .don't leave that tape in my VCR, it's evidence--oh *god*, ALEX!"

(End)