The pressure on my neck tightens as he morphs into someone else. Someone
bigger, stronger.
I'm about to lose consciousness when I hear a sound... 'Pffffft.' A moment
later, I'm on the ground, the body of the shape-shifter bubbling away before
me.
Feeling a hand on my arm, hearing an urgent whisper, "Come on, Mulder. Let's
get the hell out of here."
I blink and look into the face of Alex Krycek. I'm immediately on my feet,
grabbing and slamming him into the wall.
"Not now!" he whispers. "They know you're here."
I rein in my rage long enough to release him. When we're out of here, I'll beat
the shit out of him.
With Krycek leading, we make our way through a maze of hallways. He stops short
and I almost run into him.
"What?" I whisper.
"They're sealing off the exits."
He's moving again, more cautiously, and motions me to follow. I weigh my
choices, follow the rat-bastard into what could be a trap, or get caught //
and killed // by... whoever the hell they are.
We proceed down halls and up stairs until we're on the roof of this cavernous
building. The only building for miles.
"Now what?" I ask.
He turns to me, but before he can answer, we're blinded by light from overhead.
"What the he—"
I awaken in a clean white room. Momentary panic when I realize I'm hooked up to
monitors. The panic subsides when I hear, "Mulder, you're all right. What
happened?" The voice of Dana Scully.
Thursday Morning
"Administrative duty? But sir, I—"
His steely gaze silences me. Scully looks on with amazement. Skinner's glare
usually eggs me on. I don't know why this is different, but it is.
"Agent Mulder. At your insistence, we deployed over two hundred people, from
three different agencies to search the building. Other than dust, we found
nothing. That building has been unoccupied for over three months."
I wave him off with, "Syndicate subterfuge. There is some—"
"Agent Mulder, I am no longer willing to put up with your... policy violations.
I can't continue to overlook these breaches or cover up for you."
I look directly at him. "Sir, I had a lead that I cou—"
"I don't give a..." His lips form a tight line, then he regains his composure.
"You know Bureau policy." He shifts his glare to Scully. "Agent Scully, were
you aware of this lead?"
Scully clears her throat, a dead giveaway. "Sir, I knew that Agent Mulder had
been in contact with—"
"Agent, answer the question. Were you aware of this particular lead? Yes or
no."
She takes a deep breath. "No, sir."
"Meaning that Agent Mulder, without your knowledge, without any backup and
without filing a request, flew to South Dakota and engaged in an investigation
that was not sanctioned by any law enforcement agency?"
Scully looks down for moment before answering. "Yes, sir."
Skinner turns back to me. "Mulder, you're lucky to get administrative duty. Any
other agent would be suspended."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"
Skinner sits back. "Scully, please leave." She stands and turns to me, apology
and concern in her eyes.
We sit in silence for minutes after the door closes behind her. When I can no
longer stand it, I blurt out, "You don't understand... this lead, I—"
"You were found unconscious in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. If it wasn't for that
box with the damned cow spots, you would have been jailed for indecent
exposure."
"I don't know how I got there. The last thing I remember was being on a rooftop
with Kry—"
"Alex Krycek. Yes, I know. Then what? Some light beam from an unknown source
transported you, without clothes, to an alley?"
"Sir, I know it sounds—"
"No, Mulder. You don't know what it sounds like. You don't know
the hoops you put me and Agent Scully through each time you go off to fight
extraterrestrial windmills. You may not give a damn about your career or the
Bureau, but get out of your narcissistic head long enough to recognize the
damage you cause to others who just might care."
I feel my anger rising. "My career? The Bureau? All of that is meaningless
compared to the lie that this government is perpetrating on the American
people. What about the truth? What about the conspiracy?"
"What about Scully's ass in a sling every time you pull one of your stunts?"
His statement is like a slap to the face. Scully, abducted because of me.
Barren, because of me. So many things... all sacrifices she's made. I close my
eyes for a moment, then stand to leave.
Reaching his door, I hear, "Agent Mulder." I turn to him and he asks, "This
lead. Was it worth it?"
"I don't know."
<
Friday Afternoon
Scully walks in and sits at the edge of my desk just as a pencil drops on her.
She looks up to find no less than 40 pencils stuck in the ceiling tiles.
I give her a sheepish grin. "Admin duty. Gotta do something to stay sane."
Her wry grin questions that statement. Okay, maybe 'sane' wasn't the right
word.
