The Ultimate Pleasure by Shockwave
12 Oct 1997
CLASSIFICATION: XRH (Mulder/Skinner) NC-17
SUMMARY: Mulder's pursuit of pleasure gets him in a little over his head.
THE STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, and Dana Scully are all the property of Fox Television and Ten Thirteen Productions. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made from their use.
WARNINGS: This story contains explicit scenes of non-consensual sex between two men. If this sort of thing offends you or if you are under 18 years of ago, go back now. There is a slight spoiler for the US season 3 episode "Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose"
Comments/feedback can be sent to Shockwave c/o This story is dedicated to the Mulder/Skinner Slash Society for opening up a whole new world and sending me off on an addictive reading binge that hasn't stopped yet - "You mean other people actually write this stuff?", and to Ethan Nelson for hooking me with the "Denny's" series.
The Ultimate Pleasure
Midnight. Fox Mulder leaned against his bedroom wall and peered, unseeing, out the window. The half-open blinds threw horizontal slashes of light across his naked chest and the grey shorts he wore. He leaned back and took another long swallow of beer, and then laid the cool bottle beside his face.
His normally immaculate bedroom was somewhat askew. His suit, shirt and tie lay discarded on the floor where he had thrown them off. The bedcovers were a mess. The air conditioner was still out, and the room was too hot with a slightly musty smell.
Fox finished the last of the beer, tossing the bottle aside. Then he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his short black hair. Erotic asphyxiation - the ultimate pleasure. He couldn't seem to get the phrase out of his head. He rolled it over in his mind again and again, strangely fascinated by the near poetry of it. He thought again of the scene he'd seen today. Instantly, disturbingly, he felt his erection stiffen once more.
With a moan of frustration, Fox got up to pace the room. He thought back over the case, caught in the same loop of disgust and fascination that had held him all evening while he became drunker and drunker. Although it lacked the weirdness of the usual X-file, it was typical of the kind of case he was often called to consult on, the kind he was an expert in. A serial killer had been murdering her victims by erotic asphyxiation, luring them into sex and then strangling them at the moment of orgasm. The ultimate pleasure, the deputy coroner had called it, a phrase which quickly became the in-joke of the investigation. All of her victims were men, and each had been found bound spread-eagled to a bed, their heads thrown back in the ultimate pleasure. A red silk cord was found wrapped tight around each of their throats. Her signature.
They had found her latest victim just this morning. Unable to avoid picturing it in his mind, Fox felt his cock throb painfully once again. The man had been in his mid-thirties, with fair skin and short black hair. The lean muscles of his bare chest and legs were covered by the lightest sprinkling of black hair. He looked, in short, just like Fox Mulder.
Scully had teased him about it, in the gallows humor they shared. "Hey Fox, this guy looks just like you. You haven't been spending your nights searching for the ultimate pleasure, have you?"
The ultimate pleasure. Every time he thought it, he could almost feel his balls tighten.
Fox had favored her with a mock scowl, and then had stood there gazing at the man. Suddenly, he had felt himself in the man's place, felt the weight of the woman atop him as he struggled to move against the bonds. He could almost feel the orgasm, the ultimate pleasure, rushing for him. His cock had sprung instantly to life. Thankful that he wore jockey shorts, Fox had struggled to conceal his disturbing erection beneath his suit jacket. Scully had given him an odd look as he had stormed quickly out of the room, but had not asked him about it further.
He had managed to keep himself distracted in the car, discussing the details of the case and their speculations with Scully. The air conditioning seemed to help. But once back at the office, he'd been forced to spend most of the remainder of the day sitting at his desk. It seemed that every few minutes the image would come back to him. The man outstretched on the bed. The ultimate pleasure. Each time it did, Fox's erection once again sprang disturbingly to life.
Somehow he'd made it through the rest of the afternoon without standing up too often or behaving too strangely. It helped this once that everyone, even Scully, expected somewhat odd behavior from Fox "Spooky" Mulder. The ride home had been interminable. When he'd finally reached his apartment, he'd kicked off his suit, slipped on his shorts and laid down in the bedroom.
Once home and safely alone, he'd begun to fondle himself, stroking his rock-hard erection as the image of the man flashed through his mind's eye again. And then he'd jerk away in disgust, shocked at himself for what he was thinking. How good it would be to feel that, how good it would feel to do that. The ultimate pleasure. Unable to relieve himself of the building erotic tension, he'd spent the whole night trapped in his dark bedroom while his mind spun.
Fox stopped pacing and strode, a little unsteadily, to the kitchen. He leaned against the kitchen counter and gazed speculatively at the front door of his apartment as he finished his tenth beer of the night. Suddenly resolute, he walked to the door and bolted it closed. Then he returned to the bedroom, shutting its door behind him. His eyes returned to the strip of fabric lying on the bed, the strip of fabric that had been mocking him all night. It was the sash from his old red bathrobe. Hesitating only a moment before his hands closed on it, he grabbed the red cord. Then he slipped out of his shorts, and opened the drawer of the dresser that sat beside his bed.
