Speaking of whacking off, Mulder had to have spanked the monkey so often the
poor thing had a complex. He'd never seen so damn many porn magazines. Or
videos. Well, he kept the ones that looked the most interesting, dumped the
ones from the '80s—let's face it, the Barbi twins were so passe and
used those nice latex FBI gloves, just in case. Granted, any jism was his
own, or Mulder's body's own, but still, it wasn't the 'essence du Morris'.
Yeah, Mulder's place looked awesome. Dinner smelled pretty damned good. Go
figure that Cooking For Dummies really worked. And now all he needed was a
nice, hot shower to get ready to melt the Ice Queen.
So Morris wandered back into Mulder's closet, found something other than a
skeevy pair of sweats, made a mental note to buy something more befitting his
lean body, and headed for the shower. God, he loved Mulder's body. His
body. He hadn't been this good-looking in years. Not since before he married
Joanne. Well, live and learn, Morris told himself. He wasn't gonna get
married again. Nosirree. He was gonna get laid, move Mulder's screwed up
career along, and make the most out of his new life.
Fifteen minutes later, he emerged from the shower, still marveling at his hot
bod and perfect teeth. In fact, he was so busy thinking about impressing
Dana-doll with his new bod, that he didn't notice he wasn't alone until the
muzzle of the gun was right under his nose.
"Getting sloppy, Mulder?"
Morris wasn't sure whether to raise his hands and drop the towel or hold the
towel or —
"Hello? Earth to Mulder. Anybody home?"
"Uh, yeah... yeah... ."
"That's it? Nothing more intelligent to say?"
Morris finally peeled his eyes from the barrel of the gun long enough to get a
look at the guy holding it on him. Some leather jacketed hood. And the
hood brought his girlfriend?! Figured. Typical Mulder. And now it was
up to Morris to deal with Mulder's mess.
"You wanna talk about this, buddy," Morris ventured. "How about you,
sweetcakes? You think it's a good idea hanging out with your... what's that a
fake arm... one-armed boyfriend pulling guns on federal agents?"
"Sweetcakes?" The chick wrinkled her nose at him. "Ratboy –"
"Alex, kitten. My name is Alex," Leather-boy corrected her.
"Who drugged Foxboy this time? He never called me sweetcakes before. It's
tacky." She wrinkled her nose again and looked around the living room. "In
fact, this whole place is tacky. It looks like somebody bought a page from
the Ikea catalogue. And where the hell are the fish?"
The fish. He flushed the frigging fish. "They're, uh, dead, kitten."
Alex frowned at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"What do you want me to do? Weep with joy that you and your crazy bitch
girlfriend broke in here and are criticizing my apartment while you hold a gun
to my head?"
"Ratboy!" Kitten poked her head out of the bedroom. Her eyes were wide.
"You've gotta see this! Mulder's got a bedroom. And it's got a waterbed.
And a mirrored ceiling. And the world's tackiest sheets!"
"You're lucky Feldman didn't hear you call her a crazy bitch, Mulder," Alex
hissed. "You'll apologize to her anyway."
"Feldman, honey," Morris ventured. "Feldman? C'mere, baby."
"What?" Her eyes were narrowed suspiciously.
"The ceiling isn't mirrored. It's just the bed."
"Isn't there something else you want to tell her, Foxboy," Alex asked.
Bet Leather-boy wouldn't be so brave without the gun. "I'm... uh... sorry I called
you a crazy bitch."
Feldman did a double-take at him. "He's sick, Ratboy. Did they do another
mind-wipe on him?"
Ratboy shook his head. "Not that I heard about."
"What about that shrink who stuck needles in his head?"
"Nope."
"Scully?"
"Nah."
"But... he's not acting... well, normal."
Ratboy Alex nodded in agreement. "True enough. Maybe he just needs to get
laid."
"Yeah, yeah, I do," Morris agreed, quickly. "In fact, Dana's on her way over
right now for that very reason—"
"Ewwwwwwwwww!" Feldman looked utterly horrified.
"She's a hot chick," Morris argued. "A little frigid, but I bet I can warm
her up some."
"Ratboy, we have to do something."
"Get the taco sauce," Ratboy ordered. "Maybe that'll bring him back to his
senses."
"Do I have to," Feldman whined. "That stuff burns."
Oooooh. Ratboy wanted him to bang Feldman. Okay, she wasn't stacked like
Scully was, but she looked like she knew how to have a good time. "Yeah,
baby, go get the taco sauce."
"Glad to see you're still interested," Ratboy murmured. "Drop the towel and
I'll get you started."
"Say what?!"
"I brought your favorite kind of lube."
"Whoa, there, big fella, I think we've got ourselves a little
misunderstanding..."
"You playing hard to get, Mulderpup?" Ratboy leered at him. "I like that.
I'll bet the kitten'll like it, too. You want us to handcuff you and have our
wicked way with you?"
"Three's a crowd, Ratboy." Morris meant that to sound authoritative, but
Mulder's voice squeaked slightly and for some reason, Mulder's cock was rock
hard under the towel. As if maybe Mulder's cock knew something Morris didn't
about Ratboy and Feldman.
Feldman came back from the kitchen looking very unhappy. "Mulder, where's the
taco sauce?"
"I tossed it. Bad for my stomach," Morris blurted. Damn. He smiled at her
and prayed psycho Ratboy wasn't going to shoot him. "I've got plenty of
ketchup, though."
"Ewwwww! That's even more disgusting than your sheets!"
"I'll call you next time I go shopping," Morris snapped. Bitch.
"You'd better. You've got no taste, Mulder. This place looks like Hugh
Hefner's hip twenty-something son decorated it."
Jeezus. This was Joanne before he married her. Maybe he could warn the one-
armed freak/fruit before the freak/fruit made the same mistakes Morris did.
"Hey, uh, Ratboy, want some advice?"
"Alex. My name," Ratboy sniffed, "is Alex."
"Never mind." Ratboy deserved whatever he got.
"Ratboy?" Feldman blinked up at her leather-clad boyfriend. "I'm not in the
mood anymore."
"For anything?" Green eyes flashed at Morris reproachfully. "We could
handcuff him and maybe use a ball-gag to shut him up and you could get an
Ethan Allen catalogue—"
"Now wait a minute!"
"You heard him. Scully's coming. You know what'll happen if she catches us
doing Mulder."
"Yeah, she'll wanna join in." Ratboy sighed and lowered the gun. "That's
even more disgusting than licking Heinz ketchup off of you."
"Maybe we should take him hostage for his own good," Feldman suggested. "Just
in case he tries to do Scully and accidentally gets freezer burn on it."
"Nah. Let's leave the lovebirds be. With luck, he'll make a move, she'll hit
him over the head and he'll get his memory back—"
"And get rid of the waterbed?"
"We can only hope."
With that, the two freaks left. Morris locked the door behind them and
collapsed on the waterbed, looking up at his reflection. "Mirror, mirror... what
the hell have I gotten myself into?"
The end?
Mirror, Mirror
by Ms Brooklyn
Those Ikea catalogues were something else, Morris Fletcher mused, as he
surveyed what Fox Mulder's credit card and a trip to the store could do for
the Fed's ugly little apartment. Credit cards, a trip to the store, a
hammer, a screwdriver and creative storing of those boxes and the dark
apartment had been transformed into a '90s bachelor pad, just like Morris
fantasized about when Joanne and the kids were out and he was whacking off
while watching the Playboy channel.
