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The Essence That Is You

At Your Pleasure
By Frank Labatay

Your soft, warm skin responds to the
touch of my fingertips;
eyes widen and lips swell in
Knowing that you love my touch just as I
desire your closeness
is an end in itself, my raison d’etre.
... holding your lithe form close,
I am a man.

You look into my eyes and kiss me back
I understand the true joy of a couple in love.
Bringing you happiness fills my heart,
increases my need to share our secrets
and intimate pleasures.
Together or apart, near or far ...
know that I love the essence that is you.


I told him before that he would come to me, eventually. He didn't believe it. Poor Mulder, so eager to believe some fairy tales, so reluctant to acknowledge some facts of life. He was mine from the moment we met. I think he knows that now...

"Never." How many times has he used that word to me? It was almost a litany in the middle and final time before he succumbed to the inevitable. "Never going to want you, never going to need you, never going to let you..."

He still says "never", but in different context now. "Never knew, never guessed, never let go, never stop..." Much more satisfying invocations of that word.

It took a long time, and the road was not smooth. I had to be stern with him at times. I had to hurt him, in order to bring him to the place where he broke through his doubts and fears. Sometimes we hurt the ones we love, all for their own good.

And it IS love, despite what the others, in his world and mine, might say. I know that Scully and Skinner have tried to pull him away from me: her with clinical analysis of my admittedly twisted psyche, him with simple disgust and moral outrage. They haven't succeeded. They won't succeed. He needs me, as much as I need him.

Like now, as we prepare to make love. He's naked already, on the bed, on his belly. He's pillowed his face on his arms, turned away. In some ways, he's still shy with me, even after all we've been through, all that has been taken, and given.

I sit beside him, shirtless, and stroke the long expanse of his back, running my hand down the shallow groove that marks his spine, and I whisper to him, words from the poem I printed off the Internet this morning. It made me think of him. "Your soft, warm skin responds to the touch of my fingertips."

He shivers slightly. I put my hand in his soft hair, gently but firmly turning his face toward me. The hazel eyes are already darkening with passion. His mouth is slightly bruised, lips tender from the ravenous kisses I bestowed before allowing him to strip. "Eyes widen and lips swell in anticipation." I kiss him again, and his lips part eagerly. I remember when I had to hold a gun to his head to win even this small favor. He hasn't been that reluctant for a long time.

I explore the honey sweet interior of his mouth lazily, licking and probing till his tongue writhes in answer, seeking it's place in my own mouth. I welcome it, sucking and biting the tempting morsel.

When he has to pull away for breath, I again let the poet's words speak for me. "Knowing that you love my touch just as I desire your closeness is an end in itself, my raison d’etre."

He surprises me a little when he speaks the next lines, his voice husky. "Holding your lithe form close, I am a man."

I'm touched, and thrilled. He's overcome another obstacle, because this troubled him. He somehow felt that being with me made him less of a man. The homosexual aspect of it was difficult for him at first, but the idea that he could give himself to someone who had hurt him, and betrayed him... That was nearly impossible for him to beat down.

Yes, I did that. I regret it, but it happened. I was different back then. Well, a little. I was owned by the Consortium, I was their creature. If they said hurt him, that was what I had to do. But those days are gone now. Thank God he realizes this, and has forgiven.

As I lean over him, bemused by this revelation, he continues speaking, paraphrasing the poem, but meaning the words. "I look into your eyes and kiss you back ... I understand the true joy of a couple in love."

He lifts himself, his lips seeking mine, and we kiss again. I feel something press into my palm, and look down to find that he has given me the tube of lubricant. His long fingers work at my belt buckle, draw down my fly. He looks into my eyes and says softly, "Just yourself tonight, Alex. I want to really feel you inside me."

I stroke his cheek. "Are you sure? I should open you a little first."

He shakes his head, biting that full lower lip that has always driven me crazy. "No. Just your dick tonight. Please?"

I smile. Now, how on earth could any man say no to that? I open the tube and squeeze out the cool, clear gel. I'm already hard. I was hard from the moment I stepped out of my car on the way to his apartment. He does that to me.

He watches as I slick the greasy substance on my rigid prick, smiling when he sees how much extra I slather on the head. He murmurs, "If you're not careful, you're going to be sliding out on the backstroke."

"If I remember correctly, you're tight enough to hold me in." Again he shivers. I reach over with my anointed hand and smooth some of the lube on the thick, hard cock that is twitching against one long thigh. "There you are, love. That will make things a little nicer for you."

"You're so good to me." There is only a little irony in the words, and it's gentle.

