"Would you give it a rest," Mulder grumbled, beginning to lose patience.
Alex glanced over at him. "Lighten up, Fox, you have to admit it's kind of
weird they chose the weekend you arrived in Ireland to launch this
campaign."
The large sign with its velvety black background and single word caption
'BELIEVE', the 'v' being replaced by the Guinness harp logo, flashed by as
Mulder accelerated past it in irritation.
"One might even say 'spooky'," Alex remarked, dodging the half-hearted smack
that Mulder aimed at him. "Okay, okay," he promised, "I'm letting it go."
They travelled another couple of miles up the road until they came to a
large grey stone
with the townland name 'Glassagh' engraved on it.
Alex said, "This is it."
He took out of his pocket the directions Danny Maguire had emailed him and
read them aloud. "After the sign turn left onto the coast road. Two miles
along is the pub/hotel Teach Jack—good food, beer and music. Take the
second road past it on the right and the last white house at the top of the
hill is it. The key is in the turf store. Enjoy!"
"Got it," Mulder said and several minutes later they were climbing out of
the car at the top of a windswept hill. They stood for a moment taking in
the panoramic sweep of the Bloody Foreland from Glencolmcille in the south
to Muckish in the north. Before them lay the expanse of the Silver Strand
and the stormy grey of the Atlantic Ocean.
Mulder came to stand behind Alex and wrapped his arms around him. He nuzzled
at a tempting earlobe and said. "See that little island?" Alex nodded.
"That's Innisbofin, beyond that the next stop is Boston."
Alex shivered a little from the salty, cold wind and the breathy feel of
Mulder's words as they dropped into his ear.
"Let's go inside," Mulder prompted and left him to go hunting for the key.
He found the turf shed and key easily and went to unlock the door. Alex had
lifted the bags out of the car and they carried them into the house. Mulder
wasn't surprised to find that Danny had arranged for one of the neighbours
to have a fire burning in the hearth and the perfume of the sweet smelling
turf filled the living room. On the table in the kitchen part of the large
room rested a 'welcome' basket filled with the groceries they would need to
get them through the first day. Beside it was a bottle of John Power's
whisky to which was attached a note.
'Danny said to expect you today. I've left you some fish fresh off the
Clarinbridge boat. If you need anything come to the green house at the foot
of the hill. Siobhan O'Donnell.'
Alex opened the fridge, finding inside a large salmon and dish of oysters.
His mouth watered. The previous year he'd celebrated St. Patrick's Day, far
away from his lover, at the parade in Moscow and had consoled himself with a
dozen of the Clarinbridge oysters specially flown in from the west of
Ireland for the occasion. He smiled, this year he would have Fox and the
oysters, an altogether more satisfactory arrangement.
He closed the fridge door and took off his jacket. Throwing it over the back
of a kitchen chair he followed Mulder who was making a quick tour of the
house. Apart from the large living/kitchen area and bathroom that were
downstairs, there were three bedrooms, one with bathroom ensuite, upstairs.
The master bedroom with its king sized Irish oak bed had a huge picture
window that framed the landscape they'd enjoyed earlier. They lingered
longer to watch it this time; warm and protected from the biting Atlantic
wind that was sounding more like a gale with every second that passed.
Already the best of the day was behind them and from the west thick, grey
clouds were bundling up and being swept across the sky. Every now and then a
splash of heavy rain would lash into the glass, blurring their view for a
few seconds before trickling away in little rivulets towards the bottom of
the pane. Out on Innisbofin the flashing brightness of a lighthouse had
begun to pierce its way through the growing darkness, its powerful beam
catching the top of the rising Atlantic swell.
They could just discern the shape of a little fishing boat making a run for
the shelter of the quay at Derrybeg, where one by one lights were coming on,
twinkling like jewels through the fat raindrops on the window.
Alex pulled Mulder to him and initiated a long, lush kiss.
"Mmmm," he said, releasing his lover, "put me down for some more of that,
but first I think we should batten down the hatches. This looks like it
could turn into a real blow and Danny said the power can be unreliable at
this time of year."
Mulder agreed and they returned to living room to hunt for candles and
matches. The emergency supplies were in the hall closet and the two of them
placed candles and matches in each of the rooms they would be using. Mulder
pulled the drapes closed while Alex lighted several of the candles and set
them round the living room, their glow adding to the comfort of the light
already spilling out from the hearth. Alex then checked the turf basket
beside the fireplace. It was full, but he knew it didn't take long to burn
through this kind of fuel and he decided he'd bring in another basketful.
