With a resigned sigh, he handed the photograph over to Mulder.
Mulder buried his face in his hands and tried to stave off the weariness.
Another serial killer. Another dead body. That made 73 victims in the last
24 hours alone. And it was all his fault. He looked at the photo of the
little girl that Skinner had handed him, and stifled a sob. She was so
young and pretty, with her golden curls, and big blue eyes, and now she was
dead and it was his fault because he still hadn't caught this serial killer
despite working on the case non-stop for every single one of the previous
90 minutes.
"Mulder."
He looked up into Scully's sympathetic blue eyes. He knew what she was
thinking—she was thinking about Samantha. She was thinking about how all
this was bringing back memories of Samantha's abduction, and how that had
all been his fault too. She was thinking about how tragic his life was, and
how she wanted to take his gorgeous face between her hands and soothe away
his troubles, to kiss his beautiful full lips and make him remember that
there was something worth living for. She wanted to take him away, to a
church somewhere, and put a ring on his finger, and possibly one around his
cock, although that would be later—probably on the honeymoon in Hawaii
when she revealed her kinky side. Then she would use him as a sex slave for
a couple of years before their happiness was made complete by the birth of
their twins—one of each, a boy and a girl.
"It's no use, Scully," he told her, gazing at her helplessly, and knowing
it could never be. "Another little girl is dead because of me."
"Mulder." Skinner began, but Mulder shook his head, unable to bear their
sympathetic platitudes.
"It's the truth, Sir. I'm missing something here." Mulder shuffled the
photographs of the dead victims, deep in thought. He noticed, out of the
corner of his eye, that Skinner was looking at him, frowning. He knew what
the other man was thinking. Skinner wanted to jump over the desk, pull him
into a manly embrace, and then plunder his gorgeous pouty lips with his
own, in a way that was, well, not quite so manly.
Mulder sighed. Sometimes it was difficult concentrating on his job when he
knew that all his colleagues were suffering so much. They all wanted him so
badly. He felt terrible. It must hurt them so much, to have all these
feelings for him and never be able to express them. It was all his fault.
Everything was his fault. If he wasn't so beautiful, with his tall, lanky
body, and his thick dark hair, and his mischievous hazel eyes, to say
nothing of his gorgeous pouty lips, the cute little mole on the side of his
face, and his enormous throbbing trouser snake. It wasn't fair. If he
wasn't so beautiful, then they wouldn't suffer with their repressed
longings to possess his naked body with their greedy lips, to cover him
with whipped cream and lick it all off slowly, to thrust him up against a
wall and roughly explore his throbbing trouser snake with their hands and
tongues...
"Mulder." Skinner looked sympathetic. "Why don't you take a break, son," he
murmured. Mulder nodded. He needed one. He loosened his collar and tie. It
was very hot in here.
Mulder went for a swim. He felt awful pulling on his red speedos, knowing
how they enflamed the already out-of-control desires that his colleagues
had for him, but they were the only pair he had, and anyway, he knew they
suited his long, lean limbs, and showed off his full, bulging manhood to
perfection.
He slid into the water and began to swim, allowing the cool water to wash
away the horror of the case he was working on. He knew that he was looking
unshaven, and haggard, and that people were just longing to comfort and
take care of him, and probably feed, bathe, and shave him too, but that
couldn't happen. He was alone, which was what he deserved because of not
being strong enough to save his sister when he was 12.
Mulder bit down on his lovely lower lip. Samantha—gone. So many children
—gone. He mourned for his own lost childhood, and for Scully's lost
children, for Emily, and for all innocent victims everywhere, including
Queequeg and that call girl who had died after having sex with Skinner,
because she had been a victim too. Poor Skinner, who had only been driven
into that girl's arms because his longings for Mulder had broken up his
sham of a marriage. Poor Sharon, locked in a loveless marriage to a man
obsessed with a much, much younger, and almost ethereally beautiful and
tragically damaged man. Then there was that strange doglady who he'd had
that intense email friendship with—gone. Gone because she loved him too
much to risk his life against the hound of hell. All of them gone. All of
them dead because of him.
