Wanting is—what?
The first indication that Mulder had that anything was wrong was the
bang. It sounded like someone hiding under the car's hood had
suddenly hit it with a baseball bat. The second indication was the
cloud of steam that billowed from the edges to be blown back against
his windshield. The third was the sudden, spectacular swoop of the
needle on the temperature gage over into the danger zone, and the
fourth, and final, was the car shuddering to a halt before he could
pull it over onto the shoulder.
Mulder swore quietly to himself, got out and put his shoulder to the
doorframe, trying to push the rental off the pavement. After a
moment of heaving, he swore again, reached in, and jerked the
transmission into neutral. THEN it rolled.
They had a compact available, but did I take it? Nooo, didn't want
to get my legs cramped, 'cause the front seats in those tin cans
never seem to move far enough back. No, ol' long legged Fox just HAD
to get a big ass sedan. Grunting with the effort, he pushed till
the car's front tires hit the slight drop off at the edge of the
shoulder, and the car rolled with a bit less reluctance. He kept
having to lean inside to struggle with the steering wheel, but he
finally got the vehicle off the road.
He put it into park and sat back down for a minute, sideways in the
driver's seat, legs angled out the door, and glared at the red light
on the dash. HOT. "No shit."
With a sigh, he pulled his cell phone out of his jacket and flipped
it open, hitting 911 on the speed dial...and got nothing. Fox stared
at it for a moment, then shook it, and tried again. Still nothing.
No dial tone, no buzz, no beep, no click. "No fucking way." The
useless electronic gadget sailed through the air, rustling to the
ground somewhere in the bushes.
Well, there was another phone gone, and wasn't it going to be fun
explaining THIS one to Skinner. He could picture himself, sitting
before the AD's desk, and almost heard Walter's growl as he said,
"So what you're telling me is that you jettisoned a piece of Bureau
issued electronics because you were PISSED OFF?!" Actually, he was
almost looking forward to that encounter. Skinner's office was air
conditioned.
He wiped his face, hands coming away filmed with sweat. He'd only
been out of the air conditioning for about four, maybe five minutes,
and there were already damp patches forming under his pits and
around his collar. Belatedly, he thought to swing his legs back
inside the car and shut the door to trap whatever chill remained
while he tried to decide what to do.
He'd come out to this remote part of West Texas to investigate a
rash of cattle mutilations. Every few years they seemed to crop up.
There was usually some sort of prosaic explanation for them, but he
had to keep checking. These had been the result of a grudge among
ranchers. The trip had been a total waste of time, now this.
Mulder peered through the windshield at the seemingly endless
stretch of blacktop before him. Then he turned around and looked out
the back window. Pretty much the same view. Nothing in sight but
scrub bushes and an occasional distant stand of scraggly looking
trees. Not even any power or telephone poles. Aside from the
highway, I'm seeing this land the same way the first settlers saw
it. Mulder thought. That thought might inspire awe...if I didn't
think I might just die of the heat.
That was a real possibility. The temperature had been 89° at eight
o' clock this morning. It had been climbing, and it was almost noon
now. The heat index was probably over one hundred. And it was at
least thirty miles in either direction to anything passing for
civilization. Might as well be a thousand.
The interior of the car was starting to heat up, and Fox knew he
should get out of it. The temperature outside was bad, but he'd read
somewhere that the temperature inside a car on a hot summer day
could reach 215° in ten minutes, and it only took 220° degrees to
boil water. Reluctant to leave the shade, he got out. Might as well
check to see what happened. Like I don't already know. He popped
the hood, and went around the front to lift it. Sure enough, the
underside was dripping with water. A quick inspection revealed a
burst water hose. Damn. Even if I HAD a roll of duct tape that
bastard is so shredded I probably couldn't get a seal. He leaned in
to get a closer look, bracing his hands...
...on the radiator.
Pain flared in his hands, and he jerked back with a hiss. His palms
were beginning to redden. Well, isn't that charming? Now I'll waste
more of my precious body moisture forming fucking BLISTERS!
Petulantly he kicked the tire, then had a bruised toe to curse
about.
Wearily he leaned against the side of the car, trying to decide what
to do next. Although he had many things to be worried about at that
time, Fox found himself noticing how profoundly STILL it was out
here. Silent. No car engines, no electric hums, no dogs barking, no
distant natter of voices. Not even wind. The air didn't move. As dry
as it was, the air should feel thin, but it didn't. Instead it felt
heavy. It was almost a solid weight pressing against his skin. But
maybe that was the sun. It lay over everything, thick and achingly
bright and hot.
Mulder stared up at the sky, twisting his head to give the horizon a
360° scan, searching for some sign of clouds. Nothing, not even a
wisp. It sure would be nice to have a cloud shadow roll over him
right about now. But the sky was a clear blue expanse. It was
sapphire right over his head, fading out to almost white at the edge
of his vision.
