"—Mr Mulder. Are you even listening to us?" Napoleon Solo's normally
sexy tones were completely not present as he snapped at the daydreaming
agent. "You do understand the severity of your position?"
"Yes, sir," Mulder agreed, it seemed safest. But somehow, 'severity'
just didn't cut it. It wasn't fair. Krycek would probably be feted as a
hero—anti-hero, arch-villain—whatever when he got back to the Bad
Guys (tm) 21st Annual convention. Typically, he was going to have to
face the music. And in flashbacks at that...
"Tovarisch!"
"Dosvedanya to you too," muttered Duncan MacLeod as he scurried past
young Mulder and his 'friend'. "Get a room!" he called back as he tried
to make the key card work in the door, failing repeatedly. "No, Methos,
I know what I'm doing. Just let me do it or we'll be here forever."
"Let you do it? Or get it done right first time? Duncan, petal, love of
my life," Duncan couldn't see the crossed fingers behind Methos' back,
"There is a certain rhythm to your life."
"Aye," Duncan leered back at the Ancient of Ancients (tm). "We've got
rhythm, we've got music. I've got my guy—"
"Who could ask anything more," Methos completed dryly, "and yet I feel
strangely unmoved. Tell me, Duncan, honeycheeks, have you ever heard of
BOTW syndrome?"
"Och, aye, shore Ah hae." The key was now being beaten against the door
frame in a vain attempt to conquer the recalcitrant microcircuits
contained deep within.
Methos winced. Clearly the card was getting to Duncan. The accent thing
was a dead give-away. He sighed and turned so he could lean on the door
jamb and watch the two cuties getting it on by the balcony. The atrium
stretched the full seven floors of the hotel, arching at its height into
a classical medieval Gothic arch, the girders improbably moulded to
resemble Corinthian columns, fluted, the head and base smooth and
scrolled. The sun had set only an hour or so before, and the last
glimmers of rich orange sunset glow drenched the creamy marble of the
walls and young Krycek's shoulders, bathing his chest in golden, god
like radiance. Time was, he mused sadly, he would have just gone up to
them. Joined in. Maybe asked, maybe just taken them as prizes, lashing
one across the pommel, the other tied behind the saddle. Instead, he was
reduced to watching as the handsome couple moved together in the
dwindling light. He took a deep breath and smiled at the rich aroma that
filled his nostrils. Ah... the rich chocolaty goodness of a true
Fondue-Meister's Chocolate fondue.
A firm grip on his arm jerked him out of his reverie and into their
room. Bugger. Duncan must've got the damn key to work...
Mulder winced. It looked like he was going to get to relive the entire
incident, in full Technicolor—hey, there could be pluses to this
flashback thing... The bitch of it was that he wasn't even getting his
flashbacks.
"So can you explain exactly why you chose to perform the Ancient Fon-doo
Cho-olaat Tantric Rite, with lianas and the optional cherries?"
Mulder blushed. Oops. He'd hoped they hadn't noticed that bit...
"Mmmmm," Mulder grinned happily at his beloved Alex, and sucked the
sticky chocolate sauce slowly off his fingers one by one. Alex moaned,
his head lolling back as Mulder sucked, licked, nipped, tucked, purled,
tied knots in the cherry stalks and slid the results, like little
organic rings onto his fingers. The fondue set bubbled merrily next to
them, and Mulder dipped a pair of cherries, holding them with prehensile
toes, bringing them up with lithe grace to Krycek's chocolate-and-cum
spattered lips.
"Here, my leetle artichoke," he murmured, and laughed at the startled
look on his traitorous little darling's face.
"Ahbmmm-mwope?"
"Crown of my existence."
Krycek rolled his eyes and swallowed. "I think we need to work on your
choice of epithets, Speedo-boy. Still," he thoughtfully licked away a
smear of chocolate adhering to Mulder's right shoulder, "at least it
proves you haven't dated anyone since pre-school."
Mulder removed himself from Alex's caresses, and turned away in a sexy
yet petulant manner to pout at the atrium.
"Aw, lisyonok, don't waste those pouts on them," he gestured
contemptuously at the rowdily partying Good Guys, Bad Guys and Sidekicks
downstairs. The Twenty First Anniversary And First Joint Cum as You Were
Ball (TM) was a blow-out success. Even the Bad Guys who had been
invited, and had behaved beautifully, no raping, only minor pillaging
and looting. The Get Out Of Jail Free (TM) cards had gone down a storm
with both teams, and the special edition self-refilling lube'n'condom
courtesy packs (one placed discreetly at every place setting at the
earlier Black Tie Dinner part of the evening) had already proved their
worth in the wildly popular All You Can Fuck Buffet that had been laid,
er, on, jointly by the Bad Guys and Sidekicks Guilds as a special
present to the Good Guys, for behaving themselves the rest of the time.
