Brothers by Choice by The Riticulan Amanuensis
Title: The Gold in the Glass
Author: The Riticulan Amanuensis
Class: R m/m implied, strong Language
Spoiler: Red and the Black, I guess
Summary: Krycek calls Mulder to a meeting to discuss the coming invasion.
Feedback: Oh please, pretty, pretty please! I'll answer them all, good or bad. This is my first attempt at fan fiction, please be gentle
Quiz: Extra points will be awarded if you can guess the identity of the dark, menacing stranger.
Disclaimer: All things X Files are owned by Chris Charter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I own nothing. I just play with them, honest. When I am I finished playing I just kiss each on the cheek and put them back on their shelf to wait for Mr. Carter to come home again.
I have in mind a continuing series for the boys, this being the first installment. Please archive anywhere, but let me know first, thank you.
The Gold in the Glass
The moist, warm ocean breeze picks up a lock of Mulder's dark hair and swirls it around in a small eddy for a moment before gently placing it back on his head. The scent of pine, in this dark northern forest, is heady and intoxicating and combined with the salt smell of the ocean -just beyond the hills - fills my senses to the critical point.
I have invited Mulder to this place to talk. This place - the locals call it Bras d'Or. Arm of Gold. Gold, just the color Mulder's eyes would be right now, if I could see them, but he's wearing shades - mirror shades. The only thing I see in his eyes is myself; my own green eyes staring back at me - my own desperation visible. My own desire. Does Mulder see it, I wonder?
Mulder has made one concession to our out-of-the-way meeting: gone is the Armai, replaced with button down jeans and a T. Gone too is the gun, we've agreed on that. A milestone is reached - we've agreed on something.
On this hot summer day we arrive, moments apart, at this outdoor café. The locals make note of our presence - all talk ceases for a few moments. They soon go back to talking of their crops or the state of the latest fishing catch, hardly giving us another moment's notice. Except for one other. A tall, dark, dangerous-looking man. Dressed exactly as I am and he, too, is wearing mirror shades - denying me a look into his soul. His flattened down black hair and dark, swarthy complexion gives him a look of vicious menace. For a moment I think they have found me. But just for a moment. I put my most vacuous look on my face and when he sees me looking, his face takes on a totally different aspect - it brightens somehow as though acknowledging my presence. He takes off his shades which allows me a look into the dark pools of his eyes and this puts my mind to rest. His body language tells me he's is no threat - funny for him to pick up on my apprehension in this Elysian setting. We acknowledge each other with the briefest of nods and I decide, in a heartbeat, that he isn't trouble; he is simply a watcher. And watch he does. Funny though, the kind of connection I feel to this man. I can't explain it but the feeling is strong.
When we take our seats, Mulder orders coffee and I order something stronger, something gold -something to fortify me for what is to come. Swirling the gold in my glass, I take my first sip, spiraling the strong spirit over my tongue, allowing myself the first taste of this peat-bog ambrosia, using my tongue again to push it back toward my throat, enjoying the burn. It occurs to me that I have been enjoying the gold in my glass just a little too often these days. I put this observation in the back of my mind for examination later.
Far below us the inland-sea coils though the high hills like a cobra. A living thing. The jade colored water sparkles in the noonday sun giving it a rich gem-like quality. The snake moves on, passing smallish farm plots and small summer cottages, and it gives me a feeling of wonderment - the likes of which I haven't felt in a long, long time.
Mulder sips his rich coffee looking everywhere but at me.
I reach for his hand, and use a finger to caress the dark hoary down I find there. My strong, callused fingers caress his long, artistic ones. This brings his attention back to me. I begin speaking then of alien invasions, Armageddon, resist or serve, live or die. I know that he is watching my mouth move but is not hearing my words. On his face is firmly planted that yada, yada, yada, been there, done that look.
"Why did you bring me here, Krycek?"
My mouth moved to answer his question.
"Why did you kill my father?"
Typical. Expected. Fearful question. How could I even begin to explain it to him so that he could understand my actions - I'm no saint by any means, but how could I explain that I did it for him? I couldn't. I killed the only father Mulder had ever known. Even if the self-righteous bastard deserved it, Mulder would never understand - not really. But would he ever forgive. Forgive he might, but forget - never. Never justify, never explain had been my motto - at least up till now.
I just looked upon his pain, knowing that he could never see mine. Knowing he could never acknowledge the price I've paid - for it might just lessen his own.
He jerks his hand away from me and I feel it like a stabbing in my heart.
"Your father was not the man you thought he was," I said. "I was sent there to warm him not to harm him - to warn him not to tell you anything that might be dangerous for you to hear."
Mulder turns his face away from me, dismissing me and my answer. His lips are drawn in so close to his teeth that his mouth looks like a bloody gash on his face.
"Why did you kiss me?"
Now that one did surprise me; not the one I expected at all. I reach for his hand again, and this time he lets me cover it with my own. Funny the things you think about at times like this. Right then I was thinking what this must look like to the casual observer. Could they be getting the worm fuzzies thinking that we might be two brothers, one giving the other comfort over a recent loss? Or maybe, two boyhood friends finally meeting after a long separation. No one could guess what we really are.
And I certainly I couldn't tell him the truth. Not that I didn't want to. Could I speak of love, long years of desire, deep, deep respect? No. He wouldn't believe me, anyhow.
I lean forward then, placing my arms on the table and lean toward him, placing my lips next to his ear. I am so close now that when I breathe I can feel the small hairs on his ear moving. I think I detect a small shiver going through his body but don't know if it's from anger or something else entirely.
"Want me to do it again?" I ask.
Mulder pretends he doesn't hear, but I see the quick flash of anger on his face. And just as quickly, it is gone.
"The hills, Krycek, they look like fortresses," he said. He had taken off his sunglasses by now and I could see his eyes, darting from mountain to towering mountain. The rich luxury of the overgrown forests there presented a deep, deep emerald green. I wonder what color he sees when he looks.
"They look like the ones you see in Europe, or in old Hollywood movies!"
I look but all I see is forest.
"Mulder, we have to talk!" He ignores me. My fingers are still playing with the small black hairs on the back of his hand. He seems to enjoy it.
"The clouds are advancing armies, can't you see it, Alex? Look." His other arm makes an expansive gesture toward the high white clouds in the sky.
He is staring at them as though they are the greatest prize in God's creation.
"The invasion, Mulder, we have to do something about the invasion."
"Krycek, look!" He points down to the sea then, indicating the small sailboats and yachts that are lazily meandering along.
I look where he is pointing and then speak. "The invasion, Mulder, we don't have much time!"
His eyes look feral. He gives me that look - the look that says so much and, in reality, says nothing at all. The look that says why are you so stupid? Why can't you see this?
The slight breeze has set his hair in motion again, his mouth; his eyes, his eyes...and my heart skips a beat with desire.
"Look at them Krycek, they are beautiful."
I look at him perplexed, not able to say anything.
"Why did you betray me, Krycek? I almost trusted you. . . you bastard. Do you know how many people I trust, Alex? I can count them on two fingers. But I almost trusted you?"
His use of my name is soothing to me somehow - almost intimate. I feel like I'm being stroked, and I love it. I will gladly take anything this man is willing to give.
"But, Mulder, the invasion..."
"I don't believe. . ." He says his while the sound of his voice is trailing off into nothingness.
Mulder quiets then, giving his full, undivided attention to his coffee. Many seconds of hurtful silence pass before he speaks again.
"I hate you, Krycek." Softly spoken.
My face jerks back as though it was slapped. "I know, Mulder"
These were the saddest words I have ever spoken in my life.
His turns his face towards the mountains again. "The hills are the fortresses. . .the clouds are the armies. . . and the sail-boats are the navy. This, Alex, is your invasion. Your only invasion!"
Of all the things I am, of all the things I will admit to myself, the one thing I can admit - I can admit when I am beaten. And I am beaten now.
He looks at me, his eyes full of pleading. "Why the fuck did you have to kiss me?"
I couldn't answer.
He finishes his coffee, throws a few coins on the table and gets up to leave.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"For a walk," he spits back at me, his voice full of venom.
I have no choice but to follow.
Title: Brothers By Choice II - In a Mountain Greenery
Pairing: Mulder/Krycek slash
Legal: All things X Files belong to 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. They aren't mine. I just take them down and play with them for a little while. When I am done I give each a kiss on the cheek and place them on their shelf to await Mr Carter's coming home again.
General: This is a continuation of a previous story entitled "Gold in the Glass". It may make things clearer if you read that one first.
Spoilers: Red and the Black, Tunguska
Summary: Mulder goes for a walk, Krycek is in hot pursuit.
Warnings: NC-17 for m/m interaction
Again I would like to thank by beta reader, Griffin Grimes. Without whose work, above and beyond the call of duty, this story would have never been realized.
Archive anywhere, but just let me know where it ends up.
In a Mountain Greenery
By The Riticulan Amanuensis
Mulder walks quickly away from the cafe and I am in hot pursuit. My body has its own memories - memories of pain inflicted when Mulder is pushed too far. It always amazes me - how quickly Mulder can turn violent - but it seems that it's only ever directed at me. It's not that I don't deserve it, most times, anyway.
One of the advantages of being in a sparsely populated country is. . .so very few people. Almost no one, actually. He approaches the highway and a few cars pass. I look up and can see the heat ghosts gyrating on the surface of the pavement - the heat is so oppressive and heavy - and the only thing approaching is a transport truck, some miles distant, giving us both time enough to cross the road.
Mulder doesn't stop, doesn't look back, and doesn't acknowledge my presence in any way. I still follow. He enters a small country lane; the dirt road beneath our feet is dry and cracked from the heat and lack of rain. The trees, shrubs and wild roses crowd us, giving only enough room for one person to pass unmolested.
The air is sweet and pure - unsullied by the urban decay I am so often forced to contend with. Overhead I can hear the birds swooping and chirping as they dive for insects. In the distance I can hear the loons and the fishers as they dive and splash, their lonely, haunting call registering in my ear as beauty would to my eye.
Somewhere in the distance some settler of long ago must have planted a patch of lavender, now gone wild; the smell is rich and heady in the air.
Still Mulder walks on.
I can feel the sweat dripping down my back, between my shoulder blades. It feels good and wholesome for a change. But I remember what it will do to that place where the leather harness holding my faux arm joins to my flesh. I can practically feel the sting to come - the pain of the chafe I know will form. But I don't care.
Suddenly Mulder stops without looking back at me. His hands grasp the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it up and off over his head. I see that his back, too, is covered in sweat. He coils up his T and ties it to his head to collect the perspiration caused by too much sun on an unprotected skull. I must admit I admire the long flank of his back and the muscles rippling there as he accomplishes this task. He marches on.
I have seen no one since we started this trek down this deserted lane -saw no one and heard no one. So I decide to follow Mulder's lead, although I couldn't possibly match Mulder's fluidity of motion. But I manage. I notice that my chest is slick and oily with sweat, and with a chuckle I notice my rock hard nipples. Mulder, if you only knew what you do to me!
Mulder is staring straight ahead as though transfixed at some point far in the distance. He casually kicks a stone or two from his path and veers rather unexpectedly into a meadow, totally overgrown with wildflowers. For the briefest of moments I think I see children, dressed in costumes of long, long ago, playing with toys I can't even identify. The vision soon melts into nothingness. I think I hear the tinkling sound of breaking glass - I wonder if this is the sound my heart will make when Mulder breaks it - for I plan to offer it to him today. Don't I? "Ghosts," I voice aloud, "ghosts are everywhere."
Toward the edge of the field there is an old barn, terribly weathered and unpainted. It looks as though it hasn't seen a human in a hundred years. Mulder suddenly unties his T-shirt and drapes it over his neck. The effect of the field, the wildflowers, and Mulder traipsing through them reminds me, impossibly, of a painting by one of the old Dutch masters - my mother had a cheap copy of it sitting on her piano and every time I saw it, it would make things seem bright and sunny and happy. I think I am losing it.
Mulder turns around and looks at me. Hard. I can't read his look. It's dark and it's brooding. He turns as quickly and goes toward the barn. Not for the first time since we entered this path, I think: what am I doing here - alone with a man who hates my guts? He could kill me here and no one would find my body for months and months to come.
But I'm a man on a mission, aren't I?
He approaches the building and turns, rests his back against the grey, weathered wood, chest heaving and covered with sweat. I notice that his nipples are as hard as mine. He leans his head against the wood and closes his eyes.
I approach slowly, and stop just out of arm's reach. Mulder doesn't move. I move in closer and frame him with my arms, bringing my face close enough to his to feel his breath. My knee insinuates itself between his legs and presses upward to fell his crotch - reminding him that I'm there. He smells fresh and clean and wonderful. Manly sweat -pungent and glorious.
I grow bolder and lift one of my hands from the building and place it over his heart to feel the raging beating of it. His eyes flash open. He looks at my hand over his chest, then looks at my prosthetic arm braced against the wall. He nods his head toward the false arm.
"Want me to take that off and beat you over the head with it?" he says without malice.
I raise my eyebrows quizzically. "I thought we weren't going to play like that anymore?"
His mouth shows his approval. "What kind of answers do you expect to get from me, Alex?" he asks, his mood completely changing - suddenly, as though remembering who he is with, he eyes grow suspicious.
"Answers! Hell, Mulder, I don't even know the questions."
He smiles beautifully. I reach my hand up and remove a pearl of sweat from his nose. I place a small kiss in its place while I am at it. He doesn't flinch back from me; he just locks his eyes with mime, as though this was an everyday occurrence. I mutter something in Russian. He doesn't ask for a translation.
"Why me, Alex?"
"Why you, what, Mulder?"
"Why do you want me? Don't deny it." he asks, truly dumbfounded.
"Is this truth or is it dare, Mulder?"
"It's truth, Alex, or as close as you can come to it!"
I can't say that his barb doesn't sting me, because it does. "Why not you, Mulder?"
"Answering a question with a question, Alex. That's a cop out. You promised me the truth, now give it to me!"
"The truth! The truth! It's always the truth with you, isn't it? What if there is no truth, Mulder. Can you deal with that?" My voice is going up a notch as I tear myself away from him. I take the T-shirt from my scalp, turning it into a rustic pillow, and lay down on the grass with it supporting my head.
Not in my most fevered, wild imagings could I see what was coming next. In none of my midnight fantasies could I come up with this one - he mimics my actions and he lays down beside me. My heart stops for a moment, I'm sure. He takes my hand, lacing my fingers with his own, and I feel his warmth seep into my arctic soul.
"Is it so hard, Alex, can't you just tell me?" He speaks quietly, almost a whisper.
"I can't, don't ask. Please!" It takes all the strength I possess but I am able to hoist myself, using our locked hands for leverage, so that I am laying on top of his body - belly to belly, chest to chest, groin to groin. "I can't tell you, Mulder. But I can show you."
I look into his eyes and see the panic there. "You want me too, Mulder. I can feel it." I press our matching bulges together and we buck into each other. The heat in his cock radiating into mine, and mine radiating back into his. This feels so right. I take his mouth in a kiss, slowly and sweetly - it reminds me of a cherry, somehow. The kiss is chaste, at least in the beginning - until he returns it with his own.
We are lost in the world of pleasure. Speaking that secret language known only to lovers. Lost to both time and space. His mouth opens to me and I ravage it with my tongue. Tasting every bit of him. Gaining secret knowledge of his teeth, his cheek, his lips. Oh God! His lips taste like sweet summer wine. I am lost to all reason. His tongue enters my mouth, taking that knowledge as his own.
I am lost to bliss, like a man who suddenly, and without merit, is granted every wish of his heart and soul. Still lost in that kiss, my hips are gyrating and my cock is tracing the outline of his through the denim; I can feel its bulbous head with my cock, and my cock knowing that it has finally come home.
I am near that point, I know. One more thrust and it will be all over for me. I raise my head to look into his eyes. The sound of tinkling glass is in my ears again and the pain is in my heart.
I don't hear his words, but I see them forming on his lips.
"No! Krycek. I can't do this. Not with you!"
He tosses me off him like a bad dream.
"I can't do this, don't ask me to." He gets up and starts to run, leaving me his T-shirt as a reminder - a souvenir - of our near coupling.
I scream at his retreating form, "I can help you, Mulder!"
He is still running and shaking his head.
"I will help you, Mulder. I swear it. I swear it on my mother's grave!" My voice has risen to a wild roar, but he is still running, still shaking his head in denial.
And soon he is gone, like a mirage dissipating in the summer heat, and I am left alone, again. The only reminder that he was ever here is his smell, and that is all over me.
I cast my eyes again over this Arcadian setting, noting its beauty once again. Nothing left for me now but to pick myself up, brush myself off, and start all over again. But I swear it, I swear to the vault of heaven, that I will help him, he will see - someday he will see.
-to be continued in Brothers by Choice III
Feedback, hell yes, I love it
Series Title: Brothers by Choice
Title: Don't Let Those Teardrops Rust Your Shining Heart
Author: The Riticulan Amanuensis
Disclaimer: If you recognize any of these characters, I don't own them. The ones you don't recognize are mine. This was written for my own fun, and for the select enjoyment of a few like-minded people, no copyright infringement was indented. Please accept this as high praise for your creative accomplishment.
Summary for Archiving Purposes: Alex lives up to his commitment to help Mulder in the fight, but it might surprise him when he finds out the source of his information. No good deed goes unpunished.
Archive at will, just let me know where my babies' end up. Other parts of the series available at:
I want to say a very special thank you to Mace, the webmistress, for a very special page.
I would also like to thank CK for the great beta on this, of course, all mistakes of any nature, are mine alone.
A slashketeer just lives, breaths, dreams, eats, and hopes for feedback. I'm no exception, so please let yourself be heard at Pretty please! All emails answered.
WIP Brothers by Choice III
Don't Let Those Teardrops Rust Your Shining Heart
The rancid stench of grease had become a part of this place, oozed itself into the rough wood covering its walls and melded itself onto the carpet covering the floor. This odoriferous presence, perhaps not as noticeable to its patrons as it was to its staff, had become second nature to Jeanne by now.
She could never have imagined, when she was young enough to still have hopes and dreams, that she'd end up her days slinging hash in a fried chicken joint; serving breakfast to a group of people who were barely awake or sociable at this ungodly hour of the morning. She put on her most pleasant, servile face and prepared to meet the day.
The sun still slept with its golden rays just barely cresting the mountains beyond the highway. "Another hot one," she thought - to be added to all the rest of them that she had endured that year. The heat of the previous day still clung to her as she swiped a napkin across her brow and wiped the sweat from it.
"Mama! She gave me grape juice," a very small girl whined. "I don't like grape; I like orange."
Her mother looked at her, resignedly, as though she has been through this particular scene many times.
"Just drink the grape juice, Mary."
"But Mama, I won't."
Jeanne swooped in and exchanged the offending juice with another more to the girl's liking. Her mother smiled sweetly as though exchanging some secret, mystic communication between mothers. Jeanne thought, and not for the first time either, how glad she was that she hadn't had any children of her own.
"Jeremy, be careful with that glass before you spi..." Too late. Jeanne saw the tumbler spill over, as though in slow motion, and empty its contents into the clumsy child's lap.
She saw how the mother felt like screaming, and wouldn't blame her if she had. She passed the mother a towel; the milk and child were speedily and expertly cleaned up. As she retreated from the happy family, her face bore an expression of extreme pity that only the other waitresses of this establishment were able to recognize for what it really was.
Her duty called to her and she continued to take orders and deliver food to the quickly filling up eatery. Just like any - every other morning - in fact. Already, after only an hour on shift, she felt tired and used up. Her back ached and the soles of her feet were screaming at her; she felt the beginning of the dreaded headache she usually felt at this hour of the morning.
She sensed that something was different, very different. The sun had barely crested the mountains and Jeanne could feel the mood change in the restaurant; all sound seemed to disappear for a moment. The quiet only lasted a moment before pandemonium broke out.
"My god, John," the young mother yelped, "on the side of the coffee shop, look it's...I don't believe it."
Jeanne didn't hear her finish her statement when the scream from one of the old ladies sitting at the counter next to the window reached her ears. She felt the patrons move, as one body, to the window or out the door to see what was happening.
She turned to make her way to the door when she saw him - she noticed first the broad, white smile and then the greenest eyes she had ever seen.
"That should make the afternoon edition," the man said, as he watched the moving clientele.
"I think you right, dear, I think you're right!" was Jeanne's reply.
Seven Days Earlier
Alex Krycek drove his late-model car along a busy street in an equally busy large city and pulled into the parking space in front of the tobacconist's shop that he used as a mail drop. The tobacconist provided this service to people such as him - people engaged in slightly less than legal activities. He lolled around the shop until all the regular customers had left and he received a nod from the owner. He walked up to the counter and passed over a small envelope full of cash - the high price required for providing this service. The tobacconist took the envelope from Alex's hand, quickly checked its contents and smiled. Without saying a word, he reached under the counter, retrieved a large manila envelope and passed it to Alex; the look on this face clearly stating that their business was concluded.
So few people knew his nom de guerre, but there it was typed on the envelope. As the people who used this service to reach him rarely typed, he felt a chill run up his spine, a foreboding - a feeling he's often felt, a feeling that'd saved his live on more than one occasion. He got back in his car and immediately ripped the package open and took out the letter addressed to Alex Krycek in a neat hand he didn't recognize. His blood ran cold; chilled and solidified in his veins. All of his contacts were barely literate, not the type of people used to writing. They usually issued him barely readable directions for the dirty little jobs he did for them. This letter was different; this letter was written by a person of considerable education -the care given to its content and form told him that. He quickly turned over the envelope and the postmark of a city he had recently visited. But he knew, as surely as he knew his own name, that the origin of this letter was not that city.
His heart pounded, the flesh on his arms pricked, and a thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead. He felt panic; he felt fear - the writer knew his real name. He had to physically control his breathing to bring himself back under control. He read his own name again, read the word 'attachments', saw the phrase 'I know you will do the right thing'. He put the letter aside and took up the bills of lading for a shipment to be delivered to Luxor Industries in Richmond, Virginia in fourteen days. The letter drew his attention to the copy of the fake bills that would be used to get this shipment into the country. He took up the letter again and re-read the phrase 'I know you will do the right thing'.
"Damn!" Alex said as he started his car and carefully merged into the steady stream of traffic.
Mulder and Scully's Office, Nine Days Later
Scully had enjoyed her lunch of a salad and designer water, but what she enjoyed the most was just getting away from him for an hour or so. Mulder was in such a bitchy mood; something had to come across his desk to interest him soon or she feared she'd throttle him.
The annoying sound that she heard was the sound of her little heels striking the concrete floor of this confined space. Even over this clatter she could hear the whirring of the slide projector coming from behind the closed door of their office, and she smiled hopefully.
In the office, when she saw the image projected on the screen the wind was knocked out of her lungs; she just stared unbelievingly. That image etched into the brick facade of a building looked so real. Mulder thrust a file folder of newspaper clippings at her with the terse instruction, "Read!"
"But Mulder," she said haltingly, "this can't be true...it just can't be!"
"Why not, Scully?" He looked up at her, through his glasses, as though she had just said something extremely silly. "The literature is just full of this stuff, Scully. Take Father Pele, for example..."
Mulder went on as though he hadn't heard, "there is documented proof that he was in two places at the same time, plus he had a stigmata for most of his life. No one could prove that he was faking this."
Mulder looked up at her to see the impression his words were having on her, and as expected, they were having quite an effect - she was speechless. "And there have always been crying Madonna and bleeding statues, so why not this?" He added.
This stuff scared her - it really did. Of all the weirdness they had to deal with in the X Files, she was emotionally unprepared to deal with something like this. It went to the very root of who she was, and what she believed.
"Your not serious!" Scully stared at him as though he were a misbehaving child.
"Dead serious, Scully!"
"This is not an X File, Mulder, Skinner will never approve this, never. Another country, Mulder, we have no jurisdiction - and I'm not asking him to approve it."
"Already taken care of, Scully, we leave in an hour." He couldn't keep the smile out of his voice or the smirk from his face.
"What! How!" She stammered.
"Well, a few years ago I was called to Chicago to help out on a murder investigation and I met a Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP."
"A Mountie...in Chicago?" Scully looked even more disturbed.
"Yes, he first came to Chicago on the trail of the killer of his father...." Mulder's voice trailed off as he thought of the almost childlike naivete of his Mountie friend, and his willingness, when no one else could, to accept extreme possibilities.
"...never mind," he said as his mind came back to the present. "Anyway, I called him and had him request our services as consultants in the case -they are treating it as a possible case of commercial fraud. He called Skinner and it's all been arranged."
He couldn't help himself; he was enjoying her discomfort too much. She looked to him like a Guppy that had been left out of the water far too long.
"So," he said, "why don't you got home and pack a few things and meet me at the airport in an hour? It shouldn't take us more than a few days."
With Mulder she always knew when she'd lost an argument. She looked at him pleadingly for a few more moments, hoping he would - somehow or other -change his mind. He didn't.
"Okay, Mulder. I know that I'm going to live to regret this."
She turned then, collected her things and left. Mulder took up the file once again and read all the clippings and looked at all the pictures it contained. He still didn't know how this information got to him - it was delivered by a private messenger service earlier in the day and no one seemed to know anything about it. This, of course, only fueled his curiosity.
He placed the file in his brief case, shut off the slide projector and left the office.
As they left the airport they were hit by a solid wall of heat and humidity; the feeble air conditioner in their rented car did little to elevate their comfort level. Whether Scully was pouting or really mad at him, Mulder couldn't decide - he only knew that she was very quiet.
As he neared his destination mind flashed back to two verdant eyes and he heard again a voice filled with pain, shouting at him from a distance. To him now, Alex was such a part of this place that he would forever think of it as Alex's own - inseparable in his mind, too, with the smell of the dark northern forests.
"Mulder," Scully decided to break the silence.
"Ahum," Mulder replied, his fingers nervously drumming on the steering wheel.
"You look like you know where you're going, you haven't taken out a map, you haven't asked for directions." It wasn't an accusation but she did turn her face toward him to await an answer.
"Yeah, Scully, I've been here before."
"You have?" She sounded very surprised.
Mulder couldn't turn toward the fire of her gaze. He didn't want to see what she might ask next.
"Why would you be up here, Mulder?" The question seemed so sang-froid on her lips, but Mulder dreaded the implication heard in her voice.
"Yea, a few weeks ago...met an informant."
"Up here! You never mentioned it, Mulder." Scully turned he eyes toward the road again, but the silence in the car turned her statement into a question.
"It was on my own time, Scully, nothing came of it."
She seemed to be satisfied with the answer, at least for the moment. Mulder breathed a silent sigh of relief. There was a sharp curve in the road that Mulder negotiated easily. When they were a position to see the coffee shop and the image on it, he felt Scully gasp, turned toward her and saw her face visibly pale. He expected this reaction, but wasn't prepared for it nonetheless.
"Why don't we go in the chicken place and see if we can question the waitress they mentioned in the newspaper clipping," he didn't expect an answer, but he turned his face toward her again to gauge her reaction to the image.
"Okay." Simple answer, no emotion.
For the middle of the afternoon the parking lot was unusually full and in the restaurant there were a lot of people sitting around, mostly at window seats staring at the apparition on the wall of the building across the highway.
"What can I get you folks?" a petite waitress asked them.
"Coffee for me, thanks." Mulder looked to Scully waiting for her to speak.
"OJ will be fine," Scully informed her without taking her eyes from the window.
The waitress smiled sweetly, seemingly used to this reaction, and went to fetch their orders.
"Mulder, it looks...it looks so real. God, Mulder, the face of Christ on the side of a donut shop." The words sounded so ludicrous on her lips, even to Mulder.
"Yeah," was Mulder's reply, instantly wondering why he made the trip here.
The waitress placed their orders in front of them and was about to leave when Mulder stopped her. "Are you the waitress who was here when that happened?" Mulder waved his hand in a flourish towards the window as though to emphasize his question.
She chuckled good-naturedly, "No, not me, I didn't come in till that afternoon, drove by that shop and damned near had an accident." The smile she wore looked good on her plain face. "You'll be wanting to see Jeanne. She was here then?"
"Is she here?" Mulder asked, barely concealing the excitement in his voice.
"Out back, busy at the moment. She'll be out in about twenty minutes. I'll tell her your looking, shall I?
"That would be great," Mulder said.
Scully raised the juice to her lips and immediately put it down again untouched. "I can't believe this, Mulder...I just can't believe it."
"Neither can the Mounties, Scully. They're treating this as a possible case of commercial fraud," he said, idly tracing the rim of his cup with one long finger. Bringing the cup to his lips, he took a large draught of the warm liquid. "But you never know, stranger things have happened."
