"Uhhh...ohhh...mmm...oh God...uhhh..."
The J. Edgar Hoover building echoed with a guttural moaning that penetrated the evening quiet of those hallowed halls.
"Ohhh...harder, Mulder, harder...faster...uhhh..."
"Would you keep it down? Someone is going to hear us!" Mulder hissed through his teeth.
"I can't help it," Krycek husked. "You make me so hot. Hit me again."
"Not here. In the coffee room."
Grabbing Krycek by the collar, Mulder hauled him roughly through a nearby door.
If the ghost of J. Edgar kept surveillance over his beloved FBI, watching from above, or maybe below, or possibly from the lobby if he had been reincarnated as a plant, he probably watched these two a lot, because they were HOT.
Mulder wore his traditional charcoal Armani suit, today paired with a tie depicting Spiderman in his blue and red costume. The ensemble perfectly set off his brooding hazel eyes and carefully coiffed dark hair.
Krycek was tastefully attired in black curve-hugging jeans, black chest-clinging t-shirt, black leather jacket, and a prosthetic arm that ended in a sharp and dangerous hook. Piratical hoop earrings completed his outfit. All in all, he was every inch the well-dressed triple agent for the 90s.
Inside the break room, Mulder pulled the door closed and shoved Krycek up against the refrigerator. Resuming his attack, he punched and slapped and shook the younger man, while Krycek writhed in ecstasy, begging for more and more and more.
After ten minutes or so of this, Krycek's cheeks burned red from the blows and sweat sheened his sharp features. Mulder's chest heaved from exertion and the tingling in his palms threatened to drive him crazy. Maybe it was time for a little handcuffing.
Suddenly, the door swung open and caught Mulder in the small of the back, where he was now going to have a rather nasty bruise. Spender entered the room, carrying an empty coffee cup.
"I'm sorry, Mulder," Spender said. "I didn't know anyone was still here. I'll just get my coffee and leave you two alone."
While Spender's garb was more conservative than Mulder's, he still filled out his dark suit very well, especially the nether regions. His loosened tie was a subdued blue and green print that complemented his eyes and made them sparkle. Boyish looks and curls completed the picture of a Real Hoover Boy.
Spender turned his back to the men and reached for the coffee pot. With a growl, Mulder tore away from Krycek and grabbed Spender's arm, spinning him around.
"That's my coffee mug. Scully gave it to me for my birthday. You stole it!"
The coffee mug in question depicted a Schwa alien in white on a black background, with the words "Stay Awake" printed beneath it. When Mulder seized Spender's arm, the mug flew across the room and crashed to the floor.
Oblivious, Mulder threw Spender against the wall and began hitting and shaking him.
"Ow, Mulder, stop it!" Spender shoved the agent away from him and got in a few punches of his own.
"You hit me!" Mulder's voice was petulant.
"You hit me first," Spender said, not unreasonably. "And Mulder, that cup sat in here unwashed for two months before I started using it."
"Mulderrr?" Krycek's voice was even more petulant than Mulder's. "Can you just leave the mug and hit me some more?"
Spender stared at Krycek. "You like it when he hits you?"
"Oh yeah, don't you?" Krycek's mouth opened and his tongue darted out to tease his lower lip.
Mulder turned back to Krycek, forgetting Spender, and resumed the battering. Krycek was into it at once, moving sensually under the blows and moaning like only one-armed men in black leather can.
Spender watched for awhile, puzzled. Krycek obviously did like it and so did Mulder.
"So, Mulder, when you hit Krycek it's a metaphor expressing a subtext of homoerotic desire?" Spender spoke loudly to be heard over Krycek's caterwauling.
Mulder paused to think. "I suppose it is, yes."
Krycek nodded in agreement.
"But when you hit me, it's not?" Spender asked.
"I guess not. I wonder why." Mulder studied Spender for a long moment. "You're certainly attractive enough. It's not homoerotic for you, either?"
"No," Spender replied. "It just hurts."
Just then, the door swung open again, once more catching Mulder in the small of the back. His bruise would be very colourful indeed.
Into the room strode Assistant Director Walter Sergei Skinner, resplendent in dark pants, dark tie, and an immaculately white and crisply starched Riley shirt. The fluorescent lights gleamed on the smooth curve of his skull. His jaw was firm, his shoulders broad, his glasses polished, his ass tight, and his shirt white. And crisp.
Working late, Skinner was merely looking for a bottle of Evian, which was all he drank at the office. He'd made a rule: Evian at work, scotch at home. He usually had a glass of scotch after work to help him relax and a couple of fingers before bed as a nightcap. He looked forward to his bowl of scotch and cornflakes every morning.
Even though the strange gathering in the coffee room puzzled Skinner, he didn't show it.
"Excuse me, Krycek," he said in modulated tones. "I need to open the refrigerator. If you would be so kind as to move..."
Leaning against the olive green appliance, Krycek carefully did not move, the picture of studied nonchalance.
Sultry and insolent, Krycek challenged Skinner. "I'll move, but only if you hit me first."
Skinner studied his former agent. "As you wish, boy." His powerful fist slammed into Krycek's stomach, causing the spy to crumple up and slide to the floor, groaning.
"More, again," Krycek begged. "Beat me, daddy."
Opening the refrigerator, Skinner pulled out a sealed bottle of Evian. As he twisted off the cap, he kicked Krycek a couple of times.
"You see?" Spender said to Mulder. "It's homoerotic when he does it too."
Mulder cast a speculative look at the Assistant Director. "Sir, would you help us out with something here?"