Mulder's hands gripped the balcony rail tightly as Alex sank to his
knees behind him.
Jumping slightly as a tongue swept over each butt cheek, Fox moaned as
his Rat's fingers danced over his thigh
"Spread your legs, lisetsa," Alex murmured, voice low and seductive.
Fox parted his legs as wide as the fabric bunched around his ankles
would let him, absently wondering just what Alex was up to
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a hand reaching into the cherry bowl
and picking up a ripe, red, luscious fruit before swiping it through the
chocolate.
Fingers moved over his ass and parted his cheeks, air brushing across
his hot, hungry hole. He jumped again as Alex's tongue swept over his
dusky rose pucker, and then yelled as the chocolate covered cherry Alex
was holding was pushed up him.
"Did you just yelp like a girl, Mulder?"
"No," denied Fox, far too quickly. "Hey, you put a cherry up a girl's
ass, and you'll see she yelps totally differently," he added, hastily.
"Good, because I'm a card carrying member of the Bad Guys Guild (tm) and
the Assassin's Guild (tm). I'd be laughed out the place if my Good Guy
(tm) was a big girl's blouse in disguise." Alex paused. "Hmm... well, I
could always ask Scully—"
Mulder squirmed. "You talk too much," he complained, and then gasped as
a cold, bare cherry, unwarmed in the fondue was quickly inserted.
Krycek gripped the stalk firmly with his teeth, and as his tongue
swirled in complex patterns over Mulder's sweet hole, he tugged gently,
pulling it out, then letting the tight muscles pull the tiny fruit back
in.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Mulder's vocabulary had been greatly reduced by the feel
of the small fruit popping in and out.
Mulder wailed.
With a final tug, Alex pulled the fruit from Fox's ass and popped it in
his mouth, chewing nosily before spitting the stone over the balcony.
"I always did want to say I'd had your cherry," Alex smirked.
Mulder burbled.
"But..." Mulder hesitated, it wasn't something he'd ever wanted to let
Alex know. After all, why would a young, nubile, widely experienced,
improbably flexible, man of the world, a man like Alex, be interested in
a Shrinking Virgin (tm)?
Besides, he knew Alex would only laugh at him...
"Lisa..." Krycek stopped and turned Mulder to face him. "Are you telling
me—?"
"You had my cherry, okay?" Mulder said miserably, blushing like the BGB
he was.
"You mean to tell me I'm the only man you've ever fucked?" Alex was
incredulous.
"No," Mulder whispered. "The only one I ever—" he blushed deeper. "The
only one I ever let fuck—make love, to me."
Placing two fingers under Fox's chin and lifting his lover's face to
meet his eyes, Alex leant forward and placed a chaste kiss on Fox's
mouth. "Oh, krasalovmoi," he murmured. He shook his head, lost for
words. No one had ever done anything like this, ever given him this much—he shook, wracked by the unexpected strength of his feelings.
"It's only ever been you, Alex," Fox whispered softly, so softly Alex
had to strain to hear the words. "It was always only ever you."
He had thought that Mulder was a tool, that he could use, and forget.
That the encounters were just meaningless sex in a world where nothing
was what it seemed, and attachments were more than dangerous, and he
could shrug them off—shrug him off like any whore he lay down with...
But the roar of jealousy at the thought of those 'other men', even if
they had never laid a hand on the sweet ass under his fingers told him
otherwise. It was love. It could only be love, he couldn't fool himself
any more...
"God, Mulder," he shook his head helplessly. "Ya liubliu tiaybya," he
murmured, pretending still, even to himself that it could be safe if
Mulder didn't know, if he used another language.
But he knew, as much as he knew that his love for this beautiful,
wounded man would never fade, that he could never tell him, never let
him know.
"What did you say?" Fox asked gently.
"It was nothing," Alex lied. Nothing except a prayer and a promise. A
benediction for the man in front of him. And for a future that could
never be.
"I love you," Fox said softly.
Tears nearly sprang to Alex's eyes.
"I know," Krycek said as quietly, not daring to meet the sweet brown
eyes. He wanted to say the words so Fox could understand them, instead
of hiding behind the language barrier. But Alex couldn't risk that the
Consortium would realise just how important this man was to him.