The look she gave him could only be described as cold.
She looked at the image and spoke as though to it and not to Mulder. "We might as well head there now and come back and see this waitress later." She got out of her booth, not waiting for Mulder's reply, and headed for the door.
The parking lot of the coffee shop, so opposed to the restaurant, was practically empty. Inside, Mulder immediately got a caffeine and sugar rush from the smells. They sat at the counter and were immediately greeted by a surly looking young man. "What can I get you folks?"
"I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder," he nodded in Scully's direction, "and this is Special Agent Dana Scully, we're with the FBI. He waited the usual two beats for the smart-assed comment about his first name; the only reaction he got from the kid was a nasty smile. "We'd like to ask a few questions."
Their waiter didn't seem at all surprised, simply raised one eyebrow and said, "About that," he looked at the wall as though he could see right through it. "I'll have to get the manager." He turned and left them alone.
"Hello, I'm Mr. Meyer, can I help you," the manager said without offering them his hand.
"I'd like to ask a few questions about the image," Mulder said.
The manager looked like he would have rather been a thousand miles away. "A little outside you're jurisdiction, aren't you?" He asked cockily.
"Well, we're assisting the R.C.M.P," Mulder told him, refusing to back down.
"Well like I told them," the managers eyes flashed just a bit, "we just came to work and it was there, been there ever since. So if you folks don't want to order, please leave." The defiance in his voice was palpable and told the agents that he meant business. He turned and went in the back of the shop.
Mulder gave Scully that look - the look that told her that he was determined to get to the bottom of this, no matter what.
When they got outside Mulder heard a small female voice coming from the back of the building, "Mr. Mulder!" He turned and saw what was obviously a cook.
"Mr. Mulder...sorry. We're part of a chain, you know, and we are under strict orders not to say anything - to anyone," she said. She seemed nervous, somehow, unsure of herself. "But what he told you is the truth...it just suddenly was there and has been there ever since, and it gives me the willies."
Mulder smiled at her sweetly. "Thank you", he said.
Scully had strayed away from him and was standing in front of the image of the face of Christ. She seemed transfixed, mystified. She reached out her hand to touch it and Mulder could see a shiver run the length of her arm.
"Mulder, there is something here, I felt it...." She stopped suddenly as she pulled herself together. The mystical look was gone from her face now, replaced by her cool professional look - the look of the medical doctor who shouldn't believe in such things.
"Let's go see Jeanne," she said, not waiting for his acknowledgement.
"Darlin', it's just like I told the newspaper," she smiled sweetly at Mulder, motherly almost, "it was just a morning, like any other morning - we get an early crowd in here for breakfast, couples commuting to the city with their kids, the old crowd, who don't get much sleep anyway. The sun was just coming up and I heard a couple of people gasp and an old woman shouted and everyone moved to the door to see what was going on."
"And it was there," she continued with a dreamy look in her eye, "wasn't there when I drove into work, I'm sure of that."
"Strange," Scully said.
"I haven't been able to get a lick of sleep since," Jeanne said in agreement. She looked at Mulder, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, staring as though lost in thought into his coffee cup.
"Nothing else strange happen that morning," Scully asked hopefully.
"Well, I wouldn't call it strange, you know," she stopped, wondering if this was worth mentioning.
Mulder looked up at her, seemingly loosing interest in the tiny speck of curdled milk floating around in his coffee.
"Not strange, but odd," she continued, "like I said, everyone moved to the door or the window, all except one man. Don't know his name, but he's been in here off and on all summer. A real nice fellow, big tipper, too."
"What did he look like," Mulder asked.
"A real looker, big, beautiful teeth," Jeanne blushed and looked down at her feet. "Sorry, I always notice a person's teeth. Green eyes and he always wore a leather jacket, in all this heat, never took it off. Makes me sweat just thinking about it. And boy, could he pack the grub away"
Mulder looked at her as if this was perfectly natural. "I like teeth too, Jeanne. Nothing else, unusual about him, at all," Mulder asked.
"Not that I can remember."
She turned, as if to leave, "Wait, there is one more thing, I almost forgot that. He only had one arm. I only saw it once or twice, he most always kept himself turned to the side, but I did see a fake arm," she said hopefully.
Mulder's fist came crashing on the table, the spoons clattered and the coffee nearly spilled. Jeanne wondered if she should get out of his way, just in case.
"Alex-fucking-Krycek!" Mulder said, looking at Scully.
"Thanks, Jeanne, that was very helpful," Scully said to the shocked waitress.
After the waitress had left them she looked at her partner. The effects of his outburst were still visible. "You think Krycek is responsible for this?" She asked Mulder with a sweep of her hand toward the coffee shop.
"Yes!" A simple answer.
"Buy why, Mulder, why? Why would he do something like this?"
"I don't know, Scully."
She collected herself sipped her drink and thought. "He's your mysterious informant isn't he, Mulder?" She couldn't keep the dripping accusation from her voice. Her sense of personal betrayal just rose through her and spoke with her voice. "How could you!"
"Yes." He couldn't look at her, couldn't stand the look of hate that filled her face.
"Mulder!" She repeated her question, "How could you?"
He wouldn't look at her - he couldn't.
"He's a murder; he's a liar; he's a cheat." She repeated each of these accusations with vigor, stopping between each one to give it a chance to sink into Muldler's brain. "How can you trust him, Mulder, how many more betrayals do you need?"
He reacted physically to the sting in her words. How could he explain it to her? How could he explain to her things he had no conception of himself; things that kept him sleepless and awake at night?
He avoided her gaze. Instead, he stared into his coffee cup as though seeking answers. "He contacted me, wanted a meeting. At first I wanted to kill him, Scully, but in the end, I just listened."
"What did you get out of him, Mulder?" She didn't really want to know; she didn't want the thought of Krycek and her sister in her head again. "I don't understand you Mulder, I just don't understand you."
"Nothing, Scully, nothing really. Please! I don't want to talk about this."
Scully wasn't satisfied with this, not by a long shot.
"Okay, Mulder, I'd say this case is over. Might just as well go back to the motel and catch the first flight out in the morning." She didn't really believe it although she wanted to. Krycek was up to something, but what?
A Lonely Country Road, That Night
Alex screwed the silencer on his gun as he walked slowly up this country lane, carefully avoiding the over-hanging branches, which threatened to scratch his face. The heat of the day was still clinging to the air, the sound of the crickets and frogs, in their nightly symphony, was filling his ears, their song rising and falling in rhythmic beauty. The night was as black as pitch, not even a moon to light his way. But he didn't need it; he remembered every dip and rise of this path. He remembered the last time he was here, remembered following Mulder, weeks before, when the agent stormed out of the café in a huff. He remembered being dazed by the look of Mulder's bare back as he trudged on in front of him, the field of flowers that they had trampled underfoot, and the old barn where Mulder stopped and turned and he remembered, too, the kiss that claimed his soul. And he remembered, with shattering pain, what happened next.
He gently patted the gun he had carefully tucked in the waist of he jeans, as though to reassure himself with the feel its stolidity.
He carefully stepped up to the hole in the barn that at one time been a window. He saw the little toad of a man, sitting at a small table with a lantern on it, drinking whisky.
"Giorgio," he said.
The small man spun around quickly, adjusting his glasses and almost spilling his drink.
"Alex, it's about time, I've been waiting for hours."
"Well you know, Giorgio, things to do, people to see," Alex said with a tight smile on his lips.
Alex entered the building and Giorgio watched him very carefully as he paced across the room, standing directly opposite the man.
"You got my money, Alex."
Alex looked at him now. He couldn't believe that this little speck of a man had paintings hanging in all the best museums in Europe, only they didn't know it. The originals stolen by the consortium and sold for hard cash.
"Sure, I got it. How'd you do it, Giorgio?"
"Secrets, Alex. Secrets." Giorgio stopped for a moment as though gauging his next statement. "Sure I'll tell you. The paint was chemically treated, as soon as the sun rose, the sunlight reacted with the humidity in the air, and presto - like magic - the painting appeared." He made a sniggering, ugly laugh and Alex shivered. "The owners of the building think it's a trick with the lights, they are going to have them replaced in the morning. What they don't know is that when they put in the lights I've arranged for them to use, another chemical reaction is going to occur, all traces of the chemicals will disappear, as will the picture."
He looked extremely pleased with himself Alex noted. Krycek had to give him credit; it was ingenious.
"You got my money, Alex, twenty thousand, we agreed."
"Yea, sure, Giorgio, keep your pants on."
This little man made Alex's skin crawl and he turned around to face the wall.
"This is a private operation, isn't it, Alex?" He doesn't know, does He? The Smoker doesn't know anything about this!"
Alex froze for a moment; he knew that Giorgio was a greedy little pig, knew that he wouldn't let one opportunity for blackmail get by him. If Giorgio suspected him, then the Smoker would know. And if he knew this, he would suspect the level of the treachery Alex was planning. He wouldn't be safe, and neither would Mulder.
Alex made his mind up in a flash. Reaching for his gun, he quickly snapped the safety off, spun on his heels and placed the tiny little hole between Giorgio's eyes that effectively ended his artistic career.
Alex thought that with any luck, in this secluded and lonely place, they might not find the body for months - if ever found at all. Alex crossed the few paces to the body, removed the glasses, put them in his pocket and knocked the corpse to the floor. He picked up the bag of salt he had noticed before lying up against the wall; sprinkled the body with it to help control the smell, tucked the still warm gun back in the band of his jeans, blew out the lantern, and left the building.
Much Later That Night
Alex approached the two-story motor hotel built into the side of a hill. All was quiet and still. The heat and humidity was still oppressive, and as a concession Alex left his leather jacket unbuttoned. The manila envelope could be seen tucked into his pants.
He kept to the shadows, inching ever closer to his destination. Alex was thankful that he was in the country where the overuse of outside lighting wasn't much in favour. He finally found what he was looking for - motel unit 1013. He stopped and listened at the door, realizing, as he was doing so, how utterly useless this action really was; it's almost always impossible to tell is anyone is in a room by just listening at a door. He smiled wryly to himself at his own folly.
"He'd come this far; he might as well finish the job," he thought. Reaching for his tools he quickly had the door unlocked. "Stupid, Mulder," he said quietly, "you should always use the security chain." He placed his hand on his gun, just in case, and inched his way into the room closing the door behind him.
The room was deathly quiet, the only sound being the rhythmic in and out of Mulder's breathing. The room smelled of Fox, sweaty, earthy. Alex was surprised to notice that even the TV was still and quiet; this was odd as Mulder nearly always slept with it on. Even the whir of the air conditioner was missing giving Alex the reason for the heat in this room.
He stood with his back braced against the door to give his eyes a chance to adjust themselves to the lack of light. Slowly his vision cleared and he was able to see some details. He saw Mulder's sweats and t-shirt thrown haphazardly on the chair by his bed - Mulder's only concession to the heat. The sheet on the bed had slipped down and was barely covering the man's groin.
Alex smiled and was barely breathing when he noticed what little covering Mulder had on his groin was being tented by one impressive erection. "You must be having one hellofa dream, Mulder," Alex whispered.
Alex quietly crept to the bed, realizing what he had in mind was really selfish and devilish, even to his standards. He eased his weight carefully onto the foot of the bed, lying between Fox's legs. The only response he got from the man was a slight groan from the friction of the sheet on his cock.
Slowly, carefully, like peeling an over-ripe banana, Alex peeled back the sheet revealing the prize in all its glory. Alex feasted his eyes on it, licking his lips.
As soon as the sheet was pulled back, Alex was assailed by the smell of the man - his dark, musk scent making his own cock jump in response. He took his finger and easily, gently traced the large vein up to the tip getting a sigh from Fox in his sleep, as the erection grew even larger.
Alex looked at the trim stomach and the thin line of hair leading down, like a pointer, to the riot of pubic hair beneath and the engorged rod standing up straight and proud. He couldn't restrain himself any longer; he had to taste. He took his tongue and gently licked Fox's scrotum, enjoying the tickle of the fine hair on his tongue, and enjoying the unique taste of the man.
Mulder slept on, oblivious to the reason for his groans. Alex licked at the base of Mulder's cock, with his hand gently playing with his balls. Mulder arched his hips, slightly, but didn't awaken. Alex continued up, placing his tongue in the slit, prying it open. Fox sighed happily. Alex opened his mouth wide and tasted the head, closing his eyes in pleasure. He started to take Fox deep into his mouth, thrilled by this silky pleasure.
Fox began to move, to groan. He thrust himself deeper into Alex's mouth.
"Oh, God! June, that feels so good!" Fox said in his sleep.
Alex spit the cock forcefully from his mouth as though it were poison and Fox awoke. Alex felt some part of himself being ripped from his body, and watched as it withered and died. In one swift movement Alex threw himself on the body of the awaking man, nose to nose with him.
"Who's June?" Alex shouted.
Fox had seen dead men's eyes before, and he saw them looking at him now from a face gone parchment pale.
"Alex, I've met someone. Scully introduced us." Fox decided to play it cool.
Alex removed himself from Mulder's body and stood up "I'm happy for you, Mulder," Krycek said sarcastically. He was surprised he was able to speak at all with that huge lump in his throat and a stomach that felt like one big knot of pain.
He looked at Fox for long minutes, neither of them blinking or saying anything. He finally reached in the band of his jeans and threw the envelope at Fox who was making no attempt to cover himself.
"What's this?" Fox asked.
Alex looked sad and in a voice small and defeated he said: "I told you I would help you."
Mulder reached his hand out and turned on the bedside lamp. Opened the envelope and looked at the pages. "Where in Richmond Virginia is this warehouse, Alex?"
"You're the detective, you figure it out." Alex said. "It won't stop them, Mulder, but it might slow them down. There's only so much money then can siphon off from their black ops budgets you know. It takes a lot of money to keep that operation afloat." Alex stopped then to gauge the effect his words were having on Mulder."
"But, Alex, two hundred and fifty million in gold. How did they get it into the country?"
"Illegally," Alex said, as if he were speaking to an idiot child. "It was pre-cleared through customs by some faceless bureaucrat at the State Department. Look at the fake bills of lading, Mulder, it's listed as heavy machinery parts."
"You're sure about this, Alex!"
"Dead sure, Mulder." Alex sounded weary as he turned to the door. "You get a warrant, Mulder. You search that warehouse and you'll do them some serious harm, at least in the short term."
He turned to the man once again, a look of loss and quashed dreams on his face. "Good-bye, Mulder." It sounded so final. "I wish you luck."
He made it to where Fox's car was parked before the first tear drop fell and splashed on the pavement. His arm clutched at the pain in his guts and he fell to his knees, raising his head to the heavens in a silent scream of loss. In years to come, he still wouldn't be able to decide which was the more painful: tonight, when a piece of his spirit was ripped from his body -the good part, the part where Fox had lived, or the day the peasants took his arm.
He knew that Fox was standing naked in the window watching him and he didn't want Mulder to have the satisfaction of seeing him like this. He hoisted himself onto his legs and stumbled off into the night.
The next morning Mulder gave all the documents to Scully with instructions that she was to only place them into Skinners hands, no one else, with the specific instructions that Alex had given him - to be followed to the letter.
"But, Mulder," Scully asked, "what are you gong to do?" She was clearly confused at this turn of events. She could clearly see the look of determination on Mulder's face and questioned him no further.
"I'm going to take a few days to think things out. I'll call you tomorrow to see how things went. Don't worry, Scully, I'm all right. I just have to think."
After waiting until Scully's flight left, he hit the highway and drove and drove and drove. He didn't notice the details of anything he passed or where he was headed. By the time evening fell he just had to get out of the car and run.
He ran, and he ran, and he ran. When exhaustion finally overtook him he found himself next to a small public park and collapsed onto a bench. With a verdigris statue of Robert Burns behind him and the Café Mozart across the street, he let his mind go blank.
He sat there for hours it seemed, just thinking of Alex and himself and what they actually meant to each other. The cool salt breeze from the harbour was finally cooling him down and he looked up into the sky. It was another moonless night and it amazed him that he could see so many stars sitting on a park bench in the middle of a large city.
"Come out, Alex. I know you're there."
Alex showed no surprise at his discovery. He walked slowly to the bench and stood behind Mulder, placing his hands on the wood, framing the man.
"Alex, do you ever wonder where they come from?" Mulder's voice was misty and far away.
Alex paused for a moment and looked up at the sky. "When I was a kid, I grew up in the country. On hot summer night's I used to lie in the fields on my back looking at the sky, my heart filled with wonder. Now, whenever I look up, and it's not often, I look up in horror. The horror I know is coming if we're not able to stop them."
"We'll stop them." Mulder said.
"I wish I was that sure." Alex replied.
Mulder turned and looked into Alex's face. "I lied, you know. There is no June"
A wave of pain crossed Alex's face as he looked at Mulder. "Doesn't make any difference. You said last time that you couldn't do this, not with me." He paused remembering, "I guess you meant it."
"Get that gold, Mulder. I'm counting on you." Alex turned and slowly walked away.
As he watched Alex become smaller and smaller in the distance, Mulder felt a sudden sense of emptiness he couldn't explain and one of loss he didn't want to think about.
Gentle Reader: As strange as this may seem, parts of this story did actually happen. Not far away from where I live, the face of Christ did appear on the brick facade of a donut shop. I've seen the TV coverage and the clippings from the newspaper. Sadly, I didn't make the trip, but from friends and relations, I've heard that it was really something. Even some of them reporting a metaphysical experience gazing at or touching the image. The owners of the donut shop, the Wendy's hamburger chain, issued orders, I believe, that no official comment was to be made. The picture was there for three or four days, the restaurant in the story did a bumper business but the local chicken population fell dramatically. The donut shop changed the outdoor lighting and the image disappeared. So you may think what you will. I thought, at the time, what an X File it would make. The forgoing was my humble effort.
Feedback please at
Brothers by Choice 4: Behold and See
By The Riticulan Amenuensis
X/Files Pretender Crossover Pairing K/Jarod
The Usual Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but if I did I'd, treat them better. In particular I'd give certain characters larger roles.
This is the fourth part of a continuing series, although I consider each as stand-alone, they might be better understood if you were familiar with the previous chapters.
Plot Summary: Alex finally meets the dark stranger who has been following him around and receives some startling information about his own life.
Warning: This chapter contains a sex scene which some might find a little kinky, so please be warned. Consider all episodes of each of these series as being spoiled.
Archivists: Please archive where you will, just let me know where my babies have come to rest.
For those of you who would rather read the stories in their complete condition instead of multi-part postings, this story is up at my site :
I would like to make a special thank you to Mace for making some very nice book covers to go with these stories. You might want to check out her pictures page at: there you will see lots and lots of beautiful pictures.
I would also like to give a thank you to a person that some of you may know as Fox Mulder, for giving me some great help with this story.
Brothers By Choice 4: Behold and See Part 1
I was sent here by The Grand Duchess Olga. She's not a real Grand Duchess--I don't know who she is, but it wouldn't surprise me if she was Suzie Schwartz from Yonkers. I've known her for years now; she's used my services for that long, too. Nothing too strenuous--a little snooping for her here, a little industrial espionage there, and sometimes, even scaring the bejeesus out of some of her associates--but she does pay well. I can't even remember how we met--it was that long ago. I know she's not connected with the grey-beards, doesn't even know of their existence--lucky for her!
But Duchess, the train! What *was* she thinking? The great thing about working for her is that it's always the best of everything: first class airfare and hotels and more gourmet food that even I could eat, but this--a train, and coach at that.
The odd thing is that she usually calls me, and she's one of the only people who can reach me that way, but this time it was different. About a week ago I got a package from her at my mail pick up point: the code word she used was right, so I knew it was from her. The instructions were terse, telling me to get myself here, first-class plane ticket to get me to this city, and the coach ticket for the train. She told me I would meet my contact here, that he would recognize me. And, oh yes, an obscene amount of money was included in the package. How could I refuse such easy money: it's like winning a lottery.
I love old train stations; they're such a reminder of when steam was king. This one in particular, in a large city--Old Central Station. Even the name is evocative of a bygone age. I do have a soul, you know, I do appreciate beauty--especially one lithe, angel-eyed beauty in particular.
This place is spectacular, five or six stories high, open to the pitched roof above and as long as a cavern. It's so long and narrow it looks like a cathedral--and windows all around, at each end of the station they span the whole height of the building. If they were stained glass, it would even look more ecclesiastical.
It's a fairly busy place even for a weekday: businessmen scurrying back and forth, young mothers with children, and old couples strolling to their trains, hand in hand--slowly and together, perhaps gong to visit their grandchildren or leaving on that long panned for vacation. I feel almost normal here.
The smells are delicious, heady. Along each wall are stalls, smallish and staffed by one or two people at most. They're serving out the ethnic foods that this city is so famous for. I even smell borsht and blintzes and suddenly I'm sort of homesick. It's not like I ever had a real home, but I still miss Nana, who would not, the only person who ever loved me, the only person who ever let me know, despite all my faults that I was 'okay': not in words, but in deeds and looks. We had the kind of feelings for one another that only the very young and the very old can have.
I feel so foolish, walking through this cavernous building, streams of people around me, and I have to raise a gloved hand to my eye to wipe away the tear that always appears when I think of Nana, but my heart is full at the memory of her. If there is any good in me at all, she's put it there.
For the long trip ahead I decide to fill my pockets with chocolate and a pack of cigarettes--maybe I can sneak one when no one is looking. I should quit, toss that filthy habit, and I might when all this is over.
I make my way to one of the stalls lining the walls. It's manned by a very old couple, the sort of couple who have been together for so long they no longer even have to speak, they know what each is thinking. They are a funny looking couple, dressed in lab coats like they worked in some hospital. I make my selection of half-dozen candy bars and a pack of 'smokes and the old lady moves to put them in a bag for me. I shoo her away with a smile and just shove them in my pocket. She smiles back at me--she has such a beautiful smile and snowy white hair and crystal clear eyes. She passes me my change and the sleeve of her lab-coat falls away from her lower arm and I see them. Blue tattooed numerals on her wrinkled wrist and I feel sick--as I always do when I see these. She pulls her arm back quickly with a slightly embarrassed smile on her face and I'm sure that she sees the shock showing on mine.
When they come, the unlucky among us who survive, will end up like this--enslaved, trapped, hopeless.
"Mulder!" My mind screams, we have got to stop this.
I make my way to the train and get myself to my seat; I notice that the carriage is almost empty, not surprising, I guess, since it is a weekday. I hear the expected 'all abroad' from the conductor and feel the train lurch ahead a short time later. I sit there staring at the seat in front of me, my mind not thinking about too much in particular. I must confess that I'm sort of curious about the job the Duchess has set up for me this time but I content myself with waiting for my contact to make himself known. The message from the Duchess said that he would on the train.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a man lurching down the isle of the swinging train. He stops at my seat and holds out his hand. My heart skips a couple of beats, I recognize this guy. He's the same fellow who was in the café with me and Mulder, I've seen him in Philly and New York, and...the bastard's been following me I suddenly realize.
I look into his innocent face and for the life of me I can't explain what happened next: he smiled at me, pure white teeth and his eyes seemed so soft and gentle. I felt no fear, I felt none of my usual paranoia, I didn't want to run or shoot him where he stood. Damned funny. He had that look about him - the kind you don't see too often, that haunted, hunted kind.
"Hi my name is Jarod..." his hand was still out and he seemed to stop for a minute and looked up slightly at the wall, noticing the name of the carriage maker, "Pullman. Is this seat taken?" He asks. His voice is so deep and calming.
I had to laugh at that. "Good thing you're not flying, Jarod. Jarod Air Bus would be a really funny name." I look up through the coach, as I'm sitting nearly at the end of it, and notice it's almost empty. I wonder why this guy wants to sit by me, but I'm curious--maybe he's my contact, but he really doesn't look the type.
"I've been expecting someone to join me but it doesn't look like he's made the train, so yeah, this seat is free."
I take a closer look at him. We could have been brothers or at least twins separated at birth. He has short black hair, dark expressive eyes, a day's growth of stubble. But the strangest thing was the leather bomber jacket he wears, the black Tee shirt, black jeans and black boots.
"You'll have to give me the name of your tailor," I chide.
He smiles at me, "I think you already have it," he says.
Like me, he's travelling light. No luggage, except for what looks like a silver metal case which he places between his legs when he sits down. He thinks better of it and gently slides it under his seat then turns and smiles at me.
We sit in silence as the train finally lurches its way out of the city and we're travelling through the gently rolling countryside. Small farmhouses sitting in the center of perfectly parceled lots of land. You can actually see where one lot ends and the other lot begins--like pieces on a chessboard. I'm lost in my own thoughts, wondering what this is all about, wondering why the Duchess set this trip up and wondering why her contact failed to show. I feel just the slightest bit apprehensive and a little pissed.
Jarod places his rather delicate, callused hand on my thigh and I can feel the heat of him through the thin covering of denim. Funny, I would never allow such intimacy from any other man, at least not without ripping his arm off at the elbow.
"Are you okay, Alex?"
The look on his face is so earnest, so honest. This fellow really seems to care whether I'm all right or not. I stare at his face, his dark eyes. Do you know how many men can take that look? Not many! Just try it sometime--count off the seconds as you do, count to see how long it takes them to look away. Jarod doesn't. His face is honest, guileless, almost childlike. I feel so...so soiled, so used compared with him.
"I'm fine Jarod, really."
He's still looking at me when I answer him, the look of worry is still written all over his well-chiseled features. His day's growth of beard has gotten slightly darker since we've been sitting here.
"It's just, you've been so quiet," he says.
He suddenly reaches his hand in his pocket and by body automatically tenses up. He pulls out what looks to be a small doll, pops the head off it and puts something in his mouth.
"What is it?" I'm looking at him like he's nuts.
"Isn't it cool, it's a toy and you get candy out of it. It's Pez."
The childlike innocence on his face and in his voice is just too disarming. I take the candy from him and he beams at me.
"What a great invention," he says as I pass back the thing to him. Our fingers brush against each other, just a little too long, and I can feel his heat, feel the little electric charge as our flesh touches.
I smile at him and turn my head back toward the window. I can feel the heat of him sitting next to me and I take some small comfort in that. The day is quickly dying, and I notice the moon rising over an open field. It all looks so peaceful. I can see the lights of single houses twinkle in the distance and sometimes the headlights of a single car traveling on the small country roads which seem to run parallel the train tracks.
I think of Mulder at the oddest times. Just the thought of him has gotten me through some lonely, rough times. I could never tell him this of course, never give him that advantage over me. I can almost see his face staring at me in the window, almost see those beautiful, bedroom eyes staring back at me. This time it brings me no comfort. Again, I'm back at our last meeting, and that rock-hard ache is back in my stomach. I'm there again, ready to throw myself at his feet, ready to let all my feelings spill out, ready to betray all of them--tell him everything I know, ready to give him all the *truths* he's been seeking, ready to beg him for his help to stop this invasion. His rejection still rocks me. It hurts. It hurts like a bitch. The pain in my gut is so real, so physical I want to clutch at it with my arm and double over in pain.
I realize Jarod is looking at me again.
"Alex," he asks me, "do you have anyone waiting for you at the end of the line?"
I know that my face has paled, it's like this fellow can read my thoughts.
"I thought I did, but no, there's no one, Jarod." The look on his face was so intense. "Jarod, I don't want to be ignorant, but I don't feel like talking right now.
He nodded his head in agreement.
"I'm gong to search out the dining car," he said. "Want me to bring you back a coffee or something?"
"No thanks. I have some Snickers here, I'll eat those."
"Snickers?" He looked so curious, childlike. "What's that?"
I take one out of my pocket and hand it to him.
"Chocolate, nougat and peanuts." I smile at him.
He takes it from my hand and looks at it as though he's never seem one before. He feels it with his fingers and brings it to his nose.
"Wow! All that stuff in here--a whole meal in such a small package. Smells good."
"Don't tell me you've never seen one before." He looks at me and shakes his head 'no'. "Where have you been all your life, Jarod, on the moon?"
His eyes look so sad just then; he shrugs his shoulders. As he turns to go, he looks back to me and says: "Alex, keep your eye on my case, it's important to me."
The fellow's just met me and I see that he trusts me that much. I know that he's serious and I nod my head telling him that I would. I finish stuffing the Snickers down my throat and I feel slightly better--the sweetness and fat must have raised my blood sugar already. As I unwrap another bar, I sit back in my seat and let my mind go blank--as much as it ever does. I've seen too much, know too much, done far too much to ever find a perfect peace, but I'll take whatever I can get.