This reminded him of something, the sky and the heat. What was it? A
poem, maybe. Why the hell was he thinking of a poem right now, when
he should be mentally reviewing desert survival tactics? Because my
mind works in weird and wonderful ways. Like a few months ago down
at the docks. A fog thick as wool, and I was thinking of Carl
Sandburg.
Mulder shuddered suddenly, despite the heat. He didn't want to think
about that night, not even if the reflection on mist and water and
night would have been mentally cooling. Something else had happened
in that cool, damp fog that had been anything BUT cool. He closed
his eyes briefly, remembering the jab of steel under his chin, and
the hot mouth on his cock.
Alex Krycek had knelt before him on the scummy alleyway pavement and
sucked him off, fog swirling around them both in phantasmagorical
patterns. It was Mulder's first, and only, homosexual experience.
"No, it wasn't really a gay experience. It was an assault," he told
himself firmly. "It's not like it was anything I had a choice in." A
tiny, traitorous voice had occasionally whispered Yeah, but it's
not like you never THOUGHT of it, either. Fox had quashed that
little voice without much trouble. It had too much competition from
his other obsessions, and he wasn't going to give it a chance to
grow.
Krycek had left Fox with a promise that had cost the FBI agent a lot
of rest in the past few weeks. And the scary thing was, Fox didn't
know WHY he was losing sleep. He wanted to believe it was from
apprehension, and delayed trauma. But he wasn't sure.
Mulder shook his head quickly, dispelling the thought. What WAS that
poem? Another one that he'd memorized in high school, but this one
wasn't coming back to him as easily as Cat Feet had. "Summer
redundant, Blueness abundant." Yep, that fit. As long as you
considered that in this case 'redundant' didn't mean repetition, but
instead meant more than is needed, desired, or required. And there
was sure as hell an abundance of blue.
He heaved a sigh. Well, standing here moping wouldn't get him
anything but a sunburn. He was going to have to start walking. Fox
opened the trunk and retrieved the pair of old, battered athletic
shoes he'd brought along specifically for exploring cattle pastures.
And a good thing it had been, too. He'd saved his new pair of
Belvedere Adamos. Suckers had cost him over $185, and he wasn't
about to risk them on cow patties.
His wisdom was proved by the rather fragrant state of the battered
Pumas. Well, ripe they might be, but they were much better suited to
the walk ahead of him than the Italian lace ups. Patrician nose
wrinkled in disgust, Mulder changed shoes, locking his prized
footwear in the trunk for safekeeping. He wasn't about to haul them
along on his trek, but he didn't want to just leave them laying
around for anyone who happened by to snatch. As he started trudging
up the road, he thought Yeah, like I really need to worry about
that. I didn't see a single car on the way out here, or back. These
people must not go into town more than once a week.
Mulder didn't hurry. Hurrying in this heat could be killing, he knew
that. Of course, LINGERING in this heat couldn't possibly be much
healthier, but those were the only two available choices. After a
few dozen yards, Mulder took off his jacket, draping it over his
arm, and loosened his tie as he walked. He mentally cursed the
Bureau dress code. Of course, he supposed that even the most lenient
code wouldn't have allowed nothing but swim trunks, which right now
seemed like the only even marginally comfortable choice.
Another few yards, and the tie was jerked off and stuffed in his
back pocket. The top of his head felt like he was standing under a
broiler, and he decided that he' better get something between it and
the sun pronto. The only thing available was his jacket, so he
reluctantly draped it over his head. It was almost like wearing a
blanket, but if he wanted to avoid heat stroke for any length of
time, that was what he had to do.
He walked. And walked. And wondered why the hell they had even
bothered to lay a road out here in the wilderness when it seemed
that he was the only one who was going to USE the fucker. He quickly
got off the pavement. Not because he was worried about being run
over, fuck no. He probably could have left the rental parked
astraddle the white line without worrying unduly about someone
plowing into it. But it was like walking on a griddle. Heat just
BAKED up off it. The air up ahead seemed to shimmer with the rising
thermal waves. And in the distance, the blacktop looked wet, and
shiny.
Well, it might be SOFT from the heat, but not WET. No such luck.
Mulder knew this from road trips he'd taken with his parents when he
was a child. He used to love the way water would fountain up on
either side when they drove quickly through a puddle. He'd spotted
what looked like lovely, great washes of water stretching all the
way across the road ahead of them, and had eagerly awaited the
moment they would reach them. But that moment never came. As they
approached, the shining silver would seem to simply melt away. When
he'd finally remarked on this, his father had explained reflection,
and optical illusions. It was fascinating, but it wasn't as good as
a puddle.
Huh. High school poetry, sexual ambiguity, and now heat mirages.
Keep your mind on the situation at hand, Fox, and maybe you'll make
it through. He glanced back at his car, and blinked. Damn, it
didn't look like he'd gone very far, and he felt like he'd been
walking for an hour. This was going to be bad, very bad.