He pulled on his jacket and switched on the exterior light. The door opened
into the full force of the wind and rain and he zipped up his jacket to the
neck before stepping out into it. It took him a while but he eventually
returned triumphant with a second creel of turf and carried it to the living
room. Behind him Mulder closed and locked the front door and fetched a towel
from the bathroom. Walking into the living room he found Alex stripping off
his soaked jacket and muddy shoes and when he offered, Alex gratefully
allowed him to attack his dripping hair with the towel. The rough towelling
made the younger man grunt and left his dark hair standing on end. Mulder
smiled at him as he ran his hand through it to smooth it down and pull it
back out of his
eyes. The gesture spurred Alex into action and he wrapped his arms round
Mulder's neck and pulled him forward for a needy kiss.
Mulder entered into the spirit of the moment enthusiastically and grabbed
Alex round the waist before letting his hands wander southward to the
jean-clad ass. Somewhere in his lust clouded mind he became aware of the
fact that the jeans were pretty wet and before long concern for his lover
made him pull away from the wonderful things Alex's tongue was doing in his
mouth so he could do something about it.
"These," he insisted, tugging on the waistband, "need to come off."
Alex looked at him confused for a moment, but then smiled and happily
complied. Just as he managed to kick off the clingy, wet denim Mulder walked
away and Alex reached out to snag the waistband at the back of his pants to
reel him in.
"Uh-uh," he warned, applying his chilled body to that of his warm lover,
"these come off too. That's only fair."
"They aren't wet, Alex," Mulder told him patiently.
"But they are in the way," Alex countered, reasonably.
Mulder considered briefly and had to concede the point, so he kicked off his
own shoes and removed his pants in one grace-filled movement.
"That's a good boy," Alex praised, patting a convenient ass. "Why don't you
go back to the fire?"
Mulder, like the clever fox that he was. returned to the glowing hearth
where
he pulled down all the plump cushions from the couch to make a comfortable
bed. Alex found the thermostat on the heating system and bumped it up four
or five degrees before taking out two glasses from a kitchen cupboard,
lifting the bottle of whisky and bringing it and the glasses to the nest
Mulder had made.
Alex looked down at his lanky lover, stretched out, stomach down, along the
cushions. His feet were still clad in his white, cotton socks and his shirt
was hiked up enough to reveal, in all its glory, his boxer brief contoured
ass.
'Perfection,' Alex thought as he sighed happily and sank down to join
Mulder, placing the bottle and glasses on the floor beside them as he did
so. He broke the seal on the whisky and poured out two large measures.
Stretching out, he laid himself partially on top of Mulder before he picked
up the two glasses. Placing one in his lover's hand he drank deeply from his
own, enjoying how the fiery liquid burned a path down his gullet.
Setting down the glass he turned his attention back to the man beneath him.
Running a hand under Mulder's shirt he began firmly stroking up and down
along the defined bumps of the spine while he insinuated his right leg
between Mulder's. His mouth settled itself against the exposed skin of
Mulder's neck where he began to nibble and lick: contemplating how a whole
week of this kind of quality time lay stretched out in front of them; with
no phone calls, no emails, no disasters, no near-death experiences... it was
almost too sweet to bear.
His hand moved downward to settle on the upswept curve of Mulder's right ass
cheek and he began a sensuous massage of the firm and shapely flesh. His
lover's only response was a gently rocking motion of his hips and a faint
sigh and Alex knew immediately something was amiss. He levered himself up
and looked over Mulder's shoulder.
The man had his glasses on and was engrossed in the pages of a book that lay
almost obscured under one of the pillows. Alex growled and snatched the book
away to look at its cover.
"Hey," Mulder complained grumpily, "I'm reading that."
'The Burning of Bridget Cleary' proclaimed the dust jacket that had somehow
managed to get itself torn in the unseemly tussle.
"Fuck," exclaimed Mulder angrily, "I borrowed that from Georgetown
University. Now look what you've done!"
He made a grab for the book again and in the tug of war that followed the
front cover became detached.
"For fuck's sake, Alex," Mulder roared, "this is an out of print, virtually
unobtainable copy. Do you know how much this is going to cost to replace?"
Alex glowered at him and remarked coolly, "Haven't you ever heard of Scotch
tape?"
Mulder returned the glower and began assessing the damage.