It seemed like I'd been sitting here for hours alone with my thoughts, but it's only been about a half-hour. My mouth is sickly sweet from the candy I'd eaten, but the knot in my stomach has lessened. I could kill for a cigarette and a strong, black coffee and decide to go to the dining car; it's probably the only dammed place on this train where I can legally light-up. I'm half way out of the nearly empty carriage when I remember Jarod's case and my promise to him. I go back and take it out of its hiding place under the seat and head to the dining car.
As soon as I enter, Jarod motions to me. He takes the case from me quickly and I sit. When my coffee is delivered, I take out my pack of cigarettes: "Do you mind?"
"No, but it's bad for you?"
I snicker. "What are you, a doctor?"
"I have been." A plain statement of fact and I look at his scruffy appearance and shake my head.
The table in front of him is a wreck. Four empty plates, and in front of him are four desserts. He eating a bit of each one and closing his eyes in rapture with each taste like a kid in a candy store.
"This is delicious, Alex. Hot an cold at the same time." He holds out a forkful of his desert to my mouth to taste. There is no strangeness in his voice or face with this intimacy; it's like this is the most natural thing to with a stranger you've just met. I laugh and lean my mouth in and take the offered morsel.
"Jarod, it's got liquor in it, that's why it's hot and cold."
"You're kidding...what an interesting idea." He puts his fork down and takes up a spoon and digs into his chocolate sundae; he moans with his pleasure.
"This is good too. Want some?"
I shake my head no, and light up my cigarette, enjoying the nicotine buzz I always get at that first puff. My body is purring with its pleasure.
"You always eat this much?"
"No, not always." He smiles brightly. "I enjoy trying new things."
I look at the table in front of him, notice again the apple pie and the chocolate sundae, and wonder again where this guy has been. I finish my cigarette and put it out in the ashtray, take a long sip of my coffee and I feel much better.
I lay my hand on the table and look directly at him. "Jarod, why have you been following me?" He doesn't even blink; he's been waiting for the question I think. "I've seen you in New York," I go on, "Philly, and hell, you've even followed me to another country. I speak softly to him like I would to a child, not wanting to frighten him.
"And other paces that you didn't notice me, Alex."
My eyes widen with surprise, but I don't move. My hand is lying flat on the table and he reaches out his hand and covers it as though seeking some human contact. "I don't want to frighten you, Alex."
That's the damnedest thing, he doesn't--not at all. I have no idea why this is so, it seems that I trust him implicitly. My natural state of self-preservation seems to have taken a holiday.
"You don't, Jarod. It surprises me."
He grins at me, satisfied, and his hand rubs over mine sensuously.
"I'm glad, Alex. I have some things to tell you." He searches my eyes for some reaction to this.
"Alex, you won't be meeting your contact on this train. I set it all up. I sent you the note from the Duchess, the tickets, the money-all of it. And that's not all. I've sent you things before."
I open my mouth in shock and surprise. "What other stuff, Jarod?"
"Remember the package with all the information about that large, illegal gold shipment," he stops momentarily judging my reaction. "I sent you that. I knew you'd do the right thing."
This is a new world for me--someone who knew I would do the right thing.
I am really dumbfounded at this. "How'd you know how to contact me, so few people know about that address."
"A man has to keep a few secrets, Alex."
My curiosity is at its fever pitch now, but again I'm not all that annoyed that someone knows my secrets. I open my mouth as if to speak and Jarod cuts me off.
"Not here, it's too public. I have a private compartment, we can talk there."
He motions the steward over with a flourish of his hand and signs the chit for his meal and my coffee. He smiles at me, grabs his case and gets up. I follow him. Down coach after coach of this moving train, its carriages moving slightly from side to side, we walk. Jarod manages this perfectly, without even stumbling. But me, well, I'm not as *balanced* as I once was and stumble a few times, almost falling. Jarod senses this without really looking, just slowing down his pace, giving me a chance to catch up to him.
We're in darkly lit compartments of the train and he stops and opens the door, letting me enter before he does. He quickly enters, turns and bolts the door from the inside.
"We can talk more privately here. No one will hear us. The next carriage is empty."
I didn't feel all that comfortable here--locked in like this--things were spiraling quickly out of my control. I felt exposed, naked. I don't like feeling like this; I'm liable to do harsh and unpredictable things. This Jarod seemed to know everything about me and I...I know absolutely nothing about him. He could be one of the Consortium's henchmen; I could end up with a bullet in my brain any minute now and no one would even notice.
"I reserved the next compartment as well." He explained. His voice was soft and his eyes were kind. He shook his head slightly as though to clear his own thoughts. He placed his case on the small table next to the small bed. Turning around he took off his jacket, placing it on one of the seats. If he was carrying a gun, I couldn't see it, but from somewhere deep within me, I knew with a certantity that he did not.
His black, clinging Tee shirt showed a small but compactly powerful body. Muscles rippled from his chest to his stomach as he moved to sit on the small bed.
"Alex, I guess you're wondering about all this. About why I brought you here."
"Good guess, Jarod, you could say that. I'm kind of curious."
"Why don't you take your jacket off and get comfortable, this could take awhile."
This was very strange; we were like old friends meeting--like this was somehow normal. He looked at me like he expected me to take my jacket off. I never do that in front of strangers, hell, I don't even do that in front of people I know well, not that there are too many of them. He looked serious and seemed to expect me to do this. As I struggled out of the garment his eyes were soft, no pity in them just a concerned understanding.
"Where do you want to start, Alex, with me or you?"
"Let's start with you, Jarod. Since you seem to know so much about me, I'd like to even things up a bit."
He nodded and looked away from me. I hope this guy never plays high-stakes poker, he doesn't have the face for it. For the first time I saw how lost he was, how much pain he suffered. He turned back to me.
"I know the man you know as 'the smoker'. I've seen him many times. When I was a child I was stolen from my parents and brought to a place called the Centre and held captive there for thirty years until I escaped."
"Why?" I was shocked.
"I was a prodigy, they recognized my talents and wanted to use them for their own purposes," he said.
"You were a prodigy, a..."
"You say it, I can't."
He nodded and looked so sad, so sad for the life he'd lost, for the childhood he'd never known. He rubbed his hands up and down the worn denim covering his thighs and stared at his feet.
"All those years they lied to me. They told me I was doing good, doing things that would save lives, help humanity. It was all a lie. In the end, I found out the things they learned were being used to cause harm. I learned that I wasn't working for them at all. They were working for the Consortium. The consortium funded them."
I can't say that I was surprised, I had heard about a project like that but it was shrouded in such secrecy that I saw nothing about it besides its name.
Jarod got up from the bed and paced the short distance to the window. He stood there in silence as though searching for something, trying to see, even now trying to understand what they'd done to him. He turned to me and looked me in the face.
"Do you understand! They stole me, they stole my brother, they took my parents away from me and they ruined my life. And the Consortium is responsible for it all."
I nodded my agreement.
He walked to the table and picked up his metal case and passed it to me.
"This is my life...all of it."
He put it on my lap and opened it. I saw what looked to be some sort of a disk player with a small monitor. He showed me a collection of disks and quickly explained how the machine worked.
"This is a record of my whole life at the Centre, Alex. I stole them when I left. To know me, you have to know these. I want you to take some time to look at them. I'm going to leave while you do it and I want you to lock the door behind me. I'll give three short knocks three times when I return so that you'll know its me."
I looked at him and the sadness in his face. He gently squeezed what was left of my shoulder and turned to leave.
"Don't pity me, Alex. Just understand what I did."
Jarod left and I inserted the first of a series of small disks into the machine. The screen flickered to life and I saw the name of 'Centre' and the kindly face of a young man who I later learned to be Sydney. He was putting a young Jarod through his paces, thinking of things that no young boy should ever have to think about, working on things that no child should ever have to see.
With each successive disk I saw Jarod get older as did the kindly man who was his keeper. The work became ever more traumatic for the boy...then the man. Apparently he had the ability to become anything he wanted. I saw disks where he was theorizing on nuclear weapons and then laser technology, disks where we was working on germ warfare...nearly choking when he was speaking of a certain Simian virus. I saw him working on methods of keeping the public in the dark about certain things they should never know of.
Through it all, Jarod seemed fairly content, you could tell he needed something...missed something. Simple human contact he was denied--denied completely. Sydney was a kindly man, but held himself at bay at every turn. I seemed to me that this older gentleman would have reached out to Jarod if he were allowed to.
I looked up when I heard the knock at the door, took the disk out of the machine, turned it off and closed it. When Jarod come in, he just stared at me and then looked at the closed case. He went to his jacket and searched in his pocket. But old habits die hard, I felt my body tense up. He pulled out his Pez and took a few into his mouth. He looked like a man who really didn't know what to expect from me.
"You've watched them." He looked away from me when he asked the question and went to the window again and stared at the land streaking by us.
"Yes," I said. "Who is Sydney?"
"Sydney. He was my keeper, a psychologist. He was with me from the beginning until the very end. He still helps me, does most of what I ask him to do. I guess he's the closest thing to a father that I've ever known. But," Jarod paused as though deep in thought, "he doesn't love me."
Jarod looked inward then, like a man who was reliving something pleasant, yet painful. "I found his son for him. A son he never knew he had. Once Sydney found out he had a son, he loved him instantly, but like I said, he spent thirty years with me, but he doesn't love me."
"Don't be too sure about that," I said.
As I said this Jarod swung around to face me. "I have a family I can't find. My brother--they stole him too--he's dead; they killed him."
"I'm sorry, Jarod."
"He was psychotic, a killer. They brought him up to be that. They kept us apart. But in the end, his life and his death had some meaning. His heart is now beating in someone else's chest"
I didn't know what to say.
"I have a sister, too," I said.
He now looked as miserable as a warden would when he had to tell you that the governor hadn't called and your execution would go ahead as planned. He went to his case and pulled out a red file folder and held it in his hands as if he was trying to decide something.
"Jarod, these disks are very damning to the Centre. Who's after you? Someone must be trying to get these back."
"They are trying to get me back, too. There's Sydney that I told you about. He's trying to get me back. He thinks that I'm not prepared to get along in the real world. There's Broots--the computer geek. The real muscle of the trio is Miss Parker; she's the director's daughter, essentially a hired gun. And sometimes, they send a sweeper team with them and sometimes not. Oh yes, and then there is Miss Parker's psychotic twin brother. It's all so complicated; I'm a hunted man, Alex"
"So, Jarod, you're a dangerous man to know." I tried to keep my voice calm and my face expressionless.
"A while ago, I discovered these at the Centre. They have to do with project 'Prodigy,' all the children in these files, except for you and the others kept at the Centre, and one other, are dead. Once I found it and read about you, I knew I had to find you. I've researched your life, Alex, and followed your career. You'd better read it. I'm sorry!"
He passed the file to me and went again to sit on the bed;he looked away from me, unable to meet my gaze.
I opened the file, but couldn't believe what I was reading. My life was a lie, my heart pounded in my chest and I couldn't breathe. I could hear my blood in my own ears. I felt like hitting someone...I felt like killing somebody. Jarod came to me and placed his head on my shoulders.
I couldn't think, I couldn't talk. Jarod placed his hand on my cheek and I leaned into it like the lifeline it was.
"You're telling me that my parent's aren't my parents, that my sister isn't my sister." I choked out the words and Jarod must have understood.
He sat next to me on the bench seat, his body so close to mine I could feel the burn where our thighs and shoulders touched.
"Yes. Alex, I'm sorry. You're father worked for the Consortium. So did your mother. They wanted children so they went to this clinic...these doctors who could help. From all I could learn, they didn't know that their bosses steered them in this direction. They were the subject of an experiment, you were the result. They used someone else's sperm to fertilize another female's egg and implanted it in your mother. Your grandmother never knew, neither does your sister."
I couldn't take any more of this, I had to get up and move. I paced the narrow confines of the compartment like some caged animal. Back and forth, just needing to feel my feet moving beneath me, trying to run away from the knowledge of what Jarod was saying was the truth.
"Come back, Alex, please."
"I don't really know what they were expecting--probably trying to get someone else like me, but it didn't work. Your parents had a perfectly happy baby boy and everyone was happy except, of course, 'the smoker.' As far as he was concerned it was a failure."
"Do you remember the tests they gave you when you were about seven?"
"Yes," I said, "vaguely."
"That's when they decided that you weren't displaying any of the qualities that they wanted but 'the smoker' wouldn't let you go. He wanted you for them."
"That's when it all changed," I said. "My parents became very distant, abusive, uncaring. I thought it was something I did."
"You did nothing, Alex. He swore them to secrecy or they'd be killed. They were killed anyway when you were in your teens, by him."
I'd always suspected that, but now my whole world was crumbling before me, all that I was, all that I am is a lie. They made me, they used me; they turned me into their killer, their hired gun.
"He took control of you then," Jarod continued, "got you into college and then the FBI and you know the rest."
Jarod took my hand between both of his as if this mere action could make it all go away. It couldn't. I looked at him like something lost, like something foreign, like something despised.
"But something did happen, Alex. Something they never anticipated, something they never expected."
I looked at him for something, for something redeeming.
"Why weren't you afraid of me, Alex? Why are you still alive? Why did you notice that flashing clock, why do you think that you are the only one who came in close contact with that Alien that is still alive? Why have you escaped death so many times?"
I looked at him for the answers, for I certainly had none.
"The doctor's at the clinic added some DNA strands to the egg they fertilized--I think it was alien, but I'm not certain. What it did was give you a sort of ESP, not something that you really ever knew about, or even realized. You can tell things, a second sight, if you will. You knew about that flashing clock, it wasn't just chance that you glanced down and saw it. You knew I meant you no harm; you recognized, eventually what 'the smoker' was doing, and about how wrong it was; you knew to trust Mulder--you still trust him."
Jarod paused as if to gather his thoughts and to ask the really important question. "Who is Mulder? What is he to you?"
Jarod still held my hand between his and I tried to yank it away--he is much stronger than he looks, and he wouldn't let me.
"Who is Mulder, Alex, what is he to you?"
I glared at Jarod, but the look on his face was so tender, so concerned, I just couldn't lie to him. Not after all this, not after all he's told me--in its way it's cleared up a lot of questions I've always had.
"I don't know what Mulder is, Jarod. I do know that he is special to them. For some reason, I've never been able to figure out; he's important for some reason to the coming colonization."
"I know all about the colonization plans and the Consortium's part in it, Alex."
"But Mulder," I said, "is dogged in his pursuit for the truth. He won't stop until he gets it. When he does, he will try to expose it, he won't go along with them for any reason."
"Why is he important to *you*?" Jarod is one of those people...like a dog with a bone they won't let anything go.
"He is...he is the man I love." I searched his face for any reaction, for any signs of disgust, for any signs of rejection. But I found noting.
"I thought as much, Alex. I've seen you together. But he doesn't love you, does he?"
"No, he hates me, Jarod."
"I wouldn't be too sure." Jarod said with a grin.
Brothers by Choice 4: Behold and See Part 3
"What do you want from me, Jarod? Why did you tell me all this?" I could still feel his heat, his closeness.
"It's not so much of what I want, Alex. It's what I need. I need you. I need your help in destroying the Centre and the Consortium. I can do a lot of things myself, but could do much more with the help of someone like you. You know what I can do, Alex. I found you, I learned all about you, I passed you the information about the gold shipment that brought them to their knees for weeks. I have my own sources of information, I can break into their computer systems, I can learn their plans, but I can only do so much. With you working with me, we could do so much more."
I had to think. I had to think hard. Up to now, I've been doing it on my own, passing information onto Mulder. But what could Jarod and I do together? A lot, I realized. I looked into his eyes for a long time, and he didn't turn away from me. He held my gaze with his rich chocolate eyes, regarding me with more kindness than I've seen in a long time. His face held no pressure, no expectation--it was serene. What he said was true, we could do a lot of damage together, and if I could get Mulder on-side, well, we could do a huge amount of damage. Maybe we wouldn't be able to take them down, but...hell, maybe we could.
For the first time in months I felt something strange--I felt hope. And I liked the feeling. Could this man really do what he says he can do, and I realized that yes, he can.
"Jarod, this will be dangerous, very dangerous for both of us."
"I know," he said. What will playing it safe get us, Alex. Death. Enslavement, or worse." At that point I knew that he realized just what he was getting himself into.
"Okay, Jarod, you've got a partner," I said.
He smiled at me and rubbed his hand along my cheek. "You look terrible," he said. He pointed to the bed. "Why don't you go and sleep; I'll stay here...I've slept on worse."
I don't know how I looked but I certainly knew how I felt. Used, dried up, twisted in directions I never knew existed, my guts still tied up in knots and my heart still pounding in my chest. He let me go and I moved toward the bed.
I lay down and stared up at the ceiling, the muted sounds of the train in my ears seeming to calm me. I could sense that Jarod was at his machine again, the volume turned down very low so that it wouldn't disturb me, reviewing his life all over again. The things he's told me kept playing through my mind like a disturbing movie. What was left for me, anyway, besides just surviving and was that even worth it. A companion in this fight, someone who really knew what was happening wouldn't be all bad. As these thoughts kept replaying in my mind, my eyes grew heavy and I dropped into a fitful sleep.
**"Alex, you fucking little bastard!" My father's eyes were filled with hate and his voice was twisted with venom. "You're a freak, you're no son of mine!" I was fourteen again, and his words hit me in the stomach like a physical blow. I looked at my mother; she looked away from me, as rigid as a statue, she showed no emotion at all. Nana was standing in the corner; her eyes so sad looking at me, tears streaming down her face. Weeping for me, for some reason only I didn't know about.
"Sasha, why is dad saying these things?"
I could hardly speak. I was so focused on trying to keep the tears from my eyes and keeping my voice under control.
"I don't know, sis."
"Don't call her that, she's no sister of yours!" My father screamed at me.
I could feel it laughing at me as it filled every cell of my body. I could hear it talking to me in my mind, in a voice so malevolent and hateful it made me recoil in horror. I know you it said in my mind-we're closer to being the same than you know.
I could see Mulder sitting next to me though he seemed a thousand miles away--sotting next to me on the plane, looking straight at me. The creature wouldn't let me speak to him, wouldn't let me reach out to touch him. It controlled me completely and all I could hear was its laughter--its demonic laughter.
There were just too many of them, far too many of them. They held me in a vice-like grip ripping the sleeve from my shirt. The tears of impotent frustration were streaming down my face as I screamed 'No!' Somewhere deep inside me I knew what they were going to do even before I saw the red-hot, glowing butcher knife.
Oh, sweet Jesus, the pain, the searing, mind-killing pain. I felt the knife ripping through my flesh and I started to scream and scream and scream.***
I knew that I was screaming and thrashing around on the small bed. I didn't know where I was, I didn't know who I was with. I felt two strong arms surround me and drag me to him.
"Shush now, Alex. It's all right, you were dreaming. It's me, Jarod." His hand came up and brushed back my sweat-soaked hair; his hand was comforting, his voice, whispering in my ear, calming my panic.
"It's okay, Alex. You're with me--you're safe." His breath was hot and humid in my ear and I pushed myself even more closely to him. I did feel safe; I did feel safe here with Jarod. During my sleep he had changed his Tee and replaced it with a shirt, now unbuttoned, as was the top button of his jeans. I put my hand up to his chest and I felt the soft, downy hair of his muscled body. I held onto him tightly as if clinging to life itself.
He did the strangest thing then, he kissed my hair. Such a small thing, so imitate, so selfless, so dammed enjoyable. No one has ever touched me with such gentleness.
He tucked his palm under my chin and raised my head up he could look in my eyes. His eyes were so full of worry--of concern. Concern for me, now there's a concept I couldn't wrap my mind around.
"Was it bad?"
I nodded my head.
He cradled the back of my skull with his hand and brought my face to his and kissed me. Oh how sweet that was, so chaste, so timid, so soul restoring. He rubbed his tongue over my lips and I tasted him for the first time. His lips were soft and silky, so warm and humid. I opened my mouth and took in his tongue and he tasted so sweet. He deepened his kiss with a passion that surprised me.
My hand was playing with the hair on his chest and when I rolled one of his nipples between my fingers he moaned into my mouth. Suddenly, he pulled away from me as if he was slapped.
"Oh, Alex, I'm so sorry," he said. The look on his face was one of shame.
"For what?" I asked.
"For kissing you, I got, I got...carried away."
He looked away from me and tried to get off the bed, but I wouldn't let him. I put my hand on his cheek and forced his face back to me. "With all you know about me, Jarod, you don't know that I like men. I like them a *lot*!" I chuckled. I licked his chin and his eyes opened wide; they looked like huge chocolate pools. As I kissed down his chin, the little noises he was making told me that he was enjoying this, a lot.
I climbed on top of him and it startled him. "Are you a virgin, Jarod?" He blushed just a little.
"Well, not exactly"
"What does 'not exactly' mean?" I asked him as I drew his ear lobe into my mouth. His breathing picked up noticeably with this. My tongue is talented at this and I swirled it around the whorls of his ear before I stuck it in to his ear canal. I could feel the shivers travel the entire length of the body under me.
"I had sex once," he said in a faltering voice. He looked so cute, like some teenager having to make this admission to his best buddy.
"Jarod," I said, "you're thirty-eight...forty years old, and you had sex once!"
He looked at me accusingly, as though I had forgotten everything he'd told me today--forgotten that he was stolen from his family, forgotten that he'd been held captive in the Centre for most of his adult life. He was like a little boy who'd just been slapped, and Jesus, I felt guilty.
"With a woman in the mountains," he said. He looked wistful, his mind far, far away--gone to some other place and time. He turned his attention back to me. "But that was a long time ago."
My tongue was busy again exploring that little indentation just under his Adam's apple--that soft place between the clavicle bones. He tasted wonderful. I could still smell the leather on him.
"You'll like this. I promise." Very few people have actually touched Jarod, I think. Touched him like I'm touching him now. My hand roamed over his chest; my fingers stopping every so often and played with the downy covering of his chest, rolling it between my fingers. His body was purring underneath me. As my thumb grazed his nipple, his eyes opened wide. I took my thumb and put it in his mouth. "Suck on it, Jarod," I said.
And he did. He did my thumb justice, sucked on it long and hard, like he would have done to those Pez he always has in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it, suckled it, licked it. I took it from his mouth reluctantly. This beautiful man sucking on my thumb was turning me on. I brought it down to his nipple and started to stoke it. His hips bucked into mine and as our aroused cocks met, an electric thrill of pleasure went through me.
I brought Jarod's hardened nipple to my mouth and sucked gently the other man moved his head from side to side in pleasure. How erotic it was to watch him--his eyes closed, mouth slack, tongue gently wetting his own lips. When I gently bit that nipple, I discovered pleasure centers Jarod never knew he had. The man almost shouted.
I looked up at him and smiled. "Enjoying yourself, so far?"
"What do you think?" He chided.
"I'd say, yes."
He put his hands on both sides of my head and pulled me to his mouth. The kiss he gave me was so full of desire, so full of wanting. It contained a world of sighs. I returned it with gusto. His tongue explored every part of my mouth, my tongue meeting his, riding over it, slipping under it.
I slipped my hand beneath the open top of his pants and took hold of the head of his cock, gathering some of the fluid and bringing it to my lips. I had a slight smile on my face.
"You surprise me, Jarod!"
"Commando!" I said with emphasis.
He looked confused.
"Freeballing," I explained.
He looked even more confused this time. "No underwear," I said.
The dark man blushed a bright pink. "I find it more comfortable."
"You'll get no complaints from me," I said with a smile in my voice. "You'll see just why in a second."
I slowly lifted myself from him, looked down at his kiss-swollen mouth and aroused body. "Take off your clothes, Jarod."
I started to unbutton my shirt and slipped it from my body. I saw him looking at the straps of my prosthetic. I never thought it would be this easy. I never thought I would be comfortable enough with anyone to let them see me like this. I quickly undid the straps and lifted it from my stump. Jarod was naked by now, and my god he was beautiful, every part of him in perfect proportion--a body even Greek statuary could envy.
Naked now, I climbed on top of him so that our cocks touched and glided against one another. I took his mouth again in a kiss and he returned it with interest. His hands, this time, roamed over every part of my body he could reach. Even my stump was tenderly caressed.
"Alex, you should really use some...on that." He used some twenty-syllable word I would never be able to get my tongue around. "It wold really cut down on the chafing and the pain," he explained.
"What are you, a doctor?"
He just smiled at me--a real elfish grin. "I used to be."
I mocked slapped his shoulder.
I brought my forehead down to meet his. "What do you really want from me, Jarod? What do you want me to be?"
He suddenly became misty-eyed.
"Alex, I want us to be...brothers. Brothers by choice. With your talents, and mine, you can help me right some of the wrongs I've done. I can help you too, help you to bring down the consortium, stop what's going to happen." The look on his face was tentative, shy, afraid that I was going to turn him down, but how could I, how could I refuse my only ally.
"You got it, bro!"
"And I've got something else for you, Jarod," I said as I ground my hips into his.
"You don't have to, Alex."
"I know, Jarod. I want to. I want to do this, just for you."
The time for teasing him was past and I went for the kill. I moved myself down to the end of the bed so that my head was directly over his cock and my lips covered the head of it. The way the man arched his back in pleasure, I thought he was going to die. "Easy, Jarod, easy." I said.
I look my lips and gently sucked on the large vein from root to tip, licking at it with my tongue. Jarod got larger, if that was possible. I braced my stump against his leg and took his balls in my hand, gently warming them in my hands, rolling them around. I really don't think Jarod was in his right mind--he was making sounds even I've never heard before.
I swallowed him whole and I'm sure he blacked out for just a minute. He was so close; I could feel it.
"Jarod, you still with me?"
This is going to be hard, Jarod. I have a little treat for you and it's something I'm sure even you've never even thought of. I want you to hold your legs for me, pull them as far back as you can get them."
He did as I asked him. I started licking at the base of his cock then taking his balls into my mouth. His head was swinging back and forth again. He was dying to touch himself, but with his hands occupied with holding his legs for me, he wasn't able. I let his balls fall from my mouth and I used my tongue to lick at them like an ice cream.
The poor man was beside himself with pleasure, hips undulating but not able to get any friction on his cock. This was torture I thought, as I slipped my tongue below his balls and licked at the perineum. I licked the whole length of it, pausing from time to time to take a few of the hairs into my mouth and pull at them.
I put my hand under one of Jarod's buttocks, setting up a rocking motion for him. The head of his ridged cock rubbed against the soft hair of his stomach. I knew that must feel good. I lifted his ass a little higher and my tongue attacked his crack, sliding up and down its entire length. Jarod was still rocking and calling out my name. Then I breached him, slowly at first, my tongue tipping at the tight opening, then licking ferociously at it, wetting it thoroughly before I slipped my tongue into him.
He was practically crying now from the mixture of frustration and pleasure. I knew he was about to come as he called out to me. But my tongue didn't slacken in its attack, licking him, sucking him, driving him to the point of no return.
"God, Alex, I'm coming."
"Don't move, Jarod, keep those legs held back!" I continued to feast on him as I saw him shoot pulse after pulse of tick, ropy cum onto his stomach. I would be a liar if I said I didn't consider this achievement with some degree of pride: making a man cum without touching his cock.
He was still shooting when I scooted up between his legs and swallowed his cock whole, in one swallow, milking him for all he was worth. Jarod was weeping now in pleasure as I sucked him, cajoled him to give me more, and he did--one final pulse and I had him drained.
I licked his cock clean of every drop and swallowed him. He tasted sweet and salty at the same time, but not bitter. The man must be eating right. I moved up further and lapped at every ounce of cum covering his belly and washed him clean.
I pulled myself up and lay next to him. Out mouths met in a kiss, sharing the taste of his seed with him. His eyes looked at me with love--I've never been looked at like that before--and who am I to refuse one of God's gifts. His eyes bore right into my soul as he reached out his hand to touch me. I nodded my ascent. I could tell this was the first time he'd held another man's cock in his hand. He touched me knowingly and took my mouth to his again for a kiss. It didn't take much before I was shooting my load between us--hard.
He took his cum-stained fingers to his mouth and tasted me. I must admit, I was deeply touched. He cleaned the rest of it from the bed and us and smeared it over his hairy chest. He pulled me to him with such force, like he'd found something he would never willingly relinquish.
"What you did, Alex, what you did was..."
I shushed him with my fingers, tucked his head into my shoulder and pulled the blanket over us.
"You deserve that, Jarod, and much, much more. But sleep now." He wrapped himself around me like a second skin, his arms pulling me so close to him that it almost hurt. Within minutes he was asleep.
I, however, wasn't so lucky. I couldn't help thinking that in the space of one day I had gained a lover and an ally. From what I learned about Jarod from those damned disks, he was a powerful ally. As damaged and lonely as I was, but a strong man, a man I'd be happy to have at my side to fight this war.
