Title: Sex, love and death

Author: Ratwoman

Fandom: Xfiles

PAiring: M/K

Disclaimer: No names mentioned, but similarities with

two wonderful men in CC's x-files are not

coincidental. No harm meant.

Ratings: NC-17, m/m sex

Warning: *death * story, and I wrote this when I was in

a very depressed phase. The end surprised

even me,

'though.

Spoilers: Small spoilers for Dreamland

Plot Summary: Mulder muses about sex, love and death

Sex, Love and Death

by Ratwoman

When I came home, I could sense that someone was in my

apartment. I had already looked in each

corner when I

remembered that my bedroom now miraculously was tidied

up.

Of course, I found him there, his slender form

sprawled on the big water-bed.

"How did you get in

here?" I snarled, arms crossed, remaining at the door.

He just smiled one of his wicket little smiles and

answered: "Like I always do."

I wasn't in the mood

for his games. All I wanted was to relax on the couch

watching some

brain-washing stupid movies. "What do

you want?" I asked, wanting to get him out of my

apartment

before I'd do something I would regret.

"What I always want." he answered, looking up at me

through his incredible eyelashes.

I closed my eyes,

refusing to look at him, refusing to know what he

wanted, what I really wanted.

"Nice waterbed" I

heard his slightly mocking voice say. "Did you buy it

for me?"

"I didn't buy it." I answered. I had

suspected him to having cleaned up and furnished my

bedroom.

I still suspected him.

"Did you steal it?"

he replied.

I looked straight at him. "Get out of my

apartment." I said.

With feline grace he raised from

the bed and stepped to me. "Do you really want me to do

that?"

he purred, just inches away from me. I closed

my eyes to not have to look at him, but I could

smell

him, his unique, perfectly male scent, I could feel the

heat radiating from his body.

"Do you really want me

to leave?" he repeated, his hand moving under my

jacket, up my

shirt-covered chest. As always, his

touch made my brains evaporate. It sent shivers down my

spine,

his mere presence making me hot, making me arch

against his hand.

His lips touched my throat,

gently, then suddenly sharp teeth bit down, while his

fingers opened

one, two buttons of my shirt and

slipped beneath the fabric.

At the feeling of his

fingers on my skin I couldn't hold back any longer,

gripped him, one hand

at his back, the other one on

his ass, and pulled him nearer, rubbing our groins

together. I

pulled and teared at his leather jacket

until it slid down his shoulders.

My hands roamed

his back and chest, feeling his warm, firm body through

the thin fabric of his

t-shirt, while his fingers

played with my rapidly hardening nipples, his hips

moved against mine

and his lips met mine in a mind-

blowing kiss.

Never breaking the kiss, he removed my

jacket and my tie. I jerked back as I felt the plastic

of

his prothesis at my neck. Now he took a step back,

and I could swear I saw hurt in his usually

so cold

green eyes when he rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt

and removed his prothesis.

I felt guilty at the hurt

in his eyes. From all the reasons to refuse him, his

lost arm should

not be the one. So I stepped

determinedly forward and shoved him towards the bed. We

tumbled and

fell, the waterbed's surface shifting

underneath us, accommodating to our weight.

Frenzily

we tore off each other's shirts, yearning to feel skin

on skin. His hand moved down my

side to my belt,

reaching for my pair of handcuffs. I don't remember

when we first started with

bondage, but it had become

a habit for us. Maybe because of all the reasons why we

should hate

one another, we needed the illusion that

it happened against the other one's will.

We

struggled for awhile for the cuffs, until I finally

closed one around his wrist, the other

one around the

bedpost. He let me win; like most of the times.

Straddling his waist, I had him immobile now. Moments

like that I felt as if I had at least an

ounce of

control over him. As if I ever could control him; he,

who stepped into my life whenever

he wanted to, then

left without a trace.

I moved my hands up his torso,

fingers spread as to reach as much of his smooth skin

as possible.

Then I bent down and took a mouthful of

his flesh between my teeth, sucking and gnawing

not-

so-gently, pure want determining my actions. I licked

down his skin a few inches, accompanied

by his tiny

mewling sounds, found a nipple and bit down hard,

listening to his scream.

