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Thursday 09/21/2000 'Tu ouvres la cage où surprotégé I wake up slowly. Before I even open my eyes I can feel the warm body nestled against mine. I smile, with the silly smile of Joe Public greeting a new day with the absolute knowledge he is loved. I stretch languidly but carefully, as I hate to wake up my little fox too abruptly. He's not yet used to the radio alarm playing music instead of shrieking in the early morning. 'je dépose corps et armes I've managed to convince him that we've got enough *alarms* ringing in our lives. We don't need yet one more to initiate the day. He begins to stir in his sleep, and my heart sinks as I look over his sweet and pouting face. For a full week the same miracle has been reproduced each morning; I can't believe it. 'je dépose corps et armes I translated Daho's lyrics for him when I played the CD for the first time, and then he hugged me with tears in his beautiful eyes. He made no objection when I chose it for our *alarm*. His chestnut eyelashes rise slowly, revealing hazy gray-green eyes. They focus slowly on mine, and a wide grin widens his wonderful lips. "Hi, beautiful." His voice is veiled with remnants of sleep, pure velvet to my still incredulous ears. I bend to take his swollen mouth and linger there, lazily. I didn't think I ever could afford such a treasure. His kiss answers mine as he feeds on my mouth, playing with my tongue, licking my teeth... He tilts his head back, and his lashes filter a wicked gleam when his hips move to grind his morning erection against mine, making me whimper helplessly. "Fox, we can't... Not now... You have a meeting at the Bureau first thing in the morning, remember?" I try reluctantly to disentangle myself, but he follows me, reaching for my hardness with eager hands. "All the more reason not to waste any time!" he tempts me in a cajoling tone. "Let's kill two birds with one stone..." he adds, capturing both our members with one hand and starting to jerk us off swiftly. His other hand comes to cup my balls. Oh God, I can't be reasonable about the two of us, not when he's purring this way. My arm closes around his shoulders, and I find my way along his bared throat, licking, sucking, kissing and nibbling all along his neck's sensitive flesh. Soon he requires both hands, because, long though his fingers are, we've grown too large for him to hold in a single hand. I can feel we're already close to our climax, and I select a part of him between neck and shoulder that will remain hidden by his FBI regulation shirt to plant my teeth; I bite cruelly, lovingly... I want to mark him, and he accepts it, but my orgasm takes me high, and I hurt him more than I intended - he shouts, and in his voice pain merges with pleasure. Leaning back I saw red droplets staining the white skin. "Oh Fox, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you... I'm such an ass! Please forgive me, sweetheart..." I stammer. Guiltily, I lick the wounded flesh, and I feel him giggling under my touch. Raising my head to look at his face I see his lovely eyes blurred in afterglow and his mouth, tenderly smiling. His hand, wet with our come, reaches my cheek gently stroking, and he introduces a salty finger between my lips. "No, Alex, don't be sorry. You own both my essences, the red and the white. I'm yours, and I want it to be that way. I love you..." I suck on his finger, happy to have an excuse not to answer. I'm afraid tears would make me choke. He stretches and suddenly recalls his meeting. "Better we don't shower together, I guess?" he wonders. I nod, then I stand up to make a detour by the bathroom before going into the kitchen. No way he's going to leave without a proper breakfast! *** Washington DC, Alexandria, Mulder's apartment - 08:20 am I'm sitting on Fox's couch, my laptop on my thighs, connected to a secured cellular, and I'm trying to break into the Intranet of a company I suspect belongs to the Syndicate, when a knock on the door makes me jerk. No keys fumbling in the lock yet, so I know it isn't that Fox has forgotten something. Anyway it wasn't *our* knock. I put the computer aside on the couch and silently rise, drawing my Sig from my jeans' belt. I approach the door with care and lean against the wall beside it. I wait a little while but I can't hear a thing. I raise my fake hand and pass it slowly in front of the spyhole. Perhaps somebody is waiting for a moving shadow to shoot through the door... Nothing happens, so I decide to have a look. As far as I can see, the corridor is empty. I unlock the door (and in order to do so, I have to hold the Sig against my chest with my prosthesis), and I let it open slightly before once more taking hold of the gun with my good hand. I slip a foot into the door's gap and open it wide. I peer in the corridor, which definitely proves free of any presence. On the floor in front of me there is a parcel wrapped in brown paper, and tied with common yarn. 8 inches by 6. Soft, but this means nothing. A name is written on it and bending my knees I can read: "Herr Arntzen" in block letters. Okay. I don't hear any "tick-tock" but the good old days are over, and modern devices are subtle. I don't touch at the thing but step back to my briefcase on the coffee table - out of which I take what looks like a calculator, but is in fact a useful small apparatus that can "smell" its electronic brothers. I switch it on; as a specialist in double-dealing, I don't trust the green diode, so I pass my wristwatch over it - a gentle buzz tells me the thing is working all right. Back to the door I kneel reverently in front of the parcel, testing it with great care. Nothing. I stand up with a sigh, holding my *gift* with my forefinger under the yarn. I close the door and head back to the couch with a question mark floating above my head like a cartoon character. Poisoned paper? A pocket of lethal gas ready to pop up when open? There are easier ways to get rid of me - or to try to, at least. I turn the parcel over, and there I find what I was looking for: in one corner, two tiny symbols. One is Spender's private mark, and the second means, "This is an urgent mission for you, hurry up and keep quiet!" Yes, Smokey can say many things with very few words sometimes. With another sigh I untie the yarn and unwrap the paper to find gray overalls. Worn but clean. On the chest left pocket an orange logo shows a hexagon and a corn on the cob with the letters "BC". I recognize this. As if to reinforce my memories, a faint scent of honey rises from the fabric. "Bees and Corn". A very transparent trademark for the Syndicate's mutant bee project. I'd wondered once about how obvious that logo seemed - but been reminded of Poe's stolen letter. I can't suppress a gesture of fury. Each time I think of this project my blood boils. I was raised as a child with a very classical European background - to me, since Ancient Greece, bees have been the symbol of peace. It is said that you can't find any in a country ravaged by war. They instinctively flee the madness of men. Two centuries ago that butcher, Napoleon, dared to bring them right into the middle of the battlefield via his coat of arms... And now the Syndicate couldn't do any better than to turn them into lethal weapons! To me this is a crime against Nature Herself. I never was blindly in love with humankind, but I respect Gaïa. The colonists can defeat us, but they won't get the upper hand against Her, of this I'm sure. I push away these philosophical considerations and unfold the overalls. Inside I find a matching cap, a pair of fabric boots, the kind you're given in sterile units at hospital, a tired wallet with a few papers, and a plastic bottle containing a pale yellow gel. Which I'm not going to open before further instructions. As if summoned by my reflections, my cellular rings. "Yes?" "Alex." Ah, Smokey. "I guess you found the parcel?" "Yes." "Good! Your mission will take a mere two days, no more. You can leave a note for Agent Mulder; we don't want him to turn the world upside down in search of you. But you don't have to give him any details. Better for his *health*." The bastard put a stress on the last word. "As you've guessed already, you'll have to visit one of the domes. The bottle contains a shampoo and shower soap based on honey. You'll use it before reaching your goal." "To shout at your damned bees, 'Hello, I'm here, come and taste me!' What a nice idea," I quip. "Quite the contrary, Alex. This gel, as well as overalls, cap and boots' fabric, has had special pheromones added to them. The bees will recognize you, as a kind of, huh, *queen*?" I swallow a grunt at the irony I imagine in his voice. "They will come to you, yes, but they won't harm you. They won't even dare to touch you. And if somebody tries to attack you, they'll protect you. Take special care to impregnate exposed parts of your body. And secure the fabric boots carefully above your shoes and socks. Our little friends will be able to smell you from 500 yards, the limit of the corn fields around the dome. Park your car there, then