FIC: Everything Dies (X-Files)
Way behind in everything, including writing fic and answering comments, and for that I'm sorry. -_- Forgive me, oh great and good Flist? *puppyeyes* Sadly, there's a million and one things I should be doing instead, but I desperately need a bit of fun, so you're getting X-Files fic. Funny how I've been an X-Phile since 2x18: "Fearful Symmetry" aired, but it took 13 years for me to actually write fic for the show, eh?
Anyway, I should be back at some point later today with more topical content. Y'know, given the day and all. ^_~
Title: Everything Dies
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: The X-Files
Pairing: Mulder/Alien Bounty Hunter (Mulder/Krycek, Mulder/Scully)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Lothlorien.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I have a vivid fantasy life, but I do not pretend to be Chris Carter, nor do I pretend to own his characters.
Summary: "Not everything dies, Mr. Mulder."
Notes: Set sometime post-Herrenvolk and pre-Tunguska. Written for the Sept. 2008 xf_pornbattle, using the prompts "Mulder/Alien Bounty Hunter: gimlet weapon, everything dies." Also for savageseraph, because those were her prompts, and I hated the idea that she might not get her desired porn. Originally posted in the thread available here, this is the longer version, which would not fit into one comment box, and thus had to be edited down.
Everything Dies
By Galadriel
Mulder froze, his hand hovering barely an inch away from the light switch. The object pressing against the base of his skull was too cold to be a finger, too solid to be the barrel of a gun, but the threat was loud and clear all the same.
"Don't turn around." The voice in his ear was like wheels crunching over gravel, each syllable spoken as if new to the throat forming it. Mulder felt himself jostled forward as a forearm pressed against his shoulderblades, caught sight of a sweep of dark hair and darker leather a moment before his cheek scraped against the wall.
He chuckled. "Isn't it a little early to come calling, Alex?" His hands were already at his belt, yanking at the buckle. "It's not even dark yet." A quick shimmy, and Mulder's pants slid off his hips, the motion born of months of practise. "Or have your masters given you a new curfew?"
"Shut up." Krycek's body was heavy against his back, his scent filling Mulder's senses. Mulder caught the familiar jingle of clasps a moment before his legs were kicked further apart, his face shoved even more firmly against the plaster.
Perhaps, Mulder reflected, I would've painted the walls a jauntier colour if I'd known I was going to spend so much time pressed up against them. He smiled, lust slowly filling his every breath, narrowing his vision to a pinpoint. "I didn't know lapdogs had curfews."
It was the same routine, time after time, but Mulder had yet to tire of it, and he had to assume that if Krycek was here now, he was just as addicted.
But instead of meeting abuse with sharp rejoinder, letting the game spin out a little longer, Krycek slid the slick, blunt head of his cock between Mulder's cheeks, pressing firmly against him. Maybe he had another agent to fuck, Mulder mused. Maybe I'm simply the first in a long night of off-the-clock visits. The thought made him laugh out loud, earning him another shove, this one hard enough to rattle the picture beside Mulder's head.
Yet the smile slid away as Krycek pressed in, slow and sure of himself, not at all like the furtive, rough fucking Mulder had come to enjoy. Stranger still was the sudden emptiness at the nape of his neck, the weapon removed as an arm snaked around his shoulders, between chest and wall. Krycek felt... lighter, somehow, and this arm... this arm was distinctly feminine: slender fingers topped by perfect nails, clenching a familiar metal tube.
He felt rather than heard the soft snick as the business end of the gimlet extended, the point pressing lightly into the flesh just beneath his chin. "I thought I told you to be quiet." The voice was definitely Scully's, yet it was laced with that same alien rumble.
Mulder shivered, his hands curling underneath his chest, suddenly finding himself as hopelessly adrift as he was hard. If only he could turn and take stock, maybe flip on the light. How he could've mistaken Scully for Krycek was beyond him, but he wasn't one to look a lady in leather in the mouth. For once, the questions could wait. He clenched around the cock, and was more than a little surprised when his groan was answered by Scully's own. Her thrusts quickened, and what a scant moment ago Mulder had assumed was silicone throbbed inside him, thickening and filling him until the stretch was almost unbearable. His own cock twitched, and almost as if on cue, the pressure on his back shifted, increasing even as a hand slid down his body, cool fingers curving around his shaft. Scully's grip was firm, her strokes firmer, and the light scratch of the calluses on her palm sent shivers up and down Mulder's spine.
She hissed as she nipped at his earlobe, the bulk of her body keeping Mulder trapped as she loomed above him. His head swam. Nothing seemed quite right, like the world had taken a sudden step to the left, and he'd failed to move with it. Proportions no longer lined up, the shapes and edges of things distorted by lust and night and the way Scully angled her hips just so, her teeth a sharp tease dulled only by the relentless press and push against his ass. Blunt nails scraped at the head of his cock, drawing a shuddering gasp from Mulder as he thrust blindly forward, muscles spasming uncontrollably, and came.
When he finally came back to himself, it was to the feel of a softening cock slipping slowly out from between his legs. He blinked the haze out of his eyes only to catch sight of a large, masculine palm uncurling, the body behind him straightening and withdrawing. Mulder groaned, forcing himself to turn and slump against the wall as he reached out and flicked the lightswitch on.
There before him, straightening his jacket and closing his fly, was the stuff of Mulder's darkest nightmares, whole and unharmed. Much to his horror, Mulder's cock twitched sluggishly as he let his gaze play over the Bounty Hunter's body, imagining all the possibilities contained within such an easily shifting form.
"I thought you were dead."