"Mulder, I'm taking off for a few days. My mom's going to visit Bill and I've
got vacation time. I thought..." 'Thunk'—we both look at the pencil that just
landed on my desk.
"Scully, just cause I'm on desk duty doesn't mean you can't check
out that buffalo exsanguination in Arizona." She looks at me incredulously.
"Nahh, I'm joking. Don't worry about me. Go do the family thing. I've got two
weeks to, ummm... file and catch up with expense reports."
She smiles at me before she heads to the door.
I lean forward, looking serious. "Besides, you see one case of bovine
vampirism, you've seen 'em all." 'Plink,' another pencil falls.
Shaking her head, she says, "Call me if you want. I'll be back next Thursday."
Then she's gone.
I look around my domain. Maybe I'll redecorate. I could get Scully a real desk.
She would like that. Something in teak. Okay, teak veneer.
I'm startled from my reverie by the phone ringing. A pencil hits my hand as I
reach to pick it up. "Graphite Interior Design."
A long pause followed by a husky voice. A voice that makes me sit up straight.
Krycek's voice. "I have information for you."
"Where are you? What were you doing in South—"
"You'll hear from me soon enough." Then the line goes dead.
I cradle the phone. Alex Krycek, assassin, traitor, double or triple agent.
Also the punk who saved my life.
Friday Night
I open my door and kick in the newspaper. Fumbling with videos, coat and
takeout, I step into my dark, empty apartment.
"Need help?"
Krycek is sitting on my couch, the light from the fish tank illuminating him.
"Krycek, what the hell? How did you—"
"Did you bring enough food for two, or should I call out?" He holds up his cell
phone. "Did you know your phone's bugged?"
I drop everything and rush at him. Grabbing his jacket, I haul him to his feet,
then feel cold metal under my chin.
"Uh-uh, not this time. Back away." His voice is as cold as the steel against my
skin.
I push him back and walk away. Nonchalantly picking up my videos and dinner, I
head into the kitchen. He follows, weapon pointing at my back.
"That would be your style. To shoot me in the back."
No response.
I put down the food and tapes. "Or are you going to bore me to death?"
No response.
What would he do if I drew on him? I reach suddenly for my weapon and stop when
he presses his gun into the back of my neck. I slowly raise both hands so he
can see them.
"Mulder, I know why you were in South Dakota. I can get you the information you
thought you were going to get from the shape-shifter, but I need your help...
and cooperation."
"Why should I believe you? Your word isn't worth the oxygen you just wasted on
it."
"I didn't ask you to believe me. I saved your life for a reason. But I can just
as easily find another reason to kill you."
He puts his hand on my shoulder. I look at it. It looks like a mannequin's
hand. Then I remember Tunguska.
He turns me around. "Now remove your weapon. Slowly. Place it on the table." I
do what he asks. "Now the ankle holster." Damn.
Using the gun, he motions me away from the table and back into the living room.
"Uhh, can I at least take my dinner?"
I sit on the couch and eat chow mein directly out of the carton. Krycek's
sitting at my desk, waiting for me to finish.
Pointing my chopsticks at him, I comment, "Looks like the peasants tried to
save you from the black oil."
"Yeah, they thought they were doing me a favor. But it was too late."
I look at him. Too late? "What do you mean?"
"Piper Maru, I got infected by the Piper Maru oil."
Stunned, I jam my chopsticks into my noodles. "What do you mean?"
A grin crosses his face. "All the way back from Hong Kong you didn't even know
you were sitting right next to an EBE. Life's a bitch isn't it?"
He scratches his chin with the muzzle of his gun, then continues, "And it's too
late for you to do anything now. It vacated my body long ago. In South Dakota
as a matter of fact."
I put the carton on the coffee table and stare at him. He was infected; he's
proof of the existence of extraterrestrials. He's also a traitor, liar and a
consortium lackey—his credibility is worse than mine.
"Funny thing about the black oil," he muses, "it left something. I don't know
what exactly, but I know when they're near. Sometimes I know what they're
doing."
"Is that how you knew they were sealing off the exits in South Dakota?"
He nods. "Before you get any ideas about testing... or autopsying me, I've been
checked to the cellular level. There's nothing left. No indication I'm anything
other than human."
Suddenly, a look of surprise passes over his face. "Mulder, are we having a
conversation here?"
