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The Threat of Other Chicks

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The Threat Of Other Chicks

by Ethan Nelson

Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner swung open the door to the ice
cream parlor and barely concealed a sigh of ecstasy. Here, at last, was
a proprietor who hadn't skimped on the air conditioning. Crowded, garish,
and brightly lit, the shop was an oasis nevertheless. It was even hotter
in Walter's dream than it was in his reality, and though he still wasn't
skilled in the fine art of lucid dreaming, he couldn't help but feel a
burst of pride at this small detail.

He kept his distance from the counter; he wasn't willing to endure the
impatient sighs of the cashier while he held up the line making his decision.
So many flavors, so many variations. Though not much given to uncertainty
at the best of times, the feeling remained that he might be standing here
for the rest of his life. But it was so cool that the idea had some appeal.

After some time, his eyes lit on a menu board that he was sure hadn't
been there before. "The Long, Hot Summer" was written across the top in
flaming red lettering, and beneath it... What the hell?
 

Fellatio, it said. $2.99.

Frottage, $3.99.

Rimming, $3.49

Sodomy, $4.99 (cherries extra)

Hand Jobs, $1.99 (volume discount available)

NUTRITION INFORMATION AVAILABLE ON REQUEST.
 

Just as he was beginning to absorb this strangeness, the girl at the
counter cried "I'm taking my fifteen." Walter watched her go, and in the
logic of dreams, he kept his gaze on the swinging door through which she'd
disappeared. He was not disappointed. Before he had a chance to look away,
Fox Mulder appeared, wearing nothing but the visor and apron that comprised
the parlor's uniform. Leave it to Mulder to buck convention in my subconscious
mind
.

Without sparing Walter a glance, he began counting his cash, oblivious
to the cool air that had to be blasting him from all sides.

Walter watched him for a good three minutes before he remembered that
left him with only twelve more before Mulder disappeared. Clearing his
throat, he strode up to the counter. "Excuse me," he said.

"Good evening, sir," Mulder said with a seductive smile. "How may I
help you?"

"I'd like a strawberry sundae," Walter said.

Mulder frowned. "Are you acquainted with our summer selections, sir?
I happen to know the fellatio is very good today."

"Yes, I am, thank-you. But I'd like a strawberry sundae," he said firmly.

The agent sighed and lowered his eyes. When he looked up at Walter again,
they gleamed. "What kind of ice cream would you like on that, sir?"

"Vanilla."

"Would you prefer soft serve, or would you like something... hard?"

Walter swallowed. "Soft serve," he said, more harshly than he intended.

Mulder's smile was full-blown now, a wondrous thing to behold. "Would
you like nuts on that?"

"No." Even in dreams his lover had to inject his every phrase with his
special brand of cheesy sexuality.

"Why don't you have a seat, and I'll bring it out to you?"

Yeah, right. 'Hey, Walter, you ever made it with a guy in a booth
at the 31 Flavors?' "I'll wait," he said.

"Suit yourself." He turned on the AD, revealing his smooth, muscular
back and that magnificent ass. Walter couldn't see what the agent was doing.
Given the nature of his dream, he wasn't sure he wanted to see.

"Looks like we're all out of strawberry topping, sir."

"Whatever you have is fine," he growled. From the change in Mulder's
posture, the AD knew he'd made a serious mistake.

"I don't have any bowls, either."

"Forget it, then."

"Don't be so hasty," he said. "I have an idea." When he turned around
again, he held an ice cream scoop in one hand and a squirt bottle of chocolate
syrup in the other.

"I'm just going to go get a Slurpee," Walter said.

Mulder hopped up on the counter and swung his legs over so he faced
Walter once more. He handed the AD the scoop and unfastened his apron with
his free hand, tugging it over his head to pool in his lap. He took the
scoop back, and with his gaze fastened to Walter's own, Mulder pressed
the scoop to his throat. He gasped softly and began smearing the ice cream
over his skin with tantalizing slowness. When only a little ice cream remained,
he licked it out of the scoop. He then flipped open the cap of the chocolate
bottle and drizzled a pattern over his chest.

It looked a little like a crop circle, actually.

"Would you say I've done a thorough job, sir?"

"Yes."

"Then lick."

With a sigh of resignation, Walter leaned forward, stepping between
Mulder's legs. He'd just applied his mouth to the agent's navel when his
cell phone jolted him awake.

"Skinner."

"Sir, it's Agent Scully. I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour--"

"Let's have it."

"I'm calling from Cook County General, in Chicago. Agent Mulder's been
injured again."

"How badly?"

"He fell off a rooftop in pursuit of a suspect."

"He was injured in the fall?"

"We won't be sure what happened until he regains consciousness. Both
he and the suspect landed in a passing railway car full of sulphur. I've
spent most of the night chasing him down."

"Keep me informed, Scully."

"Sir, it might help if you were here."

"You know I can't be."

There was a tense silence. "Fine." Walter winced at the sound of the
receiver being forcibly replaced.

