| Go to notes and disclaimers |
|
Compromised
by Amazon X
Cabin in the middle of nowhere
"Don't look so down, Walt," he crooned to me. "You were amazing. I
don't think you could have done better if your life depended on it.
Oh, wait...it did."
Krycek patted the telltale heavy object in his jacket pocket, mocking
me with it. I sneered at him, and then stood to tuck my plaid shirt
into my jeans. I couldn't look at him. If I did, I would kill him
or try to. And then he'd kill me.
"Walter baby, come on, one kiss just for me," he said. He stood and
walked to me, standing in my way. I could smell the sex still on
him, still on me. I wanted to vomit.
"You would pick a place to do this where I couldn't shower, wouldn't
you? You are a sick fucking bastard."
"Walter! Is that a nice thing to say to your lover?" he asked, mock
surprise and hurt on his face. Then he broke into that impish smile
that erased the years of hate and hardness from his elfin features.
"You aren't my lover. You're my keeper. Now, you said we had a
deal. I do this, and you give me the palm pilot. I kept my end of
this. Or is that just the way of a piece of shit like you?"
His grin melted into the hard mask he wore when he needed to act
serious. He reached into his pocket and handed me the small, heavy
rectangle. I took it from him gently and turned to leave. But I
stopped at the door. His next words surprised me. He must be able
to read minds like Mulder.
"That's the only one, big boy. And yes, as you can see, it's an
ancient model. Your hacker-freak friends should be able to decode
it. I can't get the programming for you without seriously
compromising myself, so, my good will has to end here."
I left the cabin without another word. I strode to my Blazer, got in
and was pleased to hear the gravel of the driveway knocking off the
decrepit porch under the crunch of my tires. Too bad, it was a nice
cabin. Someone let it go to shit, but it could be fixed up. I would
have loved to retire there. Spend my days fishing, wood working in
the barn, even restore an old car or two for fun. But as it was, I
needed to get away from it, and what I had done in it.
Thinking back to the first message from him, that fucking email.
To: wsskinner1952@aol.com
Don't you want to know what I can do with it now?
A
I had the email traced, but the Gunmen found it had been hidden as
well as if they had sent it themselves. The next message had
instructions to meet him at a Starbucks in Maryland in a suburb. I
waited for two hours for him to show, and became so wired on lattes
that I thought I could walk back to Virginia. I was so angry, I
stood abruptly from my table, spilling my latte and scaring the nice
young couple pitching woo in the easy chairs behind me.
I stomped to my car and found the map under my windshield wiper. The
bastard snuck it there when I was getting nervous and worrying. I'm
positive he watched me, the sick fucker. The map was marked in a
trail, with X marking the spot. No note, no message, just the map.
I followed the map to the cabin.
Driving back to my condo, thinking about the afternoon, I had to pull
over and vomit. I bent over my front right fender, letting the
coffee, the damn sandwich he brought for me, the beer and everything
spew out onto the grass at the side of the road. I lay across the
truck a moment, letting the heat of the engine seep into my body.
That heat felt good, same as the heat coming off the man whose scent
was still in my skin. I'd shower at home and burn my clothes.
Make love to him, he said. Kiss him, let him suck me, suck him, and
then fuck him. Funny, how I can say the words, but not the name of
the man I did them to. The first and last man I would ever touch
intimately. And I didn't kiss him.
I thought about the rumors about Mulder and me, about Scully and me,
about Kim and me...although that one I would like to be true. My
assistant was one of the most beautiful, kind, intelligent, funny and
caring women I'd ever met. And I let her slip away from me. And I
could have had her any time. She all but told me outright. But she
was my assistant, and I needed her to be distant from me. Propriety
was imperative to me.
On this drive home, I realized, everything was different. If I could
get the Gunmen to decode the palm pilot, I could finally live a
normal life. I could have a relationship, I could have sex, but with
who? I let all the close people in my life go, pushed them away.
All because of Alex Fucking Krycek. There, I said his name. He was
the reason I had no life, no friends and no future. Fucking bastard.
It was easy for me to blame him, since I wasn't the one who'd ruined
my life. I didn't get separated from my wife because I couldn't tell
her I was a member of the most evil force on the planet for a little
while, until I realized Mulder was right. I wasn't the one who
ignored everything to make sure Mulder was safe, and Scully was
safer, since I couldn't have children, and had adopted those two as
surrogates. I wasn't blame for sterility due to being I was shot in
Vietnam as a boy because I enlisted. No, everything was Alex Fucking
Krycek's fault. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I found my way back to my condo. I quickly headed up the stairs to
the bathroom to shower. I pulled off the boots, the jeans, the plaid
shirt, the thermal Henley, the t-shirt, my briefs and socks and left
them on the floor. They smelled of him. They'd go in the dumpster.
The water was as hot as I could stand it and I washed every part of
me that I knew he'd touched. Then I washed again. I got out and
stood before the fogged mirror, brushing my teeth to get his taste
out of my mouth.
Later that night, I sat on my balcony wearing flannel pajamas and
drinking scotch, staring into the distance at those same mountains.
Was he still there? I didn't see a car when I'd arrived. There
wasn't any hot water as he'd said, and I checked. The electricity
worked, so he could still be there. What was he doing up there
alone?
I sat there in the cold March night until I had finished most of the
bottle of scotch and was shivering. I padded to my bedroom and my
lonely bed. But sleep was elusive. I kept thinking about my
afternoon with Alex, what I did to him, what he did to me. And I
wasn't too shocked that I was getting hard thinking about him. I
couldn't get the damn day out of my head!
I pulled up to the cabin and sat for a moment before gathering my
courage to walk in that damn door. It took a few tries to open the
door. But I did. It didn't surprise me to see him lying on the
couch, seemingly asleep. But as soon as I closed the door, his eyes
opened. The smile was unmistakable. He rose from the couch and met
me in the middle of the cabin's main room, decorated as a living
room.
"Well, I see you can follow directions. Nice of you to stop by."
"What do you want now, Krycek?" I ground out. That damn satisfied
grin was more than I wanted to deal with. He didn't move from my
path, but looked me up and down. I could hear my heart beating
strongly and wondered if he could. I could almost feel the little
machines in my blood grinding against each other under the direction
of his machinery. But he pulled the back box out and just held it.
"You do me a favor and I'll do you a favor. I'll give you this," he
shook the palm pilot for effect, "if you give me what I want."
There was that look again, smoldering and searching. He was trying
to read my own mask. Well, there was no use hiding my emotions. He
had me by the jewels; I may as well act like it.
"What do you want, Krycek?" There was no more beating around the
bush. This was bullshit. And if I stepped out of the cabin to my
death, so be it.
"I want you."
That was all he said. It was plain, like block letters on a blank
page. Just those three words. But when he said them, his face
cleared of smugness. His eyes were deep moss green, and focused.
And his gaze never wavered. He met me head on, met my challenge.
Our height was just about equal, but I had the strength against him,
and neither of us was as young as we used to be. Could I fight him?
Would I? Did I care to?
"Spell it out, Krycek. Or just use your damn toy on me."
He smirked again, damn him, then nodded. "I want you to come with me
into the bedroom and make love to me. I want to kiss you, and I want
you to kiss me. I want to exchange oral sex and then I want you to
fuck me. Is that plain enough for you?"
He sounded as if he'd just read a grocery list. His eyes remained
flat but clear. I felt a shiver flow through me but fought not to
show it. He couldn't be serious.
"I didn't think rape was your style, Krycek."
"This isn't rape. You're a willing, compliant participant."
"You've got a fucked up notion of willing. You're threatening my
life with the palm pilot. That's rape."
"If you think it will stand up in a court of law, you can prosecute
me."
There was silence between us. We just looked at each other for a
moment. He was staring me down. Would I move to the door, or would
I comply? I didn't even know. I looked him up and down. He wore
his uniform: black jeans, black boots, black sweater and that black
leather jacket. It was March in the mountains, you'd think he'd have
remembered a parka. But there was a hearth that had a nice sized
fire built up in it. He must have done that before I got there.
"What happens if I say no and leave?" I had to know. I had to ask.
A strong wind blew across the mountain, shaking the cabin.
"Don't force my hand, Skinner. Don't make this harder than it has to
be."
"Why are you doing this to me?" I stood ramrod straight. I wasn't
going to relax a muscle or move an inch.
"Because I can. And you'll do it. Do you want to know why?"
"Why? Tell me, Krycek. What insightful knowledge of my inner psyche
do you possess that even I don't?"
"Oh, you know as well as I do why you'll do it. You'll do it because
you can serve Mulder's purpose better alive than dead. You would
take the walk into the wind easy enough, I'm sure of it." He stopped
for a moment, licked his lips and smirked. "I know you're not afraid
to die, Walter. But you are afraid to leave Mulder on his own. And
you're terrified to leave little Scully on her own, with that sweet
baby, all by themselves. I know that you watch over them, even if
you haven't touched the baby yet. So, are you game?"
Was I? I'd never touched a man like that before, although I wasn't
afraid to. Being in the gym never bothered me, and I knew who the
gay patrons were. I knew the gay members of my platoon in Vietnam.
I knew the gay recruits in Quantico. I knew the gay agents in
Washington. None of them were me. At least, that's what I thought.
I thought back to that day almost ten years ago, when Krycek,
fresh-faced and gelled hair, walked into my office with the 302 for
the Grissom case. I knew he was handsome, engaging, even pretty.
But I was still married at the time, even though it was going to
hell. Did I feel anything back then? When he was young, sweet and
handsome? Not like he is now, damaged, angry and cruel. What had
happened to my green agent?
I reluctantly nodded my head. So long as William, Mulder and Scully
are safe, and I can keep them safe, I'd do what I had to do. With a
raised hand, he led me to the bedroom, where the fireplace radiated
heat into the room. There was a large bed there, a 5-drawer bureau
and nothing else. The windows opened to the back yard of the cabin,
which was near the cliff to look over at another beautiful
snow-capped mountain. I focused on this as I pulled my jacket off
and looked for a place to put it.
"Just drop it anywhere," came a voice from behind me. "The place is
clean."
I did as he said and began unbuttoning my shirt. He stood back from
me, not coming near as I removed my outer shirt, my Henley and my
t-shirt. The room still had a chill to it and my bare skin rippled
with goose bumps. I heard a soft moan from behind me, and that gave
me a deeper shiver. I walked to the bed and sat down to remove my
boots. It was solid and firm under me. It seemed Alex took his bed
seriously.
I looked up at the figure that stood before me. He wore his t-shirt
and jeans, but had removed his boots and socks. That smirk was back.
"Help me with my t-shirt, big boy?" Then I had noticed he'd taken
his arm off. It was atop the dresser. This was beginning to be a
worse and worse idea.
I stood and looked in his eyes. Briefly, just fleetingly, desire and
hope flitted through that glassy green gaze. Then it was gone, back
to the sadistic, sickly arrogant smile that I wanted to remove from
his head. I reached for the hem of the t-shirt and he raised his arm
for me to follow with the garment off his body. I tossed it onto the
floor with the rest of my clothes.
"Now what?" I asked, trying to sound put out, annoyed, and hide my
fear. Hide the tingle of desire that crept up on me out of nowhere.
I focused on his nipple ring, just looking at it and not in his face,
or his eyes. He was pretty, there was no getting around that. I'd
have to be not only blind but also stupid to not see that fact. And
I had been alone for a very long time.
"Well, how do you usually start this sort of thing?" he asked,
sardonically.
"Consensually with a woman, actually. So you'll excuse me if I'm out
of my depth here. I guess you should start this."
If he knew I was nervous, he didn't show it. He just looked down at
me, smiling. His hand came up to stroke my cheek, but I turned
slightly away from it. The turmoil raged inside me. How did I
rationalize this in my head? This beautiful, broken, brutal, needy
creature was forcing me to do things to him, things that once upon a
time, when I was younger, more open, and less abused, would have not
only considered, but delivered with relish. But after all the years
of deceit, pain and fear, desire for this pretty face had dwindled
with my libido. I barely woke up with a hard on anymore. And I was
supposed to not only respond to him, but also give to him.
He moved to stand between my legs and leaned down to kiss me, but I
turned away. "No, Krycek. No kissing. Everything else, but no
kissing."
I looked back up at him and saw something I didn't think I would ever
see in his face: sorrow. He wanted to kiss me. I had to keep
something for myself.
He dropped to his knees before me and his lips met my neck. I let
him. I let him kiss and lick and nibble my throat. His hand slowly
stroked my shoulder as his mouth traveled over my collarbone,
igniting the flesh along the way. He let that soft, hot tongue slide
over my Adam's apple. How did he know how to do this to me? My cock
began to fill in my jeans. And stupid me wore tight jeans. There
was no hiding it from him.
His mouth found my nipple. It was as if it was connected to my dick
and I was shot through with electricity. This was new to me,
stimulating my nipples. Sharon had never thought of it. His hand
was on the other, stroking, pinching and rolling it in his fingers.
I wanted to enjoy this. I wanted to feel wanted again, feel
anything. I wanted to be desired. And the brief glimpses into his
heart, into his soul that he gave me through the green windows, I
could believe that, for a little while, he did. It would make it
easier.
My hands instinctively rose to his shoulders, to stroke his soft
skin. Despite the chill in the air, his flesh was hot, pliant under
my fingers, still young and sweet. The mouth on me moved lower,
teasing my navel. The hand left my nipple and worked on my fly. He
opened my jeans and stopped, looking up at me.
"Would you like to take them off? Get on the bed and be
comfortable?" Was that hope in his voice? He moved back and I
pulled my jeans down quickly, taking my briefs with them. My hard
cock bobbed in front of me, betraying the desire rising in me. A
smile tickled his face as he watched me slide back on the bed to lie
against the pillows propped against the headboard. He pulled his own
jeans down and stood there a moment. He wasn't hung like I was, but
it was nice. It was more sculpted, more defined, not just blunt,
thick and long like I was. His balls hung low, lower than mine ever
did.
I didn't look at the missing arm, didn't need to. It wasn't
necessary for what we were about to do. I tried to think that it
might be the cause of his downfall, might have been the reason for
his turn to evil but he was gone long before Tunguska.
"May I join you?" he asked. I nodded. He knee-walked across the
blanket to kneel between my splayed legs. His cool, rough hand
traveled the length of my thigh toward my crotch. I looked up at the
ceiling. What the hell was I doing? When his hand encircled my
erection, I knew I was a goner. His mouth went back to my nipple as
he stroked me. I didn't even realize my breath had quickened, short
pants, like I was scared or nervous, or passionate.
Feeling those lips make their way down my chest, across my belly,
pausing to discover my navel, all while he stroked me gently, I could
tell the boy knew what he was doing, and knew how to do it well. I
wasn't prepared to feel the hot tongue wipe across the head to gather
up the beads of moisture I was producing. He lapped at me like a
cat, long, languorous strokes on my tender flesh. He explored the
head, my shaft, tickling the underside, down to my balls. Oh, God,
it's been too long since my last blow job. He was all mouth and
tongue and lips, no teeth. Why is it that women think we like teeth?
It takes a real man to know how to give good head.
Each testicle was thoroughly laved and appreciated by the talented
mouth in my lap, and was he making those keening noises? No, that
was me whining like a dog for more. I let the moan trickle from my
lips, groaning deep as the mouth covered the head of my cock again,
moving it's way downward. He was slipping further and further toward
the root, down further until I felt his nose poke my skin. I
couldn't help but writhe under his oral skills. Ah, shit, I was down
his throat, and he was swallowing around me, and it felt like heaven
and I was going to hell fast and he was juggling my balls and he was
hummingandhemovedupsightlyanditwasgreatandIloveditandIwantedmoreandOHSHIT!
The shouting and hollering brought me back to Earth as I floated down
from wherever he had taken me. I tried to catch my breath and
disentangled my hands from the fur thing they were lodged in. I
looked down, and it was Krycek's head, held firmly in my lap by two
huge handfuls of hair. I released him and he released me. I stroked
his head, a small apology, and I groaned loudly as I slipped from his
mouth. He looked at me pensively, as if expecting me to blow up at
him. But I was too delightfully contented to worry at this point. I
looked down at him, hoping my expression had paid attention to my
thoughts and softened.
"Thanks. That was...something."
He just set his jaw and nodded. He sat up quickly. We looked at
each other a few minutes. Then he took himself in his hand,
resignedly it seemed, stroking it back up into play. I watched as he
stared down at his flaccid member, not responding to his
manipulation. I decided if I was going to do this, I should show at
least some of the enthusiasm he did. He seemed to truly want me, to
care how I felt. I could give him the same courtesy, the same
respect.
Knocking his hand away, I reached for Krycek's soft cock and kissed
his neck gently. He put his hand behind him to keep his balance. I
tried to reciprocate, licking his tender skin, nipping at the sweet
flesh. His throat was delicious under my tongue, and found myself
beginning to enjoy his reactions to my ministrations. I gave as good
as I got, or at least I tried to. His nipples were as tasty and
responsive as I thought they would be. That nipple ring intrigued
me deeply. I pulled at it a bit with my teeth and he reacted almost
wildly, arching into me. The nipple around the gold ring stood on
its own and I just flicked my tongue over it, and got a throaty moan
for my actions. With the added bonus of me possessing both of my
arms, I was able to stroke his member, fondle his nipple ring and
suck the other, bringing out the most wonderful sounds from deep
within his chest.
He lost balance, or control, and we both slid down to the bed, he on
his back and me above him. I used my teeth on his skin, to make him
squirm, to make him writhe and moan. He didn't move to touch me, and
I wondered why. But I didn't let it stop me from moving down his
chest to his abs and his shallow navel, exploring. I felt him trying
to catch his breath as nuzzled my lips through his pubes. He wasn't
ready for me to touch him, but I moved on.
With one hand fisting the base, the other cradling his balls, I took
my first taste of cock. His salty pre-come trickled out, and I
lapped it up. He was delicious. I wasn't as delicate as he was, and
I certainly wasn't as knowledgeable as he was, but I know I was
appreciated. The moans I heard made me smile around him. I licked
at the head, tickling the sensitive underside and he bucked under me,
and I knew I was doing well. I took the head into my mouth, sucking
hard on it, and he hissed. More praise. I began sliding my mouth
down, imitating him, trying, tasting, savoring him, giving to him.
He panted, open-mouthed, small grunts and groans accompanying his
asphyxia.
The glans touched my throat and I was surprised I didn't choke, but
slid it down. His heady smell wafted up to me, musk and sweat and
sex and man. The hair tickled my nose, but I kept the giggle down.
I moaned, hummed a bit and slurped around him. But I kept moving
forward and completely engulfed him. A hand on his balls and the
other reached up to pull the nipple ring. "Oh, oh...yessss...YES!!"