Couldn't risk that the alien bounty hunters would capture him and make
him tell of Fox's sweet kisses and soft, tight ass.
They sat quietly for a moment, leaning against each other, only the soft
'plop-plop-' of the gently bubbling fondue breaking the silence.
After a while Mulder took a deep, careful breath. It didn't matter that
Krycek wouldn't say the words. He could live without them. He didn't
want lies from Alex, and if this time, the lust and the friendship was
all they could have, then that would be enough...
Mulder shook his head as the flashback ended. He didn't mind reliving
the moment, after all, it was a bloody good moment to relive, but
flashbacks always gave him such a headache.
"Mr Mulder?" Napoleon fixed the agent with his gaze.
"Um, yeah?"
"If you're quite finished. I would like to end this before the next Ice
Age."
"Is that a dig at me?" Bobby Drake piped up from the audience.
"Non, Cher," came the reply from the man sitting next to him. "Gambit
sure dat Nappy didn' mean anyt'ing by it."
Mulder tried to stifle the snigger welling up at the nickname, and then
he didn't care anymore as the world started to wobble again and fade
out...
Once upon a time there was a little cherry stone who lived in a big
brown paper bag with all his brother and sister cherries. He spent his
days surrounded by the cushioning red flesh that kept the world at bay,
hiding deep within his moistalicious home until one day a smouldering,
sexy leather-clad triple agent purchased them all, them all, them all...
Mulder wrenched himself out of the flashback. Enough was enough! He'd
flashback from other people's points of view, but he was damned if he
was going to live this through the cherry's point of view. Mulder
shuddered. After all, he knew where that cherry had been.
(For those people that would like to live this through the cherry's
point of view, please go to:
http://www.cadarnle.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/TLC/cherry.htm)
Napoleon cleared his throat, "You had something to say, Mr Mulder?"
"Can I plead the Fifteenth Amendment?"
Napoleon frowned. "You want to plead that you were forced to wear the
Hawaiian shirt?" he asked, puzzled. After some conferring with the other
members of the tribunal. "I don't think that is going to help your
case."
Mulder hesitated, and grabbed the large copy of the Guide Constitution.
There was a long silence broken only by the rustle of pages.
"Okay, okay, I have it," he took a careful look at the page again, and
said, "I want to plead the Fiftieth Amendment, subsection 1, paragraph
a, section iii, part 2."
There was another, longer period of rustling. "Are you sure you have the
right book there, Mr Mulder," Napoleon said hesitantly. "You wish to
plead your right to moon your superiors in public?"
Mulder turned the book over. Bugger. "Sorry—does anyone have a copy of
the Guild constitution? I appear to have the Girl Guide Constitution
here..."
Napoleon sighed. "Just tell us, and we'll tell you what you wanted to
plead."
"Uh, improbable flashbacks to events I have no knowledge of?" Mulder
said hopefully.
"For Pete's sake, Mulder!" Egon glared at the hapless agent. "That's
amendment Thirty five , paragraph seven , Part iii . Sheesh."
"Sorry Doctor Spengler-Venkman-Stantz", Mulder muttered, blushing and
shuffling his feet. "Not used to Cherry flashbacks." Mulder straightened
his chastened shoulders, and added, "So I plead, uh, what he said."
A full array of stony glares erupted from the Tribunal dais.
"'What he said' is not a valid plea. I move it be stricken," said the
first Doctor.
"Oh, come on, let the lad be," replied the third Doctor.
"Why should I... I mean he... I mean I?" The sixth Doctor stopped as he
fell to the floor in confusion.
The fifth Doctor rolled his eyes at his counterpart. "I can't believe I
became you," he muttered. "Tegan must have had hysterics."
"Gentlemen please!" Napoleon slammed the gavel down hard against the
table. "The accused plea is overruled of the grounds that flashbacks are
not grounds for defence. There are only to be used as plot devices and
expositions of the plot for the aid of Assistologists. See paragraph 1
section 23 amendment 27."
"Ahem!"
"And for immortals, Mr MacLeod, yes," Napoleon sighed. "Since you
apparently can't manage a modern adventure without at least one old
enemy or lover turning up," Napoleon added acidly, before shuffling away
the Ferengi who was rapidly flicking though the Guild rules for the
benefit of the other tribunal members. With 285 rules of acquisition to
remember they were perfect for keeping track of the complex Guild Rules.
"Is that for all immortals, or just those with a capital I?" Nick Knight
asked.