It's at that moment I realize I haven't wanted to beat the shit out of him for
at least twelve minutes.
Mulder's like a puppy in a pet food store. Asking question after question about
my experience with the black oil.
"How aware were you... when you were infected?"
"Fully aware, but not really able to do anything. I couldn't control my body or
the oil's thoughts, but I was conscious. I knew what was happening. Then there
was the telepathy thing."
"The what?"
"Telepathy. The oil can read our minds, but their thought processes are
different enough that they don't understand us. They feel the human psyche is
so primitive, there isn't anything of substance for them. Our thoughts are like
white noise."
I watch Mulder as he begins to realize the impact of my statement.
"Uhh, did it read my mind?"
The moment I've been waiting for. "Yeah, it did." I wait a few heartbeats. "I'm
flattered, by the way. Except for the nosebleed, I got hot myself."
His eyes widen as he turns a flaming shade of red. "Can you still? I mean, is
that one of the things it left?"
I give him a slow smile and let him twist for a while. "Not really. I seem to
have a keener sense of what's going on, but I can't exactly read minds."
"What exactly can you do?"
"I seem to sense what people want, what they're feeling. I can't say how, but I
know, without any obvious indication."
"I don't understand."
"You know, like the kiss you wanted when I gave you the Wiekamp information."
He knew, maybe still knows. This is bullshit. // God, please let it be
bullshit. // "You're talking out your ass," I tell him, shaking my head.
"The only thing I ever feel for you is to—"
"Yeah, yeah, you wanna beat the crap out me. Mulder, you asked, I answered.
I'll even be nice and not go into the other homoerotic thoughts that flit
through your over-crowded brain."
He points his gun at me again, anticipating my attack. The carton of chow mein
now crushed in my hands.
"Okay, Krycek. Cut the small talk. Other than tormenting me, what the hell do
you want?"
He cocks his head to one side. "The same thing you want. The same thing I told
you before... but I know you won't believe my motives are altruistic. Let's
just say I can get you information that you can use to derail the consortium,
the colonization."
"If you have this so-called informa—"
"I don't have it, but I can get you to it. And
before you ask what I get out of it, I'll tell you. I get to see them fail."
The venom in his voice is almost palpable. "I get to watch as over fifty years
of planning, of scheming, fall apart." Krycek leans forward, his eyes
glittering. "And I get to watch it from the inside."
Confusion and curiosity overcome my caution. "What do you mean?"
"They don't know I'm working with the resistance. They think
they're controlling me... again." A slow smile crosses Krycek's face as he sits
back. "I'm their liaison to the Russians... and to the vaccine that they think
will save them."
"Still playing both sides against the middle? Or is it three sides now? Oh,
that increases your credibility."
His eyes narrow. "You were so close, Mulder. Before I had to rescue your
ass..."
I start to interrupt him, but he charges on. "Before they sanitized that
facility in South Dakota, it housed what you've been looking for. Your proof...
The original tissue and a living alien-human hybrid."
Mulder's trying so hard to contain his excitement, trying to look unaffected.
Dangle his precious truth and watch him bite. I holster my gun and walk in
front of him. I hunker down so we're eye to eye. I know I'm taking a chance,
but I need the drama of this moment.
Now for the clincher. I drop my voice to a harsh whisper. "Eleven years ago, a
group of sixteen school children in the rural south were supposedly inoculated.
A grand gesture by your government. But what they were really injected with was
cloned DNA. DNA from the original tissue. DNA that contains a new base pair. A
5th and 6th nucleotide that does not, cannot exist."
I pause, waiting for this to sink in. "All but one of those children died.
Their lives written off to a leukemia hot spot. It was a good cover-up. Damages
were paid out of court. The survivor was... orphaned. He's still alive and,
until recently, was living outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota."
I watch Mulder's eyes widen. I can almost hear his mind whirring, putting
pieces together... "I know where they're taking him. Work with me on this, and
he's yours."
He looks deep into my eyes. His breath quickens for a moment. Gotcha.
Can I believe him? The school children, the original tissue. It all ties into
what Deep Throat told Scully before he was murdered. The new DNA base pair...
that information was destroyed. Scully knew, but without the evidence, she
didn't include it in any report.
Do I have a choice? He's admitted he's ready to double-cross the consortium. I
can buy his wanting revenge. He owned up to the Russian connection. He told me
about being infected. // And he knew you were hot for him. //
Saturday, Afternoon.
