NEW: "Bedknobs and Broomsticks" by Te Bedknobs and Broomsticks by Te 11/98 Disclaimers: No one here is mine, really.Spoilers: If there are any, they're pretty vague. Summary: What *does* Mulder do in his free time? Ratings Note: NC-17 for poor language, m/m interaction, and some measure of wrongitude. Author's Note: Um. I have nothing to say here. Oh, wait, warning: Two of my pre-readers reacted *very* badly to this. Possible squicks ahoy. Acknowledgments: To Sister Blue for tireless Blueness in a green, green world. To Dawn Sharon for an image that proved impossible to shake. To Rae for fine audiencing and pre-stroke, to Alicia for many helpful comments, and to Da Spike for her usual fine, detailed, and immensely valuable beta. Feedback: Things change. This is the way of the world. However, if there *ever* comes a day when I don't beg for feedback, you should probably just take me out and shoot me. Consider me a constant. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bedknobs and Broomsticks by Te Daddy793@aol.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Alex watched Mulder's apartment from the roof of one of the neighboring buildings. The angle was poor, but the camera was on one of those new spools... just aim and fling, adjust as necessary. At this moment the distressingly phallic little thing had planted its camouflaged suckers firmly on a corner of Mulder's bedroom window, and the picture from the other end was fine and clear. Alex had judged the directional mic to be a bit much for this mission, but now he found he missed the audio. Mulder was a vision of lunacy, even given the normality of tee shirt and jeans. The stereo was on, and Mulder was... dancing. Badly. With a broom. Alex shook his head sharply, blinked hard. Could caffeine deficiency cause hallucinations? When he opened his eyes again he was treated to more of the same. Sweep sweep twirl sweep dip. Repeat. Mulder also appeared to be singing. This whole mission smacked of set-up, but the only man who could orchestrate something this diabolically strange was just another layer of grunge in some alley. That only left the idea that Mulder had finally lost it. Well, *They* wanted surveillance, and surveillance they would get. But his tape only ran for an hour... After that, he thought it might be best to go on over and check things out for himself. Alex pulled his parka tighter against the nighttime chill, and promised himself to avoid all humid areas in winter. At least he had a show to watch. Another peek at the miniature screen and, without warning, Alex found himself choking back mildly hysterical giggles. Apparently, Mulder's seductive little waltz had moved straight to foreplay. He was holding the broom close, whispering sweet nothings in its non-existent ear, stroking the stick with slow, measured caresses. He wondered how much Mulder would pay to have the tape destroyed. He began ticking down the days since Mulder had last found an easy pickup and brought her home. Unfortunately, the surveillance for *that* evening had been blown when Brenda Brown had somehow managed to knock out the one hidden camera Mulder had missed with an inebriated toss of her motorcycle boots. Miss Brown had been collected immediately after her dawn departure by Alex's people for debriefing, but after the pharmacist's nightmare of drugs she'd taken had been flushed out of her system.... Well, they'd gotten nothing more enlightening than "*way* oral," and she'd spent the majority of her stay making eyes at Pendrell. Brian hadn't been at all helpful in re-directing the young woman's focus. Sometimes Alex wondered whether it had been worth all that trouble to fake the man's death, brilliant new employee and conveniently placed occasional fucktoy or no. In any case, while that had been *weeks* ago, Alex just couldn't quite make himself believe that sexual deprivation could lead a man to fling a broom to his mattress and begin to unbuckle his... Alex checked his watch -- another fifteen minutes to go before the tape spooled its last, but the way Mulder was licking that broomstick suggested that fifteen was *more* than enough time to let the man creatively masturbate his way into a loony bin. Alex "accidentally" hit speed record and yanked the camera away from the window as soon as the machine started to whine its ending warnings. He scrambled down the fire escape and drifted through the evening shadows as quickly as he could. Just because it would be a mistake to *record* the night's proceedings didn't mean Alex didn't want to *see* them. From as close as possible. He made his way up Mulder's fire escape in near silence, stopping briefly just below his window to make sure there were no signs he'd been heard. "Ohhhh yeah... Just like that..." Alex assumed he was in the clear and quietly settled just outside Mulder's window. The scene was one of dim lamp light and casual clutter. Mulder was flat on his back, legs spread, broom whiskers whispering and chuffing lightly along an obviously aroused cock. Occasionally, the other man would buck from the bed and moan