The Grey Zone, part 1: Heaven & Hell

By Palinurus

October 15, 1997

His knees were already shaky when he knocked on the door.

"Come!" Skinner shouted, never a man to waste words. Mulder went in, closing the door behind him. Skinner sat behind his desk reading a stack of papers. "Agent Mulder. Glad you could make it."

Mulder, who didn't feel he'd had any choice in the matter, couldn't think of an apt reply. He shut up and waited, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, unable to decide what to do with his hands.

"Take a seat Mulder, I have to finish this first."

Great, he thought, some more time to enjoy the suspense. He sat down in one of the chairs far away from the desk. He looked around for a while, studied the non-descript art on the walls, and tried not to wonder what was next. He was so nervous that he could hardly sit still. After a few minutes he got up and walked around the office, pretending to notice new things in a place that hadn't changed in the four years he'd known it.

Skinner looked up from his work, inscrutable. "Please take a seat, Agent Mulder." More firmly this time.

He sighed under his breath, swallowed, sat again. Lacing and unlacing his fingers. Aware of Skinner's ploy to crank up the tension, but unable to shield himself from its effects. The room was decidedly warmer than usual. Had Skinner turned up the thermostat in preparation for...? He felt sweat pricking on his back, considered taking off his jacket, decided against it, not wanting to risk another one of those looks.

The office was so quiet he could hear the fastest hand of the clock on the wall tick away the seconds. He became uncomfortably aware of his breathing, tried to make it a little shallower, a little less loud, but had to give up; he couldn't get in enough air that way.

Suddenly the AD got up, collecting the papers lying in front of him. Mulder nearly jumped, his heartbeat shot up, his breathing went completely out of control. Jesus Christ, inside for 15 minutes and his nerves were already shot to hell. Calm down, you idiot, he won't kill you but you're well on your way to doing it yourself.

Skinner looked at him. Mulder thought he saw a shadow of a self-satisfied smile, but it was really hard to tell. His delay tactics were certainly having the desired effect. Mulder had rarely before felt so wound up.

"Agent Mulder, please get your coat; we're leaving. Meet me in the parking garage."

His mouth nearly fell open in surprise. Leaving? But... what the hell WAS this? Surely it wasn't going to be a beer-drinking, male-bonding kind of night, or was it? "But Sir, I... I thought we were going... that we would..." Oh god, shut up, please remember to shut up when there's no coherent thought anywhere in your head.

Skinner waited long enough to make it very clear that he wouldn't find his way out of his sentence. "Agent Mulder, you were doing such an admirable job of being quiet, please try to keep it up a bit longer." 'Please' was never 'please', it was clearly an order.

"Yes sir." His head reeling with confusion, he picked up his coat from the basement, then went to the underground parking to look for Skinner's car. Skinner was already there, the engine running. He put his coat in the back seat, then got in.

Skinner drove in total silence. Mulder couldn't stand it. How did people manage to sit next to each other for what seems like an hour and not say a single word? There was always so much going on in his head, the words just spilled out of their own volition. There must be a lot going on in Skinner's head too, but Skinner managed to keep it all to himself. He thought of turning on the radio, but was fairly sure Skinner wouldn't appreciate that. He was also fairly sure that it would set him back another point in tonight's battle of wills. Oh god.

After another ten minutes of stifling, suffocating silence, he gave up the losing battle. "Sir; where are we going?"

Skinner looked at him sideways for several seconds, taking Mulder's point chip from the pile and adding it to his own. "We are going to my apartment, Agent Mulder."

Heartbeat, heartbeat. To his apartment. No beer drinking and male bonding, then. Oh god. Bluffed into silence, he blinked several times, rotated his shoulders where the muscles were so tense they were threatening to cramp, crossed his legs, uncrossed them again, and was really grateful for the sound of the car engine so he could at least breathe as hard as he needed to. Count your blessings.

He also noticed that in spite of his discomfort, he was getting erect in anticipation of the unknown events ahead. He quickly crossed his legs again, and thought with regret of his coat lying uselessly in the back seat. He couldn't think of any unobtrusive way to close his jacket over his rising nemesis, so he sat as still as possible and thought of the greasy dishes in his kitchen sink. From the corner of his eyes he thought he could see Skinner smile a knowing smile again. But it was hard to tell.