change clothes. The rental car is waiting for you at your neighbourhood agency. You need to pick it up at 10. Take a GPS. I'll call you on later to give the exact location and the details of your mission." Before I can answer, the communication has gone dead. *** Washington DC, Alexandria, 'Rent A Car' - 9:12 am I present myself at the counter. "Jack Benson. I rented a car." The employee searches her files and selects one. "You paid for three days, Mr. Benson. Please would you sign here...?" I comply, take the keys and papers, and am shown to a dark blue sedan. I open the driver's door, launch my black duffel bag onto the passenger's seat, and take my place behind the wheel. I rummage through the glove compartment to find what I'm looking for: a manila envelope. Inside there is a flight ticket for Macon, GA via Pittsburgh, and some documents. I check my watch and conclude I'll be in time at Reagan Airport, my flight to Atlanta being scheduled for 12:05 pm. I shrug and buckle my security belt, turn the key in the ignition and engage the sedan pulling out into the mid-morning traffic. *** Flight DAL1511, Washington/Atlanta, 12:37 pm I pocket the manila envelope. It contains a receipt for a further rental, scheduled for pick up at Macon airport. I easily figure that the second glove compartment will shelter a similar envelope, with further though cryptic explanations. I open the paperback I've bought whilst waiting for the boarding call, but can't keep my attention on the vampire novel. I tilt my head against my seat's back, close my eyes, and let my mind wander back to *our* apartment. I lay Fox down on his leather couch and begin to play with my favourite toy. Soon I'm regretting that I didn't choose a magazine, as the book is a bit too small to hide the bulge in my pants. *** Flight DAL4024, Atlanta/Macon, 03:15 pm I ate in Atlanta - what else is there to do between two flights? Yet I prefer to get bored on my own than to play host for some alien visitor. I don't remember Hong Kong airport that well, you know. Even so, I'm not absolutely allergic to rest-rooms, and I confess that I did go to one and jerk off once to calm down before lunch, hoping that it would tide me over for the day. I really should try to read this book after all. Anything's better than to pine after Fox. I've done enough of that in the past years, in vain. Now that I have the real thing, I... Fuck, should I visit the plane toilets too? *** Macon GA, Lewis B. Wilson airport, 04:17 pm Impatiently, I take place in the queue at the rental counter. A few minutes later an employee raises her blue eyes and parts her lips in wonder when meeting mine. I slide the receipt towards her across the counter without a word. I'm in a bad mood. I feel like I've been called back right in the middle of a well deserved vacation. Smokey said "two days", but... shit, I miss Fox so much! It was years before we arrived at our truce. And all that comes with. The brunette takes the corresponding file, checks my papers, has me sign the form, gives me the keys, and shows "Mr. Benson" his black jeep on the parking lot. I thank her, and I'm gone to repeat the ritual of the morning. The new glove compartment opens on a map of Georgia. A red dot marks one of the roads leaving the airport towards the east. I install my cellular so I can reach it without letting go of the wheel for too long. "And there we go!" I sigh once more as I turn the engine on. I've been driving but a few miles when the phone rings. I push the 'hands-free' button and listen attentively to Spender's instructions. "Take I-16E and drive for 16 miles. There you'll turn to the north at exit 18 and go to Jeffersonville via Bullard Road. You have a room at "The Blue Sands", a motel SW of town, before the railroad station. You'll be given sealed instructions at the desk." Spender cuts the phone before I can answer, not that I care to. I don't like to be treated like a puppet on a string but the veiled threat in the Smoker's voice this very morning is still resounding in my ears. "Agent Mulder's health". Yeah. Whatever the old bastard knows of our new relationship, he's aware of the impact of his words on his former hired-killer. *** Jeffersonville GA, "The Blue Sands" - 06:15 pm I have to hit the bell on the desk several times before summoning a half-asleep manager who matches his motel: tired and in great need of a thorough cleaning. I answer the unarticulated barking with a curt, "Jack Benson," and am given a key and a brown envelope. Grumpy turns his back to me to resume his nap without bothering to show me the place. I leave the hall in search for room #24 - Spender has a twisted sense of humour. I come back to drive the car to my door and take out my duffel bag. The inside of the room is as poor as I feared. I'm used to cheap motels but it doesn't mean I appreciate them. I sit down on the squeaking bed with a frown and open what should be the last envelope. A map with a broader scale bears at its upper angle a marker-pen notation: 33°27, 83°50. I study the map closely and locate the point. Right in the middle of nowhere as is to be be expected. I open the smaller envelope clipped to the map, unfold a sheet of paper and read the type-written instructions. 'Please memorize this.' I remain thoughtful a short while, then I see the printing grow fainter till it disappears completely. I'd bet a chemical analysis wouldn't reveal anything now. A rapid calculation shows me that going to the unit and back that same evening would take too long. Better to have a good rest and leave in the dead of night. I won't enter the unit before dawn, but I'll have enough time to survey the surroundings. I glance around myself and decide to keep the envelope in the duffel-bag, and the bag with me. The paranoia I share with Fox Mulder has kept our asses safe till now - you don't change a winning team. I stand up and grunt at the ever-squeaking bed - then a brief smile lightens my face as I think of the concert my Fox and I could give here. Grumpy's nap would be seriously disturbed. With these restorative thoughts I leave the room and put my bag into the jeep. Gotta get something for my nocturnal picnic. *** Washington DC, Alexandria, Mulder's apartment - 07:50 pm Mulder knocked on his own door - three times, then one, then two - before putting his key into the lock. It was a very simple code but it was just a little extra precaution. The first evening after Alex had agreed to stay he'd returned from the Hoover to find himself the target of the Sig pointing out from his own kitchen. The whole day he had been deadly afraid of finding an empty apartment, but that hadn't been the welcome he'd craved. Alex's practical mind had immediately established this little protocol he had obediently observed since then. He entered the living-room light-hearted but his mood plummeted at the emptiness of the place. Nothing was cooking in the kitchen, everything was dark but for the soft glow of the fish-tank. He tried to reassure himself - once already he had found an abandoned apartment, and Alex had returned a quarter of an hour later, apologizing for being late. He had gone shopping and couldn't find the ingredients he needed for the dinner... Had to visit three groceries in a row. But tonight things were different - the place felt empty, definitely. His mind went back in despair to the morning. They had left with a warm embrace, fighting the desire that drew each of them towards the other. He just refused to believe in a new betrayal, even after only one week. A lot of things had changed in such a short time... Mulder closed the door behind him at last and took off his coat, dropping his keys and case on the coffee-table. His eyes remained glued to the grey briefcase leaning on it. Alex's briefcase! He would never have left it behind him! What had happened? At a loss, he sat in front of the computer, asking the black screen for a clue. Then he saw the mouse laid upside-down. He switched the PC on, his fingers tapping nervously on the desk while the opening software loaded. He instantly noticed the wallpaper - Buffy was gone, replaced by the Windows 'Travel' thema. He made a quick search in the last modified files and slammed his fist on the table as he read: Cheese.txt. He double-clicked on the selected line and the Notepad opened.