I felt the hot spurt flow past my tonsils and swallowed greedily. He
moved under me, thrusting up into my mouth, grabbing at the blanket
and thrashing his head into the pillow. I sucked him dry and licked
him clean, pulling away to wipe my chin. He just lay there, panting
and trying to fill his lungs. I sat up, looking away to contemplate
what I had just done, what I had just become. I, Walter Skinner, was
a cocksucker. Oddly enough, at the moment I didn't see anything
wrong with it.
Krycek sat up and shuddered visibly. He looked at me and said, "Oh,
God, Walt, you got some talent. It's raw, but talent none the less."
He took a deep breath and shook himself, like a dog. Then he turned
to look at me thoughtfully.
"You hungry, big guy? I'm famished. I got some sandwiches in the
kitchen. You like Canadian beer?" He was already up and pulling his
jeans on. I let him pad out of the room without verbal confirmation
and heard him fussing in the kitchen. He was feeding me, like
lovers. Lovers. I had a lover. I had a...this was ridiculous! I
shook my head, but soon enough he was back in the room, two wrapped
subs and two bottles of Labatts. He handed me one of each and said,
"That's roast beef. I hope you eat red meat."
"I've been known to," I said indifferently. I unwrapped the sandwich
and began tearing into it. I felt ravenous. It was very good, from
a small delicatessen that cared about their food, not a chain store.
The roast beef was medium rare, with thick slices of Swiss cheese.
The lettuce was crisp, the tomatoes juicy and he'd thought ahead, no
onions. Then again, I wasn't going to kiss him.
We ate in total silence. I drank the beer and sat back against the
footboard. I knew he was watching me. He stared in silence at me,
while I looked out that gorgeous picture window behind him. I could
see the sun making it's way across the sky into early afternoon. How
long had I been here? I started at the Starbucks at about 8 AM. It
had to be at least 2 or 3 in the afternoon. For once, I hadn't worn
my watch. And I could feel it starting to get cooler, by the chill
in the air. Krycek took the empty sandwich wrappers and the empty
beer bottles out of the room. I continued sitting on the bed, naked.
My state of undress barely concerned me.
I heard the refrigerator again. Then there was movement in the
living room. Then he appeared again in the bedroom. He had two more
bottles of Labatts. "I put more wood on the fire; it's getting
chilly in here. You liked the sub?"
I nodded, sipping my beer. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I still
looked out the window at the mountains. What it must be like to live
in the mountains, in the cold, crisp, clear air. I could fish, hunt,
I could have a garden, I could live the way I always should have.
Not part of the insanity I was into, certainly.
"Something wrong, Walter?" he asked, disturbing my reverie.
"No, just looking out the window. You have a great view. You must
love it here."
"It's good for what I need it for."
"One day I hope to retire in a place like this." And I dropped the
subject. I had said too much as it was.
Second break
I put the empty bottle of beer down on the floor and continued
looking out the window. I barely noticed the hand on my shoulder.
He stroked my muscles gently, barely whispering over my skin. His
lips were next, sliding over my shoulder taking the same path as his
fingers. His hot mouth soothed my tense muscles. Was I tensing from
disgust or passion, I wondered to myself? Did it matter anymore? I
had swallowed the evidence. Modesty, dignity, whatever, it didn't
matter any longer.
I let my head fall to the side as he thoroughly kissed and nibbled
the back of my neck. His hand traced around my back to find my
nipple again, and that hard, sleek body acquainted itself with my
back. On their own, my hands traced up his thighs to grab his ass.
It was firm under my fingers, and I felt the muscles flexing under
his skin. I felt his hips thrusting gently into the small of my
back, revealing his youth, and his burgeoning erection. Nipples,
peaked to perfection, pressed into my shoulder blades, the ring as
hot as his skin.
There was nothing to do next but move forward. So I did. I took the
man into my arms, turning him around, and buried my face in his neck,
kissing and licking the tender flesh. He smelled good, not sweet,
but heavy with maleness. It was almost shocking to me that this
smell, this musk, this spice, this sweat and heat and man turned me
on. I could feel my own dick rising again, which well and truly
shocked the hell out of me. And it excited me more. At my age, I
wasn't sure I could manage it.
Again, I latched my mouth on his nipples, licking and nibbling one as
I pinched and pulled at the other. He moaned under me, hissed in
pleasure. I felt him moving, slowly, rubbing his hard length on my
leg, and trying to get contact with me. I reached down and took it
in my hand, sliding up and down, from head to base. He undulated
under me. His breath was shallow, panting again. I worked his body,
played it like a guitar, picking and strumming, his belly, his
thighs, his ass. He was ready.
"Walter, please, now." It was small and quiet. Begging me to take
him. I sat up and looked down at him. The flush ran across his
face, in his cheeks, down his neck to his chest. His lips were
parted, red and juicy trying to suck in more air. His lungs didn't
seem to be able to stay filled. I braced myself above him, looking
down, and finally moved to take off my glasses. I settled them on
the bedside table and opened the drawer. If he were like any other
man, he'd keep his condom and lubricant there. I was right.
"Get up, hand and knees," I instructed him.
"No," he breathed.
"No?" I was a bit annoyed.
"I want to see your face," he whispered, reaching up to touch my
cheek. I pulled back. He was trying make this more than it was.
And I needed to keep something for myself.
"Hand and knees, or you dispose of a corpse," I stated, firmly. He
looked away, and nodded in defeat. He turned over and accepted the
bottle of lube I gave him. I sat back for the show of him preparing
himself for me. I had done this for my wife, on our few occasions of
anal amour. But I wasn't touching him. She didn't quite like it,
with my size, but she reluctantly gave me what I wanted. Krycek was
the one who wanted this. I could easily pretend it was Sharon. It
didn't matter she'd passed away many years ago. I could still
pretend.
On his knees, Krycek snuck his hand into his ass to lube himself.
His shoulders were down on the blanket and he looked so submissive,
so beautiful. He used one finger then two, and I just stroked
myself, watching. He looked back at me as his eyes followed my hand
on my cock. He looked so sexy there in front of me. I quickly
rolled the condom on, knowing this wouldn't last long, despite my
earlier adventure down his throat. He was presenting me with the
sexiest sight I'd ever witnessed, no matter what women had done for
me in the past.
I took my place behind him, looking down that long expanse of smooth
skin. His spine was a raised line toward his neck. He seemed very
thin, as if he didn't keep regular meals despite of the feast he gave
me. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and wrinkles.
Imagine that, Alex Krycek with wrinkles. He'd barely seemed old
enough to drink to me back when he'd worked with Mulder. But he was
getting older, like me, and it was showing on him, as it was showing
on me. I had more gray hair in my chest, and it was creeping down my
pants. Krycek even had a sprinkle at his temples. I realized then
and there that it was time in my life to stop playing bullshit games.
I took hold of his hips and steadied him. His hand slid away from
his ass to brace on the bed, on his forearm. He held his head up,
always his head up. "Are you ready, Alex?" He looked back at me at
the use of his first name. But if I was going to fuck his ass, I may
as well use his first name. He nodded quickly, open-mouthed and
panting still. I just held still, the head pressing his hole. I
looked at him. He was already squeezing and I wasn't there yet. I
held fast to his hips and rocked our bodies. I would draw this out a
little. Make him sincerely want it.
"Walter, now. Do it, now!" He was insistent. He was needy. Lust
was heavy on his tongue in his command. I had waited long enough. I
held fast to his body as I pushed in. The clench on me was tight,
but he relaxed and I slipped in, remembering the feel of breaching a
hole for the first time. He reared up, hissing and clenching on me.
I slid home, balls to balls, thighs pressing together and rubbing
against me with his sparse, soft hair. I began thrusting into him,
so tight, so hot. He hadn't been with someone for a while, I could
tell by the way he needed the prep work. A thoroughly fucked man can
take you immediately, or so I've heard.
I slowly rocked in and out of him, savoring his tightness. He didn't
say anything to me, but I know he wanted to comment on my size. And
I wanted to tell him how delicious his ass was. I stroked those
round, sweet cheeks as I thrust against them, marveling in the ripple
of flesh that was made as his skin met mine. He moved under me like
a cat, writhing against me, in the same beat of our hearts together.
I could feel his heartbeat all around my cock. He was bucking up
back against me, inviting me deeper into him.
I fell forward, bracing my arms beside his shoulders. He turned his
head toward me, but I pulled back. He turned back down toward the
bed, trying to hold his grunts. I began to move a little faster,
moving against his body. His back against my chest felt amazing,
strong muscles and taught flesh, thin bones pressing against me.
His head made it back to me and he rasped out, "Harder, faster."
I plowed into him harder, feeling his body around me squeezing.
Hitting his ass with my hips, my balls swinging to meet his, it was
wonderful. I could be rough, or make it hurt, or try to. He would
take it because he wanted it. My breathing was ragged as I moved
over him. I buried my face in the crook of his shoulder, enjoying
that soft skin on my cheeks. His skin was like satin. I loved the
way he felt under me.
"Your hair...tickles..." he breathed out. I could barely hear him,
but I moved more against his back, increasing the contact. His skin
rubbed my nipples and they hardened again. There was a center of
heat growing in my belly and I knew if he kept squeezing me, kept
moving with me and panting and moaning the way he was, I would come
soon. I moved my angle and he seized up. Ah, the magic spot on a
man. Sharon had used her long, slender fingers a few times to find
my prostate. I knew what I was looking for. I hit it hard and the
boy went wild, bucking and moving and squirming under me, his
high-pitched yelp a verbal confirmation of a bull's-eye. I hit it
again, and a third time and he squeezed me tight.
"Yes, Walter, oh, that's it, again, more, harder."
"You like that, boy, don't you? Beg me," I commanded.
"Please, Walter, oh, God, please, please, fuck me...fuck me hard," he
pleaded. I answered by hitting the magic spot again, so hard I was
sure I hurt him, only to have him gasp and whine and clench tight on
me. Oh, so tight, so sweet, I couldn't bear it. I sunk my teeth
into his shoulder, riding out the wave of pleasure as I felt him
coming. I didn't stop hitting his prostate as he came around me and
he shouted so loud it must have echoed through the house. "Oh, Walt,
GOD, SHIT!"
His contractions around me were enough for me. My balls were tight
up against my body and ready to shoot. With short jerky motions, I
came and came and came, teeth still embedded in his skin. Was almost
sure I would draw blood if I didn't pull away. He couldn't hold my
weight and we fell together to the bed, limbs splayed out across the
blanket. Matching ragged breaths fought for oxygen. I was still
buried deep in his ass, softening slowly. I looked down at his
shoulder and the purpling mark of my teeth in his skin. I ran my
tongue over it and kissed it. He rubbed his head against mine. Oh,
that hair was so soft, I couldn't help running my fingers through it.
He always kept it short. It felt like rabbit fur, soft and
ticklish. As a last added bit of pleasure, I snuck my hand under him
and pulled on his nipple ring. He reared up a bit and giggled. What
a sweet laugh he had.
"I like that, actually," he admitted quietly.
"I thought you would." I gently ran my hand down his flank.
"But I think my shoulder is gonna be bruised for weeks."
It was my turn to chuckle. I kissed the spot again. "Sorry, I lost
myself there." This was nice. I tried not to lean too heavily on
him, but I couldn't help it. I was completely drained. I even
briefly considered a nap.
"Now, I'm as much yours as you are mine."
He said it so quietly I almost didn't hear him. At first, I didn't
think I heard him correctly. I sat up a bit and looked down at him.
He looked over his shoulder at me with that smirk of satisfaction
smeared across his lips. There was a gleam in his eye of pure evil.
I jumped off the bed quickly and stood back.
"You don't own shit, boy!" He rolled over and the look of shock on
his face changed to hurt, then immediately became his mask of
mischief. A look of pure evil elfishness settled in his features and
he sat up on the bed. I shook my head in disgust at him and strode
from the room, looking for the bathroom. I slammed the door shut
behind me and cursed loudly. I removed the condom and tossed it in
the wastebasket. I turned on the faucet marked hot in the sink,
waiting for the water to warm up. It didn't. The door slid open.
He stood in the open crack. "There's no hot water, Walt. So, unless
you like icy mountain water, you're not going to get a shower."
I shoved him back out the door and closed it again. I did use that
ice water to douse my face and rinse mouth out. I looked at myself
for a long time in the mirror. What had I become? I was an old
fool. I had thought that young buck in there gave a shit. No, you
old, broken-down, near-sighted, cock-sucking fool, he used you again.
He humiliated you. And you let him. Get the fucking box and leave.
I stormed out of the bathroom back to the bedroom and began yanking
my clothes on. I watched him dress, as well. He was slow about it,
and had a sexy gleam in his eye. I remember him bending over to pull
his jeans up and his ass was red where I was slamming into him,
slamming hard...
I realized I was lying in bed, semen over all over my stomach, and I
had lost myself in the memories of earlier that day. I hadn't
realized I was masturbating. Oh, God, what an experience. I needed
to get past this and get on with my life.
I stood from my bed and walked to the bathroom to wash my belly. I
took a washcloth from the linen closet and ran it under the tap. As
I wiped my skin, I looked down at the pile of clothes on the floor.
They just sat there. I decided to leave them there for the night. I
could get rid of them in the morning.
4 weeks later
The phone ringing was just enough to make me knock my mug of coffee
over, spilling over onto the rug. I could call maintenance to take
care of it later. I looked at the phone. It was my private line.
What bothered me more was there was no number in the caller ID
display. But I lifted the receiver anyway.
"Skinner."
"Hey, Walt old buddy, how's it hanging?" I cringed at Frohike's
assumed familiarity with me. But if he was calling me, he had news.
"What?" I know I was terse and rude, but I was annoyed. And I was
depressed. And I was about done with life if there wasn't anything
that could be done for me.
"Well, Langly cracked it. You're free, buddy. This thing is pretty
antiquated. But he did your deed. One good shit and youíre free.
Your piss is gonna feel a little like snot, too, I imagine, while
this crap is all filtered from your blood. But theyíre easy to
program, and deprogram. And Langly destroyed the evidence."
I know I couldn't stop the tears in my eyes. But I had to maintain
my voice steadily. "Thank you, Frohike. You'll find the...donation
you mentioned in the appropriate place. And let your colleagues know
I am eternally grateful."
I replaced the receiver and walked to my bathroom to wash my face.
But I ended up breaking down and weeping, sitting on my closed toilet
lid. One of the advantages of being an assistant director was my
private en-suite bathroom for personal moments. But I knew I had to
get back to my desk directly. I had reports to read, I had to call
Scully to see if Mulder had checked in, and I had to speak with
Doggett to see a few loose ends tied up with some ideas I had for
him. Having the X-Files back under my belt since the arrest and
incarceration of AD Follmer was a good feeling.
I walked back out to my desk and looked at the coffee stain on the
rug. I'd tell Kim to get maintenance on it later. I sat back in my
chair to close the folders on my desk when my private line rang
again. I recognized the number this time. What the hell did my
lawyer want?
"Skinner."
"Walter, when did you buy this house?"
"House? What the hell are you talking about, Bruce?" OK, someone
was playing with my lawyer. Great.
"I just got the paperwork on a house that you bought, a cabin, and
the only thing that really bothers me is the damn price. How the
hell do I explain this, Walter? This is gonna make your accountant
insane!"
I was well and truly confused. I was buying a cabin...
"Bruce, who is the owner of this cabin? Maybe I'm having a senior
moment." It couldn't be, I reasoned.
"You, Walter? A senior moment? Not happening. But the owner is
listed here as a Sasha Arntzen. He sold it to you for a dollar. His
signature is here. I have it waiting for you to sign it. Why didn't
you tell me, Walter?"
"I...I've been very busy. I'll be there after I leave here, around 7
or 7:30. Tell Jane and the boys I said hello."
I hung up the phone. Oh shit. The cabin. What was he telling me?
It had been weeks since our...encounter. I had stopped thinking
about it. Well, outside the apartment. There was a pile of clothes
on my bathroom floor that my cleaning lady was getting annoyed about,
but I refused to let her move. She cursed me in Spanish for days
when I ordered her to clean around them. She just leaves them on the
bathroom rug and moves the rug out of the way to clean. But I won't
touch them again. If I disturb them, I'll smell them. And if I
smell them...I don't want to go there.
So I had bought the cabin. He knew I wanted to retire in a cabin
like that. What the hell was he telling me? I had turned 50, made
my 20 years easily. Wait, I had my 25 in, shit! Was it that long?
I could retire with my full benefits. Without a doubt Doggett would
take my place. He would continue the work on the X-Files, protect
Scully and William, and keep in contact with the Gunmen. I could
retire. I could move up to that cabin. It needed a hot water
heater. It needed another room. And I would turn the barn into a
woodworking shed.
I picked up my phone and called my assistant into my office. She
walked in, straightening her suit jacket, genuine grin on her face.
"Kim, sit down, please." She looked down at the coffee stain on the
rug.
"Sir, should I call..."
"Kim, please, relax a moment." I stood and closed the door so that
she and I could talk freely. My office was currently bug-free,
thanks again to the Gunmen. So I knew she and I could discuss this
with ease and privacy.
"I wanted to tell you this before anyone else, since you and I work
so closely together."
She smiled widely at me, stopping my next words to say, "You're
retiring, aren't you?"
I looked at her, letting the astonishment creep over my face. "How
did you know?"
"I've known for the last few weeks you were done. I could see in the
way you worked. Sir, I think you're right to want to retire. It's
time you got some rest."
I sat back, a small smile creeping over my face. She was amazing.
And I could have had her. And I let the chance slip away. Her
engagement ring sparkled in the light. She was seeing some actor, a
tall, well-built fellow with a handsome face. He would make a name
for himself in television one day. And strangely enough, he was as
bare-skulled as I was. Obviously, Kim's taste went to smooth pates.
"I think that of all the people in this building, I will miss you the
most, Kim. I'll write you the most glowing recommendation I possibly
can. And none of it will be fabrication."
"Sir, could you make it generic? I'll be moving to Los Angeles after
I'm married. You should receive your invitation in the mail very
soon, and I expect you to be there."
"Of course I'll be there. And yes, I'll write you anything you
want."
"I'll print your request for retirement benefits. Sir..."
"Walter. It's about time you called me Walter." It was so easy to
talk to her now. She was an old friend and finally acting like it.
"Walter, I want to thank you for being a respectful and pleasant
person to work for."
"And I want to thank you for being the most intuitive and supportive
assistant I have ever had in my entire career. And I would like you
to make lunch reservations for us at your favorite restaurant today.