"What the hell did you bring it for anyway?" Alex demanded, his tone
exasperated.
The question, much to his annoyance, only set Mulder off into lecture mode.
"It's a fascinating story, Alex," Mulder began, his eyes glowing with
excitement. "Just over a hundred years ago Michael Cleary was hanged for
murdering his wife. He claimed in his defence that it wasn't his wife who
had died; that in fact the creature he killed was a changeling who had taken
his wife's place. He cited the evidence that she had stopped eating and that
she was had begun to limp because one of her legs was longer than the other,
something considered at the time to be proof positive that a switch had been
made. The fact that his wife Bridget's own father and brothers believed he
was right only lends credence to... "
At that point in the story Alex collapsed onto the pillows and began to
snore dramatically.
"Oh, fuck you, Alex... " Mulder groused.
The prone man opened his eyes and smiled up seductively at his lover.
"Now we're back with the program," he whispered huskily and raised himself
up on his elbow in hopeful expectation.
But when he saw the stubborn, grumpy expression steal over Mulder's
beautiful face, the hope and the expectation evaporated into the ether. If
he wanted to keep this on track, Alex decided, it was time for a different
approach.
"You still haven't told be why you brought it with you," he said in a
conciliatory tone.
"Because all this happened not very far from here," Mulder began, warming to
his subject again with a speed that was breathtaking. "I was thinking we
could look into some of the local records, see what's still available in the
oral tradition. That's where the stories about changelings originated. You
see, I've always thought that there could be another feasible explanation
for this type of occurrence... "
Alex tuned the rest of it out, pasted an interested look on his face and
thought, 'no fucking way, Mulder, no aliens, no abductions, no changelings,
no elves, no leprechauns... just two fucking fairies, with the emphasis on
'fucking' .
Calmly, never breaking eye contact with his lover, he stood up and stretched
indolently, making sure his shirt rode up to expose the well-endowed package
straining against his silky, emerald green boxer briefs.
The movement drew Mulder's gaze to the designated target with unerring
precision and the flow of words faltered in the older man's mouth.
Smoothly Alex intervened. "So you think we're talking possible abduction
here, Fox. That early, huh?"
Mulder swallowed hard and after a brief fumble began to run with the ball
again. "Uh... way earlier than this, Alex, you know about the cave paintings
showing space craft that are carbon dating well into Neolithic times... "
Alex sauntered over to the fridge, his hips swaying in a distinctly sensual
manner. He opened the door then glanced over his shoulder at Mulder.
"Feeling hungry, babe?" he inquired.
Mulder was definitely feeling something and hunger seemed to be the easiest
way to go so he nodded yes and watched as Alex removed a dish from the
fridge and set it on the table where he selected a lemon from the fruit
basket. Cutting the fruit in half he placed it in the dish and sashayed his
way back to Mulder.
Sinking back down into the cushions. Alex struck a pose that screamed 'take
me' as he placed the dish between the two of them. Thoughtfully selecting
one of the oysters he lifted it from the dish and gently squeezed on a lemon
half just enough to dribble its juice into the moist succulence of the
mollusc. He raised the shell to his lips and from under down swept lashes
asked, "You were saying Fox?"
"Um... yeah... I..." Mulder spluttered as he watched his lover close his eyes,
tilt his head back to expose the strong curve of his elegant throat and
swallow the oyster whole.
Alex took a moment to savour the unique flavour of the oyster and its
delicious liquor before running his tongue slowly over his lips and sighing
deeply in appreciation.
When he looked back into his lover's face, it was to see him wearing an
amused smirk.
"Alex, you bastard," Mulder accused before launching himself bodily at the
younger man.
They wrestled playfully for a few seconds before Alex went limp and allowed
Mulder to pin him to the cushions so he could extract the kind of
revenge all lovers should seek.
An hour later, sticky and sated and having enough material for a book
entitled '101 Ways to Combine Oysters and Sex' they lay entwined listening
to the howl of the wind around the chimney and the beating of the rain on
the window.
"A ghra mo chroi." Mulder murmured into Alex's ear.
"A chuisle mo chroi." Alex replied.
St Patrick's Day
by Claire Dobbin
Mulder drove into the small village of Derrybeg in Donegal and groaned when
he noticed yet another of the new Guinness advertising posters adorning the
gable end of a pub. As he had done with the every one of the other ten
thousand copies of the poster they had passed on the drive up from Shannon
Airport Alex chuckled.