An enormous sigh of relief raised Mulder's chest. It wasn't a trap - the leftovers story was a running joke between them. From the first day Alex had made a habit of cooking for him each evening, and in larger quantities than needed, so Fox could eat "properly" if the chief was late. His eyes rose to stare at the calendar hanging on the wall. He had not a look for Pamela Anderson but took a red marker and crossed the present day. His gaze went two cases further. Saturday. He hesitated, then he stood up. He went into the bedroom, retrieved his lover's pillow and came back to the living-room with his face nestled in it, inhaling the sweet scent that sent a rippling wave of fire in his groin. He sat down on his couch and tenderly put the pillow against the leather arm. Then he leaned down, his cheek on the love-perfumed white fabric, and closed his eyes, folding his arms to hold his invisible killer. *** Friday 09/22/2000 I ate a very forgettable meat pie and bought some sandwiches and a six pack of mineral water at a little snack bar. During my nap, I put my laptop batteries on to recharge as I don't want them to fail me when leaving the motel later this night. I've just finished checking my equipment. Time for my honey-shower. It's going to be the second one in a row without my preferred G-man - what a pity. I didn't think I could be such a sentimental moron. I thought sentimentality was gone with the rest, innocence, inexperience but it looks like it was just buried deep inside, under layers of self-disgust and intentional oblivion. Another Mulder miracle and I'm not absolutely certain that it's desirable - right now, at least. I open the plastic bottle before entering the shower. Hmm, fine scent. I always loved honey. I'm supposed to shower once and to "re-coat" myself partially before changing clothes. I'm going to fill one of the bottles I bought with a mixture of water and soap, so I'll be able to shower - rustically - in the field, before dressing to enter the unit at dawn. Why am I showering a first time when the product is said to be efficient for only two hours? Let's say that sometimes I like to wear a belt and suspenders together, especially when Spender is involved... And I'll also keep a sample for Fox's Lone Pals. I'm not far from thinking that my "sponsor" intends me to do so. If not, I wonder why he gave me such a big full bottle? I'm to enter the tub when a chill runs right down my spine. I pick up one of my combat boots and crush the big cockroach that wanted to share the shower with me. I can't help but shiver. I *hate* these bugs! God knows I've met a lot in my life but they keep revolting me all the same, yechhh. Some days Smokey makes me feel just the same... *** Somewhere at north of Jeffersonville GA. - 33°27, 83°50 - 06:07 am The road didn't prove the least difficult. The GPS guided me through an almost dark landscape, between uncertain hills and fields' edges only revealed in the beam of my headlights, till the faintly shining silhouettes of the bee domes appeared. I should take a rest before dawn but it's rare for me to spend a night in the great outdoors these days; so I decide to enjoy the pure sky. Night sky. Two shining spots above my head: Jove and, what? Must be Saturn, the thin crescent of the moon's last quarter on the right side can't hide it. It's still difficult to look at this scenery without thinking of the threat it hides from us, Earthlings. Us. I rarely think of humans as my fellows, but under this striking vision of the universe, thousands of stars coldly glittering over my head, and billions upon billions that I can only try to imagine, I feel like a drop in the ocean of humankind. A drop like all the others, just a little bit more aware of the unpleasant truth. I don't often think of my childhood but I regret the lost days when I could stare up and marvel at the splendour of the world. Lying with my back to the ground, to the Earth, I would dream myself at the prow of a gigantic ship, cruising dark, unknown, infinite waters. Years later I could have shouted, "King of the World!" but today I know Titanics are doomed to sink. Okay. I shake myself, and lie down on the front seat for a short nap. *** Same place - 06:58 am My inner clock wakes me up a while before dawn. I've stopped the jeep fifty yards to the south of the cornfield. The sky is turning a very pale blue with light pink clouds unraveling. Through the open window I feel the dampness of the departing night rising from the earth. I leave the car to unfold my body and get ready for action. I stretch then sit down, leaning back against one of the tires. Flaring my nostrils, I taste the earthy perfume bathing the world. The white domes are turning rosy in the coming dawn that will soon condense the moisture and form morning mist. A mist that won't last either, as I guess we're in for a warm autumn day, one of gold and peace. Or so will it be for most people. A brief spasm squeezes my heart when I think of Mulder. It would be so good to be here together, after a night of camping in the wild, teasing each other whilst preparing breakfast before a ride in Mother Nature's bosom. Maybe some day. When all this is finished. If it comes to an end. If we're not offside before. If... Let's go. I leave the car to walk a large arc around the unit, remaining at a safe distance and munching on a sandwich at the same time. I'm watching the three white domes (big one in the middle, two smallest on each side, east and west) through infrared binoculars. There's nothing to be seen. Not a movement. And nothing to hear but the cicadas beginning to chirp somewhere between the corn plants. I can see the entrance I have to use clearly. H Hour. The car is oriented so it faces the road to freedom - maybe I'll have to fly in a hurry. In the already warm near-dawn, I undress and wash myself once again from head to toes with my special 'queen-of-the-bees' brand. I quickly dry myself with the towel I borrowed from the bathroom and dress in the overalls. I slip the fabric boots over the commando ones and my pants and secure them around my ankles with adhesive tape. Then I rub my face, neck and upper chest, ears and hair with some pure gel. To rub my good hand isn't easy so I add an extra load on my hair and rub my hand in it. I add more tape around the wrists and that's difficult too. At last I put the cap on, check the badge pinned to my pocket and slip my Sig Sauer into my pants' right pocket - and five floppy disks in the left chest one. I feel the warmth of the rising sun on my living arm as I walk towards the cornfield. The first pale gold rays reveal the glittering dewdrops scattered on the leaves that emerge from the dusky shade around me, as I progress under the pure sky, between two rows of tall plants. The cicadas shut up when I approach only to return to their monotonous concert a few yards behind me. That peaceful image doesn't fit the maelstrom of evil I know is nestling in the bulbous domes in front of me, the tops of which welcome the yellow light of the beginning day above a blue layer that remains part of a darker, subterranean world. I can see no sign of human activity anywhere. Or alien. Or anything in between. And the bees are asleep I suppose. I can't suppress a shiver. All this could be a sophisticated trap. I could die here leaving no traces. But once again there are easier ways to get at me. My "improvised" rendez-vous with Fox at the warehouse is a good example. No, I'd bet Spender has bigger plans in the making, but I can't quite picture them yet. I reach the south gate I've been told to use for my entrance. No locks on it, just doors to be pushed, which close back behind me with a hiss. I'm in a kind of airlock; the walls are made of a transparent white material, as is the ceiling, and the ground is composed of metallic plates. Nevertheless my steps are muted. In front of me another gate, identical to the first one and which opens in the same way. It leads me into the main part of the dome. I've never been inside one. I just saw some pictures which were corroborated by Fox - one of many subjects we've been talking of late at night during this past week. (Despite what you may think, we've not been fucking like frolicking bunnies 24/7.) So I'm at the edge of a sort of planetarium, unless everything is white around me. The dome seems to be made of fabric, but a thick one as the sun is only a slightly different shade of whiteness above my head. There must be a lighting system but I can't see where and how. The ground shows the same metallic plates as the airlock, though I can recognize patterns on the ground: alleys drawing a giant grid, framing trap doors. I carefully listen and I can hear a growing humming sound. It reminds me of what Fox told me of his experience and I feel nervous... Better not to stay in the "open" too long. I quickly walk along the main alley, counting the transverse rows. Here I am, fifteen. A glance on my left side reveals what I'm looking for: a trap door painted with yellow and black diagonals, like in the usual sci-fi illustrations. Not a Chriss Foss' painting, for it looks quite new and clean. I lay my bag down, kneel on the ground and pass my fingers over the plate - here it is, a notch. There's no other sign of a lock so I feel inside that notch, and I hear the click of a releasing mechanism. The trap door opens slightly without a single sound. I raise it and it willingly obeys my hand. I'll have to congratulate Smokey on the maintenance. The staircase leading to the basement profits from the same invisible light source. The word "cold light" comes to my mind. I'm all ears but I catch nothing besides the continuous humming. Taking hold back of my bag I climb down what is in fact a ladder and find myself in an all-white corridor. The designer lacks originality. The sound is a little louder down here and is more like a buzzing