Cancel my appointments. And make sure it's a nice place, I owe you
lunch, my dear."
She smiled at me and nodded. Then she left me there. And she took
care of everything.
Virginia Mountains
I sat on the porch watching the sunset, foot up on the railing. I
repaired the porch this summer and it came out pretty good, if I do
say so myself. The roof was first, then the porch. I would do the
interior stuff throughout the autumn and then just make furniture in
the winter. Yep, I loved it up here.
Kim had taken my retirement hard, until she married and moved out
west. Doggett was promoted as I thought, Reyes becoming a Section
Chief. The X-Files got a whole new crew. The basement was outfitted
as their command post, with 6 agents, and each had desks. Kersh owed
me. And he was making up for everything.
I sipped my beer, thinking about how I had just missed the shit storm
that came down on the FBI. All the agents who were involved in the
Consortium were yanked, prosecuted and the trials were still going
on. Some defendants had mentioned my name, but there was no
supporting evidence. Somehow, I think it was destroyed. I regretted
that part of my life deeply. But my guardian angel was looking out
for me. An angel who seemed to be in the shape of a rat.
I felt a cold, wet nose on my hand and turned. Bosco had come out to
sit with me. I had acquired a dog in the last few weeks. He just
showed up one night, whimpering outside in the rain. I looked at him
as he shivered from the cold. But he crawled to me, big brown eyes
sad and soaking wet fur. So I took him into the cabin, dried him
with a towel, and brought him some left over steak. He settled on
the rug and let the warmth of the summer evening seep into him from a
dry setting. When I took him to the vet, she gauged he was about a
year old, probably an abandoned puppy. She thought he was a mix of
Chocolate Lab and American Mastiff, with long brown, silky fur and a
blunt, squared head. But Bosco turned out to be the best thing to
happen to me in my retirement.
Yes, I added the hot water heater, and the woodshed in the barn with
a potbelly stove for heat when the winter came. And I was doing a
good job of getting this place together. But the loneliness was
getting to me. And then that brown lump walked into my life. He
followed me everywhere, slept on the end of my bed. It made sleeping
in that bed easier. Yes, it was the same bed. For all I knew, it
was the same blanket and sheets. I had changed nothing in the house
that was left for me. Of course, the washer and dryer in the kitchen
pantry helped make sure there weren't any critters in the sheets or
blankets.
The refrigerator was stocked with Labatts beer, as well. I kept it
there, in case he wanted to come back. Maybe it was too a small
gesture, but I couldn't do that to Alex. Not after his gift. Not
after the warning he gave me. He saved my ass, my pension and my
freedom, and ultimately my life. Treason was punishable by death.
And that made up for hurting me, more than enough. I wished I knew
how to thank him. The Gunmen couldn't find him, Mulder had no idea
where he was, and I hadn't heard from him since I had moved up to the
cabin. It was as if he'd dropped off the face of the earth. Well,
one day, I supposed, he'd come back. At least, I hoped he would.
The End
Title: Compromised, Part II
Blue Ridge Mountains
Bosco runs around the yard, chasing the two squirrels that always
tease him. Poor old dog, they won't just let him be. I'll see him
lying in the grass, in a patch of sun, and they'll drop a nut on him.
And my dog is always on point. So he'll jump up and look around.
I'd shoot them myself if it wouldn't take away the fun Bosco has
tearing around the house after them.
It's going on my fourth summer living here and I can't say I'm sorry
for doing it. It's quiet, and clean and relaxing. My medicine
cabinet no longer contains Pepcid AC or Pepto Bismol. I take aspirin
for the occasional headache and not the four prescription medicines I
used to have for migraines. No, life is quiet and slow, the way I
like it.
I'm planning my day. I need to see if I have any mail, since I
haven't been to town in a few days. It's at least an hour drive down
the mountain, so I try to keep it to a minimum once a week, twice if
seriously necessary. I'm thankful for the run of electricity up
here, and cable, but my water is a pain in the neck. It's pumped
from a local stream, and my pump is old and needs to be replaced.
The hot water heater is pretty useless if it's empty.
But I can get that done as easily as I got the masonry work for the
bedroom, to open the hearth. My bedroom needed its own fireplace,
not just a brick wall from the back of the one in my living room. I
also added baseboard heating to the kitchen and my den. Folks think
I'm crazy for adding a room onto the cabin, but a kitchen, a great
room and a bedroom...and I needed another room.
I walk out to the jeep and get in, and Bosco waits all of twenty
seconds before barking to be let in, so I let him in. Wouldn't think
of going anywhere without my dog. He's my best friend. He sleeps on
the bed with me, we read together at night, he sings with me on the
porch when I play my guitar. Yep, Bosco is my best friend.
Down at the bottom of the mountain, I pick up the main road to town,
driving along, listening to the classic rock station out of
Alexandria. I may live a little country, but I haven't gone hick
altogether. I still regularly enjoyed espresso and a good bottle of
wine, my single-malt scotch and my clothes are still the better
quality stuff, even if I have regressed to jeans, t-shirt and cowboy
or work boots, but I still spend a good deal on my wardrobe.
The post office is as quiet as it always is, with the post-master,
Mike Elliot, as pleasant as usual. He's nosey, and knows what kind
of mail you got, but not to the point where he reads it. He doesn't
talk to anyone else about it, either.
"Got one of those fancy letters, again, Walt?" he asks, pleasantly.
"Yep, my daughter. She refuses to send email to me. I get a
handwritten letter each time. Pretty paper, huh?"
Mike nods. I'll spend a little time in town, getting my food, then
take my letter home and read it on the porch. That's my ritual.
Bosco will sit and listen as Scully tells us all about what's going
on with the clean up. It's all over, now. It actually shocked the
hell out of me when I first heard who was leading the resistance. It
was fitting, though.
"Walt, you got yourself a nice little girl, there. How come she
never visits?" Mike asks.
"She's real busy, Mike. Takes care of that boy she married, their
son. Lots to do."
"You a grandfather? Can't be old enough! No sir, you got a clean
dome, but you ain't no granddad."
"Mike, believe it. My grandson is probably the handsomest kid you'll
ever see. One day, they'll come to me. Until then, I get my
letters."
I need to get home, since I'm starting to get lazy in my speech
again. So I run over to the Sam's Wholesale and grab most things I
can in bulk. And they know me here, since they know everyone in
town. Manassas is pretty big, but in a way, it's pretty small. And
it's a nice historical town, so the tourism keeps things interesting.
And we have a Starbucks where they know me. So things are good.
I walk back to the jeep, pushing the cart full of stuff and I expect
to see Bosco waiting at the door, or already in. He's strong and can
jump in and out of the open window I leave. But he isn't there and I
have to whistle for him a few times. He never gets away from me like
this, he's a smarter dog than that. Before I can make a clean get
away, I turn around and there she is: Anabelle Mitchell. I sigh
deeply inwardly. She's the last person I want to see.
Anabelle Mitchell is a lovely, divorced woman. She and I were
introduced by none other than Mike Elliot, in the post office no
less. And Mike made a point of saying my wife had died to her, and
she said she wished her ex were. But her daughter, Shannon, is one
of the cutest little girls I've ever seen. She has long blonde hair
and big green eyes. Those eyes sparkle, like another set of eyes I
saw sparkle once. I made those eyes sparkle. But I can't think
about that now. If I get hard in front of Anabelle she may get
ideas. And in front of her daughter, she may think I'm just a
pervert. Now, if it gets her off my case...no, that would alienate
the town.
"Hello, Walter! How are you today?" She's pushing Shannon in her
cart. The little girl looks at me and smiles. I smile back at her,
then her mother.
"Hello, Anabelle. I'm good and yourself?"
"We're doin' just fine. Aren't we baby?" Shannon looks up at her
mother and I see the smile falter a moment. Then she looks back up
at me and says, "Bosco here?" The little girl is in love with my
dog. Unfortunately, her mother has designs on me. Normally, a man
would be flattered. I should be. I should be bedding her regularly,
actually.
The sad truth is I have my own designs. And they're for a man who no
one can seem to find. So my passion dies each morning when I wake
alone, panting, wet across my belly and thighs. And Anabelle firmly
believes the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, so all the
hard work I put in around town and in my backyard gets wasted by her
"gifts". Banana-walnut muffins, brownies and cupcakes; she's invited
me for dinner and even let Bosco into the house with us. How can I
tell her I'm gay?
Gay. Am I really gay? I keep thinking about that. I loved my wife.
I loved all the women I'd ever slept with. I should probably be
falling in love with Anabelle as I look at her. But all I can think
about is that afternoon with Alex. So to get out of this, I must
pretend to be the aloof widower. I can act with the best of them.
"Bosco is off running around somewhere, sweetie. I can't imagine
where he got to." I whistle again, but no dog. Anabelle takes this
as her opening to suggest something I never would have thought of in
a million years.
"Well, since we have to get going, how about I bring Shannon up to
your place for dinner? She can play with Bosco and we can enjoy some
adult time. Lord above knows I need some adult conversation. And
I'm sure you'd like more company up there than just your dog,
Walter."
I'm speechless. Her coming to my house will be nothing but disaster.
But I can't be unfriendly. Low key is what I like. So I nod dumbly
and say yes. She says she'll bring dinner, but I will provide the
wine. Oh, brother, she'll whine enough for all four of us. Guess I
can't get out of it. "Sounds great, Anabelle. But not tonight. Got
a letter from my daughter. I wanna read it and answer it tonight.
You know what that's like."
She nods, as if she has any clue of what I'm talking about. But she
rolls her daughter away and leaves me. I wait around a few more
minutes, looking for Bosco, but I realize he may have started home
without me. I pack up the jeep and let out one more loud whistle.
To my surprise, he comes trotting over to me, tail down, head down.
What the hell happened? I squat and look him over, checking for
bites or scratches. But he's clean. Well, he could use a bath.
I'll have to do that before Anabelle brings Shannon over. If she's
going to play with him, he'll need a good flea bath. Dirty old dog,
just like his Daddy.
I sit on the porch, watching the sunset, listening to the crickets.
The lilt of Paganini drifts out onto the porch from the open window.
Bosco heaves a heavy sigh, like he's shutting down for the evening.
I carefully open Scully's letter. It's always the same, written on
fine, pale cream paper, with a fountain pen, and she always includes
something from William.
Dear Walter,
I'm so sorry to have waited so long to get this to you. We've been
moving around a lot, as you know. But as the last letter reached
you, we had breached the last of the labs that Krycek led us to.
Well, of course I stayed behind with Frohike, which he loves, as you
know. And Mulder insists upon. He doesn't think a woman should be
in battle. Tell that to Yves. Jimmy has not forgiven her for
continuing her recon missions while 6 months pregnant. I would not
make that mistake. That is, I wouldn't make it if I could get
pregnant again. I suppose itís good that I'm not. They need me at
my best.
We've been looking for a church for Langly and Byers. They are
insistent on being married by a religious figure. It's the damnedest
thing, as you would say. Langly is afraid that if it isn't
"blessed", they'll have bad luck. Byers just wants him to be happy.
Frohike is ready to kill them both. But they all send their regards
to you.
I enjoyed your last letter. I'm very sorry this woman is so stuck on
you. I wish I could say that were true, but I'm actually not sorry.
You deserve to move on with your life, Walter. Please put this
notion out of your head. He is not coming back. He is fighting hard
and he is acting irrationally at times. I'm afraid he will be killed
one day. Then we will be at a loss, for as a leader, standing beside
Mulder, he is a force to be reckoned with. But he doesn't ever look
back. He doesn't talk about the past and he has never mentioned you.
So let it go, Walter.
I'm glad you aren't with us. I don't think you should be here. And
I'm glad you aren't coming after us. I'm happier knowing you're
safe. You took care of us for so long. You deserve your rest.
I will leave you with William's last words about you: Grampa home!
We will be home soon, Walter. Your grandson misses you.
Always your loving daughter,
Dana
I don't even realize I'm crying until her signature begins to run
from the tears dripping on the paper. I put the letter away and I
sit back to enjoy the cool mountain night air. The baby wants to see
me. Well, baby, he's almost six! Oh, I treasure the pictures I have
of him. My mantle is decorated with him, Dana and Mulder, Kim's
wedding photo, the last family photo of all the Skinner's while they
were alive and a picture of Bosco and Shannon when she was about a
year old, dangling from his mouth by her overall-straps. Not one
adult could find her that afternoon. It was a church get-together at
the lake, down the mountain. Shannon wandered off, and it took Bosco
to find her. Someone was kind enough to give me that picture. I
treasure it.
But I need to get myself into a real life. Maybe Dana is right. I'm
thinking about a time in my life that will never be recreated. And I
should move on. And I have a dinner to prepare to host tomorrow.
Blue Ridge Mountains
This is the time of year I am thankful for high-volume shopping. The
snow outside hasn't stopped for two days. Not like it's stopped
Bosco from jumping around in it. Oh, he doesnít make it off the
porch, but he's playing around. I keep his "business" relegated to
the backyard, because when the snow melts, my front yard will be a
mess and the last thing I want to do is ruin my grass. Hey, it's a
mountain cabin, but it's a nice cabin. I like grass and a garden.
Bosco knows to go in the woods, but with snowdrifts that are two and
three feet deep, I can't risk losing him.
I sit by the fire to reread Dana's latest letter. The war is over.
It was a covert war. It was fought by those who had the most to
lose. I did nothing. I sat here, safe in my cabin, and did nothing.
Well, not nothing. I secured funding for their covert endeavors. I
must say, a cable modem is a handy thing for online investing. But
all the money I made from selling the condo, and the beach house, and
all my stocks and investments ensured that Dana and Mulder and their
band of folks had enough money for life's necessities while they
acted in a manner less becoming of former FBI agents. But necessary
to the world.
I shake my head. I'm waxing poetic. Dana and Mulder are spending
the winter months in Arizona, not wanting to brave the cold with
William who, because of their nomadic lifestyle, has become prone to
colds and ear infections. The arid climate of the suburbs of Phoenix
has been good for him. And Mulder is looking forward to Spring
Training out there, even though the Yankees train in Florida. The
Gunmen are still together, Byers and Langly happily married, and
Frohike has located his children, who are becoming the next
generation of truth-tellers. Mulder is crowing like Peter Pan.
They haven't seen him in months. After I received my last letter, he
disappeared after a firefight. Mulder and I kept up with email while
Dana would only send handwritten letters. It was quiet and covert,
but it happened. And no one knows where he went. The Rebels made
one last appearance to Mulder, all too brief to let him know they
were no longer needed. They didn't mention him. And Dana didn't
ask. And they were gone. And that was it.
We have a vaccine, a real one. It works. It always works. There
hasn't been a failure yet. Well, there have been a few fatalities,
as always with medicine. This stopped the Colonists from breeding
and replacing their troops. And there's an aerosol agent for the
bees. So the virus will be stopped. Peace is going to settle across
a planet that didn't even know discord had taken hold. It was almost
an anti-victory. There would be no fanfare, no medals given, no
parade in New York City down the "Canyon of Heroes". Things would go
back to the way they were over fifty years ago.
I think that when the weather is better, and I can drive out off my
property, I'll pay a call on Anabelle and Shannon. I don't even know
how to pay a call on a woman with a child. I'll have to call Dana
and ask her what I should to. I can't plan a romantic dinner at a
fancy restaurant. What would we do with Shannon? I couldn't invite
her them here, and expect Anabelle to spend the night; what would we
do with a 4-year-old?
All of a sudden Bosco is barking. I get up and follow the commotion
into the kitchen. I see my dog standing in front of the door,
barking loudly. What's odd is his ears are up and his tail is
wagging. Who the hell do I know who's out in this weather? And why
would they be in my backyard and not coming up to my front door?
As soon as I open the door, he's out and into the snow. It's slowed
a lot, and just little sparse flakes are drifting from the heavens.
But there's my dog, on the porch, barking at the backyard. I am not
walking out onto the damn back porch in my bare feet, no matter what
this dog thinks he sees. The wind mostly hits the front of the house
so that always gets the most snow. The backyard gets drifts mostly.
And there is nothing back here.
And off he goes! That dog is going to get so lost one of these days.
I watch as he runs off the porch and around the side of the house.
The snow is shallow close to the house from blowing drifts so it's
easy going for him, but I'm still bare-footed. He's barking around
the side of the house, out of my sight.
I whistle for him. Nothing. I call out to him. Nothing again. If
that dog is going to make me go after him, I'll scream my lungs out
at him. No dog bones for him tonight. So I bite the bullet and
follow his footprints around the side of my cabin. At first, as I
take slow steps in the strong wind, I see his tail wagging. Damn, I
hate walking in snow, even with shoes on. He's standing and barking
at something. As I make my way completely around the corner, I see a
mass of black huddled in the snow against the side of my house.
Oh, shit, it can't be...
If I could fly I couldn't get there faster. I kneel before the
shivering figure and look down into the face. There's a good deal of
beard growth, and his hair is long, tangled, and dirty looking. He
is covered in mud, some still wet. But his legs are caked with snow,
as if he'd been walking through deep drifts. I take his down-turned
face into my hand and bring it up to look at him square. His lips
are quivering, and blue. Oh shit!
I hoist him into my arms and carrying him into the house, straight to
the living room. He lands heavy on the couch. I'm glad my furniture
is all lightweight, as I kick the coffee table across the room. One
shove and the couch is closer to the hearth. I hear the kitchen door
but ignore it. Did it blow shut from inside? Or is Bosco more
talented than I thought? Anyway, a few more logs on the fire are
needed, and added. Then I go to the bedroom for my blankets. He
needs heat and he needs to be dry.
When I get back, he's shivering harder, but his eyes are still
closed. As long as I know he's alive, I'm happy. I can't throw his
clothes off any faster than if I were going to make love to him
again. But damn it, doesnít this boy know how to dress for the damn
cold? He's fucking Russian, for Christ's sake! Just his usual
uniform: black sweater, black jeans, same black motorcycle boots and
a damn black leather jacket. What the hell was he thinking of coming
up here in January dressed like this?
His naked body is laid out before me again, and it's just as
beautiful as I remember it. But...oh my God...is that...he's got a
left arm! I sit back a moment. Oh shit oh shit oh shit...Get a hold
of yourself, Walter! Jesus Christmas! I need to get my head
together. Cover him, yes, that's it. Wait is he a...His lip, now
turning pink again, is spilt a little. I feel sadistic doing this,
but I tug on the lip a bit with a fingertip. The reopened injury
runs a little and the blood is bright red. I sigh in relief.