loudly. Mr. Broom was clearly talented. Alex wasn't made of stone, and the sight, for all it's moderately disturbing oddities, tugged his blood south. He ran a thumb over the seam of his jeans and gasped quietly, immediately flicking his gaze back to Mulder to check that the other man hadn't heard anything. Again, no worries there. Mulder had knelt up on the mattress and was using the handle of the broom as something like an extended back-scratcher. The pole was nestled between pale, muscular cheeks and Mulder was rubbing himself with the sort of sluttish abandon Alex wasn't sure he could duplicate on his best day. Mulder's cock bobbed against his abdomen, fluid pearling from the tip. His lips were parted, his eyes wide open but dazed with... with nothing Alex could tell himself *wasn't* lust. Mulder kept altering the pace of his back thrusts, seemingly determined to make this last for himself. Alex was no prude. Gay porn was filled with exaggerated tales of just what happened to cops when they wound up in prisons. A broomstick didn't quite seem so strange in that context. Perhaps Mulder was engaging in a fantasy of winding up in some Maximum Security zoo and instantly becoming some steroidal lump's bitch. There were worse things, especially considering the fact that Mulder's dream lump was obviously a fan of foreplay. Part of Alex was disdainful of this corruption of a perfectly good rape fantasy, but then he wondered if such things would be so far off the mark if said lump was given an eyeful of Mulder at his aching, needy, whorish best. Flushed and writhing, groaning each time the broom passed over the increasingly sensitized flesh of his asshole... Yes, that felt better to Alex. As for the dancing... Well, some people need to work themselves up to the *truly* filthy fantasies, right? So, the question was, just how far would Mulder take it? The broomstick might have been thin, but it was definitely wood, and wood tends to splinter. Not to mention the sort of damage an overenthusiastic thrust could do. And, if that was precisely the sort of treatment Mulder wished to give himself, what was Alex supposed to do? In the old days, he could always count on some structure to his orders. If he was being shot at, his direct supervisor was probably extraordinarily pissed with him. He did his work, gave his reports, and picked out any number of hideaways among shadows pleasantly empty -- just in case. Now, his former employer was off doing God knew what, and his patron was gone. He had an army of flunkies and thugs and weasely little scientists, and yet he was here, doing the sort of scut work he'd once found demeaning. Something told him his late patron would have done the same were it not for the weight of years and responsibility. When you got right down to it, Alex was here of his own volition, more or less, and anything he chose to do now that the tape had run out was entirely his own business. He'd make sure of it. Alex flung the window open with one solid jerk and stepped inside, gun out and aimed before he'd even had enough chance to adjust his vision. "Jesus, Krycek, wha...?" Mulder trailed off in absent yet clearly jittered confusion, but didn't bother to move. The broom was still flung awkwardly over one shoulder and caught firmly between his cheeks. His cock was wilting, slightly, but other than that... "You know, Mulder, if there's a spot you just can't reach you could always just... ask a friend." "Friends don't point weapons at me." "Often." Mulder snorted once, seemingly despite himself, sighed, flung the broom away, sighed again. "If you're here to kill me could you toss me that little notebook on the dresser there, first? I've been working on my last words." "Tsk. There are some things you really ought to memorize, Mulder." "Yeah, well, I've been busy. Plus, I'm leaning towards the punchier ones." Alex tucked his gun away, leaned against the wall. "Punchier how?" "Well, see, it's like this, Alex..." Mulder arranged himself more comfortably on the bed, gave his still half-hard cock a thoughtful pull before settling both hands behind his head. "There's a lot to be said for 'blah blah one life to give, etc.,' but this just isn't the era for that sort of thing anymore." Alex nodded, smiled. "So you're looking to upgrade your death speech for the new millennium. Maybe something simple like 'oh, fuck?'" "That's the idea. Or keep it monosyllabic. I imagine it would be hard to choke out more than a 'd'oh!' when you've got a sucking chest wound." Alex snickered, and wondered if he should share his own experiences on that score. He settled for allowing himself a shamelessly lustful rake of the eyes over Mulder's body. Lean, but not spare. Chestnut hair of varying hues sprinkled lightly over his body like the afterthoughts of an artistic perfectionist. "... kill me, then why *are* you here?" "Hmm? Oh, I was just in the neighborhood, making tapes of your assorted perversions for fun and profit." Dark laugh. "You didn't even wait for the good bits." "I dunno, that whole sweeping the genitals thing was pretty entertaining. A