Mind, Body and Soul I - Mind by Aries
Series: Part I of Mind, Body and Soul
Rated: R for language and m/m sexual implications
Archive: Allslash, Archive X, TER/MA, All Things Rat, Den of Sin, Slashville. Anywhere else, please ask me first.
Web pages: http://www.squidge.org/terma/aries/aries.htm, http://www.slashcity.tv/~denofsin/
Summary: I have no idea where this one came from. It's just one of those things that starts rattling around in the brain for no apparent reason. It's part I in a very, very short series. Yes, I said short. Quit giggling out there! All three chapters are POV's, alternating between Fox and Alex, and I don't think you'll have any trouble figuring out who's saying what.
Disclaimer: The boys belong to CC. Not that he's doing anything contructive with them...
Big smoochies to Ori for quick beta!
Feedback: is always very welcome! You can reach me at
He plays over and over in my head like a song or a scene from a movie you just can't get rid of.
Asleep or awake, it makes no difference. He's there, occupying my thoughts...my dreams.
He shouldn't be there. I want him out. Done everything I can think of to exorcise him, but he stays...lingering in the corners of my mind, whispering to me at the most inopportune times in that soft, sultry, gravel and honey voice, and I want him to go on whispering. I want to hear all those things he'll never really say, and just for that little while I can pretend that things aren't really the way they are, and that he's mine.
No one has to know. I'll keep him here in my head, and we can...
No. No, I can't.
Come on, knock it off. It's too insane even for a private thought.
I know who he is. I know *what* he is. But, Christ, it doesn't stop me from having these thoughts.
I've wanted him for more years than I care to count, and for that many years I've denied it, telling myself there was a very fine line between desire and hatred, and I was so close to the edge, that I was simply confusing the two.
It gets harder to believe that every time I see him. He appears every so often, antagonizes me, offers some tidbit of information, then slithers back into the darkness. I don't know if it's more accurate to say that he escapes or I let him get away, but the bottom line is that no matter how brief his visit, my whole body vibrates for days afterward, and I can't stand it. I hate myself.
And I hate him.
I want to hurt him. I want to find him and beat him until I can't swing anymore. I want to find the words...to say just the right things to break him down and turn him into a wounded, vulnerable child. And then...then, God help me, but I want to hold him in my arms and rock him. I want to kiss him and take all the pain away. I realize I've got to be pretty screwed up to be thinking that way, but I can't help it. It's the way I feel.
I felt that way when I saw him tonight in the parking garage of the Hoover Building.
He materialized out of nowhere it seemed, taunted me as usual, dropped a few names and places then slipped away too damn quickly.
Maybe it was the car passing by about fifty feet to our left that spooked him. Maybe he would have stayed a bit longer if it hadn't, and I could've...
I would've let him go just like I always do. And as much as I want to, I have to admit that I can't even bring myself to hit him anymore. I started thinking that maybe that's why he's recently stepped up the caliber of barbs he delivers. Maybe he's provoking me...trying to get me to swing at him. Maybe he's as sick as I am, and he needs the violence. Maybe he saw it as some sort of demented relationship, and he misses it.
That would mean he missed *me*.
But if he did, why would he go? Why would he pop in and out so quickly and never give either of us a chance to...
Wake the hell up, would you?
He's a sneaky, low down, mind-fucking shit who wants no more to do with you than he would that pasty-faced, chain smoking, old bastard he works for. He's part of this mess for one reason and one reason only. Because it benefits him to be.
Why the fuck do I protect him?
Why do I risk my *ass* to feed him information when he doesn't believe a word I say?
I don't need this shit.
I went to see him tonight. Had some information he could use, and I put my life on the line to do it.
They know that he's getting his information from somewhere, they're just not sure *how* he's coming by it, and I know he's being watched more closely.
All the more reason for me to hang around him. I don't need some trigger happy asshole to start thinking for himself and decide that he's got to eliminated.
I could've told him tonight to watch his ass. For that matter, I guess I could've told him that *I* was watching his ass, but what would be the point? He'd probably go out of his way to ditch me, and I'd wind up with a much bigger problem than the fucking screaming hard-on I've got right now.
Fuck him to hell and back.
Why do I let him do this to me? *I'm* supposed to be the master of mind fuck, not him. Pisser is, he doesn't even know he's doing it, which somehow makes it worse.
I *knew* him before. Knew everything he was going to say, everything he was going to do, but now...
Hardly an insult or threat does he throw my way, and I can't remember the last time he put his hands on me. I think I'm starting to feel neglected.
Aww, fuck, did I just say that?
Is this what my life's come to? Sneaking in and out of the shadows, living for a few seconds every few months when I can drop some information in his lap, harass him a bit, then blow back out and wait till the next time...
And how long is *this* going to go on?
I can't do this to myself. I should go to him. Walk into his apartment, tie him down if I have to, and make him listen to everything I've ever wanted to say to him. What's the worse that could happen? He'll laugh at me? Call me a goddamn, fucking liar who's only looking to use him for God knows what? *Beat* me after I untie him?
Now, we're talking...
Or maybe he'll just kill me and put me out of my misery.
I see him, I tick him off, he says or does something to get my blood up, my dick gets hard, and I leave. Go home, jerk off, and I'm fine till the next time.
Or at least the next night.
I *want* him. Big deal. What red-blooded American male *wouldn't* want to feel those lips wrapped around his dick? Or run his fingers through that thick, silky hair...kiss him senseless and watch his eyes turn three different shades of gorgeous. Who the hell wouldn't want to wrap him in their arms and hold him all night long while he slept...
Jesus. Oh, Jesus. Stop, okay? Just...*stop*. This isn't good. Not good at all. He'd be good for a nice fuck, but that's all. That's *it*. Any thoughts beyond that are pure insanity. You got it?
Yeah, I got it.
I got it bad.
