Exercised, bathed, and massaged in the general part of the club, he was now
ready for dessert. More often than not, he ordered honey skinned, large nosed
sweethearts with pendulous lower lips and dark brown hair delivered. It added
to his enjoyment that the "artists" were not allowed to speak a word unless he
commanded and he seldom gave them leeway to do so. Lovely as Fox Mulder,
but silent and submissive; now that was a charming fantasy! Tonight however,
he wanted the musk of danger without the substance. He had asked for a
certain artist who much resembled Alex Krycek. He usually ordered the young
man, costumed in a cheap suit, but hadn't tonight. Tonight, he had said, "Black
leather and jeans." It was odd that the man had not been waiting, but the desk
had said, "Go in, relax, and he'll surprise you."
Walter heard the door open and he swept back the covers to admit his
plaything. "Nice view," commented a caustic voice.
Walter looked up into the smiling face of the real thing. Where the hell had he
left his gun? He didn't have a chance. Krycek was pointing a large Glock directly
at him. Krycek really looked good in leather, sleek, deadly, and very sexy.
Somehow the danger sent some unwanted message to his groin and his
waning erection stood straight up. He reached to cover it with the bedding, but
Krycek said, "Mmm, no, I like the view. Has Mulder seen it? I mean up very
close, at nose's length so to speak?"
Walter understood immediately and part of him wanted to lie and watch
jealousy twist and sour that elegantly featured face. He shook his head as
self-preservation won over bullshit. He wasn't Mulder and he didn't have the
impetuous agent's nine lives to bail him out. Walter bluffed, kicked the blanket
entirely off and crossed his arms behind his back in classic macho pose. "You
like what you see? Get an eye full, Krycek," he challenged.
Krycek looked amused and strolled over as if strutting to an invisible sound
track, something with a drumbeat, something wild, unpredictable and sexy.
Krycek sat on the bed and said, "Keep your hands just like that."
Skinner's erection deflated immediately as he saw the palm pilot. "No," he
said, trying to sound commanding instead of pleading. "Just kill me. Just do it.
Stop playing with me."
Krycek said, "I wish I could say this wasn't going to hurt, but it will."
He leaned over, close enough to kiss, one arm on each side of Walter's goose
pimpled chest. He said, "You've been a good boy, Walter, a very good boy.
Couldn't have done much better myself, taking care of Mulder so I'm going give
you something."
Walter was oddly distracted. The left arm had brushed his side and it felt
wrong, stiff, rigid, and unnatural. He was tempted to grab it and see what was
going on with Krycek now. For every misery that Alex Krycek had inflicted, it
seemed as if fate slapped him right back. Krycek followed his gaze and asked,
"You think I'm sexy, Walter? I used to see the way you looked at me when I was
your adorable little agent. You ever think that if you had made the first move, it
would have been you and I not Mulder and me?"
Krycek actually closed his eyes, lids colored with nature's palette, dusky,
mysterious lids and those lashes, Walter had dreamed of them when he was
not dreaming of Fox Mulder's lush, ripe lower lip. Hell, the best dreams involved
both of the young men. Even now, even terrified and infuriated, he couldn't help
being fascinated with Alex Krycek. Those eyes opened and the man licked his
lips as if he as well had been dreaming of Mulder's honey colored skin and the
taste of his mouth.
Krycek smiled slightly and said, "Anyway, I intercepted your boy and I did notice
a certain resemblance to me, thank you. I came here to set you free"
Krycek added, "and I mean that in a good way. Yeah, I am going to deactivate
those nanobytes. It's going to hurt and you won't feel very good, but I'm going to
take good care of you, just you see."
It was like an itching, burning pressure all over him. It was almost like the time
when he had died of these very same things. Terrified and in pain, Walter
listened to that indescribable voice, that husky, rough-edged rumble, with the
bedroom whisper undertones. Krycek said, "It's going to be better. Damn, I
know this is bad, but I've had worse, Skinner, believe me. You feel any better?
You need some water? The bathroom again? Come on; let me help you.
Almost done now, Skinner, don't you worry."
During one of the stumbling trips to throw up or to sit racked on the toilet as
his guts tried to expel themselves, Skinner saw what was wrong with the arm.
Krycek had taken one glove off with the jacket that now lay over the top of the
comfortable chair by the window. The other had stayed until Krycek tried to help
him take a sponge bath. With a blush, and Skinner was surprised that the man
had a blush left; he had drawn off the other glove. Skinner had grimaced as he
saw his vision of a perfect, naked, submissive Krycek in his arms was never
going to be granted in this life.