Thinking of all the tacky ice cream-related innuendo that would now
go unexplored, he fell back in bed and flung an arm over his face. Other
men worried about mortgage payments and unruly teenaged offspring. He worried
about his comatose lover, whose tumbling off a roof in Chicago had most
likely been his own idea. Is he the sanest person I know, or is he just
a good-looking lunatic?

"Fuck," he murmured. "Fuck." After repeating the word a few more times,
Walter snatched up the phone again and put a call through to the airport.
 
 

*** *** ***


"God damn you, Mulder, do you have any idea what I had to go through
to get here? Scully called me in the middle of the most bizarre wet dream
I've ever had in my life. I had to invent another dead grandfather to get
away from the bureau-- and I think that brings my total up to fifteen,
incidentally-- and I got trapped on a flight from hell that makes the TWA
disaster look like a Greyhound trip through the Bible belt in high summer
with no air conditioning. The only rental I could get was a pink Ford Contour,
in which I got pulled over for speeding and reckless driving. The least
you could have done is get a black eye, for Christ's sake."

Mulder lay still and silent, too pale. He still hadn't regained consciousness,
hadn't so much as twitched. Walter supposed he could worry himself completely
bald at the hotel as easily as he could in Mulder's room at the hospital,
but he was reluctant to leave the agent even to buy another cup of coffee.

"So, what? I wait? Why am I always waiting for you? Pretending I'm doing
something else, but waiting. I'll talk myself hoarse on the off chance
you can hear me, and when you come to you'll tell me you dreamed you were
on Gilligan's Island with Traci Lords."

Moving cautiously, he rubbed his thumb across the agent's mouth.

"Mulder," he said. "Fox. If I said--" He shook his head. "Forget it.
I don't need the aggravation." His hand strayed to Mulder's cheek, to his
neck, to his throat. "Remember when we saw The English Patient?
What was the clinical name for this spot?" He smirked. "You wouldn't remember,
anyway. You had my dick in your mouth by that point. I shudder to think
what you'd have done for Shine."

Talking to his lover like this proved to be less exciting than he'd
always imagined it might be. How many times had he wished Mulder wouldn't
interrupt him? How many times had he started a conversation with a specific
topic in mind, only to be sidetracked, and sidetracked again, till he had
no idea what he'd been trying to say? Now he had his chance, his golden
opportunity, and all he wanted was for his lover to open his eyes and say,
"Oh, Walter, you're so sexy when you're incomprehensible."

Walter smiled faintly. Even a kiss was useless when it came to silencing
Mulder. If he was in a chatty mood, he could speak into Walter's mouth,
speak as he sucked the AD's nipples, speak with his lips on Walter's balls.
 
 

*** *** ***

"I love your eyes," he said, kissing each one in turn. "When you
take your glasses off, you can almost fool people into thinking you're
good-natured, they're so wide and soft."

"Special Agent Fox Mulder, King Of The Back-Handed Compliment."

"I'm serious. I love your nose, too. How many times has it been broken
now?"

"Four."

"Four times," he marveled, kissing it, too. "You're going to develop
sinus problems." Shifting slightly, he ran his tongue along the side of
Walter's neck. "This neck," he said. "Most men as big as you don't have
one anymore. Just before you come, the cords stand out in it, it's the
most amazing thing I've ever seen--"

"If you're going to play Gray's Anatomy, we're going to be here all
night."

"I'll bring you a book of crossword puzzles next time."

*** *** ***


Even asleep the agent looked more lively than he did now, his air of
suspension evidence of some deeper harm. It was obscene to suppose that
after everything Mulder had endured in life, he could be brought down by
a simple head trauma. Late at night, when Mulder was out of town, Walter
sometimes tried to imagine what could possibly kill this man, when so many
things had failed. Pianos tumbling from the heavens figured prominently.

With a heavy sigh, Walter seated himself and flipped open the new issue
of The Skeptical Inquirer. Mulder had bought him a subscription
as part of his ongoing quest to instigate a threesome between themselves
and Ed McMahon. The AD was halfway through a Ouija board-conducted interview
with L. Ron Hubbard when he glanced up to find Mulder watching him.

In spite of himself, Walter broke into a broad smile. "It's about time,"
he said. "If you'd waited much longer, I'd have had to miss the matinee."

"I'm sorry." Mulder struggled into a sitting position. The transformation
from dull-eyed to acute was almost instantaneous.

"How are you feeling?"

"Sore."

"It's the least you deserve," Walter said pleasantly. "You're a crazy
bastard, Mulder."

He squinted. "What did I do?"

The AD frowned. "Don't you remember?"

"No."

"You leaped off the roof of a burning boot factory in pursuit of a suspect.
In an interesting side story, the smart money says he didn't do it."

"That's anticlimactic."

"That's you all over."

He ran a hand over his face, almost experimentally. His palm halted
over his nose. Squeezed.

"What's the matter?"

"I recognize your voice," he said. "You were talking to me?"

Walter felt a shaft of cold shoot straight through to his gut. "You
don't recognize me?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Not half as sorry as you will be," he said, shooting to his feet. "You
don't remember the factory."

"No."