I stand to get the blankets and cover him. When I turn back, Bosco
has jumped onto the couch and settled into the curve of his body. I
smile just for a split second before dropping the blanket on both my
pups. I need to sit back and take a breath. So I do, just looking
at him, laying there, pale cheeks, still-blue lips, and he's still
shivering. Harder now. Oh goddam, he's in shock. Why didn't he
call me? I'd have gone to him.
Well, what do you do for a body in shock that can't create any more
body heat? You give them yours. Damn! I can't put him in hot water
or he'll go into cardiac arrest. So, what can I do? I stand and
strip all my clothes off, which isn't much in this weather, sweat
pants, a sweater and socks. Shit, I usually end up commando, no
matter the weather. Poor Bosco yelps as he's pushed off the couch.
I drag one blanket onto his rug on the floor right before the hearth,
where the most heat concentrates and pull him down onto it.
Positioning myself behind him and Bosco curled up in front, we make a
warm blanket for him, with the wool blanket completely covering us.
I even think ahead enough to grab a pillow down for my head. His
head is pillowed on my chest.
My thoughts have a chance to catch up to me. My broken, beautiful
boy. Alex. Oh, God in heaven, this is a gift. Why the hell is he
back? The war is over...he was lost...no...he was saved. They saved
him. They must have. Why else would he have an arm? He'll tell me
when he's awake, when he comes to.
His skin is like frozen wet leather. As I recall, leather is dead
skin. Shit. I begin rubbing his chest, to warm him there. Get the
heart and lungs warm and you'll get the rest of the body warm. Oh,
God, I'm exhausted already. I must be getting really old. I'm
almost 55. This June, anyway. I wonder how old he is. I wonder if
he'll tell me. I hope he'll tell me. There's so much to say.
Oh, who the hell am I kidding! Walter Sergei Skinner pissed away a
marriage, friendships, and his father's fucking respect because he
can't talk about his feelings. Sure, the words sound good in my
head, but they get goddam lost on the way to my mouth. Fuck this. I
need a nap. I pull his body closer to me, wrapping my arms around
him, and drift off, the sound of Bosco panting as my lullaby.
I wake later, much later, and blink at my surroundings. It takes me
a moment to remember why I'm naked, lying on my floor, with another
naked body in my arms. Alex. Bosco sits up and barks. "Shush,
dog!" I whisper loudly. He shakes his head. But Alex doesnít move.
He isn't shaking any more, and his skin is a better color. His lips
are pale, dry and cracked, but not blue. I sigh deeply with relief.
I can't lose him. Not now, with the war being over, with him in my
arms like this. I pull him closer. He smells terrible. I wonder if
I can chance a bath for him. No, I'll wait until he's coherent.
I'll just deal with the stink.
I rearrange us so that he's lying on his back and I can look down
into his face. When he's sleeping, he looks like a young man, much
younger than he probably is. I take one of his hands in mine. His
fingers are still cold. I'm sure all of his extremities are. I
begin rubbing and massaging that hand, bringing heat back to it. He
doesn't respond. I take the other hand and do the same; his left
hand. I look the hand over, marveling at the appendage. It looks
like a teenager's hand, almost but not quite matching his other hand.
I cross his arms over his chest, like an Egyptian mummy, so I can
ensure they stay warm. On to his legs.
I look down the long, muscular legs lying akimbo on the blanket.
He's at complete rest, and he is as beautiful as he was four and a
half years ago. His body is empty of the scars I saw last time, and
never acknowledged. They must have regenerated everything. I look
back and...oh God, the nipple ring is gone. I sigh heavily. I liked
that nipple ring.
I move down his legs. His thighs are warm, but his legs are still
cold from the knees down. So I rub his feet. He has pretty
feet...pretty feet? Walter, you have lost your fucking mind! Pretty
fucking feet, what the hell are you thinking?
I rub his feet back to a normal temperature, ignoring myself. I
cover him again and tuck the pillow under his head. Rising, I pull
on my sweats and add more logs to the fire. I'll have to bring in
more wood soon. Bosco has followed me into the kitchen and I let him
out into the backyard. How did that dog know Alex? There are more
questions in my head than I can answer. I'm pretty much spinning
around in a daze. And I'm hungry. I look at the clock and it's
already eight in the evening. The sun was low in the sky when I
brought Alex in. I pop a microwave meal in and chow down. I don't
really like those, but they're good in a pinch.
I settle on the couch, scotch in hand, watching Alex sleep. His eyes
are closed. He looks so peaceful. His face has almost all its color
back. He must be at a normal temperature. I touch his face. He's a
bit warm, maybe getting on to too warm. I should have figured he'd
end up with a fever. Well, I'm stocked with Tylenol, and ever since
I had the pump replaced, and added the filter to the kitchen faucet,
I have some of the best drinking and bathing water in the state. But
I'm getting tired. After my drink, I'll move him into the bedroom.
Oh, that means a fire in there.
I kneel before my bedroom hearth, preparing the kindling for the
fire. It gives me time to think. He'll need medical care, I'm sure.
He's going to have one hell of a cold. But I'm glad to have found
him. I still want to know how my dog knows him. Bosco is friendly
when I'm there to give him the OK. But he was wagging his tail for
Alex. Unreal.
Well, as I look at my mantle clock, it chimes at ten o'clock and I'm
tired. I need to get him into bed. He needs to get off this floor.
I get him up easily, and that worries me. His hipbones protrude too
much for me to like, and I'm sure his spine is more visible. I
counted his ribs, visually and manually several times. He hasn't
eaten. He's a mess. And he walked here in the snow. He needs to
sleep. I carry him into my bedroom, his bedroom, and lay him on the
bed. I look at his nude form, spread across the blanket, and
remember back to a time when I was also just as undressed, and I was
enjoying myself.
What had set me off that day? I lie in bed, him lying beside me
under the blankets, breathing deep and even, thinking about the last
time I saw him. We'd made love. Although, at the time, I just
decided that I fucked an ass and not him. I'd performed anal sex
before. It was just another body under me. But I should have known
better. I should have acknowledged what I was feeling. I liked
being inside that body. I liked the man attached to the body. Well,
I liked his body.
But after he'd dropped out of sight, and Mulder and Scully took
William on the run, and I retired, he returned with the Rebels and
Jeremiah Smith to fight with us to rid the planet of the Colonists.
And I developed some respect for him. Both Mulder and Dana glowed
about him. It wasn't hard to believe that Mulder had grown new
respect for Alex. That was easy, since Mulder had made his peace
when Alex, using astral projection technology borrowed from the
Rebels helped Mulder escape from Knowle Rohrer in the military
installation. Then Alex protected Marita Covarrubias, a former
lover, by telling Mulder to stop me from questioning her. No, Dana
was the hard sell.
It wasn't so hard for Alex to buy her forgiveness when she was
operating on his shoulder after he was shot protecting her. What
turned her into a believer that he'd always been on their side was
when he was shot in both of his legs, almost losing them, protecting
William. After that, she would follow him anywhere.
There's no evidence of any of that now. He's brand new, as if
reborn. And given to me. I tried to think of why I turned away from
him. It wasn't hard to remember. I was lying across his back, after
having made love to him, and I had bitten him. I bit his shoulder
hard. And he liked it. And he laughed and said he was as much mine
as I was his. Those words struck me through with anger and pain and
hate. All I wanted to do was get away. I didn't want to be owned
anymore. I wanted to be free. And he let me be free. But that
wasn't what he meant.
When he said I was his, I truly was. There was no other choice for
me but to become his. He's back in my life, in my bed, and if I turn
out the light and hold him, he'll really be in my arms. I do and
fall asleep that way.
The sun is barely over the horizon, but I'm awake. I don't usually get up this early anymore, unless Bosco is giving me grief. But he's lying contentedly on the floor, on the rug, by the fire, which has gone down. I should rise and add more wood. I stretch out and my hand unexpectedly encounters warm flesh, making me jump almost a foot off the bed. What the hell... I turn to my left and he's there. Alex. Sleeping on his side, turned away from me. His back is spread before me and I see goose bumps forming on his skin. So I pull the blanket back over him. A goose down comforter is necessary in the mountains. I just look at him. He's burrowed into the pillow, with its flannel case matching my flannel sheets, another necessity. I'll have to wash the sheets. He still smells terrible. I get out of my bed, and note my nudity. But...hell, whatever. I add some wood to the fire in the bedroom, and I get an appreciative sigh from Bosco. I add some out in the living room and make my way to the bathroom for a piss. Should I shower now? Nah. I pad back to my waiting bed. I get back in and snuggle down next to the warm body sleeping there. He's lying on his back again. His face is young and serene again like he was as a green agent. But the wanness of his cheeks and the shadows under his eyes cause me concern. I hope he sleeps long and well. He looks like he needs it. And I think I have enough food here to last until the snow melts enough to drive down the mountain. I think Miller will plow up here when the weather will let him. I don't remember how long I was asleep but I know I woke because of the thrashing and shouting beside me. I have to sit up quickly to avoid the fist flying at me. He's dreaming, or having a nightmare is more like it. He's shouting "No! No! Run! Go! Now!" I grabbed at him, trying to get his arms, and I thrust him down into the bed, trying to get on top of him to stop his wild swinging. "Alex! Alex, wake up, you're dreaming!" But he's not listening. He's just thrashing about and he's screaming "No!" Then he stops arches up off the bed and opens his eyes and screams "MULDER!" And he falls back to the bed and begins crying. Alex Krycek, crying. Oh God, what the hell do I do? I take him in my arms and stroke his long, dirty hair, hoping he wakes up soon. His beard is scratchy on my chest. I don't do crying people. This is not me. This is not anything like me. But he's still crying, and the tears are streaming down my chest. And I can't let him go. But soon, the tears slow, and the sobbing ceases, and he's again asleep. I take this as my cue to get my ass out of bed and get my day started. After a shower, dressing, letting the dog out, stoking the fires and having breakfast, I wander back to the bedroom. He's still sleeping, but curled back onto his side facing the fire. He's so pretty when he sleeps. Pretty? Walter, calm the fuck down. You'll get your chance to talk to him soon. He's lightly snoring. He must be feeling a bit better. I go back to the living room and look out the window. The sun is out bright and the snow is actually melting from the branches. No...that's impossible. It's January...what day is it? January 26th. Yes, that's the date. And the snow is melting. It snowed for two days. Well, maybe I'll get down the mountain faster. I settle to read a little while. It's only about noon. I may have all day to wait. Soon, though, I hear coughing from the other room. He's awake. I walk in slowly and look down at him. He's looking around the room. Then his eyes settle on me. His expression doesn't change, and neither does mine. He falls back into the pillows. "Hey, Walt," he says, nonchalantly. "Hello, Alex. How are you feeling?" If he wants to play this game, so can I. "Like reconstituted orange juice. How long was I..." "About eighteen hours. You need to piss? Hungry? Can you stand? Wait, lemme get you some sweats. Your stuff is soaked...and I think still laying in the living room." I know I must sound like a Jewish mother. I go to one of my full-sized bureaus and pull open a drawer. I drag out the standard gray sweatpants that all men have in abundance and hand them to him. He swings his legs off the bed and sits there a moment, coughing again. His cough sounds wet. He's got the flu. He'll probably start sneezing soon. "You need a top?" I want to make sure he doesnít get worse. "Yeah, it's friggin' freezing in here. You kept my can the same?" He stands and accepts the matching sweatshirt that I've pulled from the same drawer and walks slowly from the room. I'll need to give him socks, too. He looks back at me as he enters the disheveled living room. "Head's where it always was. I added on, didn't change the original." He turns back and walks into the bathroom. The door closes firmly. I had worked on it so it would hold better than it had. Especially the last time we were here together. Soon enough, he walks out and stands leaning in the doorway, for support. He smiles a little. "There's hot water." I just nod. He walks back to the bedroom and falls onto the bed. He doesn't even cover himself and falls back to sleep. I draw up the comforter and stoke the fire for him. It was getting low. I go to the dresser and pull out my thermal hunting socks to give him, but he's snoring again. So I put them on his feet, which is good, because his feet are cold. I go into my living room to straighten up. I've gotten lazy in my old age. Then again, my biggest combat is dog hair, so I usually just vacuum everything. I take his clothes out to the kitchen to the laundry room I've built. It opens onto the full pantry I have, for my food stockpile. I throw his clothes into the laundry with mine, sweater separate from his jeans and socks. Of course, he has no underwear. I can do all that later. But I put my furniture back where it belongs. I sit and watch my fire. I have a huge 35-inch television and never use it. I'd rather watch the fire and contemplate the man in my bed. I wonder what is going through his head. I wonder if he's here for rest until he can go back out and be...whatever he was before he was a Consortium flunky. I have to admit that I'd seen him before the Grissom case. I'd buried that knowledge so deep that I would never have recalled it when I was part of the FBI. But since I retired, lots of thoughts I'd buried came floating out. I had time for that. Right now, my only concern is what to make for dinner. Soup, I guess. What else can he eat? I'm not sure he would handle anything else any better. So I take out the pre-made stock and begin to defrost it in the pot. Yes, I can make chicken, beef and turkey stock. If you have enough time to yourself, and a good internet recipe from Martha Stewart, you're set. As the vegetables cook and the soup reduces, I just walk around the place, looking at things, remembering what I've changed. He'll probably ask. And I'll be proud to tell him I made the new furniture and put the rooms on myself. That's how I made it through college and the academy, with carpentry. It's, also, how I supplemented my junior agent pay. Nowadays, I make some money that way, as well. It's better for bartering though, since I got the water pump and anti-freeze system that way. Plumbing is expensive, unless you build the plumber's daughter a playhouse in the backyard. It's good to provide the plumber's wife and her garden club eye candy, if you can. I know I'm old, and here's more gray on my chest than black. Yet when I put the rippling, tanned muscles on display, they all drool. It's my one claim to fame: I make all the wives wet. Too bad I have morals. I should be fucking all of them. I have to admit, though, that I love the gasps and moans when I stand to stretch my back and pour water over myself to cool down from the heat. I shake my head from my reverie and serve myself a bowl of soup. I hear the coughing again. Ah, my patient is awake. The sun has set and the stars are twinkling. He's propped himself on pillows and is sitting up. I walk to the bed and he looks up at me. "You hungry? I made soup. Or are you nauseous?" "Why would I be nauseous?" "That cough is probably the flu starting. I had it a while back. There's a rash of it in town, so if you stopped in Manassas before coming up here, you've probably got it." He nods thoughtfully, but says nothing. He takes a deep breath and looks at me. "I can eat. What kind of soup?" "Chicken and vegetables, with egg noodles. Like my mom would make. You'll like it." He nods and accompanies me to the kitchen, albeit slowly. He's moving quite slowly and that's more slowly than I like. But he makes it to the table, as I'm ladling the soup into the bowl for him. He starts nibbling on a cracker. I pour him some water and put the glass on the table in front of his, garnering a glare from him. "You got any beer in this joint?" I don't like being growled at, but I'll tolerate it from him. For now, that is. I look back at him calmly. "No, no beer until I know how sick you are." "A shot of scotch can cure any illness. You should know that with a name like Skinner." I let this go. My Irish father would laugh at that. My mother would have hit him for laughing. She was Russian, and it broke her heart when I changed my name from Vladimir to Walter. But I kept the Sergei. Still, she cried. My father never forgave me for that. But that's a story for another time. We eat in silence, and I can feel the tension radiating from him. I stay calm. I can't afford to get upset at him. If he senses anger, he'll get angry. I can't let that happen. I can't lose him, not again. Just before I'm forced to start a conversation before seeming rude, Bosco walks in and saves my ass. He sits before Alex, tail wagging and lets out a companionable bark. Alex puts his spoon on the table, leans down to ruffle up my dogs ears, and tells him what a good dog he is. Bosco, ever the slut, lays down to have his belly rubbed. Alex obliges. I smile at the scene. Then I lament my jealousy of the dog. I have to ask the question. "Alex, how does my dog know you?" "Huh?" He's on the floor with the dog, using both hands to make Bosco purr. Yes, I must admit, my dog purrs when he's happy. Full of surprises, ain't he? "Bosco, my dog there, he knows you." "Nah, he's just friendly." "No, he isn't. He's ornery and stubborn, like me. He's never friendly. Did you meet him before?" He doesn't answer me as Bosco begs to go out on the porch and into the backyard. I let him out. When I sit back down, Alex is finished and ready to go back to bed. He looks pale, but better than when he first arrived. I won't push him. I clean up as he takes his time getting back to bed. But I follow him in there, and he's in bed, curled up in the comforter, shivering. He's definitely got a fever. I sigh deeply before going to the kitchen to get the super-sized sports bottle complete with extra-long bendy straw and fill it with cold water. Then I get two Tylenol and head back to the bedroom. He's still shivering. I nudge his shoulder. "Alex, wake up. Come on, I have meds for you." He shrugs off my hand on his arm, but I shake him again. His eyes slowly open and he just looks at me. His eyes are bright and sharp. I know he's not doing well. He doesn't sit up, just sticks his tongue out so I place the tablets there and put the straw against his lips. He swallows a few sips, then groans as it all goes down. He goes back to trying to sleep. I leave him there with the water if he needs it. I know I'll need more wood for the fire for tomorrow. If it sits outside too long, it will get too wet. I have it under a tarp, but it need to dry out in the house. I bring in the wood, and leave it out in the living room. Bosco follows me into the bedroom where I build up the fire again. We sit together on the floor and I stroke his fur. He looks up at me and I know we need to talk. "I know I've neglected you today, boy. How the hell do you know Alex? Well, at least I know he was nice to you. You'd have torn him to pieces." I stroke his fur a while longer until he's lying happily before the fire, dozing. I decide to retire to the bed since it's going eleven. Hauling the wood tuckered me out. So I undress and lay beside Alex. He's stopped shivering and is asleep. I touch his neck, and he moans annoyedly, and I find he's still warm. He's not sweating yet. He won't get better until he does. So I may as well get some sleep. I wake up to more thrashing and more screaming. It's still dark, but he's wide awake. The moonlight is streaming through the windows, glinting off his skin. Sweat. I place my hand on his chest. His hand covers mine. We look at each other. Again, he starts crying. And again, I pull him into my arms and hold him close. He's shed the sweatpants and sock as well as the shirt. He curls against me, and I hold him, stroking his hair and murmuring words of comfort, the way my mother used to do for me, telling him they were just dreams and they don't really mean anything. His legs are tangled with mine and his cheek is flush on my chest, his beard tickling me. I figure he'll go right back to sleep and I'll hold him while he does. But he looks up at me, twin green pools of pain and he says, "It's real, Walter. All of it's real, not a dream. I...I was shot and killed by a plasma beam saving Mulder's life. Again. And they brought me back, again." "Again? What do you mean, Alex?" He wipes his face with his hand, but doesn't move from keeping his cheek on me. "I've died saving Mulder, Scully and William. The Rebels kept bringing me back. They float you in this tub of slime. I hated it. But they knew I needed it. And they kept bringing me back. They kept regrowing limbs that were injured. My arm...you have no idea what it was like to have my arm back. Walter, dying had to be the worst I could go through. Walter, I..." "It's over, Alex. You're safe now. You're home." "Home?" I nod against his head, so he feels me. I kiss his hair again and we lay together talking until the sun peeks over the horizon. He isn't feverish anymore, feeling much better. He tells me about how he told the Rebels to leave him to go, that since the war was over he wanted to try and start again. So he tried to come here. He knew that I was here, and he even told me about his visit. He played with Bosco, who seemed to warm right up to him. Alex told me about seeing me talking to Anabelle. And decided that it would be fun to tease me. "Alex, I can't help it if she