August 1999 
Disclaimer: Did you know that in Venutian, "Chris Carter" means "one who doesn't 
share pretty boys with the masses"? Neither did I. 
Rating: NC-17 for m/m goings on. 
Spoilers: Terma, The Red and the Black 
Summary: A little harmless Alex babbling. 
Notes: WARNING: Silliness and bad puns ahead. Thanks to Orithain, Sue and Lucy, 
who read this, laughed (they were supposed to, btw) and beta'd. Any remaining 
mistakes are mine. Also, this is for Sarah, who said she wanted a happy story. 
Well, this is...not angst J 
Archive: Anywhere...I'm easy. 
Feedback: Anything...I'm easy. Luvnick62@aol.com 
Other stories: http://members.tripod.com/~ter_ma/frankie/frankie.htm 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
Just Talking 
by Frankie 
August 1999 
========== 
I love him. Three simple, straightforward words, right? Then why do I feel like 
a complete jackass whenever I say them to myself? It's probably because it's 
like saying "I love money," then waiting to see if my wallet magically explodes 
and showers me with millions. Saying it doesn't make a difference. I'm usually a 
man of action, but for some reason I can't bring myself to do what's necessary 
to get what I want this time. 
I did have a plan, you know. Unfortunately, it consisted of me grabbing him off 
the street and plying him with words of love (not to mention lots of liquor) in 
order to win his heart. I know it would never have worked, not because of the 
nature of the plan, but because I'm not too hip when it comes to the lingo of 
love. So, what does this mean? 
It means I sit here, thinking about him, wondering when or if I'll get the 
chance to see him again, and basically driving myself nuts in the process. I 
also sit here playing out different scenarios in my head. They usually go 
something like this: 
Scenario #1: 
Me: Hey. 
Him: What do you want, you scum-sucking son of a bitch who isn't fit to breathe 
the air I breathe? 
Me: I was wondering if you were free for dinner. 
Scenario #2: 
Me: It's vital I talk to you. 
Him: There's nothing you have to say that I want to hear. 
Me: But, I love you. 
Him: ::gunshots:: 
Me: Ow. 
Scenario #3: 
Him: What the hell are you doing here, you motherpighorsefucking psychotic piece 
of shit? 
Me: Just wondering if you'd like to go see "The Blair Witch Project" with me. 
Him: ::punch:: 
Me: That would be 'no,' then? 
See? They don't really work, do they? Okay, so my next course of action is to 
hang out in front of his apartment building and hope to catch a glimpse of him 
as he goes in and out. I know what you're thinking, but it's not as pathetic as 
it sounds. What if he sees me out there, runs over, punches me a couple of 
times, then drags me up to his apartment to really work me over? Wait. That 
wouldn't happen. He'd just put me in custody. Next. 
I've got it! I wait for him in his apartment, catch him off guard and tell him 
that I have some vital information about the takeover of the planet by 
extra-terres.....shit. I've done that already. Although I did get to kiss him, 
it didn't exactly fulfill my wildest dreams. 
I didn't even tell you what it is about the guy that drives me absolutely crazy, 
did I? Well, besides the obvious attraction anyone with a pulse would have to 
that magnificent physical specimen, there are the other little quirks and habits 
that have endeared him to me. For instance, when we were partners, I could watch 
him eat sunflower seeds for hours. Yeah, that ties in with the physical 
attributes - those lips, those fingers, that tongue - but the absentminded way 
he'd devour those suckers was adorable. Fuck, now I'm using words like 
"adorable" to describe him. Remind me to shoot myself later. Anyway, I also 
really loved to watch him drive. Like any man, I'd make a bit of a big deal out 
of wanting a turn to drive, but that was all a front. I loved the way his hands 
looked gripping the steering wheel, the way he'd drum his fingers on the 
dashboard when we were waiting in traffic and a good tune was playing on the 
radio...the way he'd turn the key to start the car is still etched in my mind. 
Okay, I'm even starting to make myself sick, so let's move on, shall we? 