I awaken when the landing gear engages. My head is resting on Krycek's
shoulder. Not fully awake, I breathe in the smell of his leather jacket and
smile. When I realize what just happened, I sit bolt upright.
Krycek's grin lets me know he witnessed this momentary lapse of... whatever it
was. That can't count. I was asleep, dammit.
I rub my face. Crap. I hope he doesn't pick up anything from me. // 'Like
the kiss you wanted.' // I start thinking of bauxite production—Jamaica's
leading legal export.
Leaning toward me, he whispers, "It's okay, really."
He's so close, I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. I pull away from him and
watch his eyes as they travel down my body, stopping at my groin. He sits back
in his seat, looking like the cat that ate the canary.
I fold my hands in my lap, a little too late to conceal my erection. Damn,
shit, fuck.
Saturday, 8:00 P.M.
Sitting side by side, we pour over the maps and blueprints Krycek produced for
the new lab. It's a heavily fortified structure half an hour outside of
Bozeman. Every now and again, he brushes against me while reaching for a
document or drawing.
"The security will be lax for the next few days while they prep the new
building."
"How lax?"
"More secure than the Pentagon, but sloppy for the syndicate. I have access
through this entrance." He puts his finger on the blueprint.
I move my head so I can see what he's pointing at, then freeze when I realize
I'm close enough to feel his breath. "Umm, and you propose to get me in through
there?"
He looks at me, eyelids half closed. He starts to move his head toward me but
stops and shakes it instead. "Sorry. I, uhh..." Then, for just a moment, he has
a faraway look. A look that's quickly replaced by a knowing smile. "Yes, I'll
get you... in... through there."
Sunday, 5:30 A.M.
I'm staring at the ceiling. I've been trying to fall asleep all night. Thoughts
fly around and collide in my head. An alien-human hybrid. Being on
administrative duty. Feeling Krycek's lips on my cheek. Original tissue. The
smell of leather. Fifty years of planning. My mind settles momentarily on Hong
Kong, and the feel of his body, his heat against me.
Turning to face Krycek, I note that asleep, he looks... almost innocent. His
lips are slightly parted and I watch his bare chest rise and fall with deep,
even breaths.
Why, of all people, does he have to know... sense what I feel? Feelings I've
held so closely guarded even Scully doesn't // can't // know.
I cover my face with my hands. I watched him sleep once before. New York,
another lifetime ago. He was my partner and he just killed Augustus Cole. I
thought he was young, green. That it was his first kill. I talked with him long
into the night, reassuring him that Cole made him see a gun, that
it wasn't his fault. I put my hands on his shoulders and felt... Oh god, what I
felt. When he looked at me through those thick eyelashes, I had to hold myself
back. When we were assigned together on the Duane Barry case, I hoped to... to
what?
Remember what he is. He betrayed me, killed my father and probably Duane Barry.
I'm sure he had something to do with Scully's abduction. Forget that every guy
I've picked up in the last three years has had green eyes.
My thoughts are interrupted by a moan from his bed. I watch as he kicks off the
bed covers, stretches, then relaxes with his hand on his growing erection. My
hand involuntarily reaches for my own dick, when the silence is shattered by
the phone ringing. Wake up call. Damn, shit, fuck.
Sunday, 7:15 P.M.
Krycek spent the day at the new building, supervising parts of the preparation.
He returned with a plan and two bags. One from Wal-Mart, the other from Sally's
Ragtime Store, 'a consignment shoppe.'
"No fucking way, Krycek. I'm not doing it."
"Mulder, they will spot you. They know who you are, what you look
like. Besides, this stuff will wash out in a few weeks."
Laid out on the table is a pair of black horn rim glasses with clear lenses,
adhesive tape, sandpaper, a bottle of rubber cement, make-up and Clairol
Natural Instincts hair coloring.
"What's the rubber cement for?"
"The warts on your ear and face."
Defeated, I sit on the bed, next to a used tool belt, a pair of worn, cheap
workboots, jeans and a hideous plaid flannel shirt. Pointing at the pile, I
start in, "And this crap. I brought clothes."
"Christ, this from the man who can't buy ties. Look, the consortium is using
some local help—that's your way in. I don't think the construction workers in
Bozeman shop at L.L. Bean or Timberland."