Skinner awoke and he noted that the linen had been changed and he had
been sponged clean. Krycek was sleeping next to him; his clothes and the
prosthetic arm lay across the room. Skinner could see the edge of the Glock
peeking out from the pillow. Krycek's cheek was rumpled from sleep, folds of
the pillowslip imprinted on the rosy skin. Krycek pursed his lips wistfully then
rubbed his nubbin of a nose over the white linen case. Stealthily, Skinner
reached for the gun. Like lightening, the sweet sleeping boy was banished by
an alert, tense face.
Krycek questioned, "What's it going to take, Skinner, to make you believe I just
came to make things even? Don't you remember one moment of last night?"
Skinner said, "We're not even yet; I think I have said that before. I do
remember, Krycek, and I am just fool enough to believe you are telling the truth.
You didn't just sit there and let me squirm this time."
Krycek asked, "So what's the deal? I'm not asking that you canonize me or
anything. I just want to leave off the danse macabre the next time we meet."
Skinner said, "It seems to me that I was about to have a nice evening with a
friend before you decided that this room was your own private St. Elsewhere."
A corner of the cat mouth twitched with amusement. He said, "Hell, Skinner,
I just thought you wanted to play doctor with me. I thought when you hauled my
ass in to beat me when I was chained on your balcony that the belt was your
idea of foreplay, but I was wrong."
Skinner reached out to draw back the sheet, watching Krycek's expression. He
said, "I'm not a rapist, Krycek, but things haven't changed. I know I was never
your first choice, but I thought I was somewhere on the list."
"Yeah, I liked older guys a little back then." Krycek answered, "Did you notice
that there's something missing besides my pudgy baby cheeks?"
Skinner said, "I can see that without my glasses. Do you really think anything
could change my desire for you ... When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who
made the lamb make thee?"
Krycek smiled at that and said, "Mulder never bothered with much poetry, but
then he never need to do anything other than to reach for me. So you think I'm a
tiger, huh? What does that mean? A fancy way of saying I remind you of a wild
beast or do you, maybe, like tigers?"
Skinner stroked the velvety flesh of the belly and said, "I'm reminded of the
adage, the one about riding the tiger, but yet, who wouldn't be tempted. Make it
even for me, Kry...Alex. Just one time, just one time, give me what I desire."
Krycek sat up and carefully moved the gun across the room. He said, "Okay,
just because, just because I can't show this to him. Hell, if you still want this
messed up body, you can have it. Just wait a bit, I'll grab a quick shower."
Skinner brushed his teeth and shaved. He felt clean although he swore he
must have been in some other world when he slept through the pretty fantasy of
Alex's hands moving over him, anointing his sweating body with soap and
water, pausing perhaps to admire the sweep of his chest, the might of his
shoulders...Skinner realized that, if he didn't cool his thoughts, he would come
from his fantasy when he could have the real thing. Leaving the bathroom to
Alex, he laid back the cover and made sure the lubrication and condoms were
in reach.
Alex came out of the bathroom naked, his skin glowed in the sensual lighting
provided by this place. His damaged beauty just made it more real. The
smooth slide of his body, the silken movement as he glided to the bed was a
dance that Skinner could appreciate. He stood over the bed smiling slightly.
Skinner reached for him, jerking him hard down on the bed, rolling on top of
Alex with the momentum of the motion. Skinner watched the first response, that
sneer of defiance that sought to hide the man's fear. He felt Alex's body
slackening under his as the mocking expression faded and the face put on yet
another mask, this one wearing a concupiscent expression.
"Yeah, do it to me, Walter, make me feel good." Alex purred.
"I am. I will" Said Skinner, nuzzling that beautiful neck. He framed Alex with his
arms, feeling very powerful and enchanted to finally have at least one of his
dreams in reach. Alex drew him down into a moaning kiss. Skinner felt Alex's
hand caressing his back, stopping to explore the powerful muscles along the
way.
"Damn, you don't feel like Mulder!" Alex remarked. He slyly pinched Skinner's
firm ass cheek and said, "You feel good though."
Skinner said nothing. He was kissing his way down Alex's stomach, hands
gently exploring every curve and hollow. He paused at the minute depression
below Alex's collarbone, nibbling gently until Alex squirmed for him and pushed
his head lower. Alex whispered in a pleased voice, "You gonna do that for me? I
wouldn't have thought you were the type."