Series: Part II of Mind, Body and Soul
Rated: NC-17 for language and m/m sexual situations
Archive: Allslash, Archive X, TER/MA, All Things Rat, Den of Sin, Slashville. Anywhere else, please ask me first. Web pages: http://www.squidge.org/terma/aries/aries.htm, http://www.slashcity.tv/~denofsin/
Summary: Still in the POV mode. Part II here deals with what happens when Krycek pushes Mulder just a bit too far, and they finally act on their repressed desires.
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, they're CC's. No money being made, no infringement intended, blah, blah, blah...
Props to Ori for damn fine beta!
Feedback? You bet! You can find me at
Here I am again.
And completely unsatisfied.
Oh, God, I've got to stop this.
Every damn night for how many months now? It's amazing I haven't gone blind or grown hair in my palms or *something*.
I don't know why, I don't...sure, I jerk off, but not *this* often.
I can't bring myself to stop. Maybe if I could get him out of my mind...
I've been thinking about him constantly since that night three months ago. Haven't seen or heard from his since, but he won't leave my mind.
Dammit, leave me alone, *please*. I can't do this. I can't keep thinking about this, I can't. I mean, what the hell does it say about me? What kind of man am I, lusting after someone like him? How can I put aside everything I know about him and think about nothing but those laser-green eyes, that perfect mouth, those...goddamn beautiful eyelashes that pull me in with every sweep...
Hey, the body has a will of its own. It's a separate entity, ignoring the wishes and good sense of the mind. Just because my body hums in his presence...God, at the very thought of him, it doesn't mean that my mind necessarily agrees.
So, it's my body that's in control. Like it is right now. Wonderful.
I've always been known as a man who lived in his mind...cerebral, if just a bit nutty, and I don't see so much of that right now. All I can see is a man in the most basic sense. Sexual. Wanting. Body aching every night for something so out of reach, so utterly unattainable, that the only thing left to do is relieve the physical tension and pray it's enough to allow me to sleep.
The *physical* tension.
Sounds like an implication of something more.
No. It's just the body's need for release. Nothing else. I can't let it be anything else.
But how can I stop it?
Another restless night.
Just me and a handful of Astroglide.
They're getting longer, the nights. So long that I'm beginning to see them turn into day.
And the images, these sick fantasies of mine...they're getting more vivid. More intense.
More fucking painful.
I can't keep this up.
*This* obviously not being my dick. It refuses to lie down, and it absolutely *will not* shut up. It keeps demanding...*begging* for him.
//Please, Alex, *please*? Just once. I promise I won't ask anymore after that...//
Once would *never* be enough. I know that as sure as I know that once would never happen in the *first* place.
I have to put an end to this once and for all, and the only way I can think to do it...the only way I can erase all doubts...all possibilities from my mind is to face him. I gotta see the hatred in those amazing eyes and hear the venom falling from that fucking beautiful mouth, and then, maybe...
Please. Been there, done that.
A good ass-whipping...
Oh, yeah, sure, that'll work. What's the first thing I do when I come back to my room, bloody and bruised? Strip and stand in front of the mirror, taking inventory of all the little gifts he gave me. And then I jerk off, remembering what it felt like to have his hands on me.
There's only thing that would truly end this. And maybe if I make him mad enough...maybe if I make it easy for him, he'll make it all go away...
God, somebody tell me why it is I'm not dead.
I came home after a long, rotten day at work, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a cold beer, and I got neither of those things. What I *did* get was the shock of my life, and then a near-stroke.
I walked into my bedroom, unknotting my tie, and almost jumped out of my skin.
There he sat...on my windowsill...dim moonlight reflecting in his eyes and throwing shadows across most of the rest of his face. Arrogant little tilt to his head.
I froze, not speaking...not breathing. Common sense told me to turn a light on, but for some reason my hands wouldn't cooperate.
He shifted a little, and I could see his face just a bit better. He looked as though he might have been smiling, but there was something in his eyes I couldn't quite put my finger on. He said hello to me, and my knees just about buckled. There's something in the way he says my name. Now, everybody calls me Mulder, but somehow he makes it seem like such a personal thing.
I got my shit together, drew myself up with all the righteous indignation I could muster, and asked him what the hell he was doing in my apartment...in my *bedroom*.
He gave me one of those careless shrugs that make me want to blacken his eye, and he said that there was something I needed to know.
I asked him if a phone call wouldn't have done just as well, and he smiled at me and asked if I wouldn't miss him if he didn't pop in on me from time to time. My immediate answer was no, of course, and he just gave me this curious look.
I asked him again what he wanted, and he gave me some useful but not especially earthshattering information.
And then he just sat there. Looking at me.
I stared at him for a minute, trying to read him, then told him if that was all he had for me, he could leave.
But he stayed, and his expression changed to something even more perplexing than it had been.
I looked away, unable, for whatever ridiculous reason I told myself, to keep my eyes on his. My gaze happened to fall on the bed, and I noticed that it was rumpled like someone had been sleeping in it. Wasn't me; I spend most nights on the couch.
I looked back up at him and asked if he'd been lying on my bed. He told me he'd been there a while waiting for me to get home, and he got a little sleepy, so he took a nap.
I told myself it was the damned gall he had to fall asleep in *my* bed and then admit it that made me close the distance between us and snatch him away from the window. I blamed that fucking insolent little grin of his when I slammed him up against the wall. I held the warm, pristine green of his eyes responsible when I knocked him onto the bed with a hard backhand.
He lay there, looking up at me, wincing with the pain of the blow...blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but he refused to fight back, and that made me more angry. I stalked over to the bed and kneeled on it, pulling him up by the collar of his jacket. I pulled my weapon out and held it under his jaw, and he did nothing. He *said* nothing. He just stared up at me without an ounce of fear in his eyes.
My hand started to tremble at what I *did* see. He was challenging me to do it. And behind that challenge there was the same look I'd seen earlier.
Heat. Like, lust.
I let him go as though touching him had burned my hands, and I secured my weapon. Slapped him again and told him that he wasn't worth the bullet. He lay there, sprawled on my bed, eyes closed, head turned to one side, panting like he'd just sprinted for two miles. The cut I'd given him with the first blow had opened wider with the second, and the blood flowed more freely now, running down along his jaw to his chin.