The bottom line is I love him, and he has no idea, and I have no clue what to do 
about it. Is it too juvenile for a grown man to call the object of his desire 
just to hear the voice he wishes would be the last thing he'd hear at night and 
the first thing he'd hear in the morning? Probably. At this point, I don't give 
a shit. I'm going to do it. BRB. 
Shit. He knew it was me. I don't know how, but he did. I've blocked my number 
from being seen on Caller ID, so I know that's not how he knew. Unless he 
figures that anyone who calls him and doesn't say anything must be me. That's 
pretty strange considering the weirdos who must call him on a regular basis. Oh, 
in case you're interested, this is pretty much what he said. 
Him: Mulder. 
Me: ::heart racing:: 
Him: Hello? Who is this? 
Me: ::heart pounding:: 
Him: ::looooooong pause:: Krycek? 
Me: ::coronary:: 
Him: Alex? Talk to me. I need to know if this is you. There are so many things I 
need to say to you. 
Okay, I made up that last part. He just hung up after telling me to get a 
fucking life. I suppose this means I'm back at square one. What to do...what to 
do... 
Hold on. I have to take off this damn prosthesis...it's annoying the hell out of 
me, more so than usual. You know, rationally speaking, I should be madder than 
hell at him for screwing up my plan to get us out of that prison camp. 
Unfortunately, I can't be. I understand that it was a matter of 
self-preservation on his part. As for my arm...that'll teach me to depend on the 
kindness of strangers. 
Okay, that's better. Where was I? I know what you're thinking. How on earth 
could I say I love him when every confrontation we've had has been violent and 
unproductive as far as furthering our relationship goes? I'll explain. 
There are certain types of people who will put up with any amount of abuse if it 
means they can spend time with the object of their affections. They'll endure 
pain, both physical and emotional, rants against their character (or lack 
thereof), and even the occasional oilien possession. I'm no different - though I 
don't know of many people who get possessed by oiliens *and* are in love with 
Fox Mulder. I'm not counting that Covarrubias bitch even though that's more a 
case of lust than love. Don't ask how I got the gory details about that, but if 
you want to know, remind me to tell you later. 
Anyway, I'm a pathetic loner who loves from afar, bleeds from a near and has no 
chance of my feelings ever being returned in kind. It doesn't bother me, though. 
No, really. I've come to the conclusion that a person like me isn't meant to be 
happy or content or any of the other things that normal, law-abiding folks 
happen to be. I'll just be happy to live out the rest of my days alone and 
lonely with only my memories of the time we had sex at work to keep me company. 
Oh, didn't I mention that as one of the reasons I'm still obsessed with him? My 
mistake. 
We'd been working late, and the bullpen was deserted except for the two of us. I 
can't remember what case it was, but that doesn't matter. I do remember that 
we'd been arguing about some of the facts in the case, and it got pretty heated. 
Having a no-holds-barred discussion with this guy is the best kind of foreplay I 
can imagine. He gets so passionate, and his eyes do this strange flashing thing 
that would probably cause seizures in lesser men. Not to make him sound like 
some Japanese cartoon, but that's the only way I can think of to describe it. 
Anyway, he was trying to get through to me about whatever it was, and I was 
starting to get extremely turned on. My adrenaline was pumping, I was feeling 
attacked, I was about two feet away from the guy I'd been finding it harder and 
harder to fight my attraction to, and he was looking rumpled and tired and like 
he needed to be fucked. If you know of a more dangerous combination, please tell 
me because as far as I'm concerned, that's the most lethal one I know. 
So, he was looking hot, I was feeling horny, and there was no one around. 
Something tells me the planets were aligned just right as well because he 
suddenly stopped arguing and stared at me. It made me really uncomfortable 
because I was sure he was reading my thoughts, and the last thing I wanted to do 
was have him reject me while I was feeling vulnerable. [Laugh at that, you're 
dead). I asked him what was wrong, and he answered, 
"Why aren't you saying anything?" 
"I was listening to you. Isn't that what you want me to do? Just listen and 
never cross you or contradict you?" 
"What's that supposed to mean?" 
