It was near noon and the sun bore down directly on my helmet. The sky was totally clear except for a few wispy clouds. One in particular, just slightly obscured the sun, mocking me; showing me that it was there but denying me any shade from its heat or of its glare.
     I got up this morning and dressed all in black—black helmet, black leather jacket, leather biker's pants and boots—big mistake. I sweated like a pig; the black absorbing the heat of the sun and passing it directly into my body. If there was a cooling breeze, it might have helped a bit, but there wasn't. The person who drafted the mandatory helmet law should be roasted on a spit, slowly, painfully until he felt exactly what it's like to be stuck under this contraption of molded, padded plastic. It wouldn't be justice, but it'd be close.
     As I drew closer to the ocean, I felt the humidity in the air rise, which did nothing for my present feeling of discomfort. I smelled the saltiness of the nearby water and it made me feel a little better. For someone who had grown up near the ocean, this smell can almost mean home, like the smell of your grandmother's apple pie baking in the oven. It gives you that warm, safe feeling, although in my case, it was simply illusion.
     Portable property, that's been my life for years now. I own nothing, which can't be loaded into a backpack and taken with me at a moment's notice. It's a necessity; people still try to track me down, hoping to score a Brownie point or two with The Smoker, I guess. I've taught a few of them the error of their ways and made sure that a few others wouldn't be trying it again.
     I have some bills sewn in the lining of my jacket along with some precious stones. Safety deposit boxes stuffed with cash, I have a few of them scattered around the country, just in case I need make a quick and unscheduled exit.
     This vintage Harley is my only concession to consumerism—my pride and joy, my only true friend and my only loyal lover.
     The heat and the vibrations from the roaring beast between my legs gave me a chubby. I felt my awakening cock slowly filling out and snaking down my leg; the tightness of my leather pants and the vibrations of the Harley would soon massage it to its full length and I'd be as horny as hell. Of course, the young, hard body pressed so tightly at my back—like a second skin—isn't helping either. The kid was terrified; I could tell from the thumping of his heart. His hands have been slowly slipping down from my stomach to my groin in his efforts to hold onto me as tightly as he could. If he's not careful, he'll soon be in for one hell of a surprise.
     I'm near my exit so I pulled off to the side of the road, motioned with my head for my passenger to dismount. He passed me his helmet and I secured it to the motorcycle. I removed my own and used my real hand to wipe at the sweat on my hair and brush the droplets from my face.
     "This is as far as I go," I told him. "What's your name, kid?" I asked none too gently.
     "Roddy."
     "Well, Roddy, you've never been on a Harley before, have you?"
     "Nope! First time." He smiled at me; the kid was a real looker, beautiful teeth, clear skin, and from what I could see, a body honed to near perfection by sports or exercise, or both.
     "How old are you, Roddy?"
     He was slightly puzzled by my question. "Eighteen," he said.
     "Come on, Roddy, don't lie to me."
     "Seventeen," he said slightly blushing.
     "Roddy, one more chance, and don't lie to me this time. How old are you?"
     "Sixteen—that's the truth."
     He stood there shuffling his expensive looking tennis shoes in the dust.
     "You shouldn't be doing this, Roddy. You shouldn't be out here in the middle of nowhere hitchhiking alone. It's dangerous, you never know what kind of wolves—people like me—that you'll meet. You could be beaten, robbed, or even raped and left for dead."
     Now the kid really looked scared.
     "Don't worry, I'm in a hurry right now." I laughed and he relaxed a little.
     "You're running away from home, Roddy, aren't you?"
     He didn't answer me, but he didn't avert his eyes, either.
     "That's not a smart thing to do, kid. I know from personal experience that it's not."
     I adjusted myself a little, pushing my equipment into a more comfortable position in these tight, leather pants. I don't miss Roddy's appreciative glance at what I'm doing. Oh! If I weren't a man on a mission, I'd be seriously tempted.
     "There's nothing you can't work out with your parents," I said. "If not, there are other people out there who can help: your school, your church, your coach or even a professional. Try these people before you head out on your own."
     "Sure," he said none too convincingly.
     I took a quarter out of my pocket and tossed it to him; he caught it in mid-air easily.
     "Call your parents to come and get you."
     I put my helmet back on and kicked the bike back into life. I took the turn down the dirt road and left Roddy in a cloud of dust to think a little more about his future.

