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Alex had been expecting something to happen ever since he had been given an extreme close up of one of Mulder's Gunmen friends on his monitor. It had been too much to hope that his surveillance would go unnoticed for long with Mulder's (wholly justified) paranoia - the bigger shock was that they had not removed it at once. They'd clearly told Mulder about the camera as he'd looked directly towards it a few times with a tired and vaguely irritated expression.
Mulder's extreme involvement with his current case (he'd pretty much only been returning to his flat to pass out for a few hours) and a certain resignation about the whole under-observation issue seemed the most likely reasons that Alex's little spying endeavour had continued after it had been caught by the bug sweep. Although Alex didn't rule out the possibility that Mulder had left it up as a twisted kind of security system. After double checking the feed twice he was pretty sure that Mulder's little band of geeks weren't piggybacking on the signal and, with that assurance, had decided not to worry about it. If he couldn't catch them then the Consortium probably couldn't either so they were welcome to ride along, if they were, and watch endless hours of Mulder's empty living room. Luckily he had learnt patience somewhere along the way - but then he'd only checked the feed the second time out of complete and total boredom.
The rattle of the door over the microphone made him perk up and check his watch - Mulder, if it was Mulder, was home early. If it wasn't they were doing a really shoddy job of breaking in.
And, yes, Mulder with Scully in toe, the later looking immaculate next to Mulder's complete disarray. The case had clearly reached its inevitable, and inevitably unsatisfactory, conclusion. It had to be bad if Scully had felt it necessary to take him home and tuck him in. But was it Ed Wood movie marathon bad or Flesh Gordon bad? Alex revised Mulder's mental state upwards as Scully chivvied him into the bathroom for a a shower and reminded him through the closed door that he'd promised her he'd eat. His reply of "Yes, Mother" had sounded chirpy enough and Alex hadn't worried as she had taken her leave when she'd heard the shower come on (after first propping up the take away menu on the table where he was unlikely to miss it - Alex had to give her points for that).
Alex was a little surprised when Mulder wandered out into the living room with a towel wrapped carelessly around his waist. He looked good - no obvious injuries. The endgame this time around had clearly been relatively benign. He heard the chuckle as Mulder spotted the menu. Not that he needed it; the number was on speed-dial and even Alex could have recited his usual order by that point. The phone went back in its cradle, job done, and Mulder made himself comfortable on the sofa with a beer and started channel flicking. That was pretty much Alex's signal to make himself comfortable for the evening as well.
Ten minutes later Mulder still hadn't settled on anything and was beginning to get fidgety. Stabbing his finger down viciously on the off button of the controlled he tossed it aside.
'Now,' Alex thought, 'which video collection will it be?'
But Mulder didn't move, just sat there rubbing his neck in an effort to massage loose some of the frustration of the day. Giving up he let his hand flop down into his lap. Slowly Mulder's head tipped back, resting on the sofa and Alex wondered if he was going to fall asleep waiting for his Chinese. The movement was so subtle at first that Alex nearly missed it; Mulder's hand chafed slightly at the rough terry cloth of his towel. The action was just growing more noticeable - more purposeful - when Mulder stopped and glanced towards the camera.
'Ah,' Alex thought, 'just remembered didn't you.'
The scene in the video link was frozen into a photograph - 'portrait of frustration' by A. Krycek, with special thanks to model, F. Mulder. Then the illusion was broken as Mulder stood up angrily. With a glare at the camera he kicked the end of the couch. It jerked around, lining up almost directly central to Alex' field of vision.
"What are you up to, Mulder?" Alex muttered to himself. "Decided to do something about your little fly-on-the-wall finally, have you?"
However, as Alex watched, Mulder threw himself back onto the rearranged sofa. He'd come to expect Mulder's rather unpredictable responses to any situation but even he was a little shocked when he deliberately untucked his towel and let it fall open. It was hardly the first time Alex had seen Mulder naked, or even in a state of arousal, he'd been doing his job for more than long enough to catch a porn marathon, or phone chat session, or ten. But the calculation of Mulder's action was new and added a fresh dimension to proceedings. Did Mulder know who was watching him, Alex wondered. Or was he putting on a show for any snooping eyes that might be watching. As acts of defiance went, Alex had to acknowledge the creativity and intent. If it had been the old men bugging the apartment then Mulder would have been playing to a distinctly unappreciative, uncomfortable and obligated audience. Of course, if it had been the old men who had set the bugs then Mulder would have been handing them prime blackmail material so that would have been something of a win-some, lose-some scenario.
And, fuck, Mulder was stroking himself, slowly and purposefully, staring at the camera the entire time. Alex flicked a look at the controls to confirm that this was recording. At a later date, when he didn't have a job to do, he wanted to be able to study this particular footage very closely. He pulled his gun from its holster and placed it on the table next to his hand, the Freudian implications didn't escape him and he shifted uncomfortably as his hardening cock found itself constricted by his trousers. As much as he would have like to relive the pressure he couldn't entirely rule out that Mulder's little display wasn't a distraction. He forced himself to ignore both his own discomfort and the streaming video as he checked through his personal security system for any sign of incursion in the area. There was none but he still set the diagnostic tools that he had installed running in case the attack was electronic rather than physical.
