I'll Say I'm Sorry When I'm Through Apologizing

by D Sidhe Erika

Disclaimers and Apologies: I don't own either of these boys. Nonetheless, I am stealing them for long enough to use them to apologize to people I have been a jerk to. If this seems unfair to you, it is. But at least they get some sex and some giggles. David is real, Jenny is not, and I suppose I should apologize to John Keel for the indirect mockery. Apologies also to Ben Edlund. The legends of the Mapinguari are real, as for the creature itself I cannot say. Theories, facts, and sounds are all faithfully reproduced. The title and the summary are from the Uncle Bonsai song "I Owe You An Apology". I apologize to them, too.

Archive: If you want it, take it.

Author's Note: Well, it's like this. I get a lot of mail, from various sorts of people who are involved with various of my hobbies. I tend to be fairly awful about actually answering my mail in a timely fashion. And about a month or so ago, I lost a whole pile of mail in what I'm referring to as The Great Email Disaster of 'Aught Three. This story is dedicated to them, the involuntarily voiceless. Or at least the slash-reading contingent. To all of you, and everyone else, I hope you enjoy the story, because, well, I owe you an apology.

Summary: "I'll apologize again if that is what you want from me..."

"Just for tonight," the voice coaxed. "One night, it's not that big a deal."

Temptation, get thee behind me, he thought. Trouble was, the voice was already behind him. Lying--let's not mince words, sprawled--on his couch. And though he'd been doing his damndest not to look, Mulder just knew the devil was--god!--naked. Almost naked. Those leather fingerless gloves, oh! Mulder ground one foot into the other to keep from looking. It didn't really help. He'd memorized the image long ago, and it rose quite unbidden in his mind.

Work, he told himself. Work. Virtue triumphed, at least briefly. "That's what you said last time," he shot over his shoulder, keeping his eyes averted from what he knew was a wicked grin.

"And didn't I show you a good time," Frohike, Mel Frohike, old friend, comfortable fuckbuddy and current enticement, asked silkily. "Much better than some boring old report."

Mulder's already-swelling dick gave a jerk. There was no arguing with that. But there was a report, two articles, and seven letters between Fro's wicked grin and his crow of triumph.

"Much better," Frohike chuckled, and Mulder heard him rise from the couch, moving closer. At least the report and the letters, then...

"It can wait until tomorrow."

"That's easy for you to say," Mulder retorted. "You don't have Skinner breathing down your neck."

Hot breaths at his ear. "Neither do you," came the low chuckle. "You have me." Hands slid down Mulder's shoulder to his chest, already toying with the top button of his shirt. A single nip at the earlobe. "And aren't you glad you do."

One gloved hand lingered, the scent of leather and sweat seducing him, as the other hand slid down his arm, pulling it slightly behind him. A noise he recognized too late--

--"I don't even want to know where you had those."--

--and Frohike, still chuckling, slipped cold metal around Mulder's wrist, click, pulled it against the arm of the chair, click, and muttered into the agent's ear, "Type with one hand. I'm sure you're good at it."

This was a new and, given that Mulder had a spare key to the cuffs in the desk, possibly less-than-effective tactic. His rapidly overheating brain instantly offered a vital bit of information without which he could not possibly complete the report, and damn all, Scully was surely already asleep by this hour, no sense in calling her, not till morning, that only left the letters and they could wait and let's see where Mel might be going with this--

Single-handed, Frohike had already loosened enough buttons to reach inside the half-opened shirt, gloved palm rubbing gently against Mulder's chest and clever fingers plucking lightly at one nipple. Lips against his ear again. "You're not typing," Frohike teased. "What about this report that's so important?"

"I can't write it until I know the exact diagnosis of our third victim," Mulder said virtuously, if a little strained.

Frohike laughed derisively. "Skinner'll buy that." The other gloved hand was back again, playing with the thick hair at the back of Mulder's head, curling round to that spot behind his other ear...

Mulder fought back a purr. "I still have some letters to reply to," he choked out, though at this point the letters were pretty close to the last thing on his mind. He spared a brief mental apology for the letter writers, a promise to get to them tomorrow--after the Gunman had left--and struggled to look like a man who cared more about his email than his dick.

