Title: Blue Christmas
Summary: Angst, PWP and Extreme Possibilities at Christmas.
Notes: My beta warned me but I didn't listen.
Somehow, he was there, standing in the darkened living room. Dressed simply in white shirt and black pants, he was tall, rangy, his limbs completely still but implying the sensuality lying coiled just below the surface. Thick dark hair lay in immaculate order but only barely, as if the slightest touch would tousle it to an even greater perfection. The full lower lip pouted slightly, a challenge and a promise. Deceitfully light eyes smouldered under heavy lids, waiting for a spark to ignite them to full blaze. Even at rest he was compelling, demanding complete attention without a word or gesture.
My God, thought Mulder. It's Elvis.
December 24, 1997
The apartment looked much as it always did, a light crop of clutter growing around the edges. The only evidence of the seasonal frenzy that claimed most of the nation was a lone candy cane, still wrapped but cracked into two, lying amidst the detritus on the coffee table.
Special Agent Fox Mulder sat on the couch, nursing a bottle of beer and flicking through TV channels. *click* The Cunninghams invited Fonzie over so he wouldn't have to spend Christmas alone, eating cold ravioli out of a tin. *click* Linus put his blanket around the pitiful little tree. *click* There's got to be a Star Trek rerun on somewhere. *click*
"We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."
Watching "Best of Both Worlds" for the tenth time, Mulder found himself envying Picard, Locutus of Borg. Sure they had taken him apart, put him back together in their own image, used him against the people he loved, but at least he had known they were doing it. Starfleet's finest would never believe the fucking lie.
Mulder made a half-hearted attempt to stop that line of thought before it started, but he wanted to brood, he enjoyed the pain because right now it was all he had. He had functioned well the last few months, using something like muscle memory to keep his body and mind working on the X-Files like they always had, while he put off trying to rebuild his shattered belief system. Having Scully back on the job had helped immeasurably and they had slipped back into their old partnership as though many things had never happened. But she was reinventing herself too and who knew how they would both end up?
It wasn't the holiday season itself that made him so introspective, at least he didn't think so. He had been alone other years and perfectly happy to be so. Rather, it was the disruption of routine, normal programming replaced with Christmas specials, radio invaded by cheesy renditions of Christmas carols, all synthesisers and schmaltz, the candy cane with his rent receipt. It breached his carefully constructed containment field and so he sat and wallowed in his despair, too tired for decontamination procedures.
Mulder switched off the TV and drank up, wanting the beer to fill the hole in his gut. He put the bottle down and got up to get another. And saw him standing there.
It was Elvis, it really was. Mulder had seen more than his share of impersonators in his day and he knew no one could achieve this kind of accuracy. But this was the young Elvis, the unjaded country boy, unlined and unspoiled. And he was standing in Mulder's living room.
"Mr. Mulder," he said and any doubt about the impossible being true vanished in that instant. It was his voice. "You needed me so I came."
"You came? Where from? I don't understand..."
"When people need me, I come. And you need me now. I know what you're feeling. They hurt you bad. They took away your faith, sir, you need faith. You have to believe in something."
Mulder swallowed hard at the naked empathy in that beautiful face. How could he know?
"You'll find your faith someday. You'll look until you find it. But until then," he moved at last, crossing the floor to where Mulder stood, "believe in me."
Believe in me? What is that supposed to mean? What is going on?
Mulder drew a deep breath, preparing to voice his thoughts. Elvis reached out and put his hand to Mulder's face and suddenly all the questions were gone. Where those fingers touched his skin, he could feel some sort of power, some charge tingling there.
Mulder reached out with both hands, surprised at his own boldness, and took the other man's shoulders. The circuit was completed and he could feel the current, the force, the what is it? enter his body. And he began to burn.