Skinner grinned and said, "Then let me surprise you."
Hell, Skinner knew he couldn't compete with true love, but he could at least
show Alex that he missed something with his choice. He had no problem with
anything Krycek could imagine. He knew who the hell he was and was
confident
that he was in control no matter what they did.
Alex was so sensitive and responsive. No wonder Mulder couldn't find anyone
that he liked as much. Alex smelled like a cat, a clean cat, but definitely not
neutered. Skinner began to tease Alex's cock with whispering strokes of his
tongue. The smooth thick head struck him as interesting in texture, he moved
around it, darting his tongue enticingly until he had to hold Alex down to keep
him from thrusting hard up at him.
With amusement, Skinner asked, "What's the matter, Alex? Don't you think I
know what I'm doing?"
Alex answered only with a moan. He arched off the bed delightfully and totally
surrendering to his pleasure, something Skinner liked in his lovers. Skinner
moved down the shaft, exploring the nerve-rich under surface of the plump
cock. He stretched his tongue out to hit places where he hoped even this
wanton had seldom been touched. Alex whimpered and his head rolled on the
pillow. His eyes were like green fire and his mouth opened in a delicious
moan. Skinner held Alex's legs apart, open to him. His thumbs massaged
circles as he began the rapid movements that would end this. With a wild cry,
Krycek shot. His semen tasted as sweet as he seemed in this moment.
Skinner swallowed, savoring him. His tongue swirled a few more times until
Alex sighed and gave that small pull away that said, enough.
Skinner could wait. He moved back up on the bed, not much surprised when
Alex moved into his arms. A snuggler, somehow it didn't surprise Skinner. He
had noticed how Alex had always liked to be physically close to Mulder when
they were partners and lovers. His first clue about having lost the race to court
beautiful young Krycek was watching Mulder in the hallway, laying a possessive
hand on Alex's arm as they spoke. It could have passed, as a mere friendly
gesture except Mulder was not the kind of person who ever touched people
casually.
Skinner stroked the side of Alex's face softly, admiring the soft skin. "Mmm, I
feel good." Alex said.
Skinner caressed and said, "Yes, you do."
Alex's lips explored but settled on Skinner's nipples. He must have been a
bottle-fed baby, Skinner thought, but the joke passed as the tugs and swirls of
Alex's tongue sent messages down his spine. Alex traveled lower, a teasing
trail of kisses ending with a sudden nip. Skinner reproved, "No biting, no teeth."
Alex laughed, a soft, delightful, breathy chuckle that sounded enticing as the
rustle of a velvet gown, the soft babble of water through mossy rocks. "It's a
jungle down here. Hmm, can't find it." Alex reported.
Skinner said, "You must be blind then. I don't think anyone has ever said that I
lacked in substance."
Alex said, "Nope, I have to admit that you're impressive."
Any further words were drowned in the sudden rapid assault on Skinner's
cock. He knew that after all his anticipation that he wouldn't last long, but Alex
was blitzing him with one sensation after the other. That was a hell of a talented
mouth! It took will power to move, but damn it, after waiting so long, he wanted
to see that lustrous head of hair bobbing between his legs. Skinner saw Alex's
eyes come up to meet his, dancing in enjoyment of his power. The eyes
fluttered as Alex took him deeply, letting Skinner's cock merge to the limit. Alex
was nearly bent over him, working at this with an eagerness that suggested he
was turned on by what was happening. Skinner prided himself on his control
letting Alex make this his command performance. With a shudder and a hoarse
yell, Skinner felt the world blot out delightfully. Panting, he lay on the bed, feeling
as if he snapped every muscle in his body when he came, leaving him so
loose-limbed that he could not have moved if the holy grail danced through the
room.
Alex insinuated himself into Skinner's arms after a casual clean up. He said,
"I'm tired. Call them and tell them you need the room for another eight hours."
Skinner snorted and said, "You want to use take a nap in this expensive
whorehouse, using my credit card?"
Alex blinked sleepily and said, "Make it worth your while in the morning,
Walter."
Skinner said, "That's a deal. Call me sir, though. I like that."
"Sir Walter? Okay, gonna rescue me from my plight? Throw your cloak down
so the dirt doesn't cling to my dainty feet?" Alex asked.
Skinner said, "Shut up, Alex, and your feet are hardly dainty."
