DEEP PLAY, Part I:  OUT OF BOUNDS
by Jeylan

Part 6
See part 0 for header information.


"Undress me," Skyler whispered.  

Mulder's hands were trembling.  He tried for the buttons, tried 
to focus on what he was doing.  He was viciously aroused, but the 
process of uncovering the very masculine, muscular, lightly hairy 
chest steadied him, slowed him down.  He chewed his lip; tossed 
the shirt away.  Found himself looking down at a large erection 
trapped under bikini briefs.  A moist spot on the indigo blue.  
He resisted the urge to compare sizes, and tried to concentrate 
on the recognition that this hard-on was evidence of Skyler's 
desire, evidence that Skyler wanted ... him.  But it was too 
mind-bending, and the thought kept shying away.

He looked back up at his friend's eyes, and found Skyler watching 
him, found his eyes deep and dark and sexy and hot.  So hot.  And 
that made it easy to roll forward, easy to lean in and kiss the 
lips that belonged to those eyes.  Easy to close his eyes and 
lose himself in that mouth.  More difficult to reconcile the 
feeling of a man's straight, hard torso where his arm was 
accustomed to falling into the soft curve above a woman's hip.  
God, this was weird, too weird.

He rolled further, rolled on top of Skyler, feeling his way, 
letting his naked erection rub and press against the hot cotton 
of Skyler's briefs.  And it felt pretty good, in fact it felt 
better than good, but he realized with another flash of panic 
that he had no clear idea what he should try to do next.  There 
was some analytical part of his brain making a complete nuisance 
of itself by refusing to shut down, shut up, and thereby 
preventing him from sliding into the dance of pure animal 
physicality.  Maybe it was a chemistry thing?  He was flipping 
back and forth wildly between crazy turned on arousal, and 
clinical detachment of a kind he'd prefer to take off with his 
clothes.  At the same time as he was inside his own skin making 
love, he was also watching himself from the outside.  He could 
have done without the watching part. 

"Uh," he protested softly, "uh--"  And Skyler rescued him, easy 
as that.

"Would you, Fox, would you -- oh god--" Skyler murmured 
incoherently, and his head tossed to the side.  When Mulder 
reared up to look at him, his eyes were closed and his cheeks 
blushing darkly in the dim light that filtered in from the entry 
hall.  "Would you--  Would you-- Oh please--"

And suddenly Mulder felt in control again, and everything was all 
right.  "Would I what?" he whispered.  "Tell me what you want."

Skyler's eyes opened.  He looked flushed, vulnerable, and 
completely desirable.  He also looked like he might cry.  A rush 
of compassion and renewed desire surged through Mulder, and he 
leaned down to nuzzle his lips to Skyler's lips.  "Tell me what 
you want me to do," he whispered again, breathing into Skyler's 
mouth.

"Put your fingers in me?" Skyler whispered.  

His voice was so quiet Mulder almost missed it, almost didn't 
want to believe he'd heard right.  His body went very still for a 
moment.  "All right," he agreed softly, and tipped off Skyler 
onto one hip, reaching down between their bodies to ease the 
elastic waist-band over the weeping head of Skyler's hard-on.  
Skyler lifted his hips, and Mulder slid the briefs down, off, and 
tossed them away.  His heart beating so heavy that he wasn't sure 
if this was a good thing or not, he crawled lower and laid his 
hot cheek against the velvety, hot, hard pulse of Skyler's dick.  
He didn't do much else for a minute, just kept his eyes closed, 
breathed in the musky, familiar-yet-unfamiliar smells of male 
arousal and male sweat, and let his fingers search out gently, 
blindly, the shapes of Skyler's body, his erection, his balls. 

Feeling the ragged distraction of his own arousal subside, Mulder 
concentrated on touching Skyler like music, feeling the reasons, 
the pulses and the echoes of every caress.  He slid his 
fingertips behind his balls, exploring their shape, and weight, 
and the mysterious, private, sealed warmth of his perineum.  He 
could hear Skyler opening a drawer beside the bed, rummaging, and 
then before his fingers quite found their way to Skyler's ass, a 
cold, jagged-edged condom wrapper was being coaxed into his free 
hand.  Coming back to himself a little, he looked up in surprise.

"It's lubricated," Skyler said, and his breath caught.  

Mulder nodded.  Didn't say anything.  He wondered idly if Skyler 
thought he was afraid of getting his fingers dirty, but he bit 
the package anyway, slid the condom out, and rolled it down over 
one finger, considering it quizzically.  His cheek was resting 
now on Skyler's stomach, but as he massaged his slimy-sheathed 
fingertip against the tight knot between Skyler's cheeks and 
Skyler gasped, Mulder suddenly needed to *see.*  He got one elbow 
under him and worked his way down into a more comfortable 
position where he could watch what he was doing with his hand, 
and watch Skyler at the same time.