I beat down the urge to touch my tongue to the corner of his mouth and spat out some inane statement about him bleeding on my bed, then I ordered him to get up and get the hell out of my apartment.
And there was that look I'd always wanted to see. That wounded, dejected expression.
A few seconds passed, and he sat up, wiping the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. He wouldn't look at me as he got to his feet and started to move away.
All at once, I panicked. This wasn't what I wanted. I couldn't let him go, but what the hell was I going to do to make him stay?
I fucked up.
When he had the gun on me, I should have said something to insure that he'd pull the trigger. Something about killing his father, maybe, but I said nothing. I just sat there daring him with my eyes. It wasn't enough.
Well, at least I thought that at the time.
After he refused to shoot me, I lay where he let me drop, descending back into the hell that would be mine for the rest of my worthless life, and then he told me to get up and get the hell out. I didn't know what else to do, and, figuring that I deserved what I got for being inefficient enough not to make sure that he finished the job, I got up.
I couldn't look at him. What would be the point of torturing myself further? I started toward the door, and a hand around my wrist stopped me short.
I think I stopped breathing completely for the time it took him to complete his walk to my side. I kept my eyes to the floor, but I couldn't stop the fucking tremors that passed through me as he lifted my hand and licked some of the blood away.
I made a sound. I know I must have whimpered or something, because he froze. Like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He brought his hand up under my chin and tipped my head up, then he moved in and licked the blood from my jaw. The room started to spin, and for a minute I thought I'd passed out because I felt myself falling. But instead of hitting the floor, I hit the bed. And so did he.
Before I could get my brain to function well enough to process what the hell was happening, he was on top of me. And he was kissing me. And I was kissing him back...with all the passion that had been welling up in me for the last few years.
I surprised him again with that kiss. He pulled back and stared at me for God knows how long. I didn't wait around this time, hoping that my eyes would tell him all he needed to know. I stated it flat out. I told him that I wanted him. That I needed him, and I even went so far as to tell him how many years that need had spanned, and then I waited to see what he would do once the shock wore off.
What he finally did was very nearly the death of me.
He didn't say anything. I think he was too overwhelmed to make a sound, but he kissed me. Not hard and desperate like the first kiss. This one was soft. I couldn't believe how soft. He pulled back, cocked his head to a different angle, and kissed me again. And then I felt his hands pushing my jacket away from my shoulders. I don't remember helping him get it off, but I must have. I was way too busy trying to comprehend the fact that his tongue was now in my mouth, stroking so gently over mine. I didn't know what the hell to do except hold onto him and let him take me wherever he wanted to go.
It's not like I was inexperienced. God, far from it, but with him, it was...I don't know...surreal, I guess I could say. I'd never felt like that before in my life, and though nothing had really happened yet, I knew that from that point on, I was all done. I'd never in my life want anyone else.
Jesus, how could a man's mouth be so sweet?
I didn't want to stop kissing him. The taste...the feel of him was intoxicating, and I never wanted to stop. I managed to get his jacket off, returned my concentration temporarily to his mouth, then my hands started to wander. I could feel the way his muscles tightened and relaxed under my fingers, and I needed to feel his skin. I needed to see how close the real thing came to what I had imagined.
I pulled his t-shirt out of his jeans and slid one hand underneath. I was surprised to see how accurate I had been.
Satiny smooth, almost hairless chest. Muscular...so warm. My hand passed over his pounding heart then came back to rest there for a minute. Our eyes met, and I pushed the shirt up and over his head, then pressed my lips to the place where my hand had been. I felt him twitch and suppress a moan, and I continued on, kissing and licking until he couldn't hold it back. He made this sound that was something of a cross between a groan and a whimper, and my already rock hard cock swelled a little bit more.
I had him. Alex Krycek...here in my bedroom, half naked...making the most amazing noises...for *me*.
I dragged my tongue across one of his nipples, and he started to squirm. I looked up and remember seeing his hands. They were clutching the pillow under his head so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. I reached up and made him let go, then draped his arms around my neck. He sort of froze for a minute but recovered when I kissed him again and asked him to touch me.
God, he wanted me to touch him. Who was I to say no?
I slid my fingers through his hair, amazed at the softness of it...thinking that if something as simple as this could make my dick throb, what the hell would I do if he actually fucked me?
As I moved down to his shirt and started undoing the buttons, I was telling myself I couldn't think that far ahead. But that's where this was going, wasn't it? I mean, it'd be pretty insane to think that we were going to undress each other, do a little light petting and then go our separate ways, though some part of me was scared to death that that was exactly what was going to happen.
I watched him watching me, and the look in his eyes was sheer lust. No anger, no hatred. No disgust. He wanted me. Christ, thank you, he wanted me.
I got his shirt undone, and he helped me take it off. He didn't wait for me to go for his undershirt; he pulled that off right after his shirt hit the floor.
His skin was so hot...or maybe that was me, but it felt so goddamn good when he relaxed on top of me and laid his head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him, and my hands started to move, rubbing his back. I turned my head and buried my face in his hair, learning the smell of his shampoo, and then I started to kiss him...the back of his head...his neck...his shoulder.
I felt his mouth on me too, working its way to my throat then back up to my mouth. He kissed me once then pulled back and brushed his fingers over the cut at the corner of my mouth. He didn't say anything, but his eyes were full of apology. At least that's the way I saw it.
He moved his fingers away and kissed the wound, and I just about fell apart. I don't know why, but that one simple little action really did me in. My eyes started to burn, and I had to keep blinking to clear them.
To make sure that he didn't keep his attention focused on my face, I slipped a hand between us and unbuttoned his pants while I nipped at his throat.
He was all for that. He lifted himself up a bit, giving me better access. Once I got the zipper down, I brushed my fingertips over the bulge that had seemed to swell even more in its loose, silk enclosure. He pressed his face into the side of my neck and clamped his mouth on the skin there, sucking gently as I continued to stroke him through his underwear.