I don't think I have ever seen Scully looking as young as she does today. Even her breasts appeared more perky than usual. She has hoisted herself up on a table across from my desk, locked her legs together at the ankle and is swinging them back and forth. Of course, there is ample room for this between Scully's feet and the floor.
     Her face is slightly flushed, her hair marginally out of place and there is a look of happiness and contentment on her face that she can't completely conceal.
     "Get some last night, Scully?" I ask.
     "Mulder!" She chides me with a smile on her face. "A lady," she repeats, "a lady, never, never kisses and tells."
     "But we're not talking about a Lady, Scully, we're talking about you." I smile back at her.
     "Mulder!"
     I had to laugh at her reaction to that one and I looked at her ankles so blatantly that Scully doesn't miss it.
     "What are you looking for?" she asks.
     "A new tattoo," I reply.
     "Humph." She rolls her eyes up and I laugh.
     "You know, Mulder, I consider myself to be a woman of the world. I have to admit," and she starts giggling, "I have to admit, that when I figured out about you and Walter, it sort of threw me for a few days."
     "What do you mean, Scully?"
     "Sleeping with the boss, Mulder. I know that women break through the glass ceiling that way, but I never realized that men had to do it too."
     She couldn't contain herself any longer and she covered her mouth with one of her hands trying, in vain, to hold back the laughter.
     "Scully!"
     "But now," she continued as if I hadn't even spoken, "you're telling me that Krycek is after your body, too! I realize that you have a certain amount of manly charm, Mulder, but for heaven's sake, the two of them!"
     Both of our attentions are diverted by a knock at the door. It opened a crack and Skinner stuck his head in. The door wasn't opened far enough for him to see Scully sitting there on the table on the other side of the office. "Fox," he said, "can I have a word with you?"
     This time Scully lost it completely and she roared with laughter.
     "Mulder, when can I call you Fox? Do I have to sleep with you first?" The tears streamed down her face from the force of her mirth. She poked her head forward so that she could see Skinner. Her eyes twinkled and shone at the sight of Skinners discomfort. Skinner returned her look so shyly, so very much like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. There is certainly nothing as endearing and cute as the sight of a large, powerful, self-assured man blushing like that. No, he wasn't blushing; his face was flaming red—as red as Scully's hair—from his neck to the tip of his rapidly balding head.
     "Mulder," Skinner rephrased the question, "can I see you in the hallway for a moment."

I continued down the dirt road, but more slowly this time. The rough surface, with its bumps and dips, made me even more aroused. Christ, I was hard. I pulled the bike over to the side of the road and stopped there for a moment. I took the damn helmet off my head and rubbed my hand over my hair; it was wet and sticky and damned uncomfortable. I didn't think there'd be too many cops patrolling this little-used dirt road so I packed my helmet away and drove off enjoying the feel of the air on my naked head.
     The low thrum of the Harley lulled me into sense of quiet and peace, as it always does. I passed by the Bed and Breakfast I had reserved for Mulder—an old, huge, Victorian mansion with a widows' walk. I could almost see Mulder up there, late at night, barely dressed, peering out over the ocean or looking towards the stars. The image sent a jolt directly to my painfully erect cock. I drove on towards the ocean to double check on my preparations.
     The boat was still moored where I had left it, completely untouched. If I had more time, I would have walked on the beach—my feet bare, digging my toes into the wet sand, dodging the waves as they made their way to the shore. I've always loved the ocean; have done so for as long as I can remember. I have a deep respect for it; it's like a coiled monster, looking peaceful and quiet, but at any second it can rise up and bite you on the ass. But now wasn't the time.
     I turned the bike around and headed back to the Bead and Breakfast. The man sitting behind the desk didn't even acknowledge my presence as I stood before him. He just kept tapping at the keys of his computer. He was a little toad of a man. It's not that he wasn't well dressed, but even if he had been dressed in a designer suit it would still have looked like something he just plucked from the sale rack at the local Salvation Army. He reminded me of someone but I couldn't seem to remember just who it was. Possibly one of Mulder's flaky friends, Frohike, I think it is.
      I brought my prosthetic down hard down on the little raised partition on the other side of his desk to get his attention. It worked.
     "Sorry, Sir, I didn't see you there."
     "I figured."
     "Can I help you," he asked me.
     "Yes. I'm Krycek, I reserved this house for the week end."
     He quickly tapped the keys of his computer and his greedy little eyes widened when he saw the reservation.
     "The whole house?" He inquired.
     "Yes."
     "That will be very expensive, Mr. Krycek."
     I reached into my left pocket of my leather jacket and pulled out ten one hundred-dollar bills and slapped them on the counter.
     "This should cover it," I said.
     "Yes, indeed it will. Let me get you a receipt and your change."
     "Don't bother," I said. "Keep it."
     That got the attention of this greedy little man.
     "The reservation isn't for me. It's for a Mr. Fox Mulder. And let me warn you now, never call him Fox. You don't want me to tell you what he will do to you if you do."
     His eyes asked the question 'Why?' but I didn't give him an answer. I reached around my body with my good hand and reached into the right pocket of my jacket and pulled out five more one hundred-dollar bills and placed them on the counter. Only this time, I kept my hand covering them.
     "I want him well looked after," I said. "If he wants a pedicure at three o'clock in the morning, you'll arrange it. And if you can't find someone to do it, you'll do it yourself. Anything he wants, no matter how trivial, you'll supply it." I looked toward my hand covering the bills. "This should cover it," I said as I took my hand away.
     He took the money from the counter, counted it, and shoved it into his pocket. "Yes, it will," he said.
     I pulled my jacket back a bit to reveal the gun tucked into the top of my jeans and rubbed the handle of this all too familiar tool of my trade. Looking up to see that he that he noticed this little demonstration, I was pleased to see the look of alarm on his face.
     "I'm glad we understand each other so well," I said. "Make sure you do as I ask; I'll be checking that you did."
     With that I turned and left the office.