"Mr Knight, that is a discussion for another forum, please, we are
trying to try Agent Mulder, not discuss the nature of immortality, and
flashbacks thereto." Napoleon knocked the gavel again to bring the room
back to order. He glared at the two immortals (with and without
capitalisation) who were now bitching and complaining in the corner of
the room. With an almost unnoticeable motion of one hand he silently
ordered Methos and Don Schanke to escort their charges from the room. "I
move the evidence be stricken!" Napoleon said firmly, and eyed his
fellow Council members.
"But leave it in the record," Illya suggested softly, "perhaps someone
would benefit—"
Napoleon smiled ruefully at Illya, "I never could say no to you, eh?
Very well. So moved. "Now, if you have nothing further useful to add, Mr
Mulder, then please step down, and we will take the evidence of the next
witness." He paused, "Who is the next witness, by the way?"
Next witness? thought Mulder. But there'd only been him and Alex there,
who else could possibly... and then his thoughts trailed off as the door
opened and a wheelchair bound fishtank slowly rolled inside. Inside, a
lone figure, swimming back and forth. The squeak of the
respirator...uh...airpump swelled out over the susurration of the
gathered Heroes (tm) and Good Guys (tm). Lying feebly inside the giant
fish tank resting on the wheelchair
"Maurice," Napoleon intoned respectfully. "Are you quite sure you're up
to this?"
Slowly, the carp swam to the surface and whittered softly. The voice box
Lucas Wolencek had supply easily translated the whitters into words,
computerised but quiet. "I'm going to kill him."
Mulder groaned. This was all he needed. Death threats from a geriatric
carp.
"Please, Maurice, I realise this is very emotional for you, but if you
could refrain from threatening Mr Mulder and just tell us what happened
on that fateful day?" prompted Napoleon
"Not a threat, a promise ," Maurice muttered before looking out over the
assembled crowd and wiggling his tail. "Well, it started out as a calm
day..."
Maurice the Carp enjoyed the pool. It was small, sure, but the
neighbourhood was exclusive, and the dames were good looking, he'd
especially had his eye on one little cutie. Had fins like you wouldn't
believe, the kind that you wanted wrapped around your underbelly as your
scales rubbed together. He was a big fish, in a little pond, and that
was the way he liked it. His life was a good life— swimming, eating,
swimming some more. Most days he just hung out, okay, so he occasionally
had to dodge the shiny discs people sometimes threw into the water, but
on the whole, he had no complaints So it came as a terrible shock one
day, when suddenly, small hard pellets, thirty times the size of their
usual food started raining down from on high.
At first he and the guys had moseyed on up to take a look. But the
pellets had been hard, with sharp edges. They rocketed through the water
leaving a bubbling trail of froth behind them Some of the guys, they'd
taken a few hits to the fins and scattered, like the chickenshits they
were, but no one ever called Maury Carp a guppy. He'd gone up to the
surface. He'd watched as the asteroids flew through the air on their
mission of doom towards the water. The first few had missed him
entirely, but then they started raining down, faster and faster, a storm
of soggy, red and brown, pebble like meteors. He tried to avoid them,
swimming this way and that. Some hissed past unpleasantly closely.
Suddenly, oh, the pain!
He screamed into the churned up water, one had shot straight through his
left fin! The sharp burning agony spiked through his body.
Arghhhhhhhhh!
Rocking the very fabric of his soul.
Maurice groaned. Inadvertently he rolled belly up, and it was sheer luck
that saved him from the next missile. But his brother Noah was not so
lucky. Maurice felt the hot tears sting at his eyes as his fellow carp
shuddered once, and then floated to the surface. He pulled himself
together, and made for the edge. He was no coward, but he was no fool
either, and only a fool would stay out there, in that hell, the war
zone...Next to him—he could only spare them a glance, his Fallen
Comrades (tm) bobbed in the water. A blinding pain seared through his
face. He ducked and dived insanely, trying to get away from the agony;
he could hear the calls of the others from their place of safety under
the rocks. They tried to guide him to them.
But to no avail. Suddenly the world to his left was black, pierced
through with red smears, and white speckles of light as the last of his
sight faded, torn from him by another cruel, uncaring missile.
The devastation was only beginning... Suddenly, Out of the Blue (tm),
soaring in unholy trajectory of doom, it arrived!
The last straw!
The final insult!
The Fondue Maker!
Why had their gods abandoned them to this fate?
