SUBDOMINANT SKINNER By Holmes (Holmes1053@aol.com) ***WARNING! Contains scenes of non-consensual m/m sex - definitely adults-only!*** [subdominant: Something partially, but incompletely dominant. An ecologically important lifeform subordinate in influence to the dominants of a comunity...] ***** Mulder wearily sat down on the couch, depleted of everything except the unusual desire-for him-to get some sleep. Visiting Scully in the hospital was always emotionally draining, even though she was improving steadily. It always involved taking sarcastic, hostile crap from her brother Bill, and dealing with the icy politeness of her mother that just managed to convey that he was just barely one step above a burning sack of shit on her porch in her hierarchy, no matter what she actually said. He held his head between his hands as he thought of all of the events preceding Scully's cure. All of them led directly back to the Morley Man; the man he'd hated more than anyone outside of Krycek…and Old Morley Breath was even responsible for what Krycek had done! Mulder heartily wished that the cigarette smoking bastard was still alive so that he'd have the joy of killing him with his bare hands....maybe by smashing his smug face up against the wall a few times. The thought of pulping that ugly head like rotten fruit brought a tired, cruel smile to his lips. No one could deserve it more, as far as he was concerned. The bastard had known where Samantha was all those long, miserable years that he'd spent searching for her. He'd made sure that she never wanted to see him again of her own volition, so he could dangle her as bait to get to him! He'd caused Scully's cancer just to get to him. He'd nearly ruined Walter's career-hell-his LIFE- just to get to him. Mulder shivered as he thought what a close call it had been for him to rescue his lover...not that that the big lug hadn't been properly grateful later...ooh that sexy, sexy man. Well, it was too late to do anything about what *THOSE* thoughts brought to mind. Even the thought of having to press buttons on the television remote made him feel even more bone tired than he was, but he managed. He clicked on the television to "Return to Planet of the Apes", and laid back to get a good night's rest. He had been snoring for about 20 minutes, when he was awakened by a sharp knock at the door. Whoever it was he was a dead man, Mulder thought sourly. "Open up, Mulder, we know you're in there!" It was Frohike, who tapped out "shave and a haircut, six bits," just to be sure that the exhausted agent couldn't ignore him. Mulder groaned and yelled at the door. "HEY! Cut that shit out! I'm trying to get my beauty sleep in here, something you oughta try sometime, handsome." "Fuck you, punk ass!" Frohike laughed as he continued to rap on the door, "Let us in before we really cause a stink out here." Yawning and stretching, Mulder stumbled to the door, and opened it, glaring as he got a rap on the chest and a grin from Frohike. Byers smiled apologetically, and pushed Frohike through the door, followed by Langley, who merely nodded. The Lone Gunmen sat down on the couch, and looked at Mulder expectantly. "Make yourselves at home, why don't you, boys." Mulder grouched. "Mulder this is important," Byers said soberly. "Or we wouldn't be here." Mulder yawned and looked significantly at the clock on his desk, which read 3 AM. "Hey chill, dude!" Langley said brandishing videotape. "We come bearing gifts!" Mulder grudgingly took the tape. "The star better have tits the size of watermelons, or I'm ramming this up your bony ass." Byers blushed, and cleared his throat. "It's not that sort of tape. It's more like information you need to know…" "Are you going to tell me what it's about, or do I have to ask you if it's bigger than a bread box?" Mulder said impatiently tapping the tape against his arm. "Why don't you just play the thing, and find out for yourself," Frohike said a little too eagerly. Mulder's eyes narrowed, and he leaned into Byers' personal space, causing him to lean back as far as he could in response. "I thought you said it wasn't *that* sort of tape?" Byers turned even brighter red, and stammered, "It may have…prurient material on it, but it's still information you and Agent Scully should know." "Look boys, I'm tired of guessing games for the night," Mulder said opening the door, gesturing with the video for them all to leave. "I'll call Agent Scully bright and early in the morning, and I *promise* that I'll make some Jiffy Pop, and we'll watch it from beginning to end." "You don't want Scully to watch *that* video, dude," Langley said. "She would FREAK!" Mulder snorted. "C'mon fellas, after working with me she's seen a few dirty movies. She won't fall apart." "Hey, big guy," Frohike said placatingly, "just watch it by yourself first, and THEN decide if this is something she ought to see." "Everyone seems to think I don't give a damn about Scully," Mulder snapped still stinging from the insults her brother had flung at him about his callousness over the last few days. "I'm not going to expose her to anything she couldn't handle. I think I know my partner better than…" "Mulder," Byers interrupted, "Skinner is on the videotape." Mulder froze. "With a hooker?" he finally choked out, taking comfort in the fact that Byers hadn't said YOU and Skinner are on the tape. "His personal life is his own business," he lied. "No, not a hooker," Byers said refusing to meet him in the eye. "This is much worse. What he's involved in could directly affect your work with the XFiles, so it IS your business. Besides, you and Scully are mentioned on the tape. "Wwwwhat!!" Mulder sputtered. "Mentioned in what way…and where did you get this tape, anyway?" "Some old English guy gave it to us," Frohike said with a shrug, "I think he's on the tape too. Looked kind of like him" They all got up, and trooped through the door past Mulder. "Just watch the tape, dude. You won't have *any* questions," Langley laughed. Byers hissed at him to be quiet, and gave Mulder another apologetic smile. Frohike patted Mulder on the way out, and said, "Don't worry, Sleeping Beauty. Langley's right. You won't have any questions afterwards. Trust me, that video leaves nothing to the imagination." Mulder started to say something, but Byers yanked Frohike away. "BYE, Mulder," he said through his gritted teeth, and went down the hall, dragging Frohike and pushing Langley, scolding them under his breath as if they were wayward children. Mulder yawned, and put the video in the VCR, and sat back to watch it. As they got into their 79 Chevy Monte Carlo, The Lone Gunmen heard Mulder bellow "OH SHIT, WALTER! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!" "Ooooh, heavy. Should we go back?" Langley said as they looked in the direction of Mulder's apartment. "And get involved in *this* investigation, especially when he's this nuts? HELL NO!" Byers hissed, "let's just get the fuck out of here!" Byers stepped on the gas, and peeled out of the parking lot, and sped away to the Lone Gunmen's favorite hiding place: The Wizard's Asylum. (Otherwise known as Langley's sister's nerdy phosphorescent paint and black light masterpiece of an apartment.) ****** 10:30 P.M December 24, 1998 Washington DC Hoover Building FBI Headquarters Office of Assistant Director Walter Sergei Skinner Test of Psi Implant: Report to Sir Phillip Smythe-Montmercy from Mr. Raoul Bloodworth Is this thing working? Can you hear my thoughts? Excellent. Now, where were we? Ah yes. Our Assistant Director problem. Arrogant, arrogant boy. The little fool sincerely believes that he's outwitted me by refusing to allow Fox Mulder to make a deal with me. He actually imagines that by doing this, that he's thwarting the Consortium and protecting "his" Mulder. He thinks that I don't know what his game is. Of course, I do. I was playing the game when he was just a snot-nosed kid. Contrary to what he believes, he doesn't know how to play the game. He doesn't even know all of the players…and the ones that he *does* know aren't what they seem. If he DID, he'd know that my son Fox is the last person on earth who needs his protection. Not even I would kill my children for the good of the project. I'm no Bill Mulder. Did I say that he doesn't know how to play the game? Now, that is a truly laughable understatement. He doesn't even know what the game IS! I never intended to make a deal with my son. Fox was merely bait to lure him in. Please spare me your moralizing. I may not be a Bill Mulder, but I'm well aware that I'm no saint either. I make no pretense of being other than what I am. Yes, I agree. It is deliciously ironic that A.D. Skinner, the Would- Be Knight-In-Shining Armor, DOES need a protector. His willfulness has made him dangerous enemies in all factions of the Consortium, although I sincerely hope that you will not be among them by the time this night is over. I trust you will allow me to convince you of his… usefulness? When am I going to ask him if he wants our assistance? Surely you must be joking! He'd never consent to having me as his guardian angel if I offered my services to him outright. He considers himself to be far too honorable to be under the protection of--what did he call me--"an inveterate scum-sucker whose moral dipstick is two drops short of bone dry?" That's the reason for all the silly games I'm forced to play with the boy. Before he'll stoop to accept the help of a man of my….talents, he has to feel as though the decision is out of his hands. That's typical of a sub, so I anticipated that, of course. No, there's nothing wrong with the implant. I really did say sub, as in submissive, in reference to Walter Skinner. Yes, I'm well aware of his macho credentials. I know that he did his duty as a Marine, and is doing an acceptable job as an A.D., and oh yes, I've seen the videos of him with all of his various lovers, and I'll grant you that he's a passable top. If those were his only claims to fame, A.D. Skinner would be most unremarkable, but I assure you, I don't waste my time with anything less than extraordinary. What? Oh come now! Surely it hasn't escaped your notice that he's a very good- looking boy, and that his body is as muscular and sleek as a panther's? You wouldn't ask that question if you'd ever had him. You should treat yourself to him, Phil. He was exquisite in the bedroom. The boy was always in heat, always teasing, always provoking…you can't imagine the pleasure I took in disciplining him, and fucking his responsive, tight little ass while he begged me for it. You don't believe me? No matter. Watch. You'll see. Ah, speak of the devil, here he is, right on schedule. Hmm? Yes, from the way he's stumbling through the door, I'd say that Agent Harris successfully administered the drug cocktail without our boy being aware of it. It's just now hit him. He's spotted me! Oh, I hope that you can see him clearly in my thoughts. He's beautiful. He's standing stock-still yet defiant, like a predator who knows that he's met a greater one, but is far too proud to back down. He's fixing me with an insolent stare that rakes me up and down in a way that lets me know that he doesn't like what he sees. I give him one that lets him know that I most definitely *do* like what I see. I don't give a damn about what he likes or doesn't like. We stare at each other, and he blinks first. He shrugs, and -there is no other way to describe it- swaggers over to sit down in his chair, the tilt of his head, and his arrogant expression calculated to induce the maximum amount of irritation in the shortest time. He pulls out his chair, sits down, and starts reading a file, making a silly ostentatious show of ignoring me. I slam the file shut on his desk with a reverberating slap. He jumps, and it pisses him off that I startled him so easily. He looks around in any direction except mine, and stares at the wall. I grab his chin, and jerk him back around to face me. He struggles to look away, but the drugs, his fatigue, and the fact I'm one strong old man, conspire to make it a losing battle. He gives up, and settles for crossing his arms, and glaring at me in a manner that I know is supposed to freeze the blood in my veins. It no doubt terrorizes all agents within a 50-foot radius. I find it…how shall I put this? Cute. "Good evening, Walter," I smile as I blow smoke in his face. I laugh as he coughs, waving away the smoke while glaring pointedly at his "No Smoking" sign and back at me. "Thanks to me, you've gotten what you've bargained for. Dr. Scully has recovered, and Fox Mulder's integrity has been preserved in its customary pristine condition. It's time to discuss the terms of the deal we made. The bill for my services has become due." "What do you want?" he growls weaving from side to side like a cobra, his dark eyes seething with fury. "Information? Thanks to *you*, I no longer have the access I once had, so you see, I can't be your messenger boy, **sir**." I have to laugh at the way he says sir. Only Walter Skinner could make "sir" seem like a worse epithet than motherfucker. "You'll be any kind of boy I want you to be, punk," I assure him. I backhand him hard across the mouth, enjoying the smack of my hand against his flesh, the blood trickling from his soft lips, and the kaleidoscope of emotions crossing his face: shock, anger, fear. It's just now dawning on him what I really want from him. He recovers quickly, I'll give him that, though, and looks me straight in the eyes. "That was a long time ago," he says in a low sexy growl at odds with his words, "I've repressed it." Damn, damn, damn! DAMN him for saying that! How DARE he say that! How did he…surely Teena didn't tell him? Yes, yes, I'm back in control of myself now. I agree. The phrasing of his insult was merely a coincidence. You're right, it is a "rather transparent ruse". He'd like me to believe that I have absolutely no effect upon him, but I know better. It's time to call his bluff. "Repressed it? Really? Have you now?" I say contemptuously. "We'll see about that." I reach down and roughly grab his cock, and yank it, "Grow hard for me, boy!" I command. To his chagrin, he's hard in an instant, and I'd bet money that he's leaking. I pat his cock on the head like a dog and say, "Good boy. I'm relieved to see that you haven't forgotten all of your obedience training," As quickly as a snake striking, I grab his tie and pull him up just enough to make him choke. "But if you have, I assure you that I can spend the rest of my life jogging your memory. I have some very effective and entertaining ways to improve it." I release my hold without warning, and he falls back on his chair with an undignified thump. He's blushing, and his chest is heaving like the heroine of one of those dreadful bodice rippers. "Fuck. You," he says biting out the words with as much venom as he can muster. "You're an old man now, and you don't have what it takes to top me any more. Get out of my office before I throw you out." He clumsily lurches out of his chair, prepared to smash his fists into my face as best he can, fogged though his mind is. I had anticipated this, of course. Before he can lay a hand on me, the door opens, and he's distracted by the seeming appearance of Agent Mulder. "MULDER!" he yells, "RUN, call security…." His voice trails off as Mulder morphs into the alien bounty hunter. Shakily, he pulls his gun out of his desk drawer, but the bounty hunter grabs him, and squeezes his wrist until he yelps and drops the weapon. He throws our boy over his shoulder, kicking and screaming vigorously, if ineffectually, adrenaline partially overcoming the effect of the drugs. I've seen better-behaved children throwing tantrums at the mall. Don't worry. I have the situation under control as usual. We'll take my private exit to the parking garage, and we should be at our pre- arranged rendezvous point in half an hour. @@@@@@@@@ We've arrived. I can't help but think how much you would enjoy seeing this. He's such a stubborn boy. He's blindfolded and handcuffed, stumbling through the corridors of the club. I've let him bump into a few pieces of furniture to emphasize just how dependent he is on me here, but he still refuses my assistance, roughly jerking his arm away from my helping hand. Even the bounty hunter finds this entertaining, if incomprehensible. Oh, we're going to have such fun breaking him in again, Phil. We've stopped in front of our suite now, and none too soon. Young Walter's poor abused shins must be eternally grateful. I'm amused to see that the lad has presumed that he should be the one to open the door. As his hand fumbles to turn the knob, I use my card to open door, and it opens so fast that he falls flat on his face into the room. The alien pulls him to his feet, and yanks off the blindfold. I do believe that we have succeeded in shocking the unflappable A.D. Skinner. During his first period of service with me, I took him to my apartment, or to various and sundry hotel rooms, and I never used anything more exotic than my belt to discipline him. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, is the massive, custom-made, solid brass bed, which dominates the room. It's a thing of masculine Victorian beauty, covered with the finest of dark navy and burgundy paisley bed linens, but I can tell by the way his eyes widen that its practical uses are what strike him. It's twice as large and as high as a king-sized bed, which I'm sure, being the bright boy that he is that he's figured out the reasons for that. Above it, there are several well- placed chains, and of course the ceiling is mirrored. It is equipped with an impressive array of other restraints, and a few items of an electrical nature that I am amused to see are making him breathe just a little harder and faster. It's then that he sees the collection of whips, riding crops, and canes decorating the wall, as well restraints, studded collars, leashes, ball separators, cock rings, knives, branding irons, and a few devices even I'm not sure of. He's shaking, but those large dark brown eyes of his are full of hate, and his jaw is clenched. He's not even fooling himself with the tough guy facade, but I'll let it go-for now. I unlock his cuffs, and say "I'm sure you've discovered that you're no match for our burly friend over here, so I trust that you'll not try anything foolish. I'd hate to see you too…indisposed… to fulfill your part of our bargain." The bounty hunter snorts, and ambles over to the chair beside the bed, and sits down. Our young friend rubs his wrists, and glares at me. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?" he says in his most businesslike, hard, clipped tones, still playing the hard-nosed Assistant Director role to the hilt… Of course, the effect was totally ruined when you sneaked up on us and smacked him on the ass with your riding crop. I don't think he added to his air of authority by jumping that high. Most undignified. I have to admit that the riding crop *was* a nice touch, but then you always did have a flair for the dramatic, Phil. "That attitude will never do," you say, looking most pleased with yourself. "You'll find that I have much less patience with insolent boys than our smoking friend here, young man." Oh hell, stop bitching Phil! I know you know what you say! This damned implant transmits everything that I think! You'll just have to live with it until I learn how to control it better. Oh, really? Well, before you get too smug, you'd do well to remember that it transmits everything that YOU think too. The door creaks open, and we both turn to see the boy trying to sneak out. The bounty hunter is across the room in two strides, slams the door shut, throws the boy against the wall, and disdainfully returns to his chair. Walter slides down the wall, and lands on his ass with thump. He's still shaking his head, trying to recover his senses, when you slap his face, leaving your handprint on his cheek. You lean over him like a looming ice storm. "I this incident proves that you're overdressed, boy. On your feet, and strip. NOW!" He staggers to his feet, warily never taking his eyes off you. It's the smartest thing he's done all day. He starts to undress perfunctorily as if he were at the gym, but you growl at him. "Remember your training boy. You'd best please me, or it won't go well for you….or for your young friend." He looks at you, truly puzzled, eyes wide and vulnerable. You laugh at him and chuck him under the chin like a child, "Oh come now, surely you must have guessed that we know all about you and Mr. Mulder?" "You aren't allowed do anything to harm him," he says contemptuously. "It would have happened by now." "Oh my yes, we certainly are. Nothing so direct as killing him of course," you say looking significantly in my direction, "but I wonder how the dear boy would react to finding Agent Scully's corpse in the parking garage? Of course that doesn't have to happen, if you behave sensibly…" You step back and allow him time to fully comprehend the hopelessness of his situation. I do believe the boy may be come ill. He's pale, and trembling, but he gulps, closes his eyes, and begins a slow, sensuous striptease. With his eyes shut, he's in his own world, and his inhibitions drop as fast as his clothes. He caresses each item of clothing off of his body, fondling and stroking himself, wriggling his ass, stretching and arching like a cat to show that magnificent physique to its best advantage. He's making the most exquisitely erotic whimpering noises that I've ever heard, and I have to wonder where he got those from, because he's never made them before. By the time he's finished, he's got a half smile on his face, his nipples have pebbled up, he's leaking, and he's playing with himself. He always was an exhibitionist at heart. "Well done, boy," you say clapping loudly, and startling him. "You've convinced me that your agents should live…however, you have been a most disobedient, willful boy, and you must be punished. Hands over your head." You chain his wrists together, just high enough that he has to stand on his toes, take off his glasses, and walk behind him. He looks so vulnerable without his glasses, truly naked, in a way that merely removing his clothing doesn't achieve. He can't see anyone, much less you, to gauge what your next move will be by our reactions. He gasps when you insinuate the riding crop between his legs, stroke his thigh, nudge his balls, and slide it back between the cheeks of his ass. After toying with him like this for some minutes, I'm appalled to see you draw back your arm as far as you possibly can, and strap his butt hard, raising a red, angry welt on that lovely ass of his. It's a good thing he can't see you, Phil. The look of demonic joy in your eyes and the bulge in your trousers you get as you beat his ass with the riding crop scares even me. He gives a small cry upon receiving the first blow, mostly from surprise, and takes the rest clenching his jaws, and grunting. After fifteen stripes, you finally stop, and release him from his chains. He collapses on the floor onto his knees, panting and rubbing his wrists. You stoop down, and raise his chin with the tip of your riding crop, "That was a mere foretaste of what you'll get if you ever displease me again, boy. Now show me that you've learned your lesson, and that you want me as your mentor." You unzip your fly, and pull out your cock. "Suck me." He hesitantly opens his mouth, but you grab his head, and ram your dick half way down his throat, and start fucking his face. "An old lady would give better head than you do, boy," you snarl, as he chokes. I can't watch you mishandle him any more. I kneel beside him, and return your glare. "You have to use his training. He's used to following explicit orders." "My god, what could be more explicit than suck me?" you huff. I turn my attention to the poor wretched lad, who is steadfastly refusing to look anyone in the eye as he valiantly struggles against his gag reflex. I rub his back in small circles, talking to him calmly and encouragingly. "You can do this, Walter. You have to. You need all the friends you can get in the Consortium. Just relax your throat muscles, boy. That's it. Take it all. Good boy, just relax…" I'm surprised when he blindly reaches out for my other hand, and holds on for dear life, a gesture that touches me in a way that I haven't felt for years. Tenderly, I continue to rub his back, and spout encouraging nonsense to him. The commands work their magic, and soon he's sucking you like a pro, taking every vicious thrust of your cock with a wanton sluttishness that has you roaring to orgasm within a couple of minutes. Ah yes, thank you for admitting that you've never had better. I told you that if you ever once experienced him as a sub, you'd never seen him in the same light again. "Well! That was very well done, indeed," you say as you zip up. "Do try to behave yourself until next time, tosspot!" you give him an affectionate pat on the cheek, and then you are gone. Walter sinks down on his knees and forearms, resting his head on his hands, his red, welt-covered ass in the air. "What the hell is a tosspot?" he mutters sleepily and yawns. I caress his face, and laugh. "It's a self-important little scamp who needs to be spanked on a regular basis to keep him in line, but is never the less a very lov---likeable fellow." I give him a light swat on his abused butt to cover up my near slip, but Walter exaggeratedly mouths "ow" and grins to let me know that he caught it anyway. "If *that's* true, then I *still* don't understand why it is so important that this human be allowed to live," the bounty hunter says, looming over us and startling us. Both the boy and I had forgotten that the alien was still in the room. For such a hulking brute, he certainly can move quietly. "First, you get sentimental about the old woman, and now this, this…creature," he continues gesturing disdainfully towards Walter. "I'm not leaving until I find out what's affected your judgement," the alien says as he pulls me up, and places his hand over the implant. At his touch, I feel myself helplessly surrender all my thoughts to him. Well, it's been good to know you Phil, if I never see you again. I wait to die, hoping that I'll at least have time to smoke one before I go, but to my surprise, he seems pleased with what he's found in my memories. A discharge of energy from him courses through my body, and instantly, I feel thirty years younger at least. "Why?" I say as I light a cigarette just in case he changes his mind. He shrugs his shoulders. "I still don't understand your motives any better than I ever did, but I found out you were the one who saved me from the renegade bounty hunter faction. Restoring your strength to you is my way of saying thank you," he says. "You're as strong and healthy as you were when you were thirty. I think you'll approve of what I'm going to do to your pet human too." Oh, stop whining, Phil. You've had your fun, and besides, if he had looked into *your* mind, you'd be dying a slow and horrible death by now. The alien lays his hands on Walter. The light emanating from the bounty hunter's hands is blinding white, and I see the wounds from the beating you gave the boy heal before my eyes. Surprised, the boy raises up, touches his ass, and both of his eyebrows shoot up as he realizes that the welts are gone. He turns around, and cautiously sits down. "What did you do to me?" he says, looking more puzzled and curious than afraid. The bounty hunter ignores him, and addresses me. "You'll find him a much improved experience." I stop smoking, and my eyes narrow suspiciously, "What do you mean?" He smiles at me ever so slightly, "With your newly regained strength, you'll easily control him. No drugs will be necessary, which will further enhance his responsiveness. Drugs won't be necessary for you either. You will never need the Viagra prescription that you were considering. Surely *that* qualifies for a much improved experience, doesn't it?" "Yes, yes, yes," I gesture impatiently, making intricate smoke swirls with my cigarette, "what about what you did to him? You did more than just heal his wounds, didn't you?" "I'll let you enjoy discovering the pleasures of the new and improved Walter Skinner for yourself," he smirks. "You will be pleased to know that he's a slave without equal now." At the word slave, Walter lunges with a lunatic ferocity at the bounty hunter, pummeling him with punches that would have hospitalized the average man, but only make the alien raise an inquiring eyebrow. "New and improved my ass!" the boy growls. "Change me back, you goddamn gorilla! I'm not a fucking box of detergent, and I won't be anyone's slave!" I make a frantic lunge, grab the boy, and place him in a headlock. "SHUT UP!" I say desperately, hoping to forestall the alien's rage. I tighten my arm around his neck a couple of times hard enough to hurt like hell. In spite of this, Walter is still wriggling, however ineffectually, to escape my grip, and cursing the bounty hunter with names so filthy and inventive that they make motherfucker sound like something a sweet old lady would say. I despair of ever teaching him any manners, much less curing him of his apparent death wish. The bounty hunter is one being that he doesn't want to antagonize, whether he realizes it or not. I tighten my grip around the boy's neck again until he's choking, and stops struggling. Pleadingly, I look at our extraterrestrial friend, hoping that he will at least make the lad's death a quick and merciful one. I'm relieved to find that the alien is merely amused at the boy's impudence. "Perhaps you'd prefer to discover the pleasures of your new and improved strength first," he says with a chuckle. He takes a paddle off the wall, and throws it on the bed as he leaves the room. "Yes, I think I'd like that," I say, and I know that I'm grinning idiotically, because I'm hysterical with relief. Protecting Walter Skinner from himself is turning into a full time job, and a goddamn dangerous one at that. Oh, I like the way you think, Phil! It *is* high time that I enjoyed the fringe benefits of the job! I drag him over to the bed with me, and I throw him across my lap. He's fighting me with all of his strength, but I find to my delight that I can easily pin him down with one arm. "Let me go, you son of a bitch!" he keeps saying. I swat his ass HARD. "You'll get five more for every time that you called me that. So far, you're up to 20. Your etiquette lesson is going to be excruciatingly painful, if you don't stop." "WHO ARE YOU, FUCKING EMILY POST? THIS ISN'T FAIR! I JUST GOT OVER THE LAST BEATING," he yells, outraged. "Yes, and as soon as your ass recovered from it, you couldn't WAIT to get in more trouble," I say, emphasizing the point with four swats that make him yelp in a most gratifying way. "I'm beginning to think that it's unwise to leave it with the capability of sitting down." "THAT HURTS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER," he screams. "Yes, I know," I say as I swat him even harder making him yelp even louder. "I want you to remember this, you little idiot! You damn near got us both killed, and I want to be sure that it doesn't happen again!" "FUCK YOU! YOU LET HIM TURN ME INTO SOME KIND OF A FREAK!" he screams. I'm ashamed to say, Phil, that I've just lost control of my temper. I rain down blows so hard and fast on his backside that he doesn't have time to catch his breath, losing count after about 30. I had forgotten what a joy it was to hear the smack of the paddle against his flesh, to see his beautiful, firm ass turn such a lovely shade of red, to feel him writhing in my lap, making my cock rock hard. I could come from this alone, but I stop. I want to indulge in my other job benefits. Besides, I don't think he could take much more. He's trying to bury his face in the covers to muffle his sobs as it is. I won't allow him to hide. I pick him up easily in my arms, and rock him, and brush the top of his head with gentle kisses while he sniffles shamefacedly against my chest. "Well, now, boy," I say smugly, "Have I changed your assessment of me? Do I have what it takes to top you *now*?" He looks up at me and nods his head vigorously, biting