Frohike chortled, not buying it at all. "I'm sure that's vitally important."

"I have a responsibility to these people," Mulder started.

Mel tugged on his earlobe. "You also have all day tomorrow."

Mulder stifled a low moan. It was a good point, and he wasn't exactly in best debating form at the moment, so he didn't bother. But a little frustration, a little protest always made it better. He gathered himself. "These people took the time," he said sternly, "to write to me. I should at least--oh!"

That hand again, teasing his nipple... "Yeah?" Frohike asked his hair.

"I should..."

Hand moving lower, undoing more buttons as it went... "You should?"

Mulder took a deep breath. "I should show them I appreciate it," he said firmly.

Frohike moved around him, sliding his lips down the smooth shoulder and across the expanse of torso, one hand coming to rest on Mulder's hip, the other having slipped down to the button of his pants. "Appreciation," he muttered against Mulder's belly. "That's good. Show me you appreciate this..."

"Oh, God." Mulder tried not to groan. Unsuccessfully. He closed his eyes and threw his head back against the chair, waiting, waiting... Waiting.

"Mel!" It came out more desperately than he intended, and it suddenly occurred to him just who was being frustrated here. He didn't need to look to know the little bastard was grinning. A single finger moved back and forth along Mulder's fly. He considered screaming but bit his lip instead, determined not to give any more ground than he already had.

Frohike snickered. "You're dying here, aren't you."

Mulder grunted. "I'm fine," he said in a commendably normal voice. "Thinking about my email."

"Sure you are." The finger traced Mulder's erection insistently. "Why don't I let you get back to that."

Mulder swallowed, mouth suddenly dry from the raw invitation in tone that belied the older man's words. The finger had been joined by another, and Mulder was amazed he could think at all.

"Yeah," he managed in a thick voice. "Maybe you should do that. I got this letter..." It was the last thing in the world he wanted, the last thing in the world he wanted to think about, but he knew Frohike wasn't ready to abandon the game just yet.

The fingers on his dick never hesitated as the other hand slid down to the button again. Mulder swallowed a prayer that this time wasn't a tease.

"Yeah? What letter?" Fro's talented lips asked against Mulder's still-clothed leg. The lips wandered around a knee and Mulder found himself obligingly spreading as Frohike followed the trail up his inner thigh. Dry cleaning was a small price to pay for this kind of treatment.

"A woman..." Mulder held his breath as a nose planted itself in the crease of his pants, tongue snaking out to nudge at his balls through the cloth.

"A woman," Mel coaxed, slightly muffled, finally--finally--unbuttoning him. Fingers slipped inside the waistband, found Mulder's boxers, tugged at the elastic and stopped.

Mulder let out his breath on a sigh. "Keel," he said, resignedly. "Jenny Keel. She's, uh, mounting an expedition, to go look for the, uh, Mapinguari."

The longer Mel stayed still, the easier it was to regain some measure of control. And the longer Mulder was in control, the better the chance that Frohike would lose his own. And just once, Mulder wanted Frohike to be the desperate one.

After a moment, Frohike looked up at him. "Mapinguari," he repeated rather distantly.

Mulder sensed an exploitable weakness and went for it. "It's a seven foot Amazonian monster with shaggy red hair and huge claws."

Frohike blinked. "Oh. A cryptid."

"Yeah. It's described as smelling like rotting garlic and fetid peccary." Mulder feigned enthusiasm.

There was a long, contemplative silence. "Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"What the fuck does a fetid peccary smell like?"

Mulder's shrug brought the head of his dick into contact with Frohike's fingertips. He gasped and bucked into it slightly. Frohike smirked and slid his fingers a little farther down, bringing his thumb to tease the zipper down a fraction.

Mulder rocked against his fingers, breathing shallowly. "She's--" His voice was a little high, and he cleared his throat and tried again. "She's looking for info--" That sounded better. "For any info I have about it, or the Oren expeditions..."

A quiet ticking sound and he looked down to see Mel's other hand tugging at his zipper. Mulder licked his lips and tried not to beg.

"Oren?" Frohike asked, pulling at Mulder's boxers.

