My Name's Not Fox by Drovar
Title: My Name's Not Fox
Pairings: Spender/Other (Mulder-sort of)
Website: The Ferret Cage
Summary: Spender and a familiar stranger make contact one dark night.
Category: Slash, sort of humor, sort of angst
Disclaimers: Don't own `em, wish I did, don't sue, I'm just a poor XF fanboy.
Warning: Explicit m/m sexual situation. If m/m relationships bother you, this is definitely not the story for you.
Notes: David Mulder belongs to Erin Blair. Special thanks to Erin for letting me transplant her character, from her story "Someone Else", into my slashy universe. None of this story is Erin's fault, so direct all flames my way.
This story is so wildly AU I don't even know how to classify it. Just go with it, trust me.
I began this one well before the advent of 2F/1S. Needless to say that two-parter pretty much short-circuited any creative urges I might have had. So this one has been sitting on the HD for weeks. Hope it hasn't spoiled.
Anyway, David Mulder (who is Mulder's lookalike cousin), having lost his play for Scully, has decided to transfer to Texas to get away from the ecstatic new Mr. & Mrs. Mulder. There's a world of surprise waiting in the basement before that happens, however. Did you notice that there weren't any names on the X-Files office door during the first-half of 'One Son'?
Fox's basement office was utterly and completely dark. David Mulder moved slowly, hands extended, looking for a light switch, a lamp, or even a desk. His cousin's workspace was surprisingly free of obstacles given the man's knack for accumulating bric-a-brac and outre trash; still he managed to bruise several body parts as he stumbled around.
He needed his family-status paperwork back before he could complete his transfer application. Now that Dana Scully was firmly in Fox's arms, and bed, there really wasn't much point in hanging around D.C. He'd made his play and lost, now was the time to bail.
"Finished yesterday," Fox had said, "it's on my desk," Unfortunately he'd neglected to mention just exactly where the hell his desk was. David remembered some vague talk about the basement of the Hoover building during a rare family ho-down a few years back. Finding the basement office had been easy enough, finding anything *in* the office was another thing entirely.
Another rap on his right shin brought him to a desk, finally. A few moments fumbling in the darkness turned up a small desk lamp. He snapped it on, blinking in the sudden brightness, but feeling inordinate gratitude as the tiny lamp illuminated a surprisingly tidy desktop. A thoroughly annotated calendar, with dates and times, meetings and appointments, all carefully marked in coordinated colors covered most of the desk. A lustrous metal nameplate sat next to a dozen pencils, uniformly sharp and still in their holder, rather than the ceiling.
He picked up the nameplate, surprised that it was out where you could see it, rather than buried beneath a pile of office refuse and forms. It was heavy, made of polished brass, smooth and cool to the touch. It felt weirdly sensuous, almost sexual, in his hands. He turned it; the metal glinted under the lamplight, luxurious amber, almost gold.
"Special Agent Jeffrey Spender?" he muttered to himself. Where the hell was he? The plain ordered desk, and tidy office were entirely out of character for packrat Fox.
"Bad boy, keeping me waiting in the dark."
David Mulder jumped as he felt long, strong arms wrap around his chest, male arms.
"What the he . . . " he managed to sputter as he struggled against the restraining limbs.
"Easy, easy, it's just me," the voice said. The tone was husky, warm, and familiar, not threatening.
He froze, startled anew, when he felt a quick hand slide across his chest and pounce unerringly on his right nipple, pinching and teasing it into immediate hardness. The man stepped close, bringing their bodies into total contact, back to chest, thigh to thigh, crotch to ass. It was an odd, perverse thrill, all the more so when the other hand dropped below his belt.
The scent of the man was mundane, normal, despite this overt weirdness, after-shave, coffee and cigarettes.
"Aren't you glad to see me Mulder?" The man (Spender?) asked, as David felt the momentary brush of lips on the back of his neck, "or did you just forget about our little rendezvous again?"
Mulder, nobody called him Mulder, that was Fox's preference. He gasped when the lower hand found his crotch and simply grabbed a handful. Fox and this guy seemed to know each other awfully damned well, too damned well. Shit, they were lovers, had too be.
David Mulder suddenly realized that he'd stopped struggling, had stopped trying to force the oddly masculine hands away, had abruptly stopped caring about much other than the startling arousal flaring in his body. Jesus, what the hell was he getting himself into?
The hand stroked his surprisingly hard cock through his suitpants. Literally pushing and pulling his erection in all sorts of interesting ways. Spender, or whoever, was damn good at this.