It's true: when God closes a door, he always opens a window. Just this morning when I thought I'd finally lost Mulder, that I would have to fight alone--no matter what it cost me--Jarod comes into my life.
The gentle rocking of the train was soothing somehow, the constant ache in my heart over Mulder was lessened but not vanquished. The warm body clinging to me in this small cot gave me a new hope--a new hope for another day and a possible victory. Sleep claimed me then and granted me his most pleasant of gifts: sleep without dreams.
When I awoke in the morning, not surpassingly, Jarod was gone. I figured he was a man who couldn't stay in one place very long. I dressed quickly and sat on the bed enjoying a cigarette when I saw the note he left me. It was short and sweet with just two words: 'Remember, Brother' and included a telephone number, which he assured me, was untraceable. It ended with his assurances that he'd be in touch. I quickly folded it and put it in my pocket.
I was just putting the cigarette out in the ashtray when the door burst open. In walked this tall black-haired creature. Despite her expensive clothes and expertly coifed hair, she still looked cheap and tawdry. Following her was a kindly looking older gentleman who had to be Sydney. With them, was a small balding man; he had the word geek written all over him.
"Well, well," I said, "big daddy, junior and the spook. I can't say I haven't been expecting you."
"Where's Jarod?" the woman barked at me.
"And that's any of your business, how?"
"Listen, Junior," she said, 'don't fuck with me..."
I had my silenced gun out of its holster and pointed at that delicate spot directly between her eyes before she had a chance to blink.
"Now, let me tell *you*," I said, "from now on Jarod's whereabouts are none of your business. And if I ever see your ugly face around me again, I'll do some work on it that even a plastic surgeon couldn't fix. Understood!"
She glared fire at me.
"Come on, Miss Parker, we'd better leave," Sydney said in a very calm voice, but there was a smile hidden in it somewhere. He looked at me, appraising me silently, and I think he was happy with what he saw.
"Another thing," I said, "a message for daddy. Tell him Alex Krycek is on the case now. If he doesn't recognize the name, I'm sure the Smoker will enlighten him. Now get out of here!"
I sat where I was for a few minutes with my gun resting on my knee. Got up, holstered it, put on my jacket and left the compartment. I didn't even know where I was, but I knew that I needed a coffee and had to get off this train.
Continued in "Two Sizes Too Small"
Brothers by Choice 5 : Two Sizes Too Small
By The Riticulan Amenuensis
X/Files Pretender Crossover Pairing The episode M/Sk
The Usual Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but if I did I'd, treat them better. In particular I'd give certain characters larger roles.
This is the fifth part of a continuing series, although I consider each as stand-alone, they might be better understood if you were familiar with the previous chapters.
Plot Summary: Mulder goes on a shopping espedition that sort of backfires on him
Warning: This chapter contains a sex scene which some might find a little kinky, so please be warned. Consider all episodes of each of these series as being spoiled.
Archivists: Please archive where you will, just let me know where my babies have come to rest.
For those of you who would rather read the stories in their complete condition instead of multi-part postings, this story is up at my site :
I would like to make a special thank you to Mace for making some very nice book covers to go with these stories. You might want to check out her pictures page at: there you will see lots and lots of beautiful pictures.
I would also like to give a thank you to a person that some of you may know as Fox Mulder, for giving me some great help with this story.
And a special thanks to m butterfly for the beta
Brothers By Choice 5 Too Sizes Too Small
The sunlight pinged off the diamond stud in the man's ear. The pungent, sharp smell of new leather was everywhere, seemingly crawling right into the pores of his skin. The constant hum of the air conditioner, protecting this store from the cruel D.C. summer, was loud in Mulder's ear.
"But Sir, are you sure about this?" The man's sing-song voice was beginning to get on Fox's nerves. "These pants are at least two sizes too s...."
Fox cut him off sharply, "They're the ones I ordered. They're the ones I want."
The man admitted defeat. He passed the pants to Fox--jet-black calfskin. The clerk eyed them jealously and wondered if he'd really miss the three weeks', miserable salary he earned in this place it would cost to get himself a pair. He idly thought of the necessities of life such as food and shelter, and let that thought slip quickly from his mind.
Fox brought the pants to his nose and sniffed copiously. He loved the smell of new leather and he'd love the way he'd smell when wearing his new clothes. The only problem was how he was going to get them on.
He looked at the clerk. The clerk looked at the pants. The clerk looked back at Mulder and sighed.
"Changing room--over there to your right. Would you like some help getting into those?"
Fox smirked at him, not exactly pleasantly, but the man got the message.
Throwing open the door to the changing room, they both entered. Fox was quick to strip himself of his jeans and pass them to the clerk, who hung them up on the nearest hook. What surprised him the most was that his customer wore no underwear. He looked at that prodigious appendage hanging between his customer's legs, slightly to the left, and he thought, with some acerbity, that some people are born rich and others are born smart--but some people are just born lucky.
"You're going to make somebody happy tonight, aren't you?"
Mulder didn't grace him with a reply.
The expression on the clerk's face wasn't quite smug as Fox sat himself down on the bench, lifted one of his legs, and brought it toward the pants he held in his hands. The clerk just clucked. His expression turned almost to mirth as he shook his head back and forth.
"Mr. Mulder, that will never work."
"Why not?" Fox said with the slightest tinge of annoyance.
"The pants are too sizes too s... " His voice just faded away. "You'll have to lie on the floor, and we'll have to pull them up that way. "
Fox looked down at the white Tee shirt he was wearing, and his eyes traveled to the floor, noting the state of its cleanliness. Mulder did what he was told, reluctantly, taking off his Tee and placing it on the bench he had just vacated.
The clerk motioned to Mulder's feet and he elevated them, just a bit, allowing the man to slip the pants up to Mulder's knees. He came around behind Fox then, knelt down, bracing his knees behind Mulder's shoulders. Fox wasn't comfortable with this--didn't like it at all--it felt too suggestive, somehow.
The clerk stretched himself over Mulder's body and grasped the pants. "Lift up your behind," he said.
Mulder felt even more uncomfortable now, with the clerk's head only feet-- inches--from his cock, but he did as he was asked, telling himself--and even he could hear the uncertainty in his mind--that this would be over soon.
The clerk didn't speak, but he looked like this was something he was called upon to do every day, and Mulder closed his eyes in embarrassment. All Mulder could hear were grunts and the heavy berating of the assistant as he bent to his task.
"This is not going to work, Mr. Mulder," he said.
Fox opened his eyes and looked down. The pants were stuck--stuck just above his knees--and they wouldn't budge another inch, not even when Mulder added his efforts to the clerk's. Mulder's body was coated with a thin sheen of sweat from the heat in the room, from his embarrassment, from the abject mortification he felt in this position.
"This is going to be a two-man job," the clerk said, throwing a questioning look at the agent. "Do you mind?"
Mulder shook his head.
"Anthony...Anthony," the clerk called to another of the assistants. "Can you come here for a minute?"
The man lying on his back on the floor thought that nothing could increase his embarrassment, but he was wrong. His olive skin was taking on a little blush as the other clerk knocked on the door. He opened it without waiting for an answer. In extreme moments like this, Mulder's mind made amazing leaps; he remembered a little poem he heard years ago: 'The chambermaids who work in Rome are very hard to shock, they wait until you're naked, then they enter, then they knock*'. Despite himself, he had to chuckle.
"Anthony, good, we have a...little problem," the clerk chuckled.
Fox wished he had his gun so he could wipe the smirk off Anthony's face.
"Yes, I see you do," Anthony said.
The two men just smirked at each other, and turned as one to Fox and said, "Here's the plan: you put your hands around the zipper area...to protect your assets--zippers cause such a nasty burn, and Anthony and I will get on either side of you and try to pull them up. So now lift your ass!"
Mulder imagined what he must have looked like on the floor: naked, pants down around his knees, both hands trying to cover himself like some shy adolescent just caught masturbating in the woods by the girl next door. No matter what he did, he couldn't completely cover himself, a little hairy flesh of his sack seeping out between his fingers, the head of his cock trying to march its way out from between his palms. He wasn't shopping, he was in hell.
Fox was mortified, but followed instructions. He couldn't look; he just closed his eyes and waited, and waited, hearing only the sounds of exertion of the other two men, until all at once he felt the cool leather cover his ass. He yelped when the zipper scraped over his hands; it nipped the flesh of his sack sticking out through his fingers, tearing a few hairs from him as it went.
Now Mulder wished he was dead as he felt the hot, sweaty hand of the clerk slap his own hands away from his cock. Offending digits lifted him, just like they had a perfect right to do so, his other hand taking his balls and squeezing the orbs of his testicles around the base of his cock. Pushing and prodding him, stretching his assets to impossible lengths, the clerk was grunting with the effort of getting those things inside the pants. For the first time Fox did think that maybe he had made a mistake: two sizes too small might have been carrying this a little too far. He felt himself being squeezed, compressed and pulled down with a touch way too intimate for the agent's liking. Finally, the clerk found success and Fox felt the cool kiss of the leather against his abused flesh.
"Suck it in, Mr. Mulder," the clerk said in that detested sing-song voice.
The smell of sweat and leather mixing--a heady combination--was assailing Mulder's senses as he heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled up, and he finally breathed a sigh of relief.
The clerk was panting heavily from his exertions or from the sight of his customer encased in leather. Could have been either, or a combination of both. "All done, Mr. Mulder," he said but he couldn't drag his eyes away from the man.
Fox tried to raise himself from the floor, slowly, but found he could not--the leather covering his knees just wouldn't cooperate, just wouldn't bend to his desire. The clerks recognized his predicament immediately and rushed to his assistance. Each taking a separate arm, they hoisted him to his feet.
The leather was so tight, so constricting. He could feel the seams pressing against his balls--slightly annoying and almost painful. This auto-eroticism was not lost on him and his cock started to react. He willed himself quiet. He stood at his full length and rubbed his hands over his thighs; the pants were so snug, so clinging, that he couldn't figure out where he ended and the pants began. He felt so damned sexy; the soft, subtle feel of the leather under his hands; each place he rubbed released more of the leather's aroma into the air, each new burst of smell assailing his senses anew. The leather seemed to be caressing him, changing its shape to conform to his contours. It felt like a lover's embrace. He silently wondered why he had waited so long to make this purchase.
As he turned to look at the clerk, he felt the leather molding to his ass, the seam separating his cleft and settling against his anus. A new blush came to his face.
"Sir, you look fantastic!" Anthony turned to look at his associate as though looking for agreement. That agreement was there, in an instant.
"You certainly do, Mr. Mulder," the nameless clerk agreed.
Fox looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror behind Anthony. He was pleased with what he saw. The leather was so black, so soft, and so tight against his skin, he could see the mushroom shape of the head of his cock. This time he wasn't embarrassed just supremely pleased. Although he couldn't see it, the pants draped so tightly over his behind that the clerks would swear that they could almost count each individual hair covering his butt. An entirely pleasing effect.
"Thanks, boys, for all your help," he said as he turned to leave.
"Mr. Mulder, your shirt!" Anthony picked it up from the bench where Fox had thrown it and tossed it to him.
Fox caught the shirt easily and looked at it in his hands as though deciding just what to do with it. To the surprise of both the clerks, Mulder didn't put it on. Instead he just wedged it into the back pocket of his pants, letting a good part of it hang down his ass.
Both clerks' eyebrows raised in surprise, simultaneously.
"Your pants, too, Sir," they chimed in unison.
"No, you keep them--throw them out, give them to charity, whatever. And thanks again." Fox favoured them with one of his gut-wrenching smiles--as if they weren't already putty in his hands--and left the room.
The clerks followed him out and stood at the cash register and watched the shop door close behind him. "That man has one sweet ass," Anthony said.
The other clerk shook his head in complete agreement. "How far do you think he'll get, dressed like that?" The leer on his face showed just what he thought Mulder's chances were.
"In this neighbourhood," Anthony chuckled, "one block, maybe two, and someone's going to drag him into some dark alley and treat that ass the way it should be treated."
They both laughed, returning to their duties of sorting clothing and keeping an eye out for new commissions.
Assistant Director Walter S Skinner sat on his leather couch, bare-chested--a small concession to the heat of the day. His air conditioner wasn't keeping up. The mat of silver gray hair covering his massive upper body was beaded with sweat. Even his large, chestnut brown nipples were glistening with a slight covering of moisture.
Walter's glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose, the result of trying of straighten up the kitchen, and the effort that took even made his nose sweat. He pushed them back up absentmindedly. His chest heaved with the effort it took to breathe in this heat.
Skinner, usually a coffee man, had conceded to the day's god-awful heat and changed his drink of choice. He raised the glass of iced tea with lemon to his lips, took a huge gulp and sighed his relief. The look of pleasure on his face soon changed to one of annoyance with the sounding of the doorbell.
Reluctantly, he hoisted his huge frame from the couch and answered its call.
He opened the door just as his agent had raised his hand to knock. The first thing he noticed was the hair. Fox was usually so vain about his hair. It was always so superbly coifed--well except for that fashion faux pas of the buzz cut--but now it was soaked with sweat, plastered to his head. His chest was bare, again quite surprising to Walter, and covered with sweat, glistening as though it was oiled. Skinner's breath, quite literally, caught in his throat. But most surprising of all was Fox's pants--stretched to their limits with the way he was leaning seductively in the doorway - revealing everything he possessed. Walter's cock twitched.
The AD reached out to wipe some of the sweat from Mulder's brow and pushed some of the hair out of the man's eyes. "You're late." It was not an accusation, just a statement of fact.
"I got...I got tied up," Fox replied in a small voice.
"Dressed like that, I'm not surprised."
Fox smiled at that and chuckled softly. He felt relieved--he didn't know, for sure, how his lover would respond to his surprise. He knew now, just from the gleam in Walter's eye.
Walter moved away from the door to allow Mulder to come in, and as Fox passed him, he placed a huge hand over the agent's ass, squeezing lightly.
He closed the door with a loud bang and turned to his lover. Taking Fox by the waist, Walter embraced him, sweat-covered chests and groins meeting, pressing, and grinding. As Fox fused his body to his lover's, he firmly plating his knee between Walter's legs. The AD took him in a kiss, an Olympian kiss, a world-class, a soul-searing kiss. e kHHe His mind dissolved when Skinner stuck his tongue in his mouth and Fox tasted the acid-sweet flavour of the lemon. They both moaned in unison as Mulder sucked that tongue into his mouth for all he was worth. Mulder groaned anew when Skinner rubbed his hand over his crotch, bringing him, as much as he was able in these pants, to life.
Their mouths disengaged, finally, and Fox lay his head on Walter's shoulder, his body still hugging him. Walter kissed his ear and said in a low, sultry voice: "Beautiful."
"Beautiful," Walter said slightly louder. "Those pants look great on you." He rubbed both hands over Mulder's ass. "But I have to say, " Skinner teased, "they feel better."
Walter pushed him away for one more glance. Mulder, with his sultry look, his kiss-swollen full lips and his incipient erection, appeared to be a man who needed to be fucked. "Yep," Walter continued, "beautiful."
Mulder's skin flushed just a little again.
"Sit on the couch," Skinner told him, "I have to go to the bedroom for a minute. I'll be right back."
Fox tried to sit, but with the tightness of his new pants and the added pressure of a half-swollen cock, he wasn't able. So he threw dignity to the wind and just flopped, bouncing slightly when he landed. He spied Skinner's drink on the coffee table and sneakily brought the glass to his mouth to steal a sip. When the cool, sweet liquid rolled over his tongue and slid down his throat, he closed his eyes in pleasure; he hadn't realized how thirsty he was. He looked around the room, wondering what was taking Walter so long. He was relieved when he heard the heavy footfalls on the stairway and looked up to see his man.
Fox's jaw dropped to his chest when he saw what Walter was wearing, or rather, what Walter wasn't wearing. He was dressed only in a tiny leather vest, and a set of chaps, and nothing else, his assets open to full view and appreciation, carrying a bottle of oil and wearing a huge, come-hither smile.
"Good leather, Mulder, requires the right preparation. Treat it right, and it will last you a lifetime." Walter's lecherous smile ratcheted this seduction up a notch or two. He opened his hand and poured a large amount of oil in his palm. He rolled it around a little bit, warming it up, and rubbed it into his vest unit it glistened, soft and supple. He moved his and over a bit, and smeared the remainder of the oil onto his own chest, rubbing it in, slowly and seductively, until he moaned.
"Such a little thing, Fox. Cheap. Easy. Doesn't take any time at all." He never took his eyes from Mulder for one single moment.
Fox was speechless, just staring at his lover like he was lunch and Mulder was a starving man.
Skinner took the bottle, tipped it slightly, and dribbled the slippery liquid down the side of his chaps. He bent quickly before the oil reached the floor and rubbed his hand the entire length of the chaps, working the oil into the thirsty leather. He raised his face up a bit and smiled at Fox. He moved his oil-slicked hand to his own cock, coating it and his balls with the liquid. Reaching under himself, he stretched his hand as far back as he could reach to rub the oil into his own ass. He groaned loudly as his cock responded and brought itself to its always astounding size.
"And there are...added side benefits," he whispered to his lover.
Fox's mouth went suddenly dry. His tongue felt thick and heavy, its texture like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. He tried to lick his lips in appreciation of the sight before him, but found he could not - his mouth didn't even have enough moisture for that. He reached out and took another sip of the iced tea.
Skinner chuckled as he raised himself to his full height and advanced on Fox. "Shall I teach you about these side benefits?" he mock asked. "Shall I teach you how to take care of those pants?" Skinner didn't wait for an answer; he just stared into the depths of the hazel eyes before him. He noticed Fox's increasingly heavy breathing, he could almost see the vein in his neck pulse. He could certainly see the vain attempt of Fox's cock to swell and lengthen in the tight confines of his pants.
Fox couldn't speak--not if his life depended on it--and it very well might have.
"Yes, " Skinner continued, "I think I shall."
Walter dribbled a little of the oil on Fox's thigh and began a slow, deliberate massage of the leather, rubbing from the knee all the way up to the band at the waist. He dribbled more oil on the other leg, giving it the same treatment. Putting the bottle on the coffee table, he stepped between Mulder's open legs, put a hand on each thigh and dipped in for a thorough taste of Fox's mouth. Meanwhile, his fingers continued their seductive dance along his lover's legs. Both hands meeting, occasionally, in the vicinity of Mulder's aching groin, rubbing the oil into the crotch, feeling Mulder's attempts to move into his touch.
"See how easy it is to take care of fine leather products?" in a voice as smooth and deliberate as silk on silk. "No trouble at all," he said as his oil-soaked hands reached up to his lover's chest and massaged the oil into his flesh. "It feels good too."
"Oh, it feels good!" Mulder finally was able to discover speech.
Skinner laughed, that low, rumbling laughter that only large men can achieve. "Roll over, Mulder. I'll do the back."
"But the couch, Walter."
"Don't worry about that. It's leather, remember. It'll enjoy this too. "
Skinner took Mulder by the armpits and lifted him to his feet. Turning him around, he helped him lay flat on this stomach then pushed Fox's legs together slightly and straddled him. Mulder groaned when his partially engorged, over-sensitized cock was pushed into the soft leather cushions beneath him. He rutted into them, seeking the friction he needed, but so far today had been denied him. Above him, Walter laughed, and with a malicious grin reached for the oil.
Fox let out a moan when the oil, now warmed from the heat of the room, dribbled down his back, not on his pants as he expected. Walter's large hands began their attack on his flesh, stroking tense muscles, smoothing knots out of Fox's shoulders. Under his hands, Fox physically relaxed, almost purred with contentment, as Walter reached further and further down his lover's back. He shifted his ass a bit down Mulder's legs, and Fox moaned again from the different pressure on his cock.
Skinner poured a copious amount of oil on Mulder's ass and began to work the warm liquid into the leather. Mulder sighed when Walter's fingers raked down the leather seam lying directly in his cleft. He moaned again when his boss's hand reached all the way down to rub against his heavy balls hanging trapped in the pants. Walter's hands rubbed their way back the way they came, and Fox simply whimpered.
Skinner got off him then, noting the expected state of his own arousal, the tip of his cock purple with blood and need. His own slimy moisture forcing its way out of the head of his cock. He poured oil onto Mulder's thighs and further down the pants, and quickly worked the oil into the leather, enjoying the sound of his lover's almost constant, pitiful need.
He bent over quickly and kissed Mulder's neck and nuzzled his ear. "How you doing?" he asked, solicitously.
Mulder looked into the deep chocolate pools, that were his lover's eyes, and smiled lightly. "I'm dying here, Walt!"
"Not for much longer, Fox, you'll be taken care of. But now, we have to do the front of your legs ."
Skinner knew that his lover probably couldn't move that far, so he took him under the arms again and lifted him to a standing position. When he pushed slightly on Fox's chest with his fingertips, the younger man fell back into a sitting position once again.
Fox was slightly amazed, looking at his lover again, in that state, in that state of arousal--arousal just for him. He reached out and slid his hand around his lover's cock and rubbed softly. Skinner hissed his pleasure.
The bigger man moved out of Fox's reach, took the oil in one hand and put his lover's legs together with the other. He moved backwards so that his legs were outside Fox's, his ass almost directly in Fox's line of sight.
"Lick me, Mulder!"
Faced with this situation, Mulder wasn't a man who had to be asked twice. He looked at the perfection of Walter's ass and licked his lips. He moved his head and nuzzled his face into one of the globes and kissed it while his hand squeezed the other. He spread his lover wide open, and with the tip of his tongue, he traced the entire cleft, stopping only long enough to suck at Walter's entrance. The large man's body trembled its approval. Mulder's mind was awash with the taste and smell of the older man's dark essence. Walter shouted when his lover's talented tongue breached the muscle, tasting him deep inside.
"Fuck, Mulder, that's good!" He dribbled the oil over each of Mulder's legs and tried to rub the balm into the leather, but he wasn't able--his hands were shaking too much. The sounds of desire coming from his throat would not have been recognizable as any language he or anyone else would be aware of. He placed his hands on Mulder's thighs to brace himself for the oral assault that he so loved.
"Deeper, Mulder, harder, Fox...Fox fuck me with that tongue!"
The younger man's cock leapt to attention with Walter's words. He was amazed that the oil had allowed the leather to expand just enough to allow his cock to grow to its full length, standing almost straight up, nuzzling against the zipper of his pants, growing up toward his stomach. But it ached. His balls ached. He was one aching ball of arousal.
Walter was busy fucking himself on Mulder's face. "Oh my god, Mulder, that's wonderful. Touch me, please, Fox, touch me!"
Fox did, slipping his hand between his lover's legs, clasping his balls and rubbing them together, appreciating their size, their heaviness, their perfection.
Walter shook his head with barely contained desire as Fox moved forward, his hand grasping the older man's cock and dragging it down while pumping it harshly from base to crown. Skinner's whimpering grew more pronounced as he moved slightly away from Mulder's mouth and hand. He supported his weight with one hand on Mulder's thigh. He lowered himself down on his lover's fully engorged cock inside the pants. Mulder went wild with need and bucked furiously as the older man fucked himself wildly on his cock.
Walter was roaring his pleasure and need as he grabbed his tormented cock and began to pump it furiously. "Fox, Fox, Fox...lover that's so good." His hand pounded himself furiously as he pistoned his ass along the full length of his lover's cock.
Fox was crying with want and frustration, the sensations in his body way beyond belief and description. Anchoring himself with one hand on Skinner's hip, he used the other to stroke each of his nipples, painfully and repeatedly, into heightened sensuality. His whole consciousness focused narrowly on his cock and that muscle stroking him faster than he ever thought possible.
"Fuck, Mulder, I'm coming!" With a final shout of triumph, Walter shot his seed high into the air, landing in long, stringy strands on the coffee table, his hand still wildly pumping his cock, milking himself to completion.
Mulder could feel the strong contractions in his lover's ass, his poor, abused cock seeming to absorb the sensation of Skinner's orgasm. He watched as each successive convulsion shook his lover's body less and less, to the point that Walter was shooting sperm into his own hand. He raised a wet, salty finger to his mouth for a taste of himself. He groaned a bit with pain as he lifted himself off Mulder. His legs just didn't want to cooperate with him and he collapsed on the floor, his butt coming to rest between his lover's legs. His chest heaved with his need for breath; he closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to quell his beating heart.
Fox reached out his hand and caressed his lover's head--his lover's bald head. Gentle and loving, slowly passing his palm over the flesh, gathering up the sweat. This sent shivers through Walter's system, as it always did. Each time Mulder touched him like this, it touched him deeply--during sex or not, it made no difference. Skinner just sighed in enjoyment, the smile on his face bright enough to light the room.
Turning slightly, Skinner got on his knees next to the couch. He raised a finger to Fox, who snaked out his tongue and brought Walter's semen into his mouth. He groaned at the sensation of it.
Skinner tugged at him until Fox was lying flat on his back on the couch. Mulder saw the look of bliss on his lover's face and smiled.
"So beautiful," Walter said as his tongue licked at his lover's lips. Skinner took his mouth in a full kiss, their tongues doing mock battle. Mulder groaned as he sucked Walter's tongue deep in his mouth. He stopped breathing as Skinner's hand grazed his nipple and continued southward. Mulder heard the telltale sound of his zipper being lowered. Walter deepened his kiss, claiming Mulder, claiming Mulder's mouth as his own.
Fox almost screamed when Walter's hand cupped his balls, kneading them softly, rubbing them lovingly. He almost cried when his lover brought his hand to his nose to smell Mulder's dark, musky scent. He was beyond himself when Walter kissed and licked his nose and said again: "So beautiful...so beautiful, and all mine."
Mulder's breath left him completely when Skinner claimed his mouth again, loving him with his tongue and lips. When the AD grazed his hand over the full length of Mulder's cock, he felt he would surely die.
Tears of joy and relief were streaming from Fox's eyes when Walter stroked him, rubbing his cum-stained fingers over the head of Mulder's cock. Still joined at the mouth with his lover, Mulder squirmed in abject delight with each downstroke of Walter's hand, knowing that he could never, not in one lifetime, get enough of this, enough of this man.
"Krycek," Walter said softly, picking up a little speed with his hand, squeezing Fox just a little harder.
The younger man's eyes flew open, clouded by bliss; Walter could still see the puzzlement in them.
"You have to tell Krycek, Mulder. It's only fair."
Fox could feel his balls churning in their sack; his ass was clenching and on fire from within, lit with his pent-up desires.
"Tell him what, Walter" Mulder managed to say.
"He wants you, Fox, he's got it bad for you." Walter's hand was almost flying up and down Mulder's cock; the older man's own semen mixed with the oil on his skin was giving Mulder the hand job of a lifetime.
"Tell him, Fox, tell him. Tell him that we're sleeping together, that you belong to me!" Walter's voice softened somewhat as he bent to kiss the younger man's forehead.
Fox bucked into the hand that held him, once, twice, and came with a shout and a roar. The echo that was slowly dying in the room was the sound of Walter's own name.
Mulder fell back on the couch, relaxing, his breathing still heavy and laboured, but otherwise looking like he had died. He opened his eyes and looked at his lover. "I will, Walter, at the first opportunity. "
"Promise? " Skinner asked.
"But, Fox...lover, " Skinner's eyes sparkled with warmth, "when you do, please don't wear those pants."
* Victor Buono
Brothers by Choice 6 : First Impressions
By The Riticulan Amenuensis
X/Files Pretender Crossover Pairing The episode M/Sk/Jarod
The Usual Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but if I did I'd, treat them better. In particular I'd give certain characters larger roles.
This is the Sixth part of a continuing series, although I consider each as stand-alone, they might be better understood if you were familiar with the previous chapters.
Plot Summary: Jarod goes to see just how this Mulder has his *Alex* tied up in knots and is in for a little surprise
Warning: This chapter contains a sex scene which some might find a little kinky, so please be warned-a little non-concentual bodage and voyeurism. Consider all episodes of each of these series as being spoiled.
Archivists: Please archive where you will, just let me know where my babies have come to rest.
For those of you who would rather read the stories in their complete condition instead of multi-part postings, this story is up at my site:
I would like to make a special thank you to Mace for making some very nice book covers to go with these stories. You might want to check out her pictures page at: there you will see lots and lots of beautiful pictures.
I would also like to give a thank you to a person that some of you may know as Fox Mulder, for giving me some great help with this story.
This story is has not been introduced to a beta, so all mistakes are mine alone.