likes me, can I?" "Does she know?" "Know what?" What was he getting at? "That you suck cock?" I take a deep breath and shove him away. I rise from the bed, ignoring my nudity and stride from the room. I needed to piss, anyway. When I return, he's risen as well, sporting wood, and goes to the bathroom himself. I stoke the embers to get the fire going again. Then I sit back on the bed. I don't hear him walk back in but I feel his crawl across the bed. "Do you remember the last time you and I sat like this on this bed?" I nod. "I like the new fireplace. When did you do that?" "The first autumn. The room needed it." "You'll have to show me everything you did here." Then we are silent for a while. And I have to talk to him. Shit, how the fuck do I say this? Where do I find the words? I have to tell him. He's just sitting behind me. I feel the heat of his body, but he isn't touching me. I feel him start to move away. "Thank you, Alex." He stops. "For what?" "For this place, for protecting me. The agents in the FBI who were connected to Spender and the Consortium were executed for treason. You saved my life." "It wasn't the first time." His voice is dry and quiet. I barely hear him. "What do you mean?" I turn to look at him. His eyes travel over me. I feel appreciated. "Walter, I was never the assassin you claimed me to be. Luis Cardinal killed William Mulder, he killed Melissa Scully and he shot you. He was supposed to kill you." "You did kill me, Alex. With the nanobots." "No, they thought I had killed you. I brought you back. I used them to get you to act in ways I could never convince you to with words. The clone the Colonists created for me, with stolen DNA from the Oilien that inhabited me, he wanted to kill you, Mulder and William. Shooting him was the smartest thing you ever did." I can't believe my ears. Am I really hearing this? I thought I had killed him. I thought that the Rebels and Jeremiah Smith had brought him back, which is how I rationalized him coming to Mulder in astral projection. I just look away. I can't make sense of it. "We have time to talk, Walter. Let's go get some food." He moves off the bed and gets his sweatpants. I do the same. But I wait, looking at him then the rest of the pile of clothes on the floor until he gets my hint. He looks at me and he understands. He pulls the shirt and socks on, then follows me into the kitchen. Bosco trails us as well and jumps around on the floor until I walk to the door. I let the dog out and Alex starts to follow. "No way, Alex. Don't even think about going out there." "Walter, it's gorgeous out there." He opens the door and walks out onto the porch. He's right. It feels like it's about sixty degrees out there. Bosco runs around as if he doesn't know what to do with himself. The sun is bright and strong and the trees are dripping with melting snow. The ground is wet and muddy, which means the dog is going to get washed. But soon we go back inside and I start breakfast. Alex watches as I make the pancakes. I pour him a glass of juice and send him to the bathroom to get more Tylenol while I finish cooking. When he's back, he sits and digs into the plate I serve him. We eat again in silence. When we're done, I send him to the bathroom. He needs to bathe, shave and do something with that hair. And I need to change my sheets. When we're together again, he wears nothing but the towel, and is lounging in his usual lazy and seductive way against the doorframe. "You can search the drawers or the closet for something to wear." I indicate the bureaus and the heavy oak closet that I almost cut three fingers off to make. He nods and I go off to shower myself. I return to my bedroom in my towel expecting Alex to be tying his boots, and I find him lying on the bed, naked still. He's on his stomach, head nestled on his folded arms, looking at me. I walk to my bureau, tossing my towel over the footboard of the bed. He gets off the bed and stands behind me. "You couldn't find anything to wear?" I don't want to move. I don't want to breathe. I want him to start this. I have no idea what to do, and I know he does and I want him to do it. Please, Alex, touch me. "Your clothes are too big for me. Guess I'll need to stay naked all day. Why did you make the bed? I can stay in there." I feel his hot hand on my back. "We can stay there together." I move away and turn to him. He's looking at me, smoldering eyes that are darkening as I look at him. And I take a good look at him, my pretty boy. He's much older than the almost five years we've been apart. He has much more gray in his hair, and the lines around his eyes are more pronounced. The gauntness of his cheeks screams that he's been pushing himself too hard. He needs to take time for himself...for us. "Alex, itís been only a day and youíve been sick. I'm not sure this is what you really want to do." "That's what my fever was. My body will repair itself with sleep and food. A gift from my healers." "I'm still concerned." I'm fighting to keep my face still. I do not want to let my chin shiver and let my tears gather in my eyes. If I do, I'm lost to him. And I can't let four years of soft living let my faÁade of angry AD crumble. Thank God he knows what to do. He steps up to me. We stand eye to eye. The green is barely visible beyond the endless black of his pupils. His hand, his left hand, flattens on my chest and I feel how warm his skin is. Oh, to have a warm hand touch me again. And his other joins it. I turn my gaze away to look out the picture window over the bed. I've down this before. Alex touching me, being unsure of what I should do. But this time, I have nothing to lose. My children are safe, and it was this man who made sure of it. I'm safe as well, and again, I have him to thank. His hands are sliding over my chest, tangling in the hair, teasing my nipples. His mouth touches my neck and I'm lost. My arms come around him, pulling him close and we embrace tightly. I rub my chin in his hair, enjoying the soft, silky feel of it. It's much longer than it ever was and is still wet smelling sweetly of shampoo. He looks handsome with it. He steps back and smiles at me. Then his lips are on my neck again, igniting my skin as his tongue travels up my jaw to my earlobe. But I pull back. His eyes are full of questions. I haven't said no. But I must do something first. My hand brushes his cheek, and I hold his face gently. His eyes are on the verge, sitting on that precipice of lust and hope and pain, wanting to be accepted, waiting to be rejected. And I lower my mouth to his and kiss him. I can feel his surprise as I take his mouth, gently at first, playing my lips over his, then more urgently. He sways in my arms and I tightened my hold on him. I press my tongue firmly on his lips, and he opens them, inviting me in. He tastes sweet, and like my toothpaste. I remember that sweet taste from another time, from another part of him. I would rediscover that if he would let me. I break the kiss and watch as his eyes reopen. He closes them when he kisses, like a girl. It's an endearing quality. But he just looks at me. He smiles. "Thank you." "For what?" I ask. "For finally kissing me. I've always wanted to kiss you." "Why don't we take this to the bed?" He pulls me to the bed and crawls onto it. I watch his ass move, and I remember being buried in it. I know my cock is rising. But I just stand there and watch him lay back on the blankets. He is more beautiful than I've ever seen him. I walk to the bed and decide to lose my mind. This isn't normal Walter Skinner behavior. I have morals. I have principles. I have a hard on for Alex Krycek and I plan on making myself fucking happy for once. Goodbye AD Skinner, hello Happy Walter. When I reach to kiss him again, his arms slide about my body, and he gives up to me everything I want. I taste his mouth thoroughly, kissing him deeply. His hands slide over my back soothing my muscles. He grabs my ass and squeezes hard. I wonder why the hell I haven't done this before. I feel him hard against my leg, and I know he feels me. I taste his neck, savoring the salty flesh. I could kiss him all day. But I want him now. My lips relearn his jaw, his shoulders, his collarbones, and he lays back for me, moaning. I kiss my way down his chest and look pointedly at his nipples, then back up at him. He smiles sheepishly. "One of the Rebels thought it was a mark of slavery and had it removed. I didn't think it was big on my list for 'Things to Do' until my job was done, you know?" I lick the closest nipple and say, "We'll take care of that another day." And I continue sucking and licking his nipples. He's squirming under me, fisting the sheets. I reach for his cock to stroke it and he bucks under me. The keening noises coming from his throat are going straight through me. "Walt, I know youíre not one for words, but...it's been a long fucking time. Can we dispense with seduction and fuck me? Please?" "How long?" "Since you." And I know he's telling the truth. His eyes tell me so. His brows are knitted and quivering, like he's fighting to keep a straight face. I know he doesn't want to laugh, he's holding back whimpers. I sit up and reach into the bedside table. I keep it where he did. He watches the bottle of Astroglide in my hands. "I'm clean, Walt." "I know, so am I." I pour a little onto my hand and rub my fingers together. He watches my every move and his eyes close as my hand reaches toward him. He was expecting to do this himself, but no, I want to touch him. I circle his hole, touching it gently, feeling it flutter under my fingers. "Fuck, Walt, God, I've always wanted to you do this." His hands are tearing at the blankets. I need to get on with this. My cock is pounding with my heartbeat and I need to get inside him desperately. I slide my finger into him and he groans loudly. Then he looks around worriedly. "No one's up here, Alex, just you and me. No one to hear us, scream all you want." "I don't scream." I slide another finger into him, feeling his tight muscles grab at me and he lets a breath hiss from between his clenched teeth. With my free hand, I push his knees up to expose him to me. His strong ass is open to me and I watch my hand going in and out of him, two fingers now. "Walter, please...now!" I pull my hand away and reach for the bottle of lube to slick myself for him. His eyes track my every move. We're both panting heavily. I grab his legs and move to his entrance, and look down at him. "Now!" I plunge into him. His back arches off the bed and I am awash with pleasure. Oh God, he is tight and hot and as wonderful as he was before. I realize I have missed him so much. I don't want to play games anymore. I lower myself to him, laying across his chest and I begin moving. I don't take my time, and I'm not gentle. That is the best part of fucking a man. You can do to him what you hope one day he will do to you. We move together in rhythm with our hearts that have again become one beat. I'm holding him, his arms are around my shoulders and we move together. It's fast and it's furious, and I get my angle right to hit his prostate. He shouts my name. It is like music to me. I hit it again and again. I want him to come, I want him to come hard on my cock and squeeze me and milk me. He looks at me and I kiss him again. I kiss him hard and hit the magic spot a last time and he comes. He bucks and shouts and groans into my mouth and I feel the last of my resolve disappear and my balls, tight against my body, start pumping into him. The warmth spreads through my belly sending lightning shooting down my legs and arms, to tingle in my fingers and toes. I know my eyes have rolled back into my head and I'm making the most embarrassing faces, but fuck it. Coming in that sweet ass has to be the best fucking feeling in the world. We spiral down together, and I lay heavily on him. His lips are on my neck and he is gently sucking a red spot on my skin. I kiss his temple. He looks up at me. We kiss again. "Walter, I..." I shake my head. "No, not now, Alex. There's time for this." He nods and grins. He's not a man for words, either. We settle to doze a bit, still holding tightly to each other, me still buried in his ass. It's a start. No promises, no declarations of love and fidelity. There's time for that. There's time for everything. Time is all we have now. And it's all I want. For now.
Blueridge Mountains I sit on the porch and watch as Alex plays catch with Bosco. He's only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, bare feet in the grass as my dog chases the old rubber ball around. It used to look like a basketball, until Bosco tore the shit out of it. I'm whittling a rabbit for Shannon from a stray piece of wood. Anabelle made a point of telling me that Shannon loves rabbits. If she only knew. Alex walks to the porch and sits beside me in the other rocker. We look at each other and smile. He watches as my hands move the knife over the wood. I asked him once if he wanted to learn how to do this, but he said that woodworking wasn't his style. But he told me he would help me out with the construction projects I was hired for this year. It will be nice to have company when I work. Folks have taken to Alex the way they took to me, slowly. I tell them we're friends, and he's staying with me until he decides what he wants to do with himself. We're both a quiet sort with townsfolk. We don't need anyone knowing our business and they understand. We're liked just the same. Who couldn't like Alex? What is our business? Well, Alex would punch me in the arm and say sucking and fucking, carpentry and electrical work on the side. I didn't know he was good with wires and fuses. I say I keep my lover happy, my dog fed and exercised and my grandson spoiled rotten. Dana and Mulder still can't quite wrap their brains around it. They aren't angry, but they haven't warmed up to the fact that Stoneface Skinner is a fag. Well, they don't say that. They ask me when I discovered I was bisexual. I tell them I'm an old fairy and happy that way. What more can I say? Part III
Blue Ridge Mountains I look up on the porch to see him sitting in his rocking chair, whittling a piece of wood. He does that a lot. This is a rabbit for the kid. Yeah, she's a cute kid, but her mom's gotta go. Then again, it's a trip to watch Walter get all flustered and blush talking to her while I'm loading up whatever we bought into the Jeep. She's got it bad for him. He's got to tell her. I'm not sure how to start this, really. I know Walter's already regaled you with how I got him in the first place, and how he took me back. We don't talk a lot about it. He just assumes that I'll stay and I assume he wants me there. We'll say when it's different. I suppose we'll do that quite loudly, the way we do everything. The dog is jumping around, waiting for me to sail the ball into the air again. I love this dog. Giving him to Walter was the smartest thing. He still doesn't know that I was the one who led Bosco to the cabin in the rain. I damn near ended up with pneumonia, but I knew Walter needed a friend. And when I found the dog, his mate and pups slaughtered in the lab, with all the other test subjects, I knew I couldn't leave the poor thing there. My fellow humans laughed at me. And the Rebels, well, they didn't quite understand. They don't have pets on their planet. Animals are food, exclusively. Well, what they know of as animals. It's very complicated. They just didn't see why I would share my rations with a dog. But when I disappeared with him, and returned alone, they knew I was giving the dog a home. That's how Bosco knows me. That's why Walter let me back into his life. He trusts his dog. If the dog likes me, well, I'm OK, then. Soon enough, we're both tired and we sit with Walter on the porch. He laps lazily from his bowl of water as I drink from the bottle I'm handed by my lover. My lover. That is the best phrase in the world. I can't say it enough, in my head, that is. We donít talk like that. Well, he doesn't. I was taught not to. But before they got their hands on me, I did. They. I was recruited in college by a professor. He saw in me potential to be something. Oh, I'm something all right. That's how I know Walter. I'd seen him long before I was partnered with Mulder. We were both there often and we were both part of the life. 'There' was Mannerly's estate. His estate in Cheshire was the place where we would all vacation to relax. Well, I wasn't there to vacation. I was there as a party favor, at first. Oh, yes, Alex Krycek did not start out double agent and murderer extraordinaire. No, I started out as a body for use. The "salon" was always kept separate from the rest of the estate, so that those not wishing to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh were not tempted. Walter was one of the not tempted. Although, he'd been in the room to talk to certain people. I can't say that I was embarrassed at first to have him watch me give head to one man while another plowed into my ass. It was what I did, what I was assigned to do for them. His eyes kept drifting to me, and I looked at him a few times. He was sitting on a sofa next to a man who was heartily enjoying the show. I would look up at him once in a while, to make sure he was watching. When I focused on his face, I saw disgust, pity and maybe I'm wrong, but there was a touch of lust in his eyes. But as soon as he was done with his business, and the two "fellows" were done with me, he left the room. I tried to see if he'd become erect, but he moved away too quickly. After that, I didn't see him again for a while. When I showed up for the 302 for the Grissom case, he acted as if our meeting was the first time he'd ever seen me. But I saw the spark of recognition in his eyes. Then I saw a hint of color bloom in his cheeks. He was embarrassed by the memory of how he'd seen me, mouth and ass full of cock. Over our time together, we've talked about nothing; not the Consortium, not the nanobots, nothing. I don't want to remember being that person, and he doesn't want to, either. Now, we spend our time working, playing with the dog, fucking and sucking. That's my favorite part, the sex. He gives himself permission to pleasure me. But he goes back to the closed-mouth man when we're done. He told me there was time for words, but we never get to them. One day, I'll get him to say the words. I look up at him. I know we've put off the food shopping long enough and I nudge his leg with mine. We're in matching rocking chairs that he made. His hands are amazing. He can take pieces of square and rectangular wood and with saws, glue, nails and a lathe, make the most exquisite furniture. Or he can take the same wood and create solid and spacious structures for our neighbors. We have a new bathtub now, because he put an addition on the plumber's kid's playhouse. That was truly fun. We both stood in her yard, working shirtless, matching nipple-rings gleaming, and I swear, I could hear all of those proper ladies squish as they walked. The tub is nice, big enough for us both. I lie against his big body and let his warmth relax me. I'm Russian, cold doesn't bother me much, but the warmth is in my soul. But like I said, we don't talk. He finishes his project and shows me. The bunny is real cute, with details I didn't know he was capable of. The piece of wood is only about five inches long, but it's incredibly life-like. Walter never ceases to amaze me. He nods at my feet and I get up to put socks and sneakers on. I have since given up black jeans for blue, boots for sneakers and I usually have a flannel shirt on until it's too cold and he forces me to don a parka. My leather jacket still lives in the closet, but I rarely wear it anymore. It's just a reminder of where I've been and how far I've come. We ride down together in the Jeep. He never lets me drive it. I don't let him drive my Hummer. Hey, I need power just like he does. I just choose to do it in a vehicle from this decade. I love his Jeep, but it's twenty-five years old. My Hummer, when we put the plow on it, will make sure we can get down the mountain next winter. Yeah, I plan on being here next winter. We haven't discussed it yet. We don't have to. He built me a huge closet and a dresser for my clothes. They're made from the same oak that his are, a matching set. My initials are carved into the doors of my closet the way his are, in a decorative relief. I don't think Walter would go through that much trouble for something if it wasn't meant to be around for a while. At the store, I trail him with the cart as he grabs things and throws them in. We don't look at sales, we just buy what we want. Between the money he's made in investing and the money I've got stashed away, weíre set for as long as we like. We don't spend money too much. It's just nice to know it's there. Of course, as we're walking toward the Jeep, Anabelle Mitchell walks over with her daughter, Shannon. She's cordial to us both, concentrating on Walter. Shannon is probably the cutest little girl I've ever seen. Looks like my little sister...can't think about that. I continue to put the bags in the Jeep as Walter reaches into his shirt pocket for the bunny. Shannon's squeals of delight are like music. I've always had a soft spot for kids. William is a treasure. He is easy to get along with, knows when to not bother adults and is always good for a laugh. William knew when the adults needed to be distracted, too. Shannon is hugging Walter and he's got her sitting high on his hip. They look cute together. I wonder if he regrets never having children. Another thing we don't talk about. This one I'm content to let go. I like kids, but I don't want one. Anabelle is standing next to Walter, her hand on his biceps, looking up at his face as he looks at Shannon. I think he's asking her if she wants friends for her new pet, Fluffy. It's wood, for Christ's sake. Fucking Fluffy. I shake my head and walk over. Shannon looks at me, her head a little higher than mine. She doesn't smile, she just stares at me. Then her hand comes to rest on my cheek and she says, "You take good care of Mr. Skinner, OK?" I smile then, cover her hand with mine and say, "And he takes good care of me, too." She smiles then and reaches for her mother. Anabelle looks at me strangely. I nod to her and give her a bit of a mock bow. I'm not too keen on Southern gentility. I turn to the Jeep and open the door, climbing in. Walter hands Shannon back to Anabelle and makes his way to the driver's side. She watches as he gets in and I recognize the look in her eyes. She's horny for him. We drive away, but I watch her carefully in the mirrors. "Alex, you can relax." That's all he says. But I know what he means. Those four words mean, 'I have no interest in any other person but you, man or woman. We're going home together and nothing is going to ruin this if I can help it.' Sometimes