He kept walking. His shirt was plastered to him, as wet now with
sweat as if someone had hit him with a Super Soaker. It DID help, a
little. It would have been better if there was some sort of breeze
to cool the moisture. He could feel sweat running in rivulets down
his legs, and his underwear was feeling swampy. He wished he dared
to take off his shirt, but not under this sun. No point in getting
second degree sunburn on any more of his body than he absolutely had
to. He expected that his hands were going to end up reddened on the
backs as well as the palms, but the suit jacket was sheltering his
face.
How far had he gone now? He looked back at the car, and was
surprised to see it reduced to not much more than a speck beside the
road. So he HAD been making progress. He glanced back in the
direction he was heading, and sighed. Yeah, but not NEARLY enough
progress.
His legs were feeling heavy now. He scuffled occasionally, raising
dry puffs of dust. Those tiny, gritty clouds were the only thing
that moved in the air, besides himself. There weren't even any birds
passing overhead. For which I should be grateful, I suppose. At
least that means there are no buzzards circling. Yet.
The car was completely out of sight the next time he looked, and
Mulder felt a stab of unease. Now there were no visible signs of man
other than the road that ran beside him. And THAT might just have
well been some hideously ancient artifact of a long dead
civilization for all the good it did him. One mile, two, three...
Mulder staggered, a sudden wave of light headedness sweeping over
him, but he recovered before he could lose his balance. Not good,
not good at all. He jerked his shirt open, not removing it, but
needing even the faint breeze that would be caused by his forward
motion, and continued. Okay, I'm still sweating. That's good. If I
STOP sweating, then I REALLY worry. Then I could be going into heat
stroke. The body couldn't regulate it's temperature without sweat.
Heat stroke victims' temp could rise to as much as 106°, and brain
damage could result if it stayed that high for long. Brain damage,
and death.
Mulder was tempted to go into the bushes for the little shade they
might afford, but he knew that was a lethally stupid idea. By the
side of the road, he at least had a CHANCE of being found. If he
went off into the scrub, he would most likely die there, and they'd
have to bring out the corpse sniffing dogs to locate his body, which
would most likely have been visited by coyotes or weasels or
gerbils, or whatever the hell else they had out here.
Nausea hit Mulder, and he added vomit to the cow shit streaking his
shoes when he didn't quite lean far enough over. Damn. That pie and
coffee had tasted a lot better this morning when he first
encountered them. He wiped his face with his shirt tale, and wished
desperately for water, now as much to rinse the taste from his mouth
as to hydrate himself. He spat, before deciding that he'd better
hang on to even that much moisture. Once his belly had settled, he
resumed his walk. There was no point in just standing there. He
could die as easily down the road as he could next to a puddle of
puke.
The dizziness hit him again, and this time he DID fall. He would have
yelled at the pain when the gravel dug into his already tender
palms, but he just didn't have the energy. He stayed on hands and
knees for a moment, breathing heavily. It took him two tries to push
up to his feet, but he did it. Now he was weaving a little. The sun
was no longer straight overhead, but it wasn't any weaker. How long
had he been walking? Why hadn't he checked his watch when the water
hose blew? Why was he worrying about this shit when he was probably
going to die?
Oh, this is sweet. This is SO fucking ironic. I survive
extraterrestrial, alien bounty hunters, clones, vampires,
werewolves, demons, nameless monsters, international conspiracies,
every type of psychopath known to man, and some that are UNKNOWN,
and I'm going to be killed by a piece of rubber tubing that wouldn't
cost more than ten dollars in any Auto Zone in America.
He glanced up at the searing, empty sky. "You got a weird sense of
humor, God. At least make the ground stay fucking STILL, huh? How'm
I supposed to walk if it keeps heaving up and down?"
Apparently he wasn't supposed to keep walking, because he fell
again. It took him longer to get up this time. He was tempted to
just lie there. Things were seeming pretty purposeless, but that was
what finally persuaded him to try again. Half way up, and he fell
again, knees buckling. But the third try, he managed to struggle
upright, and keep walking. He'd almost forgotten why by now. His
skin was starting to dry out again, and he wondered vaguely if that
should bother him. It seemed like it should. "Blue in abundance," he
sing-songed. "Summer redundant, redundant, redundant."
He heard something. He thought that maybe he had actually been
hearing it for a minute or so, but he really couldn't be sure, and
didn't know if it mattered.
He turned to look for the sound with vague curiosity. There was
movement in the distance. A speck on the black top was gradually
growing larger. Losing interest, he turned and began to stagger on
again. He didn't see the speck turn into a dark, late model van. He
didn't pay it any more attention till it pulled up beside him,
slowing. In fact, he didn't really notice it then. He kept shambling
onward. Conscious thought was scrambled, and he was acting on animal
survival instinct now. The primitive part of his brain didn't want
to die, and was going to keep his body in motion till it was
stopped, or collapsed. It didn't get to the collapse stage.
