Spendersmut
NC-17 Slash 

No plot, no real justification. Just smut. Written during a 
recent Rathole chat, for a bunch of fun folks who really 
shouldn't encourage this sort of thing.




Spender woke in darkness, his bare legs awash in cool air; his 
blankets were gone. The cabin retreat had been Skinner's idea. 
How the hell he let himself get roped into sharing a room with 
Mulder, he still couldn't figure out. He was cold, except for 
his feet.  His feet were warm . . . and *sticky*?

He felt the first nibbles start at his toes. Spender wiggled his 
toes and caught a faint whiff of caramel. He kept his eyes 
closed and tried not to giggle hysterically. The teeth 
lingered, nipping and biting before giving way to an eager 
tongue and lips that eased the warm stickiness from his skin. 
Spender turned his head and looked across the dimness of the 
rustic bedroom. Mulder was still in his bed, so it wasn't him . 
. . 

A hand festooned with quick fingers, soon joined the party and 
slid up the loose leg of his pajama bottoms, They were short 
and Scottish plaid, kinds pajamas, the same thing he'd worn 
since he was a boy. Okay, no nails, not even sensible ones, so 
it wasn't Scully. The hand was agile, delicate, almost pretty 
in the way it touched him with tapered fingers, that left out 
Skinner. A warm, eager body followed the hand as it slid up to 
the hem of his pajamas.

Rough denim scratched his legs as first knees, then hips, then 
heavy groin slid to a stop on his own hips. Smooth hands groped 
along the skin of his chest lifting and tenting the top of his 
pajamas. One button popped then another, soon they were all 
rolling across the floor and under the bed.  He'd have a hell 
of a time finding them.

Two quick pinches from agile demanding fingers brought his 
nipples to rough-red attention. Spender arched his back and 
inhaled deeply, trying to remain quite as the fingers did their 
duty. A nearly silent gasp escaped him when the man atop him 
shifted, bring weight and heat down onto his crotch. Well there 
was only one person it could be, only one that matched, Krycek. 
The grinning, leering devil that haunted his dreams. Spender 
let his eyelids flutter open and met the other man's mirthful 
gaze.

The real hand not the nanotech thing slid down and between 
them. Krycek lifted his body and freed Spender's engorged cock 
from his pajamas. In a moment the hand was back, teasing his 
nipples, and coyly fluffing the patchy hair on his chest. 
Krycek's denim clad ass ground mercilessly into Spender's 
aching cock. Spender groaned aloud this time, the bastard knew 
precisely what he was doing.

"Turn over," Krycek whispered in the darkness.  Spender looked 
to his left, Mulder still slept soundly, the sleep of the 
*thankfully* plastered. 

"Why?" Spender whispered back, knowing full well what the man 
intended.  

"I've got another cup of caramel sauce that's going to get 
cold, if you don't shut up and roll over."

"And you're going to get fat," Spender said, grinning.

Krycek slid off the bed and stood silently, a sarcastic half-
smile on his lips. He still had the moves, the killer reflexes 
and grace that marked him as a survivor. With just the 
slightest hesitation Spender rolled onto his stomach, shedding 
the pajama top as he did. 

Krycek removed the bottoms with one silent, powerful *yank* 
that lifted Spender's hips and legs clear of the bed.

"Jesus," Spender whispered as he watched the Scottish plaid 
tangle slide across the floor and disappear beneath Mulder's 
bed. Now, how the hell was he supposed to get those back?

Krycek responded by sliding back into the bed.  His naked skin 
felt hot, nearly blistering on the back of Spender's legs. When 
the hell had he had time to shuck his clothes? Then the hands, 
the teeth, the lips and the tongue were back. Nibbling and 
licking at the small dark bump on his back.  His mother had 
called it a beauty mark, just a mole really, one he watched 
with concern. 