I wanted to finish undressing him. I wanted so much to see him naked and beautiful...to touch him and kiss him everywhere, but I kept thinking that any minute I was going to do something to jar him back to reality, and he would push me away. If he did that, his very next move had better have been for his gun, because I don't think I would have wanted to live if he had rejected me then...
I could feel the apprehension in him, and I knew that if we were going to take this all the way, it would have to be up to me.
I lifted myself away from him and kneeled between his legs. I heard the breath catch in his throat as I pushed my pants and underwear down to my knees. I didn't move for a few seconds after that, I just knelt there, letting him look at me...loving that hungry gleam in his eyes. I sat back and pulled everything off, and when I came back to him, I was completely naked.
And that's the way I wanted *him*.
After winning an age-long wrestling match with the button on his jeans, I discovered that it wasn't the only one.
Button flys. Wonderful.
I groaned, made some remark about burning the damn things after I finally got them off of him, and he smiled. Not the usual smug, sarcastic smirk I was used to seeing, but a genuine, unguarded, beautiful smile that left me speechless.
The moment seemed to put him more at ease, and he assisted me in getting the rest of his clothing off. After I flung the jeans across the room, I turned and looked down at him. He was as gorgeous as I knew he would be. Graceful and taut, not a single inch of him wasted. Efficient, solid muscle sheathed in luxurious, soft skin...
I started at his chest, running my hands lightly over every contour, watching each sinewy ripple, and listening attentively to the minute changes in his breathing patterns as I moved lower. I avoided his cock, which by the way was one of those things that wet dreams are made of, and caressed his legs, paying special attention to his inner thighs, which I learned quickly were wonderfully sensitive. By the time I made it back up to his cock, he was wrecked.
Shit, he's beautiful when he's desperate and begging for attention.
I let my fingertips just barely graze the underside of his cock, and a drop of semen appeared at the tip immediately. I bent to lick it away which, looking back, might not have been such a good idea for either of us. I loved the velvety feel of him on my tongue...had to have more, and that one, brief touch wasn't going to get it for him, either. So, I opened my mouth and slowly took in every last inch of him.
Jesus Christ, he swallowed me whole, and I was sure that the world was coming to an end. It had to be; why else would my wildest fantasies be coming true...
Everything at that point just went out of focus and turned sort of a dull, reddish-black, and I didn't give a damn if I was ever able to see again. All I wanted was to stay forever in that soft, hot mouth.
But the coiling in the pit of my stomach told me that wasn't happening any time soon.
Something I must have done...some sound I must have made clued him in too, and he pulled away.
I still can't believe it. No one in the world has ever made me beg like that, but he did. I needed him more than I have or ever will need anything in my life. I tossed every bit of pride I had out the window and pleaded for him to fuck me.
Thankfully, he took pity on me and pulled his nightstand drawer open. He rummaged around for a while, and I was just getting ready to tell him to forget the lube when he pulled a small tube out. He made some crack about it probably being all dried up, then unscrewed the cap.
There did turn out to be some useable bit in there, and just as he was about to squeeze it out into his hand, he stopped. Gave me a little smile, then took my hand...
I squeezed what little lube I could get out into his hand, then straddled his waist and waited. He reached out slowly and took my cock in his palm. His fingers closed around it, and I had all I could do to remain kneeling. My legs were shaking almost as much as his hand, but I managed to stay upright until he finished. I stretched out then, lying on top of him, his legs bent on either side of my hips. I kept my eyes on his and with one hand, worked my cock into him. I had to stop at least six times before I made it all the way inside. Either he was too close to the edge, or I was, or we *both* were. When I was finally in him as far as I could go, I relaxed on top of him...as much as I could, and we lay quietly together. He knew like I did that if I had continued to move, it would have been over inside of twenty seconds.
So, there I was. In Fox Mulder's bed. Naked under afore mentioned man with his cock as far up my ass as it could go. Somebody please name one thing I'd ever done in my life that was good enough to deserve that.
I hugged him to me as he lay there, gently kissing every inch of skin I could reach without jostling us around too much. Neither of us was in very stable condition at that point, and it wouldn't take much more than a sneeze to set us both off.
A few minutes later, he lifted his head from my shoulder, took a deep breath, and asked me if I was all right. I nodded...he kissed me, then he started to move.
I wish I could accurately describe the sensation of being fucked by the most beautiful man to ever walk the face of the earth. It's like nothing else I've ever felt in my life. Every tiny movement vibrated in me like a four point zero earthquake, and I was fully aware of each brush of his skin against mine. Every time he withdrew, the loss of his presence inside me left me with such an agonizing sense of emptiness, I could hardly stand it for the few seconds it took him to return.
When I felt his hand slip between us and close around my cock, my head started to spin. I wanted to come with him in the worst way, but the idea of having to leave that heaven filled me with a sadness like I've never felt. But he started to stroke me in time to his thrusts, and emotion took a back seat to raw need.
I pushed harder into him, my hand moving at the same speed over his cock, and although I wished that it could have gone on forever, our bodies were telling me no. Alex bucked against me, begging me to fuck him harder, and I obliged without argument. I gathered what little strength I had left in reserve and gave him everything I had. It must have been enough, because in a matter of seconds he was screaming like an animal, clawing and convulsing, and I felt the rush of hot fluid over my hand. I came then, too, in pretty much the same way that he did. The windows were closed, but I'll bet a week's pay that people out on the street, four floors below, heard us loud and clear.
The world went black, and all I could do was feel. I felt every last bit of energy drain out of me. I felt his skin against mine, soft and slick, and I felt his heart thudding as hard as mine had been. I don't remember anything after that. I guess I passed out for a while because the next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and the faint light of dawn was filtering in through the blinds.