I sat up and looked down at

him, face flushed, chest heaving in ragged breathing.

Seeing him,

his pure, incredible beauty always made me

want to own him, to possess him, to keep him hidden

in a cabin in some lonesome forest where no one could

find us and he would be mine, all mine!

I moved my

hands up his sides, then dived down to work on his skin

with my lips, teeth and tongue.

His tiny moans and the

way he arched his back in combination with his taste

made me grow

rock-hard within seconds, my erection

straining against my trousers, so I moved to the side

to

hastily take off my pants. I looked up as I felt

the waterbed shift.

He had rolled to the side and

watched me eagerly. As much as I enjoyed his hungry

gaze, it was a

shame that he had lost an arm - it was

easier to chain him when he still had both. Now, when

he

was tied up, he was still much too mobile. I had

to do something about that.

When I had removed my

pants, I didn't linger on anymore, but reached for his

belt, greedily

opened up his pants and tore them

down. He raised his hips in assistance and soon I had

thrown

his clothes to the floor. Before, I had

removed the belt from his pants and now weighed it in

my

hands - it would serve as a good, solid shackle - ,

flogged his body four, five times just to

see him

squirm, folded the belt around his left ankle and tied

it to the bedpost. I considered

for a moment to use

my own belt to tie his right leg, but decided against

it - I wouldn't have

been able to turn him around

then.

I crawled onto the bed again, licking the

sensitive skin of his inner thighs. I lingered on

gnawing there for awhile, ignoring his throbbing cock,

that was just inches away from my face,

and the

needful whimpers he uttered.

I watched his purple,

swollen cock for a moment, then dived down to swallow

and devour it. I

enjoyed the taste of his beautiful

sword as well as his sluttish moans and the way he

writhed,

while I sucked and lapped along his shaft.

I withdrew before he could come, probably I was

smirking wickedly at his frustrated groans. He

would

come later; with my cock up his ass.

I turned him

around so that he lied diagonal across the bed. I

watched him for a few seconds,

outstretched, chained

to the bedposts, his slender arm and legs, his firm

back and the most

enticing butts on earth. I was

already hard as a rock, but I forced myself to linger

on a bit

longer, for who knew when we would do that

again. I moved my hands down his back, cupped is

wonderful butts, clawed into them, admiring the way his

muscles flexed.

I spent a few minutes doing

everything I wanted to his ass, kneading, licking,

biting, then I

couldn't hold back any longer. I

reached for the lube and the condoms in the bedside

table and

prepared him and me hastily, then I sat

astride on him and sank in to the hilt. I heard him

scream, or was it me who was screaming?

At the heat

and tightness around me I almost lost it already at the

start. I took a deep breath

and started to move,

thrusting in and out in a fast, hard rhythm. His hips

bucked and he spat

out all kind of Russian curses.

'Though I didn't jerk him off he came with a loud

scream; his contracting muscles sent me over

the edge

and I shot out my lead in a seemingly neverending

ejaculation. I saw stars, then

everything went black.

I have no idea how long I had passed out; when I came

to, he was protesting loudly for letting

him being

tied up for so long. I listened to him swearing for a

few more minutes before I let

him go - somehow I

always tended to be mean to him. I wanted to punish

him, not so much for all

he had done, but for being

on my mind all the time.

I watched him massaging

his stiff leg, making no move to help him. Mentioning

with no word how

beautiful he was. I never did.

Without a word he took on his clothes and left my

apartment. I didn't ask him where he was going

nor

tried to hold him back. Both would have been a futile

task; and both would have revealed my

true feelings

for him.

He gazed back at me once more before he

left, a desperate longing in his eyes. I knew, sex was

not all he wanted, but I never told him that I only

hated him because I loved him. That I didn't

want to

love him because it was just insane, but sometimes your

feelings are stronger than reason.

They found him

today. Parts of him.

And I had never told him how

much I loved him. Never treated him the way I should.

The way I

really wanted.

How can I live without

him?

***Finis***