"I'll help you believe," Elvis said and kissed him. In a moment they were wound around each other, mouths open, tongues tangling, hands moving through hair and over limbs. Strong and joyful desire pulsed through Mulder's body, waking every nerve and intensifying every touch. He felt his erection, suddenly and insistently hard, and the answering hardness in the body pressed closely to his own, the body, the young, firm, electrifying body of a man made for sensuality. The deftly moving hands, skill honed on musical instruments, now played Mulder's sensitive flesh. The full, sultry lips, source of that magical voice, now sang their sweet song on Mulder's mouth. The lean hips, infamous for their gyration, now ground uncensored and uninhibited against Mulder's own.
Mulder all at once realised the hands on his torso were tugging at his t-shirt, pulling it up. He moved back and raised his arms to let it slide off, then began to remove Elvis's white shirt, running his hands up the warm chest and easing it over the dark head. He brushed his palms over erect nipples, then gasped as he felt Elvis begin to nuzzle at his neck, licking, sucking, nipping at the sensitive skin. The caresses moved lower and he shuddered, closing his eyes, as Elvis bit and kissed his nipples, sharp pleasure from the slight pain.
Then he was being brought into the bedroom, carried along by the younger man's continuing kisses. Once inside, Mulder found himself quickly shucking his pants and underwear, freeing his urgent erection, hungrily watching Elvis do the same. Elvis pulled Mulder against him, forcing a gasp from him as their erections rubbed together. They fell onto the bed and Mulder gave himself up to sensation as he felt hands in his hair, moving down his chest, sliding up his thighs.
It was all so fast, no leisurely candle lit seduction, but a fire burning out of control. Mulder felt himself being consumed by the flames as Elvis ran his fingers over Mulder's sensitive cock, fondled his heavy balls, and gently pushed a finger, now lubricated somehow, into his tight anus. Another finger joined the first, stretching and preparing. Then the questing fingers withdrew, and with a firm grip, Elvis swung Mulder's legs over his shoulders and slowly, easily entered him. There was a brief moment of discomfort but Mulder welcomed it and soon it passed. Elvis began a slow rhythm, matching each thrust with a stroke of his fist on Mulder's shaft.
And then, amazingly, unbelievably, he began to sing. Accompanied only by the tempo of his own body, Elvis Presley sang and all Mulder could do was try to hold back his own climax, needing that smoky, sweet, aching, caressing voice more than he needed release: "Love Me Tender," "Fools Rush In," Don't," "Always On My Mind," "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" Mulder's hands clenched on the sheets as he listened with his whole body. The music stopped and his closed eyes flew open in alarm. He can't stop now! But when the gaze in that beautiful face sought and held his, it began again.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound-- That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, Was blind but now I see.
And Mulder came and it was like the soul was drawn almost out of his body as the semen pumped out over his chest and Elvis was coming too and his seed poured deep within Mulder's body and Elvis was inside him everywhere and the emptiness was being filled and each spasm pulled him further and further open and closed. He began to sob and suddenly they were lying together side by side, Mulder crying with deep wracking gasps and Elvis holding him as Mulder's tears ran down to mingle with the semen cooling on his body.
"It's OK, it's OK now." Again those hands stroked Mulder but now they calmed and soothed. "I'm inside you now. I'm with you." And it was so, at least something was there, some modicum of peace, some central foundation against which he could rest for awhile.
"Thank you." Mulder looked at Elvis and saw a deep pain in the eyes that had been so clear before. It was shocking, it was familiar--it was his own sorrow that looked back at him.
"No, Elvis! Don't! You don't have to do that!"
"That's what I do, Mr. Mulder. When people need me, I come." He winked at the double entendre. "Believe and you'll find the truth." Once more, he touched Mulder's face and then he was gone.
My God! thought Mulder again. What is going on? Am I going crazy? Hallucinating? His body told him otherwise; someone had fucked him, anyhow. He entertained the thought of DNA testing for a moment, but...
No one would believe this even if I did prove it. It's completely ridiculous. But it's mine.
Sticky, but unwilling to shower away the experience just yet, Mulder padded naked out into the living room. There on the coffee table was a kitschy china box that hadn't been there before, sporting the usual painted bust of Elvis. Mulder grinned and opened the lid. The tinny notes of "Blue Christmas" began to play. The box was full of sunflower seeds.