now... Where's third section, please? I follow the empty corridor and pass several grey doors. Most of them are anonymous, some show discreet digits or acronyms. The ninth door on the left side is marked: "Third section". Like its twins, it bears an electronic lock waiting for a magnetic card. If I'm to believe Spender's instructions there may be a cold reception behind it. You don't survive like I did without a little bit of luck - and a great deal of caution. I put my bag down on the ground, draw my weapon from my pocket and hold it against my chest with my prosthesis, echoing the gesture I made almost 20 hours ago. I need my right hand to use the magnetic badge, so... If there's somebody inside, the time they realize the face above the overalls isn't familiar, I'll already have my gun ready to fire. And the silencer won't disturb the cute little bees. The card slides into the slit, and I hear a trigger. I take my gun with my good hand and push the door open with my prosthesis, ready to block it with my foot. The room's walls are lined with computers on desktops. All the monitors are on. A man is sitting with his back to me, clad in the regulation overalls. He doesn't pay any attention to me. But his buddy on my right side tosses me an inquisitive look and he doesn't like what he sees. He opens his big mouth, but I make him respect his colleague's quietness. He looks a little surprised at the shot in his chest but it doesn't disturb him more than that. Fuck, it's a clone! He bounds towards me, and I courteously step aside to let him pass on his way, then shoot again, right in his neck. Everything that can be done with an ice pick can be achieved with a good old gun - except crushing ice. Turning my face around to avoid the deadly green ooze, I catch him and help his body to the ground without any more disturbing noise. His coworker is still absorbed in the contemplation of his screen. Sorry, guy, but I have to get rid of you even if you didn't hear the "plops" of my silencer. Maybe a little "shbonck" on your egghead will do? If you aren't a clone that is. Hey, what's with the buzzing? It's growing really loud and seems closer now, I really don't like that! Not at all! Before either I or the nerd can react, humming bees enter the room, at first one at a time, then in an increasing flow, coming from an air vent. The guy at the computer turns to face the noise and sees me but he doesn't seem afraid of me: he's scared to death by the insects. There's already a pack of them coating the dead body on the ground, the rest is swirling around me. I freeze, gun in hand, expecting I don't know what. But certainly not what happens, even though I've been told it would be so. The bees are circling me like a living tower - they stay twenty inches from me, and when I move they accompany me, keeping their distance. There are more coming in, and they notice the other man. A part of my biological fortress leaves me to rush onto him. He beats the air with his arms and when he opens his mouth to scream, the bees enter it... In shock I witness him losing his fight, as the murdering insects attack him again and again, sticking to every piece of flesh they can reach, rapidly turning what was a human shape in a tortured mass, convulsing on the ground, and whose movements get slower little by little - but not quickly enough for my taste, so I give him the deathblow. A change in the buzzing behind me makes me turn to face the first corpse, but what's left of it to see is almost more than I can stand. His pseudo-flesh has melted, and the green acrid liquid makes my stomach lurch. Better to obey orders as quickly as possible. The bees have left Egghead as well, leaving a similar but all-red mess, and most of them are back to their quarters, I suppose, via the air vent. A little hive goes on playing bodyguard for me. I quickly check my watch - still one hour and a half ahead of me. I slowly go back to the door and have a glance at the corridor: nobody. Collecting my bag, I sit down at a desktop - all of them look the same, so I choose one that allows me to keep an eye on the door. My escort follows me all the way, and you may count on me to avoid any sudden move... I begin to work on the keyboard. The whole system seems to be connected, and the security level is close to naught. Of course, if the bees are ready to attack even the unit workers, there would be no reason for their masters to fear burglars. It explains the outside doors. I surf the net, reconnoitering the folders tree. The classifying mode is one that is common to the Syndicate and retrieving the 'Ambrosia' files is an easy task. I wonder why Smokey needed me to break into this. Oh oh. As low as the security level is, there are still some passwords here. I try to forget the stench of the two decaying corpses, which begins to invade the confined room, and the continuous buzzing of the winged warriors around me. I focus on my duty, and one by one I crack the barriers... till the 'Ambrosia' files give themselves to me! My watch tells me it took me almost an hour. Fuck. Okay, I take the floppies out of my chest pocket and copy the files, my fingers tap-tapping on the desk. Four are enough and I repocket them. I erase the folders from the central memory, and a rapid survey shows me that there are no remnants of the hacked files anywhere. I'd like to install a little virus of my own making into the system but I know too little about it. If the Intranet of the unit goes haywire, who knows how the bees will behave? It's too dangerous a threat. I won't do anything of the kind without information from the Rebels. Time to sound the retreat. I stand up, hanging my bag on my left shoulder - always slowly - and the humming escort follows as one. I retrieve the badge I left in the lock and close the door. The card goes into my bag - I don't think I'll need it, as I can hardly go unnoticed within this swirling wall. Back to the staircase, I climb clumsily and push my bag above my head onto the metallic plate. I'm instantly aware of a loud noise in the dome and when my head reaches the ground level, I stop with a gasp. All the trap doors are open. There are bees everywhere - a fog of bees. Exactly what Fox described to me. I'm frozen on my ladder, frightened to death. I know what they say: animals can feel your fear. But I can't help it, all the more after what I've witnessed in the computer room. My bodyguards are waiting for me without the slightest change in their attitude. I wonder if I'm believed to be the queen of the *whole* thing? I haven't much time to spare, so I decide to cross the arena. I finish my ascension and straighten up. I wait for a few mortal seconds but nothing happens. The tiny workers are busy, and they don't pay me any attention. Some more soldiers, I guess, come to reinforce my personal guard. I force myself to walk steadily when my whole body wants but one thing: to run out of there asap. I follow the rows of trap doors open on dark mysteries I prefer not to think of, my nostrils assailed by strong mixed smells of honey and wax. I bet I won't have honey at breakfast for a while. The airlock gate gets closer and closer when another door suddenly opens on my left side. A big silhouette enters the dome closing the double-doors behind it; the guy is wearing an apiculturist's white suit: hood, gloves, boots... Seeing an intruder, he stares at me in a stupor before gesturing towards me. The bees' sixth sense alerts them and they rush towards him. His astonishment gives me time to draw my gun and fire. He falls to the ground, but this doesn't stop the hive that surrounds him in a fury. From where I am I can see the overalls undulating in an impossible way, and I understand the bees have managed to enter it. I catch a last glance of reddish spots expanding on the fabric... At last, I push the door open. A part of my escort hesitates and makes a U-turn but the rest remains with me. I cross the airlock and push at the outside door to find the sun higher in the sky, hot on my wet face. I hadn't realized I was sweating. A new glance at my wrist tells me that I should get things moving a little if the soap is really going to lose its efficiency in a quarter of an hour... Not to mention a possible *red code* at the disappearance of one beekeeper and two computer guys. I'm hurrying towards my car, always keeping an eye on my bee-companions, when two small silhouettes appear out of a rank of corn. All three of us abruptly stop, staring at each other. The boy must be about twelve, the girl a little younger. Fascinated, I can't help thinking of the portrait of Sam sitting prominently on Mulder's desk. The likeness is striking. Too striking to be a coincidence, this child must bear some DNA from Fox's sister! We remain silent and immobile. I'm at bay, I can't hurt them, for God's sake, those are just kids! Yet I shouldn't let any witnesses behind me, not after the slaughter in the dome. The children's eyes aren't empty, but they look at me as if from a great distance, from another world, from another species... Suddenly the girl cocks her head, then