—"Other Voices" by the Cure
"But, Scully, the party isn't for another two weeks." Mulder's
voice came out whinier than he liked.
She only gripped his arm tighter and dragged him into the costume
shop at greater speed. She was small but strong. "I know you,
Mulder. You'll procrastinate until the very end, then walk in
dressed in your usual suit and claim you're going as an FBI agent."
"Give me more credit for originality. I'd wear the suit and tell
everyone I was a stockbroker." But Mulder stopped fighting. If he
didn't surrender now, he would hear about it for the next two
weeks. And hear about it, and hear about it... "It's just a party."
"It's a mandatory bureau function."
"Which is the only reason why I'm going. You didn't hear the
threats Skinner made to me."
"Now that our department has higher visibility, we have to get
more involved with other agents." Scully didn't sound very
enthused either.
As good as it felt to have gotten some validation for the X-Files,
Mulder hated the spotlight it put on him and his partner. He didn't
mind making a spectacle of himself for important matters, but
being put on display at a party made him uncomfortable. Patterson
used to do that sort of thing, introducing any higher-ups he could
grab to his protege //as if// and the Violent Crime unit's golden
boy, Spooky Mulder. From the way they'd looked at him, Mulder
felt like they'd expected him to start biting the heads off of live
chickens.
Throwing his career aside for the X-Files had transformed him
from a useful freakshow to a delusional one. No one wanted to
play power politics with the insane disappointment who'd
squandered his gifts. It took him out of the dog and pony show, to
his great relief. He enjoyed the basement's quiet and solitude. He
no longer had to summon the effort to schmooze people,
something he knew he wasn't very good at anyway.
Mulder knew that had to change. He had an unprecedented
opportunity to bring so many truths to light, and the X-Files
needed him to be a kind of spokesman. Scully couldn't do it all,
nor should she.
He was beaten. He could at least try to lose with some grace.
"What will you be wearing?" Mulder asked.
"It's a surprise. I don't want you to try to match me; we'd look like
a theme couple."
She didn't have to say that enough people already referred to them
as "Mr. and Mrs. Spooky," thus efficiently managing to offend
them both at once. He knew, and hated, that the label made its
most pointed dig at her. Hearing it whispered in their wake
prompted the kind of homicidal urges that he had to restrain—now,
more than ever.
They wandered through rows overflowing with cloth and plastic,
redolent with the scent of dust. They fought their way through an
overgrown jungle of capes and petticoats. Eyeless masks stared at
them from every direction. Props hung on the walls and from the
ceiling.
From the raw material in this crowded room, he could become
anything or anyone. The jumble of characters he saw left him
more at a loss than before they'd arrived.
An elderly man suddenly appeared from behind a large, ornate,
medieval gown. "Welcome to The Backstage," he said. "Do you
know what you're looking for, or would you like some help
deciding on an outfit?"
Scully stepped forward. "My friend could use some help."
"I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up," Mulder said
darkly.
"I know our selection can be intimidating. I'll show you through
our men's section and see if anything piques your interest." As
they walked, the salesman said, "Aliens are very popular this
year—"
"No aliens!" they both shouted, then looked embarrassed.
The old man shrugged. "I understand. Something can be too
popular."
"Exactly," Scully said with a grin. Mulder just sighed.
They passed costumes for werewolves, astronauts, Klingons,
pirates, vampires, Zorro, super heroes, Bill Clinton, horror movie
killers, soldiers, Frankenstein's monster, and most of the cast of
the Star Wars movies. "With this outfit, you could be a Man In
Black or one of the Blues Brothers," Scully said with a smirk.
"No and no, thanks," Mulder answered. A long drift of black cloth
caught his eye. He'd expected it to feel coarse, but it ran and
flowed through his fingers with the softness of silk.
Scully arched an eyebrow. "You want to go as the Grim Reaper?"
"Death never needs an invitation." He took down the hanger. The
costume consisted of a long, hooded robe, a cowl, and gloves, all
in impenetrable black.
"There's a friendly gesture to introduce us to the rest of the
bureau," Scully said with a sigh.