"I know that you don't respect me. You expect me to go along with whatever you 
think I should, and the moment I don't do that, you go ballistic." 
"I wouldn't characterize this conversation as me going ballistic, Alex." 
"Then what would you call it? You've done everything but call me a brainless, 
mindless idiot who doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. Believe it or 
not, it's not good to know that my partner doesn't think I know what I'm doing." 

"I never said you didn't know what you're doing. I just think that in this case 
you're a little misguided." 
"Okay. So you're going to impress me with your superior knowledge and set me 
straight?" 
"That's what I was attempting to do, but you wouldn't shut up long enough to 
hear me out." [This is where he flashed me the sexiest smile I've ever seen on 
anyone to date] 
I admit, that made me want to smile, but I couldn't give him the satisfaction, 
no matter how much I wanted him at that particular moment. At that point in my 
life I actually had some pride left. I didn't say anything to him, just started 
to gather my things and got ready to go home. That's when he said, 
"I respect you, Alex." 
I still haven't heard words that made me as happy as those did. I was struck 
speechless for a few moments. When I did regain my wits, I told him, 
"You have a strange way of showing it, Agent Mulder." 
"You can call me Fox, you know." 
"I thought you hated to be called Fox." 
"I do. I just thought that I could make it up to you somehow. It's stupid. 
Forget it." 
"What the hell does your name have to do with making it up to me...wait, make 
*what* up to me?" 
"The obviously shitty way I've treated you. I had no idea you were feeling this 
way, and I want to apologize for my lack of professionalism. I don't know what I 
can do to make amends." 
At this point, I began to feel as if I was the star in some porn movie and was 
waiting for the music to start to signal that I was about to get laid. It 
didn't, and I decided to make my own kind of music. [You can boo that later, 
btw.] 
"I'll give you one guess what you can do, Fox." [I admit that he did wince a 
little when I said his name. Score one for me.] 
"Name it. You want football, hockey, basketball tickets? Tell me." 
"I think this may be a little better than that, actually." 
"Oh? Does it involve certain favors from a member of the opposite sex? I may be 
able to work that out." 
"No. It involves certain favors from a member of the same sex, namely you." 
[Yes, I know that could be straight out of a skin flick, but I was attempting to 
be seductive. Fox didn't notice that I sounded like a complete idiot, bless 
him.] 
"Excuse me?" [I know I saw him blush, but he denied it later.] 
At this point I figured I had nothing to lose, which may explain what I did 
next. I knew that it was only a matter of weeks before I'd be out of there, so I 
decided to go for it. If my partnership ended sooner than my employers intended, 
so be it. I stepped closer to him and felt this amazing heat radiating from him. 
I didn't know if it was the fight we'd just been having or the fact that I was 
exciting him somehow, but I wanted to have that warmth covering every inch of my 
body. 
I took his hand and put it on my crotch. I was already kind of hard, but the 
minute I felt his touch, I thought I'd come in my pants. Luckily for me, that 
didn't happen, but it sure would have jibed with the kind of day I had been 
having up to that point. So, I was standing there holding Mulder's hand on my 
aching hard-on, hoping he wouldn't freak out yet curious as to what he was going 
to do about it. I lowered my voice and said, 
"Make it up to me." 
::silence:: 
I've always been good at staring contests, so I made sure not to break his gaze. 
There's no way I'd be the first one to look away. If it had been anyone else, I 
would have started to feel uncomfortable at the intense way he was looking at 
me, but all those eyes seemed to do was root me to the spot and make me forget 
about everything I was supposed to do or say or think...you get the idea. 
Imagine those eyes looking at you as if you were a piece of meat and he was a 
carnivore. I've got goosebumps thinking about it. 
He smiled and I was immediately relieved. I figured he wouldn't do anything too 
bad to me if he smiled first. I moved my hand from his, and he maintained the 
contact with my now throbbing erection - for a second I was concerned that my 
heart had dropped below my waist. He started moving his hand, rubbing it over 
the straining material of my trousers, and I lowered my eyes. I wanted to grab 
him and kiss him so badly, but I wasn't sure what he wanted to do other than 
torment me with his touch. 