"Do you remember Scully, at least?" He'd kill himself if Mulder did,
but it was better than nothing.

"No."

"Do you even know who you are?"

"Nope."

"Do you have to be so fucking cheerful about it?"

He smiled ruefully. "What's the point of brooding over something you
can't change?"

Walter's jaw dropped. "Get up."

Mulder frowned. "I don't know if I should, with a head injury and all."

"Get up or I'll give you another one." He helped Mulder out of the bed
and shepherded him into the small bathroom that adjoined the main room,
flicking on the light as he went. Though not at all flattering to Walter,
the light gave Mulder a vaguely consumptive look that somehow heightened
his tragic appeal. "That's you," Walter said. "Fox Mulder. You're an agent
with the FBI."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not. You head up the X-Files division with Dana Scully, your partner."

"Well, I guess that's out," he said, "for the time being, at least."
Mulder grinned at himself in the mirror, turning slightly. "If I don't
get my memory back, I could always carve out a second career as an exotic
dancer."

"I'm having a nightmare," Walter muttered. "Stay here. Do not leave
your room. I'll be back shortly." He stalked out of the room, his cell
phone already unfolded.

"Scully."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the hotel, sir. What's going on?"

"Mulder's got amnesia," he snarled.

"He's awake?"

"Awake, and extremely obnoxious."

"I'm on my way."
 
 

*** *** ***


"...and that's when you broke away from the SWAT team and ran into the
barn--"

"Which was full of heavily armed religious fanatics?"

Mulder looked appalled, and Walter had to smile. Taken out of context,
it did sound a little crazy. It sounded crazy in context, in fact.

"You thought she was your soul mate," Walter said when Scully cast him
a helpless look.

"But I didn't know that, right?"

"Well, no," Scully admitted, "but it was one of those things you can't
know. You just have to believe."

Walter stared at the agent, totally stunned. Great. Now they're both

doing it. "The point is, you thought you were right."

"Was I?"

"We don't know," Scully said quietly. "We were too late. They all died."

Mulder's eyes filled with pain. "That's horrible."

Scully exhaled sharply, raking through her hair. "I'm going for coffee.
Can I get anyone anything?"

"I'm fine. Mulder?"

"No, I'm good, thanks."

Walter watched her go, very much aware of what had driven her from the
room. The incident with the cult had been horrible, certainly, but it was
a small piece of a much larger mosaic, and regarded as such, the tragedy
was diminished. It was a terrible, ugly outlook, but the three of them
shared it, shared that shadow around the eyes that crept in from time to
time. Or, they had shared it.

"That's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Mulder said.

The AD blinked. "What?"

"She's... luminous, you know? Those eyes, that voice..."

"She's your partner," Walter growled. "There's nothing going on between
you."

"That's a shame," he said. "Still, things are different now, right?"

"You're telling me," he said. "Look, Mulder--" He broke off when a doctor
entered the room.

Walter stood back and watched as Mulder was poked, prodded, and generally
fussed over. For any other patient, this version of bedside manner might
be considered somewhat lacking, but the man's muttering, mumbling demeanor
was perfectly suited to Mulder himself, who was prone to this fashion of
intimate conversation even among people he scarcely knew. By the time the
doctor had gone, Mulder was smiling confidently once again.

"Did you see that?"

"What?"

"He was definitely into me."

"That's it." He was at Mulder's side in an instant, the agent's face
firmly clamped between his palms. "You are with me," he bit out. "You and
I. Together. Am I getting through to you, here?"

"You?"

"That's right. If you're going to start catting around with everyone
over the age of consent, there's not a lot I can do about it, but I'd appreciate
it if you wouldn't do it in front of me." He released Mulder and stepped
back, breathing hard now.

"You and me? That's--"

"Don't say it, Mulder."

"But you're--"

"What?" he barked.

"You're so straight. Or you look straight." He smiled. "Butch."

"Really. Let me show you something."

"You're not wearing a cock ring, are you?"

The AD yanked back Mulder's blanket and tore open his hospital gown
to reveal the agent's torso. His back and shoulders were liberally peppered
with fading bite marks and scratches. A fine line of hickeys ran across
his stomach. "You think Agent Scully did that to you?" A choked sound came
from behind him, and he straightened slowly, eyes closed. "Agent Scully?"

She approached quickly, briskly, refastening Mulder's gown and settling
him back in bed. He watched the AD warily, with just a hint of new appreciation.

"He's right, Mulder," Scully said. "I didn't do it. And now that we
have that settled, why don't we run you through some simple tests?"

"He's already failed the important one," Walter grumbled.

"I'm sorry?"

"Forget it," he said, stalking from the room.
 
 

*** *** ***


How often were Mulder and Walter in the state of Virginia at the same
time? The odds were astronomical. They snatched time together between cases,
or when Mulder was laid up with an injury. Or when, miracle of miracles,
something precipitated their working together elsewhere. That was trickier,
but it could be done. The rest of their relationship was conducted electronically,
an idea that was far more appealing to Mulder than to the AD. Mulder faxed
him dirty limericks and photocopies of his genitalia with a zeal most people
confined to religion and politics.