Water cascaded out of the pool, spilling carp and pellets alike out onto
the floor, where they lay gasping, dying in the cold, dry air, the foul
oxygen poisoning even as it suffocated, leaving them wheezing, gasping,
dying. But they were the lucky ones, the lucky few.
There was a blinding flash. Maurice only caught half of it, due to his
newly blinded eye. For the rest the water turned muddy brown with its
contagion as the life giving liquid seared their tender skin
Maurice leapt from the water, casting himself away from the horror that
developed before his eyes. The water felt hot, and a flicker of pain
seared through his very his cartilage
But he was out, free! Free! Unable to breathe, but finally, free!
Behind him, silently, in the deadly, contaminated, electrified water,
his family and friends dies in their tens, their hundreds, their tens of
hundreds of tens...
A smell, both sweet and sickening rose up. The smell of deep fried
carp... seasoned with a thick coat of chocolate...
Maurice's voice slowly trailed off, the last of his story told. A story
which had left many of the more Sensitive Heroes (tm) weeping
Napoleon bowed his head respectfully as Maurice slowly made his way out
of room. He waited until the door was closed behind the carp until he
pinned his gaze on Fox. "Well, Mulder, just what have you got to say for
yourself?"
"Err... I have a completely reasonable explanation for it all." he
replied, mind frantically looking for any possible reasonable scenario.
Preferably one that didn't involve aliens or conspiracy theories.
Napoleon was not known for his tolerance on the subject. Illya on the
other hand was good for a gossip on pretty much any subject... and his
contacts in the KGB were always good.
Eventually, Mulder's mind came up with the one explanation he'd fallen
back on for the past 4 years. "It was all Krycek's fault!"
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
"And just what, Mr Mulder, was Alex Krycek doing in the hotel when
the... 'guests' from the other convention were limited purely to the
main hall?"
"Um, he followed me?" Mulder offered lamely.
"He followed you?" Solo repeated. "And you a trained FBI agent."
"Well, he's sneaky... and suspicious... and Russian! You know how those
Russians are, sir."
Napoleon cast a glance over at Illya, he gaze softening for a brief
moment, before the full force of his scowl was turned back on Mulder.
"muttermutterpublicarea," Mulder said hopefully.
Feet tapped.
Mulder repeated, more slowly, "We thought the public areas were okay."
"Yes, a public area that was off-limits to members of the other
convention. You do know the meaning of the words 'off-limits', don't
you?"
"muttermutterOuterLimits? Muttermutternobodysaid . Might have been
looking for a bathroom"
"Nobody had to say , Mr Mulder. I would have thought that the red tape
and 'Keep Out' signs would have made it bloody obvious!"
"muttermutterridiculous restrictive practices of a corrupt and
ineffectual establishment muttermutter."
Illya reached forward and placed a calming hand on Napoleon's arm. The
bulging vein on the side of Napoleon's head was always a give away that
the other man was about to lose his temper.
"I beg your pardon, Mr Mulder?" Napoleon said coldly. "Would you be
referring to me, when you use the words 'ridiculous and corrupt'?
Bravado punctured, Mulder looked desperately around the room. "But you
liked the fish, right?"
Many heads nodded, some with reminiscent grins.
"Mr Mulder, simply producing an omelette does not mean that we will
forgive you for breaking the eggs which we preferred unbroken."
"Huh?"
"To be blunt, we liked the fish the way they were. The hotel liked the
fish the way they were. Many of the guests liked the fish the way they
were."
A hand went up at the back, "I liked the chocolate coated fried carp,
myself. Bonza recipe!"
Napoleon scowled as a murmur of agreement rippled through the closed
session. "Thank you, Mr. Dundee, but when Mr Mulder wishes to branch out
into cooking, I would prefer that he did it well away from this
convention, and without using the contents of the ornamental fish pond.
The convention had to reimburse a substantial sum to the hotel in
compensation and..." he paused, waiting for the murmuring to die down.
"The convention was almost banned from using this hotel again!!!" There
was a shocked moment of silence. Several of the More Sensitive Heroes
(TM), the few left who had not had to be led outside after Maurice's
story, hurriedly left to lie down in an attempt to overcome the trauma.
The Good Guys (tm) convention banned?!!!!! BANNED!!!!!!! They were
Heroes (tm), Saviours (tm). They couldn't be kicked out of a hotel!!!!!
Mulder felt the temperature of the room drop even further and the weight
of a couple of dozen stares rest upon him. He shivered. He'd done this.
He was responsible. But damn it he wasn't going down alone.
"Perhaps you would like to tell us how the carp got chocolate covered?"