Alex moved to lie closer, an arm full of affectionate assassin, but he hardly
looked the part like this, dusky lashes brushing his cheeks, a peaceful
expression painted on his boyish face. One last sleepy blink and he was out,
lips parted for soft deep breaths, either a real show of trust or the man was that
tired. Skinner moved carefully, trying not to disturb his sleeping lover. He
thought he could surprise the man. He would genuinely do something knightly
and noble. Skinner chided himself, something idiotic, but much as he would
like his pretty fantasy, he knew that neither Alex nor Mulder would ever be totally
content with him. They wanted and needed each other and he had an idea that
would make that happen.
Alex smirked as he called up his choice. This one looked enough like Mulder
to be a younger brother or a clone. Missed his mark there. Should have put in
an order for a Mulder clone before all the old men and lab geeks went to their
fiery graves. Still even a sweet, pliant Mulder clone wasn't going to be the real
thing. No, hell, Alex had slept with handsomer men. It was Mulder's mind that
he adored although he wouldn't scorn the wrapping paper to get to it. Maybe
that was why he enjoyed screwing with Mulder's reality so much. Maybe he just
had a great unrequited desire to fuck his mind. And, right, that explained why
his black little heart beat faster every time Mulder even looked at him, stupidly
excited although too often the look seemed to be calling up a diagram from the
butcher to decide where to carve the first steak out of him.
Alex watched the tall, lean and lovely man peel off the expensive suit in a
graceful strip tease. He really should have directed the man to knock off the
flourishes, but he seemed to enjoy his little theatrical display for one. Alex had
to admit his Fox was foxy, but he didn't have those moves. Mulder couldn't
dance if you had a gun aimed at his feet, but he knew where to put his parts
when it counted.
It had surprised Alex when Skinner turned down the chance for a return match.
Although Skinner was not his type physically, Alex had liked the night they had
spent together. Skinner had been tender and he really was surprisingly
talented. Yeah, that cock was a bit on the large size for comfort, but Skinner had
kissed the owie before and after. He even was willing to return the favor and the
guy genuinely liked to be fucked, which was a real surprise.
However, when Alex had admitted that he was not adverse to another tryst,
Skinner had showed him the profile of the Mulder-like artist and bought him two
nights of that. This third performance was on Alex's own credit...well, not exactly.
Actually, Spender hardly ever checked to make sure all his established
alternatives with lines of credits were not leading amusing lives of their own.
As the Mulder substitute sauntered to his bed, Alex sighed. No matter how
good this man was; it was never going to be quite right. Mulder, Mulder was the
one he craved as his heroin and no methadone would suffice for long.
Mulder looked out into the night. It was snowing and that made him think about
Russia and Alex. He touched his cheek where that kiss seemed to burn and he
mourned. He rose and went to the coat rack, spinning the billiard ball finale as
he retrieved his coat. He felt a sting of shamed conscience as he considered
his destination. What was he to do? Wait around like a princess in a tower until
Alex chose to rescue him? He wished he could go to Seattle. Rodney's letters
to him were increasing upbeat. The man who owned him had been found
murdered and no new evil pimp had come forward to claim his body or his
soul. Rodney would sleep with him for sympathy if for no other reason.
However, Skinner had him stuck to the local area, lecturing new agents about
serial killers and the supernatural.
Mulder had taken to trailing Skinner for a while and noticing him visiting a
private club. A little investigation had identified the place as a sex club and
Mulder had been intrigued. This place was discreet. You showed your pass
and were let into a private, soundproof booth to select your partner of the hour
or the night. Mulder hadn't bothered Skinner about his habit. He simply joined
after confirming that they catered to a broad array of tastes.
Mulder caught a cab, getting out a block away to avoid a trace. He trudged
through the frozen slush in the road. It had warmed briefly just long enough to
pack the snow and turn it into a volcanic landscape of peaks, depressions, and
mounds. The trash uncovered was unbelievable even in this relatively posh
area of town. Mulder noted the snow was covering the mess, which was a
blessing. He waited in a doorway, looking back as the snow filled in his tracks.
He didn't want someone to stalk him as he had stalked Skinner. He wasn't
even sure why he had done that; had it been boredom, anxiety, or a desire to
gain some petty advantage over the assistant director?
Sighing, Mulder took the main elevator to the lobby where he inserted a key
card to gain entry. As always, there was a delay to make sure that no patron
passed another. A receptionist directed him to a private booth immediately.
