Short Story Challenge

Note: Written for the short-story challenge. Yes, I'm driven, demented,
addicted. 500 words. Archive only if you fix bad line wraps. No, I'm not
kidding. These delicate, amazing, woodland creatures are being kept penned
and deprived of homoerotic release by Sir Christopher Carter, upon whose
land I have wantonly trodden. NC-17 for sex and whatnot. I am, by the way,
using this challenge as an opportunity to do many things I've only
bad-dreamed of doing. I have, for this occasion, used a song title, a bad
pun, a squickening sexual scenario, and an Elvis reference. I think this
must be my homage to Ethan.

Ticket to Ride

by A. Leigh-Anne Childe

***

"Did you see that NCIC fax about the Rosedale Ripper, leaving sequins and
photoluminescent silica gel in his victims' wounds--cut in the form of
unknown hieroglyphics?"

"Not now, Mulder."

"You don't think that has 'X-File' written all over it?"

"Stuff it."

"You'll have to get off, if you want that."

"I'm trying to get off," Alex said through gritted teeth. He bit Mulder's
shoulder and grabbed his hands, locking them to the bedsheets.

Mulder sighed, pleased. "You read that Post article describing an Elvis
sighting at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue--?"

Incensed, Alex pulled one hand away and felt around in the sheets for his
weapon.

"Witnesses included the Deputy Attorney General--oh--"

"Like that?"

"How'd the egg-beater get in here?"

"I brought it, with nefarious intent."

"That does feel good. . .my hair's getting long."

Alex continued using the whisk like a comb. "Better than that fucking 80's
punk do."

"Wasn't punk," Mulder mumbled into the pillow. "Stylist's fault, anyway."
He turned his head on the pillow, reached his free hand for a piece of
toast from the breakfast tray.

"Bastard," Alex said, whapping his wrist. "Eat while I fuck you?"

"Hmm. Punish me?" Eyes closing, Mulder smiled.

"Definitely." Alex leaned in, nuzzled Mulder's ear. "Around here, attitudes
like yours get spanked."

"Ooh," Mulder purred approvingly. He wriggled. "More lube first, though."

"Prisoners have no say in their discipline." Alex tossed the whisk
floorward, then shoved up onto his knees, rousing a muffled cry from his
captive. Mulder's muscles rippled and his hands flexed. Withdrawing
slightly, Alex hunted his cuffs, snapped them on his partner's wrists,
forced Mulder to his knees, then began fucking him again roughly, stopping
only once to snag his belt, which stretch delivered delicious torque to his
penetrative cock. He couldn't deliver the blows to Mulder's ass without
personal inconvenience, so he whipped the other's back instead, gradually
increasing the force until Mulder shouted his pleasure and the tight
channel of his ass flexed on Alex's cock with frantic, helpless pressure.

When, intuitively, he felt Mulder nearing orgasm, Alex grabbed both belt
ends and drew the taut arc of leather into Mulder's mouth like a bridle
bit. Unsurprisingly, Mulder came as soon as the leather filled his mouth.
Alex rode out Mulder's climax, then took his own pleasure more leisurely,
finishing several nerve-scorching minutes later. Uncuffing Mulder, he
cuddled close.

"Wow," Mulder said dazedly. "I didn't see that in your resume."

"You saw my resume?"

"Um. . .no."

"Shithead. Bet you pulled my file day one."

"That's highly unethical. . .I think."

Alex snorted. "You think. I'd spank you again but my hand's tired."

Yawning, Mulder kissed Alex's jaw. "That belt's tired."

"Buy me a new one. You should."

"Gifts? I dunno, Alex. Wait 'til our anniversary."

"Yeah?" Alex's eyes narrowed, gleamed in the sunlight. "What's the first
year gift?"

"Um, paper?"

Alex gave a painfully tight smile. "Buy me a ticket to ride, Mulder.
Unlimited." Heart aching, he watched Mulder laugh with unstudied,
unexpected sweetness.

"It's a deal, partner."

(End)