"Like that?" Mulder murmured, pleased by the way Skyler moaned 
and then gasped as he forced his finger past the sphincter and up 
inside.  "Feel good?"  Mulder had had anal sex before; some women 
liked it for variety.  He liked it OK himself; it was tight.  So, 
all right, maybe he'd never seen the need to put his fingers into 
this part of a woman, but nevertheless he was starting to feel a 
little more confident.  This was penetration, and he understood 
penetration.  He knew what he was doing now, in a theoretical 
sort of way.  Mulder started to relax.  Shoving his finger in as 
far as it would go, he rubbed, and withdrew, watching for 
Skyler's response.  Then again.  Skyler was watching him, dark-
eyed, ready.  He pulled his finger out, and worked his middle 
finger into the condom beside the first.  Tried again.  Skyler 
bit his lip and moaned. 

"Up," he gritted between his teeth, "there--  There--"  

And Mulder didn't have to be told twice.

But then as he massaged Skyler's prostate -- what a clinical 
description for such an intimate act! -- something shifted and 
twisted in the energy between them, something unfamiliar, 
stimulating, and very, very *right.*  He felt Skyler begin to 
give himself in the way that a woman gives herself in bed.  
Skyler's head began to toss helplessly back and forth, his breath 
came more ragged, he was steered by a touch, ecstatic, 
incoherent, moaning and babbling nonsense, and Mulder just kept 
doing what he was doing and watched in awe.  Women responded this 
way, when you made them come over and over again until they were 
almost begging you to stop, but he'd never imagined a man could 
be like this.  He'd never experienced it himself, nothing 
remotely resembling this open, naked, responsive vulnerability he 
saw now in Skyler.  It turned him on more than he knew how to 
deal with, and in ways he didn't know how to deal with.  

"Do you like that?  Does that feel good?" he repeated over and 
over again inanely, greedy for more, savoring every flicker of 
unleashed passion that flowed across Skyler's face, and loving 
it.  He'd never known it could be like this for a man.  Never 
known.  It took his breath away, and he kept on doing what he was 
doing until Skyler was lost, mindless, gibbering for release, 
moaning garbled fragments of half-obscene prayers and 
imprecations to deities he didn't even believe in and when Mulder 
said "what do you want?" Skyler couldn't answer at all.  That was 
exactly how he wanted him, and he kept him there, begging, at 
that most helpless vortex of sensual fire until he couldn't stand 
it anymore himself, and had to yield to the strong desire to lose 
himself in Skyler, as Skyler himself was lost.

Letting out a shaky breath he didn't remember holding, Mulder 
leaned down and licked the long, hot length of Skyler's cock, 
swirling his tongue around the head and enjoying the way his body 
arced helplessly beneath him, the frantic whimpers in his throat.  
He took the head into his mouth, noting the mildness of the salty 
flavor almost with disappointment, and then pushed his mouth down 
further, taking Skyler in as far as he could until he gagged.  It 
was unfamiliar and yet at the same time it was only Human, only 
what he was supposed to be doing right now if for no other reason 
than just because he knew it was blowing the top right off 
Skyler's skull.  

Then he reached for the packet of condoms Skyler had forgotten 
beside the pillow.  Skyler was lost to the world, useless, wild.  
Mulder smiled.  Despite his own pressing need, he was in control.  
He glanced around for lube as he bit open another condom wrapper 
and slid the rubber onto himself one-handed.  No lube in sight.  
But he didn't expect that to be a problem.

Mulder groaned deep in his throat as he slid in home.  Skyler 
sucked air through his teeth and cried out, and then he was 
sobbing -- "Fox, oh god, Fox, oh please look at me, please, oh--"

And he looked into Skyler's eyes as he pressed the rest of the 
way in.  And it shook him.  Because the look in Skyler's eyes was 
love, and what they were doing together wasn't just fucking, or 
buddies screwing around, this was a love-making too, too long 
overdue.  This was years of shared memories, and knowing 
together, and a depth of dreams in common.  He wanted to cry, but 
it felt too good.

And then he was overcome by the instinct to thrust and all 
rational thought burned away in the haze of rising, spiraling 
sensation.  Mulder gritted his teeth and worked in silence, while 
Skyler sobbed and writhed beneath him, impaled, crying his name 
over and over again as he came.  

Finally, after it was over, Mulder collapsed on top of Skyler and 
lay there, panting, softening inside Skyler's body, stuck chest-
to-chest with cum, and liking it.  With ragged breath he kissed 
the fluttering pulse in Skyler's throat.  "Why didn't we do that 
years ago?" he sighed.  "Don't answer that."

Skyler didn't.  He just hugged him.