The booth was appointed like a broker's cubby. Mulder sat in the leather
armchair and poured himself a drink from the decanter that sat ready on the
small table. The loose-leaf notebook sat at ready, but Mulder preferred the
video presentations instead. He picked up the remote and turned on the small,
flat screen monitor. He entered his usual preference, dark hair, green or hazel
eyes, medium complexion, male, between twenty-one and thirty-five, five feet
eleven to six feet three inches tall, weight one fifty to two hundred pounds. He
rapidly selected, Bottom, mild bondage, mild BDSM, and waited. A series of
thumb nails flickered and Mulder leaned forward to study them.
Somebody new was in the stable. Mmm, now he looked like Alex, just a little
younger and plumper. He clicked the image to get the thumbnail to enlarge and
speak. The boyish young man fluttered long beautiful eyelashes and spoke,
"Hi, I'm Lloyd. Hey, ya' wanna play? Gotta warn you; I play rough sometimes.
See ya, babe." The brunette beauty let his terry cloth robe open just a bit. Mulder
could have drooled on the screen. God, perfect, where did they find that one?
He could almost believe it was Alex.
Quickly, Mulder keyed in the identification for Lloyd and smiled as he received
the confirmation that he was available. He used the credit card he kept in the
name of Marty Walters and paid for his treat. An expressionless attendant led
him into a small elevator that was lined with mirrors and ornately trimmed with
brass etchings. Mulder tipped the tuxedoed staff member and entered the
room. He hadn't specified a setting and blinked with surprise to see what the
courtesan had chosen.
This was jailhouse motif. The room was divided in half. The entry contained
the usual well-appointed bed, television and VCR, wardrobe for costumes and
toys, and mini-bar for snacks and drinks. The smaller area was a realistic cell,
bars, hard little bunk, combined sink and urinal, and drab institutional paint. A
man sat on the bunk, dressed in a prisoner's coverall, his knees spayed wide,
and his feet clad in the slippers issued to high-risk prisoners. The man cast a
surly gaze in Mulder's direction and slumped back on the bunk as if he was
alone. He raised a leg, leaning it against the wall, and slowly unzipped his
garment. He revealed a white V-neck tee shirt and as the zipper lowered to the
end, a neat, smooth landing of black glossy pubic hair.
Mulder walked over and gripped the bars of the mock cell. He had lost control
of this scene, but it was delightful chaos that ran along his nerves. Lloyd
growled in a voice that shared some of Alex's delightful tones, "You a cop?"
Mulder startled and almost nodded or worse explained that he was an FBI
agent. He realized that this was a part of the game that they would play and he
said, "Yeah, get your ass out here, kid. I heard you were carrying. Come on,
strip for me and spread them."
Lloyd stood up and toed off the slippers. His face was a blank, but his eyes
challenged Mulder. He slid the overall down, showing that he had chosen to
wear no underwear at all. He let the hideous garment sink to his feet and
stepped out. He posed there, rolling a corner of his tee shirt up teasingly.
Mulder liked the picture that made. Mulder hoarsely ordered, "Take it off."
Lloyd took his time, letting that cheap white undershirt slide over the hard lines
of his body. He looked a little different from both Rodney and Alex as if they had
all started as the same man, until life molded them in different directions. His
body was molded, proportioned with an almost inhuman evenness. The shirt
went over his head and he threw the shirt at the bars. Mulder walked over to the
bed and moved back one of the panels to remove the lubricant. He noticed a
snarl of contempt on the man's face. "You don't need that." He snapped.
Mulder shook his head and said, "Grab those ankles."
His ass was as toned as the rest of him. He must have spent hours in the
gym. Mulder saw a few regular scars contrasting with the smooth flesh. They
looked relatively recent although not fresh enough to be other than pinkish
lines. Mulder used the lubricant to mock the process of search, the only thing
he really wanted to find was...an arch and a cry told him he succeeded. Mulder
stroked the same spot again then shoved the man forward, making him crab
walk to the bed. He didn't for some reason feel the urge to be gentle that had
overwhelmed him with Rodney. This man genuinely seemed to want his
abuse.
Mulder shoved the man over the edge of the bed and ordered, "Keep it there."
His hands shook as he drew on the condom. He felt angry, with himself, with
Alex, and with this man because he was not whom he wanted. He entered
roughly, listening to the man's breath expel. The voice, velvet sheathed
switchblade, groaned. "Yeah, that's it. Make me. Hurt me. Harder-harder!"