I long for all the words. Mostly, I'm grateful that he didn't throw me back out in the snow. I fought my desire for Walter for a long time. I pushed it down and tucked it away with the pain of the loss of my life. I gave up everything when I joined the Consortium. My entire family is dead, killed by the experiments. Nice going, Dad. We all thought we were doing the right thing. Then we understood that not only were we selling out each other, but the rest of the world. There's a rumor that my littlest sister got away. She would have been 12 at the time. The rest of the Kryceks are gone. They didn't survive the tests for the vaccine. Fucking asshole, Dad. I can't worry about that, now. I don't think about her, and I don't tell Walter about it. Like I said, we don't talk. But Katya is something I want to share with him. I look over at him, as he's concentrating on the road. But he notices me looking at him. "What's up?" he asks. He doesn't look at me. The road is twisty, and even though he's driven it for five years, we don't take any chances. That means road-head is out of the question. "I'm thinking about Shannon." "Cute kid." There's a small, wistful smile on his face. I had seen Dana sign her letters to him as his daughter, but I never knew that he really felt that way. I have to know. "You ever wanted kids?" He takes his time answering. Then just shakes his head. There's a sad smile on his face. I know that look. "Hey, sorry." He nods slightly. Looks like that conversation is over. He continues to drive, speeding up a little. I know what that means, too. It means we'll go home, he'll pour a glass of scotch he won't finish, and my ass will be sore in the morning. I don't mean to pry, to push, but his solitude is unnerving. Sometimes I want to talk. Mostly, I don't want to push him. We arrive at the house and begin to unload all of our purchases. We're quiet in the kitchen together. He sits at the table, waiting for me to bring him a beer. I never mind this. We've got a routine. I pop the cap off and place the bottle before him. He takes a sip. Then he holds his hand out to me. I take it and he stands. We walk to the bedroom and I watch as he sits on the edge of the bed. He's got his ritual. He undresses, then helps me, and we make love. I watch as his shirt comes off, then his jeans. His boots have long been lost. He uses his toes to drag his socks off. But he doesn't move. He stands in our room, looking out of the picture window. He loves that window. I never thought he would put curtains up, but there are these really nice ones around it, long sheers in hunter green. The room is green and brown. Like wood and leaves, all different shades. His eyes and my eyes maybe. Whatever he wants it to be, he stands up and touches those sheers, looking out at the other mountain across the ravine. I walk up behind him and pull my shirt off. I'm anxious for skin-to-skin contact. I slip my arms around his waist. He turns to me and kisses me. It's a desperate kiss. He's all over my mouth at once. Don't get me wrong, I love kissing him. But I like to kiss him, not have him try and taste my lunch. We fall to the bed and his hands slide over my skin, grabbing and squeezing me. This will be quick. I'm not averse to a fast fuck. He pulls me to my knees and my jeans are peeled down my ass. My heart is pounding and I can barely breathe. He slips his lubed finger into me. I'm not even sure of when he pulled the bottle out. I move as two fingers slide in and out and scissor inside me, opening me. He's unusually quiet, not telling me how beautiful I am. I do my best making up for it by moaning as he brushes his fingertips over my prostate. Three fingers are plunging into me and I'm almost on the edge. Oh, that hand moves in me, his other is fondling my balls and his mouth is doing lovely things to my back. I know I'll have two purple marks and I don't fucking care. If he keeps this up, I'll come. He pulls away abruptly and I can't help but let my disappointment out in a whimper. But he's lubing his cock to slide into me. I can't hide my sigh of pleasure as he fills me and presses his balls against mine. I feel so full with him, not just my ass but my soul. I move against him, out of pure need, since he isn't moving on me. I don't know why and I'm not really thinking straight. But again, he pulls away from me and sits back. I look back at him as he sits back. He looks as if he's thinking about something, trying to work through a problem in his head. "Walter?" He doesn't look at me, but over my head, looking out the window. I turn and crawl over to him. "Walter, are you OK?" He looks at me and says, "I'm sorry I was thinking about something." "Oh," I say as I begin kissing his neck. I let my lips travel over his throat, his collarbones and down to his delicious nipples. I pull on his gold nipple ring, the one I made him get. He wouldnít get two like me, but the one is nice. I pull on it with my teeth and I hear him groan. I kiss my way back up to his mouth and straddle his lap. He's still hard and I grab him to sit on that thick, lovely cock. He looks at me and says, "We never talk." I look down at him, not moving. I sigh, dropping my head to his shoulder. "You wanna talk?" "Yeah..." He sounds so sad, like he's lost and needs me to help him find the way. "Well, can we do this with your semen running out of me in about fifteen minutes?" He looks into my eyes and the smile returns to his mouth. I cover it with mine and continue sliding back down on him. His arms snake around my body, pulling me against his chest as I settle against his thighs, taking him to the hilt. Oh God, he's so fucking big! We move together, back into rhythm, sliding against each other. The hair on his chest tickles me, and I rub my hard nipples into the thatch of bear fur I love so much. His mouth has latched onto my neck, marking me at the curve of my neck, where it will hide behind a t-shirt. His hands slide up and down my back, kneading flesh, squeezing my ass, holding my hips as I slide up and down on his shaft. Our mouths meet frantically, sharing our breaths, tasting his tongue, biting my lips. I sit back so he can grab my cock and stroke me, which also positions me to hit my prostate. It doesn't usually take Walter long after that to bring me off, and this time is no different. The shooting stars behind my closed eyes and tingling fuzziness in my ears floods through me as I squirt come on his chest and belly. I know the pulsing around him brings him to climax and he begins shooting into me. We jerk together as his body contracts in orgasm and he pulls me against him. I rest my head on his shoulder and let him stroke my back. We move and lay side by side on the bed to kiss and cuddle and come down together. Walter surprises me regularly, being a cuddler. By nature, I'm not. But for him, I'll be anything he wants me to be. Holding him, stroking him, kissing and touching after sex, with him it doesn't feel like an intrusion on my inner self. He just wants to spend close time. He rolls onto his back, and I follow, leaning above him on my hand. The other traces patterns on his chest through his hair. "You wanted to talk, Walter?" I look down into the chocolate eyes that are fixed on the ceiling. He turns to me and smiles. Then his eyes close. So much for talking. We lie together a while, dozing and thinking. Then in the middle of my fantasy of him taking me in the stream half a mile down the mountain, he speaks. "Did you ever want children, Alex?" This is new. Children...hmmm...I need to think about that a second. But I'm not too long in thinking. "No, Walter, I never seriously considered having them. I like Shannon, and William is probably the sweetest little boy I ever met. But my own, no, never thought I would ever have them, so I just didn't want them." "I did. When I was younger. Right out of college, I wanted to get married and have babies. I didn't marry Sharon until I was in the academy. Then I was a field agent, and we had no money. Then...after a while, when I was recruited by the Consortium, I pulled away from her. And we stopped sleeping together." "Then there was the hooker..." And as soon as I say them, I regret my words. He turns to me and stares at me hard. I shrink back. Not because I'm scared of him, but because I want him to know I don't mean any harm by my careless statement. He rolls to the edge of the bed and gets up. He doesn't look at me as he dresses again and leaves the bedroom. I lie there a moment, cursing my loose lips. Then I get up and walk to the bathroom to clean up. After dressing, I find him sitting on the couch, remote in one hand and his beer in the other, watching the Atlanta-New York game. How he can stomach American League baseball, I'll never understand. The designated hitter is the ruination of the game. Mulder and I could argue for weeks about this point. But Walter would just dismiss my comments with an irritated glance. I sit with him a while, the silence a thick blanket around the room. Even Bosco is affected and begs to go outside. I opt to join him and we sit on the porch to watch the sunset. After about half an hour, I smell the grill going in the back with cooking meat. Walter must have a couple of steaks going for us. That man will grill in the snow if he can. I walk through the house to see him dishing the steaks up and using the tongs to get the baked potatoes out of the coals. I sit at the table and watch as the salad bowl is placed down and two beers are opened and served. He sits opposite me and we begin eating in silence. I watch him as I eat. He only looks up from his plate to give bits of steak to Bosco. OK, enough is enough. I hate it when he pulls away. He wanted to talk earlier, so we will talk now. I slam my fork down, startling both of my dogs. Walter looks at me, as well as Bosco. The dog is smart and goes in the other room. I drop my gaze a moment, then look back at him. "I'm really sorry for what I said earlier. I thought you were past all that." He puts his fork down gently. Our eyes are locked on and gradually his soften to the same light sparkle I hope he sees in mine. He smiles slightly, but I can see his ears move so I know he's trying. We continue eating. It's OK that the conversation died. I know he forgives me. Maybe men are just smarter than women. We know when we think something. We spend the night on the couch reading. He's begun a book by some New York City lawyer who writes crime fiction and I'm rereading Dostoevsky in the native Russian. There's an old Russian proverb: To not read Dostoevsky is a crime, but to read him is a punishment. Walter marvels at my ability to read Cyrillic. This is how I learned to read. English came later in my home. Bosco sighs and we both look at him and each other. That's our reminder to go to bed. Walter has the job of turning out the lights as I set the security system. Yep, even though we're pretty sure we're safe up here, you never know. We retire to the bedroom and each undress. I slide under the covers while he strokes the dog a little. That's how he works. He needs to touch base with the dog before knowing he can sleep. I guess since Bosco can't understand English, he wants the dog to know he's loved before Walter falls asleep. I love the dog, too. Bosco usually ends up sleeping across my legs. I don't stop him. I think we may need to dispose of this full-sized bed. He gets in beside me and immediately reaches for me. I slide over into his arms and we hold each other for a while. His skin is warm and delicious. I kiss his neck. In the dark, without his glasses, with the silvery moonlight bathing our bed, he is the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. I rise above him and stroke his cheek. "You're so beautiful, Walter. I know I never tell you..." His hand comes up to shush me, but I pull back. "No, I need to say the words. You don't have to say anything back. I wanna say the words, to make them real and not just understood. I know what you feel. You're not a complicated guy. I'm not, either. But, sometimes, don't you wanna hear the words? Just to know that it's true?" He looks away a moment, swallows hard, then turns back to me. "I love you, Alex." And that's all he says. And I know that was a lot for him. I lower my head to kiss him, tenderly and gently at first. I just let my lips brush over his, getting the feel of his mouth as if for the first time. He lays back and lets me take charge, making love to him. I search his mouth with my tongue, tasting him as if I'd never done so before. I want to feel him completely tonight. I want it to feel new and exciting. He lies back, his hands caressing my back and shoulders as he lets me control the kisses. Our tongues meet and play between our mouths. He is delicious and I love every taste I get of him. I rub my chest against his and the feel of his nipples against me is electrifying. My hands slide over his chest, tangling in the hair and I tug on his nipple ring. He bows up toward me, and I know he loves it, so I grab it in my teeth and pull it again before letting my tongue sneak out to taste the hard nipple around it. I suck on both nipples, alternating, making him moan under me. His deep bass rattles from his chest through my whole body. One hand snakes down to his cock and I stroke him. His hips follow my movements and I stroke slowly. My mouth continues down his body, raining kisses and licks and nibbles down his chest to his abs. When I first found out that he was just a little ticklish, I was surprised. Then I learned his ticklish spots and now I play them to his torture. One spot, well two really, are his love handles. They arenít much, more muscle than anything, but they're delectable. His chuckle is music to my ears as I scrape my teeth on him. His hips are moving under me, rubbing his thick cock into my chest. I explore his navel, shallow as it is and taste it thoroughly. He's moving faster, grinding harder into me so I move down as far as I can go and run my tongue over the tip of his cock. He bucks up into me, bumping my nose with the head. I lick the salty bitter moisture from him, and my skin. He moans again. I cover his cock with my mouth, taking him deep on the first swallow. He rears high off the bed, thrusting into my throat. I take him down, swallowing rhythmically to squeeze the head with my throat. He doesn't give up power often, but when he does, it's complete. I pull away, knowing he'll come soon, and I want him to come in my ass. I kiss and lick my way up his body, pausing again at his nipples to take my time with them. I pay closer attention to the unpierced one this time. One hand has made a permanent home in my hair and the other is pulling at the blanket. He's panting and huffing with each breath, as I nip and press it with my lips firmly. His heartbeat is strong and I can hear it in the still mountain air. I kiss my way up to his neck and nibble at the skin there. I make my way to his ear, sucking on the lobe, licking the shell of it gently, then inhaling sharply but silently. He loves when I do this. It pulls all the heat from his ear, giving him chills. He tells me it turns his whole body into the head of a dick. I'll take his word for it. I reach into the nightstand for the lube and I smile in my kiss at how smart Johnson and Johnson have become about their tubes of K-Y. A flip-top cap and plastic tube makes all the difference when you're desperate to get fucked. I slick my fingers to reach between my legs. But a heavy, strong hand clutches my wrist. I look at him, watching his eyes, as he guides my hand between his legs. I touch his hole, and he hisses in my ear. My finger slips inside and I move it in him. I do this frequently to him, but only one or two fingers. I can count the times on those two fingers that I've fucked him. Time for another finger. I kiss him more, sucking the air from his mouth, sliding the second then third fingers into him. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. I'm not as endowed as he is, but then again, I'm not tiny. He moves on my hand, jerking hard in my arms as I scrape over his prostate. But after a few more seconds of this, he's grabbing at my hand. "Fuck me, Alex. Hard." I pull away and settle between his spread thighs. I hook my arm under one of his knees and pull him back. He's not as limber as I am, but one leg won't hurt him. He likes the burn of soreness to remind him of the pleasure. I lay my cock against him and wait, wanting him to be sure. He isn't like me. He was straight. He never knew he wanted this. He knows he likes fucking me. He knows he likes to suck my cock, but he doesn't know he likes to be fucked. I need to let him decide that for himself. A hand on my ass pulling me toward him is all the signal I need to push into him slightly, working my way past his tightness, into the hot tunnel I prepared for myself. I used just enough lube to make the friction good for me. Friction will make me come fast. Then he won't be hurt so much. I've never even come inside him. I begin moving, sliding inside his tight ass, and I kiss his throat, licking the warm, salty flesh. Tasting him is my ultimate joy. When I'm done fucking him, I'll blow him until he's shaking and screaming my name. He said the words. He never says the words. I begin moving faster in him, but he grabs my hips and stops me. I look up from the patch of skin I've been sucking on and ask, "What's wrong?" "Burns. Not enough lube. I don't want you to come yet. I want you to take your time, the way I do for you." His eyes are sparkling, moist, as if unshed tears were there and have retreated. I reach over for more lube and reenter him, slicker and needier. He pulls me down to lie on him, holding me to his chest, and I just rock my hips slowly, dragging my cock in and out of him. He's grunting softly with each slow thrust, as if he were singing to me. His moans and gasps are music to me in our ballet of lovemaking. We move together what seems for hours, but can't be that long. I lose track of time with him. Sometimes we make love until we begin to hear birds again, and when we have a job in the morning, it becomes particularly exhausting. But thrusting into him, feeling how he uses his heavy muscles to squeeze me and tease me into teasing back by jostling his prostate occasionally, this endless worship of each other would be enough for me to do without sleep forever. I don't slam into him, knowing I would make him come, but tap it, making him jump a bit and squirm under me. He's looking at me and his eyes are telling me things, some things I don't think I've ever seen before. His mouth opens and I wait to hear his moan. "Alex, you fuck like a god," he whispers. "Like you have so much to compare it to," I quip back, nibbling his shoulder. His big paw swats my ass and we laugh. I still a moment and we kiss again. I begin moving again in him, and I angle toward his prostate, leaning into it. I press down on him, making him almost squeal. That's a sound I would love to hear: Walter Skinner squealing in pleasure. That's my goal in life. But the more I press into him, the more he squeezes me. It's getting hard to hang on. I want him to come first, but I want him to beg me for it. I stroke inside him again, whispering to him," Your tight ass is heaven to this fuck god, Walter." I take him mouth in a kiss again, and press down hard on his prostate. He bucks under me and he's panting in my mouth. I know he's close. I love making him feel young by making him last longer and longer. He tears his mouth away and looking into my eyes beseechingly. "Alex, please...stop torturing me." "What do you want?" I murmur against his throat. "Please, Alex, let me come. Please?" His pleading is too much for me so I grab his cock and begin pumping it gently in time with my rhythm as I thrust into him. It's only a few more strokes to make him come. He explodes in my hand, shouting out my name and other deities, squirting onto his belly and mine, squeezing and milking my cock. I hold on a few more thrusts, to ensure he's still coming before letting go inside him. His name is on my lips as I come hard. I grab his hips tight and pump my hot fluid into him. I feel his hands slide up my sides to pull me onto his chest. I lay across him, panting for breath, still buried deep like he stays with me. One hand slides down my back to my ass to cup it gently. I press my face to his, hot, sweaty cheeks together. The stubble is rough on both of us. But I turn to him and smile, kiss him again and settle down. In the morning, Walter seems like a whole different person. He's awake long before me, making breakfast. He's only wearing a pair of silk boxer shorts, in burgundy, and he's got three pans going. One is frying bacon and sausage, one has eggs and one has those damn grits he eats. He's grated cheddar cheese for them and everything. I know toast will be on soon, so I get the juice out and milk for the coffee. As I pass him in the kitchen, he leans back and kisses me soundly. It's a good morning. We finally sit to eat and he's smiling. "OK, so I decided that today I'm going to start a new bed for us." "I was thinking about that last night. A Queen sized one." He's shaking his head as he sips his coffee. "No, that room is large enough for a California King. I'm going to look up the dimensions on the internet. I want you to help me with the basic pieces, but I'm going to carve the head and footboards myself. And I'll spin the posts on the lathe. I think it'll be good for us. Building our bed together." The sparkle in his eyes is amazing. I'm troubled by his words. The bed we'd been sharing is the first bed I had put in this cabin. What made it special to me was that it was where we first made love, if you can call that first time we were together making love. I count it that way. I guess he doesn't. He notices my face. "What, Alex? Did I say something wrong?" "The bed. I mean, it would be nice to have a new one. But that bed...it's the one where..." He puts his fork down and wipes his mouth on his napkin. He's trying to get his thoughts together. He does this when we have debates. This is the first time he's ever done this to tell me how he feels. "I know. But that first time wasn't what our first time should have been. That first time was wrong. It hurt for a very long time. I know it hurt you, as well. It's time to put that to rest. I'm serious. I got upset with you yesterday because of something you said, the way I did that day, and just walked off, the same way. No discussion, no inch for apology, I just closed up and escaped. No more. Today, I want to start fresh. I don't want to hide inside myself anymore. I have no one to hide from." He knows. He can tell I want to hear the words. So he's saying them. "Yeah, you're right. We can start on it whenever you like." I can't contain the smile on my face. A new bed, a new beginning.