"A perennial favorite," the salesman said. "All you need is
makeup and a scythe, or the mask from Scream and a knife."
"Just makeup. I don't want to be carrying a prop all night."
"God forbid."
He grinned at her. "This feels right. Trust me, Scully."
"That's when I trust you the least."
Mulder's feelings progressed from petty annoyance to outright
dread the closer he got to the night. He knew he was being stupid.
He'd faced liver-eating mutants, cold-blooded killers, and lethal,
shapeshifting aliens, among other threats to his life and sanity.
One evening at a costume party should have been easy.
It didn't matter.
The night of the party, Halloween night itself, Mulder stood under
the glaring white light in his bathroom and tucked his hair under
the cowl. Scully would be coming to pick him up in an hour, so he
was running out of time. As much as it irked him to have her as a
babysitter, it also made him feel cared for and almost happy. //I'm
a mess.
//I should have thrown myself under a bus yesterday.//
Mulder applied the white face paint and watched his usual self
slowly disappear. The package claimed the paint glowed in the
dark, an assertion he tested as soon as he got it home. Not only did
it work, it also glowed a nice luminous white instead of green.
Once he had all traces of actual flesh tones hidden, he lined his
eyes in black pencil. It brought back long ago London nights,
when the sudden absence of his father's judgmental, condemning
glare had been intoxicating. He'd gone a little wild at first from
the freedom, but Phoebe had quickly brought him back in line.
Looking at his stark white face and black-rimmed eyes in the
mirror, Mulder pondered his next move. A little more liner around
the eyes and making his lips black would transform him into
Bergman's Death. Or Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey's Death. But
it didn't feel right to him.
Mulder stared at his face for a few more minutes before picking up
the container of black.
Dana Scully knocked on the door before opening it with her key.
It gave him some warning if he wasn't... decent yet. //Is he ever?//
He should have been fully dressed by now, but Mulder could make
an art of procrastination. She'd come by to pick him up just to
make sure. //Not that I'd mind seeing him— Down, girl.//
That near-kiss in the hallway, the near-kiss she spent so much time
trying not to think about, came back to the front of her mind. They
still hadn't talked about it. She knew it would never have
happened if Mulder hadn't been so scared of losing her. But with
their partnership returned, they once again had something to lose if
it all went wrong.
Lost in thought, Scully almost squeaked in fright when an ominous
figure in flowing black loomed out of the bathroom and scared the
hell out of her. Not that she would ever let him see that.
"Mulder?" He had the hood up, covering his head and shielding his
face in thick shadows. "Let me see your makeup." All that black
sighed, then complied.
He'd painted his face to look like a skull. His usually green-gold
eyes looked black in the centers of artfully rendered empty sockets.
He'd blacked out his nose, making it seem to disappear when you
looked at him from the front, an incredible feat. Dark shading
under his cheekbones and well-drawn teeth over his lips completed
the effect.
He'd done an incredible job, so why did it disturb her so?
Mulder couldn't help grinning when he got a good look at his
partner. Scully wore a body-hugging, faux velvet, short-skirted
garnet-colored dress with slits up the sides, fishnet stockings, and
high-heeled leather boots that laced up to just below her knees.
Deep red lips and darkly lined eyes had a dramatic effect against
her pale skin. Her makeup, so well-applied, made him wonder if
Bill Scully's dutiful daughter had flirted with a few wild looks in
her youth too. She had long nails that were red with white tips,
like Drusilla's on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Scully looked
intensely sexy, and somehow managed to do it without crossing
the line into sleazy.
Then she smiled, revealing fang teeth. Mulder's grin widened as he
saw how completely he'd corrupted her. She was a vamp, in both
senses of the word. Not only had she dressed as something
paranormal, but she'd also utilized a bad sense of humor, not
unlike his own, in doing so.
"But you still don't believe in vampires, I know," Mulder said.
"After six years, you better, Mulder."
When they reached the hall, Skinner met them at the door. "How
come he's not wearing a costume?" Mulder hissed softly to Scully,
who shushed him.
"Good evening, sir," she said and enjoyed the widening of her
boss' when he saw her.
"Good evening, Scully... Mulder?"