shrink would have a field day with the implications." Mulder blushed for the first time, presumably more embarrassed by the analysis of his masturbatory habits than by simple exhibitionism. "I should've known you'd be a voyeur, Krycek." Alex's heart began to beat a little faster, but his smile was carefully lewd. "Krycek? But we were doing so well..." "Cut the shit. If you were supposed to just give Them another little something to destroy my credibility, why didn't you just scurry home with the goods?" "The damned tape ran out -- I'm gonna have to take notes on the rest." "Ah, so you figured the best way to get me to entertain you was to break into my apartment and wave a gun in my face?" "Funny how the oddest things can become foreplay..." Alex un-holstered his 9 mm again and walked over to the bed, ran the barrel over the tight whorl of an ear to Mulder's involuntary shudder. "... given half a chance." "Krycek--" "Alex." "Alex, whatever you're thinking my hard-on means..." "That dangerous sex gives you a thrill? That the idea of being caught being naughty and possibly...." Alex ran the gun down over one shoulder and flicked it against the nipple. "... punished for it puts a twitch in your cock?" Mulder looked down at the gun, Alex shifted his thumb to show the safety was on. "*That* doesn't seem very dangerous, and something tells me that the idea of punishment will get *you* on your knees faster than it'll get *me* over them." Alex's hips thrust involuntarily, brushing his erection against the edge of the headboard. Mulder smiled with smug good humor. "It's... a possibility, Mulder. But for now, why don't you just relax and spread your legs?" "You have all the subtlety of a brick." "So long as legs get spread, I'm a happy brick." Mulder laughed and complied, never taking his eyes from Alex's own. "What's the plan... sir." Frisson of lust and shame. Games of power, twisted out of true, and a naked Mulder, spread and waiting for him. Life was good, sometimes. "Get your knees up. Plant your feet on the bed. Don't talk unless I ask you to." "You could just gag me." In response, Alex leaned in and took a nipple between his teeth, worrying and gnawing until the other man cried out, and then pulled back. "Or I could just assume you know how to take an order, and..." The gun returned to circle around the bruising flesh. "... that you have every wish to do so just now." Mulder cocked an eyebrow at him, mouth twitching in a mild smirk, but remained silent. Alex released Mulder's nipple with a brief -- if painful -- stab of regret, and tried to decide how best to do this. While this wasn't the *first* time he'd been in the presence of a naked and apparently willing Mulder, their few encounters before this had retained an air of careful detachment throughout. Just fine for a quick fuck in an airport bathroom, a hand job in a stolen car, but this... Alex wondered what he'd do if he fucked something up here irrevocably. Wondered if he'd done so already. It wasn't in him to turn back from opportunities like these, though; such thoughts tended to lack the strength to linger in the presence of the throb of his cock and the familiar weight of a weapon in his palm. Alex ran the gun over Mulder's ankle with slow care, began to stroke his way up one ticklish calf, toying with the light dusting of silk-scratchy hair. Mulder sighed, angled his leg in for a more proper caress. Too hot to ignore and Alex crawled up to kneel between the other man's legs, let his mouth follow the trail of the gun in casual swirls up the leanly muscled thighs, in the crease between torso and leg. He slipped his tongue out to lap while his gun rested awkwardly yet firmly against Mulder's navel. Mulder lifted his hips and tried to twist more of himself in reach of Alex's tongue. Mulder's silence was eerie to Alex, despite being accustomed to the exertion of such control over himself for reasons both varied and occasionally strange. There was a hollowness to the sharp taste of Mulder, an echoing depravity to his own breaths, to his body's whispery shifts on the bed. It took Alex a moment to remember that he'd ordered the quiet himself. He would simply have to make it impossible to obey. He pulled himself from the salt-tangy hollow of a hip bone with an effort and brought the gun back down to rest against the base of Mulder's cock. The move earned him a slight gasp, but Alex knew it was more to do with sensation than fear. The gun, after all, was still safetied. Alex let the barrel act like the knuckles of his hand, brushing lightly and thoroughly over flesh swollen hard and dark with blood. Mulder's hips rolled with the sensations, and his eyes closed with the trust of desire. The game had its rules, and Alex shifted the gun away to make room for his tongue, treasuring the distressed moan that the brief absence of stimulation caused. He wanted to take Mulder deep immediately, suck him off hard and fast to a screaming orgasm, but the result would disappoint Mulder, and he'd hate for the man to think he lacked in follow-through. He resigned himself to long