The van pulled over ahead of Mulder, gritting to a stop well off on
the shoulder. Motor still running, the driver's side door opened,
and a man got out and approached him. He halted right in front of
Fox and stood observing the approaching FBI agent, hands on hips.
When Fox started to go around him, he caught his arm. "What the hell
are you doing to yourself NOW?"
Mulder regarded him with dull eyes. "Summer redundant," and tried to
pull away.
"What?" A cool hand reached under the suit jacket and pressed to
Mulder's forehead. Mulder closed his eyes, making a mewling sound,
and leaned into the touch, falling against the man. He was caught
and held in strong arms. "Oh, fuck. You're burning up."
Mulder was dragged over to the van. The side panel was slid open,
and he was heaved halfway inside, unable to mount the steps. The
inside was blessedly cool, the air conditioner humming efficiently
in the front. Mulder rolled on his belly and crawled the rest of the
way into the van. He heard someone follow him, and the van shook
lightly on it's shocks as their weight settled in. Then the panel
slid closed, and the interior was dim. The windows must have been
tinted as dark as the law allowed.
The jacket was removed from his head, and his open shirt was
stripped away. He heard a rattling, and rolled his head to see a
bright orange plastic cooler being dragged closer. The lid was
opened, but he closed his eyes, too tired to be very interested.
There was a swishing sound.
The water that hit his back was so cold that it hurt. When the icy
wet towel landed on him, he cried out and struggled weakly. Someone
cuffed him lightly on the head. "Stop it! I have to get your body
temperature down fast. It's only heat exhaustion right now, but it's
close to heat stroke."
The frigid wetness moved over his back, his neck, his shoulders.
"You're so hot those first drops almost sizzled on your skin." There
were more swishing noises, and he was rolled over. He closed his
eyes to avoid the water he knew was coming.
This time the chill assaulted his chest, face, throat, and belly. He
started to shiver. "Summer redundant," he gasped.
His pants were pulled off, and the towel stroked his legs, wiping
away the salt that had begun to crust from his drying sweat. The
voice said, "Summer redundant, huh? Blueness abundant. Robert
Browning. I like your taste in poetry."
Again and again the towel swabbed his torso. Fox squirmed, his
nipples puckering with the cold, whimpering, and whoever it was
tsked, straddling his legs to hold him still. "Quit trying to get
away from the cold. This is necessary."
"It's enough." Fox reached out blindly, trying to push them away.
His hands were gripped, and something smooth and silky was wrapped
around his wrists, binding them together. "If you won't stay
still..." It was jerked tight, and he winced at the pressure on the
reddened skin. "And it's enough when I SAY it's enough."
The wash continued for a few more minutes, and Fox's agitation
slowly faded. His mind was starting to clear a little. Yes, this was
necessary. Perhaps his rescuer's tactics were a little aggressive,
but they were effective.
Again the cool hand pressed to his forehead, stroking back damp
hair. "Okay, your temp is going down. I think you're going to be
alright."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome, Fox."
Fox? He knows my name? It was the first coherent thought he'd had
in a while. Had he been missed? Had someone been sent out to find
him? It hardly seemed likely, but what else could it be? In any
case, he was grateful. He opened his eyes, and gasped.
"Alex!"
Krycek looked down at him, with almost gentle amusement in his eyes.
"Well, who did you THINK it was? A fucking St. Bernard? Man, you
WERE out of it. And you're still not entirely out of the woods. You
need a little re-hydration." He moved off of Mulder, and Fox
immediately tried to kick him.
Krycek dodged the blow easily, catching Mulder's ankle. Mulder
noticed, in a peripheral manner, that his shoes and socks had been
removed somewhere along the line. That didn't concern him. What DID
concern him was the big ass knife that had appeared in Krycek's
hand, and was even now hovering over his crotch. Fox got very, very
still.
"That's better. It's terribly bad manners to attack someone who's
trying to help you, Fox." Fox didn't move, but he snarled, "You
never did anything in your life that wasn't for your own sake."
Alex shrugged. "I won't deny that. But in this case, you benefit,
too. So just stay calm, hm? And I'll put this away." Fox glowered at
him. Alex shook his leg. "Well?"
Grudgingly, "Alright."
"Fine." Alex dropped Mulder's foot and slid the knife into a
scabbard that was hung on his belt. "Now, as I was saying before I
was so rudely interrupted. Re-hydration."
He moved into the front of the van and started rummaging in the
glove compartment. Fox reached stealthily for the door handle. He
should be able to open it, even with his hands bound ( with my own
tie he thought sourly).
Without even looking back, Alex called, "Fox, if you open that door,
I'll hamstring you and push you back outside. My patience is NOT
infinite." Making a grumbling noise, Mulder settled back onto the
floor.