"Don't worry, I'm not working tonight. You went as a bureau
assistant director, sir?" Mulder winced as Scully elbowed him.
"I'm working as a kind of chaperone, Agent Mulder. I don't have
to wear a costume."
//Wish I could have used that.// "I guess thinking like that is why
they pay you the big bucks, sir."
"Damn right. Enjoy the party, and try not to piss anyone off,
Mulder."
"You have us pegged all wrong. Scully's the hellraiser."
Skinner sighed and had a long-suffering look as he let them in.
The music hit them like a wall of sheer force, even as the lights
blinded them. //I think I feel a flashback coming on,// Mulder
thought facetiously, but he soon adjusted. The large crowd
panicked him a little, but simultaneously made him feel more
secure in the obvious evidence that every agent in the bureau had
been forced to show up. //Hunh. It's not all about me.//
As Alex Krycek made conversation with an agent dressed like
South Park's Chef, his eyes scanned the crowd in a manner
entirely consistent with his costume. //Who are you tonight,
Foxlet?// He knew Scully and Skinner would force Mulder to
show up. Alex only had to find him.
Social functions usually made Mulder uncomfortable, and Alex
always found Mulder's discomfort entertaining. He wondered
what his former partner had made of that kiss months ago. //You
seemed to be into it at the time...//
Alex took advantage of his anonymity and bided his time. When
he saw Scully, who looked incredible, walk around with one of the
Grim Reapers, he had his answer. Now he just had to reel Mulder
in.
Scully went up on tiptoe—almost falling onto Mulder from her
inexperience in wearing those high, high heels—and shouted, "We
should try to mingle."
"Make nice with the friendly agents?"
She smirked. "Maybe I should mingle. Try not to start any
fights." Then the DJ tried to get an Electric Slide going. "Oh, my
God."
"If he starts the Macarena, plug your ears and run for the door."
"Like I needed you to tell me that?"
Scully smiled and walked away, instantly attracting a crowd. //She
wore the right outfit for "mingling," that's for sure. I don't think
anyone will be making "Ice Queen" comments for a long time after
this.// Another Death, this one made up like Bergman's, saluted
Mulder with his scythe. //That could have been embarrassing.
Imagine my chagrin if someone else came to the ball wearing the
same face as me...//
Feeling like he had been sent back through time to a torturous high
school dance, Mulder got himself a cup of punch and immediately
started to look for a secluded corner. The punch had an immediate
alcoholic kick under the fruity sweetness, prompting amused
speculation about who might have spiked the bowl. //I better take
it easy with this stuff. I have the feeling I could really fuck myself
up on this pretty easily.//
The punch seemed to have made most of the agents here much...
friendlier, though none of them would reveal their identities. //Sort
of invalidates the whole "making contacts" excuse, but no one ever
asks me about anything.// One tipsy woman dressed as Julie
Newmarr's Catwoman, which gained her a few points with him,
demanded a dance with him. Well, actually she demanded a dance
with Death. //And they call me "Spooky."// He obliged, even if
their "dance" actually consisted of him trying to stop her from
falling on her face.
But his feeling of bemused and superior sobriety started to fade
under a growing warmth. He started to feel really good...
//After only one cup? What a wimp. Better sit down.//
When Scully caught up with him, her eyes glowed, and her face
looked flushed. "You seem to be making friends," he said.
"It's not as bad as I thought it would be. I saw you dancing with
Catwoman earlier."
"I danced; she lurched."
"I came over to tell you that Agent Spender is looking for you,
probably to give you a piece of his mind. He may have been at the
punch. He's dressed as a pirate."
"It cheers my heart to see you watching my back."
"Mulder, you're bombed."
"Nope, just lightly toasted. I'm fine. Have fun, Scully."
"Don't worry. I'll make us look good." She giggled when he
stuck out his tongue at her. //Maybe she hit the punch too?//
After he watched her walk away—which, in that dress and those
boots, was very arousing—Mulder noticed something out of the
corner of his eye. When he turned to look, his breath caught.