Mulder muttered, "Shut up." He pushed in faster, his strokes pistoning. He
watched Lloyd's fists pound the bed as he uttered grunts of pain that still
seemed aroused. Mulder finished, tying off the condom with practiced ease
and casting it in the convenient garbage can. He felt and found that Lloyd had
not come. Frowning, he ordered, "Turn over"
Lloyd sneered at him when he faced Mulder and said, "Is that the best you can
do? Do you think that was rough?"
The slap felt good to Mulder and he did it again, watching the face turn red. A
hard clout caught Lloyd's nose and the trickle of blood suddenly reminded him
of his confrontation with Alex in Hong Kong. Lloyd reached his fingers up to
touch the blood and he smiled. "That's more like it."
Mulder was shocked; both at his own actions and that he was becoming
aroused again. He jerked Lloyd down flat on the bed and spread his legs
roughly. He didn't taste like Alex. He tasted bitter and salty. Alex always seemed
sweet to him like the decadent dessert that he was.
Mulder slid his lips down the length of hard cock. Lloyd protested, "Hey, that's
not what I do. Fuck me, that's what you paid for."
Mulder said, "I paid to do anything that lets you walk out of here able to work
tomorrow. I want to do this."
The way Lloyd reacted; he hadn't had many blowjobs. He moaned, tossing his
head, the short, military, dumb ass haircut rubbed against the pillows. "Uhhh,"
he groaned, "no, I don't want to..." He arched and shoved deeper into Mulder's
mouth. Mulder held him down, keeping those legs spread open, enjoying the
vulnerable sprawl of them. He took the man deeper, listening to the voice, for
the moment pretending that this was Alex.
When Lloyd came, Mulder quickly moved on top. He didn't want to penetrate
him again, not the way Lloyd reacted, as it was a solicited act of rape. Instead,
he whispered, "Hold your legs together." The slide of their flesh was enough,
thrusts made slick by sweat. Mulder closed his mouth over Lloyd's, imitating
his movements with the rub and probe of his tongue. He felt the man's mouth
try to close and pull away. He jerked Lloyd's face back, wondering at this game
and why it pleased him.
Lloyd ducked his face aside and down, biting Mulder hard on the shoulder and
whispered, "Not like that, you have to do it hard. You have to punish me. Come
on, do it for me. You know you want it. You know."
The strangely erotic demand finished him. Mulder sagged exhausted on top of
Lloyd until the whore shoved him aside and said, "Get off of me, you pervert."
Mulder said, "You are trying so hard to make me hurt you. I should just oblige.
But I'm a contrary man; all my friends say so. So, you know, I'm going to
frustrate you. I'm not going to hit you, Lloyd. I think I am going to make love to
you instead."
Mulder knew that he shouldn't go back, but he reserved Lloyd the next night,
ordering one of the ordinary rooms. Lloyd entered sullenly, allowing Mulder to
undress him with limbs woodenly cooperative. His green eyes were resentful
and every touch was stiff. Even so he was beautiful, Mulder remembered when
Alex had looked this young. But even if Lloyd was youthful, he lacked
something. Yes, the stubborn refusal to cringe from pain was familiar, but Alex
had never looked for violence from him. Every time, he hit Alex, Alex had shown
in his eyes the question, his anger that Mulder betrayed what they had been
with his actions. Lloyd wanted the pain. Mulder had the feeling that he craved
punishment.
Perhaps it was cruel to coax him to pleasure instead. When he forced him to
orgasm, Lloyd wept as he subsided. Mulder reached to comfort him and was
surprised when the young man allowed him to hold him. "Why don't you tell me
what's wrong?" Mulder said.
Lloyd shook his head. Mulder remembered Rodney and asked, "Is someone
forcing you to do this? Do you need money? Protection? Let me help you."
Lloyd pulled away, sitting hunched over on the side of the bed. He said, "You
want to help someone or what ever? Go find what guy you are trying to make
me be, because I'm not him. If you knew, if you understood what I really was,
you'd hate me as much as I hate myself."
Lloyd stood up, grabbing his clothes and he said, "You can tell the
management that you want your money back. I'm not staying and you can't
make me. Don't ask for me again."
When Mulder went back the next night, Lloyd's thumbnail was gone. He called
the main desk and they said, "His resume was not as he represented so his
services were no longer desired."
Mulder snapped, "Well, I desire them. How do I reach him?"