He moaned again when Krycek stretched out fully on top of him, 
lips to the nape of his neck, chest to back, cock to ass, heat 
to blessed heat. He froze when he heard Mulder stir in the 
other bed.  Krycek, of course, continued on his course of 
licking and biting, rubbing and grinding.

Krycek moved down his spine, slowly licking and nipping at the 
soft skin. Finally settling on his back just above the cleft of 
his ass. 

"What . . ?" Spender had time to ask before he felt the still 
warm confection drip and run across his ass and then down 
between. "Oh my God," he gasped as Krycek set about licking off 
the sticky mess.

Finally the talented tongue, having finished its task above, 
eased slowly into the dark channel between. He felt fingers on 
his cheeks forcing them apart, and knees spreading between his 
own, forcing them gently wider. He closed his eyes and exhaled 
his last remaining breath when he felt Krycek finally *finally* 
land on the puckered entrance to his body.

He'd never imagined that every single damn nerve in his body 
connected to his asshole, but as Krycek licked and prodded, 
swirling in ever more forceful spirals, it simply had to be. He 
shuddered when the tongue *penetrated* Christ in Heaven, he 
knew the tongue was a muscle but  . . . so strong. Then it was 
gone, he shivered in realization as he felt Krycek abandon his 
ass for a moment and re-position himself. The man was 
impossibly hard, an iron rod of a cock.

Spender could feel it sliding between the cheeks of his ass, 
sometimes catching on his tingling asshole sometimes sliding 
over and between. Spender stilled himself as he felt a slick 
finger prod and slide inside him.  he sighed, it'd been long, 
far too long, since  . . . .

Since . . . he'd last felt a hand, any hand, on his body in 
anything other than anger. He winced just once when Krycek 
braced himself and pushed.  Spender felt the large head 
stretching him, forcing, Jesus so much. He buried his head in 
the pillow willing himself not to scream out his mixed joy and 
pain.  The pressure was enormous, more than he thought he could 
stand, more than he could imagine enduring.

And then on the verge of giving voice to it all, it eased. The 
head of Krycek's cock slid inside, and stopped. Spender moved a 
little trying to come to some sort of accommodation. He started 
to look up, he wanted to see the look of bliss or maybe 
concentration that would be lighting Krycek's face . . he 
stopped.  Not a dozen feet away Mulder lay propped up on one 
elbow, his eyes alight even in the dimness. His expression 
caught somewhere between amazement, anger and something very 
like lust. 

Spender looked up. Krycek was looking at Mulder, a grin, wild, 
close to feral on his face. He braced himself again and began 
to thrust slowly and then faster.  Spender groaned and buried 
his face into his pillow again. After long moments he began to 
thrust back against Krycek's body, Soon they were moving 
quickly, easily, in sync.  Against the backdrop of their own 
bodies, kicked free of sheets and blankets, Spender thought he 
could hear the sounds of skin moving on skin . . Mulder.

The thought of Mulder jerking off, watching them, his cock hard 
in his blurred hand, forced Spender higher. He was now wantonly 
thrusting his hips into Krycek, at last giving full voice to 
his utterly animal needs. His cock trapped between his body and 
the bed thrust along the mattress with ever increasing strokes. 

Finally he felt his body give up, surrender and simply melt out 
his cock.  The spasm of his own orgasm signaled Krycek, who 
thrust hard, twice more then collapsed across Spender's back.

He was no longer an assassin, trained in every known art of 
death and espionage, just a spent man, warm flesh and slack, 
utterly relaxed in the afterglow.  Spender looked over. Mulder 
was wrapped up in his blankets lying with his back to them 
intentionally oblivious. Spender eased himself over and gave 
Krycek a lingering kiss, almost chaste. 

"What about him?" Spender asked nodding towards Mulder.  Krycek 
looked over then back down at Spender, grinning lazily.  

"In the morning, he wears the lucky pajamas."

Spender laughed out loud, sat up long enough to place a towel 
over the mess and pulled Krycek down into a slumbering embrace.

[end]