I focused on waking up, and I realized that I wasn't lying where I had fallen asleep. I was now actually on the bed, lying on my stomach. I hadn't looked up yet, but I could feel him there next to me. I looked up and was surprised to find that his eyes were open. He watched me with a wariness that I hadn't seen since the night before, and when I said nothing to him, he lowered his eyes and slid out of bed.
I didn't even get two steps from the bed when he asked me where I was going. I shrugged and told him that I was leaving, and he asked me why.
I had no answer. I guess I just thought that I should.
He stared at me for a while then lowered his eyes and watched his hand draw the sheet down. He looked back up at me and waited.
He wanted me to stay, and I don't think it ever would have occurred to me to refuse him. I moved slowly back to the bed, checking with him once more before I slid in beside him.
His expression hadn't changed. He lay there still waiting, and as soon as my head hit the pillow, he was there, pressed against me, hand sweeping over my chest. He told me that in case I was wondering, as far as he was concerned, what we did was no mistake. It was not a case of temporary insanity, and he had no regrets. What's more, he said that it was the most incredible sexual experience of his life, and he hoped that it wouldn't be a one shot deal.
Before I could really think about it, the words were out of my mouth. I asked him how he could hate me so much yet want me in his bed, and his answer was simple. He'd wanted me for years, and with all that had happened between us, he hated himself and me for it. Violence had become his answer...the way he denied his desire for me, and last night it all came crashing down on him. He got this overwhelming feeling that if he didn't act on his desires right then, he might never have the chance again.
I asked him what made him even think I'd be receptive to a thing like that, and he smiled. Reminded me what field he was trained in and that trying to figure out what made me tick had been a side project of his for years. He admitted that he didn't have me figured out completely, but there were a couple of things he was fairly sure about, and my lust for him was one of them.
I couldn't have denied it even if I'd wanted to. Not after last night.
He asked me why I never fought back on those occasions when he attacked me, and I gave him a faintly smug grin and asked him if he hadn't come to any of his own conclusions about that.
As a matter of fact, he had.
He told me that he thought I had come to think of the violence as a substitute for what I really needed from him...that I'd derived some degree of pleasure and satisfaction from it. That said, he also concluded that his failure to initiate *any* kind of physical contact during the course of our last few meetings had frustrated me and possibly got me thinking about it more than I ever had.
He brushed his fingers across my mouth and asked me if he was right.
All I could do was nod.
He went quiet for a minute then asked me why I would have let him kill me last night.
I asked him if he could please tell *me* since he was on such a roll.
He lay there, saying nothing for a long while, then shook his head. He said he guessed it was one of those things about me that he just couldn't figure.
Yeah. Me either.
Things got a little awkward, and a heavy silence fell between us.
He was obviously disappointed with my answer, and I started wondering what it was he expected me to tell him. I had already told him not more than a few minutes before that I hadn't been able to figure him out completely.
I suppose I could have just asked him to tell me what it was he wanted me to say, but I got the distinct feeling that he wouldn't have told me even if he knew. Damn, but I hated seeing that injured look in his beautiful eyes. I wrapped my arms around him and rolled him on top of me, then I kissed him and asked him to fuck me.
He just stared down at me, a little hesitant at first, but the emphatic stiffening of his cock against my thigh told me that he was coming around to my way of thinking very quickly. Just to help things along, I slid both hands down over his ass...God, he's got a nice ass...and pulled him more tightly to me. I rocked against him so he could feel how hard I was already, and I saw the light slowly returning to his eyes.
It was my turn. My chance to show him...to make him want only me. It was my opportunity to prove to him that I could give him everything he'd ever need.
I shoved all the baggage aside and did just that.
I went after him with everything I had, and inside of five minutes I had him whimpering my name and clinging to me like he was drowning.
He was like a summer thunderstorm that just wouldn't let up. Seductively fierce and hypnotic in his brilliance, he pulled me into the center of that crackling energy and refused to let go.
Not a single inch of me went untouched, and I found myself shuddering uncontrollably as his hands and his mouth drove me closer and closer to the edge of total meltdown. By the time I felt him lift my hips and drive his cock into me, I was very nearly hysterical with need.
Even through the deluge of blinding lust, a tiny little voice in the back of my head was telling me that I was toast. That from here on out, it would be Alex or nothing for me. If the thought was supposed to scare me, it didn't. I'd known for a very long time now, even *without* having had the benefit of fucking him, that it was Alex or nothing.
How many different ways are there to fuck a man? I mean, when it really comes right down to it, aside from varying speed and strength, the actual method is pretty cut and dried...I thought...
Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was so overjoyed to finally have this man inside of me that my mind endowed him with all sorts of magical, mystical powers. I don't know. What I *do* know is that he tore me down. He shredded me to tiny bits, and when he was finished with me, I couldn't move. I couldn't speak, I couldn't see, I couldn't hear...I don't know how I kept breathing. Everything just went black, and it seemed like weeks before the feeling began to return to my extremities.
When I was finally able to open my eyes and focus, I realized that he was now lying beside me, and that he was asleep. I watched him, amazed at how the demon who had so completely possessed me earlier could look so positively angelic when he was at rest. I wondered how he could be such a stone-cold, manipulative bastard on the outside, and so sweet and unsure and outrageously seductive on the inside.
A disturbing, even frightening puzzle for most people, but as Scully would so smugly point out to me, I'm not most people.
I'd figure it out, I told myself as I dropped a soft kiss on one heavily-fringed eyelid. I'd figure it *all* out.
Now, I had the time.
Good morning, all.
For those interested, this is the last chapter of the Mind, Body and Soul series. I will now be dropping off the face of the earth while I complete part nine of the Admission series. See you when it's done, which, at the speed I'm moving should be Christmas sometime... ::sigh::
Series: Part III of Mind, Body and Soul
Rated: NC-17 for language and m/m sexual situations
Archive: Allslash, Archive X, TER/MA, All Things Rat, Den of Sin, Slashville. Anywhere else, please ask me first.
Web pages: http://www.squidge.org/terma/aries/aries.htm,
Summary: Still the boy's POV. PartIII brings us to...well, if you read the first two chapters, you understand how the stories are tied in with their titles.