A man sumptuously dressed as some sort of predatory bird
watched Mulder. The lights showed deep blue highlights in the
black feathers of the sleek headdress that covered his hair and most
of his face. The mask piece had a cruelly sharp ivory beak, and,
under it, blue-black lips smiled. Vaguely triangular eyeholes
revealed dark, gleaming eyes surrounded by blue-black makeup to
blend with the look of the feathers that hid his face and trailed like
fringe from the back and sleeves of his suede jacket. The soft
pants fit so closely, you could almost see his pulse. Either he wore
a large codpiece beneath them, or he was really happy to see
something. Or someone. The "talons" strapped over the knuckles
of similarly blue-black leather gloves were cat's claws, actual
weapons, the three metal blades on each capped with ivory.
The costume was stunning, and gave the stranger the look of an
aboriginal shaman.
Mulder knew Alex Krycek when he saw him.
Mulder couldn't help himself. He stood up and followed where
Krycek led. His former partner walked with a sleek grace that
made Mulder glad his costume was a shapeless robe. Those pants
were more lewd than nakedness. //As if you didn't want to jump
him the moment you saw him standing there.//
When they reached a darkened storage area behind a partition
//Amazing how Krycek knew exactly where this was...//, Mulder
asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"
Krycek moved closer. When he spoke, his soft, rasping voice slid
across Mulder's skin. "I used to be an agent, so I have every right
to be here. Besides, it makes me happy to think everyone will
remember me, but no one will know who I was..." He stroked the
cloth of Mulder's robe, sighing at how unexpectedly soft it was.
"I can't believe you came here just to crash the party."
"You're right."
"Must be a fluke."
That beak was so close... Mulder couldn't help himself. He kissed
it and reveled in its smooth hardness. He'd expected it to be cold,
but it was warm from being so close to Krycek's skin. Aching, he
moved in so close he could feel the heat the other man gave off,
and his breath stirred the feathers on the headdress. Mulder
wanted so badly to touch them, to see if they felt as soft as they
looked. He took off his gloves and put them in one of the robe's
hidden pockets.
Krycek smirked. "You're ruining your makeup, Mulder. I worry
about you sometimes. Your choice of costume... Some people
dress up as who they think they really are, some people as who
they wish they were, others as who they think they aren't. But we
all dress up as what fascinates us... With that skull, you're not just
Death, you're dead."
"You're so perceptive, you should be a federal agent."
"Are you drunk, Mulder?" Krycek asked in a low purr.
"A little." Mulder's hands took on a life of their own and stroked
the feathers that covered the back of Krycek's head and neck.
They were so soft, but also sharp and fine. They caressed his
fingers.
"That's just fine." With one hand, Krycek pulled Mulder closer.
Even through the layers of robe, Mulder felt it when their bodies
met, hardness to hardness. He groaned, then shivered as he felt the
capped blades of his former partner's talons press into his back.
Krycek smiled knowingly.
He wanted to kiss Krycek but the mask, beautiful as it was, kept
getting in the way. "Could you take that thing off? The beak's
blocking me from getting at your lips."
"Can't have that." When Krycek took it off, his short hair stood up
in places, wild and disheveled. The blue-black lips and triangles
around his eyes gave him an exotic look. "Mmmm... let's see if we
can raise the dead, shall we, Mulder?"
"Your sense of humor always sucked, Krycek."
When they kissed, they smeared one another with makeup, though
Mulder's stayed much closer to intact. Krycek briefly wondered
what Mulder had used to set it before avid lips nibbled a warm
path down his neck and long-fingered hands stroked him through
the thin cloth of his pants. Seeing what looked like a faintly
glowing skull nuzzling at his skin gave him a pleasurable jolt of
atavistic fear to combine with lust.
His former partner's robe confounded him. "Where the hell are you
under this thing anyway?"
"Find me."
Mulder's voice, low and rough against his skin, made Krycek
breathe faster. "I want you out of that thing. I at least want to see
your hair."
Mulder whipped the cowl off, revealing whorls of fascinatingly
disheveled hair. Unable to take his gloves off without unstrapping
the talons first, Krycek had to find another way to feel it on his
skin, so he rubbed his face against it. As Mulder tried to grind him
into the wall, Krycek tried to find the man under all that cloth.