Manassas, Virginia We sit on the porch together, drinking iced tea and waiting. It's hotter than hell, but the mountains always have a breeze. The trees filter the air so it never feels like the wet, dirty heat of the cities. New York in the summer is disgusting and DC is brutal. I like hiding up here in this weather. We try not to schedule too much work in July and August, but sometimes, you can't help it. Roofs leak, pools collapse and people want things done while they're on vacation. Sometimes you can't help it. But we don't have anything scheduled. We're expecting company. Mulder and Scully are bringing the boy to visit us. It's gonna be difficult, but I think we'll manage. Walter has built a Queen-sized futon bed for the den and they assure us it's fine. It had better be, we spent an enormous amount on that mattress. William will sleep on the couch, and knowing Bosco, the dog will be the blanket. The nights get cool in the mountains and I don't think Mulder has prepared his son for that. Walter is all a-twitter for three days preparing himself for the visit. He bought two more fishing poles, one child-size for William and one adult-size for Mulder. He knows better than to ask me to fish. I don't mind sitting with him, but I have no patience for it. I'd rather hunt. But we've come to a truce. I read while he fishes and he helps me clean whatever animal I bring back from my day of hunting. He refuses to allow me to mount antlers in the house. We give them away to neighbors, along with tons of venison. We can't eat or keep all of it. It's usually good to keep the neighbors happy. I take our empty glasses into the kitchen to put them in the sink when I hear the minivan pull up. Standing at the sink, I take a few deep breaths and settle my heart. Granted, my relationship with Mulder and Scully became easier when we all went on the lam to destroy the Colonist labs, and I spent more time in a regeneration vat than I ever wanted to because of them. I knew ensuring their lives would make Walter happy, and if I couldn't be his lover, at the time, I would be his children's protector. I walk out to see Walter holding William high on his hip with one arm, and crushing Scully to his chest with the other. Mulder is standing back to take a picture. I just wait. But Bosco barks from the porch and everyone turns to me. William rescues me again. "ALEX!" The screech echoes off the surrounding trees, and mountains, and he squirms to be put down to run to me. Walter and Scully laugh as William makes his way up the stairs to me. I can't help but swing him into my arms and hold him tightly. Something about children make it easier to give up the bullshit and get on with it. Mulder and Scully walk up toward us and I get the patented Mulder shake and nod, but Scully puts her arms around my lowered neck in a small hug. I think it's more for William's benefit than mine that she acts so friendly. She and I had a mutual respect and warriors trust between us, but it's clear she will never forgive me for what happened to her sister, or Bill Mulder, or what I did to Walter. I don't blame her. But I wish she would at least let herself move on from it. We move into the house and Walter reaches for William again. The next few days flow by me in a jabber of little boy speak and Walter explaining everything under the sun to him. It's amazing to watch my lover shine under the attention of this child. "Grampa" has become his favorite word. And the way he chases after the boy, it's no surprise to me that he falls fast asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. This doesn't bother me. Scully had actually taken me aside and asked if Walter and I had planned on sharing a bed while they were with us. I looked at her and asked, "You haven't explained homosexuals to him yet?" "Alex, it isn't that. We have visited with Byers and Langly, after all. I just wanted you two to be mindful of William outside your room. I mean, just keep in down until he's asleep." The blush that spreads over her freckled features is absolutely priceless. "Scully, rest assured, your son will not witness two fags buggering each other." The shock and anger that washes over her face makes the bad boy in me happy. "Must you be so antagonistic?" She is righteous in her anger and I love her this way. Her anger reflects her redhead's temper. If she were a man, I'd be in love. But as it is, she sees the smile creeping into my face, since I can't hide it, and she smiles as well. She turns to leave, but looks back at me. Then she reaches up and hugs me and kisses my cheek. The absolute look of shock replaces the smile on my face. Then she blushes and says, "I want to thank you for making Walter happy. He has never smiled so much in his life. And it's not only William. He has that same look when he gazes at you. Only there's heat and lust in that look. He loves you very much." To say I'm shocked by Scully chancing these words on me wouldn't begin to cover it. But I won't make her feel bad for opening up to me by closing off to her. Like Walter, I'm not gonna hide anymore. I've no reason to, either. She took a chance on me. I owe her the same. "I love him, too, but for purely selfish reasons. He's hung like a fucking bear." I whisper the last part, and the snort and blush she leaves me with on the back porch is a picture I'll keep of Scully at her finest in my head for the rest of my life. And of course, Walter's sweetheart finds a way to end the visit with a lovely evening of Southern Belle charm. From what Walter tells me, when he returns and her car is following the minivan, she invited herself to dinner by insisting the children, who do get along well, should play more. She smiles brightly at me, but I just nod at her, smiling like a fool. William and Shannon run off and chase Bosco around the yard. Anabelle makes herself comfortable on the porch, in my chair, and pats the chair next to her for Walter to sit. She looks at me and says, "Alex, can you get a couple of chairs for Dana and Mulder?" She's ordering me around in my own house. Yes, I know, Walter's name is on the title, but this is my fucking house. I force a smile and walk into the house for the chairs. Mulder follows me. He grabs my arm in the kitchen. "What's this all about?" He means Anabelle. "Don't you know? I'm sure Walter told Scully all about it." "That doesn't mean she told me." And we laugh at that. Scully is great at keeping secrets. And we both know that very well. "Anabelle has designs on Walter. She thinks he's the shit. And she gets off on being rude to me, I think." Mulder puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me sideways. He's a good man, really. I'm glad he was finally able to trust me. We each carry a chair out to the porch. Mulder holds Scully's for her, and I hold his for him. Walter looks at him and says, "You didn't get a chair for yourself. Where are you going to sit?" "Your lap, big boy," I drawl, affecting my best Mae West impression. I bump his shoulder with my hip and announce, "No, Walter, someone needs to start dinner, doncha think? Anabelle, I'm sure you and Shannon would like to eat tonight before dark?" She laughs the high-pitched belle-laugh that gets under my skin. Hopefully, the irritation isn't showing on my face. But she looks at the kids playing and says, "Alex, you can take your time in the kitchen. I'm sure those kids don't care a fig about eating right now while they're playing with Walter's dog." I turn and walk into the house muttering, "That was my fuckin' dog before I gave him to Walter." Scully follows me in and says, "Would you like some help?" I'm head and shoulders in the refrigerator and answer her, "No, that's OK. Go and sit out with the Designing Woman out there. I'll bring some iced tea out when I've got the pasta on. How's Alfredo with chicken? Or would you like something else?" I close the refrigerator door and she's still standing there, with a guilty look on her face. I turn to the counter and plop the package of boneless chicken breasts down to clean and prepare them. She doesn't leave. "Scully, either you help or you leave, which is it?" I know I'm surly with her, but I'm getting upset. "Alex, I'm very sorry about Anabelle. She somehow talked me into inviting her to the house. And Walter gave me the same look you are. I didn't mean this to hurt you. I had once encouraged Walter to seek her out, not realizing you were going to return to him. I had thought you would go your own way once the war was over. I'm really very sorry." I laugh. "Red, you got nothing to worry about. Walter said the words. He trusts me enough to talk to me. I don't think that Anabelle is gonna destroy that in one dinner." This seems to make her feel better and she retreats to the safety of the porch to watch the kids play and talk with the adults. By the end of the night, I'm about ready to beat this woman senseless. She sits on one side of Walter while I sit on the other, but also next to William, helping him with his pasta. It gives Scully a chance to relax at a meal with her husband. And I've grown to love this kid a lot. Sensing my discomfort, Mulder pipes up with "family" news and this news is bound to make Anabelle bristle a little. He looks at Walter and says, "Well, the Gunmen wanted me to tell you that they're willing to come up and increase security out here when you feel it necessary." "Oh? What do they think will happen up here?" Walter's eyebrows shoot to where his hairline should be. "Not that something will happen, but anything could happen. I mean, with them, all possibilities are open." "How are they? Is Byers pregnant yet?" We all laugh at Walter's joke. Anabelle looks up at him with questions in her eyes, feigning interest. He knows it's his turn to explain. Maybe once she hears who they are, she'll understand. "The Gunmen are actually friends of ours. Journalists who publish a newspaper called the Lone Gunman, which exposes government and corporate conspiracies and plots against innocent citizens. They're also technological masterminds. John Byers and Ringo Langly are married and Mel Frohike is their partner in crime, so to speak. How is his son, Michael? Is he getting better at his vocation?" "Michael is happier than he thinks. He just wanted his dad to love him. The friction is mostly gone. If Melvin would back off the boy a little, he'd see the genius we've noticed." I look at Anabelle and I can see the unease in her face. I know I can pounce here. "You ok, missy? You look like you're gonna pass out," I say as I'm wiping the Alfredo sauce from William's cheek. "Oh, just all this talk about two men being married. It isn't proper in front of the children." Dana looks pointedly at Anabelle and says, ìMy son knows about homosexuality. These men are his family and William absolutely adores them. Weíre not ashamed of them.î Anabelle just smiles and says, ìLetís not argue and just change the subject, shall we?î After dinner, Walter walks with Anabelle, carrying a sleeping Shannon to her car seat as the woman watches. I can hear her voice drift up to me as she says, "You're so good with her. Not like her good-for-nothing daddy. You know, I've been lookin' to replace that snake, Walter. Shannon deserves a good daddy. Don't you think?" I hear his answer after a chuckle. "Anabelle, I think Shannon will know her new daddy on sight." "Maybe she already does." She leans into him, probably to kiss him, but he steps back to close the car door. Always the gentleman, my Walter, he holds Anabelle's door for her and she takes the hint to get in. She waves demurely as she drives down the driveway. He watches until her car is out of sight before climbing back onto the porch and standing in front of me. Mulder and Scully are still in the kitchen, and I know they finished the dishes a long time ago. William is sacked out on the couch. I drop my gaze to the porch slats, but a large hand comes up to stroke my cheek. "I'm sorry about her. You know the way she is." "Yeah, I know," I say, only half believing my own words. His mouth comes down to mine, trying to make me believe. It isn't until we are in bed that night, quietly making love for the first time in four days that I realize he wants only me in his life. No man can be this enthusiastic about sucking cock without really wanting to be with another man. His technique has improved over time with me, and he knows how to bring me off fast, or to savor me for a while. Tonight, he tortures me. We aren't going to get into each other's asses tonight since the bed is still settling, and with the wood being so new, it still squeaks a little. The last thing we need is a curious William walking in on us. He's already asked if we're married, like Uncle John and Uncle Ringo. I looked at my blushing lover, waiting for his answer. Why the hell werenít we married? It was a federal fucking statute that allowed same-sex marriages in all fifty states, after all. Scully saved us by saying we didnít need to be married like that. It didn't bother me that Scully is lying to her son, that's her business. I would rather she had the truth to tell him, though, that we are married. I always feel that way. I know itís a stretch to think that Alex Krycek thinks about marriage, but this is Walter weíre talking about. Who wouldnít want to be married to him? I thrust Sharonís grave from my head, and the monthly pilgrimage we make, rain or shine, unless we canít get down the mountain. She should just tell him that Walter is an old, closeted, stick in the mud, but heís not my child to raise. By the time they leave us, Walter is ready to reacquaint himself with my ass thoroughly. We take time this evening, lots of kissing and touching. And he's very chatty, telling me how beautiful each part of my body is, tasting it thoroughly and making sure he's mapped all of the terrain completely. I'm about ready to lose my mind, and my load, when he finally turns me over and pulls me up onto my knees. I grab the high headboard and brace myself as he enters me swiftly. We'll make love late into the night, as many times as we can go. After the trying time I had with Anabelle the other night, and Mulder and Scully with us five days, I'm plenty ready to be fucked so hard I can't sit for weeks. But for some reason, I feel something is going to happen. Maybe I'm paranoid, but my "Spidey sense" is tingling. I ignore it and allow my lover to pull me against his chest and slide in and out of me slowly. He's stroking my cock and nuzzling my neck, whispering against my skin that we were made to be together, our bodies fit together perfectly and he should make an honest man of me. His words make me laugh and I turn to kiss him. That's when I see her, hand over her mouth and red-faced. I thought heard the dog barking. Anabelle makes a sound of distress from behind her hand, alerting Walter to her presence. He turns to her and shouts, "SHIT!" But she isnít in the room to hear him. He pulls out of me and scrambles to get his jeans from the floor. As he's running out after her, I lie back on the bed and wait. I can hear her gathering up Shannon and saying, "Come on, baby, we have to go home now." Shannon is screaming her protest wanting to play with Bosco a little longer. Walter is calling her name, but her car starts up and off she goes. I can hear the gravel of the driveway knocking against the porch the way it did that time Walter drove away from here, before... I'm determined not to let those feelings creep in on me. He walks back into the cabin, but doesn't come back to me and sits on the couch. I walk out to sit with him, still naked, but he's sitting with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, breathing deeply. I sit beside him and put my hand on his shoulder. He jerks away. "Walter, are you OK?" "Alex, she walked in on us fucking. Why didn't she knock?" "I donít know. But it serves her right for walking into our home. I don't particularly care." His eyes pop wide open and the look of shock cannot be hidden. "How can you not care? I mean, she's going to..." "Going to what?" I know there's color flooding my face and I don't fucking care. "It's about time that uppity bitch got a fucking clue. I mean, if the folks in this town haven't gotten the idea yet, they must be stoned or stupid." "Gotten what idea?" I don't know if I should be amused or hurt by his ignorance. "Walter, we've lived together for over a year now. We purchase copious amounts of K-Y lube. We have matching nipple rings. As far as I'm concerned, we are married and these are our wedding rings." I finger both of our nipple rings, purposely on the left. He looks up at me and his words from before about making me an honest man must be flooding back into his head. Then he smiles again and kisses me. "You're right, Alex. Serves her right for walking into our home like that. I guess she felt that since she's sweet on me, and I treat her pretty kindly, she can just do what she likes. Very Southern of her." "I thought all the Southern folk were polite to a fault." Sometimes people still amaze me. "Most are. But this is also a small town. And a Southern Belle will try to rule any roost she can get her feathers around." "Well, fuck her." The disgust is heavy in my voice. "I'd rather fuck you," he whispers, leaning to nibble at my neck. His hand is on my cheek, moving my face in to kiss him. We rise and he leads me back to finish what we began before we were rudely interrupted. I'm not sure what I'm expecting, but it's not what happens three days later when we go into town at the peak hour of 1:30 PM on Saturday to get some groceries and supplies for the next contracting job we have. Walter is also off to get that specialty coffee we like. I offer to go to the post office for the mail. I should expect it. I let myself get soft and comfortable in this place, letting my mask of indifference dissolve after giving up my combatant lifestyle. Not being a Rebellion fighter or Consortium member, I forgot how to ignore fools. And I'm shocked to hell when it hurts. Anabelle has been busy. As I walk into post office, I get the dirtiest look from Mrs. Mayfield. She's the town botanist. She gives all the new families a basket with seeds, a book on horticulture and a few potted plants to make them feel welcome. Apparently, I am no longer welcome. She scurries out of the post office. Mike Elliot looks up at me and nods his usual greeting. As I'm cleaning out our mailbox, I look out the window and see the Hendricksons notice me, and then turn abruptly to go in the other direction. Anabelle has apparently outed us. I take a deep breath. I didn't think it would hurt, but it does. These are our neighbors. These are people who used to hand us the keys to their house and say, "Make yourselves at home if you need to," when we would go over to work on the balustrade of their front stairs. We are seriously fucked. "You never mind them dumbasses, Alex," I hear Mike saying behind me. It is little consolation. I turn to him and he gives me a wink. Mike is good people. I meet Walter back at the Jeep, after all the errands are run and we silently load the back. There are more hard stares at us. I'm tempted to take Walter in my arms and kiss him while humping his thigh, but that's not our style. Walter was always the model of propriety and I fade into the shadows. Besides, with the look on Walter's face, the way he's focused on getting the bags and boxes into the Jeep, I can tell he doesn't give a flying fuck about anyone. He looks up at me and winks and moves to the door of the Jeep. I smile. On the drive home, he looks over at me and says, "The few people who came near me gave me the dirtiest looks." I look over at him. This is rather new to him, open contempt from the masses. I'm used to it, whole groups of people hating me. He only got it briefly from Mulder and Scully. But they soon began to trust him, which was what you did with Walter. He was easy to trust because he was honest and good, everything I wasn't. But now we're just a couple of dirty fags, buggering bastards who live up the mountain. There goes business. At the house, we find a message from the Timsdales, telling us that they won't be needing the sun porch enclosed this year since summer was part way over and they didn't see the need for us to turn their place upside-down in the heat. Well, that leaves a whole week open for us. As the weeks go by, the jobs we have scheduled all go the way of the dinosaur. That's actually fine by me. Between what I socked away from my days in the Consortium, and Walter's investment money, we have plenty. We're going to become recluses again, now as a couple instead of the solitary reclusive lives we had once led. We have each other now. We we're in love with each other and it's going to be fine.