Disclaimer: The boys belong to CC, but answer me this. If you created something so stunningly beautiful, would you treat it *so* shabbily?
Props to Ori for righteous beta!
If you're so inclined, you can feed me at
I can hear Scully's voice. Droning in my right ear while the plane's engines drone in my left...drilling me on improper procedure, mishandling of evidence, and a whole slew of other bullshit complaints that I'll have to hear all over again once we hit Skinner's office. Let's just all conveniently forget about the fact that I've just solved a case that no one else has been able to crack during a year and a half of intensive investigation...
Doesn't mean shit to me right now, anyway. My mind is otherwise occupied. I'm thinking about getting home and wondering if I'll find him there waiting for me.
I've been away for three days. He's been gone over two weeks, but he called me two days ago and said he was going to try to make it back before I did. I haven't heard from him since. He didn't *say* he'd call when he got there, so I guess I can't really expect that he would. I'm hoping, though, that he made it.
We've been sleeping together for over seven months now, and while we started out spending maybe two nights a week together, it wasn't long before those two nights turned into three and four, and now we're together as often as our schedules allow.
He tries very hard to be there when I come back from an out of state case. At first, I'd come in and find him naked and ready in my bed, we'd roll around together for a couple of hours, then order out for some food. Now, it's usually a hot, home cooked meal that's waiting for me. And I get hot Alex for dessert.
I'm liking this. Not only do I get to knock boots with the most amazingly sexy man I'll ever know, but I get good food...and intelligent conversation...and laughs. Yes, Alex Krycek has a sense of humor. And he's relaxed enough with me to let me see it.
I used to be more or less a solitary man, enjoying what little time I had to myself, *by* myself, but Alex changed that. I hate it when I'm home and he's away. Coming back to an empty apartment at the end of the day isn't what I want anymore. I need the comfort of knowing he's there. I want him near me as much as I can have him, and I *think* he feels the same, or else why would he still be with me?
I didn't think I was going to make it.
My flight got delayed, and I only just made it in. He should be here in about an hour, so I guess there's no time to really cook anything. Sorry, handsome, I guess it's take out today.
That's all right. Leaves us more time for other things.
It's been almost three weeks since I've seen him, and I'd be willing to bet that he's as ready as I am for a nice, long fuck. We've been together almost eight months, and I can definitely say that I'm no less enthusiastic about sex with him than I was that first night. If anything, my desire for him has only grown. I can't seem to get enough. The more of him I have, the more I want. When we're away from each other, the emptiness I feel is astounding. I never knew how *much* of a void there was in my life until he filled it.
And now, here I am. Practically a permanent fixture in his apartment and his life, and I've never been happier or more content.
Scares the hell out of me sometimes.
I've never thought of myself as one who was put here to be happy. I've always seen myself as a laborer...a drone born and bred to do the work that no one else wants to do...the dirty stuff that gets whispered about in dark, quiet corners. I never thought I was meant to have a life...and now that I've dared to start thinking about one, I'm afraid sometimes that someone will reach down and rip it away from me.
You're out of line, Alex. That life belonged to a decent, deserving member of polite society. You stole it. Now give it back and go steal us some national secrets or something...
I don't want to give it back. It's mine. *He's* mine. I keep him happy. I must, or he wouldn't smile the way he does when he sees me. He wouldn't still want me in his bed after all this time, and what's more, he wouldn't want me to *stay*.
And I *will* stay until he decides that it's time for me to go.
I think about that sometimes. I wonder what I'd do if one day he woke up, looked at me, and said that he didn't want me anymore. The pain that runs through me at those times is so intense I can't stand it. I try so hard to mask it, but sometimes he notices and asks me what's wrong. I always tell him that I'm fine, but he knows that something's up. He doesn't push, but he's worried. I can see it all over his face, just like he can see all over mine that I'm hurting.
I can't tell him how afraid I am. How would I explain it to him when I don't really understand it myself? There are so few things that actually scare me, but losing him is at the top of that extremely short list.
I didn't know it would be like this. I had no idea. I know I wanted him. I know I'd have done anything to have him, and I'll damn sure do anything to keep him, but why? All because he's a hell of a good lay? No. He's a *fantastic* lay, but that's not why I'd kill or die for him. There are things...feelings that I have, and I don't know what to do with them. I look at him sometimes, and I...this incredible warmth just floods my insides. We lie together at night, clinging to each other, exhausted and satisfied, and so much emotion bubbles up inside me. I keep it to myself for the most part...that fear thing again...I'm afraid of laying too much on him, too fast. Sometimes I get the feeling that I'm more to him than just a playmate, but I don't know...I don't know how he'd take all the affection I'm dying to drown him in. I guess I'll know when the time is right.
If it ever is.
Thank you, God.
I walked in, disappointed at first because it was quiet and I didn't smell anything cooking, so I thought he hadn't made it back after all. Then some movement from the direction of the bedroom caught my attention. I turned around, and he was leaning in the doorway, watching me. I walked over to him and put my arms around him. He sort of sagged against my chest and wrapped his arms around my neck.
I lifted his head from my shoulder so I could kiss him, and when we finally pulled back, we were both breathing a little heavier. I held his eyes, told him that I'd missed him, and I saw that look that I sometimes see at moments like this. His eyes drifted away from my face, and he opened his mouth, stuttering softly before he finally managed to tell me that he missed me too.
It's amazing how a man who can be so aggressive in so many other ways can be so incredibly shy when it comes to saying something as simple as 'I missed you'. I don't know what he thinks is going to happen when he says it. I can't imagine for the life of me that he thinks I'm just saying the words without actually meaning them. Maybe that's exactly what he thinks in that beautiful, screwed up brain of his. Maybe there's something I haven't done...some reason he hasn't gotten the message...
I pulled him back into my arms, and I felt his fingers tighten in the material of my jacket. I took it a bit further, telling him that I thought about him every minute of every day we were apart, and that I hated these long separations.