I backed out into the hallway; thankfully it was empty. Hell, it was in the basement, who else was going to be there.
     "Mulder, we have a meeting at 1:30," I told him. He looked kind of confused.
     "A meeting, sir."
     "Yes, Mulder, this one is very strange."
     "Strange, how?"
     "The request came directly from Justice—the Secretary's office—she made the call herself and wouldn't give me any further information. Apparently even the Director doesn't now about it."
     Mulder looked very baffled. "That is strange."
     "Yes it is," I replied. "We're meeting with a Mr. Steed. I don't know him, never heard of him before. Checked the Justice personnel database and his entry is classified. Even with my security clearance, I couldn't access it."
     "Curious and curiousier," he said.
     Mulder fidgeted from one foot to the other. Only Mulder, I thought, would be more impressed by the secrecy enshrouding the man we were to meet, than the subject matter of the meeting. He did love a mystery.
     "Okay, Sir, we'll be there."
     "You misunderstand me, Agent Mulder. Not we, you. The request was for you and I specifically, and only you and I."
     "What?" Mulder asked.
     "Agent Scully's presence isn't required," I told him.
     His eyes widened slightly. "You want to tell her?"
     "Nope," I replied, "they don't pay me enough for that." I grinned at him.
     "Coward!"
     "Guilty as charged." I agreed with him.

I know I was being a bad girl. I shouldn't poke fun and tease them like that, but a girl's got to have some fun. And besides, they're so easy.
     I finally regained my composure when Mulder came back into the office followed closely by Skinner.
     "You know, Mulder, you two have got to stop meeting like that." I stole a glance at the AD and saw him blushing scarlet again. This was so much fun.
     Skinner turned towards Mulder. "What about this week end? Is it all set up?"
     "Yeah," Mulder told him. I'll leave around nine on Friday morning."
     "Okay." Skinner nodded his head at me as he left the office. To say that I was sort of curious about this would be the understatement of the year.
     "All right, Mulder. Spill!" My tone of voice left no question as to my seriousness in this matter.
     "Spill what, Scully?"
     "For starters, what's going on this week end?"
     Poor Mulder looked like a kid who's just been called into the principal's office. He had a decision to make, does he lie or does he tell the truth. He closed his eyes and shook his head as though to clear the cobwebs from his mind. I decided that it's to be the truth I'll be getting.
     "I set up a meeting with Krycek," he told me. He opened his eyes and stared directly at me.
     "You did what?"
     "Yeah, a meeting with Krycek somewhere in the country."
     "What in god's name for," I asked him. I wasn't able to keep the shrillness out of my voice.
     "Well," Mulder started sheepishly, "well, it was Walter's idea.
     "Walter's idea?" I repeated like an idiot.
     "Walter thinks that Krycek is trying to steal me away from him." Mulder smiled awkwardly at me. "He wanted me to meet with him to set matters straight."
     "So let me get this clear in my mind," I said—I wanted to say 'straight', but that would have been too much, even for me. "Walter has you, Krycek wants you. Jeez, Mulder, two men on the hook, I should be so lucky. Are you sure that this is wise?"
     He shrugged his shoulders.
     "Are you planning on wearing a Kevlar vest to this meeting, Mulder?"
     "Funny, Scully, really funny."
     "Okay." I changed the subject quickly. "What about the meeting this afternoon?"
     "That's another thing, Scully. It's with a Mr. Steed from Justice. The thing is, he only wants to meet with Walter and me. Alone."
     "Should I feel snubbed, Mulder?"
     Mulder just smirked at me. "I don't think so, Scully."
     "It looks like a very long lunch for Scully," I said. I hopped from the table and put on my coat and headed towards the door. With my hand on the doorknob I turned toward my partner again. "Have a good week end, Mulder. I'll see you on Monday...maybe."
     I walked back towards his desk, dug in my purse and grabbed a ten-dollar bill and tossed it on his desk. "Get yourself some condoms...my treat.
     This time it was his turn to blush, and I turned and laughed my way out of the office.