His agitation increased when the car turned onto the street where Skinner lived. One more traffic light. There's the garage door. Calm your breathing, for god's sake. By the time Skinner turned the car into the reserved bay, he was slightly light-headed from the lack of oxygen. At least I can get to my coat...

"You can leave your coat in the car, Agent Mulder."

His shoulders slumped. There was no way he was going to win even a single move tonight.

They entered the apartment. "You can go upstairs," Skinner said. "The bedroom is the second door on the left. Undress and wait for me there."

"Um, is there a chance I could get a beer first, sir?" Trying to regain some lost ground.  Skinner's mouth wrinkled briefly. "Agent Mulder, please don't forget that we are not here for your amusement. I'll get you a beer, then please take it upstairs and undress." Another 'please'.

He took his beer and went upstairs. The second door on the left revealed a big, airy room with a magnificent view of the city lights. He decided not to switch on the light; the eerie glow from outside might make things a bit easier tonight. The bed was wide, and both the headboard and footboard could be used to fasten things, ropes, handcuffs, chains... Stop that. He looked around curiously, but didn't dare open any closets or drawers, and there wasn't much to see otherwise.

Now what? He very much didn't feel like getting naked and then waiting another 15 minutes. On the other hand, if he hadn't undressed by the time Skinner came up, that might be more trouble. He leaned against the wall in the semi-darkness, looked at the view, sipped his beer, and contemplated the situation.

He heard Skinner talking on the phone and suddenly had a fleeting suspicion that he was talking to Scully and telling her everything that had happened last week, as well as what was going to happen tonight. Get a hold of yourself Mulder. This is still the old world, no matter how strange it looks at the moment. The man is probably calling his mother. This notion sent him into a fit of suppressed giggling that brought tears to his eyes.

Great Mulder, you're doing great. Oxford psychologist losing it at the thought of his boss placing a phone call to his mother.

With a start he realized that the voice had stopped. He put down his beer and undressed in record time, almost falling when he tried to remove his pants before he had taken off his shoes, then catching his hands in his shirt cuffs. He was naked except for his shirt that was bundled in a Gordian knot around his wrists, when Skinner came in, now smiling broadly when he saw the scene. A multi-point victory, and trust him to make the most of it.

Skinner flipped a switch on the wall that lit a spotlight in the ceiling. The center of the bed was now brightly lit, leaving the rest of the room wrapped in darkness. "I wouldn't have guessed that you'd find it so difficult to undress, Agent Mulder. It looks like you need some help." He walked over and swung Mulder around by his shoulders, pinning him against his chest with one arm, and with one finger of his free hand he traced slow lines and circles over Mulder's chest and abdomen, skirting dangerously close to his cock which was quickly coming back to joyful hardness. Mulder's muscles twitched involuntarily under his touch. The hand moved up, touching his nipples with feather-light caresses, and finally came to his throat where it exerted light, then not so light pressure on the jugular, causing Mulder's breath to make a hissing noise in his throat. Mulder started to sweat heavily, willing himself not to panic, his erection already painful, his knees almost buckling. Abruptly, Skinner let go, and still standing behind him, quickly undid the shirt cuffs, then untangled Mulder's hands from the sleeves.

Skinner gently sat him down on the bed and disappeared into the adjacent bathroom. Mulder tried to recover his breath, to stop his legs from shaking, and to clear his head. He reacted to Skinner's touch as a cat to catnip, reaching out and rubbing himself against any body part that was offered, practically rolling over belly-up and offering himself for anything that might take Skinner's fancy. And he resented it. Another few minutes of those touches and he would have come. He had a very strong suspicion that he wouldn't get off so lightly this time, and the anticipation of whatever Skinner was going to do to him tonight made his shoulders tense to the breaking point once again.

Skinner came out the bathroom door holding some contraption of transparent plastic. Oh god, that didn't look good at all. That looked positively scary. Then, with a jolt of panic, he recognized what it was. Oh *Christ*! No, that is out of the question. No way. Absolutely no way I'm going to let him do that.