He came back and sat beside Mulder, carrying a bottle of Evian, and
several tiny white paper packets. "I don't know where the hell you
thought you were going to go in this heat, barefoot and practically
starkers."
Alex uncapped the bottle, tore open several of the packs, and poured
white grains into the bottle, recapped it, and shook it vigorously.
He grabbed Mulder's bound wrists, making the agent wince again as
the tie chaffed the already irritated skin, and pulled him up into a
sitting position. He uncapped the bottle, and held it toward Fox.
Fox leaned back, eyeing it suspiciously. "What did you put in it?"
Krycek snorted. "You think I'm trying to drug you? Fox, please! Give
me more credit. I'd hardly spike it right in front of you." He
showed one of the empty packs to Mulder. "It's just salt. You
sweated too much out, and you need to replace it, to keep the fluids
in. You know, they don't just GIVE you these at the fast food
restaurants any more. You have to ASK for them."
"Fucking cost control."
Alex grinned. "Yeah. Fucking corporate America. Little sips, you
don't want to bloat."
Fox couldn't hold the bottle with his hands tied, so Alex tipped it
up to his mouth. Suddenly realizing how parched he felt, Alex's
admonition flew from his mind, and he tried to gulp. Krycek pulled
the bottle away. "I said sip!" When Fox tried to do the same thing
the next time the bottle was offered, Alex took a firm grip on his
hair and held his head still.
Fox quickly stopped trying to pull away when he twisted the handful
of hair painfully, and he quietly allowed the other agent to feed
him the water at a leisurely pace. When it was empty, Krycek tossed
the plastic bottle into the back of the van. "I had no idea you were
so greedy, Fox." The grip loosened, Alex's fingers sliding through
the thick brown hair.
Fox jerked back, glaring. "How did you find me?"
"It didn't take a master tracker, once I passed your car. I mean, it
was pretty much a straight shot..." Mulder was giving him a
disgusted look, and Krycek snickered. "Oh, alright. I've been
shadowing you for days. I'm rather proud of myself that you didn't
notice. It isn't easy tailing someone in all this emptiness."
"Why?"
Alex shrugged. "You have your obsessions. I have mine." Alex took
hold of Fox's bound wrists and peered at his palms. "What did you do
THIS on?"
"Radiator."
Alex shook his head. "For an intelligent man, you sometimes pull the
stupidest stunts. Does it hurt?"
"What the fuck do you think?"
"Rude." Alex went to the glove compartment again, and returned
carrying a small plastic bottle. "I guess I shouldn't fuss at you
about being unprepared. I didn't bring a first aid kit. This hand
lotion will have to do, but it has aloe vera in it." He slathered
the pale green, medicinal smelling liquid on Mulder's hands, back
and palms, rubbing it in gently. It felt incredibly soothing, but
Fox wasn't about to tell HIM that. Alex seemed to know, though,
because he said, "You're welcome. Feeling better now?"
"Yeah."
Good." Alex sat back on his heels, regarding Fox with a bright,
green gaze. "Fox...that poem? Do you recall all of it?"
Mulder frowned. What significance was there to the poem? "No, just
Summer redundant, Blueness abundant."
"It's from a very short poem by Robert Browning. It goes `Wanting
is- what? Summer redundant, Blueness abundant. Where is the blot?'"
He reached out, and put his hands on Fox's chest. Mulder's skin,
which had tightened with the cold, had relaxed. But now Krycek's
fingers settled on Fox's nipples, stroking, and they began to
stiffen again. "Wanting is-what?" he murmured.
"No." Fox tried to scoot out of reach, but Krycek moved over him,
straddling his thighs and pushing him back down. "Alex, goddammit,
NO!"
"You owe me, Mulder." He tweaked the firm, fleshy buds, and Mulder
groaned. "After all, since I saved your ass, it's only fair that I
get a turn at it. And besides..." He leaned down and licked Fox's
throat. "I promised. Remember?"
Fox trembled. Oh, God, he remembered.
He remembered the hot breath in his ear, the feel of sticky cum
starting to dry on his softening cock, and the dull ache in his ass
from where Alex had finger fucked him during the blow job. And the
words. "Next time, I'll fuck you. You'll like that. Next time,
Mulder."
"It's next time."
Mulder thrashed wildly, unable to get enough leverage to throw him
off, and suddenly the shiny blade of the knife was lying against his
face, and again he went still. "Fox, baby," Alex purred. "Please. I
REALLY don't want to have to mark up that pretty face. Though..."
The blade turned slightly, just enough for the edge to scrape the
faint stubble on Mulder's cheek. "...a tiny scar right about here
would be tres sexy. Will you be still?" No reply. Mulder just
stared at him, wide eyed and silent. "I'll take that as a yes.
Now..."