I sat at my desk drumming my pen on the legal pad; Mulder sat across from me fidgeting in his chair.
     "I wonder what this is all about," he says.
     "I wish I knew, but like I said, the Secretary wouldn't elaborate."
     Mulder looked at his watch. "It's 1:45," he announced.
     "I guess our Mr. Steed likes to be fashionably late."
     Just then the intercom come to life and my secretary announced our visitor. I told her to send him in. The door opened, and a tall man with dark hair carrying a plain manila envelope backed into the office, closing the door behind him.
     "Good afternoon, Walter, Mulder," he said.
     When I saw who it is my face must have registered some shock because Mulder picked up on it and turned in his chair to look at him.
     "You!" Fox said with some volume.
     "Yes, me. Long time, no see, gentlemen. Please remain in your chairs and don't move," he said.
     He walked to Mulder's chair, put his hand on the back of it and looked down at him.
     "Who—and more importantly—what are you?" Mulder asked him.
     "Well today, I'm Jarod Steed. As for who I am, I don't really know...Don't ask. What am I?" Jarod stopped for a moment as though giving this question some thought. "I've been many things, Fox," he said that dreaded first name with some venom.
     Still staring at Mulder's face he ran his hands through Fox's hair, grabbed it firmly at the nape of the neck and pulled down so that Mulder's face was upturned to him. Leaning down, he forced the startled agent's lips open with his tongue and kissed him with passion and brutality, forcing his tongue deep into Mulder's mouth. When he was done, Fox was aroused and clearly breathless.
     Jealousy and rage boiled within me and I made a move to get out of my chair.
     "I said sit, Walter, and I meant it." The statement was delivered with such icy determination; I decided to do as I was told, for now anyway.
     Jarod kissed Mulder on the cheek and moved over to stand behind my desk. He threw a manila envelope down and all I could make out on the cover were the words 'The Centre'. The next thing I knew he had undone my tie and popped the first three buttons of my shirt, exposing my neck and some of the hairs between my chest muscles.
     "Feeling vulnerable yet, Walter?"
     I didn't answer him. But, my god, those talented hands delved into my shirt and played with my chest. Next thing I knew my nipples were hard and tingling.
     "Beautiful, isn't he, Mulder?" Jarod said as he looked at the man across from me.
     Fox said nothing. He just looked pissed. Really pissed as he stared directly at my tormentor. And a tormentor he was. Those hands on my body, those expert hands massaging my chest and stomach, making me feel great all over. Making me feel so great in fact that, to my eternal shame, my cock got into the action, filling and elongating to its full measure. Jarod didn't miss this little fact; he took his hands from my chest and placed them both between my legs. One cupping my balls and the other squeezing my cock. I gasped with pleasure.
     "Mulder, you are one lucky man!" Jarod said. He leaned down and kissed me and licked a wide swath up my cheek with his tongue.
     "What are you doing, Jarod," Mulder asked.
     Jarod chuckled and gave my cock one final loving squeeze. "In case you've forgotten, Agent Mulder, the last time I met you gentlemen you two took, how shall I say, certain liberties with my body. Not that I didn't enjoy it—it was quite obvious at the time that I did—but I think 'turnabout is fair play', don't you?"
     "Speaking of which," Mulder asked, "why did you break into my apartment?"
     "That's an easy one," Jarod said, "I just wanted to check out the man who had my brother all tied up in knots."
     Mulder looked at him as though this statement made no sense at all. "Your brother," he said.
     "Yes, my brother, Alex," Jarod said.
     "Alex!" Mulder was so shocked that if someone had blown on him he would have fallen off the chair.
     "Krycek," Jarod continued," you remember him, don't you Fox? Tall guy, killer smile, cute little upturned nose, elfin ears, body built like a brick pagoda, and an arm conspicuous by its absence."
     This time it was my turn to be bowled over with a feather.
     "Well, we're Brothers by Choice," Jarod clarified. "Don't ask," he warned as an afterthought.
     Jarod tapped the manila envelope that he had thrown on my desk. "We've been working together for a few months; I've been passing on information damning to the Consortium and he's chosen to pass it on to you. And this," he brought our attention back to the envelope in question, "is still more grist for your mill."
     He kissed me on the mouth again and walked toward the door.
     "If you two are as smart as I think you are," Jarod said as he reached the door, turned around and looked at us. "You'll follow up on that information quickly. It will put a serious dent in their operations. Trust Alex, listen to him, you are working toward the same goals, you know."
     Both Mulder and I were too stunned to say a single word.
     As the door closed behind him, Jarod said: "Oh, by the way, I'll be seeing you gentlemen again."

I've worked for AD Skinner for a long time. He's a just man; a man with high expectations from himself and from others around him. Like I said, he's a man of high expectations and if you live up to them, he treats you with respect, appreciation, and true gratitude. I've seen many people come and go into that office and few of them ever have a kind word for me. They're usually gruff, self-centered, and driven. It's true that I stand sentry before the inner sanctum, but still, it's no justification for some of the treatment I've received at the hands of the hoi polloi.
     But now, this man; this man was different. The term 'tall, dark, and handsome' was coined for him. I'd never leave my husband and children, but this man, this man had temptation written all over his face.
     "Thank you for your help," he said as he held out his hand for me to shake.
     "Oh! You're very welcome, Mr.—"
     "Just call me Jarod."
     "Candy?" He passed me a plastic container of Pez...god, I haven't seen them in years. I took one from him and received one of his smiles. It was a true smile; it reached right up to his eyes.
     "Good, aren't they?" He told me. "And they come with a little toy on top of each package."
     Now, if I could only have gotten my heart to stop fluttering, I might have been able to say something. That smile was killing me; he looked so much like a happy little boy. My, if I only weren't married.
     "Is there a washroom around here?" He asked me.
     "In the hallway. Second door on the right." Again he thanked me, and I laid my chin on my hands and watched that perfect bubble butt walk away until the AD buzzed me into his office.