The man was a dyed-in-the-wool pervert, without question. Walter appreciated
the occasional depravity as much as anyone, but you had to draw the line
somewhere, right?

Not so Mulder. Where he was concerned, it was one atrocity after another,
from a striptease to the tune of an old Tom Jones song to finding new and
unexpected uses for Jell-O. It was just like him to wind up with amnesia
during a period when he would likely have remained in the vicinity for
weeks anyway. And even more like him to wield his considerable sex appeal
on every able bodied person in sight, regardless of age, race, gender,
marital status, or inclination.

And so it was that Walter was hitting the bottle-- clubbing it, really--
for the first time in an age. In direct violation of everything he had
ever been told about drinking, he was drinking alone, while upset, with
no regard for his limit or his health. It was stupid advice, anyway. The
only time he ever wanted to get plastered was when he was alone, upset,
and feeling destructive.

"Fucking Mulder," he grumbled, listlessly changing TV stations again
and again. As usual, Walter had hit the root of the problem on the first
try. There was no telling who was fucking Mulder at the moment.

The way Walter's week was going, Mulder would find someone who found
somebody else's bite marks a turn-on. He was a rampaging bisexual, with
none of his history clouding that formidable charm. God help us all
if Alex Krycek blows back into town
. Could a commitment ceremony be
far behind? Of course, now that his life had taken this Melrose Place
turn, someone would probably plant a bomb beneath the cake, anyway. He
tossed back another shot. Even with his glasses on, everything was beginning
to look like it had been shot with a diffusion filter.
 
 

*** *** ***

"I want you to tie me up."

"What the hell for?"

"So you can have your wicked way with me," he said patiently.

Walter smirked. "I can do that anyway."

"Oh, you think so, do you?" Walter leaned in for a kiss, but Mulder
rolled away. "I'm not that kind of boy."

"You certainly are." He tried again, but Mulder began to squirm beneath
him in the most distracting way.

"Get off me," he said indignantly. "I'm saving myself for marriage."

"In some cultures, we're already married." He gripped Mulder's wrists,
raising his arms above his head.

"So what is this about? You exercising your husbandly rights?" He
tugged viciously at his makeshift bonds. "Now what are you going to do?"

Walter tried to kiss him again. The agent turned his head. When the
AD tried again, Mulder repeated the motion. "Goddamn it, Mulder..."

"There's one way to fix that."

Walter met his eyes. He'd run up against Mulder's stubborn streak
in the bedroom before, but it had always been relatively easy to surpass.
This was different. Walter's cock throbbed insistently against Mulder's
own, and the AD himself had no idea why either one of them was putting
up a fight. "Fine," he said. "Give me a second." He rolled off the bed
and quickly fished a pair of second-string ties from his closet.

When he turned back, his lover was gone. "Mulder!"

"You thought I was going to wait for you?" came his retreating voice
from the hallway. "How easy do you think I am?"

"Since you asked," he muttered.

"Now you have to earn it."

*** *** ***


The doorbell startled him out of his haze. Walter came to his feet clumsily,
staggering toward the door much more quickly than was probably wise. He
thought murkily about going for his gun. Guns don't kill people; drunken,
heartsick depressives kill people. Finally he settled for grabbing a lamp
and standing beside the door rather than in front of it.

"Who's there?"

"Depends on who you talk to," came the reply.

Mulder? Oh God, it's Mulder. Walter wrenched open the door to
reveal the man himself, lounging against the doorjamb, a lazy smile already
on his lips.

"Some people call me the space cowboy, some people call me the gangster
of love..."

"Save it. What do you want?"

"Do you always ask loaded questions like that?"

"You turn every question into a loaded question. It's what you do."

"You want to tell me why you were ready to kill an innocent lamp?"

"No," he said, setting the lamp carefully on the carpet. "It's personal."

"Scully told me how to find your place. Until you opened the door, I
thought she was taking advantage of me."

"I thought you wanted her to take advantage of you."

"That was before," he said absently, brushing past Walter. The AD watched
Mulder take in the scene: sofa and quilt, test pattern on the TV, nearly
empty bottle on the coffee table. "Were you sulking?"

"Look, I don't need this, all right? It's late, and what I do in my
apartment is my business--"

"Scully confirmed that the bite marks were probably yours." He slouched
on the sofa, fingering Walter's quilt.

"Probably is right," Walter said. "After your behavior over the past
few days--"

"I didn't cheat on you."

"Oh, give it a rest, Mulder. An oversexed fuck pig like you probably
nailed every bus boy and small-town deputy in every town in the country."

Mulder lifted the bottle and sniffed. "Christ, this must be hundred
proof. What is this, white lightning? Did you drink all of this tonight?"

"Fuck you, Mulder. And get the hell out of my apartment."

"Walter, Walter, Walter. I have amnesia, you're a heartbeat away from
alcohol poisoning. What better time is there to do something we'll both
regret?"

"I'll tell you what I regret," he began. Before Walter could launch
into another litany of abuse, Mulder tugged him down into his lap.