=================================================

Skyler was shaken by his good fortune, trembling with it.  
Listening to the quiet hiss of the shower, he pulled on some 
sweat pants and headed for the kitchen.  He had the domestic 
desire to feed Fox Mulder as if food might make him stay, even 
though somewhere in Skyler's heart he knew it wouldn't work.  
Probably wouldn't.  

He'd had the first shower and lingered unnecessarily, hoping Fox 
would join him.  But then he'd shut the water off when he caught 
himself remembering some overheard party advice from a guy who 
claimed you should always make a big deal of showering if you 
ever got yourself into a situation with a straight man.  Combat 
the subconscious prejudice they all had that gay sex wasn't 
clean.  What crap.  And since when was he, Skyler, stupid enough 
to get himself into a situation like this anyway?  Doomed to 
failure.  He used to always be the guy who laughed when other men 
mooned and moaned over guys they knew they could never have.

He'd always been smarter than that, before, and now everything 
about this evening was so unwise -- for so many reasons.  Very 
ill-advised.  

Not the least of his worries was the question of Krycek.  What 
the hell was that traitorous weasel doing skulking around after 
them, anyway?  And which of them was he following?  His whole 
body had flashed cold with adrenal dread when he'd first spotted 
Krycek in the bar, but the thing he couldn't figure was whether 
Fox had gone after him to the men's room on purpose or not.  That 
was what kept coming back into his head.  They must have had some 
words, at least, or why had Fox taken so long?  He'd come back 
hot and wild, yet said nothing.  How much did he know? He somehow 
doubted this was a conversation they'd be having any time soon. 

Skyler didn't know what he was doing.  He opened and closed the 
refrigerator and cupboard doors distractedly, piling things at 
random onto the counter and trying to get a grip on himself; he 
didn't even notice when the shower-drone stopped only a couple of 
minutes after it started.

"You planning to feed me?"  

Fox's voice nearby in the kitchen doorway startled him badly.  He 
drew in a fast breath, turned his head, and felt every bit of 
composure crumble from his face.  Fox was leaning casually in the 
doorframe, all elbows and canted hips and knees.  He was 
unselfconsciously nude, damp, running a towel over his wet hair 
so that it stuck up.  His eyes were bright.  He seemed to see 
everything about Skyler, and he smiled.  

"Uh," Skyler said, "uh, are you hungry?"

Fox shrugged, dropped the towel to his hips, wrapped it, and 
moved closer.  Much closer.  "What've'ya got?" he murmured in 
Skyler's ear, so that Skyler's skin went all over tingly, and his 
breath came fast.  

"Whatever you want," he said, or tried to say.  His throat was 
tight.  He cleared it.  

Fox smiled.  "Nachos?" he guessed, and his eyebrows went up in a 
question.  He was looking at the mess of stuff Skyler had in 
front of him on the counter.  Doritos, cheese, avocado, canned 
beans, salad greens, bread, milk, an overripe mango -- Skyler 
wasn't sure himself.  Nachos was as good a guess as any.  He 
shrugged.  

"A glass of water would be nice," Fox said.  "Sex always makes me 
thirsty."

Skyler's heart beat faster.  "You're easy," he said lightly, 
almost wishing it were true.

Fox laughed, leaned, and kissed his nipple.  "I'm going to put 
some clothes on," he said.

"Don't bother on my account."

Fox laughed again.  It was good to hear him laugh.

=================================================

Mulder was consciously playing it cool, conscious of trying to 
act natural, the way he would with a woman, but at the same time 
he was also aware that it really wasn't taking much effort.  This 
felt good.  Everything felt good.  He felt better than he could 
remember feeling in a long time -- except for this tight almost-
pain in his chest and his throat, which felt a little scary and 
more than a little like the first symptoms of falling in love.  

Locating his jeans on the bedroom floor, he fished his underwear 
out of them and sniffed.  Nope.  Underwear did not pass the sniff 
test.  Dropping them again in the middle of the floor, he began 
to pull on his jeans. 

He felt full to overflowing with the sensation of standing there 
in the kitchen doorway, looking at Skyler.  Long, lean, graceful, 
athletic Skyler.  High school jock, university freak, Head, Beat, 
brilliant, sensual, poetic, half-mad Skyler.  Skyler who happened 
to desire him.  Happened to turn him on.  He paused in buttoning 
his jeans, sighed, closed his eyes.  Skyler.  *Shit.*  Inside his 
eyes he could see the look on Skyler's face when he turned his 
head and saw him there, toweling his hair.  The softness, and 
deep emotion, and depth of eyes, the way his face became 
unguarded and his soul showed.  It was the look of love.  Mulder 
knew it.  He hadn't seen it often in his life, not often enough, 
but he knew it when he saw it; it made him go all hot and cold 
and silly inside, and that in turn made him melancholy, because 
he knew he wouldn't be able to keep it.  Not the way his life 
was, the way Skyler's life was.  