Almost unconsciously, he started to scratch away at it with his
talons.
Mulder finally stepped back and pulled the robe off over his head,
leaving himself in pants and old combat boots. Krycek
immediately took advantage of the opportunity to leave blue-black
rosettes on his bare chest before wrapping already swollen lips
around a hard nipple. It only got harder as the former agent
applied sharp teeth.
As Mulder's hands clenched in soft hair, suede, and feathers, he
took a dazed moment to wonder how they got here so fast. He
soon decided he could better use his mind figuring out how to get
those damned skintight pants down. As his hands wandered, he
could feel a slight wet spot on the front, which made him wonder if
Krycek had worn underwear at all. He'd find out soon.
Krycek moaned and writhed maddeningly as Mulder peeled the
pants down over a prodigious erection. No underwear. The rake
of capped talons, followed by fingers in soft leather, over his bare
back forced him to undo his own pants. The thought of the sharp,
sharp metal underneath the ivory caps made him breathe harder.
Then three lines of pressure moved down his ass, lower and
lower...
"Krycek, if you don't stop that, I'm going to come now," Mulder
gasped.
Krycek's eyes looked mad and frenzied. "Mulder, I want you to
fuck me; I need you to—"
"We don't have—"
"In my jacket."
Mulder, almost as frenzied, rummaged under the jacket; his rough
explorations only excited Krycek more. Mulder briefly thought of
asking why he had brought condoms and slick but figured Krycek
knew that just wearing those pants guaranteed he would get some.
Mulder pulled his prizes out at last and put the condom on.
Mulder guided Krycek to the floor as gently as he could at that
moment. Krycek instinctively spread his legs to give Mulder
access, and the older man immediately put the slick to use. Alex
bit his lip to stop his harsh cry at feeling the cold slick meet
burning heat.
"Just do it, Mulder!" he choked out as he raised his hips.
Mulder stroked all the way in, then pulled almost all the way out
before slamming forward again, quickly setting a hard, demanding
rhythm. The friction Krycek's cock felt, trapped between them,
made him moan and thrash harder. In the dimness, Mulder's skull
paint glowed white. //I'm being fucked by Death, and it feels so
damned good...// And why not? Death was his way of life, and
he'd been making out with the Reaper for years. He kissed all the
skin he could reach and smiled at the blue-black marks, looking so
much like bruises, his lips left.
"Come for me, Alex, c'mon," Death said with Mulder's voice. His
hand snaked down to pull and milk Alex's cock.
//Why am I mindfucking myself?
//Because it's fun...// The pleasure, too much, too intense, was
killing him. He came with a scream. Mulder, sent over the edge
by the feeling of Alex's muscles clenching around him, blunted his
own shriek by biting Krycek's shoulder.
As they collapsed in a sticky, tangled heap, Alex realized that
Mulder had positioned his head right on top of the soft robe. //So
sweet, Foxlet...// He also realized that he'd drawn blood in raking
scratches up and down the left side of Mulder's back. He licked
the blood from one talon. "You taste so good, Mulder."
Mulder mumbled something into Krycek's neck. When Alex
turned the older man's face toward him, he saw that whole patches
of the skull makeup had rubbed off, revealing regular skin tone
underneath. "Looks like I brought you back from the dead," he
said.
Mulder looked at the man, smeared with his white and black,
underneath him. He knew he must have blue-black marks of his
own. The sex had burned off some of the alcohol, leaving him
almost sober and a bit confused. He knew he had been attracted to
Krycek since that kiss; he just never thought he'd have Alex
begging him for a reaming the next time they met.
"What do we do now?" Mulder gasped.
"We clean up. Then, we go again, a little slower. You game?"
//Am I?// "Yeah." Then real life came back to him. "Scully's
going to drive me home eventually. What time is it?"
"Mulder, I don't have a fucking— Wait, a clock over there says
12:30."
October had passed into November, All Hallow's Eve had turned
into All Saints' Day. Something new had started. "We have a few
hours." Mulder laughed softly. "Scully told me to mingle."
end...
Fascination
by Viridian5
"I really have to see you.
Smile at me slyly,
Another festive compromise."
