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This might wake you up. Or not. Hard to tell how jaded you lot are. I showed this to two discerning readers, who gave no veto, and the original muse of this snippet, enigmatic Mistress M, urged me to post. It's just bent, bent, *bent* whimsy, and I've tossed canon characterization blithely away, no doubt to land back in the far corner of my room, where abandoned plots gather thick dust. Still, no enemas, rape, or death. Please check your flame-throwers at the door, and if you feel wounded after the fact, just remember that I did not use the word "amber".

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Rain [--despite having a title, it's not a story! I swear!]

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It was as wet as the world was deep, a long warm twilight day of soft rain that shattered quietly on the streets and grass, pooling and sliding in flat waves across asphalt, dripping down rooftoops and gutters, splashing like wave slaps on wet sand.

Mulder sighed, turned. "How did you find me?"

Alex leaned against the brick housing of the rooftop stairwell. In the grey light he looked wan and clean. Tired, jaded, he was nonetheless still a vital force to be reckoned with, and looking at him gave Mulder a pang of dumb soft joy that neither time nor the wicked world could kill. Nor the wickedness of man himself. This man.

"I have my ways," Alex said, shrugging, the movement pushing his leather jacket roughly up the brick. He tilted his head, smiled, and a lock of dark hair conspired with luck and charm to fall forward on his ivory-skinned face.

Dreamy day of long rains. The rooftops around them stretched in dun, grey tiles like chopped fields of mulatto stone. Below, the houses sank down to their knees under the weight of the skies. Mulder heard a child yell happily in the distance, somewhere streets over. Echoes of lives past. The life of man is numbered nine, from womb of birth to reclaimed ground. .. fragments of poetry from a long time ago. Bad poetry, but youth would do that.

"You're impossible," he said aloud.

"You're getting wet." Alex shifted, tucked one booted foot behind another. His hands snugged down in his jeans, though it was not cold. Mulder's gaze was drawn there despite his studied nonchalance, and then he caught Alex's gleaming green eyes. "It's just as good as the old one," Alex said, careless in tone but sounding delighted on a deeper, unspoken level. "Bone's good and strong. You should see what I've been doing--exercises--getting in shape again."

"I can imagine." A smile slipped out from Mulder's grave, mild control. "But are they your fingerprints?"

"Sorry. If I told ya, I'd have to kill ya."

They smiled dryly at one another, then Mulder slid back under the shallow eaves of the stairwell roof, where he shook off the wet from his own leather jacket.

"Hey, Rover--cut it out."

"You're the rover," Mulder said cheekily, sliding his arms inside Alex's jacket, then wrapping around the other man to lace hands behind him, like a bow of flesh resting on Alex's lower back. It was a lock he knew would not hold long, even as he felt, stubbornly, that it should.

"God, I fucking miss you," Alex husked out.

Mulder's head rubbed on Alex's shoulder, back and forth. Leather slicked his cheek and as their bodies rocked Mulder felt himself growing hard. His jeans, though not tight, barely gave way around his aching cock. Unfocused, knowing they were unseen, knowing he could forbid himself nothing when everything had to be stolen in moments like this, he licked Alex's jacket as if it were flesh, with hard broad strokes of his tongue, and then greedy sucks that didn't linger but moved from jacket to neck, to where the flesh was not dead hide but real and warm and good. Human. More or less.

"Perv," Alex murmured, and smiled against his lover's face, rubbing harsh unshaven jaw against its twin. Bone to bone, they nuzzled like puppies, and grew harder together until they were sprawled upright against the wall. Alex leaned in front of Mulder, arms stretched out to gently bar either side of his head, then folding up as he pushed closer. He rubbed his body possessively across Mulder's, teasing with his hips, settling debts with his mouth. Mulder surged and sighed in his cage, his hands hooked on Alex's arms.

For a while it was all they needed, and then--typically--Mulder began whining for more, in his inimitable, endearing way. Alex arched his body back, and felt the arch claim his neck; as his head fell back the rain splashed lightly on his upturned face. Below him, Mulder knelt and did things that struck Alex's soul with gratitude even as the shower undramatically ended and he stared freely up into the pale grey sky, blinking back rain that held no tears.

Starlings appeared like flecks of pepper in the sky to Alex's left, fretting the cloud-laden backdrop and then disappearing from sight. For the instant of their passage it was as if those swift countless wings fluttered around his cock, and he smiled some more, and then laughed aloud. One hand dropped to cup Mulder's head, carding its damp soft wealth of hair. Mulder drew his mouth away and rubbed his cheeks everywhere--against cock and hips and Alex's stroking hand.

"I need this," Mulder said, his voice not much more audible than velvet falling to a floor, his lips against Alex's cock. He rose, turned to the wall, undoing his jeans as he did, and then shoving them down off his hips. Dark leather rose as his arms did, as he braced himself against the wall. Bare ass, bare thighs, waiting man. What more tempting invitation could life offer? Well, now, none.

Alex pushed his own jeans a little further down, away from his uplifted cock. "I don't have lube."

"Oh sure."

"No, really. Sorry. Lost track of some stuff."

"Some date you are." Mulder sighed. "It's all right. Spit."

"Or condoms."