Napoleon enquired evenly.
"Not really," Mulder replied.
"All right," sighed Solo. "Let me put it another way. Tell us how the
carp got chocolate covered. Now. "
Mulder sighed. "Fine..."
Mulder groaned as Alex's finger's kneaded his ass cheeks and the teasing
tongue once again swept over him. "Oh god!" seemed to be the only words
he was capable of saying... "Oh god!" and "Fuck me! Is that Scully down
there snogging Cancerman?!"
"What?" Alex pushed himself quickly to his feet to look over the
balcony, his hands automatically coming out to steady himself.
It was like time had slowed down. He watched as Alex's hand knocked the
fondue set, but could do nothing to stop it. He stared in abject horror
as the fondue set wobbled and then fell off its precarious perch on the
balcony. Reaching out desperately, he felt his fingertips brush the
smooth sides of the bowl before it fell beyond his reach.
"Fuck!" muttered Alex, taking off at a run.
Pulling his trousers up to stop himself from tripping, Mulder grimaced
and then started running after his lover. Ignoring the squelching
feeling between his ass cheeks, Mulder took the stairs three at a time,
a scant step behind Alex, also ignoring the other man's invitingly
wiggling posterior.
At each level Alex's arm reached over the balcony rail, trying to catch
the falling fondue set, but all he got was a fingerful of chocolate for
his efforts. Finally Alex reached the first floor, the last opportunity
to avert the disaster unfolding before Mulder's eyes. He could hardly
look as his lover leaned out over the balcony, taut stomach pressing
against the rail as he stretched himself as far as he could. Pale,
elegant fingers reached out, tips straining to catch the fondue set. And
Mulder was with him with every millimetre, willing Alex to succeed. The
fondue set reached Alex's fingers, touched them, and for a moment,
Mulder thought his lover had caught the object of their desires. Thought
Alex had staved off tragedy for yet another day. But, alas, the fondue
set was merely taunting them, mocking them with their inability to stop
its inexorable descent.
Mulder couldn't look as it slipped through Alex's fingers and plummeted
the last few feet to the floor. He wanted to block his ears, unwilling
to hear the crash that would undoubtedly command everyone to come
running.
But there was no crash. Instead a splash reached his ears. A splash...
and the death cries of a thousand flash-fried carp.
Mulder's eyes met Alex's stormy green orbs.
"Bugger," the other man said succinctly.
Mulder was just about to agree with him when his eyes caught sight of
the breakfast board sitting outside the hotel restaurant. "Breakfast:
Sardines on toast, with the vegetarian option of eggplant," he read
aloud. Sardines? A thought hit Mulder like lightning and he turned to
look at Alex, only to find his lover's eyes scanning the board he
himself had just read. Matching grins crossed their faces. Now this they
could work with...
"And neither of you thought that people would recognise that it wasn't
sardines they were eating?" Napoleon asked
"We thought everyone would be too hungover to notice," mumbled Mulder.
"Too hungover to notice giant mutant sardines?" Napoleon queried
incredulously.
Mulder's left foot started to scuff the ground. "I've missed entire
giant mutant people when I was hungover before, so it wasn't that big a
stretch."
Napoleon frowned again. "Yes, well, the less said about your 'work' the
better," he warned. Napoleon sat back, knitting his fingers together as
he let his eyes drift shut for a brief moment.
Mulder's heart sank. If old Nappy was doing the fingers and the eyes it
was gonna be bad.
"Let me see if I have this quite straight." Napoleon opened his eyes and
stared coolly at Mulder, who shivered at the arctic bite of those dark
hazel eyes. "You decided to have sex, with a member of the Bad Guys
Guild (tm). You decided to take him to an area of the hotel strictly out
of bounds to members of the BGG. You wantonly disregarded the feelings
of occupants of rooms around the open , residential area where you were
having sex. You brought food into the hotel, when the hotel quite
clearly states in the brochure you should not bring your own food into
the hotel. And then you littered cherry stones and a fondue set. Down
seven floors. You maimed, murdered and traumatised an entire colony of
koi carp." Napoleon paused for a moment. "And yet, Mr Mulder, you didn't
stop there. Oh no, you then proceeded to serve up the remnants of your
killing spree to your fellow members of the GGG."
"No—I— Alex—"
"Mr Mulder, are you aware that the BGG is currently feting Aleksandr
Nicholaevitch Krycek as a hero? Because, in the words of the deputy
leader of the guild, 'He fucking knocked the tits off those smug
bastards.'" He paused, letting the contrast of dry tone and crude words
sink in. "I am disappointed, Mr Mulder. Fox. We expected better of you
than getting taken in by one of them."
