Show
by Te and Pares
11/98

Disclaimers: No one here belongs to us, but we're the 
optimistic sort.

Spoilers: Vague reference to Drive. Very vague. 

Summary: Not enough masturbation stories in the world,
so...

Ratings Note: NC-17 for language and m/m interaction 
both implied and... um... real?

Author's Note: A response to torch's masturbation/fantasy
challenge. I was talking to Dawn about JiM's
marvelous "Head Games" and this happened. 

Acknowledgments: To Te's razor-bladed caramel apple Sister 
Blue. To Spike for glorious beta. 

Feedback: Always. We drool for it. Pant and beg for it. We 
need dogs.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Show
by Te and Pares
thete1@earthlink.net
and
kormantic@yahoo.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If the paint had been high gloss, Mulder's breath would have
clouded it. It was cool in the tiny motel bathroom. The 
rooms would be unheated until the first snow -- and the first 
of the less-discerning skiers -- arrived.

Mulder hadn't felt the chill when they'd come in; but he'd 
been dressed then.

Now he had his face to the powder blue paint of the door, and
his eyes closed to the pale fluorescent glare. His thin cotton 
boxers nearly matched the door. He wondered if Alex could 
appreciate the aesthetics of the image he'd created with his... 
request. For a fleeting instant Mulder was tempted to arrange
himself more pleasingly, a living work of strange modern art 
of that sort which may or may not have any true value. But 
he settled for pragmatism. 

He set his feet shoulder's width apart and rested his forehead 
against the door, consciously relaxing his shoulders. He 
could hear Alex shift behind him, the creak of leather, the 
chafe of jeans-clad legs.  He evened his breathing, summoned 
a picture of himself, hands braced, legs spread, back pale and
exposed, open to the assault of Alex's assessing gaze.

But the sang-froid, the casual acceptance of the situation... 
Mulder knew it couldn't possibly last, and, as tended to be 
the case with such things, he was right. 

The light in the bathroom was harsh, and far too bright. 
Mulder looked down and saw the mole on his right elbow, 
saw scars and skin bristling into gooseflesh at the idea of 
what he was about to do. He went to shut it off, but --

"No! No... leave it on. I want to see you."
 
Mulder sucked in a breath and shivered. He turned to face 
the wall, leaning his left shoulder against the door. A brief 
turn of the head revealed Alex seated with curious *rightness* 
on the closed toilet seat. He closed his eyes again, rubbed his 
left cheek against the door. If he reached out with his right 
arm, and Alex reached out as well, they could probably 
touch, but that wasn't what the other man wanted. 

"Why the bathroom?"

"Why not?"

Mulder snorted, turned his head slightly to see the other man,
just enough to be able to see him out of the corner of his eye.
He couldn't quite bring himself to care about his body 
language. "Are there other perversions of yours I should know
about, Alex?"

A smoothly wicked grin, marred hardly at all by the brief 
twitch of genuine humor. "No... not yet, at least.

"Besides, who says this is perverse? I know you do it all the 
time."

"Do you think I fantasize about you?"

"I fantasize about you fantasizing about me."

"Ah... so you're acting out a fantasy here, in a way."

A shift, an eye-roll quickly masked behind thick lashes. 
"Whatever, Mulder. Why does it bother you?"

Exhibitionism, embarrassment... Mulder wasn't quite sure 
where to start. "We're here, together, and instead of touching
me--"

"Oh, I plan to touch you."

"Why do you want this?"

"Fishing?" Mulder turned to face the unevenly tiled wall again,
mildly piqued. "You're beautiful. I want to see you when you
make yourself come. I want to know it."

Alex's voice had lowered to that brand of purr Mulder knew Alex
believed could make him do anything. Mulder wasn't entirely 
sure Alex was wrong. 

He ran a hand over one boxer-clad hip, high grade of cotton 
but his hands were chafed, newly callused and sore from too 
much driving under pressure. Mulder wondered idly about 
statistics for accidents caused by drivers with guns to their 
heads, and jumped a little at the shock of his thumb brushing
against the edge of his -- rather weak -- erection.

Alex gasped quietly from across the brief chasm of tile and 
Mulder felt a flush work over his body. Running hot and cold 
and if there was ever a time he wanted to live out some 
stroke-book cliche less, he couldn't think of it. He couldn't 
do this.

"Touch yourself again."

Mulder's hand moved before he could think about what he was
doing and his own grip was too good and known to resist 
bucking into for a moment. The idea that his body could be so
servile was an unpleasant one, though, and he refused to let 
himself continue. 

He turned at the waist to find Alex rapt, lips parted, eyes 
skittering, glittering over his body.

"I thought this was my show, Alex."

Green eyes snapped back to his own, and Alex shrugged, 
smiled. "Sorry. You seemed... hesitant."

Mulder snatched at the door handle, settled for petting it a 
bit. "I *am* hesitant."
 
"OK, OK--"

"Shut up."