his lip, blinking back the tears. Progress at last! I can't help but smile broadly. New and improved indeed! "And have you learned your lesson?" I ask, "Do you think that you can behave yourself from now on?" He looks down, as if considering a matter of great importance, furrowing his brow. I kiss him on the cheek, and say, "Well?" He looks up at me through his tears, the most wicked, mischievous grin I've ever seen in my life lighting up his face, and he shakes his head enthusiastically. "No," he says, his voice quavering with repressed laughter, "you'd lose all interest in me if I didn't give you an excuse to spank me regularly." We both start laughing, and I lay him down on the bed, and sorry, Phil, I'm not going to fuck him, I'm going to make love to him. Get over it. ********* 10:30 P.M Washington DC Hoover Building FBI Headquarters Office of Assistant Director Walter Sergei Skinner Commendation to Personnel File of Special Agent Fox William Mulder Re: Section Chief Blevins Agent Mulder has distinguished himself in his handling of what could have been a disaster for the Bureau. His persistence, courage, clear thinking in the face of overwhelming odds has resulted in the exposure of a highly placed traitor within the FBI, Section Chief Blevins. The complete details of these actions, and the events that led to them, are covered in the attached report. In brief, they are as follows. Up until the moment of his death, Section Chief Blevins, Agents Mulder and Scully's immediate superior, had been abusing the authority of his office to deliberately and maliciously mislead and misinform them in regard to their work, and had been doing so since the inception of their partnership. To carry out this campaign of disinformation, Blevins had filed false reports to his superiors, tampered with evidence, ordered the execution of witnesses, and committed numerous other felonies. Despite such extreme attempts to undermine his work, Agent Mulder prevailed. Thanks to the swiftness with which Mulder acted to expose his superior's treachery, which he alone had deduced, we will be able to backtrack and salvage several crucial pending cases that Blevins sabotaged. It is, therefore, with great pleasure that I place this commendation for outstanding performance in Agent Mulder's permanent record. @@@@@@@@@@@ I've spent the last hour last hour personally composing and typing Mulder's commendation on Kim's PC. I've saved it to disk, e-mailed copies to all the pertinent parties, and placed hardcopies in the mail, and left a filing copy for her. I'll make some lucky woman a great secretary some day, is what she's going to tell me, and then the kidding will start in earnest about how I'm after her job. What the hell. He's worth it. I owe Mulder everything. If he hadn't figured out that Blevins had framed me, I wouldn't just be out of a job, I'd be dead by now. I feel so damned guilty about that. Yeah, I know. Mulder's already given me the "Stop Being Such a Macho Man Everybody Needs Help Now And Then" lecture, but he's taking on so much, even more than he realizes, so it's hard for me to give up the idea that I should be the protector, not him. I don't see the point of having a pressure cooker of a job like Assistant Director of the FBI if I can't use my power to protect my friends and loved ones. Another part of me is just glad that somebody believed in me, and figured it all out because I sure as hell couldn't. I didn't have a clue. Yet Mulder figured it all out in five seconds. He's amazing, and I feel damned lucky that he's mine. I'll happily spend the rest of my life showing how grateful I am….but for some reason, I just can't do any more tonight. I feel so goddamn tired. I can't believe I'm this fucking tired after that hellacious cup of coffee that I had with Agent Harris. Asshole makes his coffee so strong and bitter, that I was afraid that it would leave the cup and beat the shit out of me. Is it really only 10:30? I must be getting old if I'm flaking out this early. Jesus, I hope I have a few No Doz left in my desk drawer, or, I'll be sleeping here on the floor tonight. I'd never hear the end of that if Kim caught me curled up under my desk sleeping in my gym clothes. She'd probably buy me a basket, a food dish, and a collar and call me Fluffy, or some damned thing like that. Damn! I almost fell on my face. I sure as shit hope that I'm not under surveillance, because I'm stumbling around like a drunk! JESUS! What's wrong with me…and what's that smell? Oh Christ Almighty: Morley smoke. It can't be. You're supposed to be dead! GOD! Please be a hallucination. I've just spent the last three years proving that I could make it on my own. This was supposed to be the part of my life when I got to enjoy my position, and could use it to further Mulder's work without worrying that you would show up, and put me in my place, you evil son of a bitch! Bastard. I hate the cold, unfeeling way you look at me. You never did give a damn about me, didn't care that I loved you. I was just a puppet to you. You thought I'd sit at this desk and look pretty, waiting breathlessly for you to tell me what to think, and pull my strings. I bet you thought you could fuck me on my coffee breaks. Surprise! I took the job seriously! Surprise! I can think for myself! Surprise! Someone DOES care about me even if you don't, you miserable, cold hearted, old motherfucker, and he's brilliant and gorgeous too! You think I'm going to fall apart because you're staring at me? Fat chance. I'm not the scared, shot up, 18-year-old boy who was so pathetically grateful that you rescued him from the body bag that he let you do anything you wanted with him, and shook whenever you gave him a dirty look. I'm going to ignore your ugly carcass until you get the idea I no longer give a shit. Watch me, you old geezer, and see how little I care. I have files to read, and I'm going to sit at my desk, and read them until hell freezes over or until you die of boredom. SHIT! I didn't expect you to slam the file shut! I hate this! I jumped up just like you knew that I would. You and I haven't been together five minutes, and already you're making me react just the way you want me to. This can't be happening! I was doing so well without you. I don't need you any more. Go away! I don't want to see you any more. Jesus, I have to be drugged, old man. You just grabbed my chin and jerked me back to face you, and I was too weak to stop you. Okay, so what? So you can make me look at you, but you're going to know how I much I hate you when you do! You fucker! Don't you DARE fucking mouth Awwww at me like I'm a goddamn puppy! "Good evening, Walter," you say as you gleefully blow smoke in my face. I cough, waving it away while glaring pointedly at my "No Smoking" sign and back at you, but that just makes you laugh. It's one of your many ways of saying that you're more important than I am, no matter what title I may have hanging on my door. "Thanks to me, you've gotten what you've bargained for. Dr. Scully has recovered, and Fox Mulder's integrity has been preserved in its customary pristine condition. It's time to discuss the terms of the deal we made. The bill for my services has become due." "What do you want?" I growl, with as much contempt as I can pack into every word. "Information? Thanks to *you*, I no longer have the access I once had, so you see, I can't be your messenger boy, **sir**." "You'll be any kind of boy I want you to be, punk," you laugh. Without warning, you backhand me hard across the mouth, and I taste blood trickling from my stinging lips, and it's then I notice your erection. Oh god, I thought you would have lost interest in me in that way by now. I'm middle- aged and bald for Christ sakes! You CAN'T want me for your fucktoy again! No! I'm beyond that now! It's time to set you straight. I will NOT be that for you any more. I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of seeing how scared I am now. I look you straight in the eyes. "That was a long time ago," I tell you, "I've repressed it." Shit! The way I said that it sounded like more like a come-on than an insult! Thank God, you didn't pick up on it though. You're seriously pissed. Good! Anything that wipes that self-satisfied look off your arrogant face, and gets you out of my life, is okay with me, old man. No such luck. The smirk is back on your face in five seconds flat, if that long. "Repressed it? Really? Have you now?" you say contemptuously. "We'll see about that." To my surprise, you reach down and roughly grab my cock, and yank it, "Grow hard for me, boy!" you command. I can *NOT* believe this! I'm as hard as a rock! I am one sorry, sick, messed up son of a bitch! I wish I had died before you saw how much control you still have over my body. You know just how much you have too, damn you. It gives your wrinkled up ass a charge to know that I still have to obey you even if I'm dying inside. You pat my cock on the head like a dog and sarcastically say, "Good boy. I'm relieved to see that you haven't forgotten all of your obedience training. But if you have, I assure you that I can spend the rest of my life jogging your memory," and to stress the point, you chuckle sinisterly, jerking me up by my tie just enough to make choke, and continue. "I have some very effective and entertaining ways to improve it." You release your hold without warning, and I fall back on my chair with an undignified thump. The leer on your face makes me want to puke! I hate your guts! Nothing would make me happier than killing you! "FUCK. YOU," I yell biting out the words with as much venom as I can muster. "You're an old man now, and you don't have what it takes to top me any more. Get out of my office before I throw you out." I clumsily lurch out of my chair, prepared to smash my fists into your ugly face, but I feel as though my whole body is slogging through wet sand, dragging me down. The door opens, and- oh thank GOD-Mulder to the rescue again! "MULDER!" I yell, "I'VE BEEN DRUGGED! THROW THIS SON of a bitch…." Oh crap. Mulder morphed into an alien bounty hunter. The fucker is roughly the size of Texas. I've got to act quickly, or I'm fucked literally and figuratively. I shakily pull my gun out of my desk drawer, but the bounty hunter grabs me, and squeezes my wrist until I yelp and drop it. He throws me over his shoulder, but I'm kicking and screaming as obnoxiously as my four-year-old nephew ever did. I'm not giving up without a fight. It's useless though. I've got adrenaline screeching through my veins at the speed of light, and it's still not enough to overcome the effects of the drugs and his superior strength. Ah hell. Not only is your pet gorilla twenty times stronger than I am, no one will ever hear me. He's taking me through your private exit to the parking garage. You could kill me there, and no one would ever know. I still refuse to give up. There's got to be a way to escape. There's just got to be. @@@@@@@@@ I'm blindfolded and handcuffed, stumbling through corridors booby- trapped with furniture placed here for the sole purpose of tripping me, and god only knows where this place is. I don't care if I get bruises on every part of my body though, I *still* I refuse to let you make me dependent on you here, and don't think that I don't know that's *exactly* what you're trying to do, you old bastard. Besides, I want to get used to where everything is, and. I can't do that if I let you lead me. Never know when you might fuck up, and I'll get my chance to escape. I can't believe you're letting me touch the walls! I'd be able to escape blindfolded now, with any luck! Ah, we've stopped. Must be our hotel room. I'm going to see how strong the door is…with any luck, it will be just a step above balsa wood like most of them are. I'm leaning against the door, and fumbling around pretending to turn the knob, when it opens so fast that I fall flat on my face into the room. I can hear you both laughing, and if I ever get my gun back, you're both going to get one bullet for each chuckle. Right now, though, I'll just bide my time. Evidently you've had enough laughs over this, because the alien pulls me to my feet, and yanks off my blindfold... HOLY SHIT! Where the FUCK am I? That's the biggest goddamn brass bed I've ever seen! It's twice the size of a king-sized bed…oh shit! Looks like I'll be entertaining parties of four or more! I've never seen one customized with its own restraints…and are some of those wired? Crap that's gotta hurt! Speaking of hurt, Jesus H. Christ on a Crutch….look at all that shit! Whips, chains, knives, FUCKING BRANDING IRONS?!?!? Who was your decorator, you old pervert? Marquis de Sade? When the HELL did you get to be so kinky? Used to be a nice hotel suite, your belt, and my ass were all you needed to get off. So what are you going to do? Have your fun, then torture me until I beg you to kill me? You'd love that wouldn't you? You wouldn't even call it murder, because you had my "permission"! Well, I'm not begging. Forget it. We both know that you have me scared shitless, but I'm not going to beg for my life. If you murder me, I want what's left of your moth eaten conscience to twist and stab at your guts a little harder every day of what's left of your miserable, rotten life. I clench my jaw, and try to stop shaking but I can't. It's not just fear that makes me shake. It's rage. It's hate. You unlock my cuffs, and smile at me with that goddamn omnipresent cigarette hanging from your lips. "I'm sure you've discovered that you're no match for our burly friend over here," you say, "so I trust that you'll not try anything foolish. I'd hate to see you too…indisposed… to fulfill your part of our bargain." The bounty hunter snorts, and ambles over to the chair beside the bed, and sits down. I rub my wrists, and I decide to play the hard-nosed Assistant Director that you taught me to be. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?" I say in my most businesslike, hard, clipped tones. SHIT! Whatever the hell that was, it STUNG like a mofo! It couldn't have been you, though, or the bounty hunter; you're both right in front of me. I'm spun around, and find myself staring into the face of your English friend. This guy could give Mulder a run for his money for the title of "Most Likely to Have Stepped Out Of the Pages of GQ Magazine. "That attitude will never do," Sir GQ Magazine says with a look that makes yours seem humble. "You'll find that I have much less patience with insolent boys than our smoking friend here, young man." For some reason, this starts a non-verbal pissing contest between the two of you, which the bounty hunter finds as entertaining as hell. I don't. I'll take Jimi Hendrix over you old farts any day, so I decide to make a run for it. I sneak to the door and open it, but the damn hinges WOULD need oiling! The creak might as well be a thunderclap. The sound catches the attention of the alien, and he's across the room in two strides, slams the door shut, and throws me up against the wall before I can take a step. I slide down the wall with an undignified thump, and the bounty hunter just returns to his chair and watches me disdainfully. I'm still shaking my head, trying to recover, when the Englishman slaps my face so hard I know that he's left his handprint on my cheek. I've never seen a more chilling face looming over me. You look warm and cuddly next to this character. His hard eyes glitter as they appraise me. "I think that this incident proves that you're overdressed, boy. On your feet, and strip. NOW!" I stagger to my feet, warily never taking my eyes off him. He has to be my punishment for leaving you. You hate to lose, and by letting this sadist knock me around, you're trying to show me just how much. He's here because you want to show me that there are far worse fates than being your fucktoy. I start taking off my clothes, but I'm not humiliated enough to suit him because he growls at me, "Remember your training boy. You'd best please me, or it won't go well for you….or for your young friend." What? Is he threatening Mulder? Scully? What did you tell him about my training? Are you giving me away? I try to ask these questions but they dry up before I can get them out of my mouth. Sir GQ knows though what I mean. He laughs at me and chucks me under the chin like a child, "Oh come now, surely you must have guessed that we know all about you and Mr. Mulder?" "You aren't allowed do anything to harm him," I say contemptuously. "It would have happened by now." That isn't just a bluff. I mean it. Mulder can be brilliant, but he's also committed enough reckless acts that he should have been killed 20 times over. The only conceivable reason that he could still be alive must be that you people are afraid to kill him. "Oh my yes, we certainly are. Nothing so direct as killing him of course," he says slyly looking significantly in your direction, making me realize that you've been protecting Mulder too, "but I wonder how the dear boy would react to finding Agent Scully's corpse in the parking garage? Of course that doesn't have to happen, if you behave sensibly…" He steps back, smiling like a shark who's just ripped out a big hunk of flesh, and is merely waiting for his victim to quit thrashing around and die before devouring him whole. Oh God. He isn't bluffing. The Consortium gave Scully her cancer just to prove a point to Mulder, and they'd kill her to make another one; I have no reason to doubt that. I can feel the blood draining from my face, and I'm sick to my stomach, but I'm can't let Scully die. I've got to suck it up, and do whatever this evil bastard says, as repulsive as it is. I gulp and close my eyes, and I try to think of Mulder doing a slow, sensuous striptease to get me in the mood for this. For some reason, my fantasy keeps changing into me doing a slow, sensuous striptease for him. I decide to quit fighting it, and the picture becomes clearer. It's as though he were sitting right in front me, watching me. God, he's so beautiful. He's laughing, and he's excited by my performance. Every time I strut by, Mulder grabs my ass, and tells me how much I turn him on, and that he can't wait to fuck me. GOD, now where did that come from? I've always fucked him because letting him do me would have felt too much like being with you. I wish I had tried to seduce him now. I've never felt so turned on by the thought of anything in my life. Every muscle in my body cooperates to erotically tease and taunt Mulder until he has to have me. Mulder's enjoying himself too, if those whimpering noises he's making are any indication…oh shit, wait! *I'm* the one making those noises! Damn! "Well done, boy," the Brit says clapping loudly, and startling me. "You've convinced me that your agent should live…however, you have been a most disobedient, willful boy, and you must be punished. Hands over your head." He chains my wrists together, just high enough that I have to stand on my toes, and takes off, my glasses, effectively blinding me, and walks behind me. I know what he's trying to do. He's trying to ratchet up the tension several notches. He wants me in turmoil, blind and helpless and afraid, wondering when the first blow is going to fall, so when it does that it hurts that much more. Yeah, I know EXACTLY what he's trying to do. It's still working too, damn it. CHRIST! What the hell is THAT he keeps trying to stick up my ass? SHIT! I have to find a way to deal with this, or I'll lose it before he even starts to torture me. I take a deep breath, and close my eyes, and soon it's Mulder who's playing with me, and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning. That's not so bad. Not so bad at all… It's too good to last though. After toying with me like this for some minutes, until I'm so tense that I jump whenever someone takes a breath, he stripes my ass hard with a resounding smack, and I scream because it scares the shit out of me. I take the rest of the beating in silence, because I have no intention of giving this bastard a good laugh at my expense by crying out, even though his riding crop feels far worse than your belt ever did. You went for quantity; he goes for quality. After fifteen stripes, he finally stops, and releases me from my chains. I collapse on the floor onto my knees, panting and rubbing my wrists, hoping that you're all happy, and that you'll both just caution me to be a good boy from now on, and let me go home. Call me an optimist. He stoops down, and raises my chin with the tip of his riding crop, "That was a mere foretaste of what you'll get if you ever displease me again, boy. Now show me that you've learned your lesson, and that you want me as your mentor." He unzips his fly, and pulls out his cock, and coldly orders, "Suck me." Sucking a poodle dick would be about as appealing, but I think of Mulder and Scully, and I hesitantly open my mouth. My hesitancy pisses him off. He grabs my head, and rams his dick half way down my throat, and starts fucking my face. "An old lady would give better head than you do, boy," he snarls, as I choke. I feel myself start to panic. I can't keep up! I can't do this! I can't fucking breath! Stop! Please, stop! I hear you kneel beside me, and growl at him. "You have to use his training. He's used to following explicit orders." "My god, what could be more explicit than suck me?" he says sarcastically. I can't look you in the eye. I'm so ashamed. I'm gagging, and the sane part of me knows that by bringing me here that you're as responsible for this as he is, yet I feel absurdly grateful for your intervention. Maybe my gratitude is just another symptom of Stockholm syndrome, or maybe it's just my old training kicking in. Right now, I feel so relieved and happy that you're going to see me through this nightmare that I don't want to fight you. I just hope that you can't see what I feel. You don't need to know just how fucked up I truly am. You rub my back in small circles, talking to me calmly and encouragingly, and it's just what I need. "You can do this, Walter. You have to. You need all the friends you can get in the Consortium," you croon to me. "Just relax your throat muscles, boy. That's it. Take it all. Good boy, just relax…" Your voice wraps around me like a blanket, warm and comforting, and I snuggle into it. I reach out blindly for your other hand, and hold on for dear life, because it would kill me if you left me now, I know it. Tenderly, you continue to rub my back, and spout encouraging nonsense to me. I've never been so glad in my life that my body responds without question to your commands. You have me performing like a $1,000 call girl, and none too soon he's roaring to orgasm. "Well! That was very well done, indeed," Sir GQ says as he zips up. "Do try to behave yourself until next time, tosspot!" He gives me an irritating pat on the cheek, and he's gone. I sink down on my knees and forearms, resting my head on my hands, my red, welt-covered ass in the air. "What the hell is a tosspot?" I mutter sleepily and yawn. You caress my face, and laugh. "It's a self-important little scamp who needs to be spanked on a regular basis to keep him in line, but is never the less a very lov---likeable fellow." You give me a light swat on my abused butt to cover up your slip, but I exaggeratedly mouth "ow" and grin to let you know that I caught it anyway. You do care after all, in your own twisted way. "If *that's* true, then I *still* don't understand why it is so important that this human be allowed to live," the bounty hunter says, towering over us and startling us. Both you and I had forgotten that he was still in the room. King Kong can sure move quietly when he wants to. "First, you get sentimental about the old woman, and now this, this…creature," he continues gesturing disdainfully towards me. "Hey, we don't like you either, Silly Putty Boy" I mumble, but neither of you pay attention to me. "I'm not leaving until I find out what's affected your judgement," the alien says as he pulls you up, and places his hand over your neck. You are one cool old bastard. You're as white as a sheet, but that's the only sign you give that you're as scared as I am. The alien smiles broadly, and energy discharges from his hands. I'm tense, and ready to catch you should you fall, but you don't look like you're dying. In fact, you haven't looked so healthy in years! Hell you look genuinely happy! I realize with a start that I haven't seen that look on your face in three years. Still, your paranoia triumphs over your happiness. "Why?" you say to the alien as you light up yet another goddamn cigarette. He shrugs his shoulders. "I still don't understand your motives any better than I ever did, but I found out you were the one who saved me from the renegade bounty hunter faction. Restoring your strength to you is my way of saying thank you," he says. "You're as strong and healthy as you were when you were thirty. I think you'll approve of what I'm going to do to your pet human too." I make a face at him, but the alien ignores me and lays his hands on me. The light emanating from the bounty hunter's hands is blinding white, and the pain I've been feeling since the beating vanishes. Surprised, I rise up, touch my ass, and discover that the welts really *are* gone. I turn around, and cautiously sit down. "What did you do to me?" I say to him. I'm not scared. I just can't believe what's happened. Mulder had told me that they had the ability to heal, but I never really believed him. I should know better by now. The bounty hunter ignores me, and addresses you. "You'll find him a much improved experience." You stop smoking, and it does my heart good to see your eyes narrow suspiciously on my behalf, "What do you mean?" He smiles at me ever so slightly, "With your newly regained strength, you'll easily control him. No drugs will be necessary, which will further enhance his responsiveness. Drugs won't be necessary for you either. You will never need the Viagra prescription that you were considering. Surely *that* qualifies for a much improved experience, doesn't it?" "Yes, yes, yes," You gesture impatiently, making intricate smoke swirls with your cigarette, "what about what you did to him? You did more than just heal his wounds, didn't you?" "I'll let you enjoy discovering the pleasures of the new and improved Walter Skinner for yourself," he smirks. "You will be pleased to know that he's a slave without equal now." BULLSHIT! I'm sick of these twisted mind games! I leap on the bounty hunter, and do my damndest to kill him with my bare hands. The big lummox just stares stupidly at me,and that just pisses me off even more. "New and improved my ass!" I snarl. "Change me back, you goddamn gorilla! I'm not a fucking box of detergent, and I won't be anyone's slave!" You make a frantic lunge, grab me, and place me in a headlock. "SHUT UP!" you scream, squeezing me so hard it hurts. I know that I should stop, that you're afraid, and that anything that could scare you would scare the devil himself, but I can't stop myself. I've worked too hard to be independent to slide all the way back down to slaveboy. It's one thing to play at it to save my agents, it's another thing to be helpless to act in any other way. You keep holding me, and I keep wriggling to escape your grip, and cursing the bounty hunter with every filthy name that I ever learned in the Marines, some of them in Vietnamese. Finally you tighten your grip around my neck again until I'm choking, and I have to stop struggling. King Kong is staring at you, and obviously you must be pleading with him silently to save my life. It works. "Perhaps you'd prefer to discover the pleasures of your new and improved strength first," he says with a chuckle. To my utter amazement, he takes a paddle off the wall, and throws it on the bed as he leaves the room. "Yes, I think I'd like that," you say, hysterical with relief. I smile weakly at you when you turn me around to face you, but the fury in your eyes lets me know that there's no way I'm going to charm my way out of this one. Oh shit. By the time you're finished with me, there won't be enough of my butt left to fill an evidence baggie. I know you aren't going to stop until you take me down as far as I can go, and to say that I'm terrified at that prospect would be an understatement. You drag me over to the bed with you, and throw me across your lap. I'm fighting you with all of my strength, but you easily pin me down with one arm. We might as well have gone back in time 27 years. "Let me go, you son of a bitch!" I keep saying, thinking what the hell, I'm not going to get extra points for politeness anyway. You swat my ass HARD "You'll get five more for every time that you called me that," you warn me. "So far, you're up to 20. Your etiquette lesson is going to be excruciatingly painful, if you don't stop." Well, that's what I get for thinking, but I'm too wound up to stop. "FUCK YOU, EMILY POST! THIS ISN'T FAIR! I JUST GOT OVER THE LAST BEATING," I yell, outraged. "Yes, and as soon as your ass recovered from it, you couldn't WAIT to get in more trouble," you say, emphasizing the point with four swats that make me yelp. "I'm beginning to think that it's unwise to leave it with the capability of sitting down." "THAT HURTS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER," I scream, and this time my voice is a little shakier than I'd like it to sound in front of you. "Yes, I know," you say as you swat me even harder making me yelp even louder. "I want you to remember this, you little idiot! You damn near got us both killed, and I want to be sure that it doesn't happen again!" "FUCK YOU! YOU LET HIM TURN ME INTO SOME KIND OF A FREAK!" I scream, thinking surely now you'd have to see why I lost it with the alien, and you'll stop. It kills me to think of being humbled by you. It has the opposite effect. You totally lose control of your temper, and bust my ass but good. I don't have time to catch my breath, much less count all the swats. I can feel your cock get harder each time the paddle connects with my fiery- hot butt, and I writhe around on your lap, hoping that you'll get other ideas…but you don't stop and I just have to keep taking the pounding. Now I'm the one losing control. I feel the stress and strain of the week rising to the surface. Everything I've been holding in so long just uncoils: my fears for my agents' lives and for my own, for my job, for my relationship with Mulder, and my long repressed desire to let someone just take over and make all the decisions. I visualize the disgust on Mulder's face should he ever discover us, and that's all it takes to push me over the edge. I begin to wail uninhibitedly like a lost child, tears rolling down my face. Maybe that's the moment you've been waiting for, because you stop. I'm trying to bury my face in the covers to muffle my sobs now that the smack of the paddle doesn't drown them out, but you won't let me hide. You pick me up easily in your arms, and rock me, and brush the top of my head with gentle kisses while I sniffle shamefacedly against your chest. "Well, now, boy," you say smugly, "Have I changed your assessment of me? Do I have what it takes to top you *now*?" I look up at you and nod my head vigorously, biting my lip, blinking back the tears. I'll agree to anything, if you'll keep holding me like this, and no it isn't just because I don't want you to spank me any more, even though I sure as hell DON'T. I'm enjoying the sensation of being cradled in two strong, loving arms. You smile broadly. "And have you learned your lesson?" you ask, "Do you think that you can behave yourself from now on?" Christ. You just can't leave it alone, can you? I look down, and I struggle between wanting to tell you to fuck yourself, and sucking up to you to preserve what little butt I have left. You kiss me on the cheek, and say, "Well?" You look at me with such affection that I decide to take the middle path. I look up at you through my tears, and grin shaking my head enthusiastically. "No," I say, doing my damnedest not to laugh, "you'd lose all interest in me if I didn't give you an excuse to spank me regularly." We both start laughing, and you lay me down on the bed, and make love to me….and the years roll away, and I'm 19 again, and it's our first