Blue Ridge Mountains We are sitting in the living room one night, watching the news. We're prone to stay up later and later since we arenít working as regularly and not getting as worn out in the days. There is a hurricane warning in effect for the coastal areas, from the Gulf to Long Island. We are far enough inland to not be affected, unless it decided to take a funky turn. Hurricanes will do that. But Walter and I are confident that weíre safe up the mountain. Manassas proper might just get a ton of rain and some heavy winds. We have about four days until the weather would turn. We'll hit the stores in the morning to stock up on essentials. In town, the next day, I go to the post office while Walter starts into the supermarket to shop. I check the box while Mike is helping the Timsdales, who scurry out the door. I shake my head as I watch them go. Then, the worst thing that could possibly happen occurs. Anabelle, sans Shannon, sashays into the post office. She sneers at me and walks to the counter where Mike is. She asks for a book of stamps. Then she turns to me and smiles so sweet, my cavities ache. "Michael Elliot, will you look at that! One of the faggots has come off the mountain! I didn't think he still honestly believed he was welcome down here. Or should I say she? Isn't that how you were getting it, sweetie?" I turn to her to say something truly scathing. But then I catch Mike's eye. He looks at me and winks. I smile back at him. Mike surely is good people. "Anabelle, I do believe you're jealous," Mike says to her. "Pardon me, Mr. Elliot?" "Mrs. Mitchell, it seems to me that Alex getting the high hard one from the man you've been pining over for the last five years makes you crazy. And you wouldn't nearly be as angry if Alex was a woman, but it hurts more that not only is Walter taken, but you'll never have your chance. You haven't got the right equipment!" "Mr. Elliot, if you weren't the post master around these parts, I'd never wish to speak to you again. As it stands, I will only come in here for business. And I will not bring my Shannon here ever again." And with that, she stomps out of the post office. I look at Mike who's looking back at me with the most peculiar look in his eyes. "Hey, Mike, thanks. That was pretty cool of you, considering..." I say, but he gets a funny look, one I've never seen on him before. "Alex, I should be the one thanking you. Don't you never worry about what I think of you. Cuz of you, my son and me are talkin' again." I shake my head. He looks peaceful. Not his usual peaceful, but a sort of bone-deep peaceful. Maybe he was different before I got here. I don't know. "OK, Mike, spill it. No one's gonna walk in while I'm still in here. Talk to me." He takes a deep breath and a sip of his coffee. "I have a son, good looking boy." "Like his old man," interrupt with a smile. He returns it. "Thank you. Well, about twelve years ago, he tells me he's gay. Known all his life and hid it from me, 'fraid of what I'd say to him. I never said two cross words about nobody before, not people of color or Russians or nothing." He says the last bit for my benefit. Mike once told me about his own father going on and on during the Cold War in America and I told him my public lie about my parents being Cold War immigrants. He bought it to my face. Whether he really believes me is anyone's guess. "I turned my back on him. Felt like he wasn't a man, you know? That's my boy, not some New York City princess. I thought, I didn't bring him up to be like this. Then Walter moved to town and he's a good man. We all knew that from the beginning. And he gets all that official mail and all. I never thought of him as anything else. Then one day, there was you. His story is you're a former agent and you didn't work out at the bureau and you're staying with him. I bought that at first. Then, I heard about the nipple rings." This is where Mike laughs to himself and shakes his head. "I'm not a stupid man. Most folks around here didn't put that together. They thought you was just citifying Walter. I knew where he was from and aforn that." "Aforn?" I ask. Mike slips up into Hillbilly sometimes when he talks. "Hush, yungun! I'm talkin'!" God, I love this man. "Now, Walter was brought up country, like me. You know that, I s'pose. Anyway, I put it all together. And there was the thing about the lubricant, but that was jokes that Walter uses it on the wood and give it to the dog. I ain't stupid. And Walter's a good man. And so are you. You never cheat a customer, and you do a job right the first time, and I never seen you charge extra when you made a mistake. And you're both gay. And then I started thinking about my son. Michael is still living in the same place. And I called him. And we talked." "Have you seen him?" "Yep, spent the 4th with him. And Labor Day weekend. His beau is a nice boy, too. Reminds me of you. Well, it's nice to have my boy back. Thank you, Alex." I take a deep breath. I nod and leave the post office before I feel the tears prickling my eyes. Fucking Mike. I meet Walter in the supermarket, cart half full. He's looking through the frozen stuff. I grab the Death by Chocolate ice cream I love, and Neapolitan for him. That's my Walter, not strictly vanilla, but not really wild either. We walk through the store and get our things. We know what we each like, so he takes one side of the aisle and I take the other when we do this. It's efficient and it works. One thing I like about supermarkets in the 'burbs, the liquor is in it's own aisle. No need to go to a separate store for it. Except when Walter gets his red wine. He knows all this stuff about wine and scotch. Not me. I get my vanilla Stoli and I'm set. He grabs a bottle of Glenfiddich and we leave the aisle, but not before I grab two sixers of Molson Canadian bottles. He laughs at me. But he knows that it's to remember that day, the better part of that day. Maybe he'll even bite my shoulder. We get to the check out and Walter walks ahead to start bagging the groceries so we can get out faster. Most cashiers are teenage girls who donít give two shits about our sexual identities and are usually cordial to us without being openly nice. Poor girls still have reputations to look out for and can't be seen talking to the fairies. But this girl is new. Most of her hair is dyed bright red. And not Scully-red but a dark Crayola red. She sports a barbell in her eyebrow and a ring in her nose. I let a little laugh out at the dog chain around her neck with it's small padlock in the middle like Sid Vicious. She has heavy black eyeliner with matte red lipstick, and under plain blue smock is a Sex Pistols t-shirt. When she bends down to get more bags to hand to Walter, I can see the red and black plaid kilt around her thick middle, black fishnet stockings and black Docs up to her knees. I always had a soft spot for chubby punk girls. She looks at me thoughtfully a moment and says, "You're a cute one. What do I have to do to date you?" I smile at her. Ah, to be openly hit upon again, at my age. "You have to be him, dear." She looks at Walter who wiggles his blunt fingers in a dainty wave to her. Then her eyes pop open. "Oh, you're them!" The smile retreats from my features. I look down at her hands that haven't stopped working, running our items over the scanner. I nod briefly. "Yep, that's us. The fucking fags." She smiles at me. "I can see why Anabelle is so pissed about you two. You're hot." Then I smile again. "Anabelle wants my husband." She looks at Walter and giggles. "All the better. Hey, if you guys ever wanna come off the mountain and like, hang with people who don't give a shit who you fuck, you can come to the old roadhouse on route 23, the one that was like dead forever. Some buds of mine converted it to a gin joint for the 'alternative scene.' If I see you, I'll buy the first round." She leans in to whisper to me, "So long as my ex-girlfriend isn't there. Then she'll be up my ass." She winks at me, then at Walter. I pay her and say, "I may just take you up on that. What's your name?" "Patty Simpson. My grandma, Patrice, left me her house. So, I'm new here. But I lived in D.C. and shit for a while." "Patrice Simpson was your grandmother? Oh, I'm sorry she's gone. She was a damn fine lady. Didn't get a chance to see her while she was in the hospital. But then again, I don't think she would have wanted my company." "Who do you think told me to get people out here to start the club? Grandma didn't like that her favorite boys were being ostracized. Let me give you a tip, the nipple rings give it away." I laugh with her at this. She's a real pistol, this one. I like her. I may even talk Walter into getting that beer with her. I see her boss giving her the sign to keep things moving and I shake her plump, little hand and leave. Hell, if we go to the gin joint, I'll even dance with her. We load the Jeep and start the long drive back up the mountain. I have to tell him about my chance meeting with Anabelle. He needs to know. And I sure as hell have to tell him about Mike Elliot. He'll laugh his ass off at that. I look over at him and say, "Anabelle came into the post office while I was there." He doesn't even change expressions. "What did she say?" "She ribbed me about bottoming to you. Called me a she. Then Mike told her off." "Mike Elliot? Why would he do that?" "His son is gay. They didn't talk for twelve years until you and me got together. Wanna know how he figured us out?" I can't wait to tell him. The wind has picked up and I see the late summer leaves blowing around wildly. Rain tonight. "Tell me, Alex. The suspense is killing me." His face hasn't moved a muscle. "The nipple rings. He heard about them. Put two and two together, as he put it. Well, I guess that Anabelle must be really saying some harsh things about us if people already knew and are still turning away from us. Ah, fuck 'em." "Didn't we have this conversation?" And he reaches over to grab my crotch. He gives it a little squeeze and an evil grin creeps over his face. He's actually doing something distracting while driving, I'm fucking shocked. I reach over and stroke his denim-covered bulge. It will be difficult to put the groceries away, thinking about fucking the shit out of each other, but we have all day to make love. And we do, reacquainting with each other's bodies. I map each square inch of his broad back, his long, thick legs and his flat belly. I taste every wrinkle in his anus. I explore every vein of his cock. For four days, we enjoy ourselves, through the rain and winds and thunder and lightning. The residual storms from Hurricane Leelah are horrific in some places. Even inland, the towns are pummeled with torrential rain and heavy winds. We can't get down the mountain yet--well, Walter can't. My Hummer will drive over the downed branches toward the bottom of the mountain easily. We are settling in for another day of sitting on the porch and watching the sun walk across the sky when the phone rings. Walter gets it. I can barely hear him, until I hear my name clear as a bell being shouted. I walk in and find him putting on his work clothes. "What's going on, Walter?" "We gotta go down the mountain and we need your Hummer. There was a roof caved in on a house and Mike Elliot says we're needed." I stop in my tracks. I look at him tying his work boots as if he's insane. But he isn't looking back. "Who's roof caved in?" I have the feeling I know who he's going to say. "Anabelle Mitchell." "Fuck no, nuh uh, no fucking way am I fixing that cunt's roof!" I haven't sworn so much in a long time. "Alex, think about Shannon. They were in the basement for the storm. It destroyed the baby's room and part of the living room. She doesn't have a big house. Mike's trying to get other folks to help, but he knows our supplies are the driest and we had the least damage to mobilize the fastest. She is all alone. What if it was Dana when Mulder was gone?" Motherfucker has to play the Scully card, doesn't he? He can't think he'll get away with it. I make no move to change from my comfy waist-tie black linen pants into my work pants and boots. He stands and strides to me purposefully and says, "Can I borrow your Hummer? I'm not sure of the Jeep with the downed branches and everything." He holds his hand out to me for the keys and it's shaking. His hand is actually shaking. I step forward to take it in mine and pull him into my arms. I kiss him gently on his lips and say, "They're under the visor. Gimme a few to change." He leaves me and I make haste into my clothes, actually slipping on boxer briefs like I always do when I'm serious about working. He's really scared about Anabelle and Shannon. Walter is at his best when he has someone to care for. When I get out, I see him hauling lumber back and forth so I pitch in and we get the tarps, the tarpaper and the extra roof shingles we keep in the barn. We're fast and precise and we get moving in less than twenty minutes. Our one-hour drive down the mountain becomes twenty minutes and we're doing ninety miles an hour through town to Anabelle's house. Artie and Stuart, the local patrol officers flank us and Walter swears. But I see the hand out the window signaling us on, as if they were waiting to be our escort, lights and sirens and everything. For once, it's a trip to see that. At the house, we get out and look at the damage. Anabelle is next door with the Ramsey's and doesn't see us at first. I see the electrical issues in my head as we walk through Shannon's room into the living room. The roof has two branches through it. There isn't as much as we thought, but we'll have to work fast before the next storm comes through. Then I hear the commotion. As we had pulled up, the neighbors were around looking at the house. It's a small town and this is big news. But Anabelle is now out there screaming about the faggots and how she doesn't want them in her house. And she's out-cursed me for the day. Walter walks out and watches as she throws a fit, with Mike Elliot and Jim Ramsey holding her back. "Hey, Anabelle, Walter and Alex wanna help you. They didn't have to come down here. I called them." Mike is screaming at her, but she keeps spitting her venom. I step before them and say, "Mike, let her go. We can take off. A contractor can be out here in a few weeks. With all the damage on the coast, it'll be a while. Walter, come on, we're leaving." Then I hear it. And I know she hears it. And Walter is already on the way there. Bosco had stowed away in the Hummer and is barking. Shannon is hugging him around his neck, crying. Walter kneels before her and pets the dog to quiet him. She looks up into his face. "Why is Mommy so mad at you, Mr. Skinner?" "Because I wasn't honest with her. I'm sorry, sweetie." "Why did you lie? What did you say?" She's so young and innocent. How is he going to get her to understand? "I didn't tell her something important and she's mad about that." "That you love Alex?" Oh, God, she knows. That's what she meant. When Shannon told me to take care of Walter, she knew. Children never cease to amaze me. "Yes, that's it. I should have told her from the beginning and she's angry with me." "But you're gonna fix the roof, right?" Her little eyes are bright and wide open. Anabelle stands behind Walter, gently touching his shoulder. "Yes, baby, they're gonna fix the house. And you're gonna sleep in my room until it's done and I can get you a new bed." I step back and look at my watch. It's 10:30 AM. Mrs. Ramsey hands me a mug of coffee. We'd better get started.
Blue Ridge Mountains Walter and I have just finished cleaning up after dinner and are settling before the fire with mugs of hot chocolate. He's got Bach playing in the background and Bosco is snoring in the corner. It's been a year. A whole amazing, beautiful, frustrating, redeeming year. He cooked dinner and I made dessert. We drank wine, watched the snowfall and made love all afternoon. After we've sat and rested from dinner enough, we'll go to bed and make love again. But before that, we exchange gifts. He gives me my gift, which is a massive book: The Complete Works of Chekov, Dostoevsky, Pushkin and Tolstoy. What makes it even more special to me is it's in Cyrillic. This will lull him to sleep when I read to him in Russian. I hand him the set of carving knives I had hand-made for him. They are all the tools he could possibly use to carve more bunnies and puppies and kitties for Shannon Mitchell and all the other kids in the town. He can't do the heavy work anymore, so he's contented to do the small woodworking, and has become quite skilled at making chessboards. We've stopped contracting work since Walter's hernia. We worked so hard on Anabelle's roof, he barely noticed the pain in his belly. But when I had to lay him out in the back of the Hummer and drive him to Prince William hospital, I knew something was dreadfully wrong. He was not too happy that they brought him in from the truck on a gurney, but he couldn't walk. After you've sweated so much from pain that you have no piss, I think you're allowed to give in a little. Those were the worst four days of my life, getting him in, getting him diagnosed and then convincing him that he actually needed the surgery. It was the fight of my life. I think that when he woke up and found me crying, he realized how scared I was. It was surreal, actually and I can remember it like it was yesterday. I'm sitting here, like I'm sitting there, beside his bed. And I'm holding his hand while he sleeps, and all I can think about is that herniated bowel rupturing. He'll die within hours of peritonitis, unless they override his objections and take him to surgery against his will, which I'll whole-heartedly support. For now, I can only sit and wait. And the emotions get to be more than I can bear and I cry. I've cried after particularly frightening nightmares, which still plague me rather regularly. I can't help it, and Walter is so easy to open up to now. We talk for hours and hours and I cry and cry. This time, I hold his hand, and weep into my other palm. I feel him squeeze my fingers gently. I look up and his chocolate gaze is burning into me, a sparkle and smile in them. "Walter, I want you to have the surgery. I don't want to lose you." He just nods and whispers, "I love you, too." Walter standing and moving toward the bedroom to start the fire to warm the room interrupts me from my trance. I poke down the fire in the living room and add some wood so Bosco doesn't get cold in the night. He usually stays in the living room until we fall asleep, then he jumps on the bed to sleep over my legs. I've come to realize he's protecting me, because when I start to dream and move around, he wakes and barks, waking Walter to wake me. We've avoided many nightmares that way. Some can't be helped though. I check the doors and windows, set the security system and turn off all the lights to go back to the bedroom. I find him sitting naked before the fire on the newly laid fake fur rug. He turns to me and lies back, inviting me to join him with an extended hand. I'm quick to shed my clothing and join him, slipping into his warm embrace. We lay together on the floor, and I just listen to his heart beating with my eyes closed. I have found heaven with him. I never thought I deserved this. And now I know I'd fight with my life to keep it. I think about the past year with the visit from the Mulders, the discovery and subsequent outing of Walter and I and the redemption of our characters when we rebuilt the roof. Walter made Shannon a new bed, dresser and toy box while I paid to have new rugs laid in the living room and bedroom and to have mattresses, linens and toys brought in for the little girl. They'd lost so much and had so little to begin with. Anabelle had a hard time accepting our gifts, but Walter was succinct. "We have so much money, Anabelle and no one to spend it on. We're men, we don't require much. Don't think of it as charity, but of an old man taking care of his daughter and granddaughter." She didn't expect that, but relented. She isn't friendly with us anymore, but she isn't vapid. She leaves us be and we leave her as well. But it kills her that Shannon calls Walter "Grampa" now. Walter brings me from my thoughts and kisses my hair. "I love you, Sasha," he whispers to me. He only calls me this when we're being romantic, knowing it instantly makes me hard. I look into his twinkling eyes and say, "I love you, too, Vlad." He's only just begun to allow me to call him that. I know it takes a lot for him. We've both come so far. And we have a way to go. I'm just happy that I don't have to do it alone. Not ever again. The End?
|
couldn't get out of that bedroom fast enough. I'd button my shirt
and tie my boots outside, I had decided. But he was fast on my heels
as I sat on the well-worn couch to tie the laces. He sat in the easy
chair opposite me, his pants still unbuttoned and shirt wide open.
His nipple ring glinted in the sunlight. He looked at me with a
self-satisfied smirk and I wanted to slap it off his skull. But I
simply continued dressing. It would be a cold and lonely drive back
to Crystal City.
|
Title: Compromised, Part I
Author: Amazon X E-mail: yankeestarbuck@yahoo.com Website: http://yankeestarbuck.tripod.com Feedback: Yes, please, if you want. Category: Slash, Sk/K, sorta-non-con, angst Spoilers: Just about everything except that part of the episode that didn't happen, cuz, duh, then this wouldn't happen. So that part never happened. OK? Rating: NC-17 Summary: Walter thinks its blackmail, when really it's not what it seems. Archive: Anywhere, just ask and tell me where it's going. Disclaimer: Not mine, but you've killed almost all the folks involved at least once, so you can't want them so much! Notes: You may think that Walter doesn't want to do this, but he told me he did. So Alex isn't that bad. This came to me out of nowhere and I just wanted to do it. Period, nyah! Author's Notes: This was originally going to get posted as just a story, but I heard that we were doing something special for my crazy Aunt Ursula, and I knew I had to give this to her. She was so sweet to give me "Just the Good Parts" for my birthday. So I knew that she deserved this. I'm actually really proud of this. And I'm happy to dedicate this to Ursula for her birthday. Thank you, especially, to Erynn, for the beta. I know it's a better story for your suggestions. I hope everyone enjoys it! |
[Stories by Author] [Stories by Title] [Mailing
List] [Gallery] [Links] [Resources] [Home]