The purring voice replied, "Lloyd has left the area rather suddenly. He didn't
leave a forwarding address."
Mulder walked out of the place, but he had no intention of letting it lie there. If
he couldn't have Alex, he would have Lloyd. Actually he was rather pleased by
the news. He could possibly offer the young man enough money to make him
agree to a long-term arrangement, a little apartment somewhere and pin
money to entertain him self between visits. Mulder's cock rose at the prospect.
He visited the Lone Gunmen and found Byers alone again. John shrugged and
said, "As if I didn't understand obsession..."
It took several visits to hack into the Destiny Club files, but John succeeded
and called Mulder to allow him to reap his harvest. Lloyd was Second
Lieutenant Lloyd Hillard, formerly the US Air force finest, drummed out a year
back. Mulder did some more hacking and found the sordid precursor to this
event. Rape! He had been involved in a drunken episode of rape and of an
underage girl at that! Mulder reeled back, understanding why Lloyd forced him
to enact that play with him. All he had been was an instrument of punishment.
When Lloyd found that he was enjoying his abuse, he had fled. God! Mulder
shuddered, wondering what the man would do when humiliation and
role-playing wasn't enough?
A week later, Mulder entered his usual preferences and was surprised to see
a black screen with a glowing and pulsating question mark instead of
thumbnails.
A message scrolled lazily across the screen, "Push enter to choose the
mystery lover. You have thirty seconds to decide."
Mulder wanted to laugh or ask the desk about this new game, but shrugging,
he pushed enter. As always, the attendant came promptly to guide him. Mulder
stepped into the suite and was pleased; this was more like it. The room held a
four-poster bed, made up with numerous brocaded pillows and plush spread,
all matching the draperies. There was even a fireplace, with a warm, real fire,
the crepitating sounds adding an illusion of intimacy to the room. The
sideboard was laid with a miniature feast of finger foods. Mulder was amused,
titillated. He hoped the man, his surprise had better be male, was as charming
as this room embodied.
To his surprise, the door to the outside opened. At first, he thought it was Lloyd
and had to admit that he was disappointed. Truthfully, the violence of his
encounters with the man didn't meet his need and the knowledge of his crime
would always disturb Mulder. Mulder frowned, as the Alex look alike seemed
more surprised then he was.
While in yet another room, a man with hair like dark rich Russian Amber met
another who boasted of eyes as mixed in hue as the oceanic depths. They
stared at each other and then each said, "Haven't I seen you around—as in
working here?"
"Yeah," said the green-eyed pretty. "The weirdest thing happened. I was on my
way to one of my regulars and management tells me that I should go to this
room instead and do what ever the other guy wants to do."
"And the same thing happened to me. In fact, my regular looks a bit like you
except he's missing an arm." The tawny, tall charmer replied.
"So here we are, two incredibly sexy guys, being paid a hundred dollars an
hour for our services and in this great room." Mr. Dark-haired and Lush-Lashes
remarked.
The tawny lovely lad looked at his coworker through his own lovely, long
lashes and asked, "So what do you want to do? Make love?"
The dark haired man sighed and said, "Nah, too much like work. Let's break
out the chips and beer, kick back and watch football."
"I like your ideas, man," his companion agreed. And thus two most
entertaining men had their first ever paid vacation and found it very relaxing.
Alex fumed silently. Double-booked in deed, what kind of service was that?
He, or rather Spender's false identity was paying a pretty price for this
membership and service. Then, they told him he was getting a free night with a
mystery artist. Great, somehow, he imagined some tattooed Dom waiting for
him. He was hardly in the mood for that. He almost turned around. He knew
where Skinner lived. Hell, he knew where Mulder lived too... Shaking his head,
Alex told himself that he was not in the mood for Skinner and he was a bit
unsure of his welcome anyway. Skinner's rejection had shaken his
self-confidence a bit. As for Mulder, the best Alex could hope for was a beating
from him.
Alex entered and stood stunned. This one was Mulder in exacting detail! That
sulky lip, those incredible hazel eyes, gold and brown, and that silly expression
of shock were all those of his lover. Alex took a deep breath and said, "God,
now I'd pay double! Where did they find you, Foxy?"
The man stared back and then said, "Alex? Alex is that really you?"
Alex started to back away, to turn and run. What kind of joke was this to send
him to the real Fox Mulder? Mulder uttered a cry of pain and Alex had to look to
make sure he was all right. Mulder used the moment to catch up with him and
trapped him against the door, pushing him back into it. That touch...Alex felt his
limbs go limp. He was torpid with lust, stupid with love and Mulder was
probably going to kill him.