"I bet you'll like what Santa's got in his pocket," Mulder said.

His hands kneaded Walter's ass.

"I still don't see how amnesia can be connected to your sex drive."

"Come on, it'll be like our first time. Probably."

"And if I told you our first time was a disaster?"

He smiled. "Then it'll be like the last time. The one with the hickeys."
Mulder nibbled his way along Walter's neck, pausing here and there to sigh
appreciatively.

Walter was going to cave in. Mulder knew it, Walter's body certainly
knew it; his skin was already tingling and singing hosannas in anticipation.
"I want to show you something," he said.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

"You'll have to do the driving."

Mulder's hands, ever active, now came to rest on the AD's waist. "Uh...
what?"
 
 

*** *** ***


"You sat there," he said, pointing to the narrow grey counter. "Braced
against those pamphlet racks. I don't remember what happened to your pants."

Mulder stared around the tiny instant teller booth with barely concealed
horror. "Walter, these things have cameras."

"I know that."

"What are you, some kind of pervert?"

"It was your idea."

"Mine?"

He bit back a smile. "Actually, for you, it was surprisingly tame."

Mulder's brow knitted. He eyed Walter from across the booth. "Well,
maybe it was my idea--"

"It was."

"--but you went along with it."

"You can be very... persuasive."

"I must be," he said, shaking his head. "Man..."

"Shall we move on?"

Walter directed him to the amphitheater next, a massive structure on
the outskirts of town. By the time they arrived, a light rain had begun
to fall, amplifying the oppressive summer heat till it beat at the men
from all sides. Walter led his lover up to the shell.

"Here?" Mulder said it quietly, but that single word reverberated around
them and out into the empty seats.

"Here."

He smiled. "That must have been quite an effect."

"Yes, it was. Everything went along nicely until the police showed up."

"You're kidding."

"We weren't caught," Walter assured him.

"Don't we ever do it in a bed?"

"One time, at Midwest Home Furniture-- I'm kidding," he said when Mulder's
eyes widened. "This is my point, though." He seated himself on the floor.
"Why did you come to me tonight?"

"I was lonely," said Mulder.

"Exactly." He blinked. "What?"

"Scully talks to me like I'm a child. She keeps giving me these concerned
looks. I can never find anything in my apartment, and I can't return any
phone calls, because nobody ever leaves a number. I don't know if I want
to talk to some of those guys, anyway," he said, shuddering. "What the
hell do I know about the Warren Commission?"

"More than you think."

"The point is, you're kind of rude, but you're cute--"

"'So hey! let's get married'?"

"Well, you know what they say."

He sighed. "What?"

"Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" He straddled Walter's
legs, cupping the AD's face in his hands. "Walter," he murmured. Walter
shivered. Mulder's mouth was a breath away, and the AD was seized with
such longing... "Walter. I'm sick of talking about the ghost of Christmas
past. I want to talk about my present."

Eyes gleaming, he kissed Walter gently, more hesitantly than he ever
had, even from the start. When the AD made no move to throw him off, he
traced Walter's lips with his tongue, thorough and sensual. Walter tipped
his head back and let the agent in. Warmth flooded his body and pooled
in his gut as Mulder kissed him again and again, taking away another measure
of his resistance with every stroke of his lips. "What do you say?"

"Let's go back to my apartment."

Walter led the way back to the car and slid bonelessly into the passenger
seat. The drive to his apartment took less than twenty minutes, but even
so, he passed out on the way.

When he woke the following morning, he had the final and most damning
evidence that a Mulder without a memory was just not the same.

His usual Mulder would have taken full advantage of his inebriation,
stripped naked, and wrapped himself around the AD's motionless, drunken
body like a massive, far more attractive Magic Bag. This Mulder, similar
but still a cheap imitation, had set himself up on Walter's sofa with the
TV
Guide
and four cans of Pringles. That this was somehow preferable to
the agent was a fact that did not escape his lover.

Head pounding, Walter bent over Mulder's sleeping form. If I try
to kick him, I could lose my balance
. That would be embarrassing. There
was always the old "jug of ice water over the head" routine, but the way
Walter felt, it wasn't entirely likely he could make it from the kitchen
to the living room with such a substantial burden. I could dip his finger
in a glass of warm water...

Mulder stirred, perhaps disturbed by his malevolent scrutiny. He offered
Walter a sleepy smile. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes, actually. You usually make a lot more noise." He stalked out of
the living room and mounted the stairs with leaden feet.

"Nightmares?"

"That or bad TV. Either one extracts the strangest sounds from you."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm taking a shower, Agent Mulder. Unless you have an objection."

"I could wash your back."

Walter froze on the stairs. "Or you could put your jacket on and get
the hell out of my apartment before I report you as a prowler."

"Pretty bad hangover, huh?"

"Just go, all right? I already have a headache." He resumed his ascent,
grumbling all the way.

"That's not the first time someone's said that to me."

"How would you know?"

"Go on, throw that in my face."

"If you're still here when I get out of the shower, you're going to
find out firsthand just how many things I'm willing to throw in your face."