Mulder turned and started another lap, lost in thought, but not so lost in
thought that he didn't notice AD Skinner walking alongside the pool. Poor
Skinner. Reduced to pretending he had an urgent message for Mulder just so
that he could take a look at this beautiful, complicated young man, bowed
down by the weight of his troubled life, and yet still so incredibly sexy—
clad only in his speedos.
Mulder pulled himself out of the pool. He knew what the Assistant Director
was thinking. He was hating himself for being so old, and bald, and myopic,
and clearly not attractive enough for this fragile, and yet courageous
young agent, with his long, lean swimmer's body, and perfectly taut ass, to
notice him. And even though the much older and less attractive bald man was
myopic, and had to wear glasses the whole time, Mulder also knew that it
was all the Assistant Director could do to keep his failing eyes on
Mulder's face, and not devour his body with his gaze, to eat up the sight
of the agent's lithely graceful body, and to feast on the vision of his
nearly naked flesh.
"Mulder—we have a lead." Skinner told him.
Mulder's wide hazel eyes widened even further, as he took the file Skinner
was giving him. He hated causing the other man this much pain. It was
obvious that all Skinner wanted to do was place a warm hand on his wet
shoulder, and lick away the droplets of water that were even now dripping
down his naked shoulders, to circle his cold nipples with a sweep of his
warm tongue, to fold Mulder into...
"Excuse me, sir. I need a shower." Mulder made his excuses and fled.
Skinner gazed after him, shook his head sadly, and sighed.
Mulder walked wearily along the corridor to his apartment. It had been a
long day, and they were still no nearer to finding the serial killer, whose
tally had now gone up to 152 cute, blonde haired, blue eyed little girls,
and who had now taken to making phone calls to the FBI taunting Mulder
about his failure. Mulder had taken each one of those calls, and listened
to the tirades, nodding his head, knowing the killer was right.
Mulder sighed, and drew his gun, feeling glad to be home. He opened his
door and charged into his apartment, waving his gun around, then stopped.
There was nobody here. Just to be certain, Mulder checked in his closet,
and behind the fish tank, but no, Alex hadn't broken in this evening.
Mulder put away his gun, feeling sorry for his former partner. Poor Alex.
Consumed with longings for his adversary, wanting nothing more than to
break in, and handcuff Mulder to the bed, to pound into the agent's body
with his thick, hard cock, to give them both the relief and climax they
needed but knew they mustn't have.
Alex knew that Mulder could never willingly have sex with him, because of
having killed his father, but Mulder didn't blame Alex for that. His father
had died because of him. His work had placed his father in danger, and it
wasn't Alex's fault that he'd had to kill him. Mulder just viewed him as
the one who'd pulled the trigger really. He didn't hold any grudges. At
least not where sex was concerned.
Mulder wiped away a tear, wishing Alex had broken in to his apartment for
rough sex tonight. Not that Mulder really deserved any rough sex, because
of not solving the case, and because of being so complicated, and fucked
up, and beautiful. It wouldn't be right for him to have rough BDSM sex, to
be held tight and whipped until he screamed, because he'd undoubtedly enjoy
it too much, viewing it as just punishment for all his sins, and it wasn't
right for him to enjoy anything.
Mulder sat in his dark, empty apartment, feeling fragile and damaged,
despite his courage and beauty. He heard a car pull up outside, and looked
up, hopefully. It was probably Skinner. The big man would have been driven
to come here to comfort his agent after the trauma of today's events.
Mulder would find succour and rest for just a few weary hours, lying his
head against the big man's chest, and allowing the Assistant Director's
mouth to rove over his nipples. He would arch his back, and Skinner would
smile, and call him a "slut", and tell him how amazingly responsive his
body was, and then they would both come. Together. At the same time.