He breathed in deep and slow the smell of sex, and went back into 
the living room wearing only his jeans.  Skyler had set two 
glasses of ice-water on the coffee table.  He picked one up, and 
wandered over towards the bookshelf.

The apartment was beyond Spartan, mostly empty.  This was clearly 
not a primary residence, or if it was then Skyler had changed 
more than he thought possible.  There was a crystal ball on the 
top of the bookcase, an incense burner, and some sort of raffia-
fringed rattle; an organic-looking stone bowl; a collar of beads 
and bright feathers; a yawning Bodhisattva.  Not much else.  He 
touched the little Buddha-like figure with his fingertips, and 
turned his attention to the books one shelf down.  

Leisure reading, apparently.  Mostly science fiction novels, 
brightly colored contemporary paperbacks.  But there was one 
short chunk of older covers, more handled.  Classics.  Hesse, of 
course.  Steppenwolf, Siddhartha, Rosshalde, Narcissus and 
Goldmund, The Glass Bead Game, Journey to the East.  Then a clump 
of Phil Dick: Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, The Man Who 
Japed, The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch, Time out of Joint.  
Some Spinrad.  //Yes,// Mulder thought.  //Of course.//  After 
that came utopias and dystopias: Brave New World, 1984, 
Fahrenheit 451, Island, Venus + X, Ecotopia...  Then: One Flew 
Over the Cuckoo's Nest, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Zen and 
the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance...  

Skyler was coming in with what smelled like nachos.  "Which anti-
utopia scares you the most?" Mulder asked.

"Fahrenheit 451, of course.  You?"

"Seriously?  Fahrenheit 451?"  Mulder, who had never given any 
real thought to any other choice than Brave New World or 1984, 
blinked.

"Sure, why?"

"Aren't you scared of all the clones?  The clones scare the shit 
out of me.  Soma?  Hypnopaedia?"  Mulder's voice slipped into an 
acid paraphrase:  "'I'm so glad I'm a Beta; Alphas work too hard 
and Gammas are stupid'."  He dangled a question mark afterwards 
in the air.  

Skyler twisted his lips into something slightly resembling a 
smile, and shook his head.  "I work with that shit every day, 
remember," he said, and Mulder felt a chill.  "Programmed 
consciousness is what's creepy about the clones, right?  But 
we'll never have systematic social standardization through 
cloning *or* brain-washing, for the simple reason that no power 
group is organized enough to pull it off.  Brave New World is 
monolithic, and whatever our demons are now, at the turn of 
*this* century, monolithic governments are not high on *my* list 
of worries."

Mulder nodded.  "OK, how about Big Brother?"  Despite himself, he 
glanced around the clean, bare apartment as if a casual once-over 
might identify the hidden listening devices or cameras that were 
almost certainly secreted there, somewhere.  There were fewer 
hiding places here than in his own apartment; surely Skyler did a 
regular sweep?  

Skyler just shook his head, slowly.  "Yesterday's news," he said.  
"We live with it.  We fight it.  I mean, we both fight it, 
right?"

Mulder nodded.

"But, again, the single huge flaw in 1984 is that monolithic 
power-structure thing.  Tell me a story about totalitarianism, 
and you can't *really* scare me.  You can only make me nervous.  
It's Fahrenheit 451 that scares the shit out of me.  Come have 
some nachos."

Mulder selected the slim, stained, yellowed paperback off the 
shelf, and flipped it open.  'West Tisbury School' was stamped 
inside the front cover, with a lined sign-out sheet glued in.  
"Skyler, I am shocked, I tell you.  Shocked.  You stole this book 
from Miss Gaston's 8th grade Language Arts!"  

One of the names on the sign-out list caught his eye.  "Shit, 
Davy Turulja," he said.  "Whatever happened to Davy Turulja?"  
His memory supplied a vivid recollection of December 7th, 1979, 
cutting school and taking the ferry and then the bus into Boston, 
standing in line all day outside the old Colonial Theater 
freezing to death with Skyler and Davy, waiting for the premier 
of 'Star Trek, The Motion Picture.'  They'd been near the front 
of the line.  Davy had gotten ahold of some top-secret advance 
photographs of the new Vulcan costumes, made himself a slap-dash 
version of Spock's black robes, and spirit gummed on some latex 
ear-tips -- good enough to attract the interest of the television  
crews who were there to shoot the 'Trekkies' for their evening 
'Human interest' spot.  Mulder remembered spending a lot of his 
day hunching his shoulders, turning his back, and making a big 
show of blowing into this hands in an attempt not to end up on 
the evening news, where his father might notice and find out he'd 
ditched school.

"Davy was working at Disneyland, last I heard," Skyler said.  
"Bear Country, I think it was."

(Continued in part 7)