"David Oren," he said distractedly. "Ornithologist..." He helpfully lifted a little and then he was wonderfully free, pants around his ankles.

Frohike pushed Mulder's knees apart again, repositioning himself so that his own erection was hard and hot against Mulder's leg. The natural thing was to reach down and guide Frohike's head, Frohike's mouth, just a little closer--and the cuffs rattled. Mulder swore. Frohike looked up again and grinned.

Mulder sighed. "It had to be my right hand, didn't it."

"Why?" Frohike asked innocently. "Were you planning to use it for something?"

Mulder grunted. "My nose itches." He closed his eyes against the smirk, only to open them wide when Frohike delivered a well-placed lick. A couple more slow strokes before he took the head of Mulder's dick into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.

"Ah, God, Fro--" Frohike took him deeper and left him moaning contentedly.

Well before Mulder was ready, Frohike disengaged and rested his stubbled chin on one knee. "Mulder? An ornithologist?"

Mulder stared at him incredulously. "You're enjoying this, aren't you," he accused.

A laugh. "Aren't you?"

"I was," Mulder said pointedly.

"I thought you were busy."

"I'm taking a break."

Frohike grinned. "So am I."

Mulder sighed and--with his left hand--reached forward and pulled the older man's glasses off. He set them on the desk and returned his hand to make small scratches against the stubble on Mel's jaw with his thumb. Mel leaned into it, closing his eyes. Mulder was struck by his resemblance to a cat in that moment. He chuckled.

Frohike opened one eye to squint up at him. "What?"

Mulder grinned. "You're enjoying this, aren't you."

Frohike laughed and reached up to cup Mulder's balls in one gloved hand. "Aren't you?"

Mulder couldn't think of an appropriate answer to that. It didn't matter. His hand slid to Frohike's shoulder as he leaned back in and lapped at Mulder's dick again. "Nice," he hissed. Frohike laughed, sending vibrations all the way up his body. Mulder took a deep breath. "Oren believes the Mapinguari is a prehistoric holdover from a giant ground sloth called a Mylodon. Related to a Megatherium, but smaller."

"I've heard of those," Frohike muttered between hungry slurps. Mulder rubbed at his shoulder encouragingly.

"They were in a Tick episode," Mulder admitted. "He's been looking for it since 94."

"Can't find it?" Frohike mumbled, distracted despite himself. He raised his head. "A seven foot sloth and he can't find it?"

Mulder moved his hand up to the back of Frohike's neck, pushing gently. "The Amazon's a big place," he said.

"Sloths are not exactly fast movers," Mel countered. Another nudge and he bent back down again, taking Mulder a little deeper this time.

"Keel..." Mulder concentrated. "She's, uh, uhh, she's--" He swallowed and licked his lips. "She's going down there with cages and traps, and stun guns, trying to catch one..."

"Important stuff," Mel murmured, between slow strokes of tongue and fingers. Mulder half nodded, mesmerized by the seductive tone. "I should probably let you get back to that," he continued. "Wouldn't want this woman getting lost in the Amazon. Wouldn't want that on my conscience."

"Ummm...." was the best he could do. Then Frohike--damn him--gave a last lick to his balls, planted those gloriously gloved palms on his knees, and... stood... up.

The evil smile left Mulder a heartbeat too close and a million miles away from completion. Mulder closed his eyes and panted, acutely aware of the metal on his wrist. Frustration erupted in a groan.

Frohike chuckled, leaning forward and sweeping Mulder's hair out of his face. Fingers tangled into the thick dark strands, tugging gently. The other hand rose to lift Mulder's chin and then Frohike's mouth was on him and he opened to it, tasting himself on the older man's tongue.

When Frohike finally pulled away again, the groan became a pathetic whimper. And it was Mel's smug chuckle, not his crow of triumph, that would follow Mulder to the end of his days.

Frohike was still standing, still hard. Mulder bent... forward... and nuzzled. Frohike thrust into it with a strangled cry, hands tightening on Mulder's scalp. Mulder applied himself diligently. After an eternity that wasn't nearly long enough for either of them, Mel pulled away, gasping for air.