"You really are butch."

He slammed the door. Pain spiked through his head. He felt like his
eyes were about to pop out. Moaning, he pressed the heels of his hands
to his eye sockets. Fuck. He had this feeling, this inexplicable,
undeniable feeling, that Mulder was going to park himself outside the bathroom
and continue his quest to execute the cheesiest seduction known to man
through the door. I bet you'll like what Santa has in his pocket?

Jesus H. fucking Christ on a crutch.

Ultimately, he had to admit he may have already had sex with this incarnation
of Mulder. He didn't remember a damned thing after falling asleep in the
car, yet he'd been upstairs, in bed, stripped down to his briefs. More
evidence this Mulder was not the same. The real Mulder would never have
left those hated briefs on his lover's sleeping form. He firmly believed
they'd somehow contributed to the AD's sleep disorder with their very hokeyness.

Funny how he'd started thinking of Mulder as two different men. Therein
was probably the reason why he was so reluctant to fall prey to Mulder
now that he didn't remember anything much beyond basic principles of mathematics
and the names of many and varied porn stars and their specialties. Intellectually,
Walter knew this was not a betrayal. Mulder himself would remember everything
that had taken place, and God knew the man would have no objections unless
the sex wasn't good enough.

When the hot water began to run out, the AD realized he was hiding in
his shower stall. Shameful, really. Shameful, and embarrassing. Other ex-Marines
didn't hole up in their bathrooms to avoid eager amnesiac lovers. He got
out with a sigh, shaved, and wrapped himself in his robe.

In his final rodent-like moment, he pressed his ear against the door.

Nothing, not even the faint strains of his lover singing Have You
Ever Really Loved A G-Man
.

He opened the door cautiously and peeked outside. The hallway was deserted.
Venturing outside, he crept along the carpet, slithered down the stairs.
The sofa had been vacated, all traces of Mulder gone but the empty Pringles
cans. He actually did what I told him to do? A brief search through lower
level of the apartment confirmed his suspicions.

The silence was oppressive. And quite suddenly, he was disappointed.

Now that he had the whole day to himself, he had no idea what to do
with the time.

Walter was in the act of scrambling some eggs when he first heard it.
What the hell..? He turned off the burner and listened again. "Oh my Christ."
Eggs forgotten, he bolted from the kitchen and thundered up the stairs,
taking them two at a time as if he was not a dying man.

Coming to a halt at his bedroom, he threw open the door.

"I don't believe you," Mulder said indignantly. "I lay myself out for
you like a human sacrifice, and you're downstairs making eggs?"

"I was out of Eggos," he said. "Eggs were the next best thing."

Mulder had indeed made a display of himself. As if he'd somehow plugged
into Walter's memories from the night before, he'd shucked his clothing
and handcuffed himself to Walter's headboard. Erect, coated with a fine
sheen of sweat, he gleamed in the morning sunlight that poured through
the curtains. Everything but his eyes said he was ready for love. "You're
a pig, Walter."

"I looked for you," he protested.

"You didn't look very damn hard, did you? What, did you check beneath
the Post and call it a day?"

He sighed heavily. "Where are the keys?"

"What?"

"The keys to the handcuffs. Where are they?"

"I'm not telling."

Walter, this is crazy. Walter? "Let me know when you're ready.
I'll try not to have the stereo up too loud." He turned and walked out.

"Walter!"

"What?"

"Are you always this coy?"

"No. But then, you're not always this stupid."

"Walter, come on. Come back. Please?"

Walter glanced over his shoulder. Not the smile. It's not fair to use
his smile... "I'm not touching you again. Not until you have your memory
back."

"What if I don't get it back? Have you thought about that?"

"You bet I have," he snapped. "It's been hard to think about much of
anything else, what with you throwing yourself at anything with an orifice."

"You're so hostile," he chided. "I know one way to burn that off."

"Mm-hm. Or I could beat the tar out of you."

"Why waste your strength on negative energy? Walter, be reasonable.
I'm here, I'm willing-- I'm tied up, for God's sake. Are you going to try
to tell me you don't want me?"

"No," he said, meaning no to so many things.

"If you kiss me again, I'll tell you where the keys are."

"Mulder, if I really want you out of my bed, I can pay someone to cut
the cuffs off."

Did I just admit I don't want him out of my bed? Walter...

He smiled. "I'd love to listen in on that call."

"My eggs are getting cold."

"So are mine," he said, rotating his hips meaningfully.

"Are all your personalities as appalling as this one?"

"Stop fooling around and just kiss me. Where's the harm? What am I going
to do?"

Walter stepped hesitantly back into the bedroom. Mulder's smile broadened.
Son of a bitch. He was so smug. There was no way this was going to end
with a kiss. By the time he left the bedroom again, those eggs were going
to be a lost cause. Eyeing Mulder carefully, he yanked the sheet up to
cover the agent's naked form. That was a marginal improvement.

"That was a waste of time," Mulder said.

"Why?"

"You haven't asked where I wanted you to kiss me."

