Work Text:
The subject was the message.
//No one shot you yet, bitch?//
Mulder smiled. Krycek missed him.
He hit reply to the obscure Lithuanian e-mail server, and wasn't quite sure that Lithuania had ISPs.
//No, you lacking any more body parts?//
The message was almost instantaneously returned.
//Fuck off//
Mulder actually sat down at his computer. His cock thickened slightly, waking up from its long hibernation. Krycek had been gone almost a month.
//promises, promises//
He sent it and realized he was hitting the send/receive button like a skinner rat. That didn't stop him.
//do you still have them// Krycek finally sent.
Mulder didn't even have to ask. He shivered, opening up the desk drawer and took out the pair of leather gloves.
//yes//
He hit send, and then slowly tugged them on. They were meant for a smaller hand with more delicate fingers, but he was patient. The butter-soft leather encased his hands so tightly it made every square inch of his skin was aware of the leather. He rubbed his thumb against his forefinger, and inhaled the smell that followed his lover around.
Mulder almost forgot to check for the next message.
//take off your shirt.
i want you to pinch your nipples for me//
Mulder was already down to typing with one hand; he had no idea what Krycek was doing. The day had finally cooled off into night, and his hand brushed against him as he pulled his shirt off.
The accidental touch of leather against his skin made his cock jump. He threw his shirt behind him and then started to play. The leather was soft against him, and it almost burned his flesh as he pinched and twisted. His sweats tented, but he ignored the attention-grabbing tactic.
He hit the reply key with one hand and let his finger push down the m key for a couple lines. He sent it.
The reply took a while to return; Mulder amused himself. He still didn't touch his cock, and the grey material started to darken. Sweat trickled down the small of his back. He sent his own message.
//What about you?//
He sent it just as Krycek's response arrived.
//good boy
open yr mouth + say ah//
Mulder actually laughed at that one. Poor Krycek, who had to stop to type. Krycek loved having his fingers sucked with the gloves on or without. Mulder ran his index and forefinger over his lips and then parted them, working his tongue over the soft leather.
Krycek's message was simple,
//do it//
Mulder yanked down his slacks, but it was too late. At the touch of the leather, he was gone. He barely wrapped his fingers around his cock and he was flying, fucking himself even as he came. The soft heat from the leather felt too good, but eventually it became too painful to continue. He slumped down on his chair, feeling boneless. Once his breathing lost the raspiness to it, he checked his email.
//get those dry-cleaned for me, will you?//
Mulder's response came back from the mail daemon as no known recipient.