"I'm sorry," Mulder was scarlet with embarrassment. "I wanted to
believe."
"We wanted to believe, too, Fox," Solo's gentle tones were worse than
the caustic contempt of earlier.
Mulder felt tears spring to his eyes, and blinked rapidly, trying to
stop them.
"We wanted to believe that despite your known...oddities, that we could
trust you. That despite your known tendency to cut corners, flout
regulations and ignore rules in pursuit of your own agenda that we could
trust you." He shook his head. "What were we thinking?"
"That we're the Good Guys (TM)?" Mulder said hopefully. "Second chances?
Happy ever after?"
"No." He flicked a glance, and from nowhere a clerk appeared, and
offered Solo a black cap and gown. There was a gasp of horror from the
assembled Heroes (TM). It had only happened once before, but everyone
knew what the black cap meant...
Solo put the cap on, and arrayed the robe about his body in a swirl of
light, yet beautifully cut and discreetly understated fabric. He'd had
Elim Garak make it specially to order, not that he would admit to
ordering clothes from a Bad Guy (tm). There was a rustle as the
assembled worthies, men noble and true, brave, pure of heart, strong of
limb and firm of buttock, resolute in mind and deed, kind to small
animals and polite even to those really annoying people who phone you
halfway through a really good bout of sex with your sidekick, stood.
Faces fell into masks of grim determination. That this day should come.
That they should live to see it happen. The Black Cap.
Napoleon paused. "You know, perhaps blue is more my colour?" he said
thoughtfully, and a shudder of relief went through the audience. He
glanced at Mulder who was quivering in his boots. "Yes, the blue cap
please." He switched hats and sat forward, eyes fixed sternly on the
terrified agent. They couldn't throw him out! He'd lose his job—and
Alex might not want him if he wasn't a Good Guy (TM) any more! Why
hadn't he thought ?! He should have got a room! He should have stowed
the fondue set away before indulging himself so vilely.
Napoleon nodded. "Well, young Mulder I can tell you are sorry, so, we
will compromise. You are banned—" there was a gasp of horror, "from the
next Annual Good Guys (TM) Conference (TM). You are also banned from
performing any heroic deeds in public, and you are to avoid killing any
more fish, unless strictly necessary. Understood?""
"Yeah, sure," Mulder grinned, this was gonna be a piece of cake.
"Also," Napoleon rose and glowered at the smug Mulder. "You may only
have sex with your partner, Dana Scully. Any attempt to have sex with Mr
Krycek will result in dismemberment." Mulder blanched, and Napoleon
grinned. "I see you have understood that I have a very particular
'member' in mind for your bodily dismemberment.
Gasps of horror swept the room, followed by mutterings—was it legal?
Could he ban sex with the GG's BG? Was it fair to insist on abstention,
or, horror horrorum, hetsex?
Napoleon banged his gavel on the table. "That is my final word on the
matter! Anyone who wants to argue can see me later." Illya leaned
forward and whispered into his ear. He scowled, but amended his
statement to, "You can send me a complaints form. 312B," people started
getting up and leaving, dissatisfied. "I didn't say you could go!" he
screamed.
"Yeah, but, mate," Mick Dundee paused at the door, "breakfast's getting
cold."
Mulder couldn't move. frozen with shock and misery he waited silently as
the hall cleared, feet shuffling softly as the crowds blocked the
doorways, the hollow scraping of chairs and the soft, almost noiseless
coughing of the acutely embarrassed.
Finally he was on his own, left alone in the huge, empty hall.
Even the Council had gone. He hadn't dared raise his head to look at
their disappointed, disapproving faces as they filed past him.
A lone tap dripped in the distance.
"Someone call a plumber!" a voice yelled.
Out in the parking lot, a car coughed into life. It sounded like...
His head snapped up. "Alex!"
Heedless, he ran for the nearest exit. He rammed his shoulder into the
big double doors and forced his way through. He didn't pause to watch
for cars, or danger, he kept running.
They might have told him he couldn't have Alex. They might even be able
to force him to only have het sex for two years. But he couldn't just
let him go! They had to say goodbye!
A dark blue sedan rolled smoothly through the parking lot. And back
again. And again, three stories down in the basement area, flicking in
and out of view through the supporting pillars
Moments later, the one way system drew the vehicle across Fox's path,
and he leaped!