I quickly scanned the washroom and saw that I was alone. I entered one of the stalls and quickly punched in the six digit code into my cellphone that would defeat any triangulation attempts to trace this call.
     "Sydney." I head him answer immediately.
     "Sydney, I want you to be careful," I told him.
     "Careful? Careful of what, Jarod?"
     "I expect a member of the triumverate will be there soon."
     "Jarod, he's already here, the place is in a panic. Even Mr. Lyle and Mr. Raines are frightened out of their minds. Who is he, Jarod?"
     "Tall, dead eyes, dark suit, and he never has a cigarette out of his mouth?" I asked Sydney.
     "That's him, Jarod. Who is he?"
     "Like Lucifer, Sydney, he's goes by many names. The most current one is Spender. Listen, Sydney, this man is dangerous. He's dangerous because he's smart and has no morals. Keep Miss Parker away from him: violence won't work with this guy. You have to outsmart him, and you Sydney, are the only one who can do that."
     "But Jarod..." Is all I heard before I severed the connection.

The room was dark and dingy. Everywhere was littered the jetsam and flotsam of Jarod's latest Pretend. Books and articles on Gay Bashing littered his small desk. Two computers were running—on one was a gruesome picture of young man and the other was hacked into the Hartford police department; the ever-present red notebook was opened and I could see a newspaper article pasted to one of the pages. I've learned never to ask about these Pretends, if Jarod wants my input or my help, he'll certainly ask for it.
     This was such a luxury for me—coming into a room where people don't fall over themselves trying to hide everything from my sight—and it makes me feel slightly proud. I don't remember when I last felt so completely trusted.
     Did I say the room looked dingy? Well, that was before Jarod turned from the window and smiled at me. He stood at the window dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt. The sunlight reflecting in his eyes made the richest shade of chocolate brown I've ever seen. And that bare chest just made my heart race. He was so tight and compact, and the hair on his chest was very nearly unnoticeable, just a fine, soft down, which felt like silk when you touched it. I touched it every chance I
got.
     "Alex!" He said with a genuine look of happiness on his face. "I didn't expect you today."
     "I was in the...neighbourhood." I told him.
     "In the neighbourhood, Alex, this is Connecticut. I don't care why you're here as long as you are."
     He crossed the short space between us in record time and took me into his arms, laid his face against my cheek and kissed it soundly. I couldn't help myself; I wedged my hand between us and felt that chest, that sexy tight chest. And I didn't stop there; I just had to play with his nipple.
     "I had the bike out; the day was bright and sunny; and the wide, open road beckoned me." I shrugged. Jarod took my head in his hands and looked in my eyes. Damn him, he knows me so well. Then he just kissed me, so deep and so passionately that my knees got weak.
     "Come on, Alex. This is Jarod. Something's wrong, what is it?"
     "Not really wrong, Jarod. Mulder set up a meeting, and I was making the preparations."
     "When, Alex!" Jarod seemed slightly alarmed at this meeting.
     "He contacted me last week," I said, clearly confused at his question.
     Whatever he gleaned from that little bit of information seemed to relax him a bit. I inched his legs apart with one of my own and rubbed my knee against his groin. I was rewarded with the feel of his rapidly growing erection.
     "What's wrong with that?" He asked me.
     "Nothing really, but I have this feeling. It's a bad feeling, Jarod."
     "Anything I can do to help..." The statement was left unfinished, full of promise, and implicit in that promise was a guarantee."
     "No, Jarod. This is between me and Mulder."
     "So what can I do, Alex!"
     I smiled provocatively at him and rubbed my stubbled cheek against his.
     "Jarod, you can fuck me."
     A blunt, no-nonsense invitation like that might have shocked a lesser man, but not Jarod. "That I can do," he said, "and it will be my pleasure." He slowly led me over to his small bed. He gave me a little push that set me down gently on the mattress. He removed his shirt and tossed it on a chair. The pants were next to go, slowly. He always combined sex with me with a little show. Like I said, he knows me so well. The pants hit the floor releasing his hard cock with a satisfying plop.
     He turned his attention to me and undressed me with the same dedication to detail with which he does everything else. Jarod has large, strong, gentle hands; they are magical. He can touch me in ways that no once else can.
     He soon had me naked and those magical hands roamed over every inch of my body from the tip of my chin to my big toe. Then he touched that spot between my legs, just behind my balls, that almost had me screaming his name and coming at the same time.
     "Jarod, in all the Pretends you've ever done, have you been a masseur?" I asked him between shaky breaths.
     He laughed at me. "Better, Alex," he said, "a Sex Therapist."
     I rolled my eyes heavenward, made half a steeple with my hand, "God, you really do love me."
     He looked at me with lidded, passion-filled eyes. His face was flushed and his gaze never left mine while he applied a condom. He laid that beautiful, compact body on top of mine, and I immediately melted into him. He took my lips with his own and forcing my lips apart, he sucked the breath out of me. From out of nowhere it seemed, he had his lubed finger against my anus and was forcing his way in. My legs shook with lust and anticipation.
     "Fuck me, Jarod. I need it. Now!"
     He did just that. His cock tapped against my entrance demanding admittance, and he fucked me slow and deep. The pleasure was so intense, so consuming, I didn't know who I was or where I was, I think he even had me calling for my mother. Then I came hard. Each contraction wracking my body as the semen spilled from me onto my chest, and with a couple more hard thrusts on his part he came too.
     While I caught my breath, he rubbed my semen into my skin, taking the excess and rubbing it into his own chest. He loved the way the substance stuck us together in the physical, which was a mere parody of the emotional attachment we had with each other.
     He removed his cock from me, disposed of the condom, and pulled me into his arms on this small bed. His physical presence took control of me, protected me and made me feel safe as it always did. I laid my head just under his chin, and he toyed absentmindedly with my hair.
     "I have to leave early to make that meeting with Mulder," I said, not able to keep the sad tone out of my voice.
     "I know," he added with a resignation that echoed my own. "You be careful out there, Alex."
     "Always, Jarod. Always."