Fox Mulder had not had much time in his life for pleasure. For almost as long as he could remember he had his own obsessions. Finding Samantha, finding the truth. There had been no room in his life for exploring what his body really wanted, what he desired with someone else. He'd become adept at taking care of his own needs, and the drawer was full of various paraphernalia. Considering, he drew out of the dresser only a shallow jar of lubricant, and then shut the drawer again.
He stretched out on the bed. He wished he could find some way to bind himself down, as the other man had been. But he needed both hands free. Sometime during the evening, he had dreamt up an elaborate scheme for tying his chest and legs to the bed with lengths of rope. But he had no time to bother with such complications now. The urgency was upon him, and for once in his life he knew what he wanted.
He laid the red cord beside him and began as he usually did, propping himself up on some pillows and running his hands lightly over his body. His left hand strayed over the leanness of his abdomen and chest, moving towards his left nipple. The other hand drifted lower, across his hips to clutch the inside of his thighs, and then at last to grab his now aching cock. One handed, he screwed the jar open and smeared a thick layer of lube over his cock. As he began to fist it slowly, he smeared lube over the fingers of his other hand and slipped it between his legs.
Slowly, he worked first one and then two fingers into his ass, as he began to stroke his dick harder and harder. Too fast. He was too excited, to ready from the long pressures of the night. He slid the hand out of his ass, and lightly caressed his cock as he wrapped the red cord around his neck. He twisted the ends together, and then began to turn them with one hand so that they tightened around his neck. As he felt the first pressure touch his throat, his cock suddenly arched upward of its own accord, somehow even harder than before. His balls began to tighten again, and he thought that he might come right then from sheer excitement.
He lay there panting for a moment, savoring the feeling. And then he slowly began to beat his dick again with one hand. As his fist traveled up and down, he began to tighten the cord around his neck. It became harder and harder to breathe. His fist moved faster and faster, his breathing coming now in long drawn-out gasps. He could feel his orgasm, the ultimate pleasure, coming closer and closer. His vision began to dim as the first foreshocks of pleasure thrilled through him. His vision darkened yet more, and a roaring began to fill his ears. The roaring got louder and louder. His head was thrown back, his back arched. Dimly over the roaring in his ears he could hear a loud pounding noise, and then a muffled crash. But Mulder was beyond caring. Here at last was the pleasure he had longed for and it was coming for him. It was coming, it was coming ...
With a loud crash, Assistant FBI Director Walter Skinner burst through the bedroom door, his weapon drawn. The shock hit Mulder like a wet blanket. Though still teetering on the brink of orgasm, he suddenly realized that he was choking to death. His body writhed as he tried to loosen the noose at his neck, but the twisted fabric had somehow gotten tangled into a knot.
"Jesus Christ, Mulder!" Skinner shouted. Fox was forced back down onto the bed as the force of the big man's weight landed atop him. Straddling Fox's naked body, Skinner thrust Fox's hands away and quickly loosened the cord.
He grabbed Fox's head by the hair and forced it up to face him. "Mulder, are you all right?" Fox, gasping and choking as he once again drew air deep into his lungs, could only nod.
That's when Skinner slapped him. Hard. "What the hell were you doing?" he demanded.
Mulder could only cough in reply. He suddenly became uncomfortably aware of the man's weight atop him, and that his now half-hard erection was poking into the back of Skinner's dress pants. Weakly, he pressed at the other man's arms, trying to force him up.
With a snort of disgust, Skinner climbed off him and stood. Fox rolled over and sat up on the side of the bed, still coughing and wheezing. Skinner stood looking at him for a moment, and then stormed out of the bedroom. Fox could hear him kicking the front door to the apartment shut, and a moment later he was back and handing Fox a glass of water.
Skinner waited while Mulder drank. Fox looked up at the man towering over him. "What are you doing here?" he asked weakly.
Skinner's voice was angry. "I came to talk to you, Agent Mulder. About some business. Unofficial. Off the record. I got worried when you didn't answer the door. I thought you were in trouble. The kind you usually excel at getting yourself into." The side of his mouth twisted in disgust. "Instead I find you ... like this."
"No." said Mulder. He climbed slowly to his feet. "What are you doing here?!" he shouted. The angry rawness of his voice only made him yell louder. Naked and in a rage, he advanced on the larger man. "This is my goddamn bedroom!" He pushed Skinner in the chest once, then again, harder. "What are you doing here?!"
"That's enough!" Skinner shouted, pushing him back. "Goddammit Mulder, do you have any idea of the risks I take for you? And then you go and pull a stunt like this?"