night back in the states. I've never been in a hotel like this one before. It's huge, and it must cost a couple hundred a night, because it looks like a Victorian palace. It's decorated in burnished oak, and cut and stained glass, brass doorknobs and railings, iridescent glass pieces and antiques, and Persian rugs. I'm carrying our bags, and knocking into everyone, because I'm gawking like the small town boy I am. "Watch it boy!" you yell at me exasperated. Startled, I look up at you, and you laugh, and push my hair out of my eyes. "If you got it cut once in a while, maybe you could see where you were going." "It's just so beautiful here, sir," I say, still staring all around me, "you must be rich to be able to afford this place." "No, but my position gives me a certain ….access," you say looking very pleased with yourself. "I thought it was appropriate for our first time." You open the door to our suite, and it's unbelievable. The bed is made of made of oak, and carved with dragons, and griffins. It's covered with a finely embroidered red and blue tapestry bedspread that must have cost the eyesight of half of the women in France. The light through the cut and stained glass windows of writhing art nouveau vines cast rainbows and colored shadows on the wall. It's like something out of a Grimm's fairy tale palace. Everything in the room shouts MONEY! Except me of course. I don't even whisper it. I feel so out of place. I'm afraid that you'll see all too clearly I'm not in your social class, and this will be the last time I ever see you, and I don't know now how I'd survive without you. You've saved my life so many times that I've lost count. I'm miserable at the thought of being without you, but I don't want you to see what I feel. I look away, hoping to get control of myself. You catch me anyway. You always do. You lift my chin, and turn me to face you, "What's wrong, boy? Are you frightened that I'll hurt you, hmmm?" you say fondly. You enjoy playing the big man to my little boy so much that I decide to let you think that's the problem, and nod my head. Maybe if you are focused on allaying my fears, you'll forget to notice how I fit in here about as well as a pair of hiking boots at a black tie affair. I don't fool you for a minute. As soon as the door is closed, you pick me up, and carry me to the bed. You slowly undress me, kissing each part of my body as you uncover it. "You're a beautiful boy, Walter," you say over and over. "I love your body. So slender, and you're just starting to get your muscles back. It really is enchanting, and it's such a lovely color, like honey." You stroke my cheek, and smile. "Such a pretty face. I love your large expressive dark eyes and that dazzling smile of yours." I can feel myself blushing. I've taken crap for that all my life. It was the reason I joined the Marines, to prove I wasn't just a pretty boy. Even getting a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart didn't change that. My only hope is that I'll be more impressive when I get older. You smile broadly, and say, "Oh, come now, boy. Don't be embarrassed! That's nothing to be ashamed of. I like your pretty face, and yes, I confess it, I even like that overly long mop of hair of yours," and you ruffle it fondly as you say it. "Ever since the first time that I laid eyes on you, I've wanted to get you in the proper setting to show off your beauty, Walter. This place barely does you justice." I look up at you, and I'm touched and grateful to you beyond words. That was exactly what I needed to hear. I try to say something anyway, but you put a finger to my mouth to shush me, and you caress my lips with it, until they part for you. You lean down, and you kiss me, and it's long, and lingering, and gentle, and I'm hard instantly. I moan into your mouth, and start pulling at your clothes. You slap my hands, and chuckle. "Who's in charge here, boy?" "You are, sir, always," I moan, and I catch you off guard, and pull you on top of me. "Now fuck me." You look surprised at first, but you recover quickly. "Am I now?" you say, pulling yourself up on your elbows, your lips are twitching with suppressed laughter, "Any other orders you'd like to give me while I'm in charge?" "No, sir. Fuck me just about covers it," I grin at you. You shake your head in mock despair, and reach over to the nightstand, but I put a hand on your shoulder, and say, "No need for lube. I took care of that in the men's room." "How very efficient and considerate of you," you say your eyes twinkling with amusement, and this time when you claim my mouth, it's rough, and needy, and brutal with lust. You bite, and lick me all the way down, your suit rubbing against my bare skin, driving me insane. The idea that I'm naked, and you're totally clothed makes me feel like a slut, and I'm ashamed of how much I like that feeling. I know that it's just another way to show that, no matter how much you indulge me, that you ultimately call the shots. I know I'll have marks all over my body by the time you're done. I don't care. You own me, and I couldn't be happier about it. You easily insert a finger, then two, then three and stroke my prostate, and I have one orgasm after another, to my surprise. I feel so helplessly lost in the surprise and the pleasures of the moment that all I can do is surrender my mind to the sensations of my body. You look so damned irritatingly smug as I arch my back and scream with each orgasm. Bastard. You know how you totally control me. I'm going to make you lose control like this one day, if it's the last thing I do. Not now, though. It feels too good to let you have your way with me, and you know it too, you fucker. When you take your fingers out of me, I want to kill you, but soon my legs are over your shoulders, and your cock is sliding into me, and I'm moaning and screaming, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," so loudly that I wonder that you don't gag me. Maybe you want everyone down the hall to hear what a stud you are to make me lose control so easily. That makes it even hotter for me, and I piston my hips to encourage you to fuck me harder. Finally *you* lose control-at LAST-and slam into me full force over and over and over, and it feels so damned good to have no choice but to submit to your strength. I don't know who comes first, but we both do, and the whole world probably knows it from the way we both yell. "Walter, Walter?" I feel you shaking me, and I come back to the present with a jolt. Damn it. "Are you all right? I thought you passed out after your sixth erection," you say, and you do look worried. "I'm fine, it just took me back to our first time," I say. That pleases you, and you smile, and kiss me on the forehead. "Me, too." Then it hits me what you've just said, "SIX? Jesus!" I say, and my eyes are about to pop out of my head. "It was a religious experience for me too," you laugh. "You're hotter now than you were when you were at 19." Oh shit. Somehow, I just know that my life isn't going to be the same ever again. Uh oh. It sure as shit isn't. You have "that look" on your face, and I'm really frightened now. I've only seen "that look" on your face twice before, and it always took me two days to recover afterwards. I try to ease out from under you, because I'd like nothing better than to run the hell out of here, and so what if I'm arrested for indecent exposure, but it's hopeless. You chuckle ominously, and roughly grab my left arm and chain it to the bed, then my right one. I'm struggling, but it just makes you more excited, and frankly, you look damned scary when you're that excited. I start to babble, trying to wheedle you into doing something else, ANYTHING other than what you have in mind, but you ignore me and chain my feet up in the air so that I'm spread wide open for you. There isn't a place on my body that you can't touch, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it if you do. "Didn't I tell you that you'd be any kind of boy that I wanted you to be?" you sneer. "It's time you learned that I mean what I say, and that if you leave me that there will be consequences." You walk over to the wall, and run your hand lovingly over your little chamber of horrors hanging on it. You keep an eye on me the whole time, and I know your watching to see what scares the piss out of me the most. It's the damned branding iron, but I manage to keep my cool as your hand passes over it, thank god. I have a queasy moment when you stop at the knives, and deliberately let one of them prick your finger, and you suck your blood as if it were a delicacy. I shudder, repulsed by the very idea. You laugh at my revulsion, but you aren't willing to settle for mere revulsion when you know that with the proper instrument you could have me reduced to a whimpering wreck. You stop and fondle the whips, and I'm almost hoping that you'll pick one of them. I know from my experience with the riding crop that I can handle being whipped, even though it'll hurt like hell…but you pass them by. Shit. You pick something damn near as scary as the branding iron. It's as wicked and vicious as you are, old man. It's a wheel on a long wooden handle, and it's studded with nails, and those fuckers are SHARP. Not so bad, if you're just going to roll it over me, but I know *exactly* what you're capable of. I've seen what you've done. If I look at you the wrong way, you would drive that damned thing into me in a heartbeat. I must have made some sort of sound, or looked especially frightened, because the cruel smile on your lips tells me you've made your choice. Your eyes glitter as you bring over your deadly toy. You run it over my body, pricking my skin all over, even though, I'm shrinking back as far as I can to get away from you. You delight in running it over my nipples, and up and down between my legs, teasing around my balls, and I can't help myself, I yelp when you get that close to them. Oh FUCK, I wish I hadn't. You start breathing hard, and I can see your cock sticking straight out of the fly of your trousers. My fear turns you on, as much or more than my submission ever did, and I fucking hate it. I'd forgotten how much I'd hated that. "Grow hard for me, boy; get excited for me, boy," you command, and damn it, I obey, only this time I know, thanks to the bounty hunter, that my body responds much more intensely than it ever has before. When you run your damned wheel of nails over me again, the sensation of the points pricking at my skin turns into small jolts of erotic pleasure that make me shiver, and I close my eyes and smile in spite of myself. I don't want this to feel this good, goddamn you! It does though; I can't help it; I have to moan. Loudly. You just laugh at me, muttering, "See, boy? You're mine. If I tell you to like it, you will." You run the wheel over me, and follow up with your other hand, and you haven't even touched me, but I can feel an orgasm overtaking me for I don't know how many times tonight. Is it really my seventh one? I arch into the sensation, and yowl when I come, but you aren't finished with me yet. I should have known. Without warning, you press the wheel down, and I cry out when a nail pierces my skin enough to make me bleed freely. I look beseechingly at you with what I hope is a convincing, though non-verbal, plea to stop this torture. You just leer at me like a gargoyle, and to my horror, lap at my blood flowing from the puncture wound. I know how a gazelle must feel when a lion brings it down, and starts to feed on it while it's still alive. When you rise up, you look so joyous that I start to tremble and once again I'm 19…. …..I'm in a hotel suite in the French Quarter of New Orleans during Mardi Gras, and it's as beautiful and tasteful and filled with antiques as every place you take me. Life-sized, gilt-framed oil paintings of men and women in powdered wigs stare down at me from the walls. The candle and cut glass chandeliers throw rainbows on the white silk brocade coverlets of the burled wood and jade inlay bed. You must specify that there must be rainbows in every suite we stay in, because we always have them. I don't know if they're for you, or for me because I like playing the prisms so much. I secretly hope that they're just for me, though. There are outrageously expensive sculpted oriental rugs on the floor, and antique chairs with embroidered flowered seat cushions. Even the jasmine and magnolia and creole spice scented breeze wafting through the delicate wrought iron balcony and bay windows smells expensive. Hell, *I'm* part of the expensive scenery, now. I'm wearing a silk paisley robe, an elegant gold, ruby and diamond ring, and a men's cologne that would cost a week's salary for most people. The double doors of our suite open. I'm happy, because that means that you're done with business, whatever that is, and we'll spend the rest of the time here, making love, and maybe walking around Bourbon street, drunk and stoned off our asses, enjoying the Mardi Gras costumes and music. My face falls when I see a scruffily pretty, blue-eyed blond boy about my age walk through the door, with you following close behind. He smells worse than the elephant pen at the zoo, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust to hide just how hurt I am….and jealous. "Well, boy," you say jovially as if you did this every day, "Show our guest into our bathroom. He's got a job to do for me as soon as he's presentable." I sullenly comply with your orders, turn on the bath water for Blondie, and growl, "You heard the man. Make yourself presentable, because if I have to scrub your sorry ass, you won't like it." "Hey man," Blondie says lifting his hands, "Cool it. I don't want any trouble. I'm just here to get my dope and a free meal, and that's it." I nod curtly, and leave, slamming the bathroom door shut behind me. You're lighting a cigarette, and you look up, startled by the first show of my temper since my training began. The cigarette dangles from your lips, and you grab my arm, and snarl, "What the hell is wrong with you?" "Why do we need him for?" I pout. "I thought you liked me." "Jealous are you?" you smirk as you caress my face. "It isn't funny," I say turning away, "You're replacing me, and you're making me clean up his smelly butt first. I don't like it." You burst out laughing, and hug me to you, kissing the top of my head, "Normally, I'd blister your ass for that," you say gasping for breath, "but since we haven't addressed threesomes in your training, I'll let it go. I merely thought that you two boys would look good together. I think his blond, fair-skinned prettiness would make a lovely contrast with your dark- haired, golden skinned beauty…" I look up, startled. "Threesomes?" I gulp. "As in you, me and him…oh. OH! OHHHHH!" I sputter as the realization of what you want finally sinks in. For some reason, which I fail to understand, you find this hysterically funny, and start to roar with laughter again. The bathroom door opens, and Blondie steps out wearing only the towel wrapped around his waist. He's as clean and shiny all over as a new car, appropriately enough since we're going to take him for a ride. I have to admit, he did clean up very nicely, and the idea of a threesome is sounding better to me by the second…but I still don't understand why you had to choose a homeless boy. He's good looking enough, but although you'd never know it to see him all cleaned up, he probably has seventeen varieties of the clap alone. I wonder if it's because you think he'd do things that I'd refuse to do, because he's more desperate than I am due to his poverty. I still can't shake the idea that you're auditioning a replacement for me. Blondie grins, blissfully unaware of my jealousy, and says, "That must be some killer dope you have from the sound of things. Hope you left some for me." You smile, and expertly lay out neat lines of cocaine on a mirror for us, and we all take turns snorting as much as we want. The burst of energy is fantastic. I could do anything now….I'm pumped. We all could. I turn to you, waiting for you to tell me what to do. Whatever it is, I'm going to give you the best