Closing my eyes, I start to shake my head. What the hell am I doing? According
to his plan, I'm a geeky, wart covered, near-blind, redhead who puts up dry
wall.
I jump at the feel of his hand on my shoulder. I look into his eyes. "Mulder,
come on. Let's get to work on your disguise."
I'm sitting in the bathroom, hair wet with Clairol, waiting the allotted time
for my shade—Desert Sunrise—to develop. Krycek knocks on the door. "What?" I
yell at him.
"I've got Q-tips for your eyebrows."
Oh god, will this never end?
I walk out of the bathroom, towel around my waist and look at myself in the
mirror. My damp hair is darker than the color on the package, but if my
eyebrows are an indication, I'll have light russet hair. I do look different,
younger. It doesn't really look all that bad.
"Woof, you look good. Wet and red."
Startled, I spin around to face him. He's standing by the table, weight on one
leg, the traditional hustler stance. His tight fitting jeans and T-shirt
complete the look. The only anomaly, his prosthetic arm.
"You look like you're ready to work a bathhouse," Krycek says with a lecherous
grin.
Two can play at that game. I look him up and down. "And which park can I pick
you up at?"
His eyebrows arch and he moves his hand to his crotch. He squeezes the growing
bulge and licks his lips. Then he moves toward me, stopping when we're toe to
toe. His hand reaches for me and I hold my breath.
He runs his fingers through my damp hair then pulls his hand back and looks at
it, rubbing his fingers together. "Good stuff, it's not coming off." And he
walks into the bathroom.
I leave Mulder standing there, hearing his low groan as I close the bathroom
door. I'll give him some time to... compose himself. Two or three minutes to
let his hard-on subside.
Smiling to myself, I play back our little interaction. He's coming along
beautifully. I know he wants me, and that he hates himself for it. A few more
episodes like this last one, and his ass is mine.
Time's up.
I'm pulling up my pants when Krycek enters the room. That ass-wipe. I wince
when I zip up, compressing my still hard dick.
Ignoring him, I move the second-hand crap off the bed and into a dresser
drawer, then sit at the table. Krycek was busy while I was in the bathroom. The
glasses are a little scuffed and worn-looking, with a piece of adhesive tape on
the bridge. I try them on.
"Hey, Mulder. I'm sorry if I—"
"Forget it," I respond turning to him. I see my reflection in the mirror. Nerdy
redhead... great.
Sunday, 9:30 P.M.
Room service delivers our dinner. Other than giving my meal order, I haven't
said a word to Krycek since the little... incident.
We sit at the table and he starts picking at his pasta. I dig into my steak and
baked potato, smiling at the thought that he probably can't indulge in food you
can't cut with one hand.
Krycek picks up a piece of bread and looks out the window. Moments pass in
silence.
"Mulder, really. I am sorry. I knew what was happening and—"
"I said forget it."
"I don't want to. I know what could have happened, what would have happened, if
I didn't stop."
We reach for the salt at the same time and our hands touch. It's an electric
jolt, but neither of us pulls away.
Looking at each other, not moving or breathing. Until finally, I drop my eyes
and reach for the pepper.
He takes a few bites, then starts speaking, "I'm sure you think I'm toying with
you. And maybe I am a little... but you can't deny—"
"You bet your ass I can deny. Okay, for argument's sake, let's say that maybe,
somewhere deep down, I have some sick desire. Just 'cause you have the ability
to tap into that doesn't mean I really want it. Shit, everyone
has—"
Krycek's look of surprise stops me. "Mulder, I was trying to say... it goes
both ways."
Before my shock registers, his cell phone rings. He answers. "Yes." A pause.
"That will delay—" His brows knit. "No, I can bring a crew in early Tuesday.
Is the security schedule... Yes, still on for Tuesday afternoon. Yes. I
understand." And he hangs up.
He returns to his dinner, deep in thought.
"Krycek, what's going on?"
"There's a delay in the set up. I won't be needed on site until Tuesday. Damn.
This means instead of getting you on a work crew tomorrow, it'll have to be
Tuesday."
"So what does this all mean?"
Krycek blinks. I can almost see his thoughts forming. "It shortens our rescue
timeline. We can't go in until Tuesday, and they'll have better security in
place on Wednesday. I'm sure we can overcome that. I'm more concerned about
tomorrow."
"What about tomorrow?"