"Ahh," the voice purred. "You *are* glad to see me."
"Sorry," David sighed. "Delays." David hesitated before adding "Jeff,"
"Mrs. Mulder keeping you busy?" Spender asked.
"What?" David gasped as the man's hand slipped beneath his belt and into his pants. This guy, certainly Spender, was groping him like a cheap street whore and asking about his mother?
"Scully, as in Dana Katherine? Remember her, your new wife?"
David groaned slightly as he felt something large and hard press against his ass. Scully, oh yeah, Mrs. Fox Mulder. He remembered her, sort of.
"She's doing fine, I'm sure."
The wedding, Spender must have been at the wedding. David searched his memory, finally settling on a thin, tall, decent looking guy that Scully had called, only half-joking, 'that rat-bastard'.
Well 'that rat-bastard' was rapidly divesting her brother-in-law, who he thought was her husband, of his pants. Spender's hands fumbled at his buckle, even as he started to grind into David's ass, hard.
"New belt?" Spender asked. "I don't remember this buckle." . . . warm breath on the back of his neck . . . pressure . . . a sweet obscenity . . . tugging hands at his belt . . .
"Yeah," David sighed as the buckle finally gave out and his pants puddled at his ankles "shopping." Spender seemed to accept the cryptic evasion.
Those delightful hands groped beneath his dress shirt sliding around his hips, teasing the narrow band of bare skin above his shorts, then grasping the elastic band. He felt Spender slither down his body and drop to his knees on the floor.
"Tighty whities Mulder?" Spender asked with a hint of consternation in his voice. "Married life turning you kinky?"
"Gift from Scully . . . she likes 'em."
"Mmmm . . . me too," Spender said. He ran his hand up the back of David's legs, letting his nails trail over the pale skin and soft hair. "Of course, I like them better off." With one rough yank David's shorts joined his trousers at his ankles. David drew in a harsh quick breath as his stiff cock was pulled downward along with his shorts and then snapped back up, bouncing off his shirt.
"Oh, God," David said when Spender's hands landed on his ass. Damn, the man had the hands of an angel, or a demon. Spender began to knead his ass cheeks, groping and squeezing.
"You like that?" Spender asked as he slid a hand into the warm channel between, touching and probing. David squirmed when the agile fingers landed on his asshole, then circled, caressing and touching with surprising gentleness. A demon, definitely a demon.
"Yes, oh yeah, please." Sex with his girlfriends was never like this, not at all. With girls it could be hot, or perfunctory, but never so profoundly obscene. He'd never been touched like this, never been treated like an 'object', never considered his ass as anything other than something to sit on or crap with, and certainly never as a thing of 'lust'. Spender was pulling sensation out of his head and body that he had never dreamed existed.
He suddenly felt those strong hands pushing on his back. Spender was standing behind him now.
"Kiss the desk Pencil-neck."
"Now." Spender pushed again, hard this time.
David flattened himself against the desk, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable, bent over as he was, his ass sticking out in the breeze. Spender very methodically and neatly pulled up each foot, removing shoes, socks and finally trousers, all the while kissing and nibbling at the jumpy skin of David's thighs.
The kisses moved higher, arcing over his ass, mouthing, licking, sweetly biting, and then further still . . . He couldn't be . . . he couldn't . . . not that . . . oh sweet living Jesus, he was .. .
David tried not moan when he felt Spender's faced buried in his ass, tried not gasp when he felt the hot tongue darting out and touching his asshole, tried not to feel decadent, depraved and utterly unholy when the tip slithered, poked and lingered. He tried, he failed.
Spender's mouth was as quick and talented as his hands. It seemed almost a free-willed thing, moving over his skin, hovering, trailing wetness and moments of heat followed by the coolness of damp skin and air. David tried not to think about his situation, tried not to think that it was another man with his face buried deep in his ass, of all places. Tried not to think about the abundant pre-cum leaking out of his own hard cock and probably smearing the carefully annotated calendar. And mostly he tried not to think about Dana Scully, at least in that he succeeded.
Suddenly the mouth and its talented tongue were gone, leaving his ass awash with cool basement air. He shivered, partly from the exposure, partly from what he suspected was next.
David Mulder raised his head and looked back. Spender was moving in the shadows, just beyond the feeble light of the desk lamp, undressing, each item precisely folded and carefully stacked. He couldn't help but wonder if Spender fucked as precisely as he seemed to do everything else.