damned show of your life, asshole. You're going to remember it, and regret the day you ever dropped me for weenie boy, I mean, Blondie. You smile and wink at me, and say, "Kiss him, and stroke him boy." I cross the room to do just that, but to my surprise Blondie takes a swing at me. "GET AWAY FROM ME, FAGGOT! I'LL KILL YOU" He screams. Luckily, the Mardi Gras revelers are so loud, he might as well have whispered. "Tough words for a pansy." I say as I punch him in the gut. He immediately drops to the floor, gasping. I look to you, and smile triumphantly, thinking that's what you get for replacing me, and say, "What do you want me to do with this stupid son of a bitch now?" "Nothing," you smile, "I'll handle it from here, boy." You walk over and slap the shit out of him, over and over and over, until even I'm cringing, and I hate the motherfucker. He's crying, and trying to ward off your blows with his arms, and I think surely now you'll throw his ass out. You made your point a long time ago. It's then I notice that your smile is feral, more like baring your teeth than a smile. Shit. You *are* baring your teeth. I've never seen you so excited. You give him one last slap that knocks him against the window seat, leaving him dazed. I watch stupified as you tie him up, and gag him. For some reason, it's the gag that scares me. It drives home that whatever you do, you're going to do it without this poor bastard's consent. "NO!" I scream, and grab at your arms. "You'll get in trouble! Let him loose, and let's get out of here! They won't catch us with the Mardi Gras going on!" You smack me hard enough across the mouth that I'm bleeding, and it's the first time you've ever done that. My mouth starts to tremble…and you backhand me again, and again. Finally, you throw me against the wall, knocking me nearly senseless. I sit there, forsaken for Blondie. You tear away Blondie's towel, unzip your pants, and plunge your cock into his virgin ass. He screams and cries incoherently through the gag for you to stop, but you ride him harder and harder and harder. Your eyes are dilated, and I can see white all around your irises. You look insane. I make one last attempt to pull you off of him, "Let it go. It doesn't matter," I say, thinking you lost it because he insulted me. You punch me so hard that it's all I can do to crawl in the corner, because I'm half out of my mind with fear and pain, and my head is spinning. I huddle there, naked, shivering, and no doubt wild-eyed with fear. It's like a slow motion nightmare, watching you rape his bloody ass, until he's beyond caring about his dignity. The gag has worked its way off his mouth, and he's crying softly for his mother, and I can't stand it, I start to cry too. I can't do anything else, but I have to acknowledge his pain. Not even the magnolia and jasmine scented breezes can hide the smell of his blood drenching our bed. Finally you come, and it's over, and you're *laughing* at him, calling him a momma's boy as he lies there crying and moaning. You pull out a syringe and inject him, and he goes limp. You grin at me, and say, "Don't worry. He won't remember a thing in the morning. He'll just think that he has a bad case of hemorrhoids. I'll have Carlo dump him in the alley to sleep it off." You dip a finger into the blood running down his legs and take a taste. I'm gagging, and it's at that moment that I realize that you chose a homeless boy *not* because he'd do whatever you said, but you could do whatever you liked to him, and he'd have absolutely no recourse. Who could be more perfect? No one would pay any attention to what he said about you, and no one would miss him if you had-god forbid-lost control and killed him. I wonder if * I'd* be missed if you were ever to lose control and kill me. My mom and dad haven't seen me since I went to 'Nam. That thought is all that it takes to push me into action. I grab a shirt, and I run out the door as fast as I can. I actually make it as far as the elevator, when I feel you grab my collar, and yank me back to our suite. I'm screaming and begging for you to let me go, but it does no damned good. You beat my ass harder than you ever have, and you kick me around the suite. I try to defend myself, but you're far too strong, and finally I just plead for mercy, but you have none, and I scream, and I scream, and everyone's having such a good time partying at the Mardi Gras that no one hears me… …I come back to the present, and you're slapping me hard, and blood is running down the corners of my mouth just like old times. "STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT," I scream. "SHUT UP!" you roar. "JUST SHUT UP!" You double your fist, and I shut my eyes, preparing to have my jaw broken, when we both hear the door slam open. Standing in the doorway is one ENRAGED Fox William Mulder. I've never seen him so goddamn pissed off in my life. He's dressed to kill-literally- in black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black leather jacket and boots- looking more dangerous than Krycek. His hands and face are splattered with blood, and he's got a Sig Sauer in one hand, and his other arm wrapped around the Englishman's neck. "Looks like *I'm* the one who's offering a deal now, you sleazy bastard," he growls contemptously "You better be more prepared to take mine than I was to take yours for Sir Butthead's sake." He emphasizes his words by savagely jabbing the gun into the Englishman's temple, making HIM yelp for a change, I note with vicious satisfaction. "Why certainly, Agent Mulder," you say with a confident smile, "I'll do what I can. What is it that you want? Information about your sister Sam-?" "Cut the shit. You know goddamn well what I want. Turn A. D. Skinner loose," he says nodding his head toward me, "or I'll blow your good fuckbuddy's head off, I swear I will. I've left a trail of bodies out there, and a few pools of green slime. One more isn't going to cause me any sleepless nights " He starts to slowly pull back the trigger, and Jesus, I can't believe what I see when I look at his eyes! He looks every bit as fuckin' crazy as you are, but I know for a fact that he's twice as impulsive. I'd do what he says, old man. Sir Butthead agrees with me, because he cracks. "MY GOD, MAN!" he roars at you, "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? TURN HIM LOOSE!" "Yes, of course," you say smoothly and urbanely as if you were offering Mulder his choice of hors d'oeurves at a cocktail party, "but perhaps first you might ask your boss what his feelings on the matter are?" "I don't give a DAMN what his feelings are about it. Skinner's coming with me, whether he likes it or not!" Mulder says, deliberately avoiding my eyes. He needn't have bothered. I know all too well how goddamn silly I'd look giving him the full A.D. Skinner stare when I'm trussed up, buck naked and would have to glare at him through my legs and over my balls. Besides, I know that he said what he said because he said because he doesn't want to put me in the position of disagreeing with you when I'm still so helpless. "Well, if that's the way you feel…" you say as you look down to light your cigarette, but before you can, a gunshot startles us. You slowly look up, and see that Sir Butthead is still alive and well, but pale and shaking, looking nervously out of the corners of his eyes at the smoke curling out of the barrel of Mulder's gun. Mulder grins ominously, and says, "That little demonstration was to stress my insistence that you follow my instructions with all due haste. Otherwise, the next bullet goes into this piece of shit's head. Release the A. D. Now. MOVE!" he snarls and jabs the gun back into the Englishman's temple. This time you obey, and quickly. Your hands even shake a bit as you release the restraints. My arms and legs fall like dead weights, they're so tired of being suspended. I shakily roll over, and try to get up on my feet, but I sit back down hard on the bed. "That's enough! Don't overdo it," Mulder says sternly to me. "Let him help you dress." He looks at you and says, "Do it you black-lunged motherfucker, and don't you DARE hurt him, or you'll be shitting through a new asshole!" You do, but you smile smugly at Mulder, and say, "Your loyalty is admirable, but you *do* realize that your attempt to rescue him is futile, don't you? He'll be back. He always is I don't think you realize the nature of our..." Mulder doesn't raise an eyebrow. "SHUT UP! I know *exactly* what it is. Just finish dressing him." You shrug as if to say, "well, remember I did try to warn you", and you follow his instructions without further comment. I'm a nervous wreck, anxious that you'll give me some damned command like "suck cock" that'll have me on my knees before I know what I'm doing, but you're playing it safe for a change, thank god. I'm still on edge though, even when I know you're going to behave yourself. I couldn't bear for Mulder to know just how far down I've sunk with you, so I'm agonizing over whether or not he was bluffing you about knowing exactly what the nature of our relationship was. Soon, I'm dressed, and almost presentable, except for the bloodstains on my white shirt. I didn't think it was possible, but Mulder's eyes grow even harder when he sees the blood. He gives you a look that would stop your heart, if only you had one. "Just be glad I found him alive, before I saw this shirt," he says silkily, "because I wouldn't have been nearly so polite and understanding as I'm being right now." You have the good sense to let him win this pissing contest, and look away. "Do you think you could walk out of Dracula's castle on your own?" he asks me gruffly, "I've got a car waiting for us at the front door. It's about 15 feet to the elevator, and another 10 through the front parlor." "I'm fine, now," I say as I nod my head, wishing I knew what he was going on in that twisted, brilliant mind of his. For all the emotion he shows toward me, he might as well be just another one of my agents routinely doing his job instead of my lover. Has he intuited everything that has happened here tonight as he so often does with one of his XFiles, or does he just see that I've fucked the man he hates most in the world, and despise me for it? Does he think I'm a phony because I tried for three years to fool everyone into thinking that I was a toppy beast when I'm really only a subby pussycat? Did he know what I was really like all along, and was just humoring me until something like this happened to put me back in my place? I'm just sure that he'd like nothing better than to ditch me just like he does Scully, except he thinks that I'm more pathetic than she is. He's right. The Englishman clears his throat, "Excuse me, Mr. Mulder, but since you have what you came for, couldn't you release me, and…" Mulder tightens his arm around Sir Butthead's neck, and snaps, "I'll let you go when I'm sure that we're safe from you sneaky bastards and *not* one goddamn second sooner." Looking at me and nodding toward you, he says. "String that bastard up that same way he left you." Oh, how I wish Mulder had brought a camera. The crestfallen look on your face is priceless. You'd think that with as many close encounters as he claims to have had, that Mulder would be a walking photography store, damn it. What the hell. I'm going to enjoy this anyway. He's getting a raise for this idea alone. I grin evilly and motion for you to get on the bed, and soon I have you trussed up as securely as you had me…maybe even more so. "Pleasant dreams," I say snidely, and walk over to stand by Mulder. I'm feeling better all ready. "You aren't going to leave me here all alone, are you? I never left him here all alone!" you say, panic starting to inch into your voice. "Oh, I'm sure that your good buddy will come to your rescue *every bit* as quickly as you came to his!" Mulder snickers. "Isn't that right, Sir Butthead?" he says into his prisoner's ear. Sir Butthead merely snorts derisively, and shoots you a venomous look. Somebody's wrinkled old ass is going to be awfully sore tonight for taking his time about releasing me. Mulder drags him out of the room, and I follow behind, all of us ignoring your threats and pleas. When I shut the door, I'm surprised to see that Mulder immediately releases Sir Butthead. The Englishman calmly dusts himself off, and says, "If you haven't kept your part of the bargain, young man, you and your *friend*," and he places a sarcastic, leering emphasis on the word friend, "will be dead before either of you are able to reach the elevator." Mulder nods curtly, and says, "My boys have your *chauffeur*," and he places the same sarcastic leering emphasis on chauffeur that Sir Butthead did on friend, "tied up in a nice, neat, little package for you. We'd better hurry, and show them Skinner's okay because the boys were PISSED about having to retrieve your tawdry little play-pretty for you at this hour of the morning. It may end up with a few dings in it that it didn't have before you misplaced it. " I go look out the window with him, and my jaw drops in amazement when I see a familiar spiky haired young man, uncharacteristically dressed in an Armani suit, sitting in the front seat with Frohike and Byers. They *do* look hostile. I gape at Mulder, and say, "Krycek? You traded me for Krycek? How did you get him out of pris….Wait!" I say pinching the bridge of my nose and rubbing it between my fingers, "Don't tell me. The less I know the better." "Yeah, I traded him for you and a damn nice set of casual clothes if I do say so myself," Mulder says nonchalantly, as if it were something he did everyday. Maybe compared to the paranormal shit he normally deals with this *does* seem old hat. "Our upperclass friend here was concerned that he wouldn't last another night in prison. That didn't particularly make me teary- eyed, but when he told me about you, I pulled some strings, and here we are. You're right. You don't want to know any more than that." "Well, gentlemen, now that we've settled *that*, shall we make our exchange?" Sir Butthead says jovially. Mulder barely nods, and we all walk to the car. He roughly yanks Krycek out of the car, ignoring his whining protests, and pushes him toward Sir Butthead. "What *ever* have we caught in our trap," he chuckles as he pushes him, "I do believe it's A One-Armed, Limp-Dicked Ratboy. Disgusting creature, but doesn't his suit look nice?" Krycek glowers, and prisses over to his English master, which makes Mulder laugh out loud. "Hey take Ratboy out to eat while you can," he says to Sir Butthead, "This is probably the only time you'll ever see dressed up in something nice. Trust me, his own taste in suits SUCKS!" To Krycek's surprise, Sir Butthead laughs, and says, "I'm forced to agree with you, young man. His ideas about proper dress have always been different to mine. I'll take your suggestion under advisement. Now you mustn't stay any longer. You have five minutes before they will come looking for you." He waves us off, and turns to leave with a sulking, pouting Krycek. Ratboy has to know that Sir Butthead hates a slave boy with an attitude, but he's deliberately doing everything he can to piss the old fucker off. The boy's got balls, I'll give him that, or maybe he just *likes* having a striped butt. There's no accounting for taste. We get into the Lone Gunmen's car, and I'm surprised to see one Byers, one Frohike….and in the backseat, *two* Langleys, one with *breasts*. "She's my sister, dude," Langley says, correctly assessing why I'm looking so confused. "Mulder caught us at our inner sanctum, The Wizard's Asylum…" Frohike says sullenly. "That's at *my* apartment," The Langley with breasts says proudly. "And she insisted on coming along on Agent Mulder's rescue mission," Byers finished, looking over his shoulder to shoot Mulder a resentful look, "Not that either one of them gave us a choice." "No choice is what you get for ditching me," Mulder said shrugging his shoulders. "WHAT! You ditched MULDER?" I say, my lips twitching with amusement, but the look Mulder shoots me has me ducking my head down and fast. "We can settle this later," Byers