comes towards me. She stops right in front of me, sniffing at me like a little animal. She holds out her hand to take mine and I let her, disconcerted. She carries my fingers to her face, smells them attentively, then she smiles widely and rubs her cheek against them! She lets go of my hand and turning on her heels, she nods to her little partner and off they go, still without a word, vanishing into the cornfield as surprisingly as they popped up earlier. A little shaky, I resume my flight out of this alien world. I speed up between the rows of corn. Little by little the bees abandon me and by the time I reach the south edge of the field, I'm alone with only the chirping of the cicadas. I turn around to have a last look at the domes and I think I can perceive the last remnants of my winged escort flying back home. Phew! My hand is on the door lock of the jeep when I pause. Everything went as Spender told me, and he made clear that no bees would touch me. Nevertheless... I empty my bag on the ground and check every item with the greatest care before putting everything back into it. Then I undress and make a thorough search of the overalls, cap and boots. And guess what? Under the lapel of the chest right pocket I find a cute bee that surely wished to travel the wide world. Sorry my little one, but the aforesaid world isn't ready for you. So, scram! I free it and after a brief geometrical dance in the sun it turns back to its dome. *** Washington DC, Alexandria, Mulder's apartment - 07:30 am Mulder yawned; he had finally fallen asleep somewhere in the night, after twisting and turning like in the old days - well, nights. He had been cautious enough to raise the volume of the radio alarm before lying down on his lonely couch, and now he could hear in the bedroom the sound of the song Alex had chosen for them. He sat up, still holding his lover's pillow in his arms, searching for the already vanishing scent. He rubbed his face in the white fabric but decided that a day of absorbing work would be a better way to patient till the following day brought Alex's return. He stood up and, confused, entered the cold and empty kitchen. He fought the impulse to leave with a quick shower and no breakfast, clinging at his promise to eat properly. With a deep sigh, he opened the now-well furnished fridge, with the dubious intention of ruining a couple of eggs to accompany some instant coffee. *** On the road back to Jeffersonville - 09:37 am I stop the jeep in a lonely place. There's nothing else to see around than a few bushes and the dirt road I'm on. I draw the laptop from my duffel bag together with the secure cellular. I connect the devices and dial the number Fox gave me 'in case'. I type in the open window, "LGHQ - Mulder. The line's secure but I'm short on time. 4 floppies to transfer. Don't know if they're clean. OK?" I wait a few minutes during which I picture the three loonies holding a 'War Council'. Hurry, guys! YOU gave that number to Mulder - do you really think he would leave it lying around? At last the screen comes alive. "Proceed." I introduce the first of the four disks and begin the transfer. I send them the whole thing. Too bad I can't send them the gel the same way! They acknowledge good reception, and I switch off the cellular and the laptop. And I'm on the road again. *** Jeffersonville GA, "The Blue Sands", room #24 - 10:25 am. I complete my task by stacking the overalls, the cap, the map, the boots, the manila envelope, etc, and the four floppies onto the upper shelf of the closet. I complete the inventory with the half filled bottle of yellow soap, a small amount of which I've decanted in a new bottle for the LGM. And I've refilled my own bottle so I can share it with Fox. In the same place I've found a flight ticket for DC. The plane is to take off at 11:50 am from Macon, and I'll have lunch in Atlanta, so I could have another nap before resuming my trip, but I definitely dislike this place, so I take my leave at once. On my way out I crush another cockroach, and I almost regret my little warriors. At least bees are useful. When they don't kill you. *** Macon GA, Lewis B. Wilson airport - 11:25 am My cruise through beautiful Georgia was as eventless as yesterday's. I wasn't in a hurry and could have been visiting as well. Now I'm waiting at the rental to give back the jeep papers and the young man on the other side of the desk is staring at me with an insistent look. He's sexy enough, but he's not my cup of tea. I take back the hand he's trying to rub when I give him the keys, with as stern a look as I'm able to produce, but it doesn't seem to discourage him. I hurry towards the bookseller before he asks for my private number. In the light of yesterday's experience, I buy a *big* newspaper, and at least the vending machine doesn't try to flirt with me. I sit near the exit to wait for DAL4015 call. A smiling young woman with two shrieking kids takes the next seat and after a few minutes, she's grilling me in her slow, southern accent. I'm at bay, I don't know how to shut her up without appearing discourteous. Fuck, even when I'm cold-shouldering her, she seems to find me encouraging! The loudspeaker saves me. Not for long. The teen-age girl who appears to be my neighbour until Atlanta doesn't stop chuckling all the way, giving me blatantly leering glances. Another place, another time I could find the attention flattering but the whole pattern is beginning to get on my nerves... *** Atlanta airport - 12:55 pm I found a small, promising restaurant to enjoy some classical Southern dishes and was very warmly welcomed. Even for the South it was a little too much; the waitress almost didn't leave me for the whole meal, shamelessly smiling at me and trying to catch my eyes every time I raised my nose from my plate. As she was near 70, I'd like to think I reminded her of her favourite grandson, but she didn't quite look at me *that* way. The DAL plane heading for Washington is due at 2:10, and I'm not in the mood for lingering over my coffee under the ambiguous look of the dear old thing, anyway I must call the rental at Reagan to have them switch the sedan to Dulles before 4 o'clock this afternoon. Once my call is made, I take refuge in a quiet corner of the waiting room - only two nuns in sight, phew. Well, damn it all, they turn to me with curious and soon engaging smiles! What the heck? I bury myself into my seat and do my best to mimic a sound asleep, tired traveller. I *wake up* at the calling of my flight and hurry towards the gate. In the queue everybody is definitely charming to me. It begins to look like a horror movie. Are they going to suddenly rush all over me with sparkling fangs? I reach my seat and feel an inner shiver: who will be my fellow traveller this time? A little girl, kind of 6 years old, verifies the number of the seat with utmost seriousness and sits down with decision, holding tight a very old and well hugged teddy-bear. She looks at me with curiosity, and only curiosity, before taking care of her carry-on. Thank God! One layer of humankind at least remains indifferent to my person! With a sigh of relief, I relax into my seat and close my eyes, newspaper in my lap. Time to prepare the program of Fox's night. Hmmm, how should I begin?? *** Washington DC, Alexandria, Mulder's apartment - 04:55 pm On my way back I made a detour to "see" the Lone Gunmen. Okay, I didn't ring at their door, but left a sample of honey soap in a place they couldn't miss and immediately sent an email on their secure line to tell about it. Then I called Fox to say hello and inform him. If they contact him (it's implausible for them to do so at the Hoover, yet...) he'll react in a convincing way. Of course I told him a few other inconsequential things, till he begged me in a muffled voice to stop before he came in his pants. I ordered him not to do so and to save it for me... But alas he's stuck at the office. He thought I wouldn't be back 'til tomorrow and got entangled in some work he can't let go of at once. Too bad... But I have the rest of the day to prepare our night. And tomorrow is Saturday. I called in at an Indonesian restaurant - my idea is to play at tea-parties in bed. I thought rice-table would work perfectly; a whole meal in small plates, with sauces in thimbles... I'm going to feed him with a tea-spoon! And it will take a long, long time... Aaaaaah, #42, at last. First thing my eyes fall upon, the pillow and blanket on the leather couch. Bednyazhka, he slept on his old couch last night. The answering machine is flashing, and I make myself at home, turning it on. Frohike's excited voice whispers something about things he can't talk about on the phone (okay, so why does he call?) and very interesting news to come about the "sample". I wonder if those have anything to do with the way the lady at the neighbourhood rental looked at me when I gave her back the papers of the sedan - same enamoured eyes as the man at Macon, the kind mother in the waiting-room, the sinful nuns in Atlanta, the dear old waitress... Hell, I'm probably forgetting two tenths of the