BBC 6 First Impressions
Walter Sergi Skinner felt silly--damned silly. Stupid really. He knew he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was sure that he was about to make a spectacle of himself, acting like a damned old fool. What was he thinking to let Mulder drag him into this--a man of his age should know better. He dropped his hand to his belt buckle, idly traced the embossed figure of a cowboy on a horse. His other hand absently flicked at some imaginary piece of lint on the leg of his blue jeans. Skinner lazily looked down at the boots he was wearing, complete with spurs, and shook his head. He quickly checked the narrow piece of leather around his neck that passed for a tie. He made sure that it lay straight between the opening in the small leather vest he wore and gently rubbed any wrinkles out of the plaid flannel shirt he wore beneath it. The only concession he made to his former life was to link his handcuffs through one loop of his belt.
"''Walter, let's go out...let's go wild,' he said." Skinner mumbled to himself. The longer he waited, the more surly he became. "'Let's dress up, go as cowboys to the Country bar outside of town. Nobody will know us there,' he said and I fell for it, again!" His mood just then ratcheted down another notch. And here he was, dressed as a cowboy, feeling silly, looking like a fifty-year-old kid at Halloween waiting for his older brother to take him out.
"And Mulder's not even here!" The AD was pissed now. He pushed the Stetson a little higher up on his head, which allowed just a little of his baldhead to show. He looked around the apartment but noticed nothing out-of-place. He switched off the lights in the room and sat in a chair to await his lover's return.
On the quiet street below, a tall, dark stranger turned the corner. Dressed in a leather motorcycle jacket, boots, Tee shirt, and jeans--he carried this study in black to a ridiculous extreme. And to complete this comic picture, latched onto his arm was a little, old woman, so portly, in fact, she was all chest and ass. The sallow colour of her skin was in stark contrast to the complete blackness of her companion. The straw coloured hair on her head, which owed much more to art than nature, drew your attention to her immediately, such an odd couple they seemed.
"You're not from Washington, are you, dear?" Jarod looked at her as though she had just said something profound and interesting. "No, I'm not. Just visiting."
"Do you have a name?" She said this with such a motherly interest that Jarod answered her immediately.
"Jarod," he stopped momentarily and looked at her once more, "LeJeune." He told her.
"Suits you, dear."
"Mine's Joan, Joan Wheyman and I've lived in this town all my life. It's not a bad place, you know, if you keep to yourself and mind *your* own business." She smiled at him with a teenage coyness that totally belied her years. "I didn't think you're from Washington, everyone around here knows Hagel Place."
She maintained her death grip on Jarod's arm and stared straight ahead. Jarod walked with her quietly and slowly, not wanting to hurry the older woman.
"Here it is," she announced. "I hope you find your friend and have a nice visit with him."
"I'm sure I will," Jarod replied. "Thank you for all your help."
"You're welcome," she said. "I always like to try and help a stranger in town."
She finally relaxed her grip on Jarod's arm and pointed at the building where they had stopped.
"Good luck!" she shouted back at Jarod; she continued to waddle down the street.
Jarod stopped and looked at the building, a dark frown on his face. These security buildings aren't hard to enter; he knew that from experience. A simple matter. Just stand and ring all the buzzers, someone would be sure to be expecting a visitor and would let you in without question.
He thought about what Alex had told him about Mulder, 'such a brilliant mind', 'so smart', 'the best profiler at the FBI'. And yet, Jarod thought, he was *so* easy to find. //If that were true, Mulder must collect enemies like some people collect parking tickets.// Jarod smiled snidely as he remembered how easy it was to track the agent down--all he had to do was to open the telephone book, and there before him, in black and white, was Mulder's name and address. Not the sharpest knife in the door, Jarod thought as he placed his hand on the door, mentally preparing to meet the man who has his Alex tied up in knots.
Walter sat in his chair, more concerned with his own feelings of discomfort in this damned costume than he was about Mulder's whereabouts. He pushed his glasses back and massaged the bridge of his nose, for the fiftieth time that night he was sure. He heard a noise in the hall and was certain that it must be Mulder's returning. But the sound of a key in the lock wasn't what reached his ears. First the doorknob was turned but the locked door didn't budge. Skinner's interest was peaked now; he knew the sound of a lock pick when he heard one.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Skinner's natural flight or fight instincts took over. He chose to fight. He quickly got out of his chair, crossed the room and stood flat against the wall where he would be hidden from view by the opening door.
Jarod quickly succeeded in picking the lock, peeked in the crack of the opened door and saw that the lights were completely extinguished in the apartment--he grew bolder. Silently entering the apartment, he closed the door behind him, resting his back against it to allow his eyes to get used to the dimness of the apartment.
Skinner's actions were quick and cat-like as he tacked the young man and brought him to the floor with an audible thud, depriving Jarod of the air in his lungs. Jarod was a strong man; his strength honed from many years in the Centre's weight room, trying in vain to elevate the crushing boredom he felt when he wasn't actually doing SIMs. This didn't help him here; Jarod's svelte, compact muscularity was no match for Walter's superior weight and build. Walter was lying atop him and try as he might Jarod couldn't dislodge him.
With Walter's knee squarely paced between Jarod's legs, brought up tight against his groin, and Walter's arm tightly pressing into Jarod's throat, he had no choice but to submit. Skinner quickly frisked him for concealed weapons--finding none--he lingered a little too long, perhaps, over Jarod's hard and ample erection. The Assistant Director was able see the heat in Jarod's face at his traitorous body's reaction to the scuffle. "Been a long time, hasn't it, son?" He sneered. Skinner was not a man who missed an opportunity to press an advantage when he saw one.
Jarod's face just grew redder.
"Yes, it must be a long, long time." Skinner chuckled as he hand traveled slowly over the evidence of Jarod's arousal. He moved his large hand from base to tip, slowly, stopping only long enough to squeeze Jarod's balls before his hand made the return trip. A slow, lecherous smile covered his face.
"What are you doing here, Boy? What did you hope to find?" Skinner's face thrust into Jarod's personal space; his nose pressed directly against that of the prone and darkly clad invader.
The only reply Jarod made was an audible hiss made through his clenched teeth.
For the first time that night, the AD thanked his lucky stars that he had included his regulation handcuffs as part of his costume for the evening.
"Okay, have it your way," Skinner said as he reached to his belt buckle and fetched the handcuffs, quickly snapping then on the arm that he held tightly and he roughly yanked Jarod to his feet.
Jarod made no protest and followed Skinner, without resistance, to the chair in the center of the room and Walter forced him to sit it in. Skinner quickly brought Jarod's other hand behind the chair and looped the handcuffs in the rungs, quickly snapping the other cuff to Jarod's free arm. Only then did he cross the room to switch on the lights.
Skinner looked back at his captive--his dark, dangerous looking masculinity was not lost on the AD, how could it not, the AD had an eye for the better things in life. A handsome man in leather, dark jeans, and sporting an erection is not one of the things that he wouldn't appreciate.
"What are you doing here?" Walter asked again.
Jarod just looked at him as though this was something he did everyday. He stared Walter squarely in the eye; his face showed neither fear nor apprehension. If fact, he looked like he was in control. He made no reply.
"Boy!" Walter was getting madder by the minute. "Boy, you're in a lot of trouble. Break and Enter is a serious offence. " Walter looked toward the telephone. "All I have to do," he said, "is make one call and you'll rot in jail for ten years!"
"You don't know me, " Jarod spoke, "but I know who you are?"
"What?" Walter roared.
"Walter S Skinner, Assistant Director of the FBI." Each letter was spit out as an insult; the threat was evident in the voice.
Skinner saw this man, as though through a tunnel, he was sure his heart had stopped in his chest, and his lungs, so used to breathing, seemed so still to him now. He felt the adrenaline in his blood, racing through his system at supersonic speeds--felt it, from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes. If this gets out, he thought,...if this gets out, his life was over, Mulder's life was over! He couldn't permit that, he couldn't; he had to do something to neutralize this threat.
An impudent smile curved across Jarod's face. "So, you won't do that."
"What!" Skinner was not used to having his authority challenged this easily.
"Look at yourself," Jarod laughed. "Dressed up in that...what is that outfit? A cowboy suit." Jarod's smile widened. "I think you'd have a lot of explaining to do, dressed like that, in the apartment of your..." Jarod smiled evilly and paused momentarily for a emphasis, "employee."
Skinner roared in frustration.
Jarod pressed his advantage. "So you tell me, who would have the more explaining to do, you or me. You won't call!" Jarod shouted.
Walter walked toward him, slowly removing the leather tie around his neck. He bent slowly and secured Jarod's legs to the chair.
"For the last time, who are you and what do you want here?"
Jarod said nothing.
Skinner approached him threateningly and Jarod closed his eyes in anticipation of the blow he was sure would come.
His face went scarlet again as Walter slowly traced the outline of his flagging but still evident erection. Jarod couldn't deny the pleasure he felt as he unconsciously arched his hips toward the offending hand.
Skinner looked at him and smiled, he liked it much better when the ball was in his court.
"Who are you?" The AD repeated
Jarod remained stonily silent.
Skinner's hand rubbed across Jarod's Tee shirt. Walter enjoyed the feel of the hard muscle under his hand. He quickly gathered a handful of the black cotton and quickly jerked it upward toward the younger man's head. As the naked flesh of Jarod's stomach and chest was revealed Walter cast an appreciative glance at the compact power of the man. Tight muscle covered by the finest, most gossamer hair that Walter had ever seen. He rubbed his hand slowly and sensuously over the man's chest, noticing how quickly the younger man's nipples formed into a dart shaped arousal.
"Feeling good, Boy!"
Jarod just hissed and pressed his erection into Walter's hand.
Walter ran his finger up and down the zipper of Jarod's jeans, pressing the metal ever harder into the younger man's cock. Jarod's eyes were closed, from either embarrassment or pleasure, the AD wasn't quite sure.
"Let's see what we have here, shall we?"
Jarod's eyes flew open just in time to see the dedicated look on Walter's face. He felt real fear but showed noting on his face; no SIMs he had ever performed had ever prepared him for this. Walter's fingers grabbed onto Jarod's zipper and began an agonizingly slow lowering of it. Click by sickeningly audible click, the zipper descended and the captive man's fully blown erection popped out.
Jarod was beside himself with humiliation at his body's reaction. Walter slowly enclosed the cock in his hand. Slowly masturbating him, hellishly slowly, and, despite his shame, Jarod tried to spread his legs further and push himself in Walter's hand.
"Now who are you?"
Jarod laid his head back, closed his eyes and moaned, enjoying the moment and te feelings speeding through his body.
Walter noticed that Jarod was dangerously close, saw the body he was working on tense and he stopped his furious pumping. He moved his hand to the head of the cock and smeared the fluid into the turgid flesh. Jarod groaned again. Slowly Skinner moved his other hand up Jarod's stomach finally stopping at his erect nipples, pinching them to further life. The cock twitched in the AD's hand.
"What do you want here?"
Walter licked his own lips and placed his hand on the growth between his own legs and messaged it. He bent over the bound man; slowly tracing his tongue over Jarod's closed lips.
Skinner looked at his handiwork and was more than satisfied with the result. He brought his mouth down until it hovered above Jarod's erect nipple. He snaked his tongue out and gave the nipple a lick. Jarod arched into the older man's hand. Walter worked the nipple ruthlessly, licking and sucking, and then biting it hard.
Jarod arched his chest toward Walter's mouth; he moaned helplessly.
Walter released the younger man's cock from his hand with a noticeable whimper from Jarod. He reached into the jeans and felt for the man's balls. They were pulled up tightly to his body and Walter yanked them down sharply; Jarod yelped in surprise.
The AD released Jarod's balls from their confinement and pulled them up closer to his cock. Reaching down with his other hand, Walter closed the zipper a couple of notches, being careful not to pinch the man--effectively trapping the man's jewels outside his pants.
"Now, for the last time, who are you and what do you want here?"
Jarod lowered his head so he could see himself exposed to the cool evening air of the apartment. He said nothing as his tormentor gently rubbed his hand from his compressed balls, slowly bringing it up the entire length of his cock, a finger toying with the slit. Jarod's mind wasn't exactly coherent with all the erotic attention he was receiving, but he said nothing, only an occasional moan escaping through his clenched teeth. His mind exploded as Walter brought his mouth down to cover the head of his cock. The most, warm heat of the AD's mouth almost driving the younger man over the edge.
Walter whipped his head upward at the unmistakable sound of a key being inserted into the lock. He looked back over his shoulder and saw his lover close the door behind him and toss his keys on the table.
Words froze in Fox's throat as his lover moved aside to reveal a very aroused man cuffed and tied in his chair. Mulder didn't miss, either, the flushed, aroused look of his lover as he greeted him with his eyes. Walter's eyes spoke for him, pleading with the younger agent not to say anything and play along with the game.
"Gee, Walter, you got us a pet!"
Skinner chuckled in relief to see Mulder catch on so quickly.
"And I see he's not fixed either." Muldler's eyes were laughing, although his lips were not.
He crossed the short distance to stand before Jarod very quickly. "Yes, he's definitely not fixed!" He reached out his long hand to give Jarod's cock a little, exploratory stroke. "Very nice, Walter, and it's not even my birthday... is it?"
Skinner beamed as he came up behind his lover and thrust his erection at Mulder's ass.
Mulder groaned as he moved back against the older man's erection. Fox quickly decided that he liked this game, whatever it was. His boss slowly reached around him and started to remove the knot of his tie. Slowly opening the buttons on Mulder's shirt, revealing more chestnut brown flesh as each button was opened. Walter pushed the opened shirt to the side and placed each of his hands on Mulder's chest. Each thumb, in turn, rubbing and then scraping the exposed nipples into hard nubs as he sucked his lover's ear into his mouth. Fox gasped and pushed his chest into Walter's hand.
Jarod's eyes were wild with arousal and confusion as Mulder still held on to him, playing with the head of his cock, only stopping when the cuffed man was perilously close to an eruption. His balls were heavy and painful in his sack, his stomach muscles, under Fox's exploring and appreciative hand, were cramping in frustration and sympathy with his own denied fulfillment.
Fox definitely liked this game. He leaned into his lover's embrace as Walter licked at his neck and spooned his entire body against his lover in a showy and tawdry imitation of coitus. Yes, Fox definitely liked this game!
As Skinner slowly ground his erection into Mulder's ass he asked again: "Now, what are you doing here?"
Jarod only arched himself further into Fox's hands, his shame and humiliation knowing no logical limits.
"He doesn't speak," Fox said, barely noticeably, through heavy and laboured breathing.
Jarod's eyes spit fire.
Skinner's hands slowly slipped down Fox's body to reach for his belt buckle. Deliberately, so that Jarod could see exactly what he was doing, he opened the buckle and let his lover's pants drop heavily to the floor. With one hand he roughly slipped the boxers from Mulder's waist and slid them to his ankles.
Jarod's mouth dropped open in excited shock when he saw Fox's fully aroused cock flap against his stomach. His chest was heaving from his own frustrated arousal and need for release. The fact that Fox's hands were so busy on his body wasn't helping his state of mind one bit.
"Bend over, Lover." Skinner said in a silky and sultry voice that would have melted butter. Fox's cock jumped in anticipation.
The younger agent did as he was asked, removing one hand from Jarod's erection and the other from his chest. Placing them on either of the cuffed man's thighs for support, he smiled evilly. He brought his head down to within a hair's breath of Jarod's erection and snaked his tongue for the most teasing of licks that he could manage.
Jarod cried out and Fox smiled his most beatific of smiles, sweet and innocent, almost tender--angelic.
Mulder cried out with pleasure as Skinner opened him up and brought his tongue down the whole length of his crack, licking and sucking, probing him with the wet heat of his tongue. Mulder's eyes lost their focus as he pushed himself into Walter's sweet, wet tongue.
Jarod's senses were full of the smell of sex: his own, the man bracing himself on his thighs, and the man on his knees, doing things with his tongue that Jarod could only barely imagine. The wet sucking noises coming from Skinner were driving him mad, sick with need. He didn't know if he would survive this night if he didn't cum soon.
"Oh, god!" he screamed as the velvety wetness of Fox's mouth captured the head of his cock and started a furious sucking; he felt that his life was being sucked into the brown haired man's mouth. He had never experienced anything like this in his entire life; he felt, at once so erotically charged, and then so bereft and whimpering when the mouth was removed.
Fox wiggled his ass into Walter's mouth and smiled at Jarod.
From somewhere, and Jarod never quite saw, Skinner produced a tube of lube, pouring a generous amount on his hand, began messaging it into his lover. Fox moaned, groaned, and exhaled a blast of hot air in the general direction of Jarod's prick.
The cuffed man groaned in agony as Fox nuzzled his stubble-covered face against his engorged cock. Jarod licked his lips and looked extremely fuckable at this moment.
Skinner's fingers set up a bruising pace where they entered his lover. "More, Walter, harder!" Fox moaned.
The AD was quick to comply and Jarod heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being opened. Walter sighed when his own turgid flesh was finally released. Fox looked up at Jarod then, and winked at him, as much as to say 'Don't you wish this was you?'
Jarod felt that he had never been so horny and yet so unfulfilled.
Skinner buried himself to the root in his lover, driving Fox's head forward, only stopping when it met Jarod's chest. Walter couldn't tell who groaned the louder, him, his lover, or the man they were tormenting.
Fox pushed himself back on the cock splitting him in two and looked into Jarod's eyes, smiling.
"Oh, god, Walter, yes! Do me, do me hard!"
Fox maintained a death grip on Jarod's thighs, the only thing stopping his torrent of sounds was when he took the cuffed man's cock into his mouth again, sucking, pumping and licking him into a frenzy. Fox knew how close the man was and dropped the cock from his mouth. Jarod whimpered at the loss of the heat and the feeling of the rarest silk when that mouth was taken away.
Mulder traced the vein on the underside of Jarod's cock with his nose as Walter plundered his ass. He couldn't recall the last time he had been this excited. Looking up at Jarod's tormented, aroused face only seemed to make him harder. With each stroke of Skinner's cock, he felt it right down to his toes. He knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He was going to cum, cum without anyone laying a hand on him.
Skinners thrusts became more powerful and erratic, his moans louder and louder. He hands gripped Fox's hips tighter as he rammed himself at the hot, warm heat encasing his cock.
"Oh my god, Walter!" Fox said as he slightly righted himself. As he felt Walter spurting load after load into him, he felt his own orgasm racing to completion. As though in slow motion, he saw his own seed leaving his body with a powerful force. Shot after shot of hot fluid hitting the cuffed man on his stomach and chest. He could clearly hear the horse, pitiful, agonizing groans coming from Jarod in his state of hyper-arousal and frustration.
Walter clasped Fox to him tightly, his hand working Fox's cock, milking him completely, forcing every last drop out of him. He licked at Mulder's ear as his lover groaned in complete satisfaction.
They both laughed as they saw Jarod, in a vain attempt, reaching his own hand towards his cock trying to get some relief, but the cuffs wouldn't allow him the reach he needed. "Quite a case of blue-balls you got going there, Son!" Skinner snickered. "Come on Fox, shower."
Mulder followed his lover to the bathroom quickly.
"What was that all about, Walter? Not that's I'm complaining," Fox as Skinner closed the bathroom door.
As Skinner removed his sweat-soaked and sticky clothing he said: "I have no Idea, Fox. I was waiting here for you, all decked out in this ridiculous outfit." He pointed his hand toward the growing pile of clothing on the floor. The tone of his voice and the look in his eyes didn't leave any doubt in Fox's mind as to whom his lover thought to blame for this. "I heard a noise, thought it was you, then I heard a lock pick and there you have it."
"Why didn't you just call the police and have him arrested?" Fox was really curious now.
"He knew me, Mulder. Knew my name, knew what I did. He told me I couldn't call. He knew the kind of mess I would have explaining to the DC police why I was in the apartment of one of my agents, alone, dressed like this. He had me and he knew it."
The younger agent raised his eyebrows, smiled coyly, looked his boss squarely in the face, enjoying immensely the rising pink colour of his skin.
"Well, yea, one thing led to another," Skinner said.
"It certainly did," Mulder replied with a lilt in his voice.
As Skinner dried his lover's chest and stomach with the white, fluffy towel, Mulder trapped his face and placed a chaste skin on his cheek. "Now that we've got him here, what are we going to do with him," he asked.
"I don't know what we can do, aside from beating the truth out of him--he won't say a word. Let him go, I guess," Skinner replied.
The look on Mulder's face reflected his agreement.
Skinner, still naked, exited the bathroom first. He looked at Jarod cuffed to the chair, his equipment deflated, but still quite visible lying on his jeans, and he felt slightly guilty.
Jarod perked up a bit at the sight of the well-muscled and amply endowed Assistant Director and his breath caught in his throat.
Skinner pulled the cuffed man's Tee shirt down over his sticky chest, gently released his zipper and packed the man back in his jeans, and closed the zipper again. Fox came up behind him and passed him the key to the handcuffs that he retrieved from Walter's pants on the bathroom floor.
Walter's smile communicated his thanks.
Skinner quickly unlocked the handcuffs as Fox untied the leather strip holding his legs down. Jarod rubbed some feeling back into his arms. And as quickly Skinner grabbed him by the scruff of his Tee shirt and practically lifted him off the chair.
"You were lucky this time, Boy! Take a word of advice, don't do this again. If I ever see you around here, even smell you around here; you won't be so lucky next time. Do I make myself clear?"
Jarod bristled at the close proximity of the larger man, but nodded his understanding. On legs complaining from being tied up so long, he stumbled to the door, unlatched the lock and let himself out.
He looked back at the closed door, blew a kiss in its direction. This is not over, not by a long shot. Next time, next time, Walter S Skinner, you'll be the one who's moaning. He smiled, straightened up and walked toward the elevator.
Brothers by Choice 7 : The Boys of Autumn
By The Riticulan Amenuensis
X/Files Pretender Crossover Pairing The episode Sk/K
The Usual Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but if I did I'd, treat them better. In particular I'd give certain characters larger roles.
This is the Seventh part of a continuing series, although I consider each as stand-alone, they might be better understood if you were familiar with the previous chapters.
Plot Summary: Krycek goes to visit Skinner with a threat an a deal
Warning: This chapter contains a sex scene which some might find a little kinky, so please be warned-A littlie huliation between friends. Consider all episodes of each of these series as being spoiled.
Archivists: Please archive where you will, just let me know where my babies have come to rest.
For those of you who would rather read the stories in their complete condition instead of multi-part postings, this story is up at my site :
I would like to make a special thank you to Mace for making some very nice book covers to go with these stories. You might want to check out her pictures page at: there you will see lots and lots of beautiful pictures.
I would also like to give a thank you to a person that some of you may know as Fox Mulder, for giving me some great help with this story.
Thanks for M A Bostron for the beta.
Brothers by Choice 7: The Boys of Autumn
Before he was promoted to Assistant Director, 'meeting' was such a nice word: meeting your family for lunch, meeting a lover--now it has an entirely other connotation. Meetings with the money men all morning and then meeting with Mulder and Scully in the afternoon and their requesting to open a investigative file on mermen in New Orleans. That one was so ludicrous that he wasn't even able to speak beyond the word 'no'. An AD's lot is not a happy one. He was so stressed out that even his eye-sockets hurt, and he didn't want to even think about the pain radiating down his neck all the way to his legs.
The Assistant Director was looking forward to three fingers of Scotch, his soft, comfortable couch and nothing more to occupy his mind beyond the decision to perhaps have another Scotch.. When he opened his door and saw the dark figure with the gun trained on him, it didn't faze him at all.
"Evening Walter," Alex said in a perfectly conversational tone. "I know the gun is unnecessary, but old habits are *so* hard to break."
Skinner's smile wasn't a pretty one. "What do you want me to do this time?" There was no heat in his voice, no resentment; it sounded as banal as if he was talking about the necessities of life like eating and breathing.
"I left the high-tech enforcer at home," Alex explained with the most sang-froid he could muster. "But you know the drill--it's on a timer, if I don't check in at a certain time, well..."
Walter knew only too well.
"How are the veins, Walter? Are they itchy with all those little beasties running around in them?" Alex's tone was nasty.
The AD knew a rhetorical question when he heard it and didn't respond. He reached up and removed his glasses; the deep pools of his eyes showed nothing. They seemed bone-weary; they appeared dead. He looked at Alex as though he wasn't even seeing him.
"How does it feel, Walter, to be so not in control, so vulnerable?"
The big man replaced his glasses, looked directly at Krycek. "What do you really want, Alex?"
"Nothing, Walter, just a little company."
"A little company," Skinner mimicked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.
"Can't a guy drop by to visit an old friend?" Alex was enjoying this, enjoying this a lot.
The AD moved slowly to his couch and plopped his large frame directly opposite the chair Alex was sitting in. He hoisted his feet and laid them on his coffee table. "I hate you, Alex. You're a lying, murdering, traitorous son of a bitch."
"None of that's been proven, Walter." Alex said without heat.
"You're probably a spy to boot," Skinner replied.
"What about your fair-haired boy, Walter? Your Fox!" Fox was pronounced with some venom. "What about his crimes and misdemeanors? They don't count, do they, sir? In his quixotic search for 'the truth,' for his sister, they don't count, do they? The search justifies everything, doesn't it? I bet he's never told you that he basically kidnapped me and dragged me to Russia."
Alex stopped to let this sink in before going on with his coup de grace. "He never told you, did he, about the murder he witnessed, the execution-style slaying of one of the consortium's operatives--a friend of mine, by the way--Mulder watched his informant murder the man in cold blood. He did nothing to stop it, did nothing to bring this informant to justice." Alex's green eyes blazed fire.
The younger man didn't need an answer, never expected one really. His former boss was so shocked it was written all over his face.
"Fuck you, Krycek!"
"Not tonight, Walter...been there, done that." Alex laughed.
"I hate you, Alex." It was said with all the finality of a well-thought-out position.
"It wasn't always so, Walter." Alex's eyes darkened with some unreadable emotion. "You know, I learned everything I know about making love to a man from you. You taught me well."
"You were always a quick learner."
"Why'd you pick me up, Walter. Barely 19, just out of high school, first year of college and as lonely as hell. My first gay-bar for god's sake. Why'd you do it? Did I act like I was looking for a dad, or were you just searching for a son? You don't strike me as a chicken-hawk!"
The AD didn't answer, couldn't answer him. The look of amused pity of his face only made Alex mad, his voice lowering to it's most sultry level.
"What a man of honour!" Alex spit out the words at him. "Haven't told your current boy-toy have you? Bad choice of words--your current man-toy!"
"Why the trip down memory lane, Krycek? Is there a point to this?"
Alex ignored him. "You were such a coward about it, too. You never told your wife about me, did you? You certainly didn't tell me you were married. I only found out...well you know how I found out. I'll tell you this, the smoker gloated over that--the holier than shit AD Skinner under suspicion for murder...a hooker no less." Alex clucked. "Jesus, Walter, whatever possessed you?"
Skinner may have to do certain things for Krycek, but answering his questions wasn't one of them.
"You know I waited for you--that last time--for hours, in the park...you never showed. You never even had the guts to tell me."
Skinner was pissed, the rising colour of his face told Alex that. He started to get up from the couch to re-arrange the younger man's face, but thought better of it.
"I'll never forget the look on your face when Mulder dragged his new green partner into your office that first time. I nearly busted a gut trying to keep the laughter in."
"You're one to talk about honour, Krycek, you traitorous bastard! What about Mulder's father?"
Krycek's eyes glazed over at this, the litany of his crimes now being repeated by this man. "Not proven, Walter...I didn't kill him."
"You aided in Scully's abduction," was Skinner's next assault.
"I never had a hand in it, Walter--all I did was make sure that Mulder didn't get abducted too, a fact that my employers didn't miss noticing, and weren't too happy with, either."
"And Scully's sister, and that beating in the stairwell. That beating was personal." Skinner was calm and controlled, although he did sneak his hand up to brush off the sweat gathering on his baldpate.
"Walter, come on...you know I didn't shoot Scully's sister. Not that I wouldn't have shot Scully if she'd showed up. And the stairwell...well that was work, nothing personal." Alex smiled at him with such force and brilliance that coming from any other may it would have been beatitude.
Alex held up his prosthetic and looked at it. "You know, Walter, if I still had my wrist, I'd still be carrying the scar from hanging over your balcony."
"Sorry, Alex, work...nothing personal." Walter's eyes laughed for him.
"Yeah work, Walter. I guess your little nocturnal visit to the balcony was work too. Yeah, your unique efforts to warm me up were work related. You must be really popular at the lock-up." Alex's dripped sarcasm.
"You enjoyed it," the AD delivered in a perfectly deadpan voice.
Alex stayed quiet for a moment as though reliving the memory. "Yeah, I guess I did. A lot. Walter, you were always an accomplished man at the back door."
"What about those nanocytes? Am I supposed to thank you for that, Alex? You killed me!"