Alex shut his mouth with a click of teeth that sent small 
echoes of shock and nascent anger through the room, and 
the heat took over. Mulder turned a little more toward the 
other man, leaned his full weight against his left shoulder. 
Alex showed every sign of appreciating Mulder's profile, even 
through the vague brittleness of repressed rage. 

"I'm going to do this my way."

Alex caught his eye, seemed to drink in the expression he 
found there before nodding tightly, and Mulder wanted to 
know what it was he saw there. Sift it for clues to himself. 

He ran his hand over his chest, letting each finger catch for 
just a moment on one nipple. He'd done this before, of 
course, but he'd never realized how eager his body could be 
for touch.
 
He pressed his ribcage forward for each brush, wondered if 
Alex would ever ask him to dance, wondered if the other man
would be smart enough to specify. Mulder reached his 
abdomen and paused, toying a bit with his own navel for the
blunted fish-hook pull on his genitals the act engendered.

Alex.

Another look and Alex had leaned back against the opposite 
wall, legs spread, one knee under the dingy little sink, the 
other spread toward him. Just a few inches and he could 
touch the other man, bring some measure of legitimacy to 
this pleasure... 
 
Mulder watched Alex bring his hand up to rub with restless 
soothing motions at one pale-denimed thigh. The bulge at the
other man's crotch seemed to be growing as he looked, and 
Mulder's mouth felt empty.

He shimmied out of the boxers, tossed them at Alex with a 
rakish whimsy he couldn't *quite* claim he felt. Alex caught 
them easily, pressed them against himself with a tiny groan.
The look in his eyes was unreadable. Mulder thought of 
games of knowledge and power, twitched. Thought of turning
more fully to face Alex, but had no impulse to show all of 
himself just yet.

He pressed harder against the door and ignored the 
complaining twinge of his shoulder. Reached up to pull at a 
nipple until he hurt.

Another furtive glance revealed Alex's eyes slitted with 
concentration and Mulder smiled, began to tug at the mildly 
tortured nub rhythmically. He twisted back to face the wall,
relieving some of the pressure on his shoulder, and let his 
cock brush the door with tiny whishing thumps--

"Face me." A little hoarse, not enough.

"No."

"Mulder--"

"I said *no*."

Mulder turned to face the door more fully, braced himself 
awkwardly with his forehead and reached back to touch his 
ass. Slapped it --

"Oh, Christ."

-- once and again. The echo made him flush with quiet shame 
but he wanted to hear the other man moan at the sight.

He petted the heating flesh, losing a little of the focus required
to continue toying with his nipple. He gave up and used that 
hand to brace himself against the door in the hopes of being 
able to slap harder.

"Give me... give me your belt, Alex."

"Fuck..." The word came out breathily extended, and he could 
hear Alex stand quickly, the familiar and terrifying sounds of 
unbuckling, but Mulder would not let himself turn again. He 
wouldn't be able to do this if he chanced to meet the other 
man's gaze.

He reached back and Alex slapped the belt into his palm, 
already folded, buckle cool metal in his hand. The tiniest 
unnecessary brush against his wrist, possibly meant to 
reassure him, but Mulder thought the action had more to do
with the necessity of contact than anything else. He humped
the door gently a few times, wondering what the other man 
made of the flex and thrust of his hips.

Mulder tested his swing with a light tap against where he'd 
used his hand. He wondered if Alex was watching to see if he 
stayed within the boundaries of whatever small mark he'd left
before, wondered what Alex would make of it if he did. But 
the action was awkward in this position, and, after a time, 
Mulder gave up on trying to aim the blows to achieve a 
rational pattern of slaps and simply tried to find a rhythm. 

"So fucking hot--"

"Touch me. Use the belt yourself."

"No... no."

"Bastard." The tone of his own voice was more honest than
he'd intended, but...

... the belt felt wonderful. Bright sharp pain and liquid slide
of leather and he nearly hurt himself thrusting against the 
door but that was all right so long as he could make his ass 
meet each stroke.

And it was starting to hurt more so he switched hands as 
quickly as possible, rubbed the belt down his ribs and waist 
and back again until he felt the cool air start to prickle 
against his ass. 

And then he began again, hitting his thighs this time but 
that wasn't enough so he tried to angle the strokes so that 
the bent tip of the belt would curl under and around, lick 
with evil intent at his tightening balls.

Faster and harder against himself, against the door and the 
burn in his shoulder from the flailing was abruptly too much 
to take and he threw the belt to the floor, panting and 
sweating, resting his forehead against pale blue paint and 
heedless wood.

Alex let out a regretful moan, and the sound made him long 
to turn around, walk across the floor and present his cock 
to the younger man's face for appropriate worship.

And so he did. 

Alex spread his legs wider to greet him, and Mulder heeded the
silent reminder not to touch. The other man was focused 
intently on his dripping cock, and, for the first time, Mulder 
let himself touch it, hissing at the sensation, arching back to 
take in the yellow buzz of the over head light and the cracking
ceiling. 