"Don't do that." 
When he said that, I wasn't sure what he was talking about. At first, I thought 
maybe he was telling me to stop getting hard and was about to tell him he had to 
be kidding when he raised his other hand and ran his thumb over my bottom lip. 
"Look at me. I love your eyes, Alex." 
I looked at him again and saw that the smile was still there. Before I knew it, 
he was leaning toward me and kissing me. God, it was so incredibly sensual and 
tender but still commanding. He knew exactly what he wanted and had no trouble 
taking it. I stood there, not knowing how to react to him, when my common sense 
kicked in, and I put my arms around him. I could taste the salt on his tongue 
from his latest seed binge and started returning the kiss with the same force, 
no, ferocity, he was showing me. 
Sometime during our lip lock, he'd unzipped my pants and had slipped his hand 
inside my briefs. This man could use his touch as a form of execution in any 
state where they still use the electric chair...I seriously thought my dick was 
going to catch fire. If I ever get a death sentence, please let me die with Fox 
Mulder's hand around my cock. Anyway, to say I was happy would be an 
understatement. I think I might have asked him what he was doing because he 
laughed and said, 
"I knew you were green, but don't tell me you've never done this before." 
"I just never expected you to..." 
Then he shut me up by giving me the deepest, wettest, probably noisiest kiss 
I've ever experienced. One of those 'I hear a lot of groaning, oops, it's me, I 
think' kinds of kisses. I can still taste him, and if I close my eyes, I swear I 
can feel his tongue sliding over every inch of my mouth as if he were trying to 
memorize it. I remember laughing because I had an image flash through my mind of 
his tongue sweeping my mouth for bugs and wanting to tell him that my fillings 
weren't listening devices. 
"Why are you laughing?" [okay, imagine hooded eyes, red, shiny lips and him 
starting to jerk me off. Or, imagine him jerking you off - whatever works.] 
I'm not sure how to spell the sound I made, but it went something like 
"Nahhhhgurrrfhruurr" 
which got another laugh from him. Did I mention that his laugh could be a cure 
for every known cause of depression? Trust me on this. 
"You like that, Alex?" 
By this point, I knew that trying to speak was going to be an uphill battle, so 
I nodded my head and closed my eyes. I could feel it as precome started leaking 
from the slit of my cock - kinda like peeing in a warm bathtub, to be 
honest...hope that's not too...I was going to say graphic, but if you're reading 
about a guy getting a handjob from another guy, it's not really a problem, is 
it? What was I saying? Oh yeah, so he traced the tip of my penis with his thumb, 
and I could feel the precome smearing all over the head, and I wanted to tell 
him that not only did I like it, I loved it and wanted a life that consisted of 
nothing more than him touching me like that until one of us died from 
malnutrition. 
I didn't open my eyes until I felt him let go of me. I wanted to ask him what 
the hell he was doing, when I saw that he was kneeling down. Something told me 
he wasn't about to start praying...so I did. I looked at this one ceiling tile, 
and it became my new god. It heard all my wishes, dreams, hopes, confessions and 
the occasional 'hallelujah' because that's when he put his lips around my cock 
and started giving me the only blow job that has ever been worthy of a Nobel 
Peace Prize. Think about it - if every man was too busy getting their dicks 
sucked, no one would have the time to fight, right? Well, it works for me, 
anyway. 
My knees went weak - imagine that - and if there hadn't been a desk behind me, I 
could have fallen on him hard enough to kill him or at least really hurt the 
both of us. I don't think worker's comp would have covered that kind of injury, 
so I was grateful for the support. When he went down on me completely, I 
breathed in so hard and fast, my lungs should have exploded. Luckily for me, I 
just got lightheaded because I forgot to exhale...but I did eventually when he 
made me come. It's hard to scream without expelling air from your lungs, you 
know. Not to use a tired cliché, but I saw stars. That could have been from the 
previous lack of oxygen, but I choose to believe it was Fox's mouth sucking on 
my dick like it was the world's biggest sunflower seed. That tongue was 
everywhere, the lips were tight enough to matter but not enough to remind me of 
a Hoover (vacuum or J. Edgar, take your pick, though I'm not educated on how the 
J-man gave head), and he'd worked his hand between my legs, cupping my balls as 
if he was deciding if he should throw the curve or knuckle pitch. 