"I brought you back, didn't I. It could have been worse, Skinner. The smoker carries a grudge, and I'm intimately familiar with his idea of payback. He thought he had you, thought you were in his pocket, but then you rebelled. That 'thank you for not smoking' sign was a good one, Walter."
Alex stopped to see the effects his words were having on the older man.
"You've never told Mulder!"
Alex's smile looked putrid to the older man. He couldn't answer him, he couldn't even look Alex in the eye; he just stared at some indiscriminate spot on the carpeting.
"What a pair you make! He's never told you I'm *his* source, has he? The secrets you keep from one another."
"Well, I'll be damned," Alex laughed.
Skinner sat stiffly on the couch staring directly at the younger man. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were cold. He said nothing. "When the technology became available, they needed a test subject. The smoker chose you, but it was supposed to end differently. He wanted payback, and he wanted it big time. I was never supposed to bring you back."
"Ah gee thanks, Alex, how am I ever going to repay you," the AD sneered.
"I'll think of something."
And Walter knew that he would. Skinner raised himself up from the couch, rubbed his chin and yawned. "Alex, I can't say that this trip down memory lane was enjoyable, because it wasn't. I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Turn out the lights and lock the door when you leave."
Skinner walked toward the stairs and stopped when he heard Alex speak.
"Want some company?"
"Do I have any choice?"
"You always have a choice, Walt. The question is: are you willing to live or die with the consequences of making the wrong one." Alex's eyes didn't waver; he looked so innocent that butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth.
"I thought as much." Skinner looked resigned.
Walter turned slowly, studying the man's face for any indication of what he was thinking--what he really wanted--but couldn't see anything. All those years in the military, all those years in 'Nam and his training as a Marine had taught him one thing: offence is the best defense. After all, there was a time when Alex was mere putty in his hands--the paint on his palette.
He walked towards him like he would a dangerous animal--judging his chances of coming out of this encounter alive. He studied Alex's face but there was still nothing there to see. Slowly Skinner brought his lips against the other man's and licked them. The probed lips opened slightly; the younger man's breath, smelling sweetly of vodka and cinnamon, felt hot and humid against his lips. Walter kept eye contact with his companion; the green eyes staring back at him were inscrutable and mystifying.
Alex deepened the kiss, opening fully to Walter's tongue, his moans swallowed by the older man's mouth. The years dropped away from him, the hurt, the pain, and he was that young man again, being kissed, being aroused for the first time by another man--his heart pounding out of his chest, the blood loud in his ears. A silent thrill went through his entire body from the memories.
Walter trailed his hands down Alex's leather jacket, not stopping until he palmed the younger man's crotch. He could feel the obvious signs of arousal. He threw caution to the wind--it couldn't be helped now--he'd find out what Krycek really wanted...eventually.
Skinner had no difficulty with the zipper of Alex's jeans, he reached in and fondled the man. He felt the shiver going through the man in his arms. He broke the kiss and laid his forehead against that of the other man. "Take off your pants, Alex. And your boots and your socks." His tone of voice would brook no rebellion. "But keep the jacket and the shirt!"
Krycek separated from him slowly, looking at the older man's face. Wondering. Wondering what to expect. He did what he was told. Slowly opening the button of his jeans, slowly pushing them down his thighs, stopping just momentarily at the point when his turgid cock would be freed and flap against his belly. He looked at Walter and gave him a teasing smirk.
He continued pushing his jeans down, and Walter could see how aroused he was. He toed off each boot in turn and hooking a large toe, in turn, with each sock stripped them from his feet.
Skinner's face showed his appreciation. He got down on his knees before the younger man and licked his belly, slowly tracing with his tongue, the dark hairy line from his belly button to his public hair, leaving a wet track in his wake. He took Alex's cock in his hands pumped him a few times, and put his tongue to better work on the head of the cock he remembered so well.
Alex moaned. When that talented tongue sucked at his major vein, his knees almost buckled. The older man handled his balls and he moaned again, pushing into the caress.
Alex placed his hand on Walter's shoulder, gently kneading sore and tired muscles. "Seems like old times, Walter, and we had some good ones."
Walter palmed his companion's balls, rolling each one from one finger to the other. His other hand was stretching the hairy flesh, heating it, pulling at it, making it pliable. He hand closed around the flesh, forcing the balls down, filling out the flesh they now inhabited. He slowly dropped the cock from his mouth and got up from his knees with the younger man's balls still in his hands. He turned towards the stairway and tugged them gently along with him. Alex had no choice but to follow.
"Ow!, Walter that hurts! What the hell are you doing?"
Walter's smile was priceless. "Why Alex, just what you're doing to me. I'm leading you around by the balls. And unless you want to start a new career as a boy--soprano, I'd suggest you keep up with me."
Alex followed the AD like a shadow, trying to anticipate Walter's every step as best he could. When he got to the bedroom, he looked around noticing the regimented neatness of the place. Although Alex had been to the older man's apartment on a number of occasions, this was the first time he'd made it to the 'inner sanctum.'
"Okay," he said sharply, "stop, this is far enough. Your attempt to control this...this situation is over!" His face became hard again and he looked like a man totally in control, no question. Alex is a man who likes to keep people *off balance*.
The older man released Alex's balls and turned to look at him, standing tall and proud.
"This is how it's going to work, Walter, tonight you're my dog, my fuck toy. You won't speak unless I ask you a direct question? Understand?"
Skinner shook his head in ascent.
"What did you say Walter, I didn't hear you!"
The AD opened his mouth as if to speak and shut it immediately. Alex's eyebrows rose in a question. The older man gulped. "Yes, Alex, I understand."
"Fine. Now go stand over by the bed. And Walter, don't move, put your hands down at your side. Leave them there until I tell you otherwise."
Skinner had never seen Alex's face shine with such a brightness, such an intensity. And his own face flaming red--the indication of his own humiliation. He could feel the sweat trickling down the trench of his spine.
"You can stop this any time, Walter, just say the word, and I'll stop." Alex waited for a reaction from the older man, but none was forthcoming. "Now stay perfectly still, don't move a muscle. I'll be right back."
In a smaller amount of time than Walter thought possible, Alex was back, fully engorged cock swaying back and forth between his legs like an accusing eleventh finger. He was carrying a small black bag that Skinner failed to notice when he had first came into the apartment. He throat went dry just thinking about what it contained.
Walter's eyes spoke volumes. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came. "You have a question, Walter? Ask it."
"Why are you doing this, Krycek. Why?"
"You're a fine looking man, Walter, even at your age. You've looked after yourself. Why am I doing this? Because I want to, but mainly because I can, and mostly because you'll let me - willingly. You can stop this at anytime -- anytime, Walter. All you have to do is say the word, but the consequences might be...drastic" Alex sneered.
If Walter could kill with a look, Alex would be a dead man.
"Now I want you to remove your tie, slowly, seductively. I want a show Walter. With a body like that, you must be able to move it nicely."
Alex wantonly stroked his cock, slowly, watching the older man, waiting for the show to begin.
Skinner didn't leave him long to wait. His hands slowly traced up his own chest to the knot of his tie. Stoking the silk of the thing like it was the most erotic thing in the world. His fingers slowly untied the knot and he drew it through his shirt collar, swaying it from one side to the other, finally pulling it free, he looked for spot to place it.
"Come on, Walter! I want a show here. Are you made of wood? Move those hips!"
Skinner's eyes shot daggers at him but he complied. Barely. He moved his hips from side to side, almost imperceptibly.
"Jesus, Walter--have you no music in your soul? Image...imagine that you're Ricky Martin on steroids," Krycek's voice was nasty, menacing; Walter got the picture.
He swayed his hips is a greater arc this time and obviously Alex was satisfied--he may not be getting Chippendales, but at least Skinner was doing his bidding.
"Throw the tie on the floor over there," Alex pointed towards the far wall, "we're not going to be neat tonight."
Skinner slowly brought his hand up the sleeve of its opposite number, feeling the cool, expensive feel of the material. He did the same to his other sleeve, going all the way to his shoulder. He closed his eyes as though in ecstasy. His hips swayed as his fingers caressed the material of his lapels, his fingers pulling the material from his body and tossing the jacket toward the wall to join his tie.
He looked at Alex for his approval, and it was swift in coming.
"Now the shirt, Walter. Do it slow, I want to see each button as you open it. "
Alex was running his fingers through his own pubic hair, letting his hand trail up his stomach, under his shirt, to caress his nipples. He didn't miss a movement as Walter continued opening his buttons. Skinner pulled the shirt from his pants when he was about half way and his hips swayed again. Alex's breath caught in his throat when Walter slipped his hands in his shirt to feel his own chest, rubbing his pectoral muscles in a wanton display, stroking his nipples to erection. Krycek did not fail to notice the tenting in Skinner's pants and he finished unbuttoning his shirt and removed it from his body, tossing it in the pile of his other clothing.
Alex's hand was back caressing his own balls by this time.
Skinner remembered exactly what turned Alex on-his muscles. With one hand on the hard muscles of his stomach and the other caressing his own chest, he turned in a perfect circle on the balls of his feet to give the younger man a complete view.
Alex saw the muscles of his back ripple as he did so, his chest muscles flexing as he raised his hands up and placed them behind his head.
"Still as beautiful as I remember, Walter. A little more grey in the chest hair, but just as beautiful. "
Skinner was startled when Alex opened his little black bag, sorted through the things he had brought and took out a little diamond-studded collar. He left his chair and walked the few paces to where Skinner stood. He reached up and fastened the collar around his companion's neck.
"Lovely, it suits you."
Walter's eyes were wild, his hands clenching into fists behind his head; every muscle in his body tense and fired up-he wanted to pound this man into the ground, but he said nothing.
Alex reached up and dragged one of Skinners hands to his mouth and kissed the back of it. He placed three of the older man's fingers into his mouth, sucked on them hard, played with them with his tongue. His fingers had undone the clasp of Walter's pants and he thrust his hand in quickly past the band of his boxers and handled him roughly. He noticed the half-hard condition of Walter's cock and smiled around the fingers in his mouth. He toyed with the skin, the head, cupped the balls, rolling them from finger to finger as if he owned them. His eyes never left Skinner's, daring him, taunting him to say something. Walter disappointed him.
He spit Walter's hand from his mouth and walked back to his chair and sat down.
"Now, Walter, take those wet fingers and play with your nipples, I want to see you get them hard and wet."
The AD did so and had to stifle his own moan as his nipples responded to his ministrations. His other hand strayed to the tight, hard muscles of his stomach, rubbing himself. He slowly moved his hand toward the band of his opened pants, almost reaching it.
"Stop!" Alex shouted. "Don't touch yourself."
The big man pulled his hand away as though it were slapped.
"Good, you've been listening. Do you want to stop?" Alex's eyes redoubled the challenge in his voice.
Walter forced the bile back down his throat. "No...no, I want to continue."
"Get naked for me," Alex commanded.
Skinner quickly knocked off his shoes, removed his socks, and slipped his open pants to his ankles. He placed his thumbs in the band of his boxers and quickly slipped them down his legs. He stepped out of the clothing, gathered them all together and threw them toward the wall to join the others.
Alex's eyes were glued to the AD, appreciating the naked, Greek perfection displayed before him. "Come here!" Alex commanded. Walter complied and quickly stepped toward the younger man. Krycek's hand rubbed over Walter's thigh and he looked into the big man's eyes. "Just as I remember, long and thick. Mulder must love screwing himself onto that!"
Skinner made an ugly noise.
Alex continued roaming his one hand over the older man's body: caressing here, pinching there, tweaking a nipple, letting the older man know just who owned him this night. Alex inched his mouth slowly toward the swollen cock in front of him, never taking his eyes from the AD, never lessening the challenge in his own and when Alex's tongue made first contact, the AD had to stifle a groan. Alex licked unmercifully, thoroughly, not missing any of the fire points that he knew so well. When the younger man swallowed him whole, in one quick and dirty thrust, Walter couldn't stifle his voice any longer and he practically shouted his encouragement. Alex sucked him ravenously, his perky nose buried in Walter's pubic hair and his finger exploring the crack of the older man's ass. Walter thrust his hips forcefully against his tormentor.
Krycek laughed around the cock in his mouth, using his tongue to swirl around the rod of muscle, driving Skinner even wilder with desire. He slowly drew the cock out of his mouth, noticing the size of it: fully erect and ready.
"No talking Walter, unless spoken to, but I'll let this one pass."
The AD closed his eyes slowly in agreement.
"Walter, you do have a lovely ass! Perfect, in fact. I think it would look great in these." Alex reached into his bag of tricks and pulled out a silky jock strap. It didn't take Skinner long to notice that the dam thing was fur lined. His heart leaped. "Put them on!"
Skinner reached out a shaky hand to Alex and took the proffered garment and put them on quickly; his body shook when he forced his erection against the fur of the lining.
"Put your fingers in your mouth, Water, suck them, lick them, make them good and wet," Alex said in such a perfectly normal voice that it scared Skinner.
"Touch your hole, Walter. Rub that finger against it, in circles. But turn around and let me watch you do it."
Skinner turned around, and bent over giving the younger man a good view. He reached behind him and did just what he was told. Drawing lazy circles around the sensitive knot of muscle. His mind thinking of something else entirely, he rubbed himself, feeling his own warm spit on his finger, and he felt damned to hell that his cock got even harder, more aroused--the fur against the head of his organ, driving him nuts. He didn't know how he was going to hold on.
"Push it in Walter, right up to the knuckle."
Walter was shamed, but it felt so damn good, so fucking horny.
"You're enjoying this, admit it big man!" Alex's voice was matter of fact.
"Yes, I am enjoying it, Alex."
"Add another one, Skinner--add another one up that hole."
Skinner did as requested. He winced with the burn of it, the intrusion of that second digit into his tight passage. Alex laughed and Walter felt shamed all over again.
"Now a third, Walter, add that third finger. Get yourself ready for me, I'm going to fuck you tonight, and you're going to love it." Alex spit the words at him.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see the demon reach into his bag and remove a condom and a small bottle of lube. He watched Alex deftly hold the foil wrapped packed in his teeth and rip it open. He was amazed at the skill Alex displayed in rolling the condom on his own over--stimulated cock: a neat trick for a one--armed man. Alex snapped the cover off the bottle of lube and oiled up the latex.
"Take your fingers out of your backside, Walter, and hold them out."
Walter did what he was told and couldn't help but notice the self--satisfied look on Alex's face. Alex placed a good dollop of slick on the out--stretched hand.
"Now oil yourself good, big guy, I wouldn't want to hurt you." Alex snickered. "What would Mulder think?"
While Walter did this, he noticed Alex reaching into his toy box again and pulling out something pink. It was in the shape of a tube and looked like it was made of some sort of pliable plastic; he could see some sort of ridges on the inside. Alex placed in on his lap, stood it up and braced it against his stomach and poured some of the lube inside it. Skinner's mind was in a state of riot, wondering what Alex was going to do with that, surely it wouldn't fit inside him--it was too wide.
Alex noticed the look on his face: "Oh, you're going to enjoy this Walter, you really are. Now go over to the bed, lie in the middle of it on your stomach, spread your legs and lift your ass slightly off the mattress."
Skinner slowly straightened up and walked to the bed and laid down on it, raising his ass slightly as Alex had instructed. Krycek quickly followed him and reached around toward his stomach with the pink tube.
"You'll have to help me here, Skinner, hold your cock at the base."
Skinner did, and nearly screamed when Krycek slipped the tube over his erection hard and fast, slamming the other end of it into his pelvis. The tube totally encased him, and as the ridges on the inside of the toy rubbed against the head of his cock, every muscle in his body screamed out for release: he almost came on the spot.
"Oh my god," Walter said.
>From behind him Alex laughed. "Told you! Now lay on your stomach, Walter."
Walter did, and when his abused flesh slid home inside its confinement, he almost cried from the pleasure of it.
"What's it feel like, Skinner...tell me!"
It felt...it felt...it felt like Mulder, It feels like I'm buried deep in him, he thought, but he simply said, "It feels great."
Alex spread his ass with his hand and angled his cock at Skinner's hole with his plastic one. One swift movement of his hips and he was half buried in the older man, and Walter moaned with pleasure. The feeling in his cock totally obliterated the pain in his backside. When Alex thrust in all the way, the jolt of it sent Skinner sliding up the full length of the plastic tube. His body screamed its desire; his whole body was one huge sensuous, lustful nerve. His body was singing an elegy to pleasure, but his mind was another matter. He thought of Mulder, his lover, and the look of pure, raw disgust that would take over that face if he knew of Walter's debasement. Those eyes, those bedroom eyes would hate him, he was sure.
Alex held onto Walter's hip and began to thrust, hard. Each withdrawal of the younger man's cock pulled him back along the tube, each new thrust drove him into the tube again. Skinner's mind was quickly turning to jelly, it felt like fucking and being fucked at the same time--without any of the work.
"Fuck me hard, Alex, harder."
Alex laughed an ugly laugh and complied.
Skinner was in sex heaven, his ass filled to overflowing, his cock being worked with a vengeance by the tube encasing it. He felt his balls draw up, felt the burn, felt his body shudder violently, felt his ass clench around the younger man buried so deep inside him.
When he began to shoot his seed into the tube and onto the duvet underneath him, he heard Alex moan his name, and felt Krycek's own orgasmic contractions deep in his ass. Skinner knew that his heart should stop or at least beat its way out of his chest. He was sucking ever increasing amounts of air into his lungs trying to satisfy his need for oxygen.
Alex pulled out of him and quickly disposed of the latex and its contents. With a final smack to Walter's ass that made him jump into the tube, made his overly abused flesh send a fresh jolt of sensual pleasure through his body, Alex flopped down beside him.
"Told you you'd like it." He smiled evilly.
"Takes one..." Alex sang.
Alex turned his head and looked up at the ceiling. "I feel like Monty Hall tonight. Let's make a deal."
"What?" Walter asked with a sleep muffled voice.
"I can turn off the nanocytes, Walter. I can reprogram them. The old men won't know what's happened. They will think it's a malfunction of the technology, and they won't be able to fix it." Alex turned back towards the AD with that. Sincerity shining in his eyes.
"You'll be free, Walter...no more fears, no more black thoughts in the night wondering just what they or I will want you to do next. No more wondering who you'll have to betray--have to betray next. No more wondering what state secrets you'll have to give away. No more wondering if they are going to ask you to kill someone...some certain someone."
Krycek turned his head again so that he was staring at the ceiling again.
Walter just stared at Alex's profile. He looked so young, so innocent in this light, turned away from him like that. Walter didn't have to see the tight set of is jaw, the look of a man who has done too much, a man who has seen too much and lived to think about it; he didn't have to see the look of a man who had to spend his lonely nights thinking about what he knew.
Walter could almost believe him in this light. Almost.
"Skinner, we're on the same side. We're working for the same thing--to bring those bastards down, to stop this invasion."
Skinner paused for a moment. The only sound in the room was the sound of the two men's breathing, two hearts beating as though in tandem.
"And what would I have to do, Alex. What would I have to do?"
"Nothing, Walter...you would have to do nothing. It's what you don't do that will guarantee your continued existence."
Alex spoke slowly, deliberately. "I want you to leave Mulder alone. I want you to kiss him off."
"Why?" Skinner's throat went suddenly dry.
"I want him. I always have."
The silence between the two men was almost deafening
"I know. I've always known that you did. " Walter spoke with a quiet, resigned voice.
"I need him, Skinner. I need him to help me. I need him to stop this." There was a pleading tone in Alex's voice.
Walter was still and quiet as though deep in thought. Alex continued to stare at the ceiling, not really seeing anything but lost in his own thoughts.
"I don't know if I can, Alex. I don't know if I've got it in me." Walter's voice was soft; it was a voice that was already in mourning.
"You know what I'm capable of Walter. You know me; you know me probably better than anyone else alive. So don't take too long to decide." The note of menace was already back in Krycek's voice.
Walter shook his head in agreement. "Yes, I know." He flipped himself over on his back. Slowly he raised his hands to his neck and unhooked the collar, passing it to Alex. He smiled now, evilly. He reached down and pulled the pink tube from his totally flaccid cock, bringing it up and putting it under his pillow. "But this stays with me!" Bright smile.
He stole a quick look at the man beside him. He saw the hardened features of this creature of the night. Even in repose Alex was not at rest. Skinner remembered an earlier time when this was not the case. He remembered a beautiful boy, so full of energy, so full of hope, ready to take on the world and ready to take his place in it. And he remembered Alex's first betrayal, remembered the pain deep in his gut when Mulder laid out his accusations at his feet, and relived his own deep denial that Alex would do this.
He gathered the younger man into the fold of his arms and placed the most tender of kisses on his lips-for old time's sake. They were both men, men who knew what this fight for existence was all about; both men who knew what they wanted and knew how to take it, if need be. And tomorrow is another day--one where hope may truly exist.
Skinner rubbed his hands over the younger man's head, smoothing the sweat-soaked hair back and down into place. His hand strayed to Krycek's plastic and steel hand and pulled it around him. He whispered in his ear: "You can stay the night if you want, but lock up when you leave."
He pulled the duvet over them both and settled his body against that of his abuser and settled down to sleep.
Krycek settled his head on Skinner's shoulder and reached up to kiss his ear. "Don't take too long to decide, Sir!"
Title: Chapter 8 Everytime We Say Goodbye
Author: The Riticulan Amanuensis
Series: Brothers By Choice An XFiles, Pretender Crossover This is Chapter 8 of 11
Rating: NC-17 for m/m interactions and naughty words
Pairing: M/K UST; M/Sk; M/SK/Jarod
Archivists: Archive Away, just let me know if you can
Summary: Mulder meets with Krycek at Skinners request.
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me; this is just my attempt to praise the inventors of them. Don't sue: I'm dirt poor.
Warning: This series doesn't follow any specific time line, you can consider yourself spoiled up to SR:819 in X Files and the whole cannon of the Pretender.
Feedback is welcome and encouraged. Come on, feed the beast.
I'd like to thank the lovely and talented Mace for the graphics for this story, indeed, for the graphics for my site in general. And to Heidi, who has, through many late night conversations, walked with me through this series. And to Dr.Ruthless, Fan4Richie, and Karen-Leigh for their great beta of this story--without them, it wouldn't read as smoothly or as clearly as I hope it does. However, all mistakes are my own.
I've tried to keep this chapter as self-contained as possible, but it might be a good idea to familiarize yourself with the previous seven chapters of the story.
The entire series, thus far can be found here for those of you who would prefer to read the pretty version. http://www.squidge.org/~mace/riticulan/
Every time We Say Goodbye
by The Riticulan Amanuensis
The elder Mulder was dead--dead and buried.
Few things in a man's life can compete with the death of his father for its life-altering effect; perhaps the birth of his first child, but that's a debatable point. As his father lay dying in his arms, Mulder realized that this was the end of an epoch in his life: the age of innocence was over, his days of certainty that time was an infinite thing and that he was immortal--as so many young men feel--came to an abrupt and screaming halt.
Mulder, who didn't enjoy a wide circle of friends to offer him solace, had to suffer this loss alone. The emotional chasm that had separated him and his mother only seemed to widen to unbridgeable proportions. Granted, he had Scully. Scully did her best to comfort him and he did appreciate it.
At the time of his father's death, he was so spaced out on drugs he latched onto one idea and one idea only: Krycek had to be the assassin. When he saw his former partner lurking at his apartment, all his rage at the man boiled to the surface. He didn't look too closely at this emotion; he was afraid to. Thanks to Scully, who shot him, he was saved from making the worst mistake of his life. For a Federal Agent brought up on murder charges, convicted and imprisoned, his life expectancy would have been shorter than that of a fruit fly.
Fox had come to terms with his sexuality a long time ago; he simply denied it; filed it away as untouchable; obliterated it in favour of hard work and obsession. But since he had taken up with Skinner, all that had changed. He had been attracted to Skinner for a long time, but denied himself the pleasure. There was no doubt that Skinner was a considerate and caring lover, but Fox had not looked at the situation too closely, afraid of what he might see. Afraid to find that he found in Skinner a replacement for the father he had never really known--a pale substitute for the father's love that he had never experienced, and of which blind fate had robbed him, forever.
At times his relationship with Skinner was a strange one. He always felt that relationships could only grow and flourish by being fed the waters of trust, truth and mutual respect. The secrets he kept from Skinner and the secrets Skinner kept from him sometimes festered and broke forth in his mind like a puss-filled wound that, at times, caused him physical pain. Fox knew about the nanocyte episode with Krycek and Skinner knew he knew, but they never spoke of it. Fox knew, too, of Skinner's early sexual dalliance with Krycek, but Skinner had never admitted to it. Not that Fox would ever come out and ask.
And the traitor--that foul betrayer--what about him? Mulder had suffered that betrayal keenly. It wasn't as though he'd never been betrayed before--he had been, time and time again; this time it was worse, much worse. He had begun to trust the young, green agent, hell; he had even begun to like him. And now, circumstances had thrown him and Krycek together more and more often as the years rolled by. As time marched on, even the sound of that hateful name caused him less pain. The man had insinuated himself back into Fox's life again. Admittedly he was helping Mulder in his work, but Mulder continually asked himself why. He could never come up with an acceptable answer to that question.
And more bothersome still, to Fox, was his reaction to the man himself. He had never examined the violence masquerading as hate, never questioned why Krycek didn't defend himself, rarely questioned the pleasure he'd felt beating the younger man to a bloody pulp. But now his visceral reactions to Krycek's mere existence seemed to have played themselves out. Inside him there was a void where that hate used to reside, which was slowly filling up with something else that Mulder didn't have a name for.
A man prone to pensive introspection, as Mulder was, could not always allow himself the luxury of letting those thoughts lie dormant. He was being forced to take them out and examine them, roll them between his fingers and decide on the nature of them. He was being forced into action--action, not of his choice, but of someone else's.
//The time for the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land.// For Fox, it was like coming from a cold winter into the new world of a warm spring. He was to make a decision, a decision that would, no doubt, affect the entire course of his life to come.
It was near noon and the sun bore down directly on my helmet. The sky was totally clear except for a few wispy clouds. One in particular, just slightly obscured the sun, mocking me; showing me that it was there but denying me any shade from its heat or of its glare.
I got up this morning and dressed all in black--black helmet, black leather jacket, leather biker's pants and boots--big mistake. I sweated like a pig; the black absorbing the heat of the sun and passing it directly into my body. If there was a cooling breeze, it might have helped a bit, but there wasn't. The person who drafted the mandatory helmet law should be roasted on a spit, slowly, painfully until he felt exactly what it's like to be stuck under this contraption of molded, padded plastic. It wouldn't be justice, but it'd be close.
As I drew closer to the ocean, I felt the humidity in the air rise, which did nothing for my present feeling of discomfort. I smelled the saltiness of the nearby water and it made me feel a little better. For someone who had grown up near the ocean, this smell can almost mean home, like the smell of your grandmother's apple pie baking in the oven. It gives you that warm, safe feeling, although in my case, it was simply illusion.
Portable property, that's been my life for years now. I own nothing, which can't be loaded into a backpack and taken with me at a moment's notice. It's a necessity; people still try to track me down, hoping to score a Brownie point or two with The Smoker, I guess. I've taught a few of them the error of their ways and made sure that a few others wouldn't be trying it again.
I have some bills sewn in the lining of my jacket along with some precious stones. Safety deposit boxes stuffed with cash, I have a few of them scattered around the country, just in case I need make a quick and unscheduled exit.
This vintage Harley is my only concession to consumerism--my pride and joy, my only true friend and my only loyal lover.
The heat and the vibrations from the roaring beast between my legs gave me a chubby. I felt my awakening cock slowly filling out and snaking down my leg; the tightness of my leather pants and the vibrations of the Harley would soon massage it to its full length and I'd be as horny as hell. Of course, the young, hard body pressed so tightly at my back--like a second skin--isn't helping either. The kid was terrified; I could tell from the thumping of his heart. His hands have been slowly slipping down from my stomach to my groin in his efforts to hold onto me as tightly as he could. If he's not careful, he'll soon be in for one hell of a surprise.
I'm near my exit so I pulled off to the side of the road, motioned with my head for my passenger to dismount. He passed me his helmet and I secured it to the motorcycle. I removed my own and used my real hand to wipe at the sweat on my hair and brush the droplets from my face.
"This is as far as I go," I told him. "What's your name, kid?" I asked none too gently.
"Well, Roddy, you've never been on a Harley before, have you?"
"Nope! First time." He smiled at me; the kid was a real looker, beautiful teeth, clear skin, and from what I could see, a body honed to near perfection by sports or exercise, or both.
"How old are you, Roddy?"
He was slightly puzzled by my question. "Eighteen," he said.