The whorishly red numerals of my bedside clock taunted me. For the tenth time I've looked at it, and barely a minute has elapsed each time. Three forty-five in the morning and I'm still awake. I'm worried about tomorrow's meeting, funny thing is, I'm the one who insisted on it.
     Mulder slumbered quietly beside me, his fine, patrician nose rising straight up from the pillow. On the nights he sleeps over, we sleep naked. It adds that extra touch of intimacy between us. Through the night, when either of us moves and our flesh touches, it sends a jolt of pleasure through me. Or in the morning when I awake and find that we've entwined ourselves around each other or are simply sleeping in an embrace, it fills me with wonder and pleasure and an inner peace.
     Mulder murmured in his sleep tonight, but I couldn't make any sense out of the words. I swept my hand down his naked body to his groin and found his cock half-erect. I wondered if he was thinking of Krycek or of me. What could a man like Mulder find interesting in me? Walter Skinner is not the life of the party—a man who works from dawn to dusk and then takes more work home with him.
     Mulder's a young man, a vibrant man with a young man's appetites. I can keep up with him now, thanks to a life-long regimen of exercise and physical activity. But that's now. When Mulder's fifty, I'll be...The thought doesn't come easy to me; it made my doubts redouble.
     I turned on my side and rested my head on my hand as I looked at him. He slept on, eyes tightly closed. Some of his hair had slipped down over his sweaty brow during the night. I pushed it back a little and laid a soft kiss on his forhead. This roused him, and he sleepily opened his eyes to look at me.
     "Walter, you're awake." He strained to see the time on the clock partially obscured by my body. "So early—" is all that he said.
     I shook my head in the affirmative to his statement.
     "What's wrong, Walter?" The question was asked with a deep concern in his voice.
     I couldn't answer him; it would have given away too much.
     "You're worried about today, aren't you?"
     I don't answer him, just avert my eyes.
     "Old man, are you worried about Krycek?" He asked me again. He was wide-awake and in full Mulder mode, like a dog with a bone in its mouth who won't let it go.
     "Yeah, a little." I told him.
     "Walter, you asked me to do this, and I agreed. If there were any doubt in my mind, I wouldn't be doing it. Don't you know that? It's you I want, not Krycek." The emphasis with which he delivered this statement made me feel a little better. God! How I wanted to believe.
     He smiled at me; taking my genitals in his hand he had me at fever's pitch in ten seconds flat. His slighter arms pulled me into a full body embrace with him: chest-to-chest, cock-to-cock. His lips tasted sweet on mine, his tongue intrusive and demanding. I gave into him completely and lost myself in his kiss. Of all the men I've been with over the years, and there have been a few, Mulder is the Olympic gold medallist in the French kissing event. None better. I moaned into his mouth, begging for more.
     His hips undulate; the head of his cock fucked my ball sack, and the head of mine slid over the soft silkiness of his pubic hair. He held tightly onto me and moved his hand to my ass. God, this man knows how to turn me on; his gossamer, light touch sent a surge of pleasure to my cock. Just his simple touch on the fine hairs of my ass was almost enough to send me over the edge.
     Our dicks were moistened with sweat and precum and slid against each other in a dance of passion and abandonment. My kiss took over from his and my tongue plundered his mouth, my hands adored his chest muscles and my fingers toyed with his nipples. He moaned his pleasure loudly in my mouth.
     "There's nothing to worry about," he said between panting gasps. I licked his chin as I came hard and splashed my fluids onto his stomach. He followed me into this petite mort almost immediately, with a soft sigh.
     "Don't get up," he said to me. I'll take care of this." He picked up his discarded underwear from the floor and cleaned us both.
     He pushed me onto my back and nestled his head on my chest, and spoke directly to my nipples. "Don't worry, Walter, now get some sleep."
     I smiled; I had no choice but to take his advice. I petted his chestnut brown hair and followed him into sleep, but still the doubts were nagging at me. When logic wars with emotion, emotion invariably wins the battle, if not the war.