He didn't care that I sounded like the soprano section of my high school choir 
when I came. When I felt myself totally lose control of my favorite body parts, 
I shot my come down his throat and expected to see his head whip backwards from 
the force. He kept sucking and making these really sexy noises, though, and I 
put my hand on his hair as he continued to devour me. A split second later, he 
lifted his eyes to look into mine, and I knew I was a goner. No one could have 
resisted that gaze, but considering the crush I'd been nursing for some time, I 
was really done for. Too soon, he stood up and kissed me. I must admit I tasted 
better mixed with him than those damn seeds, but I've never been accused of 
being modest. 
"Did that work?" 
I frowned because I wasn't sure what he wanted me to say. 'Hell, yeah' seemed a 
bit too simple. He clarified. 
"Did that help make it up to you?" 
This time I laughed at him and nodded my head. I pulled him to me and buried my 
face in his neck, smelling traces of sweat and his cologne. I remember feeling 
the material of his trousers rubbing against my cock, and I wondered why he 
wasn't hard. Then he moved to the side a little, and I felt something hard say 
hello, nice to meet ya. I started to undo his fly when he put a hand on my arm 
and shook his head. 
"You don't have to do that." 
"I know. I want you to fuck me. Please..." [I don't beg anyone for anything, but 
I figured I may as well go for the Grand Slam.] 
"Are you sure?" [Hey, the man can't be brilliant all the time.] 
"Positive." 
He must have believed me because he drew me in for another kiss and let my busy 
hands finish their work. The first time I held his cock in my hands, I vowed 
never to wash them again, then I realized that wasn't practical, especially if I 
ever wanted to pursue my other career path and become a surgeon. Hey, that's 
pretty ironic that I'm in the business of taking lives and at one point I wanted 
to save them, huh? I never thought about that before. Weird. 
Anyway, we continued to kiss, and I started jerking him off. That's when he 
turned me around quickly and pushed me down over the desk. It happened so fast, 
it made my head spin - don't ask me which one, please - and nothing would have 
been able to wipe the smile off my face. I started to ask him if he had any 
lube, when I felt something cold and smooth being rubbed between the cheeks of 
my ass (why are they called cheeks? When I see people smile, it never reminds me 
of their backsides, but I digress). At that point in my career, before I'd 
graduated from being a mere slut to complete whoredom, I hadn't been with too 
many guys, so when he started to slide a finger inside me, I panicked a little 
and pulled away from him. He was very sweet, though, and rubbed a reassuring 
hand on the small of my back and told me to relax. 
"I'm sorry, Fox." 
"Shh. Don't worry about it." 
He tried again and this time got a little further, but I was biting my lip. I 
mean, I wanted this - *really* wanted this - and I knew that once he started 
fucking me it would be incredible. Unfortunately, it was just kinda painful at 
that point, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to go through with it. Shit, if I 
couldn't take a finger up my ass, how the hell was he supposed to get Mr. Happy 
up there? Hmm, I'm not sure if that's too much information, but I don't care. I 
will spare you the details of the careful, loving way he did finally manage to 
prepare me (let me just say that the man has a gift) and turn to what it felt 
like when he started fucking me. When he put the head of his dick against my 
SHIT!!!! Someone's at my door, and they're going to wake up the entire building 
if I don't answer it. Trust me, I don't want any attention drawn to myself or 
where I live. BRB. 
Fuck! It's him and he looks pissed. How the hell did he find me? I don't care, 
I'll let him in and hope that he doesn't shoot me right away. I'll finish this 
later...unless he should happen to kill me. It's a chance I'm willing to take, 
and if he does, just remember that I told you I love him. Three simple, 
straightforward words, right? 
END 



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