Title: The Lure
Fandom: X Files
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Notes: Written for Round 2 of slashfest - here.
Challenge: Krycek is stalking Mulder, Mulder knows and decides to lure the rat out by...[Request by literati]
Three months since it had all gone to hell - cigarette butts spelling out broken dreams and cold betrayal. And yet…
It had taken Mulder a couple of weeks to realise he had a shadow - a watcher who covered his back when Scully couldn't, or wouldn't. It didn't take a degree in deductive logic to figure out who it was; Mulder just wished he knew why, he wanted answers.
So, here he was, back in a very familiar motel room - their room - the one at the end of the row, for privacy's sake. It was time to see if his plan would actually work.
A quick tug on the curtains left a crooked, open gap, just enough for anyone to peek through, were they so inclined. Then he stripped, folding and stacking his jacket, suit, shirt and boxers neatly on the chair that leaned drunkenly in the corner. His gun went under the pillow, just in case, the holster tucked away between sleek layers of Armani. His phone - set to vibrate, he didn't dare turn it off - was dumped next to the dusty, smeared lamp on the bedside table.
After peeling back the lurid orange throw Mulder lowered himself to sprawl in naked abandon on the thin, off-white sheets. Closing his eyes, he took himself in hand and called up a favourite memory.
Three days of repetitive interviews, gleaning tiny fragments of the whole like some obscene jigsaw puzzle. Hours of poring over the pieces, looking for something that didn't fit. And suddenly there it was, in one of the very first statements - a stray, offhand comment that shouldn't exist.
It had all unravelled quickly after that, lies and false deeds crumbling easily under the pressure of Mulder's voice. Then it was done, but far too late for them to drive home, so they'd grabbed a couple of motel rooms and settled in for the night.
Too wound up to sleep, Mulder showered and settled on the bed, cock already twitching in anticipation of what was to come. He teased himself, denying his erection the touch it was aching for, instead seeking out his body's other erogenous zones.
Neatly trimmed nails drew pink lines on his inner thighs, scored the expanse of lightly tanned skin that stretched across his belly. His nipples were pinched and twisted until they hummed with almost-pain, and his hips were twitching, begging for those hands to come on down. He relented.
Tight grip - no slow start - stripping hard and fast as pressure built and hunger grew. Thumb, sliding back and forth across the slick crown, nail plucking nerves strung so tight they made his balls jump.
The need to come was paramount, but something held him back. Something - someone - he shouldn't want, but…
Mulder's head snapped left, hand still pumping frantically, eyes locking on to the intruder's hot gaze…
Mulder came, eyes scrunched closed, seeing again the expression on his partner's face as he watched; seeing the younger man move closer, hand outstretched; seeing him slowly peel away his cheap polyester suit, down to skin drawn tight over muscles, sleek and perfect.
Even when he heard the quiet click of tumblers falling in the lock Mulder kept his eyes closed, but he smiled.