people along the way! I shrug and withdraw to my domestic realm (the kitchen) to find a saucepan with suspicious traces of burnt eggs in the sink. I guess Foxy "cooked" this morning. This deserves an award. Definitely. *** Mulder's apartment - 07:40 pm Knock knock knock. Knock. Knock knock. The sound of a key in the lock. I rush towards the door and before he's completely entered the apartment, I'm already crushing him. If I'd been gone for a whole month, I wouldn't be happier to see my lisyonok. I bury my face in his neck, searching for a little piece of bare flesh between his white collar and his lovely ear to feast upon. Without disengaging himself he gently pushes me into the living room and slaps the door shut with his foot. He takes hold of my face with both hands and devours my mouth. When we part (a little) I drink in his face, his bright eyes, his flushed cheeks, his swollen lips, his wide smile... He cocks his head and begin to sniff at me in a funny manner. "Tell me, Alex, my sweet one? Didn't people react strangely around you today? Were you aware of anything unusual?" I must look very stunned for he bursts into laughter. "Fox, do you know something I don't?" With a cheerful gesture he pushes me down onto the couch and kneels before me, spreading my legs to make room for him to sit down between them. "Huh, huh. The Lone Gunmen sent me interesting news on our secure line. They began the analysis of the gel "I" sent to them (he chuckles) and they already found that the pheromones you talk about are partly human. They said - I quote Langly: 'Man, you wear that thing and you're going to attract all the women and a good deal of the men within a radius of 10 yards!' Does it work?" In front of my dumbfounded face he nods and concludes, "I believe you experienced something of the kind, didn't you?" "Well, it makes sense... I was really wondering why everybody was trying to rub against me like dogs in heat? But I didn't feel anything." "Of course, it has to merge into somebody else's sui generis odour to be effective. But it's difficult for me to measure the impact. I always feel like white iron when I'm close to you, special pheromones or not..." Fox purrs taking hold of my waist before nestling his nose in my tee-shirt. I kiss his long chestnut strands and after a brief moment's thought I propose: "You know, I kept a bottle of mixed water and soap - I'll explain it all to you later. Maybe we could, ahem, have a special shower together? I'm curious to know how it smells on *you*, sweetheart... Yeeeees, a fox paddling about in a jar of honey, hmmm..." Talking of honey... "What did you eat today? Besides burnt eggs, I mean? Not enough, I guess?" I sigh. "Fortunately, I prepared something for us tonight. I thought we could eat in bed, if you don't mind crumbs... And *I* could be the dessert..." *** I'm very proud of myself. I succeeded in having a whole shower with Fox without eating him alive. Okay, I started to, but he wanted me as much as I wanted him, and did you ever try a 69 in a tub? Uncomfortable, believe me. Unless one of the partners is a Chinese acrobat, maybe. Excited by this fatal smell, we ended by play fighting under the stream of warm water, bursting in foolish laughter, and trying to grasp each other with three soapy hands. And two mouths. He was the most responsible, believe it or not, and took me out of the tub to dry both of us in well warmed towels before draping them around our waists. Drawing on the one circling my loins, my private Fed drags me in his arms. I playfully rub my cheek against his, and he complains that I "scratch". "Too male for you, malysh?" I ask. "Nope, never enough! But I like when you're clean shaven... Let me shave you!" he exclaims. He knows I can use an electric shaver only, and he's right, I'd like a good classical barber style shave. He pushes me towards the toilet seat, and I settle down on the lid, my back resting comfortably against the tank. He fetches his own shaving kit and, getting rid of both our bath towels, he straddles me, taking care to arrange our well-hardened cocks against each other, before rubbing his chest against mine with a seductive smile. "You're sure you're not a little shaky, sweetheart?" I'm not really disturbed, though I'm not used to have my throat intentionally exposed to a naked blade. He places a light kiss on the top of my nose to reassure me and produces an enormous amount of foam from his usual spray. "Or are you going to drown me into aloe vera?" He laughs and begins to coat my face generously with fresh whiteness. And of course, the tip of my nose receives a little supplement. Cocking his head, he kisses me and takes a good part of the foam with him; my turn to laugh out loud. "Now, you're going to be a good customer and let me take care of you." He opens his grandpa's old razor and begins to work on me, beginning with my left cheek. After each stroke he carefully rinses the blade under running water. He's a really good barber. Pinching my nose up, "Do you think the weather is going to remain that fine? This very morning, I saw some trees already turning gold on my way to the office. Autumns are not what they used to be, I'd say, and..." I interrupt him, "What are you babbling about, Fox?" He looks at me with contrite eyes. "Well, I thought you wanted a *true* barber shop experience, with empty conversation, and everything..." "Hmyeeeah. Listen, just shave me clean. Then I'll ask for some lotion. *Body* lotion, if you see what I mean." "Huh, body-lotion? I don't know if we have that in store... Let me see..." Rinsing the blade once again, he rubs his shaft absentmindedly against mine, making me moan. "Oh, maybe I'll find something that will fit you, Sir." He goes on with his grooming, interspersing delicate but firm razor-strokes with grinding our dicks together, and when he puts down his barber tools, I'm almost crying with need. He wets a wash-cloth to cleanse me of the remaining foam, and I take it from him to service him the same way. I wait for my usual after-shave, but instead he pours some honey-and-water from the magic bottle and passes it over my cheeks, before rubbing his face all over mine, purring like a satiated cat. This is too much for me; I take his mouth and possess it with rage, while he's dancing in a frenzy across my lap, squeezing our balls together to the point of hurting. I hold him tight, moving my hips to rub my lower belly against his, whilst he makes our kiss last seemingly forever. I fuck his mouth with my tongue, searching for every place I can reach, tasting his sunflower seed-perfumed saliva that blends with the smell of honey; the result is intoxicating, and I feel the rush in my loins. I scream into his mouth, and he presses himself more closely against me, if it's possible. He must be coming too, as I hear him shouting, but I can't tell the difference between us anymore, between his spasms and mine, my dampness and his, our shaking bodies, sharing one flesh only, trembling and shivering to a common climax. He surrenders at last, his lips in my hair and his arms resting around my shoulders. My head is buried in the warm flesh of his throbbing neck, my tongue licking slowly at the droplets of sweat on his throat, whilst I breathe in long drafts the smell of our melted come coating our bellies. *** "Let me help you with this tray!" Spicy perfumes flow into the kitchen as I put out one by one various bowls and plates waiting for us in the oven. Fox's eyes are shining and he licks at his lips with a greedy tongue. "What do you call this?" "Rijstaffel. Rice-table," I translate. "Indonesian, very common in Amsterdam too." "Smells really good." For an answer I dip a finger into the cup of satay sauce and hold it for him to taste. He sucks at it, looking at me through half-lowered lashes, a glare of pure lust that hits me below the waist. He chuckles at my rising towel then turning around he heads towards the bedroom, holding the tray, his firm round ass swinging just enough to make me swallow hard. I tear my entangling towel away and trot at his heels after taking the dessert from the freezer. My G-man lays his load down onto the bed and carefully sits beside it. "How are we going to eat all this? We have no table..." "I have a table," I retort. Grey-green eyes stare at me questioningly. I rub his glorious chest and gently push him on his back before kneeling at his side. "Do we really need a tablecloth?" I ask, pulling at his towel to reveal a very tempting three piece suite. We could begin with fried onions, what about it?" I pick up the small plate and after a little thinking I scatter pieces of food on a line going from his throat to his navel. I consider going lower but instead I put the bowl back and take a tiny spoonful of satay sauce to fill his navel. Oh my! He's a perfect table. And a ticklish one as I add some more hot sauce to the fleshy cup. I grasp the first piece of onion from his Adam's apple and dip it in the sauce, raising a wave of laughter. I eat the little morsel of fried vegetable and lick at his throat. I don't want to spare a crumb, you see. "I