A glint of gold caught his attention. The nameplate lay on its side beneath the desk-lamp providing a long amber toned reflection. He could see his face, clearly reflected in the polished metal. It was a face suffused with heat, sweat and something very much like need and lust. It was the face of a familiar stranger.
Spender's hands settled on David's hips, turning him. "C'mon Mulder, you know the drill."
David Mulder grinned at the name as he turned and settled back on the desk. So this was routine for them, rational, planned, and ordered, just like everything else in Jeffrey Spender's life, apparently. Amazing, he was a man who could schedule passion, by the clock, on the hour.
Spender dropped to his knees again. Eyeing David's cock with a small, almost sweet, smile on his lips. A tentative lick from a darting tongue, another grin. Spender's grin was an odd one, squared off and angular. He rolled his eyes upward locking David with a gaze and whispering something he couldn't quite hear.
A second lick sent shivers of forbidden pleasure through David's body. This was just so wrong, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care. When Spender's mouth enveloped the head of his cock, he stopped even thinking about it. A gentle suck, and then softly spoken.
"I love you, you know."
David Mulder did startle at that. Love? Was such a thing even possible? He could understand the needs of flesh, the body urge. Skin was skin, and sex was sex, after all. But love?
Spender gave him a quick lick, another grin and two tight strokes with his fist that drew a startled leap of breath from David's chest.
"Yeah I know," he said, bringing himself upright on the desk and really looking at the man on his knees before him. Spender wasn't unpleasant as guys went, David supposed. Broad shouldered, angular, with smooth rangy muscle just beneath slightly pale skin. His hair was brown, cropped short, his face was . . . interesting, purely from an aesthetic point of view, of course.
His answer seemed to please the man well enough, as he set to his task with vigor. Spender nipped and licked, washing David's flesh with his tongue. David moaned as he gave into the urge, the sensation, and the need. He moaned again as he felt the soft caress of cheeks, the gentle scuff of his cock on the back of Spender's throat. It was subtly different than a woman, as if other muscles and shapes were brought into play.
Spender's mouth slid off his cock and down to nestle at the inside of his hip joint. It was an odd place for eroticism, but it felt damn good, and a little unnatural. Then up to his navel, tonguing and licking, up to his abdomen, unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it down roughly over his shoulders, and attacking his nipples.
Spender pushed David down roughly, grinning, and fisting the other man's cock, just as roughly. David let his head loll back on the desk, releasing himself to the other man's demanding touch. It was strangely arousing and powerful to give up control, to not be the 'man' for once.
He felt Spender moving and looked down to watch him climb onto the desk, until he sat astride David's thighs, cock to cock. David sighed as a single hand enveloped both cocks, pressing them together tightly. Spender began to stroke. It was an unusual sensation, 'meaty' was the only way he could describe it. The uneasy thought of another man's cock touching his, rolling and sliding against his skin, was quickly driven out by the heat of that same touch.
He looked up into Spender's face. His eyes were closed, a slight, odd smile on his angular face. It was a look close to joy, subtly shadowed with lust and need. It was damn appealing to have someone need you so much. He was beginning to understand Fox, just a little better.
David placed his hands on Spender's knees as the man stroked them both higher and closer to a finish. He slid his hands over the tightly muscled thighs, trying to determine just how he felt about another man's skin sliding beneath his hands. Spender smiled and opened his eyes as David's hands settled on his stroking fist. He looked down, his eyes almost sleepy, content.
"I think you're about ready," Spender said as he released his hold on their cocks and leaned down. "Don't want to spoil things just when they're getting good."
David let his hands fall to his sides, he felt rubbery and loose, relaxed. It was like the afterglow of an orgasm only stretched out and deeper. He slid his hands up Spender's torso as he leaned. The feel of solid flesh, with muscle just beneath the surface, was intriguing, different. So unlike the softness and suppleness he associated with sex. There was something raw and primal about solid male flesh, he could get used to that.
Spender moved forward grinding their crotches in rough contact, sliding along David's torso, licking and nibbling, finally settling on a nipple, biting it first gently then harder till he was rewarded by a yelp. Spender grinned up at David again, his face that same mix of lust, need and affection. David couldn't help but grin back, and grind back.
He felt Spender's kisses trail up his chest to the stubbled edge of his jaw. Then the other man's lips were on his. A man's lips, he was kissing a man. His cousin's lover; his newly married cousin's male lover. He had to grin beneath the urgent kisses. An hour ago the thought would have revolted him, now somehow he just couldn't give a damn.