"Come on, Roddy, don't lie to me."
"Seventeen," he said slightly blushing.
"Roddy, one more chance, and don't lie to me this time. How old are you?"
"Sixteen--that's the truth."
He stood there shuffling his expensive looking tennis shoes in the dust.
"You shouldn't be doing this, Roddy. You shouldn't be out here in the middle of nowhere hitchhiking alone. It's dangerous, you never know what kind of wolves--people like me--that you'll meet. You could be beaten, robbed, or even raped and left for dead."
Now the kid really looked scared.
"Don't worry, I'm in a hurry right now." I laughed and he relaxed a little.
"You're running away from home, Roddy, aren't you?"
He didn't answer me, but he didn't avert his eyes, either.
"That's not a smart thing to do, kid. I know from personal experience that it's not."
I adjusted myself a little, pushing my equipment into a more comfortable position in these tight, leather pants. I don't miss Roddy's appreciative glance at what I'm doing. Oh! If I weren't a man on a mission, I'd be seriously tempted.
"There's nothing you can't work out with your parents," I said. "If not, there are other people out there who can help: your school, your church, your coach or even a professional. Try these people before you head out on your own."
"Sure," he said none too convincingly.
I took a quarter out of my pocket and tossed it to him; he caught it in mid-air easily.
"Call your parents to come and get you."
I put my helmet back on and kicked the bike back into life. I took the turn down the dirt road and left Roddy in a cloud of dust to think a little more about his future.
I don't think I have ever seen Scully looking as young as she does today. Even her breasts appeared more perky than usual. She has hoisted herself up on a table across from my desk, locked her legs together at the ankle and is swinging them back and forth. Of course, there is ample room for this between Scully's feet and the floor.
Her face is slightly flushed, her hair marginally out of place and there is a look of happiness and contentment on her face that she can't completely conceal.
"Get some last night, Scully?" I ask.
"Mulder!" She chides me with a smile on her face. "A lady," she repeats, "a lady, never, never kisses and tells."
"But we're not talking about a Lady, Scully, we're talking about you." I smile back at her.
I had to laugh at her reaction to that one and I looked at her ankles so blatantly that Scully doesn't miss it.
"What are you looking for?" she asks.
"A new tattoo," I reply.
"Humph." She rolls her eyes up and I laugh.
"You know, Mulder, I consider myself to be a woman of the world. I have to admit," and she starts giggling, "I have to admit, that when I figured out about you and Walter, it sort of threw me for a few days."
"What do you mean, Scully?"
"Sleeping with the boss, Mulder. I know that women break through the glass ceiling that way, but I never realized that men had to do it too."
She couldn't contain herself any longer and she covered her mouth with one of her hands trying, in vain, to hold back the laughter.
"But now," she continued as if I hadn't even spoken, "you're telling me that Krycek is after your body, too! I realize that you have a certain amount of manly charm, Mulder, but for heaven's sake, the two of them!"
Both of our attentions are diverted by a knock at the door. It opened a crack and Skinner stuck his head in. The door wasn't opened far enough for him to see Scully sitting there on the table on the other side of the office. "Fox," he said, "can I have a word with you?"
This time Scully lost it completely and she roared with laughter.
"Mulder, when can *I* call you Fox? Do I have to sleep with you first?" The tears streamed down her face from the force of her mirth. She poked her head forward so that she could see Skinner. Her eyes twinkled and shone at the sight of Skinners discomfort. Skinner returned her look so shyly, so very much like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. There is certainly nothing as endearing and cute as the sight of a large, powerful, self-assured man blushing like that. No, he wasn't blushing; his face was flaming red--as red as Scully's hair--from his neck to the tip of his rapidly balding head.
"Mulder," Skinner rephrased the question, "can I see you in the hallway for a moment."
I continued down the dirt road, but more slowly this time. The rough surface, with its bumps and dips, made me even more aroused. Christ, I was hard. I pulled the bike over to the side of the road and stopped there for a moment. I took the damn helmet off my head and rubbed my hand over my hair; it was wet and sticky and damned uncomfortable. I didn't think there'd be too many cops patrolling this little-used dirt road so I packed my helmet away and drove off enjoying the feel of the air on my naked head.
The low thrum of the Harley lulled me into sense of quiet and peace, as it always does. I passed by the Bed and Breakfast I had reserved for Mulder--an old, huge, Victorian mansion with a widows' walk. I could almost see Mulder up there, late at night, barely dressed, peering out over the ocean or looking towards the stars. The image sent a jolt directly to my painfully erect cock. I drove on towards the ocean to double check on my preparations.
The boat was still moored where I had left it, completely untouched. If I had more time, I would have walked on the beach--my feet bare, digging my toes into the wet sand, dodging the waves as they made their way to the shore. I've always loved the ocean; have done so for as long as I can remember. I have a deep respect for it; it's like a coiled monster, looking peaceful and quiet, but at any second it can rise up and bite you on the ass. But now wasn't the time.
I turned the bike around and headed back to the Bead and Breakfast. The man sitting behind the desk didn't even acknowledge my presence as I stood before him. He just kept tapping at the keys of his computer. He was a little toad of a man. It's not that he wasn't well dressed, but even if he had been dressed in a designer suit it would still have looked like something he just plucked from the sale rack at the local Salvation Army. He reminded me of someone but I couldn't seem to remember just who it was. Possibly one of Mulder's flaky friends, Frohike, I think it is.
I brought my prosthetic down hard down on the little raised partition on the other side of his desk to get his attention. It worked.
"Sorry, Sir, I didn't see you there."
"Can I help you," he asked me.
"Yes. I'm Krycek, I reserved this house for the week end."
He quickly tapped the keys of his computer and his greedy little eyes widened when he saw the reservation.
"The whole house?" He inquired.
"That will be very expensive, Mr. Krycek."
I reached into my left pocket of my leather jacket and pulled out ten one hundred-dollar bills and slapped them on the counter.
"This should cover it," I said.
"Yes, indeed it will. Let me get you a receipt and your change."
"Don't bother," I said. "Keep it."
That got the attention of this greedy little man.
"The reservation isn't for me. It's for a Mr. Fox Mulder. And let me warn you now, never call him Fox. You don't want me to tell you what he will do to you if you do."
His eyes asked the question 'Why?' but I didn't give him an answer. I reached around my body with my good hand and reached into the right pocket of my jacket and pulled out five more one hundred-dollar bills and placed them on the counter. Only this time, I kept my hand covering them.
"I want him well looked after," I said. "If he wants a pedicure at three o'clock in the morning, you'll arrange it. And if you can't find someone to do it, you'll do it yourself. Anything he wants, no matter how trivial, you'll supply it." I looked toward my hand covering the bills. "This should cover it," I said as I took my hand away.
He took the money from the counter, counted it, and shoved it into his pocket. "Yes, it will," he said.
I pulled my jacket back a bit to reveal the gun tucked into the top of my jeans and rubbed the handle of this all too familiar tool of my trade. Looking up to see that he that he noticed this little demonstration, I was pleased to see the look of alarm on his face.
"I'm glad we understand each other so well," I said. "Make sure you do as I ask; I'll be checking that you did."
With that I turned and left the office.
I backed out into the hallway; thankfully it was empty. Hell, it was in the basement, who else was going to be there.
"Mulder, we have a meeting at 1:30," I told him. He looked kind of confused.
"A meeting, sir."
"Yes, Mulder, this one is very strange."
"The request came directly from Justice--the Secretary's office--she made the call herself and wouldn't give me any further information. Apparently even the Director doesn't now about it."
Mulder looked very baffled. "That is strange."
"Yes it is," I replied. "We're meeting with a Mr. Steed. I don't know him, never heard of him before. Checked the Justice personnel database and his entry is classified. Even with my security clearance, I couldn't access it."
"Curious and curiousier," he said.
Mulder fidgeted from one foot to the other. Only Mulder, I thought, would be more impressed by the secrecy enshrouding the man we were to meet, than the subject matter of the meeting. He did love a mystery.
"Okay, Sir, we'll be there."
"You misunderstand me, Agent Mulder. Not we, you. The request was for you and I specifically, and only you and I."
"What?" Mulder asked.
"Agent Scully's presence isn't required," I told him.
His eyes widened slightly. "You want to tell her?"
"Nope," I replied, "they don't pay me enough for that." I grinned at him.
"Guilty as charged." I agreed with him.
I know I was being a bad girl. I shouldn't poke fun and tease them like that, but a girl's got to have some fun. And besides, they're so easy.
I finally regained my composure when Mulder came back into the office followed closely by Skinner.
"You know, Mulder, you two have got to stop meeting like that." I stole a glance at the AD and saw him blushing scarlet again. This was so much fun.
Skinner turned towards Mulder. "What about this week end? Is it all set up?"
"Yeah," Mulder told him. I'll leave around nine on Friday morning."
"Okay." Skinner nodded his head at me as he left the office. To say that I was sort of curious about this would be the understatement of the year.
"All right, Mulder. Spill!" My tone of voice left no question as to my seriousness in this matter.
"Spill what, Scully?"
"For starters, what's going on this week end?"
Poor Mulder looked like a kid who's just been called into the principal's office. He had a decision to make, does he lie or does he tell the truth. He closed his eyes and shook his head as though to clear the cobwebs from his mind. I decided that it's to be the truth I'll be getting.
"I set up a meeting with Krycek," he told me. He opened his eyes and stared directly at me.
"You did what?"
"Yeah, a meeting with Krycek somewhere in the country."
"What in god's name for," I asked him. I wasn't able to keep the shrillness out of my voice.
"Well," Mulder started sheepishly, "well, it was Walter's idea.
"Walter's idea?" I repeated like an idiot.
"Walter thinks that Krycek is trying to steal me away from him." Mulder smiled awkwardly at me. "He wanted me to meet with him to set matters straight."
"So let me get this clear in my mind," I said--I wanted to say 'straight', but that would have been too much, even for me. "Walter has you, Krycek wants you. Jeez, Mulder, two men on the hook, I should be so lucky. Are you sure that this is wise?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Are you planning on wearing a Kevlar vest to this meeting, Mulder?"
"Funny, Scully, really funny."
"Okay." I changed the subject quickly. "What about the meeting this afternoon?"
"That's another thing, Scully. It's with a Mr. Steed from Justice. The thing is, he only wants to meet with Walter and me. Alone."
"Should I feel snubbed, Mulder?"
Mulder just smirked at me. "I don't think so, Scully."
"It looks like a very long lunch for Scully," I said. I hopped from the table and put on my coat and headed towards the door. With my hand on the doorknob I turned toward my partner again. "Have a good week end, Mulder. I'll see you on Monday...maybe."
I walked back towards his desk, dug in my purse and grabbed a ten-dollar bill and tossed it on his desk. "Get yourself some condoms...my treat.
This time it was his turn to blush, and I turned and laughed my way out of the office.
I sat at my desk drumming my pen on the legal pad; Mulder sat across from me fidgeting in his chair.
"I wonder what this is all about," he says.
"I wish I knew, but like I said, the Secretary wouldn't elaborate."
Mulder looked at his watch. "It's 1:45," he announced.
"I guess our Mr. Steed likes to be fashionably late."
Just then the intercom come to life and my secretary announced our visitor. I told her to send him in. The door opened, and a tall man with dark hair carrying a plain manila envelope backed into the office, closing the door behind him.
"Good afternoon, Walter, Mulder," he said.
When I saw who it is my face must have registered some shock because Mulder picked up on it and turned in his chair to look at him.
"You!" Fox said with some volume.
"Yes, me. Long time, no see, gentlemen. Please remain in your chairs and don't move," he said.
He walked to Mulder's chair, put his hand on the back of it and looked down at him.
"Who--and more importantly--what are you?" Mulder asked him.
"Well today, I'm Jarod Steed. As for who I am, I don't really know...Don't ask. What am I?" Jarod stopped for a moment as though giving this question some thought. "I've been many things, Fox," he said that dreaded first name with some venom.
Still staring at Mulder's face he ran his hands through Fox's hair, grabbed it firmly at the nape of the neck and pulled down so that Mulder's face was upturned to him. Leaning down, he forced the startled agent's lips open with his tongue and kissed him with passion and brutality, forcing his tongue deep into Mulder's mouth. When he was done, Fox was aroused and clearly breathless.
Jealousy and rage boiled within me and I made a move to get out of my chair.
"I said sit, Walter, and I meant it." The statement was delivered with such icy determination; I decided to do as I was told, for now anyway.
Jarod kissed Mulder on the cheek and moved over to stand behind my desk. He threw a manila envelope down and all I could make out on the cover were the words 'The Centre'. The next thing I knew he had undone my tie and popped the first three buttons of my shirt, exposing my neck and some of the hairs between my chest muscles.
"Feeling vulnerable yet, Walter?"
I didn't answer him. But, my god, those talented hands delved into my shirt and played with my chest. Next thing I knew my nipples were hard and tingling.
"Beautiful, isn't he, Mulder?" Jarod said as he looked at the man across from me.
Fox said nothing. He just looked pissed. Really pissed as he stared directly at my tormentor. And a tormentor he was. Those hands on my body, those expert hands massaging my chest and stomach, making me feel great all over. Making me feel so great in fact that, to my eternal shame, my cock got into the action, filling and elongating to its full measure. Jarod didn't miss this little fact; he took his hands from my chest and placed them both between my legs. One cupping my balls and the other squeezing my cock. I gasped with pleasure.
"Mulder, you are one lucky man!" Jarod said. He leaned down and kissed me and licked a wide swath up my cheek with his tongue.
"What are you doing, Jarod," Mulder asked.
Jarod chuckled and gave my cock one final loving squeeze. "In case you've forgotten, Agent Mulder, the last time I met you gentlemen you two took, how shall I say, certain liberties with my body. Not that I didn't enjoy it--it was quite obvious at the time that I did--but I think 'turnabout is fair play', don't you?"
"Speaking of which," Mulder asked, "why did you break into my apartment?"
"That's an easy one," Jarod said, "I just wanted to check out the man who had my brother all tied up in knots."
Mulder looked at him as though this statement made no sense at all. "Your brother," he said.
"Yes, my brother, Alex," Jarod said.
"Alex!" Mulder was so shocked that if someone had blown on him he would have fallen off the chair.
"Krycek," Jarod continued," you remember him, don't you Fox? Tall guy, killer smile, cute little upturned nose, elfin ears, body built like a brick pagoda, and an arm conspicuous by its absence."
This time it was my turn to be bowled over with a feather.
"Well, we're Brothers by Choice," Jarod clarified. "Don't ask," he warned as an afterthought.
Jarod tapped the manila envelope that he had thrown on my desk. "We've been working together for a few months; I've been passing on information damning to the Consortium and he's chosen to pass it on to you. And this," he brought our attention back to the envelope in question, "is still more grist for your mill."
He kissed me on the mouth again and walked toward the door.
"If you two are as smart as I think you are," Jarod said as he reached the door, turned around and looked at us. "You'll follow up on that information quickly. It will put a serious dent in their operations. Trust Alex, listen to him, you are working toward the same goals, you know."
Both Mulder and I were too stunned to say a single word.
As the door closed behind him, Jarod said: "Oh, by the way, I'll be seeing you gentlemen again."
I've worked for AD Skinner for a long time. He's a just man; a man with high expectations from himself and from others around him. Like I said, he's a man of high expectations and if you live up to them, he treats you with respect, appreciation, and true gratitude. I've seen many people come and go into that office and few of them ever have a kind word for me. They're usually gruff, self-centered, and driven. It's true that I stand sentry before the inner sanctum, but still, it's no justification for some of the treatment I've received at the hands of the hoi polloi.
But now, this man; this man was different. The term 'tall, dark, and handsome' was coined for him. I'd never leave my husband and children, but this man, this man had temptation written all over his face.
"Thank you for your help," he said as he held out his hand for me to shake.
"Oh! You're very welcome, Mr.--"
"Just call me Jarod."
"Candy?" He passed me a plastic container of Pez...god, I haven't seen them in years. I took one from him and received one of his smiles. It was a true smile; it reached right up to his eyes.
"Good, aren't they?" He told me. "And they come with a little toy on top of each package."
Now, if I could only have gotten my heart to stop fluttering, I might have been able to say something. That smile was killing me; he looked so much like a happy little boy. My, if I only weren't married.
"Is there a washroom around here?" He asked me.
"In the hallway. Second door on the right." Again he thanked me, and I laid my chin on my hands and watched that perfect bubble butt walk away until the AD buzzed me into his office.
I quickly scanned the washroom and saw that I was alone. I entered one of the stalls and quickly punched in the six digit code into my cellphone that would defeat any triangulation attempts to trace this call.
"Sydney." I head him answer immediately.
"Sydney, I want you to be careful," I told him.
"Careful? Careful of what, Jarod?"
"I expect a member of the triumverate will be there soon."
"Jarod, he's already here, the place is in a panic. Even Mr. Lyle and Mr. Raines are frightened out of their minds. Who is he, Jarod?"
"Tall, dead eyes, dark suit, and he never has a cigarette out of his mouth?" I asked Sydney.
"That's him, Jarod. Who is he?"
"Like Lucifer, Sydney, he's goes by many names. The most current one is Spender. Listen, Sydney, this man is dangerous. He's dangerous because he's smart and has no morals. Keep Miss Parker away from him: violence won't work with this guy. You have to outsmart him, and you Sydney, are the only one who can do that."
"But Jarod..." Is all I heard before I severed the connection.
The room was dark and dingy. Everywhere was littered the jetsam and flotsam of Jarod's latest Pretend. Books and articles on Gay Bashing littered his small desk. Two computers were running--on one was a gruesome picture of young man and the other was hacked into the Hartford police department; the ever-present red notebook was opened and I could see a newspaper article pasted to one of the pages. I've learned never to ask about these Pretends, if Jarod wants my input or my help, he'll certainly ask for it.
This was such a luxury for me--coming into a room where people don't fall over themselves trying to hide everything from my sight--and it makes me feel slightly proud. I don't remember when I last felt so completely trusted.
Did I say the room looked dingy? Well, that was before Jarod turned from the window and smiled at me. He stood at the window dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt. The sunlight reflecting in his eyes made the richest shade of chocolate brown I've ever seen. And that bare chest just made my heart race. He was so tight and compact, and the hair on his chest was very nearly unnoticeable, just a fine, soft down, which felt like silk when you touched it. I touched it every chance I got.
"Alex!" He said with a genuine look of happiness on his face. "I didn't expect you today."
"I was in the...neighbourhood." I told him.
"In the neighbourhood, Alex, this is Connecticut. I don't care why you're here as long as you are."
He crossed the short space between us in record time and took me into his arms, laid his face against my cheek and kissed it soundly. I couldn't help myself; I wedged my hand between us and felt that chest, that sexy tight chest. And I didn't stop there; I just had to play with his nipple.
"I had the bike out; the day was bright and sunny; and the wide, open road beckoned me." I shrugged. Jarod took my head in his hands and looked in my eyes. Damn him, he knows me so well. Then he just kissed me, so deep and so passionately that my knees got weak.
"Come on, Alex. This is Jarod. Something's wrong, what is it?"
"Not really wrong, Jarod. Mulder set up a meeting, and I was making the preparations."
"When, Alex!" Jarod seemed slightly alarmed at this meeting.
"He contacted me last week," I said, clearly confused at his question.
Whatever he gleaned from that little bit of information seemed to relax him a bit. I inched his legs apart with one of my own and rubbed my knee against his groin. I was rewarded with the feel of his rapidly growing erection.
"What's wrong with that?" He asked me.
"Nothing really, but I have this feeling. It's a bad feeling, Jarod."
"Anything I can do to help..." The statement was left unfinished, full of promise, and implicit in that promise was a guarantee."
"No, Jarod. This is between me and Mulder."
"So what can I do, Alex!"
I smiled provocatively at him and rubbed my stubbled cheek against his.
"Jarod, you can fuck me."
A blunt, no-nonsense invitation like that might have shocked a lesser man, but not Jarod. "That I can do," he said, "and it will be *my* pleasure." He slowly led me over to his small bed. He gave me a little push that set me down gently on the mattress. He removed his shirt and tossed it on a chair. The pants were next to go, slowly. He always combined sex with me with a little show. Like I said, he knows me so well. The pants hit the floor releasing his hard cock with a satisfying plop.
He turned his attention to me and undressed me with the same dedication to detail with which he does everything else. Jarod has large, strong, gentle hands; they are magical. He can touch me in ways that no once else can.
He soon had me naked and those magical hands roamed over every inch of my body from the tip of my chin to my big toe. Then he touched that spot between my legs, just behind my balls, that almost had me screaming his name and coming at the same time.
"Jarod, in all the Pretends you've ever done, have you been a masseur?" I asked him between shaky breaths.
He laughed at me. "Better, Alex," he said, "a Sex Therapist."
I rolled my eyes heavenward, made half a steeple with my hand, "God, you really do love me."
He looked at me with lidded, passion-filled eyes. His face was flushed and his gaze never left mine while he applied a condom. He laid that beautiful, compact body on top of mine, and I immediately melted into him. He took my lips with his own and forcing my lips apart, he sucked the breath out of me. From out of nowhere it seemed, he had his lubed finger against my anus and was forcing his way in. My legs shook with lust and anticipation.
"Fuck me, Jarod. I need it. Now!"
He did just that. His cock tapped against my entrance demanding admittance, and he fucked me slow and deep. The pleasure was so intense, so consuming, I didn't know who I was or where I was, I think he even had me calling for my mother. Then I came hard. Each contraction wracking my body as the semen spilled from me onto my chest, and with a couple more hard thrusts on his part he came too.
While I caught my breath, he rubbed my semen into my skin, taking the excess and rubbing it into his own chest. He loved the way the substance stuck us together in the physical, which was a mere parody of the emotional attachment we had with each other.
He removed his cock from me, disposed of the condom, and pulled me into his arms on this small bed. His physical presence took control of me, protected me and made me feel safe as it always did. I laid my head just under his chin, and he toyed absentmindedly with my hair.
"I have to leave early to make that meeting with Mulder," I said, not able to keep the sad tone out of my voice.
"I know," he added with a resignation that echoed my own. "You be careful out there, Alex."
"Always, Jarod. Always."
The whorishly red numerals of my bedside clock taunted me. For the tenth time I've looked at it, and barely a minute has elapsed each time. Three forty-five in the morning and I'm still awake. I'm worried about tomorrow's meeting, funny thing is, I'm the one who insisted on it.
Mulder slumbered quietly beside me, his fine, patrician nose rising straight up from the pillow. On the nights he sleeps over, we sleep naked. It adds that extra touch of intimacy between us. Through the night, when either of us moves and our flesh touches, it sends a jolt of pleasure through me. Or in the morning when I awake and find that we've entwined ourselves around each other or are simply sleeping in an embrace, it fills me with wonder and pleasure and an inner peace.
Mulder murmured in his sleep tonight, but I couldn't make any sense out of the words. I swept my hand down his naked body to his groin and found his cock half-erect. I wondered if he was thinking of Krycek or of me. What could a man like Mulder find interesting in me? Walter Skinner is not the life of the party--a man who works from dawn to dusk and then takes more work home with him.
Mulder's a young man, a vibrant man with a young man's appetites. I can keep up with him now, thanks to a life-long regimen of exercise and physical activity. But that's now. When Mulder's fifty, I'll be...The thought doesn't come easy to me; it made my doubts redouble.
I turned on my side and rested my head on my hand as I looked at him. He slept on, eyes tightly closed. Some of his hair had slipped down over his sweaty brow during the night. I pushed it back a little and laid a soft kiss on his forhead. This roused him, and he sleepily opened his eyes to look at me.
"Walter, you're awake." He strained to see the time on the clock partially obscured by my body. "So early--" is all that he said.
I shook my head in the affirmative to his statement.
"What's wrong, Walter?" The question was asked with a deep concern in his voice.
I couldn't answer him; it would have given away too much.
"You're worried about today, aren't you?"
I don't answer him, just avert my eyes.
"Old man, are you worried about Krycek?" He asked me again. He was wide-awake and in full Mulder mode, like a dog with a bone in its mouth who won't let it go.
"Yeah, a little." I told him.
"Walter, you asked me to do this, and I agreed. If there were any doubt in my mind, I wouldn't be doing it. Don't you know that? It's you I want, not Krycek." The emphasis with which he delivered this statement made me feel a little better. God! How I wanted to believe.
He smiled at me; taking my genitals in his hand he had me at fever's pitch in ten seconds flat. His slighter arms pulled me into a full body embrace with him: chest-to-chest, cock-to-cock. His lips tasted sweet on mine, his tongue intrusive and demanding. I gave into him completely and lost myself in his kiss. Of all the men I've been with over the years, and there have been a few, Mulder is the Olympic gold medallist in the French kissing event. None better. I moaned into his mouth, begging for more.
His hips undulate; the head of his cock fucked my ball sack, and the head of mine slid over the soft silkiness of his pubic hair. He held tightly onto me and moved his hand to my ass. God, this man knows how to turn me on; his gossamer, light touch sent a surge of pleasure to my cock. Just his simple touch on the fine hairs of my ass was almost enough to send me over the edge.
Our dicks were moistened with sweat and precum and slid against each other in a dance of passion and abandonment. My kiss took over from his and my tongue plundered his mouth, my hands adored his chest muscles and my fingers toyed with his nipples. He moaned his pleasure loudly in my mouth.
"There's nothing to worry about," he said between panting gasps. I licked his chin as I came hard and splashed my fluids onto his stomach. He followed me into this //petite mort// almost immediately, with a soft sigh.
"Don't get up," he said to me. I'll take care of this." He picked up his discarded underwear from the floor and cleaned us both.
He pushed me onto my back and nestled his head on my chest, and spoke directly to my nipples. "Don't worry, Walter, now get some sleep."
I smiled; I had no choice but to take his advice. I petted his chestnut brown hair and followed him into sleep, but still the doubts were nagging at me. When logic wars with emotion, emotion invariably wins the battle, if not the war.
This is a nice place, so close to the ocean. Old and clean and well kept. It surprised me that I'm the only guest at the moment. When I asked the owner why there were no other people besides me, he looked sort of startled for a moment as though I should know the answer to this question, but just shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.
The breakfast he served me was good and fresh and wholesome, quite a change for me. As I was finishing the last sip of my coffee, I heard the roar of a motorcycle and noted that it stopped outside the Inn. As I was the only guest, I figured it was Krycek.
The day was hot already, the humidity of the nearby ocean hanging in the air, making it thick and uncomfortable, so I wore only a light T shirt and my jeans.
When I got outside I found that I was right--it was Krycek. Bastard! I thought. He sat there on his bike, dressed as usual in black jeans and leather jacket with his helmet sitting on his lap. There was one exception--he wore no shirt under his jacket. I could only see the faintest hint of the straps holding his fake arm to his body. His chest was smooth, toned, and pumped. The flesh looked kissed and smeared with honey. His russet nipples, already hard, were crowned with a few stray hairs. It has always surprised me that a man whose body has been so badly mutilated and scarred, as his has, could feel so comfortable in his skin. I walked down the steps and stood next to him on the bike.
"Give me the keys, Krycek."
He opened his eyes wide, the deep forest green of them rivaling the leaves on the trees that surrounded us. He grinned at me with that knowing smirk, just the barest hint of well-formed, straight teeth, that sometimes made me feel that he knew everything about me, all my secrets, that nothing could be hidden from him.
"No way, no how, Mulder," he stated flatly.
"I'm driving, Krycek."
"Mulder, have you ever driven a Harley before?"
"No. But how hard could it be, you're driving one." Even now I realized how ludicrous my request had been, but still I wouldn't back down. Krycek just looked at me like I was out of my mind.
"Mulder do you realize just how many people I've had to kill to buy this bike?" The look on his face was one of taunting amusement. I wondered though, just how far off the truth it might be.
"You are not driving this bike, Mulder. You called this meeting and if you won't ride with me, this meeting is over."
His statement brooked no opposition; so I grudgingly took the helmet he offered me, put it on and mounted the bike behind him.
Well that was easy, I rarely win an argument with Mulder that quickly, hell, I rarely win an argument with that stubborn man at all. It's not far to where we're going so I just keep the bike to a steady, slow pace. It's beautiful here--quiet, warm, like we're alone in the universe.
Mulder is pressed up close to my back; I feel his heat seeping through my jacket and into my body. It's a luxury I never dreamed I'd have. Even through the helmet and the breeze surrounding us, I can smell him. Freshly washed, but still exuding the smell of the man he is.
Mulder knocks on my helmet and I stop the bike, lift the visor and turn to him.
"Krycek, where are we going?"
"It's not far, Mulder. Just sit back and relax. We'll be there in a few minutes."