"Alex, Alex, Alex, I can't believe I found you." Mulder murmured, his hands
pushing Alex's jacket aside, dropping it with a heavy clank of various knives,
brass knuckles, and other essentials. Alex moaned, allowing Mulder to start on
his shirt before he remembered what the thick sweater concealed.
"No!" Mulder screamed and Alex turned away; he couldn't bear to see the
repulsion in his former lover's face. Mulder pulled the sweater away, lifting it off
and letting it join the jacket. "I didn't mean for this to happen to you."
Alex reached for a sneer. He wasn't going to do what he had done in the past,
submitting, trying to win Mulder back with his body; no more chances now that
he wasn't beautiful anymore. He said, "Bet this was your idea, getting me sent
here. Well, I don't always have to pay for it, you know. Even like this, there are
guys who want me. Your boss for instance!"
Mulder's face lost its look of horror. He wore that enraged expression that now
seemed more familiar then the enraptured one Alex used to see. He pushed
Alex back, one hand reaching for Alex's zipper. "He had better keep his hands
off you or I'll kill him. I swear that I will. You're mine, Alex, mine." The damn
zipper wouldn't release and Mulder yanked, breaking it. Alex wondered briefly
how he was going get out of here with his clothes like this and then, it hardly
mattered.
And that last 'mine' was buried in a kiss. They fought each other, struggling
against that door to rip off each other's clothing, to tear the years and the
differences away. Alex leaned back, his hips forward as Mulder's mouth
devoured him. Mulder's lips were sweet consumption. His hands were greedy
heated things as they moved relentlessly conquering Alex without a battle.
Mulder pulled away his boots, his socks, freed his legs of his jeans. Mulder
knelt there as if in worship for a moment. He said, "You are more beautiful than
I even remembered." Mulder stood and he held out his hand. "Come to bed
with me. Come back to me. I don't care what you've done. I want you back in my
life. I want you to stay."
It must have been levitation. Alex didn't remember walking. There was no
finesse to what they did. They were too frantic to remember anything but need.
One moment they were kissing, trying to touch each other all over, to reclaim
this territory of the flesh and soul from which they both had been such lonely
exiles. The next, they were momentarily satiated, lying together, old love words
back on their lips, the past reeled back to that first time when it seemed to Alex
that he could do anything if Mulder loved him.
Mulder rolled on him and said, "You're not leaving me, anymore, and no one
touches you! Not Marita, not Skinner, no one, but me! Do you understand?"
Alex nodded, wondering how Mulder knew about Marita. He asked, "What
about you? Diana? Rodney?"
Mulder said, "No one, but you."
Alex said, "Good." He flipped Mulder over, wanting to show him that he might
have lost a limb, but he was far from helpless. Alex grinned down and said,
"We have the whole night to figure out how this works." He lowered his lips to
meet Mulder's. This was heaven. This was home and he thanked whatever
providence brought it about.
Walter sighed and turned off the video feed. He had done his good deed for
the century and he wished it didn't feel so hollow. He could have watched them
make love. It would have been his just reward for all the money and the
mechanisms that it took to set the comedy of errors up, but he chose not to be
tormented by a vision that he could not share. Maybe he would tell them one of
these days or maybe the bright boys would figure it out. Meanwhile, he had a
trip out of town to meet his old friend Commissioner Scalli. Supposedly, the
man had a bright ambitious boy that needed a sponsor to the FBI academy.
Walter smirked, Ricky Caruso, another Italian kid. Scalli did like those old
country names. Skinner smiled and decided if the boy were any good, he'd give
him a trial here after the academy, something to take his mind off Fox Mulder
and Alex Krycek.
Skinner stretched. Hell, maybe he'd meet someone new...he'd paid his dues
and played cupid. Now, it was his turn. Let's see what providence could do for
him.
The end.
A Comedy of Errors
by Ursula
Walter Skinner neatly hung jeans and sweatshirt in the wardrobe and posed
for a moment in front of the mirror, not bad for a man his age, not bad at all. He
was proud of his body; hell, he worked hard to maintain it against the
overwhelming pressure to let bureaucracy strangle away his life. He ran a
questing hand over the expanse of his broad chest; catching his fingers in the
crisp, clean hair. He slowly circled his large nipples, imagining a scene with
both of his fantasy partners suckling them.