Several minutes passed, and no dark shadow fell across his doorway. He
didn't hear the rough, growling tones of a big man consumed by a need and
desire which only twinkling hazel eyes, and full pouting lips could
satisfy. Mulder sighed. It was obvious that the practically octogenarian
Assistant Director was alone in his apartment, drinking endless shots of
whisky in an attempt to forget his forbidden passion for his very much
younger, and infinitely more beautiful, troubled, gifted and exasperating
agent.
Mulder made a phone call to Diana Fowley, knowing that it would be okay for
him to have sex with her because she would undoubtedly betray him, and then
he could feel miserable and angsty about how he had trusted her with his
beautiful, lean young runner's body, and then been let down. Again.
Unfortunately she wasn't in. Mulder left a message on her answering
machine, turned some music on, and listened mournfully to his favourite
song:
"I'm only happy when it rains..." the singer crooned.
Mulder put a video in his machine and sat back and unzipped his trousers,
watching as the people on the film had sex. He felt sad because he knew
that Scully was sitting alone in her apartment with only some old
photographs of Emily and Melissa for company, and that Krycek was probably
lying in a gutter somewhere, with blood running down the side of his face,
because that was the only thing that would have stopped him from being here
tonight to have rough sex with his brilliant, but damaged hazel-eyed former
partner.
"I'm only happy when it pours..." The music reached a climax, and so did
Mulder.
**
Diana Fowley knocked on Skinner's door, and was surprised when it was
opened by Dana Scully.
"Diana!" Scully shrieked, launching herself into the other woman's arms,
and kissing her soundly.
"Dana!" Diana returned her kiss with some enthusiasm. Scully helped Diana
out of her coat, and then threw it over the banisters, knowing Skinner
hated it when she did that, and hoping to be spanked for it later.
Diana waved at Marita, Kim and Holly, blew a kiss at CSM and A.D. Kersh,
and then went back for another wet smooch with Scully.
"Girls! Don't start without us." A wicked voice said from the couch.
"Alex!" Diana ran over to the couch, and kissed the dark haired man seated
there excitedly. "You're looking well, and is that a new arm I see?"
"Yeah. Custom made." Krycek held the arm up for her admiring glance.
"Look." He flipped off the hand of the prosthetic, and Diana laughed in
delight to see what he had stored inside. "It doubles up as a condom and
lube dispenser, fully stocked." Alex smirked. "The big guy's already given
it a full inspection. He was worried the cuffs wouldn't fit, but I think I
managed to put his mind at rest on that score." He licked his lips
sensuously, and Diana shivered in anticipation.
"Where is he?" Diana glanced around the apartment.
"Making the coffee." Krycek pinched her bottom. "You're looking well,
sexpot." He grinned.
"I am." Diana laughed, slapping his hand away.
"Diana!" Skinner walked into the room carrying a tray. He was wearing faded
blue jeans and an open necked red shirt revealing his tanned chest covered
in little curls of hair, and
Diana's heart flipped and missed a beat, then started racing again, too
fast. Skinner deposited the tray on the coffee table, swung her up in his
big arms, and kissed her hungrily.
"Jeez, I needed that." He smacked his lips together. "What a day!"
"More Mulderangst?" Krycek put his head on one side sympathetically.
"Yeah. You know what he's like." Skinner winced dramatically.
Everybody started chattering at once, exchanging news and gossip. Finally
Skinner got up, and clapped his hands.
"Silence, folks. I want to take a couple of minutes to welcome a new member
to our club. You all know Diana. She does a tough job, being universally
hated, and deserves a little extra-curricular R&R."
"Welcome, Diana!" Everyone chorused.
"Diana—it's been 7 years since I started these little orgies." Skinner
smiled at her. "And since then, I've encouraged all my friends and
colleagues to come along, have some fun, chill out, enjoy themselves a
little."
"Or a lot!" Someone hollered.
"Right, you know the score. Clothes off, everyone. Let the orgy commence!"
Skinner announced.
"You first, big guy. Show us your pecs!" One of the girls screamed.
