The man they'd sent to spy on me, gain my trust, and betray me stiffened
beneath me as I thrust into him for the last time. I came silently and
immediately pried my hands from his hips, withdrawing to flop onto the bed on
my back, shivery aftershocks of pleasure racing through my body.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Peace—a moment of blessed, precious peace.
The brief, fragile respite from the enemies besieging me from without and
within my own mind splintered as the traitor next to me moved. With him, even
the elementary motion of turning over was hesitant, slightly awkward. I still
wasn't certain how much of his awkwardness was genuine. Not that it mattered—genuine or not, it was damn annoying.
Of course, it was hopeless to wish that he would keep his mouth shut. He
never did.
After an almost diffident clearing of the throat, he shifted closer still.
"Uhm, Fox?"
"Don't call me that," I told him evenly, not bothering to open my eyes and
look at him. I knew what expression he'd be wearing—worried he'd done
something wrong—sickeningly anxious to please.
Idiot. How often did I have to say it before it penetrated?
"Uh, sorry, I—Mulder..."
Fortunately, the inexperience and hero-worship he'd laid on so thickly
forced him to pretend to a measure of embarrassed uncertainty that prevented
him from bothering me with whatever inane comment it was he'd have liked to
bother me with. He wouldn't come out with it unless I encouraged him in some
way, and that, I certainly wasn't going to do.
The mattress shifted as he leaned over. I opened my eyes to stare up into
his face; it was hovering far closer than I liked. His gaze darted to meet mine
and then shied away again, the darkness obscuring his face and swallowing the
exact expression in his eyes.
I stared at him for a second or two before he began to lean down. When I
turned my face away, he froze and retreated, doing a rather good job of seeming
insecure, confused, and unhappy.
Not even a minute of precious stillness had passed before he moved again,
the rustling of sheets and the quiet, subsiding quality to his motions
indicating that he was settling down.
I turned my head to the other side and watched him curl up, facing me.
Watching me. He seemed anxious and when my eyes met his, he uncurled and
crawled a bit closer, giving every indication of meaning to nestle against me—
of spending the night curled against my side like a lover, snuggling up
regardless of whether or not I snuggled back.
Was it stupidity or determination? A bit of both, probably.
"Turn off the light in the living room when you leave," I said, closing my
eyes again.
The silence stretched for so long that I was beginning to think I'd have to
get even clearer by the time he finally got out of my bed, collected his
clothes, and left.
I couldn't believe they'd consider me stupid enough to fall for him and his
stupid admiring act. They obviously hadn't chosen him for his acting skills,
because he overdid it dreadfully.
No, they'd chosen someone with a body and face they'd hoped would appeal—picked him for his sea-green, lying eyes and long dark lashes. Then, they'd
stuck him into a cheap suit and slicked his hair back to make him look like the
original geeky nerd so that it wouldn't be too obvious they were purposely
dangling a deliciously fuckable morsel in front of me. They were obviously
hoping that if they made me look twice to see the quality of the goods, I'd
think I'd made some kind of grand, never-before-made discovery.
Cheap trick, trying to grab me by the gonads. They should have known better
than that, the bastards.
Upon discovering that for me, screwing someone is not a synonym for trusting
them, the traitor put a cool and distant, wounded routine into effect to
replace his earlier over-eager adoration. He didn't pull this one off too well,
either. Not that he made any obvious mistakes, but it was all laid on just a
bit too thick—the anxiety, the pain, and especially the longing. The way he
watched me with wide, reproachful eyes made him look like a cocker spaniel with
a bad hair day. Pure melodrama.
I ignored him. After a while, he caught on to the fact that he wasn't
getting anywhere this way and gradually settled back down into his earlier,
even more annoying hopeful-puppy routine.
After about two weeks of this, I decided I was going to fuck him again. He
was an annoying bastard and a damn traitor, but what the hell. Might as well
put him to some use. I like sex as much as the next guy; the reason I don't
often indulge is not that I'm not interested, but that I have better things to
do with my time than chase after prospective sexual partners. And I despise
being chased.
"You want to come over tonight?"
He froze like a deer in the headlights and stared at me with wide green
eyes.
Easier than easy, he was. No trouble at all. "Ten," I said, turning back to
my work without waiting for an answer.
He'd be there. He had a job to do.
He turned up at ten sharp, his hair ungelled for once. He'd changed out of
the awful polyester suit, too; in jeans and a sweater, he looked almost like a
normal human being, and the dark hair falling softly into his face added to his
shy, boyish appeal.
