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A Weekend In The Heartland

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They fell in the door Thursday night, exhausted, but still in a good mood after ten hours in the car, talking and laughing and singing. Getting lost, at least until Frohike had insisted on driving. "Goddamn, Mulder," he'd snarled at one point, "I can't believe a man your age can't read a roadmap."

"I usually let Scully tell me where to go," Mulder'd said dismissively. This had led to even more sophomoric humor.

Now, nearly midnight, Frohike's eyes widened as he looked around the room. It was dark and high-tech, the furniture gleaming dully and sharply geometric in garish shades of violet and yellow and maroon. And black. Plenty of black. Discreet lights flashed red here and there, reflected in oddly angled mirrors, and shadows loitered against the walls in the dim light from the sconces. Stalactites hung here and there, casting even creepier shadows. "Weirdness," he said in quiet awe.

Mulder laughed. "C'mon, Fro. You'll love it."

Frohike's eyes narrowed, and he gazed at his companion suspiciously. "You've been here before?"

Mulder waved one hand in the air and laughed again. "I don't see a ring, pal. You don't own me. It's none of your business if I've been here before."

Frohike shrugged. "I'd hate to have to marry you to get a few straight answers."

A snort. "I think at that point I wouldn't have any."

Frohike shook his head. "Anyhow, I don't have to marry you—which is a good thing, because you squeeze the toothpaste from the wrong end—to find out. We have our ways, Mulder. You should know that by now."

Mulder moved close to him. "Hey, if you'd enjoy the story, I'm sure we can schedule some time later, and I'll tell you all about it."

Frohike thought about it. "Does it involve…" he hesitated, and dropped his voice reverentially, "the lovely Agent Scully?"

"Nope."

Frohike sighed, and the tension left him. "Damn." He shrugged again and looked around. "This is…"

"Weirdness?" Mulder teased.

"Cool. Totally cool, Mulder. I expected crepe paper Halloween bats on the ceiling and drab black walls. It's just like the Batcave in here."

"With a bed," Mulder added with a surprisingly efficient obscene gesture.

"This is so cool, Mulder," Frohike continued, ignoring it. "The guys are never going to get over this. I gotta take some pictures."

Mulder stepped closer still and put an arm around him. "Later, Frohike. Let me show you… everything."

"That's cheesy as hell," Frohike complained. "I can't believe you ever get laid with lines like that."

Mulder sulked beautifully. "Does that mean I'm not going to tonight?"

Frohike watched the lower lip with fascination, and it took all of his self-control to keep his hands to himself. He strove for casual. "I'm exhausted. We drove all damned day. And you have a talk at the conference tomorrow."

"I could give that talk in my sleep," Mulder protested. "It's CUFOIN, not SETI. Indiana CUFOIN, even. Anyway, I'm not the one who insisted on driving. We could have flown."

"Yeah, but I loved making the Feds pay for that cute little teal Geo. Which reminds me, I want your expense accounts for our next story on government fraud and waste." He pulled himself away from Mulder's arm and threw himself down on the bed. Waterbed, he noted with tired pleasure. Mulder sat down beside him, and he closed his eyes and pretended to ignore the agent.

Mulder regarded him for a while. "Is this a no for real, or are you playing hard to get?"

Frohike's lips twitched. He cracked an eye open and looked at Mulder. "Depends. How much of the work do I have to do?"

Mulder laughed. "That's very romantic."

"Surroundings aside, Mulder, this is a convention, not a honeymoon."

Mulder leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "It could be. Let's have a little fun. I'll show you the Batcave."

Frohike snickered. "Okay. I'll do you." Mulder's eyes lit up. "Under one condition."

"What's that?"

"No more cheesy innuendo. I don't think I can stand it."

"Done," Mulder agreed cheerfully.

"I'll believe that when I hear it. Or don't hear it, anyhow." He rolled off the bed and stood up, stretching. "Why don't you show me the shower, Big Guy."

Mulder followed him into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, Mulder had him leaning against the glossy purple tiles lining the shower stall, and was giving him one of the world's truly great backrubs, which would lead, Frohike thought complacently, to one of the world's truly great blowjobs. The man was orally fixated.

Frohike braced his forearm against the cool tiles, keeping up a steady stream of partially-coherent encouragements. Mulder liked to talk during sex, Frohike had discovered early on, and letting him control the conversation was—ill-advised. The first time they'd found themselves in bed together (Actually, it was on Mulder's couch, and three years later they still had yet to get anywhere near Mulder's bed.) Mulder had managed a disconcertingly detailed monologue on the subject of spontaneous human combustion among ministers.

Frohike wasn't exactly a prude, but he felt very strongly that if you needed to talk during sex, it should be strictly limited to just a few topics, like sex and maybe, maybe, the baseball scores. Not the greasy piles of human ashes Mulder had investigated over the years and condemnations of the Manchester studies.