Walter swallowed. "This... is not fair."

"Life isn't fair, Walter. You don't need me to tell you that." He tipped
his head back. "How about a freebie?"

"Where?"

"Mm... just behind my earlobe. Open-mouthed."

Walter braced himself on either side of Mulder's torso and leaned in
for the kiss. The agent still smelled faintly of his cologne, soap, shampoo...
the skin was so soft at the requested location, Walter could have dwelled
on it much longer than he would allow himself to do. When he pulled back,
Mulder's pupils were already dilated, his mouth softened. "Well?" Walter
said.

"Can I have another one?"

"No."

"Right down to business, hey? I like that about you."

"I'm so pleased. Where do you want it?"

"What, you want me to just... blurt it out?"

"You've never been troubled by shyness before."

He met the AD's eyes. "I want one of those long, wet, trailing kisses,
along the inside of my thigh, up to my balls, and--"

"Mulder, if you want a blow job, why the hell don't you just say so?"

Mulder grinned. "I didn't want to violate the terms of our contract."

"I don't think deals made while one of the parties in question is naked
and handcuffed are considered binding, Mulder."

"Man, you'd be a riot in divorce court."

Walter shed his robe and drew back the sheet again. The passage of a
few days had done little to erase the marks he'd left behind the last time
he'd had this opportunity. He enjoyed the look of them, the only visible
evidence of his possession of this man. For the time being, the only evidence
at all apart from his own memories, which weren't as vivid as Mulder's
generally were.

The thought of leaving behind a fresh claim was as seductive to him
as Mulder's quiet acquiescence. He always gave himself so freely to Walter,
physically, emotionally... and Walter always held himself removed until
there was no stopping himself and he had no choice but to give it all up.
His usual Mulder lived for that moment, always challenging, always taunting.
His usual Mulder preferred a punch in the face to a stern dismissal. It
was his perversity and his strength.

"Don't tell me you're thinking about the eggs again."

"Scrambled are my favorite," he said.

"No kidding? I would have had you pegged for a poached man. They're
so tidy, so self-contained, so... oh..."

The AD smiled against Mulder's throat. Maybe there was something to
this alternate Mulder after all. Slowly he licked his way down the agent's
chest, nibbling as he went. Mulder came up off the bed when Walter fastened
his mouth to one brown nipple. The headboard shook as he yanked at his
cuffs.

"Careful," Walter said. "You're out of work. I don't know how you'll
pay for that if you break it."

"You can take it out of me in trade," he gasped, arching into his lover's
mouth.

"You said it first, Mulder."

"Oh God, what?"

"Why buy the cow when you can have the milk for free?" He thrust his
tongue into Mulder's navel.

"I'm an idiot," the agent moaned. "Why do you even listen to me?"

"Hot damn," Walter said. "I should have brought my tape recorder."

Moving lower now, he ran his tongue along the sharp line of Mulder's
hip bone, thrusting harder where it dipped inward. Mulder jerked, his cock
bumping against Walter's cheek.

"Please..."

Walter parted Mulder's thighs and began the requested second kiss.

He halted just as he reached the sensitive area where Mulder's leg met
his torso. "Are you... hungry?"

"Fuck the eggs, Walter!" Mulder tugged at the handcuffs again. The headboard
thumped against the wall, hard enough this time that Walter looked up.
Everything looked secure. His alarm clock may have shifted somewhat, but
that was no threat. He was more concerned about the stack of books that
stood atop the headboard, supported by a set of fertility god bookends
that Mulder had assured him looked very much like the one in the Hawaii
episodes of The Brady Bunch. A massive Scrabble dictionary stood
in the center of the pile. Had it moved?

"Walter, please..." Mulder bucked suddenly, his hip knocking Walter
in the chin.

The AD continued the kiss now, languidly dragging his tongue up along
the crease in Mulder's leg, sucking one testicle into his mouth, then mouthing
the other with equal ardor. Mulder squirmed beneath him, moaning incoherently.
Finally Walter took pity on him and sucked the agent's cock into his mouth.
Mulder came almost immediately, a first for Walter, who was more than accustomed
to having a sore jaw for days after such an encounter. Another first was
the sound that emitted from the man, somewhere between a sob and a scream.
Though vocal throughout their fumblings, Mulder was usually silent at the
moment he came, a moment treasured for its rarity. Walter swallowed burst
after burst of the agent's semen, trying hard not to gag. Finally Mulder
collapsed on the bed with a satisfied sigh.

"Is it always like this?"

"Not exactly, but... similar."

"I can't believe I forgot that."

"Neither can I," Walter muttered.

"Well, we've got all day," Mulder said with a sated smile. "I can think
of a few more ways you could jog my memory."

"Don't worry your twisted little head about it, Mulder. I haven't forgotten."

"You're not going to use anything weird, are you?"

"What?"

"For lube?"

Walter yanked open his nightstand drawer and extracted their bottle
of Astroglide.

"Oh my God, is that Massengil?"

"It's Astroglide," he growled. "We use it all the time."

"It's... pink."