Skinner pushed the refrigerator door shut with his foot and turned to face them. He took a long swallow of water before answering them.
"What can I do?"
"Well, sir," Spender began nervously, "would you hit me too?"
Skinner pondered that the position of Assistant Director was not much like he had thought it would be, back when he had been a field agent dreaming of promotion. His job description seemed to consist primarily of signing stupid forms, going to formal dinner-dances, selling his soul to the devil, and hitting the agents under his command. Last Christmas, over scotch and scones, he had just told his grandmother he was a plumber. It seemed simpler.
Still, hitting these boys was fun. So he backhanded Spender, not too hard, but hard enough to send him flying against the wall.
Spender staggered to keep his balance and pressed his hand to his cheek where a red mark quickly formed. Wonder glowed from his face.
"Well?" Mulder asked.
"I definitely felt something there. More, please, sir."
Skinner moved in and worked Spender over, punching and jabbing in his best professional manner. Spender's moans, though lacking the practised sensuality of Krycek's, were so wildly enthusiastic that they spurred Skinner to improvise some body slams and a little light choking.
Krycek scrambled to his feet and leaned on Mulder as he watched, mouth open, eyes bright, fingers tightening on Mulder's sleeve.
A few minutes later, Skinner stepped back and grabbed his water. He was breathing a little quickly but had not even broken a sweat. Spender panted, leaning against the wall for support.
"Ooh, me next!" Krycek advanced on Spender. "If you don't mind?"
Spender couldn't speak, so he nodded. Krycek started off with a sharp blow to Spender's chest that knocked the wind out of him.
"Hard to choke with only one hand, so I do this instead," Krycek explained.
Even one-handed, Krycek's technique was superb. What he lacked in bulk, he more than made up for in finesse, working so precisely that he kept Spender on the edge of collapse, but never pushed him over.
"Look at that," Mulder said. "It's homoerotic when Krycek hits Spender. It's homoerotic when you hit Spender and when you hit Krycek. It's homoerotic when I hit Krycek. But when I hit Spender, it's just angry and not very fun."
"It's not?" Skinner looked thoughtful. "Can I watch you try?"
"Sure, after Leather Boy is done with him."
When Krycek finished, Spender slid to the floor, dishevelled, gasping, and beaming.
"OK, Mulder, let's see." Skinner motioned for him to begin.
"So much for the afterglow," Spender grumbled, but he stood, ready for Mulder's ministrations.
Mulder slammed Spender against the wall and rained blows on his body.
"Ow," Spender yelled. "Stop that!" He bashed Mulder with a right cross, sending him backward into Skinner's arms.
"You're right, Mulder," Skinner said, setting Mulder on his feet. "That wasn't homoerotic at all."
"So why do you think that is?" Spender asked.
"Well..." Skinner hesitated before speaking again. "The gossip at the ADs' poker game is that you two are actually half-brothers."
Mulder and Spender stared at each other with distaste, dismay, and disgust.
"In fact," Skinner continued, "someone started a pool on it, so if you ever do find out for sure, if you could see your way clear to telling me first, I'm sure I could make it worth your while."
"So when we hit each other, it's a metaphor expressing a subtext of sibling rivalry," Mulder mused.
"That would explain a lot of things," Spender agreed.
"Let me know when you're going to be on Jerry Springer and I'll tune in," Krycek said. "But meanwhile..."
He reached out and slid his hook through the loop of Spender's tie. Pulling Spender close, Krycek blew hot breath across the agent's cheek.
"How would you like to smack me around for a change?" he purred. "Come back to my place and play a little. I am a spy, after all, so it's your duty as an FBI agent to beat me up."
Spender's answer was a slow scratch with his fingernail across Krycek's cheek. Krycek turned and led Spender out of the room, drawing him along with the pointed hook.
"Wait, Krycek, what about..." Mulder yelled, but it was too late. "Sibling rivalry is right! It's enough I actually have to work with the bastard, but stealing my boyfriend is just too much! I'll kill him!"
"So does this mean you're free now?" Skinner put his hand heavily on Mulder's shoulder.
"I guess it does." Mulder felt a shiver go down his spine at the touch of his boss. "You mean...you and me? Spend some time hitting each other?"
"I don't allow other men to hit me," Skinner said. His eyes glazed over a little as he remembered his appointment with Holly on the following evening. After just one session with her, he was spoiled for anyone else. "But I thought I might yell at you."
Mulder swallowed. This was definitely homoerotic. "Would you really yell at me?" he asked, hope throbbing in his voice.
"I'm going over some of your reports right now. That really gets me in the mood." Skinner's other hand took Mulder's earlobe and twisted it.
"What if I go crazy? Would you forcibly restrain me?" Mulder's eyes gleamed.
"As much as you like. And I have some duct tape in my desk drawer." Skinner smiled, slow and feral.
"What are we waiting for?"
Mulder dashed out the door, heading for the AD's office. Skinner followed at a more sedate pace, deciding which report to deal with first. Maybe the one about the sentient computer or the mud men. Or he could pull out some old reports, a "Best of Mulder" series. Skinner licked his lips and took another drink of water. Just the thought of yelling at Mulder made him thirsty.
The ghost of J. Edgar Hoover smiled. All was well with the FBI.
FINIS
Fay @ August 22, 2003
Wowee. Very chuckle-worthy, I must say. Piratical hoop earrings? I did actually laugh out loud, and fortunately I was alone in my room at the time. Heh. Uh yeah, constructive reveiw comments. Nope, this is a perfect length, no wasted motion, fabulous timing and great satire on why the heck we like this stuff so much. Kudos.