Mulder really couldn't help himself, though, so Frohike had learned to manage the discussion himself, and to resign himself to listening to stories about rains of sailfish and the measurable emotions of tomato plants while he sucked Mulder off. These weren't subjects Frohike himself was ignorant of or uninterested in, indeed, he could discourse quite knowledgeably on many of them, but they were subjects he cared a lot less about while he was naked.

When Mulder pulled him around, slammed him against the wall, and went onto his knees, Frohike took a couple of deep breaths, knowing it was safe to shut up and enjoy things for a while. Loquacious seduction style or not, Mulder tended toward a purity of focus once his lips were wrapped around something.

He looked down at the bobbing head and buried his fingers in the silky, thick hair. The garish tiles with their frieze of little bats suddenly made him giggle, and Mulder broke off and looked up. "What?"

Frohike snickered and gestured up. "There's a mirror on the ceiling of the shower."

Mulder rested his face against Frohike's belly, still vibrating with laughter. "I know," he said. "You've gotta see the one over the tub." He put an arm around Frohike's waist. "In fact, let's go do that now."

Frohike laughed again. "C'mon, Mulder. We have all weekend. Do we have to try everything out tonight?"

"Mm, no. Hey, I've got a really kinky idea."

Frohike shuddered. "I do not want to hear it, Mulder. Not after last time."

Mulder nuzzled gently and licked slowly and Frohike wavered. "Well… How kinky?"

"Really," Mulder breathed against his wet skin, "really kinky. Astonishingly perverse. Something we've never tried before."

Frohike stared down at him with dread. "Mulder, if this involves livestock of any kind…"

Mulder laughed and stood up, turned off the water. "It's much worse than that, Fro. But you'll love it."

Frohike snorted.

"When am I ever wrong?" Mulder asked his ear from a hairsbreadth away.

"Oh, God. Okay, okay. Whatever you want."

Mulder grinned and tongued Frohike's ear for a few seconds.

"Mulder." One last-ditch attempt at sanity. "Promise me it isn't illegal."

"Fro, we're in Indiana. We haven't done anything legal since we registered."

"Right." Mulder grabbed a couple of towels. They were dark gray, with crimson bats and gold crescent moons embroidered on them. Frohike laughed. "Now, that's attention to detail."

"Just wait till you see the remote control."

"The towels have remote controls?"

He followed Mulder somewhat apprehensively into the bedroom. If kinky was a feather, and perverted was a chicken, they'd have to make up a whole new word for some of Mulder's weirder ideas. Frohike wasn't naive, though. He knew damned well that one of the things that made them such great fuckbuddies was the fact that Mulder could talk him into anything at least once, and sometimes a lot more often than that.

But he'd helped get the bags out of the car, and he concluded that Mulder couldn't have packed anything too worrisome. Nothing that made noise, anyhow, or needed airholes.

"Are you ready?" Mulder whispered seductively, letting his towel drop a little.

Frohike shrugged. "Not really."

Mulder leaned in and down and started nibbling at Frohike's neck again. "Let's," he said breathlessly, and paused long enough for Frohike to grab his head and pull him up.

"What the hell do you want, Mulder?"

"Let's fuck on a bed." Mulder snorted and broke into laughter.

Frohike let go of him immediately. "You're a real asshole, Mulder."

Mulder couldn't stop laughing. "I really had you worried."

Frohike pushed him suddenly onto the ebony bedspread and then was right on top of him, a somewhat illusory restraint, but a hell of a distraction. "You're really sick, you know that?" he said flatly.

Mulder managed to restrain himself to snickering. "Oh, come on. It was funny."

Frohike reached down and shoved his hand in Mulder's mouth. "I can't believe you think that's funny. Fucking on an actual bed? You're even sicker than I thought."

Mulder's eyes widened.

"Gotcha." He started laughing himself. Mulder bit his hand. "Damn, Mulder! I'm not sure I'm in the mood anymore." He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "Mulder."

"Yeah?"

"There are bats on the ceiling."

Mulder laughed. "They're not real."

"Oh, well, thank God for that. I thought they kept real bats in this hotel, and they nested or roosted or whatever they do over the bed. I was worried about the mess they must make."

Mulder raised his eyebrows. "Is that sarcasm?"

"Probably not if you couldn't tell."

"You sure you're not in the mood anymore?"

"Yep."

Mulder rolled onto his side and started playing with Frohike's chest hair. "Sure?"

Frohike didn't say anything for a few moments, and then he sighed. "I may be starting to recapture the mood."

Mulder grinned and moved in with teeth and tongue.

"Ow! Damn."

"Sorry."

"What are you, trying to floss with my chest hair?"