"You like that?" Spender asked as he raised back up, sliding his hands over David's bare chest, teasing at the nipples and caressing his skin. David could only mutter his agreement. He didn't trust himself to speak out loud. He didn't want this game to end just yet.
"I think you're going to like this even better, Spender said. He leaned down again, past David's shoulder, opened a desk drawer and came back up holding a small bottle of lube.
David raised his eyebrows at that. Well lube only meant one thing, one very certain thing. He shuddered in anticipation as he felt Spender's slick hand sliding down his still hard cock. He tried to quash his deer in the headlight look as Spender raised up and began to maneuver David's cock towards his body. He was going to do it; he was really going to do it.
He felt a moment of odd pressure when the tip of his cock touched Spender's body. He shouldn't be doing this, he really shouldn't. The pressure on his cock head increased as Spender began to settle back down. It felt so tight. A moment of hot pressure, almost too much, then a sudden release as muscles moved and parted. David gasped as he felt the head of his cock slide into Spender's body.
This was it then, the defining moment. He was fucking another man. Everything else he could write off as sexual horseplay, a one-time thing, an experience, to be studied cataloged and stored away. This was bringing them to an entirely new order of intimacy. He moaned as Spender slid down another hot inch and began to rock.
Spender moved slowly at first, letting their bodies adjust to the pressure and smiling in something very close to serenity.
"I knew you'd like this," Spender said, "you always do." His eyes closed as he moved smoothly letting the hard cock slide in and out of his body. He was pumping his long cock at the same time, one hand solid on the desk, bouncing on his heels. David had to admit it took a hell of a lot of coordination and concentration.
David could already feel the subtle tightening and bunching of muscles that signaled the early tension of an approaching orgasm. He could feel his own balls, drawn tight and hard against his body. He grabbed hold of the desk and began to thrust upwards against Spender's rhythm, pushing hard, digging for more. If he was going to do this he might as well participate.
Spender moaned as David thrust into him. Sighing softly with each stroke. David liked that, the total surrender to passion and want. Being needed so much, he stroked harder, watching Spender's grin spread, was arousing. He bucked his hips twice as he felt the first contractions of climax.
Spender stroked faster, his fist becoming a fleshy blur, his pace quickening even more. David felt Spender climax first, the deep muscles in his body, flexing and clutching as the orgasm stormed through him. He hardly made a sound as he came, just a series of soft half-breathed gasps, as his body was racked by tiny spasms. Long musky threads laced David's heaving chest as Spender came.
Spender's orgasm pushed David fully over the edge. He pushed up hard straining against the other man's body, digging for every inch he could reach, even as Spender collapsed on top of him. His own shuddered gasp filled the room as he pumped into Spender. A final contraction and he was done.
They lay there, lit by the dim glow of the desk lamp, chest to chest, slowly coming uncoupled, and regaining their breath. David ran his fingers through Spender's damp, short hair as the man lay with his head on David's chest till his breathing steadied.
"So," Spender said as he looked up with a grin. "Still transferring to Dallas?"
"You fuckingsonofabitch," David said as he stared into Spender's grinning face. "You knew?"
Spender pulled himself into a sitting position on David's hips, still grinning like a fool.
"You, idiot," Spender said as he reached out to stroke David's chest lightly, playfully flicking at a nipple. "You're cousins, not clones," he said. Spender ran his hand over David's left shoulder, "No scar". His hand riffled David's hair, "To long". He leaned back and slid a finger along David's limp cock, "And this, well this is entirely wrong."
"I'll be damned," David said. He sat up slowly, letting Spender slide off his body. Soon they were seated side by side on the now clear desk. Spender looked dourly around the office floor at the scattered pencils and desktop accoutrements. He leaned back picked up the spilled pencils and broke out into a hoarse, choked laugh as he raised back up.
"What is it?" David said. He reached over and turned off the light pulling the other man close in the darkness.
"Well your right shoulder has an appointment with Skinner at 11:00am Monday.
"Your left shoulder blade has lunch with Fowley tomorrow, and your ass apparently has two days off next week."
"Well I think it just might need some rest pretty soon."
David felt Spender fall still for a moment.
"So is that a no on Dallas?" Spender asked.
David sat not answering for a moment. Choices, always choices.
"Maybe it is, maybe it is. Who knows I might win this time."
Leave a message for Jeffrey at the Spender memorial
Then tell Fox you want Spender back safe and sound.
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