The tip of the blade traced a path down Fox's torso, not quite
pressing hard enough to break the skin. It lingered on his flat
abdomen, stroking back and forth almost idly. Fox lay back, staring
up into Alex eyes. Alex shifted his grip on the knife, holding it
gripped in his fist, as if prepared to stab.
Then he slid the blade under the waistband of Fox's boxers. Fox
stopped breathing as the tip moved lower. He felt the dull back of
the blade sliding through his pubic hair, beside his prick. His
prick, which, to his horror, was beginning to harden.
Fox cried out as Alex suddenly jerked his hand. "Shh." The knife
split the cotton of the boxers, parting the cloth cleanly, and Alex
ripped the slit down the last couple of inches, through that leg's
hem. Then he repeated the process on the other side, and removed the
ruined garment, leaving Fox naked and shaking on the van floor. Fox
was almost absurdly grateful when the weapon was returned to it's
sheath.
Hating the pleading tone in his voice, Fox said, "Krycek, don't do
this."
"Why not?" Alex glided his hands over the smooth skin of Fox's
chest, down his belly. His lips grazed first one straining nipple,
then the other. His tongue dabbed at the hardened flesh delicately.
"I don't want it."
Alex chuckled against Mulder's chest, and Fox felt a large, warm
hand enclose his semi erect cock and begin stroking. "The hell you
say. Then I suppose you're getting hard because you hate this."
"I do!"
Alex nibbled and sucked at the tiny brown peaks, his hand moving
lazily. "Mmm, yeah, it sure seems like it. If this is what hate does
to you, Fox, I just GOTTA make you hate me some more."
Alex knelt back up, and pulled his T-shirt off, then unsnapped and
opened his jeans. He pulled them down a little on his hips, exposing
the top of a tangle of dark pubic hair, and the base of a thick
cock. For a moment he just knelt there, fingers combing through the
curls and teasingly grazing his own swelling flesh. Mulder, trapped
between his legs, couldn't help but watch.
Alex licked his lips, and slowly pushed the jeans farther down his
hips, revealing more of the pale column. Fox's eyes grew round. It
was...big. Finally it sprang free, wavering before him, and Alex
pushed his pants the rest of the way down, rocking on first one
knee, then the other to remove them, leaving himself as naked as
Mulder.
Krycek gripped Mulder's cock with his right hand, and his own with
his left, and slowly began to squeeze and stroke. "Mm, you have a
beautiful dick, Fox. I'm glad I can finally get a good look at it."
He grinned seductively, his thumb spreading clear pre-cum over
Mulder's rosy cock head. "I already know how good it tastes."
"You son of a bitch," Fox whispered helplessly.
"Sticks and stones. I've been cursed more creatively, but never more
sincerely." He moved off to kneel beside Fox. "Bend your knees, put
your feet flat on the floor, and spread your legs." No response.
Krycek pinched the tender skin on the inside of his thigh sharply,
wringing a yelp from him. "C'mon, Fox. I want to prepare you. You
don't WANT to get ripped up, do you? I'm assuming that this is your
first time?" He watched the crimson tide sweep up Mulder's face.
"Thought so. Losing your anal cherry can be uncomfortable to start
with. If you make me mount you dry, it'll hurt like a bastard, but
if you let me get you greased and opened, you might even enjoy it."
The gritting sound of Mulder grinding his teeth was audible even
over the engine and air conditioner. Alex sighed. "Don't think of it
as co-operating, Fox. Look on it as a survival tactic." Slowly Fox
assumed the ordered position.
"Good boy."
Alex moved to kneel between his wide open knees, and Fox felt
horribly exposed. The other man took the bottle of aloe vera lotion
again, and squeezed some into his hand. Then he reached down and
smoothed the liquid into the crack of Mulder's ass. Fox shuddered,
both from the coolness, and from the intimacy of the touch.
"Lift your ass a little."
Again Fox obeyed the direction, miserable. He felt his cheeks
spread, and more lotion was worked into the crease of his ass.
Alex's fingers rubbed around the ring of Mulder's anus, massaging
the tight flesh.
"Gotta get you nice and open." Alex spoke softly. "Otherwise it
would be like trying to fuck my way through a brick wall." He
pressed lightly, and Fox stiffened, his spine going rigid. "No!
Don't do that. Relax, Fox. It you just relax, it will hardly hurt at
all. You may not believe this, but I CAN make it good for you."
"You're a damn liar."
But Fox made a conscious effort to relax, making himself go as limp
as possible. "We'll see if you still feel that way when I get to
your prostate."
Alex pushed, and slid one greased finger into Fox's tight anal
passage. Fox whined quietly, "Sh, baby. I'll give you a minute to
get used to it." Alex waited, with what Fox had no way of knowing
was amazing patience. When he felt the muscles begin to unclench, he
began to work the digit in and out slowly. Fox stared up at the
ceiling blankly, his breath coming more rapidly.