But Mulder was past hearing. He swung a fist out blindly at the other man. The blow never landed. Skinner easily deflected it, then twisted the younger man around and sent him sprawling back onto the bed.
Fox lay where he had landed on the bed and watched in astonishment as Skinner suddenly nodded his head sharply and said. "OK, Mulder. I know you've always wanted to take me on." As he spoke, he was quickly kicking off his shoes, stripping off his tie and then his dress shirt. He stood there barechested and then crouched over into a fighting stance, daring Fox to come at him. "Here we are. No suits, no badges, just you and me. Come on." The he shouted it "Come on!"
Mulder shouted and leapt off the bed at him. The larger man evaded Fox easily, and threw him back across the room again. Mulder came at him a third time, but this time Skinner twisted him around into a secure hold and pressed Fox face down onto the bed.
"Do you know what you've put me through, Mulder?" Skinner demanded, leaning close to his ear. "I've wanted to give some of it back to you for a long time."
As Fox lay there he could feel the hair of the older man's chest pressing against his bare back, feel the rough fabric of Skinner's pants against his bare behind. Amazingly, he could feel that Skinner had a raging hard-on and it was pressing through the fabric of his pants into the crack of Fox's ass. His own cock suddenly sprang to life once more, spurred on by the tension between them.
Skinner's weight left him for a moment, and Fox tried to squirm free. But one of the big man's hands came down heavily on his back, pinning him once more to the bed. Fox heard the rustle of fabric as Skinner stripped off his pants and shorts with the other hand.
Then Skinner was dragging him to the head of the bed. Skinner tried to turn him over and Fox relaxed for a moment, going with the motion. Then he grabbed one of Skinner's arms and tried to wrestle him away. But the big man was like stone. He quickly pinned Fox to the bed by his shoulders, and then lifted first one and then the other leg into the air.
Fox twisted violently as he felt the head of the other man's cock touch the opening of his ass. Skinner hesitated only a moment, seemingly surprised to find Mulder's ass already well-lubed, and then with a savage thrust pushed himself deep into Mulder.
Fox cried out as he felt the big man's dick enter him. He felt as though he were being impaled. He struggled harder, and the pain increased as the other man began to slowly work his cock in and out of Fox's ass. He beat at Skinner's arms but to no avail.
Exhausted and beaten, Fox slumped in defeat. Slowly the pain began to ease, even as the big man continued to bore into him. And then the pain itself began to transform. Held immobile, Fox felt his fantasies of being bound looming strong in his mind. His cock was erect once more, and he felt the familiar tightening in his balls as he began to build towards his long-delayed orgasm. Fox ceased his struggles, and held tight to Skinner's arms as the older man began to pound into him in earnest. He began to moan and twist his head from side to side.
Feeling Mulder relax beneath him, Skinner let go of Mulder's legs, letting them wrap around his hips of their own accord. Then he leaned down so that their chests were pressed against each other; hairy, well-muscled one against smooth lean one. He pinned Fox down by the shoulders with his forearms, and leaned close to Fox's ear.
Fox heard the harsh whisper of Skinner's voice: "And now for what you really want." Instantly, Skinner's hands locked like a vice across Fox's neck. Before Fox could even move, the thumbs began to squeeze, choking off his breath once more.
Fox struggled weakly, but it was no use. He could feel his breath leaving him as the big man pounded into him again and again. His orgasm began to come for him like a wave, his vision darkening and his ears roaring as it washed nearer and nearer. The desperate fantasies of the long night flooded through his mind, punctuated by growing jolts of pleasure each time Skinner rammed into him. His cock pulsed wetly, the pressure in it growing stronger and stronger even as he strained against the hands at his throat. Dimly, he could hear Skinner roaring his own climax as the older man poured himself into Fox, savagely thrusting him down into the bed.
Then suddenly he was coming. His vision flared white, and he hung suspended in the pleasure for a long moment that seemed to go on forever. He felt as if he had lost his body. There was only the infinite sensation and the white light, which was even now growing dimmer, growing dimmer ...
He gasped again as he felt Skinner's hands loosen from around his neck, and drew a breath as the big man slumped exhausted over him. In the long moment of coming back to awareness, trapped beneath Skinner's sweaty and panting bulk, the thought that had been hiding in his subconscious finally sprang free.
With crystal clear clarity he remembered Clyde Bruckman, the psychic life insurance salesman who was able to predict when people were going to die. He had told Fox "You know, there are worse ways to go, but I can't think of a more undignified one than autoerotic asphyxiation."
Skinner had arrived just in time.
That single thought was still in his mind when Skinner at last heaved himself up onto his elbows and looked Fox in the face. Their eyes were only inches apart.
"Thank you." Fox said simply. "I think you just saved my life."
The two men lay there, staring at each other, for a long time.