Mentor

I knew all along I'd have to do it. It was a foregone conclusion, as far as I was concerned. The smoking bastard didn't really think Spender was capable of a job like that, did he? That's why they keep me around, in spite of everything: They know I'm *reliable* in that department.

When I saw him sitting there, staring at the decomposing body and trying not to shake, I realized how little he knew. How completely unprepared he was for what his father had dragged him into. Sure, he was a federal agent, trained to carry a gun, ambitious on the job and not totally incompetent--but it's one thing to shoot a man who's about to shoot you, from a distance, and another to walk up behind an apparently defenseless old man and drive an icepick into the back of his neck.

So a thing which had taken the shape of one of the key players in the conspiracy was lying on the floor, on a very expensive rug, bubbling gradually away to nothing. The smell of the blood permeated the air--a nauseating combination of something like Palmolive dish soap with an undertone of rotted fish, as if you were trying to wash a bowl that had been sitting on the kitchen counter for a week with tuna fish in it. No wonder Spender looked like he was about to puke.

I looked at him carefully. This was my moment. He was teetering on the edge between what he knew and what he didn't want to know; he was looking at his internal checkbook to see if he had enough money to pay the price of getting what he thought he wanted. I could almost read his mind; after all, I'd sat in that same spot myself, almost ten years ago. Asking myself if I could accept the offer. Asking myself if I could pay the price. Asking myself if it was really what I wanted. With the smell of blood and burning in the air and the bloodshot eyes of the old lizard watching me through a cloud of fucking smoke.

I have only one hand left, but I know just where to grasp things for the right leverage, and just where to push.

I pushed Spender.

I pushed him for Mulder, and for the old man who'd sponsored me, for his wife who'd asked me to do this, and for my own good, of course. I got my hand between his shoulderblades and stroked him with ice-cold fingers. I summoned up all my acting abilities--which are considerable--and gave a performance worthy of Vader seducing Luke to the Dark Side. Not that I was sure which side I was seducing him to, but it didn't matter. The seduction was what mattered.

I pushed him--he teetered--he fell--he bolted. I grabbed his collar and snagged him to a stop. My right arm is, well, a lot stronger since it's been working solo. But I didn't plan to be working solo tonight.

"Wait." He focused on me with angry, frightened grey eyes, and I could feel that he *was* shaking, in spite of his attempts at control.

"If you leave too soon, They'll know that something's wrong. They'll come after you. There'll be questions, and it won't be pretty." Unlike you, I thought. "Wait."

"Wait for what?" Spender shook off my grasp, gave me one of those challenging tough-guy looks. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing in his face.

"Wait till the body's... finished. Gone." I stepped aside and pointed to the corpse. The thing was a pile of goo as far down as the shoulders now, and the disintegration was spreading, the soap-and-fish smell growing stronger.

"I've got to get to my mother."

"Don't worry about your mother." I dropped my voice to a soothing croon. "She's under armed guard, right? Guards you picked yourself." I laid my hand on his shoulder, gently. "She'll be okay. For now."

His eyes darted back to mine from staring at the corpse. "For now?"

"You're going to have to protect her. You're going to have to be ruthless if you want to protect her, really protect her." I tilted my head, leaned in toward him just a little bit. I allowed myself, at last, to smile. "I can teach you a lot about ruthless...."

He was so unprepared for the kiss that I slid right past his resistance, just the way my tongue slid right past his teeth. The inside of his mouth surprised me, tasting like he'd eaten something tangy; I licked softly at the roof of his mouth, savoring the taste of his fear.

When he finally caught on that I was kissing him, he pulled away. I bit his lip before he extricated himself completely.

"There's no hurry." I was whispering now. "She's safe and protected. I have people who answer to me; they'll back up your guards. There's so much more I need to tell you...."

Spender swayed away from me, toward me, teetering on the precipice once again, dying for me to push him-- I twisted my hand in his shirt, hauled him in, and sealed his mouth with mine.

He made some kind of sound in the back of his throat and grabbed my upper arms, bruisingly hard. But he was just hanging on, not trying to push me away, and kissing me back. Biting me back. Trying to drive away the madness with simple human contact, as I'd done with Mulder. I'd counted on it.

I managed to get him into one of the armchairs. The fire was dying down, the stinking corpse was not twenty feet away, and we were alone in this elegant house. I thought about the old man whose shape the alien had taken, thought about how he must have died, and it only made me harder; I'd hated the old fucker more than the rest of them, for reasons of my own, and what sweet revenge to be going down on this half-insane federal agent just a few feet away from the melting waxwork remains of the thing that had killed him. That had made him suffer.

I grinned and went after Spender's zipper with my good hand. My other hand I braced on his chest, keeping him where I wanted him. He had a good-sized dick, nicely shaped, and the smell of his skin and his fear made me drunk even before I tasted him. I plunged all the way down--once--pulled back when his fingers twisted into my hair, threatened to pull it out. What the fuck, I could always grow more hair. I pressed my hand harder into his chest, curled the warm fingers around the base of his cock, into curly black hair, and worked on the head a while. Sucking, swirling, mouthing it with my lips. He made a lot of noise for such a straitlaced-looking bastard. Oh yeah, he wasn't a bastard. I knew his parents had been legally married.

I switched to licking the underside, flicking my tongue over that spot behind the head--that always works. His fingers worked in my hair like a nursing cat's paws; when his nails scratched my scalp, I pulled back, stroking him. Looked up to make sure he was looking at me. And deep-throated him, letting him see his dick fucking my mouth.

Spender let out this tight falsetto scream as he came. I didn't let him go. It'd been a long time since I'd been with a man who tasted this good, this tangy and sweet. I licked my lips and then rubbed my face into his thigh, wiping off the last of it.

"It'll be okay, Jeffrey." I got to my feet and straddled his leg, leaning over him. Stripped off my other glove and brushed hard pink plastic fingers against his face. "It'll be okay." He was still breathing heavy, barely aware that I was speaking. He was all but ready to go to sleep. I leaned in closer, undoing my fly. "Don't worry, I'll help you. We'll figure out what to do." Kneeling over him and rubbing my cock on the soft jacket, against his chest. "It'll be all right."

I met his eyes, wide and grey, and came silently over his jacket and shirt.

He sat there, breathing like a child, breathing the smell of the dead thing and his come and mine. I stood up, tucked myself back into my pants, walked to the staircase and pulled out my cellphone. When the other end picked up, I said under my breath, "Is she gone?"

"She's gone."