The Edge

by Shannon

(198 words)

Lowering his zipper, gravel crunches beneath my knees.

"Unh uh," he says, looking down at me.

"Bend over," he instructs, and I turn, the last thing I see over my shoulder, his cock slipping out of his fly.

Ripping my pants down, he falls behind me to the sound of sirens screaming across wet streets.

"I'm not carrying," he tells me, and in the silence after, he's rubbing the tip of his penis over the determined pucker of my hole.

Cars pass just feet away, their lights like insects flashing by on electric wings, and Mulder gathers saliva in the back of his throat and spits, hitting the mark:  hard, ready dick and tight, trembling anus pressed together.

"Alex," he whispers, and I know his eyes are closed and he's half mad.

Nothing but his spit and cock juice, nothing but grease-warmed flesh gripping him as he pushes in.

Teetering on the edge of the world, the seam in the alley pavement separating us from the street, from sanity, from hell, we rock, two bodies interlocked in the darkness, just enough slick to last ten raw seconds until we skirt too close to the ledge and fall again.

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