Krycek goes on, almost as if he's speaking to himself, "We can drive by the
facility, let you take a look from a distance. We'll have to be careful, they
might have started patrols past the perimeter..."
"What the hell are you rambling about?"
He looks at me surprised. "I'm trying to figure out how to fill the day."
"And why is that so important?"
A flicker in his eyes, as though he's making a decision... "How else am I going
to keep my hands off of you? Especially when your little brain keeps telling me
these things that you really don't want to do."
My jaw drops. Damn, shit, fuck.
Monday, 2:00 P.M.
Krycek and I have been dancing around each other. Trying to make sure we're
never close enough to touch.
We drive out to the facility and park a mile away. We walk back. It's not an
easy hike; we have to stay in the dense brush far off the side of the road.
Krycek points to a stand of trees by the road and whispers, "We'll hide there."
He hands me a pair of binoculars. Our fingers brush together and I feel the
tingle in my groin.
From our vantage point, I see a guard at the gate, checking badges and cars.
There are crews working on the chain-link fence. Close to my ear, Krycek
whispers, "That fence will be electrified by Wednesday afternoon."
Suddenly, I hear voices, but I can't tell where they're coming from. Krycek
grabs me and dives to the ground. I feel the heat of his body against me, feel
his breath on my cheek, feel his growing erection against my ass... feel my own
erection under me.
Then all too soon, he whispers, "Hikers. It's clear now." And he gets off me.
I stand and brush myself off, not wanting to look at him. Not wanting him to
see the hunger in my face.
I've got my disguise on... warts and all. I kept telling Krycek the rubber
cement lumps would look like snot balls, but I have to admit, with the makeup,
they are pretty realistic.
He takes my picture and proceeds to laminate it on a badge. When he finishes,
he tosses it to me. "Tell me what you think."
If I didn't know this was me, I wouldn't believe it. Then I see the name.
"Arnold 'Ace' Rimmer? You have got to be kidding me."
Another night, tossing and turning. I have to get some sleep. I need to be
sharp for tomorrow.
My mind keeps taking me places I don't want to go. Slamming into him in Hong
Kong. Watching him squeeze his cock last night. Feeling him on top of me this
afternoon. I flop over on my stomach, in hopes of quieting my growing erection.
"Mulder, will you go to sleep... please."
"I'm trying." God, I sound whiny.
He turns on the light and sits up. "What do you usually do when you can't
sleep?"
I'm too tired to keep my guard up and shock myself when I say, "Watch porn."
Krycek shakes his head, then looks at me. His brows knit, then a slow smile
comes over his face.
"What? Why are you looking at me that way?" I ask, raising myself on my elbows.
He tosses off the blankets; his cock, growing hard, pushes against his boxers.
He comes over and stands next to my bed, his crotch inches away from my face.
"You know why."
The white of his boxers fills my field of vision; I can see the outline of his
cock, a wet spot forming at the tip. I lick my lips.
He kneels down so we're face to face. He runs his hand through my hair, pausing
at the back of my head. He fists my hair and pulls my head back, capturing my
mouth in a hard, forceful kiss.
With his elbow pressed against my shoulder, he rolls me on my back, never
breaking the kiss. He's on top of me, grinding his hips into mine, thrusting
his tongue deep into my mouth. Our tongues wrap around each other as my hands
run down his back to his ass.
He moves down and starts sucking and biting my neck, my throat. I turn my head
to give him room. The sensation of his teeth biting sends shivers down my back
and a low moan escapes my lips.
Feeling his lips play at my throat, I hear him, "You like that, don't you?"
I groan my response. Squeezing his ass in place of words.
He rolls off me, stands, and pulls off his boxers. His rigid cock juts away
from his body. I stare for just a moment, then strip myself.
Moving to the other side of the room, he grabs his bag and returns to me.
Standing over me, he runs his fingers down my chest, pausing to pinch one
nipple, then the other. I arch my back and hiss. It hurts in a way that's
anything but bad.
His hand trails down my chest. His touch—a line of fire. "Look at me," he
whispers.
I stare deeply into his eyes. His hand lifts and in the next second, grips my
cock. A hard squeeze followed by slow pumping. I gasp and throw my head back.
As suddenly as he grabbed my cock, he releases it.
"No!"
"What's the rush?" he asks as he reaches into his bag. I bite my lip when he
puts lube and condoms on the nightstand.