"You'd better not have been slutting around."

"Nah, not me, lover."

"Well, I can do without," Mulder said grudgingly. And then, with quiet cool admission, "Besides, I want your come up my ass. I'm taking a piece of you with me when I go."

"A small wet piece," Alex said, easing his mocking words with a stroke down the other man's bowed nape. "Hold on. This might hurt."

They said nothing for a while, until Alex was in, and then when they did speak the words were lost in the space around them, dropped unheard like small change on the ground. They rocked in a building, needful rhythm, chanting together soft affirmations, quietly naming each other, softly and then roughly, then more roughly still, making stifled oaths of pleasure that would hold them until next time.

When Alex began to come he could not keep up the soft press of intimacy but instead pulled back, took the angle that his need demanded, and rammed himself hard--hard--again--it was so good, his dick in his love's fine ass--and then he rode a suddenly firing rocket to the top of the world, with both hands wedded to a pair of slim, creamy hips. He came with selfish, driving thrusts--tossing his head back and swallowing a fractured groan.

He only realized when he'd finished that Mulder hadn't bothered to jerk off. "Oh, fuck--" He slid out, sighed, tucked himself in. "Hey--" He nudged Mulder's shoulder. "You come?"

"No."

"Idiot," Alex breathed out. He glanced at his watch, at the sky. Liverpool was a strange, cruddy city and he didn't want to stay here after dark. Within two hours he could be well on his way to the continent. "Why not?"

"Do me a favor?"

"Name it." Alex ran a hand across his unshaven jaw, and then checked out the puddles on the cobbled rooftop, wondering if he'd have to get his jeans wet.

"Piss on me."

It was perhaps the first time in his life Alex had ever said "I beg your pardon?" It felt like the necessary thing to say.

Mulder turned around to face him, and his face was pale and rough. Mouth tight. Eyes like broken glass. "I need to get off--"

"No fuckin--"

Mulder dropped to his knees, words overriding Alex's. Hard. "Do it. I need it. Do it--fuck--don't make me ask again--"

Alex wanted to say, offended, that he wasn't this much a prick, Jesus Christ, Mulder. But the truth was he'd do anything Mulder wanted. You want this, babe? Let it be. On your head, then.

Alex winced as this thought needled into his raw mind. It hurt, it hurt worse than any punch he'd ever taken to the gut, but already he was complying, stricken and touched with Mulder's urgency. He held himself, he wished for the very virility of piss, searched for it and found it--and then cut loose. He hoped no angel was taking invisible snapshots because he never wanted to see the evidence of this act written across his own face.

In front of him, hand wrapped around his cock, Mulder knelt--face upturned as Alex's had turned to the rain. He was already arching, already stiffening, gasping--

"Oh god! Fuck, Alex--ah--"

An electric current this might have beeen, to jolt him so. And it cut like a knife most cruel to Alex that he could not remember seeing his lover so aroused before, so desperate. Piss shattered in his face, poured from him--and he looked enraptured--was that what he wanted? Was it? And then Alex arrowed himself onto the swollen cock of his love, watched his lover's hand stroke faster and faster under the rain--he was crying out again. Terrible sound, your lover's ecstasy, as he comes from this, the bath of your waste.

Baptism--no. Mark, spoor. No, no.

The clouds broke, the sky swept across them a vivid gold light that neither of them saw, that to Alex's shuttered vision was simply the lucidity of a truth he could not have cared less about.

Mulder came, and as if in synchronicity the spigot tapped itself off and Alex withered back into his flesh, zipped up, stuck hands in pockets, stared grimly down.

Mulder slumped and struggled for breath, looking too indecently sated for Alex to bear. He dripped--he wiped his hand across his face, rubbed his palm and then the heel of his hand across his lips. His eyes were closed, and then they were open. Alex's pulse jerked. He hadn't expected to have to meet those terrible, lucid eyes so immediately, but he did.

"You despise me now?"

Voice thick with pleasure, but calm even to its edge. The voice of a man who has asked questions and is afraid of nothing.

Alex shook his head, had no words, then jerked from his aching throat a harsh laugh. "Ah, fuck. . ." He stopped, swallowed, and in an instant of grace regained himself. "Don't be crazy." He reached out, touched Mulder's face, then firmly cupped his hand there, careless of the damp. "Come on. Get up."

Mulder stood and redressed himself, and then blinked hazily into the sun-brushed sky. "I'd hoped it would start raining again," he murmured, then his lips twitched. "I'm not going to be real popular until I hit the bath at my hotel."

"Yeah, well fuck 'em." Alex rubbed his thumb across Mulder's cheekbone, felt that fine head turn to him. Eyes locked with his again. Green clear eyes like the ocean from which they all had come. Alex smiled. "Tell them from me they can just piss off, hey, Mulder?"

Mulder's face held his like gravity the stars. "Tell me I'm yours."

"Tell you? I don't need to tell you--do I?"

That was all they had to say on the subject, as it happened. It settled itself with Mulder's nod. And the sun came out again like the widest eye, irrelevant to anything.

End

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God, I *really* may regret this...but do I even have a reputable reputation to kill? Oh, probably not. You all know I'm a twisted bitch. Or do now...