want to taste!" the table protests. "Hmm?" I take the following onion piece with my teeth, reach his navel for some peanut sauce and come back to his mouth. I let him pick the onion from my lips. Whilst he savours his morsel I go on with my licking the hollow of his throat, then proceed to the next piece... Sometimes I have to refill the sauce cup... One by one I share the tiny spicy pieces, laving the greasy line on his chest, nibbling here and there to make him clean. When I reach his bellybutton I suck delicately and thoroughly at the inside to clean it. We haven't eaten a \lot yet, and Fox is squirming like an excited schoolgirl. Between hiccups of laughter he asks for more serious feeding. His rumbling stomach adds weight to his words. Taking hold of a bowl filled with fried beef, I straddle him, comfortably adjusting my perineum onto his half-flaccid cock. It's difficult to remain horny when laughing oneself silly. I feed him a spoonful, then taste the meat on his perfumed lips. A spoon for him, a spoon for me, or so I try, but I can't help eating his lips between each mouthful. When the bowl in my fake hand is empty, the spicy dressing has warmed our guts and made both of us hard again. He's laughing no more, and his eyes burn in mine. "What else can you offer me?" he stammers, nodding at the tray. I consider and choose another bowl I hold to him. "What's this?" he enquires. "Grilled shrimps. Your turn to feed me..." His fingers fish out a crustacean and hold it to me, rubbing my lips with it. I catch it with my teeth and he gives me his greasy fingers to lick. He takes a second one and tickles my left tit with it, circling around, then gestures to me to bend over his face so he can nibble on it whilst eating his shrimp. He's killing me. A third shrimptail is placed between my lips for me to munch on. We share the rest of the bowl, each of us eating from the other's hand. I put the container back on the tray and choose the bowl of noodles which I place on his chest. He shudders under the hot china, and with a vengeful look, he dips a finger into the satay sauce to slowly circle the head of my cock, rubbing the spicy cream on the sensitive skin. "You'll pay for this," I hiss, feeling the tickling that gently turns to a light burn. "I hope so too," he grins. "And I want some noodles." He opens his luscious mouth. I'm good with a pair of sticks, and I don't let fall anything whilst feeding him. "Funny, not at all like spaghetti. What do you call this?" "Mihoen." "Meooww?" He chuckles once again, "We should try some day with pasta. You know, like Lady and the Tramp." "Guess I'd be the Tramp" I sigh. As he closes his eyes to enjoy his noodles, moving slowly his hips under my thighs, I discreetly take a spoonful of lychee sorbet and let it fall on his lower belly, making him shriek and choke. "You bastard!" he shouts. "You're so hot, honey. I was afraid you couldn't last much longer. Maybe I should warm you again." With this I drop some babipangang on each of his tits (not 'cub suffering a rape involving several perpetrators', you twats! It's just pork) and lick them clean conscientiously, causing him to moan. Bending over him pushes my cockhead up his belly and I fall into my own trap. God, this sorbet's really cold! He yelps. "Ooops, sorry, my mistake. I found this little brown tender morsel so appetizing in its puddle of sauce..." "'Twas my tit!" "So it wasn't a mistake then." I share equitably what remains of noodles and pork. "Wanna some rice?" "It's fried too?" "Yes, everything is, but the sorbet." "Grrr." "Oh, a grumpy Foxy. So, any rice?" I take another bowl and simply turn it over onto his stomach causing my table to yelp once more. I give him a spoon but I don't need any. I prefer to eat directly from the *dish*. A new wave of soft laughter shakes him, threatening to scatter the saucy grains. "Anything to drink?" he asks. "Tea. Do you want some?" "Nothing manlier?" "Sake. Not quite the right thing with rijstaffel, but..." He half opens his mouth, silently requesting for some. I pick up the small china bottle, enjoy a few drops, then take a mouthful to share with him. I put my closed lips upon his and let the warm alcohol filter between them. Then I seal his lips with mine, and we taste each other for a long while. *** Straightening up I stare at the tray. "Oh, I completely forgot the soup. It's lukewarm now. Do you want to taste it nevertheless?" "Mmmmno. Unless... Yes, if I can use you as a spoon." "???" "C'mon, on your knees... Closer!" He grasps my thighs to make me overhang his face. I don't quite understand what he's thinking of. "Which bowl is it? Ah yes, this one." He puts the bowl down under his chin and taking hold of my cock he tries to dip it into the soup! "You're crazy, you know that?" "Shut up and give me my soup!" He's squeezing and rubbing and stroking and do you think a poor rat can resist a famished Fox? No way! I prop up on my good arm and let him play with his *spoon*. The soup is lukewarm but his mouth is deliciously burning, ooooh... Hey, the remnants of alcohol inside it are burning too, a little too much! Several trips from mouth to bowl and back calm down the fire around my flesh, but make it grow inside my loins. At last Fox lets loose a satisfied grunt. "I'm full. Almost. A little sorbet to digest?" Giving up any idea of revenge I decide to be a good boy, and we eat our dessert without further teasing. "We could do with some cleaning," I observe, contemplating our seasoned chests, bellies, chins and the rest. "Sokay. I take care of the tray," he offers, "and you get a washcloth." I rub myself a little on his hard member - the way he drank his soup helped him recover from his icy lychee shower - before leaving for the bathroom. I damp a cloth with some more honeygel and I come back to the bedroom. I stop in wonder on the threshold to stare at the maddening view that catches my breath. Fox is stretched across the white sheet, naked but for his leather jacket, open on his bare chest. With a bright smile he gestures to my own jacket he's brought over all the same. "Remember? I told you once I wanted my bad guy in his black leather..." he purrs. "I thought that you would like me the same way?" he asks ingenuously. "Christ, Fox, you're incredible..." Bending over the bed I gently wash his chest and his belly with the honey scented washcloth. Then I put one knee beside his thigh and begin to wipe the fabric over my own chest, pushing my hands down towards my groin, making a show of it. The tilting of his rod thanks me in the most delightful way. Then I wash his hands, rubbing each finger without relinquishing his stare. When I'm finished he hands me my jacket, and I put it slowly. He looks hypnotized, absentmindedly stroking his sack with both hands, sending jolts of electricity to mine. My good hand slides between the thighs he's spreading for me with a whimper. "Wider," I order in the hoarse voice I know will turn him on even more. "Alex," he moans. "Come closer. Please... Wanna feel you all over me..." I comply and lean down on him. The leather of our jackets is squeaking on each other, and I feel the scratching of the zips raising goosebumps on my skin. I nestle my face in the hollow of his shoulder and drown in the overwhelming scent of honey, leather and hot Fox. The smell goes straight to my crotch, and I feel a surge of desire, so strong it's painful, and I sob against his sweaty neck, pressing my whole body against his in a desperate need to possess him entirely. "Alex, oh my God! I want you, I want you, please, I need you!" His choked words echo my thoughts. "This is... this pheromones... thing?" I stammer. "Guess so... Don't care... I must have you! Fuck me now, I can't wait, oh Christ, Alex..." He's twisting under me like a cat in heat. "I want you inside me, oh please..." he cries. I love to hear him begging this way; it makes me even harder though I shouldn't have thought it to be possible. Fox is gibbering but his incoherent speech makes sense to me as I share the same urge. "Alex, oh God, Alex, I want you, I need you! I'm so hard it hurts! I want you to take me, fuck me, own me, completely, totally! I want you to slip under my skin... Fill me, Alex!" he sobs. His hands are everywhere over my aching body, scratching the small of my back, pinching at the skin under the leather, squeezing my butts, clawing at my ribs, stroking my face, and down back to my cheek, parting them and roughly fingering the cleft between them. I scrub our erections together, wrestling over him, and the need for him blinds me. "Don't understand... It's painful... Twas not... so... in the shower..." I mumble. "Must have to see... with the spices... the food..." he tries to explain. Sure, but I don't give a damn, I just want to be inside him, to hear him scream his pleasure, to have his narrow ass strangling my dick till I faint! His begging is even more incoherent now. I fight the desperate pull that pushes me against his white hot flesh and raise myself on elbow and knees to leave him a little room. In a broken voice I command, "Turn over. I want you