Precautions taken, he risked a look back at the feed to Mulder's apartment and his breath caught in his throat. Mulder was sprawled across the sofa, one leg on the floor and the ankle of the other hooked over the seat back as he fisted his erection. Alex's eyes widened. Apparently there were some sides of Mulder he hadn't seen before - and this was one of them. He checked the other monitors but couldn't stop himself looking back as his peripheral vision caught sight of Mulder reaching down with his free hand and cradling his balls. Under Alex's fascinated gaze he lifted them slightly squeezing them and rolling them between his fingers before reaching further and pushing one finger then a second inside himself.
"Mulder, you are seriously twisted," he told the screen. "Never change."
Where Mulder had got the slick from or whether he was just using spit Alex was looking forward to discovering as soon as he could find the time to watch the recording back and see what he missed. He adjusted himself quickly, not wanting to test his self-control any more than he had to. Mulder was pushing it enough for both of them. That was one of the many disadvantages of solo surveillance - you couldn't step out, or take your eye off the target, for five minutes while your backup covered you. And right at that moment Alex desperately wanted those five minutes (ego demanded at least fifteen minutes but reality was more concerned with the greater embarrassment of coming in his underwear than premature ejaculation).
Did Mulder intend his exhibition as torture, Alex wondered. Because he was doing a damn good job of it if he had. It was always a little hard to tell with Mulder. Alex certainly wasn't about to discount the possibility that the man had taken a few scraps of scanty evidence added a large helping of presumption and come up with another impossible fact. One which happened to be correct. Again. Damn the man.
Damn both of them.
No matter how much he told himself that he needed to stay aware, to not focus on what Mulder was doing, Alex found his attention keep being drawn back to him. The long swimmer's body stretched out before his gaze. Willingly. Wantonly. His cock jerked in sympathy with each pump of Mulder's hand along the fine looking cock he had offered up for display, each twist and thrust of Mulder's long fingers as he fucked himself on them. He wasn't sure if he wanted to feel what that would be like - Mulder on him and in him - or to be the one laying Mulder down like that. Opening him wide with fingers, tongue and cock until he surrendered everything. Alex smiled to himself.
The microphone wasn't sensitive enough to pick up every pant but every so often a particularly emphatic groan was relayed by the system. The moans increased in frequency and urgency as Mulder got closer and a third finger joined the two playing with his arsehole. Alex pressed the heel of his hand hard against his groin in the hope that the edge of pain would relieve some of his arousal. He was going to have a bad enough case of blue balls for the rest of the night as it was. Assuming he didn't end up dead because he was so distracted by the thought of running his fingers alongside Mulder's and what it would be like to have that tight ring of muscle around both of them. It might not have always seemed that way but he had liked working with Mulder. The trick had always been to find a common goal - like finding out just what Mulder's limits were because Alex didn't think he had come close yet.
When Mulder came it was in silence, although Alex suspected that that silence was an illusion of the system. He wondered what it would take to get to see Mulder in all his glory without the intermediary of electronics - to hear those missing breaths, feel them against his cheek as Mulder's body clenched around his.
He continued watching as Mulder sagged back on the sofa, vaguely wiping at his chest and stomach with the towel he was still half-sitting on. It was only the sudden ring of the doorbell that prevented Mulder's lazy dose from slipping into full sleep. To Alex's amusement he sat up in shock - his wild gaze flying around the room before going to the camera. The bell rang again and he let out a shaky breath and a huff of laughter.
"Just a minute!" he called towards the door. A swift dive into his bedroom and he returned, sadly dressed in jogging pants, with his wallet in hand. Alex hoped he tipped well, a few smears of semen were still visible on his skin.
Back on the couch, provisioned and relaxed (evidence: this time when Mulder flicked the television on it didn't take him long to find a channel he wanted), it looked like Mulder was finally settled for the evening. Alex silently wished him a good night as he ultimately hit the mute and dozed off in the flickering light, throw pulled over him and half-eaten Chinese besides him. It was the most unsurprising thing Mulder had done all evening.
Watching over Mulder's sleep Alex tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the tabletop. Even after that evening's display he wouldn't sell his soul for a night with Mulder... but he knew a few people who weren't really using theirs. And, after all, it was for a good cause.
A week later Mulder came home to find a plain white envelope waiting for him. He opened it without thought, mind occupied by a possible case that had grabbed his attention and the desire for food. A mini-SD card fell out and he swore as he grabbed for it and missed. He snatched it from the floor where it had landed with a speed born out of the fear that it would somehow vanish if he didn't have it in his hand. He knew it was a foolish conceit, as if he had been able to prevent them taking anything else from him, but he needed to feel the hard plastic in his hand to be sure it was real and it was his, at least temporarily. On closer inspection it was unmarked and unremarkable but he had expected as much.
The envelope was a little more forthcoming, although not much. Inside a 100 dollar bill, folded in a way more commonly found stuffed into a stripper's g-string, was clipped to a business card. Mulder worked the note free and hidden behind the green folds were the carefully printed words: 'Be seeing you, Tovarish'.
"I'm worth more than than C-Note, Asshole" Mulder told the room in general and flicked his middle finger towards the camera. Still, he was smiling as he went to hunt for something that would read the memory card, case and food forgotten. Some days were good days.