Skinner put the whole tangle on the bed, far away from Mulder, then walked over and sat next to him. He took his jaw in one hand, bent his head backwards and kissed him, fiercely, possessively. He met a resisting tongue and they battled for several seconds before Skinner, of course, had his way. He probed Mulder's mouth deeply, leaving no corner untouched, asserting his presence until Mulder was heaving with breathlessness.

"Mulder. I'm going to give you an enema, as a preparation for what we're going to do later. Please lie down on your side and pull your knees up to your chest." There was that infuriating 'please' again.

No no no, no way, no way... "Sir, I can't do that, really I can't..." That didn't come out as assertive as it should have come out, not by a long shot. Oh god. "Sir, that is really beyond the limits, I won't do this even if you... if you...". Horrified, he saw his next chip go.

"Even if I what?"

The bastard knew exactly how far he could go, and how to push him a little bit further. Mulder wasn't ready to sacrifice his job, his obsession, not now that he had already gone so far to save it.

"Sir, please don't make me do this," he concluded weakly. He knew it was futile.

"It won't be as bad as it seems. On your side, Mulder."

He squeezed his eyes shut. He fought an impulse to bolt for the door, to punch his boss in the solar plexus, to yell bloody murder. He sighed deeply several times, trying to get rid of the giddiness that threatened to overcome him. Then he lay down in the pool of light, his back to the plastic monstrosity that leered at him, and pulled up his knees.

Skinner had become a shadow that moved to the other side of the bed and dug up a little bottle of lube from the bedside drawer. He put some on his finger, then spread Mulder's ass and put some of the cold goo on his twitching sphincter, pushing gently inside a little way. Mulder had tensed up completely, making it difficult to get even one finger inside. He was barely breathing anymore. Skinner reached for the bag, balanced it on Mulder's hip, and took the nozzle into his hand. He deftly inserted it, eliciting a small, breathless gasp, then opened the valve.

Mulder cried out, arching his back as the water invaded his rectum. Oh god, oh god, this is ten times worse than getting fucked. He felt like he was washed out of his own body, he had to make way for a tsunami, he didn't know which way to turn, where to hide, the water was everywhere, by now it must have filled him, his whole abdomen was awash, and still it kept coming. He twisted on the bed, groaning, sweating, panicked. Skinner held him down until he stopped thrashing, panting heavily, muttering "Oh god, oh god..." The panic subsided slowly and he lay down again, shaking.

"Don't stop breathing Mulder. Try to breathe normally."

He tried to ignore the voice that was magnifying his humiliation. He desperately needed to be alone, to recover from his horror, to adjust to this awful, distended feeling of drowning in plenty of air. He covered his head with his arms, wanting to turn on his stomach but painfully aware of the image he'd be presenting then.

"Mulder." Go away, you motherfucker. "All the water is inside you now," making him squirm, "I'm going to take out the nozzle. Make sure you keep it inside, or things will get very messy." He started to panic again. "No, I can't, wait, please..." Futile again, of course. He felt a little pulling sensation in his anus, then the water threatened to rush out and he clamped down on it, moaning in agony, sweating like a pig.

"Very good Mulder, very good indeed. Now in another minute or so your bowels will start to cramp. It may be a bit unpleasant but it does no harm. You have to keep it in for five more minutes, then I'll let you go to the bathroom. There's a clock there on the wall."

Let me go? You'll have to carry me. He felt the first distant crampy sensation crawling around in his abdomen. His rectum was on fire from the pressure to keep the water in, but he didn't dare try to release it even slightly. The first wave of cramp hit him like a fist. He moaned, curled up, then uncurled, couldn't breathe anymore. All of him seemed to have turned into one giant, cramping intestine. He almost forgot about the water, felt a dangerous flowing in his rectum and tensed up again, biting his lip with the effort. Oh god...

The cramps slowly subsided, leaving him hot and sweaty with relief. Then he noticed Skinner was lying behind him, touching him, holding him, kissing his neck. The contrast between the cramp and this sweet touch brought tears to his eyes. Please god, how much longer? He looked at the clock in disbelief. Barely a minute had passed. Four more, oh sweet Jesus, this will kill me... Skinner's warm body consoled him, belying his guilt of this horror. He leaned back against in, in spite of himself, and let himself be comforted.