Alex leaned forward slightly for a brief lick at his slit and 
Mulder pushed him away almost instinctively, relishing the 
muffled thud of his shoulder against the wall.

The other man only smiled, and arranged himself into a more
comfortable position, lifting his hips to slide his jeans down 
far enough to free his own dick from the Jockeys. 

"Don't come, Alex."

A cocked eyebrow and Alex stroked himself more slowly. 
Mulder nodded his approval and began stroking himself with 
intent, occasionally bumping his ass against the cool 
porcelain of the sink for the nearly painful contrast of 
temperature.

Mulder let his other hand creep down to toy with balls, 
rolling and stroking with the ease of familiarity. He felt the 
bones of his wrist had been be oiled for this task, with such
precision did they meet it. His cock earned the long, steady 
strokes of an extended tease, and he entertained a fantasy 
of someone someone--

Skinner behind him, molded to his back and around him, 
gripping his cock and working it with ruthless, implacable 
efficiency. Perhaps gnawing his ear in something that could 
be either encouragement or punishment.

But the cool sink was no thick cock, and there was no wool 
to chafe him.

Mulder opened his eyes to Alex again, wondered if he could 
see the petty infidelity behind his carefully lewd smile. 
Wondered if he'd even give a damn if Mulder got thrown over
something convenient and pounded into some wild new 
shape by Skinner. 

Alex merely watched him and smiled, a game smile of even 
white teeth and presumed knowledge and Mulder wanted --

Another pull, so rough with himself that he felt the skin 
could peel away to reveal a core of simple lust, pulsing and 
strange.

"Close... close your eyes, Alex."

"No."

"S-s-suit yourself."

And then it hit with a controlled explosion at the base of his 
spine. A collapse of the time and space of his own body into 
something too small to exist and he was bucking hard, 
coming in bursts that marred Alex's t-shirt, shuddered and 
pulled to smack against the younger man's face and the 
sight...

The sight was too crude for the fine bones and open-mouthed 
greed of reality. Some things deserved boxing, imprisonment 
behind grainy screens and the furtive duck of the lonely and 
desperate. Wrong and wrong, but Alex didn't seem to care, 
diving close to clean him, suckle lightly at his rapidly 
sensitizing cock.

Mulder pushed him away again, this time gently, and 
crouched to lick Alex's face clean. Sandpaper scrub of stubble,
himself, and the unmistakable tang of Alex... Mulder thought
he could've done this for hours, but was interrupted by a 
searching mouth. Alex sucked on his tongue, licked at his 
slickened lips.

Mulder could sense more than feel the other man's shoulder 
moving faster, and broke the kiss to slap Alex's hand away 
from himself, knelt quickly enough that his knees hit the tile
with painful thump.

He bit at the tender flesh of one creamy thigh, yanked the 
other man's jeans down further and began a concerted effort 
to leave marks, branding Alex with this act and the 
inescapable need to make the man writhe.

"Mulder please! Suck me... c'mon..."

He turned to the other thigh and lassitude hit him with a 
sadistic urge to nuzzle and play. He ignored the hand in his 
hair until he felt the tightening and sharp burn of strands 
being torn from his scalp, and then ran his tongue up the 
underside of Alex's cock, lingering at the tip with a slow 
drilling stab.

Mulder looked up into flushed heat and darkened eyes, and 
brought a finger up to dab at the other man's chin, catching 
some of his own come. Alex snapped at it, but Mulder just 
brought it back to his own mouth, slipping in beside the 
head of the other man's cock. He felt stretched with the 
addition, but the mingled tastes were impossible to resist 
and Alex groaned at the sensation, tried to thrust more of 
himself down Mulder's throat. 

Too much too fast and Mulder let his finger slide out so he 
could grab at the other man's hips with both hands. A 
near-death-struggle to control their motion until Mulder 
could readjust himself enough to breathe through his nose 
and take Alex deep.

Smooth-fast rasp over the roof of his mouth and further 
still. Salt and the subtle pain of entry and throb and Jesus 
but this was never enough.

Mulder let Alex's hip free and closed his eyes, focusing himself 
on the ragged fuck of the other man's need and the hand 
skittering lightly, lightly over his throat. Pressure and he'd be 
dead, a continuation and he'd simply go mad at his own body's
refusal to rise and ready itself for another go *now*. Mulder 
hummed with a flare of frustration and fear and then Alex was
crying Mulder's name and coming hard, deep down his throat.

He tried to push himself back to taste, but Alex's hand had 
shifted from his throat to weld itself to the back of his head, 
holding him there for the last dying pulses of his pleasure.

Some unknown time later Mulder became aware enough to find
them tangled together on the increasingly uncomfortable floor. 
Movement would require separation, so Mulder simply settled 
as best he could against the murmur and nuzzle of Alex's body,
and waited for an upsurge of motivation. 

It could keep.

~~~~
End.
~~~~