That *really* got him.
He never loosened his hold on me, but he lifted his head and stared at me with such anxiety in his eyes. I asked him if he didn't believe me, and his eyes left my face again. I could see him struggling with something, and as much as I wanted to know what it was, I thought maybe it would be best to let him tell me about it in his own time. Whenever that might be.
I wish he would talk to me about whatever it is that eats at him. So many times he seems to want to, but something always stops him. I want to ask him what it is he can't say to me, but I don't think he'll ever answer.
Sometimes I want to tie him to a chair, shine a light in his eyes, and force it all out of him. And sometimes I want to throw him down on the bed...floor, or whatever we happen to be closest to, and fuck it out of him. Usually, I just let it alone. I hug him. Kiss him, and do whatever I can do to show him that I really do care for him...
I cupped his face in the palms of my hands and lifted his head. I told him once more that I did miss him, and then I kissed him. And I didn't stop until I felt him relax and his tongue slide into my open mouth.
We stood locked together, kissing and caressing for what seemed like forever, and then he started pulling my jacket off. He tossed it over the back of the nearest chair and backed away, pulling me by my shirt, moving in the direction of the bedroom.
He hates being away from me. That's what he said. And his words went straight to my heart.
So soft. So genuine.
God, I wanted to respond. I wanted to tell him how much I hated it too...how much I loved...loved to be with him. I should have, but the words just wouldn't come. So I spoke to him in a language I knew I wouldn't screw up.
I led him into his bedroom, sat him down on the edge of the bed, and went into the bathroom. I turned the shower on and returned, pulling my clothes off. I watched his eyes go from hazel to deep green and his breathing deepen as I peeled my jeans off, and my cock reached out for him.
I walked over to him and started undoing his tie, and his hands came up to my hips, sliding down over my thighs then back up. He told me I was beautiful, and my cock jumped. As close as it was to his face, he made no move to touch it. He just continued to run his hands over me as I unbuttoned his shirt.
When I finally had him naked from the waist up, he stood up and let me start on his pants. As I unbuckled his belt, he told me about how he'd lie alone on those nights that we were apart, thinking about all things he was going to do to me when he got me back into our bed.
He said *our* bed.
I wonder if he realizes how seriously he fucks me up when he says stuff like that. My mind starts racing in a million different directions, every thought anchored to the hope that I'm not reading far more into his words than I should be.
I willed my hands to stop shaking, and I finished getting his pants undone. I slipped my hands inside, working them past the waistband of his silk boxers, and cupped his ass.
Tight, runner's ass. Smooth, satiny skin, stretched over rock-hard muscles. I love to feel them working under my fingers, tightening and relaxing as he fucks me...
I held him still while I humped him slowly, listening to his soft groans. He said my name in that breathless, desperate way that he does when he needs me so badly that I know I've either got to slow things *way* down or give him what he wants right that minute.
Since the shower *was* running, and we'd both just come in off of long flights, I opted for turning it down to a simmer. To say that he was unhappy about that was understating the facts a bit, I think.
I slid his pants and underwear down his legs, grazing his cock with my tongue as I went, then slipped his clothes off and led him into the bathroom, growling and protesting all the way.
I stepped into the shower first, pulling him in after me, and he backed me into the wall under the water, pinning my hands on either side of my head. His mouth clamped down on mine, and he pressed into me, his body all wet and slick and hot. I swear I could've come right there, but the thought of teasing him just a bit more held me back.
I pushed away from the wall, breaking his grip on my wrists and spun him around so that it was now his back against the tiles, and I went to work.
I want to know how it is a man can be so close to exploding so many times and be pulled back just before he falls over the edge.
He drove me insane. His hands and his mouth were everywhere at once it seemed. I thought at least half a dozen times that my knees would give out, and I'd just sink to the floor in a puddle of hot semen.
I begged. I threatened...I made sounds I'd never heard or even realized I was capable of before hooking up with him. He ignored them all. Sadistic bastard.
Thing is, I couldn't get mad at him. Not really. I love it when he pushes me like that, and he knows it. He knows *me*. Inside and out.
Sexually, at least.
He kneeled in the tub in front of me and looked up. Drops of water clung to his eyelashes, making them look even darker and longer than usual, and my breath caught in my throat. I told him earlier that he was beautiful, and that was no lie. He's gorgeous. Without a doubt, the most striking man I've ever seen.
Those eyes were the first things I saw when he walked into the bullpen that day so many years ago. I remember looking up and having to compose myself as he introduced himself. Even in that cheap suit and bad hair style, he was fucking exquisite. His eyes were irresistible. They pulled me in...tempted and challenged me, and I knew I was in trouble. I knew I wanted him. Had to have him.
And now, I do.
He's mine, this beautiful man who had sunk to his knees in front of me, using those same magnetic eyes to seduce me as he did way back then. Only now, I wouldn't dream of resisting them. Or him.
I let my fingers slide into his hair, gently pulling his head forward, and I watched his eyes close as his mouth touched the head of my cock. I had to close my eyes as his lips parted and the head disappeared into them. Watching him is every bit as erotic as feeling him, and it was just too much for me.
I dropped my head back against the tiles and let myself feel every flutter of his tongue...every change in pressure...every tiny little scrape of his teeth. They vibrated through me like an electrical charge, and I started making those sounds again. I was so close that I was sure my next breath would be the one to open up the dam. He knew it too, I suppose, because very carefully, he pulled away, dropping a tiny kiss at the tip. He rose slowly, licking and kissing his way up my body. He fastened his mouth on a nipple and pulled, flicking his tongue over the tip, and I nearly lost my mind.
He was ready to blow. I had to get him out of the shower, and I had to do it quickly.
I let go of his nipple and gave him a soft kiss before I picked up the sponge and started to wash him. Wasn't an easy task; he wouldn't take his hands off of me, but finally I got the job done and quickly washed myself while his hands followed the sponge, lingering in all his favorite places. I managed to get us both rinsed off and semi-dry before he shoved me out of the bathroom and literally threw me down on the bed.