He gets on his hands and knees, but I push down on the base of his spine, urging him back onto his stomach. "If I'm going to fuck you without stretching you first, I'm going to do it shallowly." He starts to protest, and I smack him on the butt, drawing a yelp. "No argument."

"Yes sir."

I caress the slightly pinked flesh. "Anyway, you'll like it. I'll hit your prostate more often." I smack the other cheek, and he yelps again.

"What was that for?"

"Nothing really. You're just so pretty in pink." I push the muscular globes apart, revealing the deep valley, and the tiny puckered opening. As many times as I've fucked him, it never ceases to amaze me how something that small can accommodate my rampant prick. But he does, and does it magnificently, and enjoys it.

We've both been tested, and we're clean, and exclusive, so we don't use condoms much anymore. I'm grateful for that, because I positively worship the way he feels. I fit my cock head against the tight ring of muscle, and pause. "Fox, what's your safe word?"

His fingers are scratching at the sheets in anticipation, his voice is breathy. "Trust."

"Use it if you need to." He nods, and I begin to push.

God, he's so tight, so tight!

I move slowly, teeth gritted. This is as much for myself as to prevent hurting him. He's so tight that it's almost painful for me, even with the lavish application of lubricant.

I hurt him anyway. It's impossible not to, without having loosened him first. The satiny walls of his ass are slowly pushed apart by the rough intrusion of my erection. He makes a soft whine as I sink in, but he doesn't say the word. And when I pass over the almost imperceptible swell of his prostate, the whine morphs into a purr, and I have to smile.

Once I'm seated as deep as I intend to go, I pause to let him adjust. He lies quietly, and I can feel his flesh warming and softening around me. Finally I feel that he's ready, and begin to draw back. He immediately tries to thrust back at me, to recapture the inches that he's lost. I laugh now, and press down on his hips, holding him in place. He mutters a protest, and I scold, "Greedy bastard."

"You're one to talk." For that I pause, glans only trapped inside his body, till he starts to squirm. "Please, Alex!"

I relent, and slide in again with a firm, smooth stroke. I hold him down and fuck him, slowly and gently. He wants to buck back, speed things up, but I don't let him. I'm going to be tender with him, whether he wants it right now or not.

He finally realizes that this isn't going to be one of the fast and furious nights, and accepts it sweetly. His attempts to shove back become small, slow undulations, and I ease my grip, letting him move. He finds my rhythm easily. Oh, we fit together so well. It makes me want to cry when I think of the time that was wasted, truly it does.

Tonight is a bit of a farewell screw. I have to leave tomorrow. Oh, not forever. Not even for long. But it will still be time apart, and neither one of us enjoys that. This is as much to reassure him of my return as anything else.

I slide my hands under him, pushing his busy fingers away so I can caress his lovely, strong cock, stroking him in time with my thrusts. My hands slide easily on the lube; both the commercial one I applied, and the natural one that leaks from the tip of his cock. He whimpers his thanks wordlessly.

I'm nearing the end now, and I begin to speed up. I had told him this would be shallow, but I can't resist. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him up on his knees and settling between his wide spread legs. Now I can plumb deeper, and I do, burying my full length in the narrow, heated channel that's already given me so much pleasure.

His head goes back, that always slightly messy brown hair tossing. He moans deeply. "God, yeah, Alex. Fuck me!"

Does he know how long I waited to hear those words from him? How often I dreamed them? That's why they're almost as precious to me now as the words, "I love you." It's been almost equally hard for Mulder to say them both, and I know he means them. The last minutes of our coupling are as intense as any we've ever shared. I drive myself into him relentlessly, he takes all of me, without reservation. I wordlessly try to tell him with every thrust into his bowels, with every squeeze and stroke to his throbbing prick, that I will be back, I will never leave him, my love will not change, even if the distance between us is great.

I grunt with the last lunge that draws a wail from him, feeling his seed spill over my fast moving hands even as I erupt inside him. "Together or apart, near or far ..."

We collapse in the sticky, sweaty tangle that always results when we share ourselves. I feel the last shudders of his orgasm, feel the milking ripple of his internal muscles, stripping the last drop of cum from my softening prick. Finally I pull out of him, and drop down beside him.

He turns on his side, burrowing his face against my sweat slick chest, tongue softly seeking my still erect and aching nipples. I gain my breath as he licks and sucks. It's more a sign of affection than an attempt to further arouse me now, and I cuddle him close.

I tip his chin up so that his hazel eyes meet mine, and whisper the final line of the poem. "Know that I love the essence that is you."

His smile is slow, sweet, and tender, and I know that he understands...

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