Mulder laughed. The ripples of it went straight down Frohike's spine. Mulder had a great laugh.

"Sorry." Less teeth, more tongue. Frohike relaxed. Most of Frohike relaxed.

"I am not," Frohike said absently, "going to ask you how you even found this place."

"You should see the Area 51 room," Mulder told his nipple.

"I'm going to pretend you made that up. If you didn't, don't tell me."

"It was already booked. Besides, I have fond memories of the Batcave," Mulder explained.

Frohike thought about that for a moment. "I don't believe I want to know." He could feel Mulder's grin against his chest.

"Suit yourself. I intend to have a few more before we leave."

Mulder moved lower. Frohike shivered. "I'm game."

"That's one of the things I like best about you, Frohike."

Anything Frohike might have been going to say was pre-empted by the wet heat of Mulder's mouth on his cock. Mulder started slowly this time, kissing and licking, and Frohike settled for a groan. When Mulder swallowed him, he tried not to yell, and tried not to grab the younger man's head too tightly, and tried not to look at the bats. He was mildly successful with two out of three.

"God, Mulder…"

When Mulder's deep-throated laugh resonated around him, he clutched Mulder's head and fucked his mouth hard before he came. Looking up at the damned bats.

Mulder slid up his still-heaving chest and kissed him insistently. Frohike settled into it contentedly, hands roaming over the other man's body until he could feel Mulder moaning helplessly into his mouth. He decided some action was called for and gathered himself, rolling them both over suddenly with the motion of the waterbed, and ending up on top. Mulder didn't quite manage to laugh, and that was fine with him.

Eventually, he pulled away a little. "Mulder."

"Yeah."

"I may live to regret this, but what do you want to do?"

Mulder flung his arms up over his head and wriggled invitingly. "Fuck me, Mel."

"On a bed." Frohike thought about the long day, and how much he'd been looking forward to just sleeping, and how they did have a whole weekend, and how Mulder was moving under him, Jesus Christ, how Mulder was moving under him. "Good plan."

He climbed out of the bed abruptly and rummaged through one of his bags for condoms and lube. He walked back to the bed, to Mulder lying there stroking himself gently and whispering God-knows-what to himself, and felt himself stirring again already. Only Mulder.

He stretched out next to Mulder and grabbed his hand, stilling it. Mulder whimpered and shut up and opened his eyes.

"Just trying to get your attention."

Mulder looked him over and grinned. "You've got it."

"Sure. That's why you were reminiscing about that damned John Mack book."

"Just doing my homework for tomorrow. I'm not convinced of the usefulness of HIRT cards."

Frohike let go of his hand and moved the backs of his fingers over Mulder's ribs. "Whatever. But I don't want to hear any anal-probe jokes."

He stopped Mulder's laugh with a well-placed tongue, but when he came up for air, Mulder said seriously, "The Just Cause archivist just sent me their documentation on the cards. I was looking it over and I thought—"

"Mulder, shut up," Frohike told him, exasperated. "We're having sex, not an episode of Booknotes. There are times when I wonder if you're enjoying this at all."

"Inconsiderate of me."

"Yes."

Mulder managed to stay quiet for almost three minutes. When Frohike slipped the first finger inside him, he groaned softly, but nothing else. Frohike glanced up, and saw him chewing on that full, sexy lower lip. Frohike decided it was safe and broke off his stream-of-consciousness commentary on Mulder's reactions long enough to lap at the leaking head of Mulder's perfect dick. Mulder shuddered, grunted, sighed, and miraculously kept his mouth closed.

Once Frohike was fully preoccupied, however, Mulder started in again. He managed to distract Mulder twice from his intent dissection of the Keel Roswell theories (Frohike had not previously heard the words "polished rice paper" in any sort of nude context. Sex with Mulder was often a surreal experience.) before the younger man grabbed his shoulders, pulled him up, and broke off a sentence with a demanding kiss.

When Mulder let go, Frohike chuckled. "So you'll pay attention now?"

"I always pay attention when you do that."

"Hard to tell."

"Do it again. I'll prove it."

Frohike raised his eyebrows and gazed at Mulder. One hand moved idly on Mulder's balls, the other played with a nipple. "Maybe we need to review the agenda. Do you want me to fuck you, or suck you?"

Mulder closed his eyes and gave it some concerted thought. He opened his mouth and Frohike interrupted. "Multiple choice, Mulder. It's not an essay question."

Mulder laughed. "Fuck me."

The sheets were florid yellow satin. The pillowcases were a loud plum. The bed sloshed gently and Frohike was too tired to remember to talk. Mulder was singing the praises of the Northeast Bat Working Group when he came.

Afterwards, they cleaned up a little and set the alarm clock (inky black, with far too many stylish red lights), and Mulder curled himself affectionately around Frohike, and the Desmodus rotundus were forgiven.