The alien's face shifted, his features slowly sliding into a painful imitation of a smile. "Everything dies, Mr. Mulder. Everything but me."
END
(September 21, 2008)
Crossposted to x_files_slash, xfilesfanfic.
Anyway, I should be back at some point later today with more topical content. Y'know, given the day and all. ^_~
Title: Everything Dies
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: The X-Files
Pairing: Mulder/Alien Bounty Hunter (Mulder/Krycek, Mulder/Scully)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Lothlorien.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I have a vivid fantasy life, but I do not pretend to be Chris Carter, nor do I pretend to own his characters.
Summary: "Not everything dies, Mr. Mulder."
Notes: Set sometime post-Herrenvolk and pre-Tunguska. Written for the Sept. 2008 xf_pornbattle, using the prompts "Mulder/Alien Bounty Hunter: gimlet weapon, everything dies." Also for savageseraph, because those were her prompts, and I hated the idea that she might not get her desired porn. Originally posted in the thread available here, this is the longer version, which would not fit into one comment box, and thus had to be edited down.
Everything Dies
By Galadriel
Mulder froze, his hand hovering barely an inch away from the light switch. The object pressing against the base of his skull was too cold to be a finger, too solid to be the barrel of a gun, but the threat was loud and clear all the same.
"Don't turn around." The voice in his ear was like wheels crunching over gravel, each syllable spoken as if new to the throat forming it. Mulder felt himself jostled forward as a forearm pressed against his shoulderblades, caught sight of a sweep of dark hair and darker leather a moment before his cheek scraped against the wall.
He chuckled. "Isn't it a little early to come calling, Alex?" His hands were already at his belt, yanking at the buckle. "It's not even dark yet." A quick shimmy, and Mulder's pants slid off his hips, the motion born of months of practise. "Or have your masters given you a new curfew?"
"Shut up." Krycek's body was heavy against his back, his scent filling Mulder's senses. Mulder caught the familiar jingle of clasps a moment before his legs were kicked further apart, his face shoved even more firmly against the plaster.
Perhaps, Mulder reflected, I would've painted the walls a jauntier colour if I'd known I was going to spend so much time pressed up against them. He smiled, lust slowly filling his every breath, narrowing his vision to a pinpoint. "I didn't know lapdogs had curfews."
It was the same routine, time after time, but Mulder had yet to tire of it, and he had to assume that if Krycek was here now, he was just as addicted.
But instead of meeting abuse with sharp rejoinder, letting the game spin out a little longer, Krycek slid the slick, blunt head of his cock between Mulder's cheeks, pressing firmly against him. Maybe he had another agent to fuck, Mulder mused. Maybe I'm simply the first in a long night of off-the-clock visits. The thought made him laugh out loud, earning him another shove, this one hard enough to rattle the picture beside Mulder's head.
Yet the smile slid away as Krycek pressed in, slow and sure of himself, not at all like the furtive, rough fucking Mulder had come to enjoy. Stranger still was the sudden emptiness at the nape of his neck, the weapon removed as an arm snaked around his shoulders, between chest and wall. Krycek felt... lighter, somehow, and this arm... this arm was distinctly feminine: slender fingers topped by perfect nails, clenching a familiar metal tube.
He felt rather than heard the soft snick as the business end of the gimlet extended, the point pressing lightly into the flesh just beneath his chin. "I thought I told you to be quiet." The voice was definitely Scully's, yet it was laced with that same alien rumble.
Mulder shivered, his hands curling underneath his chest, suddenly finding himself as hopelessly adrift as he was hard. If only he could turn and take stock, maybe flip on the light. How he could've mistaken Scully for Krycek was beyond him, but he wasn't one to look a lady in leather in the mouth. For once, the questions could wait. He clenched around the cock, and was more than a little surprised when his groan was answered by Scully's own. Her thrusts quickened, and what a scant moment ago Mulder had assumed was silicone throbbed inside him, thickening and filling him until the stretch was almost unbearable. His own cock twitched, and almost as if on cue, the pressure on his back shifted, increasing even as a hand slid down his body, cool fingers curving around his shaft. Scully's grip was firm, her strokes firmer, and the light scratch of the calluses on her palm sent shivers up and down Mulder's spine.
She hissed as she nipped at his earlobe, the bulk of her body keeping Mulder trapped as she loomed above him. His head swam. Nothing seemed quite right, like the world had taken a sudden step to the left, and he'd failed to move with it. Proportions no longer lined up, the shapes and edges of things distorted by lust and night and the way Scully angled her hips just so, her teeth a sharp tease dulled only by the relentless press and push against his ass. Blunt nails scraped at the head of his cock, drawing a shuddering gasp from Mulder as he thrust blindly forward, muscles spasming uncontrollably, and came.
When he finally came back to himself, it was to the feel of a softening cock slipping slowly out from between his legs. He blinked the haze out of his eyes only to catch sight of a large, masculine palm uncurling, the body behind him straightening and withdrawing. Mulder groaned, forcing himself to turn and slump against the wall as he reached out and flicked the lightswitch on.
There before him, straightening his jacket and closing his fly, was the stuff of Mulder's darkest nightmares, whole and unharmed. Much to his horror, Mulder's cock twitched sluggishly as he let his gaze play over the Bounty Hunter's body, imagining all the possibilities contained within such an easily shifting form.
"I thought you were dead."
The alien's face shifted, his features slowly sliding into a painful imitation of a smile. "Everything dies, Mr. Mulder. Everything but me."
END
(September 21, 2008)
Crossposted to x_files_slash, xfilesfanfic.