on your belly. I'm going to fuck you blind, lisyonok." Crying at the loss of contact he obeys swiftly, presenting me with his leather covered back, his hands clenching at the sheet beside his head, his sweet face red, sweaty, contorted with painful desire. His eyes are feverish and his mouth is gasping for air. "So pretty," I breathe. He raises his buttocks tentatively, searching for the weapon that's going to stab him. Suddenly I find all this going too fast... I must get it together. I try to shut off the smell and the view and the noises he makes to take some shallow breaths. The old trick works, and I feel my near panic subside a little. He groans, "What are you doing? Please, Alex!" "Hush, Fox... I want to take my time," I murmur against his temple. "You're a sadist, I should have known better!" His mouth is trembling; he's close to tears... "Right. And you enjoy it, don't you?" I close my ears to his complaining to gather my will. God knows I'm going to need it! Holding myself up on my fake arm, I fold the brown leather up his muscular back then I begin to lazily lick the honeyed skin between his shoulder blades, rising goose bumps on the trail of my tongue. Slowly, one by one, my strokes go lower towards his narrow waist, lavishing all his back, leaving no places untouched. It's intoxicating; I'd lick him for hours, for days... Not with the tip of my tongue, with the full of it. And I'd probably come over and over while doing so. Here and there I stop to kiss and nibble and bite. I pause at his waist to catch my breath. "Go on, please... Alex, you're right... I love when you're eating me... So good..." Foxy sweet. He's learning the taste of patience. I resume my degustation. "I was contemplating... (slurp)... the idea... (slurp)... of a... (slurp)... lacquered Fox. (slurp) Unless... (slurp)... I rub you... (slurp)... all over with... (slurp)... marshmallow... (slurp)... and eat you... (slurp)... in front of... (slurp)... a log fire. (slurp)." "Aaaaaahhh... Hey!" Ooops, methinks I bite a little too hard on this nice, round, little bum. "Fox. Spread your legs for me, honey." The nickname makes me smile, it naturally came to my mind. He obeys willingly. "More. I want you spreadeagled... Quartered..." He complies with a happy whimper. I know he loves me to be a little dom - just for play. And we can switch whenever he wants, we're so alike. Two sides of a coin... My nose is at an interesting level and I want to devour him all the more. "Open yourself to me, sweetheart... With both your hands, wide." "Yes, Alex" he whispers. His long hands reach his cheeks and spread them for me, revealing his pink and crumpled opening. I softly blow upon it, making him shudder, and slowly lick his perineum all through, starting from his heavy balls to his shivering anus, many times, before rimming him with greed, taking my time. He's caught between wanting my tongue further and harder, and his cock's need, rubbing himself on the sheet, till he begs me. "Please, Alex, fuck me. I can't wait anymore... You're driving me crazy! I don't want to come without you... I want you inside me..." I let him implore a little more, though my own need is aching. It's so sweet to hear the love and the desire in his muffled voice, knowing that it's meant for me, and really for me. Fox... Will you ever, ever guess how much I love you? How hard I've wanted these hours with you? For years I could only dream of you, watching you on those flickering survey tapes, until that day when I saw you come whilst screaming my name... I had to play the tape again and again - mimicking you and your vids - to be sure my ears hadn't cheated me. Knowing that you thought of me the same way I did of you; only you looked so unhappy when you realized which name had escaped your lips! But now you're lying down under me, my tongue flicking inside your velvet channel, twitching and crying for me to fuck you, sweetheart... I can't wait, *we* can't wait any more, and I rise over you; balancing on my prosthesis I take hold of a pillow I slip under your belly with your help. As soon as your lovely butt is propped up, offered to me, I spit on my hand to add some saliva to my eager dick - sorry, *honey*, that's all the lube you'll have this time, too late - and I guide my head into your wet and distended hole. You buck against me with clumsiness in your haste, but you keep spreading yourself for me, and I enter you with a few strokes. Then I fall on your leather-covered back, my breath short for wanting you so much. "Alex, please love, fuck me. Hard, deep... The harder you can..." "Sure. Your desire is my command, lyubimy." I begin with short strokes, spaced ones, only to tease him - and myself. Then I make them longer, sometimes leaving him completely before entering him back to the hilt. His ass is so eager I don't need to handle myself. I keep this rhythm a few minutes, delighting in his shouts, cries, whimpers, begging. But I need even more and my hand goes between the pillow and his firm belly to grip his swollen cock. I'm not really jerking him off, just grasping and squeezing , so I have a better hold on my leathered Fox and I'm at the right angle. Now, I can fuck him the way he loves, with hard, deep, quick shoves, our balls crushing, impaling him without mercy, my head hitting his gland each time. My chest is rubbing on his jacket which scrubs my erect and sensitive tits in a delicious way, my face is buried in his neck, and I devour the thin flesh under his ear, his sweat-dew melting with mine, our twin smells merging with the omnipresent perfumes of honey and warm leather... "Alex, Alex! I'm going to come! Please, Aleeeeeeeex..." I squeeze him with more strength without slowing my wild ride and feel him pulse and spasm between my fingers, coating my hand with his hot cum, I listen to his high scream... then I follow him, burying myself even deeper if possible to enjoy his channel convulsing around me, strangling me, milking me... He falls flat on the bed, crushed under my weight. We're dead. After a long while I disengage my hand from under his belly, to taste his cum on my fingers, licking them delicately. Then I give them to him to clean and he opens his reddened mouth, obediently sucking his own essence. I take a deep breath and sigh. "You know, we'd make a fortune if we could bottle this. Honey, leather, and your come. Well, maybe not a fortune, as I'd probably keep the whole stock for my private use... I wonder, how would we call it? Perhaps, 'Bee My Fox - The scent of your Valentine'. Whaddaya think?" "I'd rather call it... 'Fox Me Hard'. But I'd like to have a personal brand with your come, beautiful... And I'd call it... Huh... 'Yes, Alex'. That's it." He yawns and stretches under me, with a happy and sleepy smile on those glorious lips. Fox. Ya lyublyu tebya. I let him turn over to face me when I see a mischievous sparkle in his beloved eyes. He takes hold of my hips and rubs our spent members against each other, mixing our semen, before dipping his forefinger in it. Then he grasps the lower corner of my jacket and on the inside he writes in shining moisture: F - the shape of a heart - /... Oh, not *ink* enough, he comes back to the spring and goes on: A. He contemplates his masterpiece with a contented look. "You're crazy. I'm sure of it now." "Yup, I'm crazy. Nuts, weird, spooky. That's why you love me, Alexeï Nicolaïevich." Folding apart his own jacket, he asks, "Could I have an autograph from my favorite spy?" I wonder at the request but he's serious. I can't refuse him anything when he's doing this pouty thing... I imagine the fun at the lab if someone makes an analysis of one of our garments?! Eventually I comply. I wet my finger and apply myself to write on the dark skin: A - the same heart shape - F. "Happy?" "Oh yes! I'll never have it cleaned." "Oh my." I stare at his eyes where sleep is arguing with lust. "Better to wash a little if we don't want to be stuck together in the morning." "Yes, but not honeysoap? It would finish me off." I grin, and my wobbly legs take me for a unsteady trip to the bathroom to retrieve a fresh cloth, which I coat with our regular soap. When I come back into the bedroom I find he has taken his jacket off. Whilst I wash his lazy shape he claims, "Wanna your jaaaacket." "What?" "Gimme your jacket... Wanna sleep inside it..." He yawns. Shaking my head in disbelief I finish washing him, then take care of myself. It's warm in the bedroom. Sleeping in my leather? He's going to stew in his own juice. Hmph. With a long sigh I take off my jacket and give it to him. He dresses clumsily, lazily squirming on the bed. I relish his gorgeous and sated shape, then calling myself names, I put on *his* leather before leaning down close to him. "Nightie night... Fox." "Nigghhmmmalllxsss." He's fast asleep. He's too cute. And I'm a damned fool. The End Translation of Daho's lines, and references: You open the cage where overprotected I lay down my body and weapons I lay down my body and weapons Lyrics by Etienne Daho, music by David Munday, Sandy Stewart and Etienne Daho. |
Honey And Leatherby kaNd |