This is a nice place, so close to the ocean. Old and clean and well kept. It surprised me that I'm the only guest at the moment. When I asked the owner why there were no other people besides me, he looked sort of startled for a moment as though I should know the answer to this question, but just shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.
     The breakfast he served me was good and fresh and wholesome, quite a change for me. As I was finishing the last sip of my coffee, I heard the roar of a motorcycle and noted that it stopped outside the Inn. As I was the only guest, I figured it was Krycek.
     The day was hot already, the humidity of the nearby ocean hanging in the air, making it thick and uncomfortable, so I wore only a light T shirt and my jeans.
     When I got outside I found that I was right—it was Krycek. Bastard! I thought. He sat there on his bike, dressed as usual in black jeans and leather jacket with his helmet sitting on his lap. There was one exception—he wore no shirt under his jacket. I could only see the faintest hint of the straps holding his fake arm to his body. His chest was smooth, toned, and pumped. The flesh looked kissed and smeared with honey. His russet nipples, already hard, were crowned with a few stray hairs. It has always surprised me that a man whose body has been so badly mutilated and scarred, as his has, could feel so comfortable in his skin. I walked down the steps and stood next to him on the bike.
     "Give me the keys, Krycek."
     He opened his eyes wide, the deep forest green of them rivaling the leaves on the trees that surrounded us. He grinned at me with that knowing smirk, just the barest hint of well-formed, straight teeth, that sometimes made me feel that he knew everything about me, all my secrets, that nothing could be hidden from him.
     "No way, no how, Mulder," he stated flatly.
     "I'm driving, Krycek."
     "Mulder, have you ever driven a Harley before?"
     "No. But how hard could it be, you're driving one." Even now I realized how ludicrous my request had been, but still I wouldn't back down. Krycek just looked at me like I was out of my mind.
     "Mulder do you realize just how many people I've had to kill to buy this bike?" The look on his face was one of taunting amusement. I wondered though, just how far off the truth it might be.
     "You are not driving this bike, Mulder. You called this meeting and if you won't ride with me, this meeting is over."
     His statement brooked no opposition; so I grudgingly took the helmet he offered me, put it on and mounted the bike behind him.

Well that was easy, I rarely win an argument with Mulder that quickly, hell, I rarely win an argument with that stubborn man at all. It's not far to where we're going so I just keep the bike to a steady, slow pace. It's beautiful here—quiet, warm, like we're alone in the universe.
     Mulder is pressed up close to my back; I feel his heat seeping through my jacket and into my body. It's a luxury I never dreamed I'd have. Even through the helmet and the breeze surrounding us, I can smell him. Freshly washed, but still exuding the smell of the man he is.
     Mulder knocks on my helmet and I stop the bike, lift the visor and turn to him.
     "Krycek, where are we going?"
     "It's not far, Mulder. Just sit back and relax. We'll be there in a few minutes."
     I pulled the bike back out on the path that passes for a road. Mulder is again holding onto me for dear life. And damn me to hell, I'm responding to him even though I know that this touch is not meant for me. My stomach is sweating and it's getting slippery where Mulder is holding me. His hands keep slipping down lower and lower towards my pants, and the erection hidden within them. I know that under the helmet my face is flaming scarlet from my automatic reaction to him. His hands keep slipping down, and down, and when he comes in contact with the fully engorged head of my cock, he brings them up as though they were burned.
     Finally, I see the dock and the boat moored to it.

Krycek stopped the bike right on the dock, removed his helmet and pocketed the keys as I got off the bike. He unfastened the saddlebag and threw it into the boat. He took off his jacket and tossed that into the boat as well. The muscles of his back rippled even from this little movement. He's in good shape—strong and tanned and healthy. With a little grin on his face he turned to me.
     "You coming?"
     He unhooked the straps that hold his prosthetic to his body and tossed the arm on top of his jacket. He's gutsy; I'll give him that. He doesn't seem to feel anything at showing me his disfigurement, as though it's a natural part of him, and I guess, by now, it is.
     "Coming where?"
     Krycek pointed to a small island just offshore. "It belongs to a friend of mine. A nude beach."
     I looked at him like he's just grown another head. This time he's smiling like the cat that's just swallowed the canary. "I'm not getting naked with you, you rat bastard."
     "God you're a pussy, Mulder!"
     I snarled at him.
     "Mulder, it's an island in the middle of the water, a parabolic microphone wouldn't be able to pick up what we're saying above the sound of the surf. And besides, it has a wrinkle rule, any more than three and you're out of there!"
     Krycek laughed as I stepped past him to the bow of the boat.

I kicked off my boots and socks, opening my pants I shoved them down my legs, stepping out of them and my underwear at the same time. I thanked all the gods of heaven that my erection had gone down a bit.
     Mulder turned around and took a long, hard look at me. I think he's getting off on this. "This is stupid, Krycek."
     I shrugged my shoulders. It was a chance I took; I knew that there was a possibility that Mulder would never go along with it. But he did, grudgingly. He sat on the bench at the bow and, to my surprise, he is faces me. He slowly removed his shirt, untied his running shoes, removed them and his socks, slipped his pants and underwear down his legs and is now, as I am, as naked as nature intended us.
     I couldn't keep my eyes off him. He looked great; olive tanned skin, firm muscles, and a light dusting of body hair tinted light from exposure to the sun. He looked at me as though he was daring me to do or say something. I did neither. Just looked him over from head to toe. And in the middle are seven glorious inches of Mulder seemingly growing bigger by the moment.
     "We're here, Mulder." I told him as I jumped out of the boat and secured it to the dock.