"Did you—want to go somewhere? Out?" Still overdoing the awkwardness.
I raised an eyebrow at him and turned to walk into the living room, leaving
him to trail after me uncertainly. He was clearly in over his head. He'd
probably be relegated to some backwater outpost if he survived this assignment
- they ought to put him to work doing inventories of smuggled weaponry or some
such undemanding task.
When the traitor saw the empty cartons of Chinese take-out clustered at one
end of my sofa, he darted a quick gaze in my general direction and then looked
away, fixing his eyes on the aquarium. "You've eaten already. I thought..."
There was a certain freedom in the fact that with him, there was no need to
worry about observing social niceties— not to mention that there was no
question what he wanted out of the relationship, if you could call it that. And
there was absolutely no need to worry about hurting his feelings.
Silence made him nervous. He always felt obliged to fill it with something,
no matter how foolish the remark. "Mulder? I don't really know why I'm here. I
mean, after the last time I thought—that you didn't—that it wasn't -"
I sighed. "Come over here."
He shot me an almost hunted look, but came over to stand in front of me,
hanging his head almost penitently and gazing up at me through his lashes.
Nervous, uncertain, fearful— Completely overdone.
"You know perfectly well why you're here," I stated flatly.
When I reached for his belt, he pretended to be startled and began to back
away. I lifted an eyebrow, staring at him impatiently. "If you want to leave...
you know where the door is."
He didn't leave, of course.
After a moment, he tried to kiss me again, but gave up when he noticed I
wasn't about to oblige. He wasn't much help in getting his clothes off, though.
By the time I'd gotten him undressed, I was seriously annoyed with him. It was
more than bothersome to be forced to witness his overstated performance of
dejected confusion. Where had they found this guy, for God's sake? You'd think
they'd have the sense to pick someone who didn't think he was playing the lead
in a daily soap.
It got better once I had him on the floor. The only further trouble he gave
me was a very brief show of reluctance when I indicated I wanted him on his
hands and knees. He subsided soon enough, though, and I lubed him up and
mounted him without further ado. He held still and kept quiet except for the
occasional involuntary sound when my pace increased as I approached climax.
Long legs, firm ass, well-shaped, muscular back... He was a spy and a damn
traitor, but he was well built and it felt good fucking him. Tight as a virgin.
I liked that. Liked the bit of squirming, too. Didn't even mind the small
sounds of almost-pain he made from time to time. Once you got him to shut up
and get down on his hands and knees, he was not at all bad to be around. A
really nice piece of ass.
I made it last as long as I could—it felt good, and I didn't want it to be
over too quickly. The traitor was as still and quiet as I'd ever known him.
Even after I'd finished and pulled out, he didn't move.
The damp towel I'd slung over the back of the couch was still warm and I
snagged it and cleaned myself off before pulling up my pants and hauling myself
up to sprawl bonelessly on the cushions. I sighed in relief as the familiar,
transient moment of post-coital inner silence caught up with me, cradling me in
the blessed illusion of peace.
It took me a moment to notice he'd raised his head to look at me. There was
a new expression in his eyes now, something I hadn't seen there before and
couldn't place properly. "Finished?" His voice was low, shot through with the
same unidentifiable emotion.
He was a traitor, that's what he was—and that was all he was. A traitor
who was trying to gain my trust, to get close to me, all the better to betray
me in the end. He was trying to use me. Well, two could play at that game.
"Yeah," I drawled, giving him a lazy half-smile.
He got up slowly and just stood there for a moment, staring at me.
"Okay," he said finally. For a moment, I almost thought his voice would
break. Fortunately, even he wasn't quite prepared to go that far over the edge.
It was a close thing, though. Jesus. Oscar material, he wasn't. "Okay. I got
it."
He was not the brightest kid on the block, but he wasn't completely
clueless, either. I didn't have to say anything; he just got dressed and left.
I'd known what he was all along, so it wasn't a surprise to find the
tell-tale cigarette butts in his car. In fact, I was almost relieved.
When I'm right, I know I'm right. I don't need to substantiate what I know
with tangible evidence. I know a traitor when I see one. Still, it's reassuring
to be given proof every once in a while.
Betrayal
by Sylvia
I knew what he was from the first time I laid eyes on him. Hell, before
that, even—it was inevitable they'd try again. Persistent isn't the right
word for them. There is no word for them—bastards is much too mild.