His head jerks up and he looks at me with wide eyes. He arches his eyebrows and
nods. I don't know what he's thinking. // What am I thinking? //
Moving to my bag, he rummages around. He returns with my handcuffs and belt. My
cock twitches in anticipation.
He puts the handcuff key on the nightstand and the belt by my side. He takes
away my pillow. "Slide down a little and put your hands over your head."
As I move, a quiet voice in my head asks me what the hell I'm doing. I tell it
to shut up.
I'm in position. He straddles my chest to wrap the cuffs around the headboard,
his cock teasingly close to my mouth.
The ratchet sound of the cuffs, the cold metal on my skin, sends shivers down
my back. He sits back and runs his finger lightly on the inside of my biceps.
The half tickle, half tingle, makes me moan.
He picks up the belt and places the buckle in my hand, then wraps the belt
around my neck. I tense when he tugs lightly, then relax as he lays it down on
my chest. I release the breath I didn't realize I was holding.
My cock is throbbing and I feel my balls tighten. Damn, he isn't even paying
attention to my cock and he's getting this reaction.
He gets off me and grabs a condom. He tears it open and rolls it slowly on my
cock. His salacious look, the feel of cool latex followed by the heat from his
hand almost undoes me. He reaches down and squeezes my balls to the point of
pain... and pleasure.
"Ahhh. Fuck. What are you doing?"
"Don't want the fun to end here," he says as he straddles me again.
He positions himself high on my chest, bracing himself against the headboard.
The tip of his cock brushes against my lips and I open my mouth to take him in.
I hear his low groan as he pushes deeper into my mouth. I start sucking and
tonguing his cock. He pumps slowly, each time a little deeper, until I can
barely handle him. His cock down my throat stops my breathing... turning me on
even more.
Suddenly, he stops and pulls out of my mouth. He sits back on my chest. "No,
too soon," he says breathlessly.
He rests for a few moments, then gets off me. Grabbing the lube, he squirts a
good amount on my stomach.
The cold lube on my fevered skin makes me jump. He runs his hand in the lube
and thoroughly coats my cock. I shudder, feeling his hand on me.
He climbs back on me. Holding my cock, he guides me into his ass. He moves down
gradually, gingerly, as my cock head starts to penetrate him. I've never fucked
anyone this way. He slowly turns his hips and I feel the head slip past his
sphincter.
I hear him hiss, followed by a deep breath and he pushes down hard. I cry out
in pleasure.
Krycek sits still for a moment, then works the muscles of his ass. The pressure
surrounding my cock is beyond anything I've ever felt.
He starts rocking up and down, torturously slow. He wraps his hand, still slick
with lube, around his cock and starts pumping. His hand moves faster, but his
hips keep the same unhurried pace. I start bucking my hips to speed him up, but
it makes him stop. I groan my despair.
I'm going nuts, watching him beat off while feeling my cock buried in him.
Krycek rises up, almost off me. His hand pumping faster and faster. He throws
his head back and slams down on my cock, spurting his cum onto my chest. I feel
the wave of his orgasm as his ass squeezes my cock.
Too soon, he stops. His ass relaxes its vise grip on my cock and I hear myself
whine.
Breathing heavily, he drops his head forward. After a few moments, he looks up
at me. "Your turn," he says in a low gravelly voice. He squeezes his ass
muscles again, letting my cock know it hasn't been forgotten.
He picks up the end of the belt and starts rocking his hips again. I feel the
belt tighten on my neck as he rides me, his ass grinding down on my cock. He
releases the belt's tension and I gasp for air.
His hips do their magic and the belt constricts my breathing again. I start
bucking against him and he lets me. I feel the blood in my face, pounding to
the beat of my heart.
I open my eyes and see spots. I hear a roar in my ears as I feel my orgasm
build. I slam into him, and he releases the belt as I'm swept away in a rush of
blood, breath and semen.
I hold the condom, tied off and full of Mulder's semen. I drop it in a baggie
and start getting dressed.
"Krycek, what the hell are you doing? Uncuff me."
It's difficult, but I ignore the now-sated Agent Mulder. Reaching into my
pocket, I pull out my cell phone and dial a number that will be disconnected
after this call. After two rings the phone picks up. No voice on the other
line, but I know who it is.
I begin speaking into the cell, "Yes, it's me. I have the sample." I look at
the condom in the baggie and continue, "A good supply, and I'm sure it's
motile."