God, it felt so weird. It had hurt, at first. But now the pain had
faded to a dull ache, and was gradually being replaced by warmth,
and a sense of fullness that was not entirely unpleasant. Still, he
again made protesting noises when Alex eased a second finger in
beside the first and began scissoring them apart.
"Just stop it, you big baby." The words were chiding, but the tone
was oddly tender. "Be good, and I'll make you feel nice." He pushed
more deeply, crooking his fingers.
Suddenly Krycek's fingers glided over a sensitive spot, a little
bump of flesh deep inside, and Fox felt an explosion of pleasure. He
jerked, crying out. "Ah." Krycek's tone was triumphant. "There we
are." He rubbed again, sending another spasm of almost unbearable
ecstacy through Mulder's body.
"Stop it, Alex!" Fox gasped. "Please! I can't stand it."
His legs collapsed, and Alex's probing digits were pushed out. "Oh,
no you don't! Not now that I've got you going." Alex moved in
closer, hefting Fox's legs up and draping his knees over his
shoulders. He reached back down and found the loosened ass hole, and
pushed his fingers back inside, three of them now, tightly bunched.
He continued to massage Mulder's prostate till the FBI agent was
reduced to a quivering, whimpering mass. Mulder's swollen cock was
twitching against his own belly, leaking a generous puddle of
pre-seminal fluid.
Alex finally paused, withdrawing his fingers from the clasp of Fox's
body. He dragged his jeans closer, and dug in the pocket till he
extracted a small foil pack. Ripping it open with his teeth, he got
out the condom and rolled it down over his own massive erection.
Then he ran is hand through the clear pool on Mulder's belly and
smeared the slick liquid generously over his latex sheathed cock.
"You know, I wasn't planning on this, Fox. Oh, I WAS planning on
this, but not here and now. I thought I'd probably snatch you out of
the parking lot in a day or two. But, well, this was just too good
an opportunity to pass up, wasn't it? You wandering along in the
hot, hot sun, shirt open, a little dazed, helpless..."
He moved suddenly, ramming full length into Fox's ass. Mulder
stiffened in shock, shrieking. Alex fucked him with short, hard
stabs, "JUST...SO...FUCKING...GORGEOUS!"
After the initial, violent lunge, Alex settled in for a slow, hard,
serious fuck. He stared down, watching his prick slide in and out of
the tight, puckered opening, relishing the little moans and whimpers
that his reluctant lover made.
Fox's erection had flagged a little with the sudden pain, and Alex
wasn't going to have that. Making sure his victim's legs were seated
firmly, Alex reached down and started stroking Mulder again, working
his prick gently. "You're gonna enjoy this, too, Fox. I'm going to
make you cum like you never have before."
Fox turned his head away, closing his eyes. He could feel tears of
humiliation and pain squeezing out through his lashes. "No." It
sounded pathetic.
Alex ignored the denial, continuing his manipulations. "You're so
tight, baby. I knew you would be, but, Christ, THIS! And hot...oh,
you're better than anything I've ever had. I can hardly wait till
you're WILLING. THAT will be a mind numbing experience."
Fox's breath caught on a sob. "Bastard! Never..." Alex grinned,
changing the angle of Mulder's hips so that his cock head caressed
Mulder's prostate on each stroke, forcing out tiny, reluctant gasps.
"No...never will...never..."
Mulder stiffened suddenly, legs hooking strongly on Krycek's
shoulders, and he came with a hot gush. "Oh, yeah, baby," Alex
crooned, his thrusts speeding up. "Yeah, yeah, YEAH!" With a grunt,
he buried himself full length in Mulder's bowel, forcing Fox's knees
back almost to his shoulders, and went still except for a massive,
full body shudder.
The condom caught and held Krycek's sperm, but Fox felt him
ejaculate, the solid cock that was splitting him pulsing like a
separate, living thing. Alex threw back his head, eyes rolling
upward, his handsome face locked in a grimace of fulfilled lust.
Finally he sighed, and moved Mulder's legs down off his shoulders,
pulling his softening cock free. Mulder cried out in sudden pain,
leg jerking as a massive cramp struck his left thigh. Alex
understood, and immediately began to massage and pummel the knotted
flesh till it relaxed again, leaving Fox even more breathless.
"Sorry. Though some of that was probably due to the heat exhaustion,
too."
Fox stared at him, and said weakly, "You...you're apologizing `cause
I got a CRAMP? Kinda got your order of significance screwed, don't
you?"
Krycek took the still damp towel and began to clean Fox. "Yeah." He
cocked his head. "You don't think I'm sorry I fucked you, do you?"
"RAPED me."