Fortunately the sun roof was open. "Lisa!" Alex's startled face looked
up and he slammed on the brakes. Fox lost his grip and flew once more,
this time forwards onto the harsh asphalt.
Rubbing at one elbow, disregarding the torn suit, he staggered to his
feet, hands outstretched. The driverside door swung open and Krycek
emerged, looking anxiously for cameras that might betray them to the
Guild heads. "You idiot!"
"Please!"
"But, Fox, I heard—I can't stay!"
"No! I'll come with you! We can go away, far away!" He moved closer,
placing one hand on Krycek's shoulder, the other resting on his waist.
"I can't lose you again."
"I know," Krycek murmured softly. "But I can't do that to you, love."
"You're a Good Guy, remember?" He brushed one tender hand across
Mulder's lips, forestalling speech. "No. We can do this."
Mulder pressed a kiss into his lover's hand. "I can't," he admitted
quietly. "Not without you."
"I'm a Bad Guy. These things happen." Krycek attempted a smile, "We're
the original star-crossed lovers, right?"
"Two years," Mulder whispered painfully.
"I know."
"We've survived this far, right?"
Mulder laughed harshly, and pulled away, into himself, arms wrapped
around his chest as though to help his ribs contain his breaking heart.
"Survived! I suppose you could call it that!"
"Mulder, Fox... You can't let them win. And I can't let you come away
with me."
"You don't want a failed Good Guy, huh? No fun when I'm not the genuine
article any more?"
"No!" Krycek grabbed his arm and pulled him back, irritation and
unhappiness vying to win the battle for his expression. "Don't be a
fool, Mulder. We can't fight them and win. There's nowhere we could go
that they wouldn't find us. It would be worse than pine needles in the
carpet. They're everywhere!"
"So, what, we let them win? I don't care about Good Guys, Bad Guys—I'd love you whether you were bad, good, or a software salesman from
Buggaboo."
"Buggaboo?" Krycek asked, a faint smile turning the corners of his mouth
up. "We don't let them win, lisetsa. We play their game, and we outwait
them."
"And then we carry on with our lives?" Mulder asked, dawning hope in his
eyes.
"Then I hunt them down one by one, and tear out every eye that looked
down on us, every tongue that spoke evil of us, every mind that thought
ill of us, and every heart that turned away from us when all we ever did
was love," Krycek said with soft intensity.
Mulder smiled, faintly, "You would at that, wouldn't you?"
Krycek nodded curtly, his eyes troubled but never leaving Mulder's.
"Well." Mulder swallowed. "I guess... what's two years?"
"Twenty four months without the touch of your skin."
"Seven hundred and thirty days, without the smile on your face," Mulder
touched the smile on Krycek's lips with his own.
"I can't do the next bit without a calculator," Krycek murmured into
Fox's gentle mouth.
Fox dropped his head to Alex's shoulder and laughed.
"Well. What're two years?"
"Time ill spent without you." Fox said quietly, and closed his eyes as
Alex's arms wrapped across his back.
"I should go."
"Come back soon?"
"I promise, lisa," Krycek let go, stepped back, and, turning his face
away, slowly got back into the car.
"Alex?"
Krycek's eyes wouldn't meet his, and he moved closer, leaning down until
they were level.
"Alex—"
"Don't!" Krycek's eyes were locked on the exit of the parking lot.
"Don't say goodbye..."
Mulder smiled, almost happily, "No. No, that's not something I'll ever
say to you." He brushed his lips over Alex' forehead. "Be safe, love."
Alex started the car.
"And Alex?" Krycek stared ahead, not moving. "Ya liubliu tiaybya."
And Alex Krycek drove away.
da end
Although...
can we have an epilogue? temaris@blueyonder.co.uk
Zen And The Art Of Chocolate Klismaphilia
by TLC
Fox Mulder stared shamefacedly at his feet. His shoes shone, glowing
warmly under the interrogation lights, ranging from blinding white where
the halogen lights caught to the soft golden glow that edged the areas
that drifted into shadow. Beautiful. Tongue or no tongue, Krycek had
done an amazing job. He'd never realised that the phrase 'spit and
shine' could be taken so literally, but even considering the number of
times they'd had to clean up after the cleanup the shoes glowed. He
wondered if it was the cream...
epilogue?
just an idea...
go on...
Do you want to see the epilogue? Do you? Do you?
Because even we can’t bear the thought of our heroes parted:
http://www.cadarnle.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/TLC/epilogue.htm
moonlettuce@blueyonder.co.uk
lillith-l@blueyonder.co.uk