Skinner blushed, and began to unbutton his shirt teasingly, to the
accompaniment of a wolf whistle chorus led by Krycek, with CSM using Kim's
bottom as a drum.
Some time later, Diana lay in Skinner's arms amid an abandoned throng of
sated bodies.
"I've been meaning to ask." she murmured to nobody in particular. "Where's
Mulder? Don't you invite him to these parties?"
Skinner groaned, and Krycek laughed out loud. "No point, sweetheart." He
grinned.
"Why?" Diana sat up and looked at him.
"He's F-R-I-G-I-D." Alex mouthed. Diana looked shocked.
"It's true." Scully told her with a sigh.
"Tell her, Dana. She might as well know the truth." Skinner said.
"Well, we've all tried." Scully began. "To be honest, we felt a bit sorry
for him being on the outside of our little sex club, so Walter suggested
that we all tried to tempt him in. So, on the first case we did together, I
ran half naked into his room, and asked him to look at my bottom."
"My god! What did he do?" Diana asked.
"He, uh, looked at my bottom!" Scully replied. "That was it. Just looked. I
thought he was just playing hard to get but I've got some pride, so I
waited for him to make the next move. And waited. And waited. It was
hopeless. Not so much as one kiss in 6 years, unless you count alternate
universes in the 1930's, which I don't really."
"That's terrible." Diana sighed. "What about the rest of you? Did anybody
else try?"
"Oh yeah." Krycek sniggered. "All the chemistry between him and me, all
that sexual tension masquerading as hostility. I engineered so many damn
meetings between us, made puppy dog eyes at him for years, and finally gave
in, and went for the obvious."
"What did you do?" Diana asked breathlessly.
"Broke into his apartment, knocked him to the floor, and kissed him."
Krycek grinned.
"And?" Diana prompted.
"Nothing. Zilch." Krycek shrugged. "Not so much as a blow job. Frigid. Walt
—you tell the girl."
"I'm afraid it's true." Skinner sighed. "I had him by the neck in the
hallway, my erection pressing into his butt in a, uh, none too obvious
manner, but what did I get? Nothing. Just like Alex here. He makes eyes at
me, engineers all these BDSM fantasy scenarios between us—over desks,
slanging matches in my office, you know the kind of stuff—but when push
comes to shove, he's just not interested in taking it any further. I did
try to spank him once but he burst into tears after the first tap so I gave
up after that."
"So he doesn't have amazingly sensitive nipples?" Diana asked,
disappointed.
"God no! He doesn't let anyone touch his nipples." Scully laughed.
"And he doesn't insist on having sex in public places?" Diana wanted to
know.
"Oh hell, no!" Skinner's body was suffused with silent mirth. "God, he
doesn't even have sex in private places, let alone in public."
"What about his truly wicked sexual imagination?"
"We've never seen sight nor sound of it." Krycek shook his head sadly.
"We think that...uh, Mulder hasn't really grasped the concept of sex
involving more than one person." Scully volunteered. "He's so self obsessed
that he really hasn't figured out that everybody else but him is
having a good time and he's missing out on it. We do feel very sorry for
him, but he's beyond help."
"Oh well. His loss." Diana shrugged, snuggling up to Skinner's big furry
chest. Scully licked the big man's naked scalp with her little pink tongue.
"Enough about Mulder." Krycek wriggled over to drape himself on top of the
Assistant Director. "We have a better time without him, anyway, don't we,
sexy?" He purred to the big man.
Skinner glanced down at the naked bodies clustered around him adoringly,
stroking and fawning over him, and grinned.
"Oh yeah!" He laughed, realising that this story had been about him after
all. "We sure do!"
THE END
Friendly feedback to Xanthe@innocent.com
Beautiful Mulder
by Xanthe
Skinner sighed, and ran a shaking hand over his wide forehead, his dark
eyes full of agonised distress. He stared at the photograph for several
minutes, feeling anguish, fear, and a near fatal twinge of angina, before
realising that, yet again, this story wasn't going to be about him, no
matter how promisingly it had started.