This is a nice place. Not a sound except for the slight ripple of the surf crashing against the shore could be heard. I'm thankful that we're the only ones here.
     I wandered off the dock and headed toward a sandy beach, and plunk my self down on it. I laid back and let the heat of the sand soak through my body, and the sun above me, bright and high in the sky, blessed my skin with its heat.
     Krycek came and lay beside me. I couldn't help but notice that his cock was almost half-erect by now and realized how difficult this is going to be.
     "I met your boyfriend yesterday." My words sounded sarcastic and sharp even to my own ears.
     "My boyfriend?"
     "Your boyfriend...your lover...your brother, whatever?" I told him.
     "My brother is dead, Mulder." The regret was palpable in Krycek's voice.
     "Your Brother by Choice then, Alex."
     "Jarod!" Alex's eyes glistened like they were lit from the inside out, and a huge, broad smile crossed his face. This was genuine, I knew that. Alex was guileless at the moment, his face expressing everything he felt.
     "How? When? Why?" He asked me in rapid succession.
     "Somehow or other," I said with a tone of grudging respect in my voice, "he convinced Janet Reno to set up a meeting with him, me and Skinner."
     "That Jarod," he said, beaming with pride, "is such a pisser!"
     Right at that moment I realized what a fucked-up nut case I really was. In the pit of my stomach the monster roused itself. I was fucking jealous of Jarod. I didn't want Krycek, and I didn't want anyone else to have him either. The blissful look on Alex's face made me furious, mad, and really pissed off. Against all reason and logic, I didn't want Jarod to have him.
     I kicked some sand with my foot. "I know that he's passing information to you and you're passing it to us."
     "Yeah!" Krycek said. "Jarod is a ballsy guy. That information is good, too—it's the best." Alex was clearly proud.
     I nodded my head in agreement.
     "Mulder, why did you want to meet with me?"

I looked at a naked Mulder lying next to me—my fantasy made flesh. The minute I asked my question his face closed over, like a cloud passing before the sun. Now I realized why I'd felt nervous about this meeting, something bad—really bad—was about to happen.
     He didn't answer me at once. He drew a few designs in the sand and looked out towards the water.
     "Why did you want this meeting?" I asked him again.
     "I have something to tell you, Alex." I knew something was seriously wrong when he started using my first name. That's not Mulder's style.
     "I know you're interested in me, Krycek..."
     "Duh! And this is news, how?" I pointed to my erection and Mulder looked at it and blushed again.
     "It will never happen, Alex. I'm with someone in a committed relationship and this person felt that you should know," he said.
My erection wilted rapidly. "Is this the truth this time, Mulder? You're not making up a lover again are you?" I barely got the words out without screaming at him.
     "Truth this time, Krycek. I'm sorry about the last time; it was completely out of line.
     I couldn't look at him anymore, too afraid of what my face might reveal. "Who is she, Mulder? Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything...I won't shoot her."
     "Not a her, Alex—a he. It's Skinner."
     I must have looked like I was cold cocked, I certainly felt like it. Mulder looked like he was actually sorry that he had to tell me.
     "That's it then, I guess," I said as calmly as I could muster, "the best man won." Like an old man I rose from the sand, not looking back I walked toward the boat. I could hear Mulder following me. I picked up the saddlebag, unsnapped it and took out the envelope from Jarod and threw it at Mulder's feet. I got into the boat, facing the ocean and began to dress, not even looking back to see if Mulder was going to follow me.
     "I'm sorry, Alex."
     I felt Mulder's hand on my shoulder and shook it off. "Forget it, Mulder. Message delivered and understood, let's get out of here!" I was completely dressed now, still staring out at the ocean and couldn't look back at him. >From the rocking of the boat I could tell that Mulder was almost dressed himself. I turned to sit on my bench next to the outboard motor and was thankful that Mulder had the good sense to face away from me this time.

On the trip back to the mainland Alex didn't say a word, didn't make a motion, didn't do anything besides guide the boat smoothly through the water. The minute we reached the dock he jumped from the boat and secured the ropes. He walked slowly to the bike, donned his helmet and sat waiting for me.
     I had nothing left to say. What could I say to him? Rejection is rejection, there's no easy way to say it or accept it. I still had this damned envelope in my hand with nowhere to put it. So I climbed behind Krycek, put on my helmet, placed the information on my chest and pressed my chest into Alex's back. He took one sharp intake of breath, started the bike, and moved out.
     He stopped the bike at the inn and sat stoically, staring straight ahead, waiting for me to get off.
     "Alex..."
     He flipped up the visor of his helmet before I could finish speaking. "Don't worry, I'll keep passing on the information, Mulder. I'm not that petty...yet."
     "Alex..." I tried again.
     As before, he cut me off in mid-sentence. "Enjoy the rest of your week end, Mulder, it's been paid for. Oh yes, have a good life." He slapped the visor down and waited for me to get off his bike.
     I stood by the Inn and watched Alex speed away.
     I did what I came here to do. So why do I feel so shitty? Why do I feel like I'm going to miss him? Why do I feel that this isn't just another person speeding out of my life? I watched until Alex disappeared from my sight, shoved my hand into my pocket and turned toward the building. When I felt the crumpled ten-dollar bill that Scully had given me, jokingly, to buy condoms, for some reason that I still can't figure out or even want to try to understand, I wanted to laugh, but in reality, felt like crying.

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Continued in Dinner with Charles