"My God, Mulder. All you had to do was ask."

Mulder's snicker died as Mel dropped to his knees again and mouthed him like he'd never get another chance. Mulder was moaning continuously until Frohike adjusted his angle slightly and expertly deep-throated him.

Then he threw his head back and bellowed, long and loud. "EEERRRROOUUUAAAAAAGH!"

Mel pulled back fast, staring. He was still trying to catch his breath when the younger man grinned down at him.

"Call of the Mapinguari. Said to paralyze its victims at a hundred paces."

Mel closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Mulder," he said quietly. "If you ever do that again..."

Mulder couldn't help laughing.

The older man just sighed. "New rule. No cryptid noises during sex." He thought about it. "You know, I pride myself on being a reasonable man, the sort of easygoing guy who can live and let live, but the longer I'm with you, the more it seems like I'm unwilling to tolerate. No cryptid noises, no discussion of mutilated bodies, no garden implements, no novelty condoms... I'm not sure the problem is me, Mulder."

Mulder managed to control himself. "Just trying to keep things interesting," he chuckled.

Frohike sighed again and rested his head on Mulder's thigh. He slid a finger around the head of Mulder's still-wet dick. "This isn't interesting enough for you?"

Mulder let out a sigh of his own. "You inspire me."

"To Mapinguari noises." The finger kept moving.

"Among other things."

"Like what?" A gloved hand brushed against Mulder's balls and then cupped them gently.

Mulder moaned. "Mind-bending orgasms..."

Frohike laughed. "Were you hoping for one of those?"

"Well, we did seem to be headed there..."

"Before someone distracted me."

Mulder whimpered. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry!"

Frohike leaned in for a single teasing lick. "That sure sounded sincere. But I think it's going to take more than that, Mulder."

They locked eyes for several moments, both of them knowing Mulder was going to break.

Mulder dropped his head. "I'll make it up to you."

"Yeah?" Frohike wasn't letting him off that easily.

"The howl was... uncalled for."

"No kidding."

Mulder thought about pouting, until light fingertips encouraged him. He swallowed. "No more cryptid noises during sex."

"Thank you," Frohike said blandly.

"Mel..." He was just short of pleading.

"Yes?"

"I owe you..." Low, breathy voice.

Mel waited politely.

"An apology."

Frohike considered that. "Is this the sort of apology," he asked thoughtfully, "where you don't talk at all?"

Mulder laughed. "This is any sort of apology you like, Fro."

"Well, we'll talk about that later, then." Mel sounded immensely satisfied.

"Am I forgiven?" Mulder grinned.

"We'll see."

The cuffs rattled, and Mulder put his left hand on Frohike's shoulder. "Now? Please?"

Mel smirked. "I like you like this. We should try this again. Handcuffed, naked. Begging."

"Desperate," Mulder added breathlessly. "Very, very desperate."

"I like that part best."

"Mel..."

"Yes?"

"Pouting."

The tease died hard. Mel groaned, practically climbed up Mulder's body, kissed him hungrily, biting at Mulder's lower lip. His hands roamed Mulder's body restlessly, shoving at the shirt enough to get access to shoulder and back. Mel didn't break the kiss, exactly, just slid it along Mulder's jaw, harsh mutters against smooth skin, a brief detour to tongue the convenient ear, a series of nips at his collarbone that left Mulder moaning. An open-mouthed wet trail down his chest, a not-so-gentle bite to each nipple followed by a soothing pass of soft leather glove.

Mulder closed his eyes and gave himself up to it. When Mel lapped at him this time, he shoved his hand in his mouth. Nothing was going to interrupt this time. Muffled pleadings escaped around his fingers as Mel swallowed, swallowed, took him deep. So long on the edge and it didn't take long with Mel's greedy sucking. He thrust into it as best he could, cuffs shaking, wanting nothing more than to grab Mel's head and push...

He bit down on his hand, coming hard. Mel stayed with him, taking it all, stroking his twitching thigh muscles, finally moving away for air. He rested his head on Mulder's still heaving belly.

"Hey, Mulder..."

"Yeah?" Still floating, just starting to come down.

"I, uh, hope you've got a key for these things."

end


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