interrupts, "let's get out of here before these lunatics kill us all." Byers peels out, and breaks every speed law to get as much ground between us and that torture chamber, but it's still not fast enough to suit me. My apartment seems like it has to be a galaxy away. To add to our traveling pleasure, the Langleys start fighting as soon as we get on the road. "Move it, lard ass," Flatchested Langley says. "One more crack like that, and you're barred from the Wizard's Asylum for LIFE, peabrain," the Langley with breasts says. "Oh YEAH? Well, I'll have you busted down to Troll Third Class at the Dragon's Lair," Flatchested Langley snaps. "That's enough, you two, QUIET," Mulder orders sharply, and they shut up. "Thank you. I'll get you a little more room, since you were so cooperative," he turns to me, and grins, "You, straddle my lap, now," he says pointing first to me, then his lap. Even with that grin, his voice is as commanding as the Smoker's is. Maybe it has the same combination of confidence and strength underlying the patina of pleasantness. Whatever it is, I obey him instantly to my extreme embarrassment. I wish one of those goddamned Langleys would roll down the window so I could jump out. It's all too obvious now that Mulder and I are sleeping together, and that's something that, considering that I'm his boss and the homophobic culture at the FBI, was best kept between the two of us, much less revealed to these clowns. The Langley with breasts is staring at me in that weirdly intense way her brother always does…only her stare is even more odd and more intense. "You're the guy in the video," she finally blurts out. "Would you strip for women too, or just men?" Before I can ask her what the *fuck* she's talking about, Frohike turns arounds and taps my shoulder. "Hey big guy," he says, "my birthday is next week. Think you could jump out of a cake and do that striptease from the video she was talking about? You were so HOT in that." "Huh?" I manage to stammer, "Mulder, what are they…" "I'll bake the cake, if you'll let me come to the party," Langley with breasts says, her beady little eyes glittering with excitement. I'm speechless. I'm positive now that I've *got* to be having flashbacks. There *has* to be a direct correlation between this bizarre conversation and all those drugs I did in 'Nam, because nothing this weird could really happen even in MY fucked up life. I should have realized it from the moment Langley sprouted tits. "Hey dude, if the Troll gets to go to the party, *I* get to go to the party," Flatchested Langley pouts. "I could order in the pizza and beer, so *I* get to come too," Byers says to me over his shoulder. "WATCH THE FUCKING ROAD!" we all yell at him. I bury my face in Mulder's shoulder, and he holds onto me for dear life, as Byers swerves back into his lane. Byers makes it across just in time to miss an oncoming car, whose driver blasts us with his horn as he passes us. "My GOD, John," Frohike says in a shaky voice, "please let me live to see another birthday. This one is going to be the best one I've ever had." "Oh shit," I mutter into Mulder's shoulder. Mulder rubs my back, and chuckles, "Yeah, Byers, 50 years is an awfully long time for a man to wait to lose his cherry. You don't want poor Frohike to explode, do you?" "Oh shit, oh SHIT!" I mutter somewhat more loudly into Mulder's shoulder. "BITE ME!" Byers grouches, "Everyone else is getting to play with Walter, and *I'M* having to drive!" The use of my first name snaps me back to something approximating A.D. mode. It's one thing for Mulder to call me Walter and say he plays with me, but I barely know these bozos…and I'd like to keep it that way. I twist around to look at Byers. "Look, I don't know what video you've seen, but you've obviously mistaken me for someone else…" I say in my most authoritative voice. Mulder gently pulls me back around to face him. He speaks to me in a firm voice, but his eyes are twinkling, "No, they haven't. I've seen it too. There was no mistaking your gorgeous bod, and his ugly face, babe. They got a compilation video from that English bastard showing just how well Cancersticks has you trained. You were pretty young in some of those shots, so I'd say that you've been taking lessons for him for 20 years at least. If I weren't so damned happy to have you back in one piece, I'd be really pissed off at you right now," I try to protest, but he places a finger on my lips to shut me up, and continues. "You see, I don't understand *why* that I had to find about the nature of your past relationship with him from Sir Butthead and *these jokers* instead of from *you*." He gives my nose a playful tap, and in his best Desi Arnaz voice, he says "You got a lot of splainin' to do, Lucy. Or should I say……Tosspot?" Oh crap! It finally sinks into my stressed out brain that those bastards taped me, and that everyone in the car saw me perform god knows how many sex acts in great glowing detail on the tape. I blush 12 shades of red, and reflexively, I cover my ass as soon as he says the word "tosspot". No wonder Mulder didn't give a shit about the Gunmen seeing us get up close and personal with each other. Mulder roars with laughter when I grab my ass, and everyone else joins in, to my utter humiliation. Finally the assholes stop cackling, and Mulder wipes the tears from his eyes, and gasps, "Well, I think we understand each other now, Walter." "Oh wow, are you going to spank him, Mulder?" Frohike says lustfully. "That'll make Little Richard stand up and salute! It's a good thing I wear stretch polyester." "Little Richard? Oh HONESTLY! How ridiculous can you get?" Langley with breasts huffs. "Why do you men have to name your penises anyway? Wouldn't you think I was pretty silly if I named my vagina?" "I thought it already had a name," Flatchested Langley snickers, "Doesn't your boyfriend call it The Jaws of Death?" "I'm going to introduce you to the FISTS of Death if you don't shut up," Langley with breasts says, waving her fist at her brother's nose. To say that I'm disgusted would be a gross understatement. I've just had one of the worst nights of my life, and these jackasses can't do anything but laugh at me, and think of names for their private parts. I may be a pathetic loser, but I'm not taking that crap from anyone. "I'm so glad that everything I went through tonight was so entertaining to you," I say brusquely, "but I'll get out here, thank you. I'll take a cab home." Mulder tightens his arms around me, forcing me to lie against his chest again. It's like being held by steel cables. "You aren't going anywhere, except home with me," he says. "Settle down." "Goddamn it," I say as I fruitlessly try to worm my way out of his grip, "I thought I was going to die tonight, and all you assholes can do is…" "….risk life, limb and property to rescue your ungrateful ass at 3 o' clock in the morning," Mulder finishes for me. "We care, Walter, but we've been through hell trying to pull off your rescue in such a short time. Give us a break. We just need to let off some steam." "Yeah, big fella, we care!" Frohike says. He turns completely around in his seat and, standing on his knees, he leans over and pats my back. "Yeah, dude," the Langleys say in unison, "we care!" and they pat me on the back…although I think the Langley with the breasts sneaked in a pat to my butt. Byers turns around to pat me, but we all yell, "WATCH THE FUCKING ROAD!" As he crosses back into his lane, through the back window I see some poor bastard shinnied half way up a streetlamp, giving us the finger. "I appreciate everyone's concern," I say in a conciliatory tone of voice, "but I still need some time to myself, so if you would just drop me off…" Hush," Mulder says sternly as he kisses me on my neck, "You're staying with me, and that's final. Don't even think about ditching me, Walter. I know all the tricks." "Mulder, I just want to go h-h-home…" I say, hating the way my voice quavers. "Relax, babe. We're home, right now," Mulder says soothingly as he rubs my back. Sure enough, Byers pulls into the parking garage of my apartment, right at the door, and turns off the car. Frohike turns around, and leans over the front seat. "Come here," he says with a grin as he pulls me back and gives me a bear hug. "You be sure to make it to my party next week, big guy." He kisses me on the cheek and pushes me toward the twin Langleys. The Langleys pull me over. Each gives me a kiss on the cheek, and the one with breasts DEFINITELY gives my butt a good squeeze. "Later, gator," they say. Nerds! Will this flashback ever END? Mulder pulls me back, and opens the car door. "Thanks for everything, fellas," he says taking out a wad bills, and handing them to Frohike. "Go buy yourselves a drink on me." Frohike pushes away the money, "Just make sure you and the big guy show up in a friendly mood for my party, okay?" "You got it," he says. I stare in surprise at him, but Mulder just grins and motions for me to get out of the car. When we're both out, and almost to the door, we hear Byers lean on the horn. I run over, and bend down to glare at him and say "HEY! What the FUCK are you trying to do? Get me kicked out of my UMPFH…." I don't get to complete my sentence because Byers grabs my tie, and pulls me to him, and plants a passionate kiss on my lips. Oh shit, I had no idea he was this good. When he finally releases me, he pats me on the cheek and says, "Don't ever forget me again, Walter, or the birthday boy won't be the only one getting spanked at Frohike's party. Now go on, Mulder's waiting, but just remember that if you ever decide you need a new top, I'm your man." I gulp, and nod, and run back to Mulder before Byers decides to throw me over the car hood. That's the last thing I need for everyone in the building to see. I don't get to complete my sentence because Byers grabs my tie, and pulls me to him, and plants a passionate kiss on my lips. Oh shit, I had no idea he was this good. When he finally releases me, he pats me on the cheek and says, "Don't ever forget me again, Walter, or the birthday boy won't be the only one getting spanked at Frohike's party. Now go on, Mulder's waiting, but just remember that if you ever decide you need a new top, I'm your man." I gulp, and nod, and run back to Mulder before Byers decides to throw me over the car hood. That's the last thing I need for everyone in the building to see. Mulder narrows his eyes and gives me an appraising stare. I lower my head, and open the door for him. I stand there for several long moments waiting for him to go through. Finally, he puts his hand flat against the door, and says, "After you." I go through the doorway. Well, somebody had to be first. We ride in silence in the elevator, and I'm about to go nuts. I wish he'd say something, anything. I know by the expression on his face, that he's profiling me, assessing me on 20 different levels at least, and when he finally speaks, he's going to strip away what little protective shell that I have left. By the time we get to my apartment, my hands are shaking as I try about ten times to put the key into the lock. Mulder takes my hand in his, and gently guides it until the key is in the slot, and the door opens. "Inside," he says gruffly, and I go in, and he follows, shutting the door behind us. "Mulder," I say over my shoulder, "What are you…" He just pats my ass, and nods at the stairway. "Bedroom." I nod, and we go up the stairs, and the silence is killing me. He has to know that. Why is he doing this to me? We're not in the bedroom ten seconds, before he's thrown me on the bed, and he's on top of me. He pins my arms behind my head, and growls, "Byers offered to be your top, and you didn't turn him down, did you?" "He helped you save me, and I just didn't want to piss him off, Mulder," I say unable to look him in the eye, " I don't want anyone to be my… "Bullshit," Mulder says softly in my ear, and nuzzles me. "Admit it. It scares you shitless to be on your own. You know it does. Every time you have to make a decision about even which color to wear you probably have a goddamned panic attack. That's the reason all your shirts are white, and all your suits are gray! You were The Smoker's sub for too goddamned long." He leans back to wait for my response, and raises both eyebrows. I look up at him, because I *know* I'll have to look at him or he won't believe me, but I can't trust my voice. I settle for shaking my head as vigorously as possible. He just cocks his head and nods slowly and exaggeratedly, fixing me with the same serious but kind expression my dad always had when he caught me in a lie. I might as well be six years old again. It's all I can do to keep from saying, "I'm sorry, Daddy, please don't be mad at me." It's obvious that he's waiting for me to break under his calm, confident, patient gaze and start stammering out the truth, and that he's prepared to wait all night, and the next day if he has to. I take a deep breath, and confess. "Okay, Mulder, you're right," I say, "I HAVE been terrified for the last three years that someone was going to see through my tough guy act, and haul my ass back to the Smoker where I belonged. " His expression doesn't change, but somehow that makes his anger seem all the more dangerous. Mulder squeezes my wrists until I yelp. "So *naturally*, the logical course of action is to turn to Byers, Man o' Action, to save your ass," he says sarcastically. "Do you think he was the one who organized the rescue party? Do you think he was the one who kicked Krycek's butt? Do you think he was the one who faced down the Smoker? Did you think HE'S the reason that you're back here where you TRULY belong, in OUR bed? Do you think he's more of a man than I am? Huh? Huh? C'mon, Walter! Tell me why you want to be his sub instead of mine!" My eyes widen in amazement. Fuck! He's jealous…and PISSED OFF! "You- you mean you aren't disgusted with the idea of me being a sub?" I stammer, "I've been wondering all night when you were going to dump me. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine why you'd like me as a sub considering…." I stop because I'm worried Mulder's going to pop a vein. Now it's Mulder's turn to have his eyes widen in amazement. His jaw drops open as he stares at me. He's beet-red and looks as frustrated as hell. "Wwwalter," he splutters, "you mean you HONESTLY couldn't imagine WHY I'd like a sweet, sexy, drop-dead gorgeous naked man fawning all over me, and doing whatever I want him to? Are you CRAZY? Goddamn it, I've had a hard- on ever since I watched that video. Why do you think that I made you straddle my lap, and take the ride home crotch to crotch with me? Why do you think that I wasn't able to keep my hands off you? Surely you didn't think that I *really* meant it when I said I was trying to save room in the backseat, did you?" I know I must look really goofy now, because I'm grinning from ear to ear I'm so relieved and happy. "Mulder, it didn't sink in because I was sure that I was hallucinating that freaky ride home. Tell me: How many Langleys did you see in the car, and was there anything strange about one of them…" Mulder struggles to keep a straight face, but I flex my pecs at him and he loses it, and we both crack up laughing over that for several minutes. Finally we calm down, and he looks at me slyly, and says, "Seeing a Langley with tits doesn't mean you've lost your mind. It's when you start seeing a Frohike with tits that you're in trouble because he'd have seven rows of 'em." Mulder tops off that ridiculous image by barking and howling like a dog, and I join in, and we both crack up laughing again until we're out of breath. I don't remember the last time that I was this happy. I haven't felt this free in years. I don't have to pretend any more. He wants the real me! Finally, I don't have to rehearse what I'm going to say, and how I'm going to say it before I see him. That goofy smile is back on my face again, but maybe I'm looking in a mirror, because the same goofy grin is reflected back at me from Mulder's face. Maybe he's happy he doesn't have to pretend any more too. This man is no a sub, and never was. How could I ever have mistaken this conquering tiger holding me so securely for a pussycat? He lets go of my arms and his hands start roving all over my body. The scent of leather and expensive cologne radiating from him combined with the way he's taking control is driving me out of my mind. "You may be the boss at work, but off duty, I give the orders," he says hoarsely. Without warning he swoops down and claims my mouth with a bruising, ravenous kiss, that lets me know that, make no mistake, he's no goddamn pussycat; he's a tiger; he's my top. He pulls back, shaking with lust, and says, "Help me get you out of these clothes, or I'm going to cut them off you." I look up at him seductively, and sensuously, and sweetly tell him, "No." Shocked is such a good look for Mulder that I'm going to make sure he wears it more often. Oh this is fun. I can't believe that I caught him off- guard; he had to know that I would test him. This is only the beginning too. He can give all the orders he wants to at home, but I'm going to follow them just as well as he follows my orders at work, and I'll just see if he can handle insubordination any better than I have. Paybacks are hell. I strive to look at him innocently, waiting to see if he really has what it takes to top me. A slow smile breaks out on his face, and fast as a jungle cat, he pounces. He's got me handcuffed to the bed before I know what's happening. He kneels between my legs, and out of his leather jacket, he takes a switchblade, flicking it opening. This tiger has claws. He pulls my shirt out, but to my surprise he doesn't pop the buttons off at first. Instead, he rips vertical slits into the shirt, exposing my nipples. He bends down, and OH GOD! That sinfully lush pink mouth of his feels so warm, soft, wet and erotic nibbling and licking at first one nipple then the other until they are stiff rosy pebbles, and I'm writhing with pleasure. He pulls back with a self-satisfied grin, cuts off my tie, and gleefully pops off my shirt buttons, every so often letting me feel the coolness of blade. He never allows it to break my skin. It's just enough to keep me on edge, even though I know he won't hurt me….much. He unbuckles my belt, and pulls it slowly out of its loops and hangs it around his neck. "I'm sure we'll find a use for THIS later," he leers, enjoying the look of discomfort I get on my face. He trails the blade down between my legs, passing it back and forth over my balls, and once again, I notice the blood splattered on his face, and how he's dressed in Krycek's clothes, and I remember that I actually "had the balls" to disobey him! Oh. Shit. Mulder is sex and danger personified. My heart pounds like a sledgehammer in my chest and my cock is pulsating in anticipation, and I whimper each time that the blade lightly strokes across. Mulder smiles wickedly every time I whimper, enjoying each little thrill of fear and lust passing through my body. "Baby, did I *really* hear you tell me *no* a few minutes ago?" he says cunningly continuing his feather light touches between my legs with the switchblade. "NO!!" I yell, "I mean, YES! I mean, OH FUCK!" I can feel my eyes bulging out of my head. I wonder if he's just going to give my nuts a little poke, or cut them a bit, or just turn me over and blister my ass. Mulder takes one look at the quaking mess he's made of me, and has a good, hearty laugh at my expense. I glare at him, and that makes him laugh even harder. Bastard. To add insult to injury, he pats my cock just to let me know that he's noticed my erection never flagged once. BASTARD! He trails the blade up to the hollow where my leg joins with my torso, and slowly, carefully, he slashes my suit pants there, first on one side, then the other. He bends down, and snakes his tongue into one of the slits, and under my briefs, licking the entire length of the slit, almost but not quite to the balls. He laves and sucks and licks on one side, and then he dips down into the next slit, and starts all over again, blowing along where he just sucked until I'm shivering helplessly with pleasure. Mmmmmmmmm. Was I really angry with him? About what I wonder? Mulder smiles delightedly, "You are so responsive," he murmurs. He pulls back again, goddamn him, and with a long finger in each slit, he yanks, until the slits lengthen, finally meeting in the center, and voila, I'm the embarrassed owner of the world's first crotchless Brooks Brothers suit. I'm sure it'll be a big hit in the Frederick's of Hollywood's catalog. He puts his finger between my balls and my underwear, and with a quick slash of the blade, I have crotchless underwear now too. He cuts, and rips, and tears until I'm left wearing a loincloth. He snicks the switchblade closed, and I sigh loudly with relief Mulder winks, and tucks the knife back into his leather jacket. "I think your training is progressing nicely," he says wryly as he pats me on the hip. He caresses the tattered remains of my trousers off my legs, and slips off my shoes and socks. He gets a devilish look on his face, and tickles the soles of my feet until I'm squirming and laughing helplessly. "Mulder, please, stop!" I say between giggles, "I can't breathe! Have mercy!" Mulder decides to grant my pleas, and sits back on his heels to admire his handiwork, his eyes glinting with amusement and lust. "Mmm-mmm- mmmm, Walter, me debauched beauty, you look lucious," he says, twirling an imaginary mustache, and waggling his eyebrows. "You don't know how long I've wanted to rip your clothes to shreds and delve into that tight little ass of yours. I really can't thank you enough for choosing just the right moment to test me." I jerk up, surprised. He set me up! As if he could read my mind, he grins at me, and enthusiastically nods his head. "Look what seeing you like this does to me." He unzips his fly, and his cock juts out, hard and leaking. I can't take my eyes of of it. *Damn* if it doesn't look a lot longer and thicker than it did when all I had to do was give him a reach around. He gracefully glides on top of me, and nibbles along my chin as his hands slide up my thighs and underneath the new skirt he's made out of my pants, and lazily brushes the hair of my balls with his thumbs. There's no doubt about who wears the pants in this relationship right now, and he emphasizes the point by grinding against my exposed crotch every so often, making me feel the rough denim of his jeans and the hardness of his cock. Languidly, those long, long fingers work their way under ass, kneading it, and stroking along my cleft, teasing me. "Please Mulder, please, please!" I moan. "Please what, baby?" he asks. "Please fuck me!" I say, wriggling up and down. Mulder takes advantage of that to impale me on his middle finger, and massage my prostate. It feels so good, but it isn't nearly enough, "Oh, please, please, Mulder!" I beg, "I don't need lube; I don't need stretching; I need your cock!" Mulder furrows his brow. "Are you sure?" "MULDER!" I scream in frustration. "Patience," he whispers in my ear, chuckling at my frustrated moans. He slides off my body, and I enjoy his leather jacket rubbing over my nipples and down over my cock. He grabs a condom, ripping open the package with his mouth, and ensheathes that monster of his bobbing at me. He's on his knees, and at LAST, he lifts my legs over his shoulders, and pushes his cockhead into me, and stops. That pisses me off. What part of fuck me did he not understand? I shove down hard on him until I can feel his balls slap my ass. "You are soooooo predictable," Mulder laughs. He guides my legs off his shoulders, lies down on top of me, and with a slap to my thigh, he says, "Get those long legs wrapped around me, Walter." I do as I'm told, but an evil grin spreads across my face. Oh really? Predictable am I, Mr. Hot Shit Profiler? Time for you to wear that fashionably shocked look again, Mulder-for real. Of course, he notices my change in attitude, but he still thinks he's got it allllll under control. "Why WALTER, don't you look full of hell!" he smirks, propping himself up on his forearms. "Are you going to test me again?" "I'm just looking forward to being topped by you, sir," I say as innocently as I can….which is not very. He's still smirking, but I can tell that he's curious. "Sir? Oh, now this *is* dangerous! What are you up to?" I move my hips encouragingly, and smile seductively at him, "Mulder, please? Fuck me?" He nods and grins confidently, pulling out and pushing into my ass, hitting just the right spot. He closes his eyes, and starts moving in and out. It's time to introduce Mulder to my New! Improved! ass. I moan, and I clench down the entire length of his cock, my internal muscles caressing it as if moving a series of rings over it. His eyes snap open, and he jerks up, eyes bugged out in amazement, "WHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOAAAA!" he yells, "HOW THE HELL DID YOU *DO* THAT?" I laugh my ass off. I think I've found the equivalent of Armani in shocked looks. Oh does he wear it well. I milk his cock relentlessly, making him groan loudly with pleasure. YES!!!! Stupid with lust looks good on him too. I keep this up for several minutes, until he goes beserk. He starts ramming his cock into me fast and hard, over and over and over, filling me, pounding me. He takes my mouth, and thrusts his tongue inside, and kisses me just as hard as he's fucking me. I start losing control, because every inch of him has me in ecstacy, and because Mulder's turned on and excited by fucking me just like I've always wanted. OH GOD, it's overwhelming! I'm going to come, and it's building, and building, and building, and building, OH FUCK, FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! YES! We scream our release into each other's mouths. We're both shaking afterwards, and he collapses bonelessly on top of me. He climbs off of me, and looks down at me as he uncuffs me and rubs and shakes the feeling back into my arms. He has the goofiest, most deliriously sated look I have ever seen. "Oh God, Walter," he groans. "I think my dick died and went to heaven!" He lies down, sighing happily, and pulls me into his arms. "C'mere baby," he says, panting, "let me hold you." He kisses me sloppily on the lips, then cradles my head against his chest, petting and stroking me as if I were his cat. "Mmmmmm," I say sleepily and contentedly. I want to stay here forever. "You've been holding out on me, babe," he says, "You're amazing! What you just did just isn't physically possible. JESUS, talk about XFiles…" I snicker against his chest, "You are soooooooo predictable." He playfully swats me on the ass, and laughs. "Okay, I'll let that go because I did deserve it. Seriously, why didn't you tell me just how talented your sweet little ass is?" "Because it wasn't until the Bounty Hunter did this to me," I say as I rub his chest and belly. "He told the Smoker that he'd find that I'd be a much improved slave from now on. I discovered that I could do this, and have non- stop erections, and all my orgasms go from mind-blowing to seeing God in intensity…but really, I still don't know the extent of the changes he made. Maybe this is something they do for all their sex slaves now." He pulls me up until I'm looking into those blazingly angry eyes of his, and I'm so sick at my stomach that I wish I could die. I don't know what the fuck I did, but I wish I could undo it. "Listen to me," he says hoarsely. "You aren't *ANYONE'S* slave! Not any fucking more! You deserve better. Do you hear me? I love you, and I'm taking care of you now. Don't you DARE go back to those sick fuckers, or I'll whip your ass. Understand?" I nod my head, and I can feel tears running down my cheeks. "I love you too, Mulder," I say. He looks at me tenderly, and kisses me softly down the path my tears take. "I mean it. Don't go back to them. If anything happens to me, you can go to Scully, and then Byers as a last resort." "SCULLY?" I say, my eyes widening in astonishment. "Yeah, Scully. If anyone tries to hurt you, she'll shoot first and ask questions later," he laughs. "She's tough. Don't worry, I'll explain everything to her." "Do you have to?" I whine. "It's bad enough that the Lone Gunmen know…" "Yes, I have to," Mulder says sternly, and kisses my nose. "You're too important to our work for her not to know what's going on with you. I'm sick of pretending that I'm so dedicated that I haven't had a date for 4 years, and besides…" "…And besides, you give the orders when we're off-duty," I sigh heavily. "….And *you* obey them," he says, "even though you're still in love with that bastard…" "NO!" I yell. "That was a long time ago, Mulder. I stopped loving him long before I got the guts to break it off. He's cruel, and ruthless…" Mulder tilts my chin up, and makes me look at him again. "I know what I saw on that videotape. You turned to him for comfort." "I won't deny that I still have some feelings for him, and probably always will. He saved my life in 'Nam, and our relationship lasted longer than most marriages," I say soberly. "He's just been around me long enough to know when I'm losing it, and what to do, that's all. Hell, I flashed back to suffocating in the body bag while the Englishman was fucking my face, and I'm sorry, but I'm damned glad the Smoker was there to help me through it, Stockholm Syndrome or not. That was gratitude you saw, not love," I say hotly, pissed off, and hurt, and hating the way my voice is starting to crack. "Hey, hey, BABY, calm down," he says soothingly, "Just listen to me…" "No! It's your turn to listen to me," I say shaking with emotion. "I haven't loved anyone the way that I love you. Ever. You're the first person who ever truly gave a damn about me. Fox William Mulder, you're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I won't do anything to screw that up. Ever." Mulder gazes lovingly into my eyes, and I can see that I'm not the only one who's teary-eyed now. I feel overwhelmed with joy. He lays me flat on my back, and says tenderly, "Let's neck like teenagers until I can get it up again, Walter. I want to show you exactly how I feel. Words just aren't enough." I put my arms around his neck, and pull him down to me. He slowly and sensuously begins to kiss me, determined to show me no one could ever love me as much as he does. I already know that…but I'm not telling him that. I'm enjoying being convinced too much. EPILOGUE From: Mr. Raoul Bloodworth To: Sir Phillip Smythe-Montmercy Dear Mr. Montmercy: This is to advise you formally that if you ever dispose of any of my property without my permission again, you will suffer the consequences of intense indiscretion. I understand that you did so only to reclaim your own property, but this is of no consequence to me. Do not let it happen again. This is not an idle threat, as you know from our long association. You know my inclinations in these matters. If you wish our association to continue, please understand that I not only expect your full cooperation in my efforts to reclaim my lost property; I demand it. In the meantime, I intend to make full use of your property until such time mine is returned to me. It's been good working with you, Phil. I hope that you see reason, and that we may resume a more congenial working relationship. Yours, etc. The e-mail should be in Phil's in-box by now. I do hope that I was persuasive. It would sadden me to have to kill him after all these years, but I will stop at nothing to get Walter Skinner returned to me. Even before his ….improvements…. the boy was an erotic delight, and so affectionate and full of life, too. I've never had anyone like him, and I doubt that I ever will again. I can't let him get away. He WON'T get away. He'll come back. He'll see that no one else can love him and protect him they way that I can. He's just misguided and confused now, that's all. The arrogant little fool got full of himself when I had him promoted to Assistant Director, and bewitched by Fox's macho breast beating. No matter. I'll make the boy see reason. I won't lose him to anyone, not even my son. Yes, he'll come back to me. Dead or alive. The End