Another wave was forming. He gasped, trying to will it away, but it swept him up despite his pleading and carried him in a haze of pain and tension, miles and miles, then deposited him into Skinner's arms again. From hell straight into heaven, to lie there a few seconds, only to be yanked away again for more cramps, more punishment, more teeth-clenching anxiety about the damned sheets. The last wave left him quaking.

Skinner half-lifted him to a sitting position. "The five minutes are up." Mulder blinked at him, dazed, shaking, then turned his head painfully and measured the distance to the bathroom door. He would walk even if it killed him, anything rather than asking to be carried like a damned invalid.

He almost fell when he got off the bed, but after that it wasn't as bad as he had thought. He carefully closed the bathroom door, sat down on the toilet and emptied his bowels. The relief was immeasurable; he wanted to stay there forever, trembling, drawing deep, shaky breaths, relaxing all muscles that had almost been torn from their ligaments. He stepped into the shower, beyond caring about Skinner's opinion on that, and stood, not thinking.

I'll have to go back in. I can't stay here and he'll come get me out anyway. He shut off the water and dried himself, stood very still for another minute, then went back into the room. Skinner was waiting for him, still completely dressed. He almost had to laugh at that. I've been to hell and back, and he's sitting there in his nicely cut suit. He had definitely ended up on the wrong side of the line again.

Skinner got up, took him by an elbow and led him back to the bed, then laid him down, once more on his side. Then Skinner took off his tie and shirt, and got on the bed behind Mulder, resuming his earlier caressing, but now his ministrations were intended not to comfort but to arouse.

Mulder once again felt himself instantly responding to the touches. He felt the heat of Skinner's chest against his back, the pressure of his erection against his ass, and he felt - flattered. Positively flattered. He dimly realized that this was probably exactly how he was meant to feel. He felt Skinner's hand exploring every inch of his body, kneading, probing, stroking, evoking little muscle twitches and tremors everywhere, leaving nothing untouched. He was rolled half on his back, and Skinner kissed him again, hard, long, demanding, his free hand between Mulder's thighs, roughly manhandling him - it was a conquest of territory, nothing more, nothing less. Mulder felt himself bending with the force and relishing in it, being thrilled by it, incredibly aroused, letting himself float wherever Skinner wanted him to go. Wanting to move wherever he was pushed. Wanting to make the small, gasping sounds Skinner drew from him.

Skinner took his free hand and he suddenly felt the cold steel close around it; then he was rolled over on his stomach, and his hands were cuffed behind him. He slowly crawled out of his trance. Oh no.

"Pull up your knees," Skinner said, his voice now very husky. Pull up my knees? How can I do that? He awkwardly rolled on his side and pulled up his knees. "Not like that." Skinner grabbed him around his waist with both hands and hauled him up, resting him on shoulders and knees. "Don't move."

He was suddenly very aware of the circle of light of which he formed the center. Skinner moved off the bed and disappeared into the shadows, leaving him alone and very, very naked. His head was turned to one side, the side where Skinner was not, and he didn't dare lift his torso to turn it to the other side. He wanted desperately to see something, to hear something, say something. To re-establish the lost communication. He heard no sound for a long time, then the rustle of clothes. Then nothing again. He felt completely isolated, exposed not only to Skinner but to the leering eyes of the whole world outside. Come back, oh please, come back, this is too awful. Don't talk. Don't beg. But I can't stand this. I'll die of loneliness, of exposure...

Then to his immense relief, he felt Skinner move onto the bed again. Moving up behind him. Spreading his knees with his own and keeping them apart. He began to tense up against the inevitable. Skinner's hands stroked the length of his back, and he reached up to those hands, to their warmth, their strength, their company. The hands moved around to his chest, finding his nipples, gently pulling at the hair around them. Mulder made a throaty sound and tried to move with them, but he didn't have much leeway. He moaned in frustration.

Skinner began kissing his neck, moving around, nipping at his earlobes. The mouth moved down along his spine, accompanied by the hands. Pausing at the small of his back, the hands moved around and ever so gently touched his cock, rubbing slowly, making him rotate his pelvis, in slow, longing movements. The mouth drew a slow, wet circle on his back. The hands departed again, moved back again to his ass, and spread him open. He breathed deeply and braced himself against the pain.