I pulled the bike back out on the path that passes for a road. Mulder is again holding onto me for dear life. And damn me to hell, I'm responding to him even though I know that this touch is not meant for me. My stomach is sweating and it's getting slippery where Mulder is holding me. His hands keep slipping down lower and lower towards my pants, and the erection hidden within them. I know that under the helmet my face is flaming scarlet from my automatic reaction to him. His hands keep slipping down, and down, and when he comes in contact with the fully engorged head of my cock, he brings them up as though they were burned.
Finally, I see the dock and the boat moored to it.
Krycek stopped the bike right on the dock, removed his helmet and pocketed the keys as I got off the bike. He unfastened the saddlebag and threw it into the boat. He took off his jacket and tossed that into the boat as well. The muscles of his back rippled even from this little movement. He's in good shape--strong and tanned and healthy. With a little grin on his face he turned to me.
He unhooked the straps that hold his prosthetic to his body and tossed the arm on top of his jacket. He's gutsy; I'll give him that. He doesn't seem to feel anything at showing me his disfigurement, as though it's a natural part of him, and I guess, by now, it is.
Krycek pointed to a small island just offshore. "It belongs to a friend of mine. A nude beach."
I looked at him like he's just grown another head. This time he's smiling like the cat that's just swallowed the canary. "I'm not getting naked with you, you rat bastard."
"God you're a pussy, Mulder!"
I snarled at him.
"Mulder, it's an island in the middle of the water, a parabolic microphone wouldn't be able to pick up what we're saying above the sound of the surf. And besides, it has a wrinkle rule, any more than three and you're out of there!"
Krycek laughed as I stepped past him to the bow of the boat.
I kicked off my boots and socks, opening my pants I shoved them down my legs, stepping out of them and my underwear at the same time. I thanked all the gods of heaven that my erection had gone down a bit.
Mulder turned around and took a long, hard look at me. I think he's getting off on this. "This is stupid, Krycek."
I shrugged my shoulders. It was a chance I took; I knew that there was a possibility that Mulder would never go along with it. But he did, grudgingly. He sat on the bench at the bow and, to my surprise, he is faces me. He slowly removed his shirt, untied his running shoes, removed them and his socks, slipped his pants and underwear down his legs and is now, as I am, as naked as nature intended us.
I couldn't keep my eyes off him. He looked great; olive tanned skin, firm muscles, and a light dusting of body hair tinted light from exposure to the sun. He looked at me as though he was daring me to do or say something. I did neither. Just looked him over from head to toe. And in the middle are seven glorious inches of Mulder seemingly growing bigger by the moment.
"We're here, Mulder." I told him as I jumped out of the boat and secured it to the dock.
This is a nice place. Not a sound except for the slight ripple of the surf crashing against the shore could be heard. I'm thankful that we're the only ones here.
I wandered off the dock and headed toward a sandy beach, and plunk my self down on it. I laid back and let the heat of the sand soak through my body, and the sun above me, bright and high in the sky, blessed my skin with its heat.
Krycek came and lay beside me. I couldn't help but notice that his cock was almost half-erect by now and realized how difficult this is going to be.
"I met your boyfriend yesterday." My words sounded sarcastic and sharp even to my own ears.
"Your boyfriend...your lover...your brother, whatever?" I told him.
"My brother is dead, Mulder." The regret was palpable in Krycek's voice.
"Your Brother by Choice then, Alex."
"Jarod!" Alex's eyes glistened like they were lit from the inside out, and a huge, broad smile crossed his face. This was genuine, I knew that. Alex was guileless at the moment, his face expressing everything he felt.
"How? When? Why?" He asked me in rapid succession.
"Somehow or other," I said with a tone of grudging respect in my voice, "he convinced Janet Reno to set up a meeting with him, me and Skinner."
"That Jarod," he said, beaming with pride, "is such a pisser!"
Right at that moment I realized what a fucked-up nut case I really was. In the pit of my stomach the monster roused itself. I was fucking jealous of Jarod. I didn't want Krycek, and I didn't want anyone else to have him either. The blissful look on Alex's face made me furious, mad, and really pissed off. Against all reason and logic, I didn't want Jarod to have him.
I kicked some sand with my foot. "I know that he's passing information to you and you're passing it to us."
"Yeah!" Krycek said. "Jarod is a ballsy guy. That information is good, too--it's the best." Alex was clearly proud.
I nodded my head in agreement.
"Mulder, why did you want to meet with me?"
I looked at a naked Mulder lying next to me--my fantasy made flesh. The minute I asked my question his face closed over, like a cloud passing before the sun. Now I realized why I'd felt nervous about this meeting, something bad--really bad--was about to happen.
He didn't answer me at once. He drew a few designs in the sand and looked out towards the water.
"Why did you want this meeting?" I asked him again.
"I have something to tell you, Alex." I knew something was seriously wrong when he started using my first name. That's not Mulder's style.
"I know you're interested in me, Krycek..."
"Duh! And this is news, how?" I pointed to my erection and Mulder looked at it and blushed again.
"It will never happen, Alex. I'm with someone in a committed relationship and this person felt that you should know," he said.
My erection wilted rapidly. "Is this the truth this time, Mulder? You're not making up a lover again are you?" I barely got the words out without screaming at him.
"Truth this time, Krycek. I'm sorry about the last time; it was completely out of line.
I couldn't look at him anymore, too afraid of what my face might reveal. "Who is she, Mulder? Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything...I won't shoot her."
"Not a her, Alex--a he. It's Skinner."
I must have looked like I was cold cocked, I certainly felt like it. Mulder looked like he was actually sorry that he had to tell me.
"That's it then, I guess," I said as calmly as I could muster, "the best man won." Like an old man I rose from the sand, not looking back I walked toward the boat. I could hear Mulder following me. I picked up the saddlebag, unsnapped it and took out the envelope from Jarod and threw it at Mulder's feet. I got into the boat, facing the ocean and began to dress, not even looking back to see if Mulder was going to follow me.
"I'm sorry, Alex."
I felt Mulder's hand on my shoulder and shook it off. "Forget it, Mulder. Message delivered and understood, let's get out of here!" I was completely dressed now, still staring out at the ocean and couldn't look back at him. >From the rocking of the boat I could tell that Mulder was almost dressed himself. I turned to sit on my bench next to the outboard motor and was thankful that Mulder had the good sense to face away from me this time.
On the trip back to the mainland Alex didn't say a word, didn't make a motion, didn't do anything besides guide the boat smoothly through the water. The minute we reached the dock he jumped from the boat and secured the ropes. He walked slowly to the bike, donned his helmet and sat waiting for me.
I had nothing left to say. What could I say to him? Rejection is rejection, there's no easy way to say it or accept it. I still had this damned envelope in my hand with nowhere to put it. So I climbed behind Krycek, put on my helmet, placed the information on my chest and pressed my chest into Alex's back. He took one sharp intake of breath, started the bike, and moved out.
He stopped the bike at the inn and sat stoically, staring straight ahead, waiting for me to get off.
He flipped up the visor of his helmet before I could finish speaking. "Don't worry, I'll keep passing on the information, Mulder. I'm not that petty...yet."
"Alex..." I tried again.
As before, he cut me off in mid-sentence. "Enjoy the rest of your week end, Mulder, it's been paid for. Oh yes, have a good life." He slapped the visor down and waited for me to get off his bike.
I stood by the Inn and watched Alex speed away.
I did what I came here to do. So why do I feel so shitty? Why do I feel like I'm going to miss him? Why do I feel that this *isn't* just another person speeding out of my life? I watched until Alex disappeared from my sight, shoved my hand into my pocket and turned toward the building. When I felt the crumpled ten-dollar bill that Scully had given me, jokingly, to buy condoms, for some reason that I still can't figure out or even want to try to understand, I wanted to laugh, but in reality, felt like crying.
TBC in Dinner with Charles.
Feedback, please Riticulan
Title: Dinner With Charles, Chapter 9 0f 11 of the Brothers By Choice Series
An X Files Pretender Crossover
Author: The Riticulan Amanuensis
Web Page: http://www.squidge.org/~mace/riticulan/
Rating: NC17 for some naughty male to male action
Summary: A dinner meeting between Kycek and Skinner takes an unexpected turn
Archivists: Archive at will, I'd like to know where they end up, if possible
Warnings: This series doesn't follow any particular time line, consider yourself spoiled up to and including SR:819
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this,and I don't want to. I do this for fun and relaxation. All rights to these characters don't belong to me. They belong to 1013 Productions, Fox, and the people who own the Pretender. No copywrite infringement is intended.
Thanks to Sue Ashworth, Fan for Richie, and Karen-Leigh for a superb beta. All mistakes in canon and otherwise are my own.
Brothers By Choice
Chapter IX - Dinner with Charles
Skinner was tired--bone-weary, wrung-out.
It had been two weeks since Mulder's meeting with Krycek. When he'd asked Fox about the meeting, he got only the most meager of answers: "Yes, the meeting had gone well. Yes, he'd told Krycek that there was no chance of their being together." Fox did not tell him, however, of the nude beach; did not speak of Krycek's state of arousal at the time; he certainly didn't tell Skinner of his own feelings of arousal while he was around Krycek. There was no way that he'd tell Skinner exactly how he felt as he watched Alex speed out of his life. When Skinner pushed Fox further for answers, all he'd got were mere monosyllables in return. So he'd stopped asking.
Something had definitely happened between Mulder and Krycek; Skinner knew that. For two weeks now Mulder had been jumping his bones, at any opportunity, at least twice a day. The sex between them was brutal, ferocious and all consuming. Mulder was like a man possessed; a man needing to work out some inner demon by slamming his flesh into Skinner or having Skinner slam his flesh into him. Yes, Walter knew something had happened during that meeting.
The AD closed his final dossier of the day with some force. He sighed audibly with relief that his day's work was done. He was slightly surprised when he looked at his watch and noticed that it was only five p.m. He couldn't remember, for sure, the last time that he completed his day on time. He removed his glasses and put them on top of the file on his desk; massaging his temples, he worked the tension of the day away.
Mulder was out of town for the weekend on a case and Skinner looked forward to a few days of peace and quiet. He thought he might do a little cooking, putter around the apartment, or maybe even read some of those novels he hadn't been able to find the time for.
With a satisfied smile on his face, he put his glasses on again, put on his coat and left his office.
"Caroline, you're still here?"
"Yes, sir, just finishing up."
Kim was on vacation and a temp from the secretarial pool had replaced her. Skinner had been very surprised by her efficiency: he'd only had to show her the workings of his office once. For the week she'd been here, she hadn't asked one other additional question, and the office ran like a well-oiled machine. Skinner always anticipated Kim's vacation with a certain sense of dread, but this time he was more than pleased with her replacement.
"Good night Caroline. Have a good week-end."
"I will, sir, thank you."
Walter had almost made it out the door when he heard Caroline shout his name. "Sir," the woman said, "don't forget your dinner meeting tonight."
"Dinner meeting? What dinner meeting?" Skinner's plans for a quiet evening at home just went up in smoke.
Caroline looked at her boss and clearly saw the look of confusion on his face. "It's at The Inn at Little Washington," she said. "It's a long drive--about seventy miles--and quite posh for a dinner meeting," she clicked her tongue against her teeth as if to emphasize the luxury of the restaurant. "My husband and I celebrated our 15th anniversary there; it was the best meal I've ever had."
Skinner still looked terribly confused.
She took out his day planner. "Look, sir, the entry is in your handwriting."
He crossed the short distance to her desk quickly. He looked at the entry in his day-planner and when he saw the handwriting, so similar to his own, all the colour drained from his face and he had to clutch on to Caroline's desk for support. He'd been wondering when the sword would fall--it had been two weeks since Mulder's meeting with Krycek. He wasn't naive enough to believe that his disobedience would go unpunished; after all, Krycek had told him to drop Mulder. Instead, he had had Mulder meet with Krycek to tell him that Mulder was taken. Surely, Krycek realized that that meeting was Walter's idea.
"Are you all right, sir," Caroline asked with concern.
"Yes! I'm fine."
Skinner stood slowly and looked around the office that had been his home away from home for so many years now. He committed every detail of the room into his memory as though this was the very last time that he would see it.
"Good night, Caroline." He said.
"Good night, Sir, enjoy your meal."
Walter smiled weakly at her. "I'm sure I will."
Walter didn't hurry home from the office. When he got there, he dressed in his best conservative gray suit, chose a fresh white shirt from the dozens in his closet, and he picked out a light, non-descript tie to complete the outfit. In a bizarre parody of getting ready for a date, he even carefully combed his remaining hair.
The night was a wet and balmy one--the type of rainfall that his mother used to refer to as a 'crying day'. Odd, he thought, the things that come into your mind at times like these.
When he was first infected with Krycek's toys, like a man diagnosed with a terminal illness, he went through the stages of grief. First came anger--white, hot, blazing anger. Anger that Krycek would do this to him, anger that Krycek would use this to play him like a marionette, pulling his strings this way and that; anger that Krycek would strip him of his dignity and integrity in this, the worst possible way. His denial of his condition arrived next. His mind unable to fathom the ways in which Krycek would use this device to force him do god only knew what. Then came the feeling of helplessness in the face of his infection. The younger man's demands were small at first, but with time they became more intense and demeaning. And now Skinner feared that Krycek would force him to betray his lover in more and more debilitating ways. When Walter realized Krycek had used him basically as an accessory to cold-blooded murder, he'd come to the realisation that he wasn't living; he was merely existing.
Tonight, however, in the pit of his belly, acceptance came. He felt at peace with his fate. The windshield wipers moving across his field of vision in a methodic and predictable fashion lulled him into a sense of calm. Incongruous as it might seem with the fate that he was sure awaited him, he felt at one with the world. His only regret now was Fox. The love they could have shared; the life they might have built together. Too late now to cry over spilled milk. Maybe it was for the better, in a way, to let Fox get on with his life; to find someone who might just be able to help him instead of being tied to one who would only be forced to stymie him in his efforts in still unimaginable ways.
Skinner caught himself dozing off twice during the long drive to the restaurant. Finally he took the detour off US Highway 211 and in no time he saw the building. Skinner had to smile at the hubris of the owners for not having a sign on the building announcing its presence. But then, if the reputation of this world-class restaurant was true, maybe it wasn't hubris at all. With the small army of workers and visitors gathered around the entrance of the building, Skinner was sure he'd found the right place.
Even before he had the door of his car closed, he was approached by what appeared to be an employee of the Inn.
"Are you checking in, sir?"
With the rapid attention that his arrival had prompted, Skinner felt somewhat like the prodigal son returning.
"No," he said, rather too quickly, "I'm here to meet Mr. Charles for dinner."
The man smiled at him in welcome and beckoned another employee standing not too far away. He came over to join them quickly.
"Good evening Mr. Skinner. My name is Duane and welcome to the Inn at Little Washington. I hope you enjoy your visit with us. Mr. Charles is expecting you. Please follow me." He held out his hand for Walter to take and Walter shook it firmly. Skinner followed closely behind him and when he entered the building, he was struck by the Victorian opulence of the place, its dedication to historical detail, and the impressive and costly materials used to reproduce an architectural style long since gone out of fashion. It was a little too bourgeois for the AD's personal taste for understatement, but nonetheless, it was certainly impressive.
Entering the dining room, Walter got his first glimpse of Krycek, who was dressed in an expensive-looking, green suit; designer, of course. The younger man wore a pale green shirt with a darker green tie. The green satin glove covering his faux hand was the exact shade of his suit. The green motif was completed by the small peridot stud Krycek wore in his left ear. The result of all this was to make Krycek's eyes a striking shade of green--eyes, which seemed to be lit from within. Alex was seemingly oblivious to everything around him, but Skinner knew this was an act. He was eating some kind of finger food that looked, to Walter, like puff pastry filled with a meaty substance.
As Alex saw them approach his table, he stood up and smiled genuinely at Walter. "Uncle Walter, I'm so glad you could join me!" He held out his hand but Skinner refused to take it.
Krycek turned to the waiter and mouthed a thank you and he left.
"Kry...Alex, what's this all about?" Skinner asked with a slight snarl in his voice.
Alex motioned for him to sit and he did. "Can't two friends meet for dinner, Walter?"
"We're not friends, Krycek." Skinner growled as he moved to sit.
"Yes, well, there is that," Alex said with a little smirk on his face that showed Walter that he was besting him already. "But Walt, in a place a long time ago and far, far away, we were. We were something more than friends, weren't we?"
"So," Skinner asked again, "what's this all about."
"Patience, Walter, just slow down and smell the foi gras. You work too hard for a man of your *age*. One of these days," Krycek tapped at his temple for emphasis; "you're going to fall down dead with a stroke."
"Is that a threat, Alex?"
"Did it sound like one? I'm just concerned for your health, Walter. You represent a considerable investment to me." Krycek's voice sounded sincere to Skinner, but his eyes told another story.
Krycek tracked the path of the waiter making his way to their table. The man placed a plate in front of Skinner containing the same delicacies that were in front of the younger man.
"Eat Walter, they're delicious." He pointed to the sesame-crusted puff pastry on Walter's plate. Alex picked the same item from his own and popped it into his mouth, closing his eyes in epicurean delight; he made a little moan of pleasure.
Walter looked at him as if he were some strange, exotic creature that he'd never seen before. This aspect of the younger man's personality was one that he'd never seen or suspected; the immaculately dressed sensualist sitting across the table from him only made Walter's sense of nervousness greater.
"Come on, Walter, eat. You know you want to."
Skinner felt like a lamb being fattened up for the slaughter. "Okay, Krycek, what's this all about?" He asked again.
Alex stared directly into his eyes and smiled. "Patience is a virtue, Walter. Come on, just let your hair down...figuratively speaking, of course...and enjoy yourself. Eat, it's worth it. I remember when I was a kid and my birthday rolled around. Excited, as all children are on their birthdays, I'd get up in the morning and all I'd get out of my mother was 'Happy Birthday, Alex' and she'd set my breakfast before me. No festivities at all, no presents, no nothing. She had this idea in her head that all birthdays were to be celebrated at the family's evening meal. So there I was on a tenterhooks all day just waiting for the evening to come."
"Touching story, Alex."
"I thought you'd like it, Walt."
"But," Walter said, "I'd like to point out that it's *not* my birthday."
Before Krycek could reply, a different waiter appeared and placed a selection of breads on their table. Alex looked at the strange and delectable foodstuffs and licked his lips. "Are you sure," he said, "about the birthday thing, I mean?"
"I'm fairly sure, yes."
"Well, we'll just have to see about that," Alex said as he reached for a currant and nut studded piece of rye bread. He looked at Skinner and smirked at him.
Within seconds the wine waiter approached their table. Skinner glanced at the man and thought that it wouldn't quite be fair to call the man eccentric--he'd be an eccentric in a nation of eccentrics. The older man fully expected the waiter to click his heels together and make a popping sound by bringing his hand to his mouth; but he didn't. He looked directly at Krycek. "Bonsoir, M'seur," he said.
"Bonsoir, Gaetian," Krycek said. And as the waiter was trying to pass the extensive wine list to him he said: "Non! Le vin ordinaire est la specialite de la maison, n'est pas?"
"Eh bien!" Krycek said. "Rouge..." and Alex held his hands apart showing the man what he wanted and mouthed the word 'gross' before the man could leave.
"Bien sur, M'seur," the waiter said as he left.
"Alex, I didn't know you could speak French--it isn't in your file."
"Lots of things aren't in my file, Walter. I spent a few years in Paris. And then there was that unexpected and totally unsatisfactory trip to Quebec." Alex smiled as Skinner realized immediately what he was talking about. "When in Rome, Walter...I've found that it's always helpful to speak as the natiaves do--it makes things easier and raises fewer questions.
Skinner nibbled absentmindedly on a piece of fruit encrusted bread seemingly mesmerized by the forest green of his dinner companion's eyes and the lullaby quality of his voice. He put his bread back on the plate as though he were burned.
"You're still working for *them* aren't you, Alex?" Skinner grew angrier and angrier with the situation by the minute.
The patrons at the next table would have enjoyed the melodious sound of Krycek's laughter, thinking him a very happy man. But Skinner heard nothing but the underlying bitterness betrayed by the laughter, which never really reached Alex's eyes. The AD had known the younger man long enough to know that Krycek's eyes were the windows of his soul and that if he didn't want you to know what he was thinking at any given moment, he simply refused to look at you. But this time, he stared at Skinner with defiance.
"You and Mulder," Alex spit at him, "you're cut from the same bolt! I don't work *for* them, Walter, I work *through* them. If you have to give me a name, then think of me as an *agent provocateur*. I have one little piece of advice for the both of you, stop looking a gift horse in the mouth."
Skinner snickered as though nothing this man ever had to say held any value.
The wine waiter returned and with great ceremony placed a wineglass in front of Alex and poured a small amount out of the large carafe of wine he carried. Alex took it to his mouth, sipped, swirled the heady liquid around his tongue and through his teeth bringing it back to wash over his taste buds once again. He sniffed deeply of the ambrosia and smiled.
"A votre gout, M'seur?" The waiter asked?
Oui. Tres bon, merci."
Life, Skinner thought, was just an endless series of rituals.
A waitress come by and placed small bowls of soup before them. "Eat, Walter!" Krycek instructed him.
Skinner brought his spoon to his mouth but put it down immediately. Again he asked, "What's this all about, Krycek?"
"Do you really have to ask, Walter?"
"Yeah!" Walter replied. "I really do?"
"Do you feel like the condemned man, who's just had his last meal placed before him?"
"What do you mean, Krycek?" Walter's anger reached his face, and he turned a bright red.
"I've mentioned before about the secrets you and Mulder keep from each other. The last time we met, I gave you an order, Walter. I told you to drop Mulder or there would be serious consequences. You didn't do what you were told. You know, don't you, that Mulder told me it was you who made him meet with me two weeks ago when he gave me the kiss-off. He knows about those little buggers in your blood stream; I don't know what you were thinking of, Walter."
Skinner shook his head in reluctant agreement but without any contrition.
"Not only," Krycek continued with a surprised look on his face, "didn't you have the guts to tell me yourself, you sent Mulder instead to do your dirty work. Is this how lovers act, Walter?"
Skinner just stared sheepishly at his food. "You're not planning on killing me here?"
The young Russian smiled malevolently at him.
"Why here?" Skinner asked.
Alex slipped his hand down to his lap and pressed a button on his machine. Immediately the veins in Skinner's temple turned blue and he let out a low groan of pain and had to rest his head on his arms. A waitress passing by was so startled that she stopped, placed a hand on his shoulder and asked him if he was ill. Krycek took his finger from the button and Skinner recovered almost immediately.
"No, thank you, I'm fine." He told her.
Krycek smiled. "Why here? Can you think of a better place? I'm here with my uncle--an older man--who's just had some kind of episode. The waitress noticed it. You'll fall dead in your soup; I'll scream and moan...'call 911, quick; my uncle's sick.'" Krycek gave Skinner his most effective don't-fuck-with-me look. "Oh god, I'll be so upset, insisting that I go with you in the ambulance. Such a dutiful nephew, you know, so concerned over his favourite uncle. You know me, Walter, I'll disappear as soon as they wheel you into the ER on the gurney. Do you think that Mulder is going to recognize me when he interviews the staff here and they remember someone dressed as I am? Do you really think he's going to figure out that it's me?"
Skinner glared at him and his chocolate brown eyes were filled with the fatalism of his situation. With Krycek's finger on the button, as it was, Walter couldn't even get his gun out fast enough to shoot him--he'd be dead before he got it un-holstered.
"So shut up and eat, Skinner. This will be your last chance. I wouldn't worry about heart-smart choices if I were you; it won't make a damned bit of difference. I hope you don't mind, but I ordered medallions of lamb for us. So eat and enjoy your last meal."
Almost before Alex had finished speaking, a waiter arrived and cleared away their untouched soup. Another waiter placed their entree in front of them. Skinner looked at the meal set before him; he didn't have much of an appetite at the moment, but he refused to let Krycek see that. With his fork and knife in hand, Skinner got up from his chair, leaned over the table and slowly and methodically began to cut up Krycek's meat for him. He was undeterred by the daggers in Krycek's eyes or the snarl on his lips.
"Just trying to be helpful," he said caustically. "It must be difficult eating with only one arm."
"Cute, Walter, but not *funny*. You'd be surprised the things I can do with only one arm."
"I'm sure." Skinner replied as he started to slice and eat his own meal.
They ate in absolute silence, and both men waved away the dessert tray at the same time.
"Well, Alex, why don't you get it over with? Kill me now and finish it."
Alex smiled at him. He lifted the machine up to his chest, and pressed it to his heart where Skinner could see it. "A marvelous little toy, this, don't you think, Walter? The things I could have done with it but...happy birthday, old man." He passed the small machine over to Walter and placed it in his hand. The look of astonishment on Skinner's face was priceless.
"Why are you doing this, Alex?"
Alex looked wistful as he answered. "I could have made you do so many things, betray so many people; I could have made you ruin your career if I wanted. But don't get any big ideas in your head. I'm doing this for Jarod, not for you. He wouldn't want you *forced* into helping us. He's funny like that...moral...good...just...he'd want it to be *your* choice...and I care about *him* so..."
"You mean there's someone besides yourself that you care about?" Skinner said with a touch of malice in his voice.
"Strange, isn't it, Walter? If you live long enough, you learn."
Skinner turned the small machine around in one hand and looked at the cause of his distress for so long now, examining it, studying it, as though it were the Holy Grail. "What makes you think I just won't take out my gun and kill you now, Krycek?"
The younger man chuckled at this. "Maybe I know you won't because of the gun I have trained on your cock and balls. Believe me, Mulder doesn't like his lovers *mutilated*."
"Checkmate," Walter said.
"Checkmate," Krycek agreed.
The waiter came by and Alex asked him for the check, which he quickly signed, and got up to leave the restaurant. Skinner left his chair immediately afterwards.
Outside the night was warm and balmy; the rain had stopped, and the world smelled fresh and clean. Skinner realized that there could be another reason besides the meteorological for his feeling this way. Against all reason, both men walked side by side at an even pace, neither trying to out step the other as they made for their cars. Characteristically, Krycek had parked his car away from the glare of the streetlights, in a small alleyway where no one could see it. Skinner followed him and roughly turned him around. He looked directly into Krycek's eyes as he unbuckled the younger man's belt and slipped his hand down the loose-fitting trousers and inside the silk boxers that Alex wore. He took Alex's cock in his hand and squeezed it lightly.
"It feels just like I remember, " Skinner said, with a smile on his face.
"What do you think you're doing?" Krycek demanded.
"I don't know," Skinner whispered close to Alex's ear, "maybe I enjoy danger." He took the younger man's earlobe into his mouth and gently sucked on it, running his tongue over the small jewel-encrusted earring that Alex wore. He gave Alex's cock a few hard, quick pumps.
Alex groaned in response; he was hard, rock-hard already.
Skinner licked a path down to Alex's mouth and gently traced the pouty lips of the younger man with his tongue. "Maybe," Skinner moaned, "I like rough trade." Alex opened his legs a bit wider to give Skinner more access and Skinner took it, jacking him faster and harder with each pump of his fist. He noticed that Alex's legs were getting a bit weaker with each jerk of his hand on the younger man's cock. To keep Alex in this helpless position, Skinner supported him with his hip.
"Maybe," Skinner mumbled as his hand pumped Krycek's cock almost to the point of no return, "I like bad boys." Skinner forced his tongue between Alex's lips and delved inside. He met no resistance as Alex welcomed him, and sucked Walter's tongue into his mouth. Alex groaned louder with each movement of Skinner's hand.
Skinner moved away from the kiss and licked at Alex's jaw, lapping down to his throat, like a kitten, and began suck on him in earnest.
Skinner felt the blood so close to the surface of the skin he was sucking and knew that Krycek would have a world-class hickey in the morning. Alex's pelvis mimicked Skinner's hand, pistoning back and forth in unison with Walter's movements. With a howl and a jolt he splashed his fluids all over Skinners hand and his own silk boxers. Skinner took his mouth from Krycek's neck and stared into his eyes. He rubbed the younger man's dick head against his boxers to clean him and saw Alex shiver. Walter removed his hand from Krycek's underwear and wiped the rest of the semen on the younger man's pants.
As he patted the outline of Krycek's still erect cock through his trousers he smiled. "Or maybe, Alex, I just don't want you to forget me."
Krycek's jaw dropped in astonishment as he watched Skinner walk away from him. He put himself back together while still watching the older man's retreating form.
"Oh! Believe me, there's no chance of that." He said, but Skinner never heard him.
To be Continued
Archived: June 03, 2001