"Yeah, well, semantics. You say potato, I say po-tah-to." He wiped
the puddle of cum off Mulder's belly, one eyebrow raised
significantly. "Anyway, like the poem says, where's the blot? I
wanted you, I took you, we both enjoyed it. You just don't want to
admit it. Because if you DO..." He leaned back over Mulder, his
sensuous mouth a scant half inch from the other man's lips. "If you
DO, then you'll have to admit how much YOU wanted it, too. You
shouldn't be ashamed of wanting me, Fox."
Fox opened his mouth to deny it, and found Alex's tongue sweeping
in. Again there was the gentle, thorough exploration. This time,
before it ended, Fox was sucking on the warm, wet bit of flesh.
Alex pulled away, chuckling. "That's my Fox. I'll get you trained
yet." He rummaged in the plastic cooler and came up with another
bottle of water. Helping Mulder sit up, he tipped it to his lips.
"Drink, pretty man."
Thirsty, Fox swallowed greedily. He had drunk half of it before he
noticed the taste. He jerked his head back, water dribbling down his
chin, and gave Krycek and almost wounded look.
Alex smiled. "Yes, THAT one was drugged." It was fast acting,
whatever it was. The darkness started to close in quickly. As it
swept over him, Fox heard Alex say soothingly, "Now, don't be so
outraged. I had to have SOME way to get you back to civilization
without you kicking up a fuss..."
Fox drifted back to
consciousness under smooth sheets, with cool air moving across his
body. In fact, he felt a little chilled: something he had at one
point during his ordeal given up hope of ever felling again. He drew
the covers up higher on his body, and slitted his eyes open
carefully.
It was a motel room, there was no mistaking the bland, generic
furnishings and decoration. If nothing else, the chained down
television would have alerted him to that fact. The room was dim,
the only light coming from the half closed bathroom door. Fox lay
motionless, listening, but he heard no other noise in the room but
the hum of the air conditioner. No breathing, no movement. He was
alone.
He sat up cautiously, and switched on the bedside lamp. This wasn't
the room he'd rented, it was nicer. He moved out of the bed, and
winced. His ass ached. It hadn't been a nightmare.
Fox examined himself in the lamp light. He felt refreshed, and there
was no dust and crusted sweat or...or bodily fluids. Krycek must
have sponged him off. His hands were bandaged, a faint medicinal
smell drifting around the clean gauze pads taped to his palms.
Iodine had been painted on the other scratches that decorated his
knees and forearms from where he had fallen.
Mulder sat on the edge of the bed, surveying the room. His suit,
which looked like it had been brushed, was hanging neatly on the
clothing rod. A different pair of sneakers, a CLEAN pair, sat
underneath it. There was even a pair of boxer shorts, still wrapped
in plastic, on the dresser.
On the night stand next to Fox was a small insulated pitcher, a
plastic cup, and two sealed envelopes, labeled 1 and 2. Fox was
tempted, through sheer spite, to open them in the wrong order, but
he didn't. He ripped open envelope 1, and shook out two aspirins and
a piece of paper. The note read, "Fox, thank you for a lovely time.
These should help any residual aches. Please note the brand name
stamped on them. You don't have to worry that they're anything
hinky. Alex"
Fox grunted, poured a cup of water, then hesitated. He set the glass
back down and dry swallowed the pills, then opened envelope 2. This
one held only a postcard. It showed a stretch of roadway that looked
eerily like the one Mulder had wandered beside. You could almost
feel the heat baking up off the black top.
He turned it over and read, "...and you didn't have to take them
dry, you sweet little paranoid. The water is clean." Mulder sighed,
and sipped the water.
The note continued. "Call the desk. Just push the red button. Until
next time, my poetic friend. Your lover, Alex." The piece of
pasteboard trembled in Mulder's hand. He set it aside, and lifted
the phone receiver to his ear, punching the red button.
"Desk." The voice was polite and cheerful.
"This is room..." Mulder looked at the number scrawled on the label
on the phone's dial, "Room 116."
"Oh, yes sir! Triple A delivered your car about a half hour ago, Mr.
Mulder. We have the keys at the desk, pick them up any time you
like."
"Where am I?"
The voice sounded less sure. "You...you're in the Marfa Holiday Inn,
sir. Are you alright? You're friend said you weren't feeling well."
"What did this friend look like?"
"Um," The clerk was clearly confused. "Well, he...he was a rather
handsome man. Dark hair, big smile. Really, really green eyes."
"Okay, thanks."
"No problem." The voice was back to cheerful.
Mulder snorted softly as he hung up. "Easy for you to say."
He turned the postcard over in his hands several times, staring at
it, then read it again, particularly the last few lines below the
signature.
"Wanting is—what? Summer redundant, Blueness abundant, Where is the
blot?"
He rubbed his face. Propping his elbows on his knees, he rested his
chin in his hands, staring at nothing in particular, murmuring,
"Where is the blot? Where is the blot?"
The End
Summer Redundant
by Scribe
Wanting is—what?
By Robert Browning
Summer redundant,
Blueness abundant,
Where is the blot?