Instead of pain there was an incredible sensation - warm, moist, soft, unbelievably arousing. He gasped in shock when he realized what was happening. Skinner's tongue was sending trickles of liquid gold through him, traveling to his groin, to his abdomen, to his head. He squirmed in acute embarrassment. Skinner put a hand on his neck and held him down. The trickles grew stronger, turned into a stream. He was panting, dizzy with arousal, reaching out towards the tongue that was now pushing inside, setting him on fire. Then, with mind-numbing suddenness, it disappeared.

Mulder cried out, enraged, desperate. Skinner let go of him again. The arctic cold was back for an instant, then he felt an arm on his back, a blunt, slippery finger entering him, probing insistently, spreading lubricant, then, seemingly by accident, brushing against his prostate. His hips bucked. The finger was joined by a second, creating a small crackle of pain. Together they manipulated him, tantalized him. They pushed him to the edge, then, scissoring out, pulled him back again painfully, then forward once more. He teetered on the brink, then flew out headlong. The fingers ignited all explosives inside, took away his last shred of dignity as he thrashed and bucked in frantic ecstasy.

That was Skinner's moment. He should have expected it. The pain of the sudden penetration seared through him. Skinner held him down with his full weight, then pushed hard to move himself further inside against the muscles clamped down on him. It felt like a clash of titans but there was never any doubt about the outcome. Skinner bored his way inside, now pulling back a little bit, now pushing in as hard as he could, grunting with the effort. Mulder was gasping with pain and exertion, all his muscles fighting a futile battle to keep Skinner from going further, to stop him somehow. Eventually Skinner was all the way in, leaning on the other man, panting, holding still long enough to recover from his labor.

Skinner felt the blood in his cock pulse against its narrow confines. He took in the sight of the other, helpless, beaten, still on his knees below him. The long back, arched in an attempt to reduce the pain. The tightly stretched muscle around his cock. He fastened his mouth on Mulder's neck and began to move, relishing in the soft moans, inching out and in at first; then, as the resistance weakened, halfway, then almost the full length. Mulder was writhing now, trying to escape from the relentless movement. Skinner stopped moving and moved both his hands up along Mulder's thighs, finding him erect once more. He took his cock in a full hand, thumb and index finger curved around the base, and moved his hand in counterpoint to his fucking. Mulder was still struggling, out of breath, in shock from the brutal invasion and his body's response to it. But once again it was an uphill struggle. Skinner kissed his neck again, nibbled at his ears again, and he felt himself give in, relenting to a second orgasm, which left him dizzy, exhausted, trembling. Skinner felt him come, and set a new pace of slow, hard, deep thrusts, gathering the exhausted body in his arms, lifting it up, and coming deep, deep inside with a trembling sigh.
 
They lay together for a while, Mulder dazedly staring at the opposite wall, not moving. When Skinner got up and went to the bathroom, he stayed still. His confusion enraged him. This thing was getting completely out of hand. The situation was impossible. Skinner had blackmailed him into this, and he hadn't even given it a thought until now, when it was clear that he'd bitten off more than he could chew. No number of X-files, no peaks of  knee-buckling, heart-stopping arousal could outweigh this... this... mortification. This all-out assault on his ego. It was intolerable, unacceptable, unbearable. It simply was too much to handle. Maybe not right now, but tomorrow he would definitely announce that it would have to stop, come what may.

He was on the verge of getting up to put on his clothes when Skinner emerged from the bathroom. Their eyes met, locked for a long minute. Then Skinner moved. He got back into bed and stretched out full length against Mulder's stiff back. He began stroking Mulder's flanks, tracing his ribs along his chest, ignoring the passive resistance that met him. His hand traveled the expanse of Mulder's abdomen, caressed his upper thighs, gently fondled his cock, moved back up again.

Mulder heaved a shaky sigh, then leaned back against the warm body enveloping him. He was broke. In full possession of his faculties, he had just handed over his last chips; there was nothing left to bargain with. But it didn't really seem to matter anymore.

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