strokes with his tongue, letting the twitches guide him as the gun slowly made its way down to toy briefly with Mulder's balls before going further still. Mulder seemed to be trying to form words, an incoherent plea of Alex's name and some vague interest in reminding him to be careful. As if he'd be anything but with a gun in his hand. Alex ignored it and continued lapping, teasing them both with a brief suckle at the head of Mulder's cock. Just enough to catch a little moisture on his tongue, just enough to be sure Mulder's nascent words dissolved quickly into whimpers. They were quiet, and that was good. He pulled his mouth off Mulder's cock slowly, let the brief flash of anger in the other man's eyes fade until their shared gaze was even and, if not calm, then at least somewhere below the sparks of incipient homicide. And then ran one last slow circle around the tight ring of muscle, and cocked the gun. Mulder's entire body tensed and froze. The expressions on his face flowed and changed with disturbing watery ease, and his lips moved soundlessly. Alex felt his spine melt into weak and heated metal, daring something to break. If Mulder spoke, the game would end, and Alex would have to leave, no matter how little he wished to. The moment stretched with a sort of dream elasticity, and Alex's finger itched alarmingly. He eased it away from the trigger, knowing Mulder wouldn't feel it. It was a cheat, but Alex really wasn't feeling all that dangerous. Finally, Mulder bit his lip hard and let his head fall back to the pillow, and Alex tried hard not to gasp his relief too obviously. Mulder took several deep breaths and settled his legs wide once more, and Alex began to work the gun in a torturously slow rock. When Mulder's erection began to fade he leaned in to suckle again at the head of his cock, causing the other man to buck helplessly and drive the barrel far enough in to -- "Oh Christ Alex--!" The raw cry of pain and need went straight to Alex's trapped cock, and he felt no impulses to punish. He worked the gun in tiny movements and swallowed Mulder whole, wishing for another hand to play with the other man's nipples, rest against his throat to feel the cries... But this, this stretched ache of Mulder's cock far down his throat, pulsing with impending orgasm, this wild snap of hips unsure whether to trust the pleasure he offered with gun and mouth... This, too, was fine and the proof of the relation of pleasure to pain was in the fact that Alex knew -- *knew* -- that when he had to leave again the sensations and dreamy flash of thoughts and images would fade to something just beyond reach. A picture paled to incomprehensibility with time. Mulder's hands left the tangle of sheets to delve into his hair and pull him closer for the last ragged thrusts, and then he was losing it, hot and salty in his mouth and Alex groaned at the taste, pulling another helpless spasm from the other man. When Mulder was done, Alex slipped off slowly, rested against one hip and tried to regulate his breathing and remove the gun as gently as possible. Mulder continued to stroke and pet Alex's hair, made several half-hearted attempts to tug him up for a kiss. Alex complied when he felt he had a good enough amount of oxygen in his lungs to submit to Mulder's mouth. It was never enough for a kiss in these moments. Mulder never kissed without meaning *something*, Alex had found, and tonight was no exception. A thorough, demanding tongue, soft lips and the restless brush and nibble of teeth. Alex felt himself settling in, preparing to grind himself against sated flesh and winced inwardly. There was nothing he wanted more than to stay right here and see what torture Mulder could put him through in reciprocation. And that was reason enough to bolt, even beyond the damned tape. He must've stiffened, because Mulder said, "Running from the dawn again, Alex?" He hid his face against Mulder's throat, nodded once, unsure whether the sympathetic brush of fingertips against his cheek was welcome or not. Another few moments of silence in which Alex breathed deep of sweat, sex, and Mulder. Some forgotten instinct to make this last as long as humanly possible. And then Alex stood, and straightened his clothes before catching Mulder smiling wryly up at him. "Any chance I can buy that tape off you?" "Nah, you wouldn't want it. It turns out one of my incompetent underlings slipped a damned magnet in my pack." "Gotta hate when that happens." Alex nodded gravely, smiled, and made his way out the window again, shutting it neatly behind him. As he made his way to the anonymous car waiting for him two blocks down, he strained to feel the light from Mulder's window on the back of his neck, another attempt to garner some palpable example of something he couldn't let himself name. He imagined warmth, and a welcome for when he returned. He was not so in love with his independence that he'd disdain such things for long. ~~~~ End. ~~~~ The image in question was Mulder dancing with a broom. Dawn Sharon asked what my Alex would do... this is an... um... possibility.