"You told me that was part of the conspiracy to perpetuate sexual stereotypes."

He smiled. "It probably is."

"I don't want to hear about it, all right?" He opened the bottle and
squeezed some of the lube into his palm.

"Walter."

"What?"

"You still haven't kissed me on the mouth."

"You didn't ask me to."

"I didn't ask you to fuck me, either. But you're going to."

He looked up with interest. "Are you sure?"

Mulder opened his mouth. Closed it. Alarm flooded his features. "Walter..."

In one smooth movement, Walter bent over Mulder and thrust his tongue
deep inside the agent's mouth. Mulder returned the kiss voraciously, sucking
Walter's tongue, rocking his head to intensify the sensation. The AD had
to fight to keep himself from threading his hands through his lover's hair.
Mulder did always want a side career as an Elvis impersonator... They were
both breathless when Walter finally pulled back.

"That's some mouth," Mulder said.

"Don't go there, Mulder." He parted the agent's ass cheeks and thrust
one finger experimentally inside. Smiled. Mulder didn't remember him, but
his body certainly did. His lover was relaxed and ready for him.

"Faster than a speeding bullet," he gasped. "More powerful than a...
a... ah..."

"Timed explosive?" Walter added a second finger, stretching Mulder needlessly.
He jerked violently when the AD bumped his prostate.

"No..."

"Toxic corrosive?"

"Would you shut the hell up? Oh..."

Walter smiled and let Mulder settle into a rhythm. His cock came slowly
back to life. Watching the agent carefully, Walter lowered his head and
took it in his mouth again. Mulder bucked. His cock slid sharply into Walter's
mouth, almost down his throat. He fought a choke.

Damn.

"No! Oh God, stop..." Instantly, Walter released him. "No, I meant..."
He opened his eyes. They were glazed over, dark with lust. He licked his
lips. Walter licked them after him. "Inside," Mulder rasped. "Now."

With an embarrassing lack of hesitation, Walter positioned himself between
Mulder's legs, slinging them over his shoulders. He felt them lock between
his shoulder blades and smiled. Finally, a similarity between this and
his usual Mulder. Taking this last opportunity to look into Mulder's eyes,
he entered his lover with one smooth stroke.

"Fuck! Oh fuck, oh..." Mulder rocked against him violently, bliss outlined
on every feature. "Walter, Walter..."

There was something weirdly erotic about the scene, for them.

Walter himself couldn't recall the last time he and the agent had made
love in anything resembling a bed (unless you counted that little boat
from the Tunnel of Love) and the sight of Mulder in such abandon was undoing
him as nothing else ever did. He thrust deeper, harder, shot through with
pleasure, sweating, straining, his head tossed back. He thought of nothing
but completion now, not of Mulder's amnesia, or who he would find to replace
the agent at the bureau if he never regained his memory.

He certainly wasn't thinking of the immediate consequences of his actions.
Mulder met him thrust for thrust and begged for more, and Walter gave it
to him, the only thing Mulder needed that he could realistically supply.
He gripped his lover's hips hard, and fucked him harder, harder, able at
this point to utter nothing more coherent than one-syllable nonsense words.
Mulder tightened around him, and he crested just after, frozen, breathless.
His eyes opened to slits, just in time to see the Scrabble dictionary tumble
from the headboard and land heavily on Mulder's head.

Comprehension came slowly to Walter, and when it did, he was capable
of nothing more useful than pulling out and tossing the dictionary aside.
"Mulder?"
 
 

*** *** ***


"Do you want to tell me what happened, sir?"

Walter looked up from his paper cup and grimaced. "Not really, Scully."

"Did you hit him?"

"No, I didn't hit him. What kind of question is that?"

"Given your reticence, sir, I'd say it's a reasonable one."

"How is he?"

"He's conscious." Walter leapt up, but Scully forestalled him with a
raised hand.

"He says he doesn't want to see you."

"What?" Scully looked uncomfortable. "Agent Scully, what else did he
say?"

"He said you were unfaithful to him, sir." She flushed.

"God damn it. Where is he?" Scully pointed, and he was gone, storming
down the hallway. He burst into Mulder's room to find a nurse looking the
agent over, trying to tactfully avoid staring at the fresh marks on his
body.

"Assistant Director Skinner," Mulder said. "How nice of you to visit."

Walter glared at the nurse. "Get out."

"I'm almost finished here--"

"Then you won't mind coming back later." He waited in stony silence
while she left. He turned on Mulder. "I was unfaithful to you?"

"You took advantage of me," Mulder said righteously.

"That's perfect. That's fucking perfect. Ask me for your goddamned high
school ring back and we'll call it a day."

"Walter Walter Walter," he sighed. "Come over here and sit with me."

"Forget it. I have to go home and pack up your Roy Orbison records."

"I told you that dictionary was in for a fall." He patted the space
beside him. "Come on."

Walter sat and let himself be enfolded in Mulder's arms. "Mulder..."

"Did you miss me?"

"More than you know."

"Good. Because you know what I saw in Chicago..."

"Oh no."

"They have these enclosed bus shelters..."