My breath left my lungs in a hard rush as he tackled me. He yanked the nightstand drawer open and pulled the lube out. I fully expected that he was going to put it on himself, but when he wrapped his hand around *my* cock, it took me a bit by surprise. He stroked the stuff on then rolled off of me and onto his back, tucking himself between me and the mattress. His eyes were a beautiful shade of grey as he lay there, looking up at me, and his mouth opened to speak.
"Make love to me, baby."
He kept *doing* this shit to me!
We've been together nearly eight months, and have never called each other by anything other than our names. And, all of a sudden, I'm 'baby'...and he wanted me to 'make love to him'. Jesus Christ, we've only ever fucked. I'd never made love to anyone, and truthfully, I wasn't sure I'd know how. But he pulled me down on top of him and kissed me so sweetly, and I just let my heart guide my body.
It was easy. So much easier than I expected, but I suppose there's not much that's hard about making love when you're *in* love.
I wrapped him in my arms and laid tender kisses all over his upper body as I slid into him, and I admitted it to myself. I actually said the words to myself.
I love him.
This is the reason for my strengthening need to take care of him...this is why I miss him so deeply when we're apart...it's the joy I feel whenever we were together...it's the fear I have of losing him.
Oh, my God, I love him...
His back arched, and those sinfully delicious lips parted on a loud gasp as I filled him. His fingers clenched in my back, then his grip slackened, and his hands began to stroke over my skin as I slowly pumped in and out of him. I watched his head roll back and forth on the pillow, and I knew the impatience he felt. The sensation of him so tight and slick, surrounding me...it was devastating. I couldn't hold back. There was no way...
I felt his control slipping. His smooth thrusts had started to become just a bit erratic, and those soft whimpering sounds he was making started getting louder.
I hugged him to me and took his hand, pushing it between us, and he automatically wrapped his fingers around my cock. He jerked me slowly at first, then picked up speed as he spun farther out of control. His moans became more and more distressed, and I petted his hair, trying to comfort him as I felt myself slipping over the edge.
I told him it was all right. I was right there with him, and everything was all right. I begged him to let go, not that I really needed to, and he did. He sobbed a number of barely intelligible words, shifting from English to Russian, then back again as he came long and hard inside me. One more pull on my cock, and I came with him, coating us both with warm semen. I assume it was me screaming because I'd heard his own cries die away just seconds before he collapsed on top of me and went completely still.
As I struggled to catch my breath, I brought a hand up to his head, letting my fingers sift through his hair, and I felt him drag some air into his lungs for the first time since we came. He tilted his head a bit then kissed the underside of my jaw and snuggled against my chest.
I love the sounds he makes afterward. It's the closest thing to purring I've ever heard. So content. So relaxing.
When I was finally coherent enough to string more than three words together, I asked him what it was he was saying when he came. He lifted his head, giving me a curious look, and I tried to recall how he said it.
I watched a look of anxiety wash the contentment from his face, and I asked him what was wrong. He shook his head and looked away, but I wasn't having that. I made him look at me, and I asked again what it was he said.
The anxiety turned to something that almost resembled fear, and he said the words again, so softly I almost didn't catch them.
I thought a minute, then I looked up at him. I must have figured it out right, because his eyes closed and he turned away when I attempted translation.
I love you.
I couldn't look at him.
I'd fucked it all up, and I just couldn't bring myself to see what was in his eyes.
I should've lied, I could've...
No, I couldn't. I couldn't, and I never would lie to him. I'd just have to deal with whatever consequences my stupidity brought.
I forced myself to open my eyes when he grasped my chin and turned my face up to his. The warm amazement I found in his eyes took me so completely by surprise that I was left speechless. And the words he spoke to me delivered such a stunning blow that I'd become paralyzed as well.
I love you too, baby.
He stared for so long, not speaking or moving, that I'd begun to become concerned.
I shook him gently and called his name, and that seemed to jar him a bit. He blinked his eyes but still said nothing.
I didn't understand why it was so hard for him to believe that I loved him. When the revelation had finally come to *me* only minutes ago, it was a warm flow of emotion that just sort of made everything fall into place.
I wanted us to share this new discovery...I wanted to wallow with him in joy, but first, I supposed, I'd have to make him believe his own ears.
I heard it again. Saw his lips moving, and the sounds coincided with the words they were forming, but I never thought. I never dared imagine that he could ever...
Jesus, he said it again. And then he kissed me.
He loves me. Oh, *fuck*, he loves me!
Hallelujah. He finally got it.
And so did I.
*This* was what he'd been so troubled about. Whether he realized it at the time or not...
I laughed when he blinked down at me after I broke the kiss. It was like he'd been sleeping all that time, and he'd only just awakened. He threw himself into my arms and hugged me so tightly I thought he'd crush my bones to powder. He begged me to tell him again, and I did. Over and over between tender kisses, and this time he understood me perfectly.
I never would have dreamed it possible. Hating him always seemed like the only thing I could do. The only thing imaginable. Loving him turned out to be so much better.
We held each other the rest of the night, talking and kissing, and repeating over and over the three words I'd never in my life get tired of hearing. And then we made love once more and fell asleep sometime in the light of early morning.
It'd be crazy to think that we aren't going to be in for trouble. *Nobody* is going to take this well, and I *do* have every intention of telling those closest to me about us. I love him, and I will not hide him. I won't be ashamed of my happiness, and I won't apologize for it. I've spent too many years in hell to not want to shout my joy from the mountain tops.
Of course, Scully'll probably have two men in white coats and carrying nets waiting for me at the foot of the mountain...
I don't care. Let her think whatever she wants. She can accept it or not. They all can. It won't make any difference. Alex knows I'm not crazy. In so many ways he's just like me, and he understands.
We're no longer two restless and lonely men, looking for a place to belong and someone to belong to. He's mine, and I'm his, completely and for always.
Mind, body and soul.