Mulder starts yelling at me, but my message is complete. I hang up the cell
phone.
"What the fuck? Who were you talking to? Where are you going, you fucking rat
bastard? UNCUFF ME!"
As I make my way to the door, I make another call. A tired voice answers,
"Hello?"
"Assistant Director Walter Skinner?"
Mulder starts howling, spitting out words, the only intelligible phrase
'administrative duty.' I close the door behind me and hang the do-not-disturb
sign on the knob.
"Yes, this is Skinner. Who's this?"
"That's not important. I'm calling to tell you that you'll find Agent Mulder at
the Hyatt Regency in Bozeman, Montana. Room 128. I can't let you speak with
him, he's tied up at the moment."
"Wait, what—"
"Oh, and tell him 'telepathy was a lie.'"
I hang up and leave.
Tuesday, 1:15 P.M.
My wrists are rubbed raw by my struggles to get out of the cuffs.
What is wrong with these people? I kept yelling and banging up against the
wall, but no one came by.
I finally fell asleep—out of exhaustion—and have been awake for half an hour.
My throat is so dry and sore I can barely swallow.
I hear voices outside the door, then the snick of the lock. Thank god, help at
last. The door swings open and Skinner walks in, followed by the hotel manager.
Skinner stops short, his eyes widen and his jaw drops. I imagine what this must
look like to him.
I'm laid out, red-haired and buck ass naked, handcuffed to the headboard. A
belt wrapped around my neck, condoms and lube on the nightstand. Let's not
forget the dried semen on my chest.
He walks over to me and picks up the handcuff key from the nightstand. He
examines it for a moment then uses it to uncuff me. I pull the blankets over
me, then start rubbing my wrists. Anything to postpone the inevitable.
"Mulder, is there an explanation for all of this?"
I croak out, "Yes. Can I have some water, please?"
Skinner leaves my side. I reach down and grab my pants, pulling them up before
he returns.
Handing me the glass, he gives me his patented 'I'm waiting' glare.
I gulp down the water and clear my throat. "Sir, there's a facility about
thirty minutes out of town. They're still working on it, but it's all there. An
extraterrestrial that they've been harvesting DNA from, an alien-human hybrid.
All of it, sir. You'll see."
Skinner looks at the hotel manager. "Is there a building that matches that
description?"
The hotel manager coughs nervously. "Uh, well. I don't know anything about a
extra... whatever he said. But Hormel's putting in a bunch of test kitchens for
new products. You know, where they cook and test their canned food."
I stare at him. "Hormel?"
He looks at me like I'm from another planet. "Yeah, Hormel. You know, the Spam
people."
Damn, shit, fuck.
Two Weeks Later
Mulder's mail included a small but heavy box postmarked Bozeman, Montana.
Inside, he found 16 tins of Spam and a short note: "Thinking of you. A.K."
9 November 2000
Mournful plea mode: Really need, want, crave feedback. Praise and
constructive criticism welcome. It's hard to keep writing if I don't know
people are reading.
Spam Definition:
Spam: A processed meat product, sold in a can. Also known as tinned or potted
meat. The meat is in a chunk shaped like the can, so it is a mystery what
animal it comes from. It's widely speculated that it comes from the (probably
endangered) spam-animal. The taste, texture and appearance are all pretty
gross, but it's a good way to get your minimum daily requirements of saturated
fat, salt and nitrates. Also useful to keep on hand for the apocalypse, because
it has a near infinite shelf life.
To find out more, check http://www.spam.com/ I'm not kidding, it's a legitimate
site.
Spam
by Loren Q
Tuesday
Outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota
I'm pressed against a cold concrete wall; the hand at my throat belongs to the
shape-shifter I thought was Jeremiah Smith.
I start to ask him how he knows when he holds up his hand to stop me from
talking.
FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
Basement Office
FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C
.
Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia
In
Flight to Bozeman, Montana
Hyatt Regency Hotel, Room 128
Bozeman, Montana
Hyatt
Regency Hotel, Room 128
Monday, 7:45 P.M.
Hyatt
Regency Hotel, Room 128
Tuesday, 1:30 A.M.
Hyatt Regency Hotel, Room 128
Bozeman, Montana
Almost everyone in the U.S. knows what Spam is (and I don't mean
junk email), but for those less (or more) fortunate readers:
