Switching and Effects

by Jori

Set during the 1991 events of 'Turning and Returning,' Mulder and Harm escape to a cabin in the woods to be alone together. NC-17 for m/m sex


Switching and Effects
by Jori

1991

I don't know what I'm doing here, standing on the outside of a life never imagined and looking in. Teetering toward something I can't be for more than a few hours . . . maybe a day. This is not something that can go on forever, this thing I've created with Fox Mulder. Not without paying a price that is far too steep.

I can only look and never have. Yet, here I am, pretending this can go on all the while knowing it can't. Always running to him even though I know it's wrong.

My car is parked down the dirt road, allowing me a way to escape if I can't make it to the door. I find my feet moving toward the cabin despite all my doubts. Then my thoughts get in the way and I have to stop.

The leaves are just beginning to turn into their autumnal rust and gold, the fallen ones already crunching under my feet. A hollow wind blows through the trees, carrying even more leaves my way.

Every step I make closer to the cabin is proclaimed loudly by those same leaves, marking the slow, drawn out time it takes me to get there.

Will he be there already? Do I want him to be? Or am I secretly hoping he couldn't make it? Then I wouldn't have to deal with all the feelings I have surging through me.

Ultimately, I want him to be here. I *need* him to be here.

I make the final turn toward my destination and find that I can't move another step. Not without regrouping my thoughts and getting control of my emotions. I find my heart beating faster than I want it to. I can't stop it from pounding in my chest just like I can't stop from falling in love with someone I shouldn't be with.

There's a car in the drive. His car. He isn't parked down the road, ready to make an escape. No, he's not like me at all. Thought I've never been one to bail out before it is time, Fox Mulder is so much more open to everything. Perhaps I'm just another study into the fantastic -- one more unexplained issue.

Or maybe I'm the one thing that can be explained in his life. I just wish I knew what that explanation was so I could use it for myself.

I can't stand here forever. I either have to go to the door and face all the complications this relationship causes. Or I can walk away. Walk back to a life that will never be the same now that I met him. But it is a secure life all neatly mapped out.

There is no such thing as a blueprint for our lives. I know that well. Everything can change in a matter of seconds. One person can change it all, as can one misstep. That I know even better.

Is getting tangled with Mulder a misstep?

He walks on the edge, peering into places I can't even envision. While I do things other men can only dream of doing, he believes in things others can only imagine. Believes with his whole heart like a child believes in Santa Claus or the Easter bunny.

I wish I could believe like he does. If I did, I might be able to believe there is a reason I'm here.

**********************

Rabb just stands there, watching the cabin. His hands are tucked in his bomber jacket pockets and his face is shaded by the brim of a baseball cap. His body language speaks volumes, Not even a word is necessary for me to know what he is thinking. He has to make a decision and I know what he is trying to decide. Whether to stay or go while he still can. He doesn't know I'm watching.

This has grown more serious than even I ever thought it could. If someone would have told me a year ago I would be involved in a relationship with a man, I would have laughed. Of course, I've discovered a lot of things this year I would have never believed in the past.

I wouldn't blame him if he walked away. He has more to lose than I do. His whole career would be over if anyone found out. It's a heavy price to pay and I would never ask for someone to give up that much for me. I don't want him to lose everything that is important to him.

What could I lose if this affair were to be discovered? What little respect I have from my peers? Hell, half of them are probably doing this with each other.

Diana. I would lose her. Am I ready to pay that price? I can't imagine having another partner besides her. No one could ever make me rise to the challenge like she does. I can't trust anyone else with the work I've just begun.

Rabb moves half a step forward before dragging his foot through the leaves, kicking them aside. He looks at the arch he just drew in the dirt and foliage before looking behind him. He wants to escape. Run from this thing we've allowed to grow into impossible proportions.

Would I be able to stand here and watch him go? I would have to. That is his choice and I would have to respect his reasons for doing it. Would I want to run after him and ask him to reconsider?

In a heartbeat.

He looks up, our eyes meeting through the pane of glass. A smile takes control of his face, replacing that glum expression he was wearing just a few seconds ago.

At last, he takes a step forward, coming to meet me.

**************************

"Nice," I say, walking through the front door of the cabin. It is rustic in design yet filled with all the conveniences the modern camper could want. Like a TV set and a coffee maker.

I left my bags in the car, so I have nothing to do with my hands but put them behind me in a familiar posture. Force of habit, I guess.

"Hi," Mulder says quietly, stepping out of the shadows toward me. "You want me to hang up your jacket?"

He reaches for me, and I back away just a little, but enough for him to notice. I slip out of my jacket and hand it to him.

"Same conditions always apply. Nothing you don't want," he says, holding my jacket in his arms but not moving to put it anywhere.

"I'm sorry," I say, apologizing for my over reaction.

"It's okay," he says, sounding too damn understanding. Does he feel the same way I do? Scared? Lost? He never acts like it.

These reunions are always uneasy on my part. We've only met twice since the long weekend at the bed and breakfast, and both incidents were in public places surrounded by people. A baseball game and then a very crowded restaurant.

This is our first attempt at being alone in several weeks. The last attempt failed miserably. He was called out to Wyoming to investigate something . . . God only knows what. I was tempted to follow him there. Who would know me in Wyoming? But I controlled the urge.

Besides, his partner is his 'girlfriend' and she would be there.

I stifle the jealousy that thought invokes. I'm alone without him, but he has someone else. I know I could easily pick up a woman at anytime I want. I even did it two weeks ago when I couldn't reach him. It wasn't enough. Totally meaningless. Perhaps I even did it to prove I'm not turning into something I'm slowly discovering I already am. I have fallen for another man and nothing I can do will help me now.

"Come in. Sit down," he says, walking in front of me. He pads off barefooted down the hall, presumably to drop my jacket off somewhere. I can't help but watch him move, his gait so familiar even in the short time I've known him. His faded jeans are worn in just all the right places and . . . damn. I want him.

I sink into the couch and close my eyes. It isn't like this is the first time. But why does this feel so different? Like the first time was just trying it out, but this time is for real? Over the sound of the crackling fire, I hear his footsteps as he approaches.

"I'll go get your car and bring in your stuff. How far down the road did you park it exactly?" he asks, not questioning my reasons why.

"You're just doing this because you want to drive my car," I say, opening my eyes. I can't help but smile. After all the second guessing, I'm happy to be here with him. He has put on shoes and a long sleeve shirt and is ready to go outside to bring my escape vehicle here.

"Of course," he says, jingling the keys in his hand. He must have found them in my jacket. I start to stand up, wanting to go with him. "Stay here. Look around the place. Or take a nap. Whatever you want. I'll be right back."

"Okay," I say, wanting to add 'hurry back.' But the words don't come that easily. He's gone before I can force them out and I find myself saying them to an empty room.

*******************

I can't help but follow his footprints as I make my way to his car. So far, from what I can tell, he stopped four times, scraped his foot through the leaves and left behind an arch drawn in the dirt.

He's hesitant about being here with me, yet he did make it to the door. I wonder what he's afraid of this time? What makes him come to me yet not freely? Dammit. I don't want to profile him but I can't help myself. I need to know why he does what he does.

Rabb is the 'All American' essence of male. Tall and handsome. Educated. A lawyer, even. He drives a flashy sports car. He used to fly fucking F-14s. He's good at everything he does.

An all around man's man.

And now he really is.

He's scared. I know that. It can't be the fear of physical side of this relationship anymore. We moved past that the last time we were together for the weekend. Hardly anything was left unexplored. The whole time was spent doing things never done before. And both of us liked it.

I open the car door and wonder how long he sat in here, thinking. His bag is on the passenger seat and I'm tempted to go through it, but I resist. Maybe I am afraid I'll find something I don't want to. A note or picture or anything that indicates he has a life with someone else outside of this relationship. He says he doesn't, but who ever really knows.

Like I have the right to say anything about that. I'm the one with someone to go home to. He's the one who has to live with that. I know it bothers him. The fact that I'm involved with someone else troubles him more than it troubles me.

He's so fucking good natured the fact that I'm cheating on my girlfriend with him disturbs him. Why in the hell is this man alone? There have got to be a line of women wrapped around the block trying to get to him. Yet, here he is with me. Involved in something that can't last forever.

Is that the answer? Maybe he's in love with someone he can't have and I'm just a way to fill the hours. A pleasant stop along the road of life.

I start his car and contemplate his need for speed. Fast things fill his life. Fighter jets. Classic Corvettes. A hot shot career. A man who won't settle down. And I am the perfect excuse not to.

Well, so much for the profiling. Does that make you feel better, Fox?

***********************

I open my eyes when I hear the door open and watch him walk into the room. He has my one bag over his arm and he hands me back my keys.

"You have a choice of two bedrooms. The front has a view of . . . well, trees. And in the back, you have the view of the pond," he says, nodding his head in the direction of the lake view windows. The setting sun has turned each ripple into quite a spectacle. Shades of crimson and gold reach toward the shore, gleaming as they go.

I look at him, puzzled by his question. "Which one are you staying in?" I ask, watching as he licks his lips.

"Um . . . there's another bedroom that over looks the lake . . . I took that one, but if you want it, I can move into another one," he says, and I have no idea why he's doing this two room thing. Is it his way to make me feel more comfortable? Do I look that scared to be with him again?

"Yes . . . I'll take that bedroom," I say.

"Okay . . . I'll move . . ."

"I'll take it only if you stay," I finish.

Does he really think I'm here to see the lake or the trees? No matter how apprehensive I might be about what this could do to my life, I'm here only to see him. To spend time with him. Talk to him. Be with him.

His beaming smile lets me know just how much he wants me in the same room, too. He sets my bag on the floor, kicks off his shoes and joins me on the couch. It isn't long before we are engaged in one hell of a kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth for all it is worth. Heated sensations course through my body again, their journey ending at my crotch. My hands go up under his shirt, feeling the muscles move across his back before sliding into the waistband of his jeans. He has nothing on under them.

Did I mention I'm here to fuck him, too? Oh God, how could I forget to mention that?

I push him back on the couch so he's reclining against some pillows. He puts his hands behind his head and gives me a smug grin, urging me to go on. Like I'd stop now. I fall to my knees next to the couch and continue with my seduction that is moving far too fast. Or is it his seduction? He's got me on my knees.

Releasing him from the confines of that faded denim, Mulder's hard-on springs out toward me, its ruddy tip already glistening with pre-ejaculate. He lifts his hips up enough for me to tug his jeans down and toss them to the side. Wanting to see all of him, I urge him to tug off his shirt, exposing his upper body.

He is naked before me and my own hard on pushes against the front of my pants. I'm going to explode from just giving him a blow job. I know it.

My mouth starts at his neck, wanting to slow this thing down. I could go right to his cock. That is what he wants, but I have an urge to feel him under my tongue. His skin is salty yet tastes as if he's been bathed in water that contains too much iron. A shiver runs through his body as I draw a wet line further from his face, moving towards his nipples. So pointless until it comes to this. As I take one in my mouth, letting my tongue dance over it, the point becomes very clear. He moans in appreciation and out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand linger dangerously close to his cock.

I want to be the one to get him off. What a strange power there is to be found in that act. One man making another man come. Somewhere, issues of domination and control must be central, but they don't seem relevant right now.

He and I are equals. Neither of us is in control of this thing, even though he is the one lying naked before me, his legs splayed out and begging for more.

We are equals because he has me doing this to him and enjoying it.

I take him in my mouth, appreciating the groan that escapes from his throat. I swirl my tongue around his cock, enjoying the taste of him. It is so carnal, knowing what another man tastes like and coming to the indisputable conclusion that he tastes like you always imagined another man would. Salt and heat and sex combine to make one distinct taste.

Yet, underneath there is something that can only be Mulder. A taste that is his very own.

Mulder bucks his hips and I take him all in, fucking him with my mouth. I move my hand between his legs, massaging his balls until he's moaning.

"Oh, fuck. That feels good," he mutters, lifting his ass up a little, urging me to explore further.

I let him slip from my mouth and reach for my bag on the floor. His hand goes to his cock, continuing the stimulation while I dig through my bag for some lube. Finding it, I cover my fingers before going back to him. I slide my fingers into his anus, allowing the ring of muscles to slowly open up and adjust to this activity again. I delve around until his hips buck up from me hitting his prostate. I thrust two fingers in and out of him as he tugs at his cock, his hand moving faster than my mouth ever could.

I cannot take my eyes off of him and what we are doing. It is still hard to believe. I'm fucking a man and am excited about it. I want to feel his tight ass wrapped around my cock. I want to enter him and feel his body mold around mine.

His breathing has changed and I know he's about ready to come. Damn, so am I and I haven't even so much as brushed up against the side of the couch.

One last thrust with my hand and his whole body begins to go into uncontrolled spasms. His hand squeezes his cock harder and I want to taste everything. I put my mouth back over him, his hand still working furiously as my tongue circles the tip of his cock. His hands fly to the fabric of the couch, holding on tight and I take him all the way into my mouth, letting him hit the back of my throat. He finally releases loads of hot semen, and I drink it in as fast as he can release it. It slides down to a place where it will do no good, but it doesn't know it's fate.

I back away from him, enjoying the piquant taste of a mouthful of semen for the first time. We've been together for a total of fifteen minutes and already we are screwing around. I just can't help myself.

"Your turn," he says, sitting up and reaching for me. His voice is so raspy with desire, it is almost enough to push me to the edge. But I want more.

************************

It's his turn to enjoy. I have him stripped down in a matter of seconds, wanting him in me. His fingers weren't enough. I want his cock up my ass. I want to watch him get off from fucking me. Rabb reaches around my hips, spreading my ass cheeks apart to better accommodate him. He is under me, leaning back against the couch, as I straddle him. His face melts into a look of pure ecstasy as he slips further in, my muscles stretching to accommodate him. A twinge of pain seers through my body briefly, but I fight it off. I know this will feel so damn good in just a few seconds. I just have to get used to it again.

"Oh my God . . . you are so fucking tight," he moans, his eyes rolling back for a brief second before meeting mine again.

I lean forward enough for my cock to be pressed between us, and it tries to spring back to life. What I wouldn't do to be eighteen again and with this person. Slowly I rock up and down on him, feeling him all the way through my body. His hips begin moving, thrusting into me, and I can feel the walls of my rectum collapse as he takes a stroke out, only to expand again, welcoming him back in.

Rabb wraps his hand around my cock, all the sensations causing me to grow hard again. So soon. Damn. I think I love this man.

His eyes tell me how good this feels and I'm glad for it. I want it to feel good. I want him to remember this forever. To think about this when the inevitable happens and we can no longer be together. I want him to think about this every time he enters a woman. Every time he's lonely and doesn't know what to do.

I guess I don't want to be forgotten.

He kisses me, his mouth pressing hard against mine, the same intensity here as there is where we are joined.

"Faster," he moans against my mouth.

"Do you always need speed, flyboy?" I ask, looking him in the eyes again.

"Yeah. I do," he says, thrusting up into me. Harder. Firmer. Faster.

"Then I'm going to give it to you faster later," I say. That is the one thing we have yet to do. He hasn't allowed me to enter him. And I want to so badly that it is all I can think of. I want to penetrate him and break down that one last barrier.

"You can give me whatever you want later . . . if you give me this now," he whispers and I let him pound into me with a tempestuous fury. I feel as if I'm about to split in half when he finally explodes inside of me, filling me with semen that I swear scorches everything all the way past my heart and to my brain.

"Ohhh ... god.... that was so damn good," he moans.

He doesn't pull out of me just yet, but continues giving me a hand job. Fuck. It feels so wonderful. He's got the pressure and speed thing down just right. I guess it takes a man to know. His thumb brushes against the tip and I can't stop moving, thrusting into his hand. With his cock still in my ass and his hand wrapped around me, it isn't long before I am covering his abdomen and chest with semen. It seems to spurt out of me in slow motion, like some damn money shot in a cheap porno flick. My whole body jerks and I can barely catch my breath. I can't believe I could come again so soon.

I slide my finger through the wet mess I just made on his body, drawing a heart in the sticky substance. He smiles and, taking my hand, sucks on my fingers still covered in semen.

"You like that?" I ask, smiling at him. At how beautiful he is. He falls out of the realm of handsome into that next realm . . . where he is attractive to not only women, but also to men. They can't look at him and deny that he is beautiful for the sake of protecting their masculinity. It is impossible. And I'm the only man on earth who gets to sit here on his damn lap basking in it.

"Yeah. I like," he says, releasing my fingers from his mouth. I reach over and grab the shirt I had on and wipe it across his body, cleaning up the rest of the mess

"You know what?" I say, sliding off his lap and looking down at him as his wet cock shrinks back to its original form.

"What?" he asks, wiping sweat from his brow. The room now smells of sweat and semen and sex. Of men and locker rooms. The fire still pops and crackles in the background and I had forgotten all about it. Nothing else in the world matters but the two of us.

"We weren't exactly careful, were we?" I ask, knowing now isn't the time to start worrying about it.

"No, we weren't," he says, his tone so matter of fact that it startles me. I figured he'd be the one more concerned about this.

"I trust you," I say, knowing that if he did have anything, he would have told me.

"And I trust you," he replies, his eyes shifting away from me. Did he betray someone's trust before? Was it so bad that he has trouble saying the words? We say nothing else to each other for several minutes until he finally gets up and tugs on his jeans.

"Going somewhere?" I ask, concerned he might be leaving me now. He puts his hands on his hips and faces me, looking so damn hot I would take him right here again if I only could. No shirt. Just a pair of unbuttoned jeans. Once again, why in the hell is this man alone except for me?

"Is there anything here that we can turn into dinner . . . I'm hungry," he says. He doesn't move to put on more clothes and I haven't put on any. The damn couch is a mess. If we do it here again, I have to remember to pull sheets off one of the beds.

"The appetizer wasn't enough?" I ask, smiling at him. That was the first time he swallowed. Perhaps this will be a whole weekend of firsts.

"No, it wasn't. It would make a nice, light breakfast, but not quite enough for dinner," he says, laughing.

"I picked up some pasta and sauce on the way up here. And a bottle of wine. There's a little store down the way that we can go to tomorrow. I don't think we will starve before then," I tell him and he begins to walk off toward the kitchen.

"I'll fix dinner," he says, leaving me alone to listen to the fire.

*************************

Mulder sits up on the counter, watching me make spaghetti and sauce. All of a sudden it is as we haven't been apart for weeks on end. The conversation just flows and I can't remember anyone else I've enjoyed being with this much in years. Even with all his strange ideas and leaps in logic from one subject to the next.

"So, what's it like?" he asks me after a discussion of my days training to be an aviator.

"You know . . . I took you up flying," I say, not knowing how to describe to him what being an aviator meant to me. How it feels losing everything you are.

"I doubt that was the same as going Mach two with your hair on fire . . ." he says, as he takes a sip of wine.

"You watch too many movies," I tell him, cringing at the 'Top Gun' reference. I hate that damn movie.

"Ever see anything strange up there?" he asks, as we cover this topic again. Apparently, it is his favorite.

"Unless you consider other people who want to shoot you out of the sky normal, no, I haven't," I say, standing in front of him. Beneath that arrogant, devil may care attitude, there's a spot that has been hurt badly. He pulls me to him, my body fitting in between his thighs, and he holds me close. I can hear his heart beating and it is comforting. Being in the arms of another human being is always comforting.

"You don't believe in anything I do, do you?" he asks, still holding me tight against him.

"Mulder, it isn't that I don't want to believe what you do, it's just that there isn't enough proof," I say, pulling back from him so I can see his face. "I think the notion that this whole universe is here just for us, well, it's kind of hard to believe. But at the same time, it is satisfying to believe that God made this all for us. That we are his . . ."

"God?" he asks, scoffing at the mention.

"Yeah, God. You know, the one thing you don't seem to believe in," I say, kissing him before going back to stirring the pasta.

"I don't believe in 'The Force' either if that makes you feel any better," he adds with a smile. He jumps down of the counter and pours himself another glass of wine.

"I don't think that the government could cover up something so extensive. Hell, they can't even cover up the fact that they spent millions of dollars for a toilet seat. Look at Watergate. Look at the Iran-Contra affair," I say. He sets down his glass and looks out the window toward the lake before turning toward me. I watch him, hands on his hips, doing a little male posturing.

"What do you think happened to her? My sister? You're a lawyer who'll probably have to investigate such serious crimes as murders. Where would you start looking for the the party responsible for her 'abduction?' How would you convict someone and make it stick?" he asks.

"I think the first instinct in a 'disappearance' case would be to look at the household," I start to say, noticing him pout a little at my change in his words. "And then start with the neighborhood."

"My parents weren't there. It was just me," he says, retelling his story again. Now I know how people must feel when I get started on the issue of my dad.

"And I'm assuming you didn't murder her because she was bugging you?" I ask, and he starts to say something. I stop him before he gets a chance. "Don't. If you did, you'd say you were asking me for legal advice and it would become a big mess."

"I didn't. She was a pest, but I loved her."

"So your parents had nothing to do with it and you had nothing to do with it, then I'd have to say it is time to investigate the neighborhood. Any strangers lurking around? Coming to the house?" I ask, and he shakes his head.

"Not that I can remember," he says, and I watch him again. Why in the hell is he doing this?

"Mulder, why are you asking me these things? You are the hot shot FBI profiler. I'm just an old Naval aviator who has barely had a crack at being an attorney. What are you up to?" I ask, and he shrugs.

"I'm just trying to figure out what you think," he says, getting back up on the counter while I drain the pasta.

"You are profiling me by asking me questions about something from your childhood? Wouldn't it be better if you asked me something about my childhood?" I ask, looking at him out of the corner of my eye.

"Probably. But you are assuming I *am* profiling you, which I'm not," he says, leaning over and grabbing a spaghetti noodle. He downs it in one gulp, bringing lascivious thoughts to my mind. Then he reaches for another one.

"Mulder, you are always profiling someone. It is what you do and you do it well," I say, taking the noodles away from him before we never make it to dinner.

"You want to know what I think?" Mulder asks. "I think you have some problems with trust . . ."

"Pot. Kettle. Kettle. Pot. Nice to meet you."

"And you find that I'm a safe haven because you know it won't last. That our trust in each other will not be tested. You won't fail me because you won't be around long enough to fail me," he says, his eyes narrowing at me.

"Drive your point home, Mulder. The sauce is getting cold," I say, grabbing some plates out of the cabinet and heading toward the table. I don't want to look at him right now. Not with these issues out in the open. I get the food and put it on the table, still waiting for his point.

"You failed someone. Or you think you did. Someone who trusted you with their life," he says, and I close my eyes.

Images of the ramp strike flash through my mind with fiery intensity. It's as if it happened just yesterday. I fucked up. I dropped the ball. Screwed the pooch. I can't go back and change it. I crashed that plane into the deck and failed. No one else but me.

But that has nothing to do with him.

"That isn't why I'm here," I say, turning to him, pissed that he could assume such a thing. "What in the hell happened in your life that made you stop trusting people, Fox? Maybe you're the one who's here because it is safer than being with someone who you know you can spend your life with. Someone like Diana."

"You don't know anything about Diana. Or what I do with my time when you aren't around," he says, sliding off the counter and walking toward the door.

"Does she trust you? Does Diana trust you enough to believe this wouldn't be happening?" I ask but he just walks away.

Damn this whole thing to hell.

***************

I feel the corner of the bed sink down from his weight. I don't open my eyes, knowing that I would just see darkness anyway. I've been asleep for a while now, trying to escape everything I've done. Rabb doesn't say anything right away, and all I can hear is his gentle breathing. I'm sure he's here to say good-bye. I went too far. It's as if I want to push him away before getting hurt.

"I already told you about it. We talked about it once before . . . all this started," he says softly. I should have suspected it had something to do with what makes him tick. The crash that killed his RIO. It is something that haunts men for a lifetime. Someone getting killed while you get to walk away.

"You didn't do it intentionally," I say, turning toward him. My eyes try to adjust to the darkness only to find him staring at the floor.

"You and I were talking about trust. He put his life in my hands and he died because of it. He trusted me and I don't want any one to have to trust me with their life again," he says, his voice begging for forgiveness from someone.

"You told me that you that you weren't found responsible at the inquiry. That he's the one who panicked and . . . whatever you call it. . . "

"Punched out . . ."

"Yeah. Punched out and could have gotten you both killed," I say, trying to ease the guilt that he will always live with.

"But we both didn't get killed."

"Harm, you're a lawyer. People are going to trust you with their lives every day. What you do or don't do can change everything for them. It's the same with what I do. If I don't figure out who the UNSUB is fast enough, more people die. And the pressure is excruciating and many days I want the hell out of it. But solving something and putting together all the pieces makes it worth it. Worth allowing someone to trust me," I say.

"But who do you trust?" he asks after contemplating on my speech for a few moments.

I want to answer 'no one' but that isn't true. I still have faith in a few things, however waning it may be.

"I trust you, Harm. Accept that fact and learn to live with it. No matter what happens, you aren't going to let me down," I say, reaching for his sleeve, pulling him toward me.

"Someday . . ." he starts to say.

"Today. Today you won't let me down. Tell me about it . . . about what happened," I say. He lies down next to me and I put my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It is calm now, unlike earlier when I made it pound hard and fast.

"What is there to tell?" he says, his voice only a hushed whisper in the darkness.

"What did you do after it happened? How did you get to this point?" I ask him, tracing the hard lines of his chest with the tip of my finger.

"I stayed with my grandmother. I took the time to think and rest and finish up a project my dad had started. Then I was ready to move on. Until you brought it up tonight, I had been doing pretty well," he says, turning his face toward mine.

"I'm sorry," I mumble softly. "I can be quite the ass sometimes."

"You do it to keep people away. You're afraid if they get too close, something will happen to them. Something like what happened with your sister," he says, his hand resting on top of mine, stilling my motion. "And what happened to her is not your fault."

"But finding out what did happen to her is my responsibility," I say.

"Mulder, I know what that responsibility is like. I've spent years searching for my dad. It is a lot to carry but we do it anyway. But for this one weekend, can we just forget about it," he says, and I laugh a little at the suggestion. If only it were that easy to forget. "I know it is something we always live with riding there at the top of our thoughts all the time. But just for two days . . ."

"I won't mention trust or blame again for the next two days," I say, whispering promises I don't know if I can keep.

"How about aliens? Can we keep them out of the conversation, too?" he asks.

"Now you are asking the impossible," I say, pulling him close to me, enjoying the safety of being wrapped in his arms.

"I'll allow you two mentions of aliens a day, but only as a trade . . ." he starts, his hands moving slowly across my body.

"A trade for what?" I ask, as his hands delve under the waist of my boxers. I find myself growing hard with just a mere brush of his hand across my cock. Damn. I want him bad.

"Let me show you."

*********************

"Not big on wilderness survival, are you?" I ask Mulder, offering him a hand as we scale some rocks. We got off the trail a few miles back and discovered the path back is rockier than we thought.

"I can get by," he says, not taking my hand. It's as if I'm threatening his manhood. Like his camping skills are what's threatening that at this point.

"Next time, we will skip the cabin and do some real camping," I say, only to hear him groan behind me. He seems to be rather attached to having a real bed to sleep - or not - in. "Or some target shooting. How good of a shot are you?"

"I've never had to shoot anything out of the sky while pulling six Gs in a multi million dollar airplane, but I can hold my own," he says.

"Well, shooting stuff out of the sky . . . I did have some help with that. I wasn't flying P51 Mustangs from World War II. Or in my case, Navy F4F Wildcats. Now they have guided missiles and all. Those birds aren't sent up there . . ."

"Harm, all this talk of air combat is really turning me on," he teases and I discover he's sitting on a pile of rocks, tying his laces.

I realize that neither of us has seen the other dressed for work. Almost, but not quite. I try to picture him looking like a g-man, wearing a pressed suit and a neatly knotted tie and not that rumpled person who showed up at the submarine base a few months ago. I imagine him with his weapon at his side. Flashing his badge. Somehow, I prefer this casual look better.

And I've heard enough comments about men in uniform to last me a lifetime. I don't need to hear a dig from him.

I sit down across from him and rummage through the backpack I've been carrying. His eyes widen as I pull out a cigar and light it.

"Want one?" I ask. I guess I haven't ever smoked in front of him before. It is nice to see there might be something he doesn't know about me, yet. He knows a hell of a lot more than any other man does.

"No, thank you. I'm still trying to quit smoking, remember?" he asks, pulling a handful of sunflower seeds out of his pocket. Like that's a much better habit. Health wise, yes. Annoyance-wise, no.

"So, where is the old ball and chain this weekend, Mulder?" I ask. He cracks several more seeds open and spits out the husks before answering.

"Sitting across from me. But I think you need to put an 's' on the end of the word ball," he says, knocking off another one of his smartass answers.

"Don't want to talk about her?" I ask, not sure why this bothers the hell out of me. He's the one who should feel guilty. I can't make him feel it.

"She's at a seminar in Utah. Something about teamwork," he says, and I laugh.

"Teamwork? Then why aren't you there? How does one partner get out of it and what excuse did you give?" I ask him, wishing I could have heard this conversation.

"My tried and true excuse that I plan to use for the rest of my career. Hemorrhoidal flare up. Can't sit on the plane that long," he says, shifting his ass around as if he were serious. "And after a weekend with you, no one will question it."

"Sorry," I say, still laughing. I do realize that I have not given as much of myself, so to speak, as he's given me. I just don't know how to go about changing that.

He sits there, here under the shade of early autumn leaves, pondering something. Mulder is always thinking. Yes, some of his thoughts are quirky at best, but they never stop.

"You know, Jung described the masculine principal as knowing what one wants and the ability to move towards that goal without distraction. Yet, the feminine element not only connects us to other people, but it connects and heals the disparate parts of the self, allowing us a richer experience of life," he says as if he has an old psychology text book before him.

His eyes are a darker hazel than I have ever seen them before as he tries to analyze this *thing* we have created. I know he thinks about it, the bond we have formed in such a short time, but I hardly know how to ask him what it is he thinks about.

"Is that your rationalization for why we are together?" I ask, and he shrugs his shoulder. "That our feminine 'element' is searching for a richer life?"

"Do you have a better idea?" Mulder asks, his face as serious as I've ever seen it. "You and I are both capable of having relationships with women. Relationships that don't have to be hidden. I *am* in a long term relationship with a woman, yet I'm not really getting a whole hell of a lot out of it. Not to say that I don't want to be with her, there is just something missing. Why else would I be here with you? Sex? That is an easy commodity in this day and age. Male or female. Whatever you want, you can find it. So what is it?"

"Love?" I ask without thinking. The word in the form of a question just comes tumbling out of my mouth. I look away from him briefly but know I have to face him.

"Yeah. That is always a good reason," he says, pouting a little. "But is that what this is?"

"I don't know. I am beginning to think it is," I say, knowing we are headed to a place from where we cannot return. It will be so damn hard to switch back to that life before this, but deep down in my soul I know I'm going to have to.

Right now, it's no longer the boys out just getting their kicks and experimenting with something new. This is real.

"So am I."

*********************

"This is interesting," Harm says, walking into the tree-shaded, timber structure that makes up the outside shower. During summer, the dense foliage hides it from prying eyes on all sides, its walls just high enough to cover the body but allow a wonderful view of the woods.

Now it affords a view of the changing leaves still thick enough to provide privacy for two men just out hiking in the woods.

"Nice view," I say, standing behind him and referring to so much more than the leaves.

"How cold do you think the water is?" he asks, looking over his shoulder and straight into my eyes. They melt me every damn time.

Who the fuck cares how cold the water is? Would we even feel the damn water?

"I imagine it could be pretty cold," I say, trying to think about the cold while a warmth floods up through my body and into my face. He notices that I am blushing and smiles.

"Do you care?" he asks, turning around to look at me. He rests his hands on his narrow hips as he waits for my answer. His eyes watch me, burrowing into my soul and convincing me I love him.

"I don't care. I wouldn't care if icicles came out of that damn thing. I want to fuck you," I say, and he chuckles.

"Ever the romantic, aren't you?" he asks. At the same time, he starts to unbutton his outermost shirt, tossing it my way when it is off. Next, he pulls off his t-shirt, leaving his chest bare. I never really thought about another man's upper body before. Women had breasts that that is what I wanted. Until now.

The simple, hard lines that make up the male body are beautiful in their own right. Although the female roundness seems to hold the world's attention as far as beauty goes, there is something to be said about the straight lines and angles that are a man.

Especially when those lines make up the form of Harmon Rabb.

He bends down to take off his hiking boots, tucks his socks in them and places them outside the entrance to the shower, neatly. Damn. Wherever he lives must be impeccably neat.

His slow tease is killing me as I can feel my cock surging against the front of my jeans.

He unbuttons the waist of his jeans and then stops.

"It won't be as much fun alone," he says, his voice soft and seductive as he walks into the structure. A second later, his jeans and boxers come flying over the top and smack me in the face.

"You just want me in there to test the water first. If I don't freeze my ass off, you'll get in," I say, tossing his clothes with the rest.

"I wouldn't want you to freeze your ass off," he says, fighting a smirk and losing.

"I bet you don't," I say, walking fully dressed into the enclosure. We are confined in just a few feet of space, and the electricity flowing from the two of us is enough to create a spark. Bring on Smoky the Bear because we are going to send this forest up into flames right now.

He takes a step back as I approach him, his breath catching slightly, suspended as I move closer. This is so different than his usual style, so out in the open. It as if he is admitting to what this is and there is no hiding it if only for this moment.

Fully dressed, I press against him, moving him back against the wall. Rabb finally exhales, his breath ragged and uneven. I look down between us, his cock growing as hard as mine just from the suggestive nature of this contact.

"I can't remember wanting anything in my life as badly as I want you right now," I say, my voice cracking as I think of having him and being with him.

He pushes me backward, using his height to his advantage, and I now I'm the one who is pressed against a wall. His mouth comes down around mine, urgent and needful. I hunger to give him everything he wants. Me. The world. Just this moment. Whatever.

"I . . ." I start to say as soon as he breaks the kiss.

"Don't speak. I already know," he demands, his mouth preventing me from saying another word anyway.

Rabb's hands struggle with my clothes, not wanting to break this kiss in order to get them off. Finally, he just yanks my shirt, sending little buttons clattering all over the ground. He slides it off of me and throws it over the wall, soon followed by my shoes and jeans.

He reaches for the chain that pulls on the water and we suffer under the chill, our bodies pressed against one another, his cock rubbing against mine, sparking an unbelievable electricity. Within moments, the water warms up. Not to bath temperature, but warmer than it had been. Probably piped from the house out here so it can be enjoyed into the autumn or on chilly summer nights.

The water flows over us, washing away any guilt we might feel over this. Right now, there is none. How could there be? I love him and that can't be wrong.

"What do you want, Mulder?" Rabb asks, his hands moving up from my back until they are holding my face, as tender as any other lover I've ever been with would touch me. His eyes are three or four shades darker than normal and I could get lost in them. Sink to a depth from where I could never surface.

"I want you. I need you," I say, surprised at how raspy my voice has become. Is he going to give himself to me, allowing me to perform the act of penetration, committing to the one last thing he has kept from me in this relationship?

"We don't have anything out here with us . . . I just don't . . ."

"I won't hurt you," I say, turning him around so he's facing the wall. His body tenses up, nervous about what is going to happen here. "I'll make it feel just as good for you as it does for me. Just like you always do."

I pull him back to me, his ass pressing against me, and he begins to loosen up just a little. He has to trust me. How could he not? I could destroy everything he is, yet he keeps coming back. If he can trust me with his life, he must trust me with this.

The water slickens our bodies, taking away whatever friction there might be. I sink to my knees behind him, finding it hard to keep my eyes open under the pouring water but not wanting to lose sight of what I'm doing.

I don't want to take my eyes off of him.

"Harm, lean forward and, um, spread your legs a little," I say, frisking him like I would a suspect. He jumps when I make slight contact with his balls and I hear him laugh.

"Don't tell me you have some sort of bad cop fantasy?" he asks, looking over his shoulder and down at me.

"Probably not anymore than you have a fantasy about doing some young seaman up the ass," I say, and he falls silent. "I don't even want to know."

"If I had a choice, I'd rather do a male superior officer. Make them beg for me," he says and now I laugh.

"No one can accuse you of being a conceited ass, can they?" I say, and he wiggles his behind in my face.

"What do you think?" he asks and all I can think of is one thing.

"I think I want you."

My mouth touches the back of his thighs, the contact causing him to jump away from me. But I follow, not allowing him to escape the sensations. He bends forward and I concentrate on his balls, my tongue swirling around them until he moans in pleasure. Moans and thrusts back into my face.

I separate his ass cheeks and when my tongue touches that little pucker of flesh, he gasps. Phoebe was the first person to do this to me, long ago. I remember my shock and pleasant surprise as her tongue made contact there, making me beg for more. There was nothing she wouldn't try and I have to admit Rabb is not going to be the first person I've had anal sex with. Phoebe loved her pleasure mixed with pain. Loved having me fuck her hard in any way I could. Wherever we could.

It must feel good because his hand is now wrapped around his own cock, jerking himself off as I prepare him for more. Slowly, I loosen him up with my tongue and fingers, feeling the muscles slowly stretch to accommodate me. I want to be in him . . . I want to come so hard inside of him that he can taste it. I want to feel exactly what he feels when he's inside of me.

"Mulder . . . Fox . . . now . . ." he says in a voice so low I can barely hear him.

"Tell me to stop if you need me to," I say, as I stand up behind him. I use the water, spit and whatever pre-ejaculate I can scrape up to slicken my cock before I even attempt to enter him.

"Don't worry. I will," he says, and I hope it doesn't come to that.

I wrap a hand around a narrow hip and use the other one to keep his muscles loosened until I'm ready to enter him. I remove my fingers and edge my cock in just a little bit, letting him adjust to the feeling. He leans forward, opening himself up to me even more. Both my hands are on his hips now, and I pull him toward me slowly, prepared for him to call it quits.

He doesn't.

Instead, he continues to stroke himself, pulling harder as I sink in further.

"You okay?" I ask between gritted teeth. Fuck. It has been years since I've felt something this tight and smooth around my cock and I can barely take all the sensations pounding through my body and brain.

"I'm better than okay," he says, pushing back against me until I'm sunk in up to my balls. They slap his ass as I begin to thrust in and out of him, the sound of wet flesh smacking together filling the crisp, autumn air.

He thrusts forward as I pull back, and then we counter the moves, each of us in perfect time with the other. It is going to go by too quickly and I'm going to careen into a black hole of orgasmic pleasure before I know it. This is so damn good.

"Son of a bitch. Do you have to be so damn good?" I ask, leaning over his back and grabbing his cock in my own hand. I want to get him off. Want him to come so hard he can't help but to scream.

"Do you?" he asks, his voice pitched higher than I've ever heard it.

The water spirals around us, flying off of our skin as we pound against each other. It could be so cold that my flesh is turning blue. I wouldn't know. All I know is I'm in his fevered body and the warmth from just that is boiling my heart and soul.

"Fox?" he moans, trying to catch his breath. He is panting now, gasping through the water stream.

"Hmm?" I say, my mind not sure how I will answer any questions.

"You promised . . . ohh, fuck . . . you promised faster. I want faster."

*******************

I can't take it much longer. I want to come with him in me. I want to explode in his hand and feel him explode inside of me.

It doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. The initial burn was replaced by sheer pleasure as soon as he was in deep enough. I never thought it would feel this good, to be penetrated by another man, to be on the accepting end of this. It is a change from the accepted paradigm of what a man is. We do the penetrating. We don't take it.

Except right now I want to take everything he has to give me and more.

I feel his body tense up and I know he has to be close. I know what it feels like to do what he is doing and I know exactly how tight and pleasurable it is. It is so damn hard to hold off.

"Harm, are you close?" he asks, as his hand continues to thrust my cock into its inevitable gooey submission.

"Let me," I say, brushing his hand away. He goes back to thrusting into me and when I adjust my position a little, he hits my prostate. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can't control it anymore. My hands fly up to the timber walls as I shoot semen everywhere, covering the wood in in front of me with it, coming harder than I ever have in my life.

Within seconds, Mulder is coming inside of me, and I constrict all my muscles around him, wanting to give him the best damn orgasm he's ever. I slam back into him one last time, allowing him to plunge all the way in.

"Goddamn son of a bitch. . ." is the last thing I can make out as he rocks under the sensations of coming in my ass.

He ends up leaning on my back, spent from the exertion. It's only then that I notice the water has grown cold since we began all this. It is cold, smelling and tasting of iron. Then I discover the iron taste is from my own blood. I bit my lip.

"You want to clean up before it gets too cold?" I ask him, and he pulls out of me. It leaves me wanting for more, but that can come later. We have this place until tomorrow.

I direct the spray to clean him off and to hose down the wall. No words are spoken right away. None need to be. His fingers graze by my lip and I wipe off the remaining drop of blood with the back of my hand.

"Mulder?" I ask, wanting to know something. To know right now while this is all still fresh and he hasn't had time to think about it.

"Yeah," he says, sounding exhausted and in desperate need of a nap.

"It is more than just the sex, isn't it?" I ask, watching his eyes to make sure he tells the truth.

"Of course it is. Why do you ask?" he says, his hands defensively going to his hips. It is kind of cute, him standing there naked, trying to exert some kind of male defense mechanism.

"I just don't want it to be just about sex. I mean, that is okay in some relationships, but there's too much to lose here," I say, knowing we've covered this a hundred times but still afraid.

He considers what I just said carefully for a moment, turning the water off and shaking the wet hair out of his eyes before answering.

"Would it help if I told you I love you? Because I do," he says, and I'm taken aback briefly. Not that I don't want him to say those words. I do. There is nothing more in this world that I want.

I just wish it could be more than this. I wish it could be real . . . not just stolen weekends or meetings at a baseball game.

My initial silence causes him to doubt what he just said, and I can tell he's trying to come up with a way to replace those words.

"Yes, Fox. It helps a lot."

*************************

"Is that yours?" I ask, looking at my pager. "It's not mine."

Rabb digs his pager out of his jacket pocket and I can tell by his expression that it isn't good news. His deep sigh seals the feeling.

"I'm sorry. I have to take this . . . do you mind?" he asks politely, as if my saying no would have any effect on what he would do. He has no choice. That is the life he leads. A life where he technically belongs to the U.S. government. I doubt he's resigning his commission now, no matter how good of an idea that is to me.

And that is why we can't be together.

"Go ahead," I say.

Turning on the TV set, I try not to listen as he makes his phone call from the back bedroom. This doesn't necessarily mean he has to leave. Maybe someone has a question they need for him to answer.

Yes. That is why they call junior officers on the weekends. Because their input is so important.

He comes back out of the bedroom and I can tell by the way he rakes his hand through his hair that it isn't good.

"I, um . . . have to go," he says apologetically. I don't need an explanation, but he gives me one anyway. "There's been a murder . . . they want me to assist. This is the first time they asked for me."

"Harm, go do your job. Go serve your country. Go do whatever it is you do. I'll still be around when Uncle Sam is done with you," I say, my voice not able to hide my disappointment.

I can tell he's anxious to get going, to go conquer one more challenge. He's used to being the best and eventually, he'll probably be the best lawyer the JAG corps has. Will I even know him then?

"I have to get something out of the car. I'll be right back," Rabb says, heading for the door. He turns around while he's standing in the open doorway. "Mulder, I'm really sorry."

Not as sorry as I am. I was really looking forward to another day with him.

He returns in a few minutes, carrying a garment bag over his shoulder. He doesn't say a word as he goes into the bedroom we have shared. I am tempted to follow him, just to watch him during our last few minutes together, but I don't. A few minutes later, he comes out, still putting on his uniform. He drops his bag on the floor. Right where it was when I brought it in.

God damn. No wonder he joined the Navy. Pressed white shirt with shoulder boards. A dark tie. And then he pulls on a dark blazer with a row of ribbons on his chest. There's nothing quite like a man in uniform.

The only thing missing are some gold wings. I suppose he knows that better than anybody.

Rabb seems nervous, as if his two worlds have suddenly collided. In a way, they have. Our professional and personal lives have only come close once before. It was just as uncomfortable then.

"Should I salute or something?" I say, and it comes out a little more curt than I intended.

"Not unless you enlisted while I was in the bedroom," he says, fastening the gold buttons on his jacket.

"I don't think I'd have it in me . . . following orders. Taking commands," I say, as I lazily flip through the channels. I'm just trying to avoid facing the inevitable. We're going to be apart again.

"I was a Navy brat . . . at least for the first few years of my life. You learn early," he says, as if that is the only characteristic I'm lacking in my inability to follow the beaten path. I seriously doubt that every Navy brat walks the straight and narrow. I always assumed they were a little wild.

"Can you call?" I ask, knowing how hard it is for either of us to maintain any kind of regular contact. I'm always with Diana at work and at home and he's just always at work. Doing a job that does not allow this to be going on.

"I'll try. I always do," he says, sounding just as nervous now as when he first arrived.

He tucks a white hat under his arm and picks up his bags before turning for the door. I don't know whether I'm supposed to get up and kiss him goodbye or give him a simple guy-like 'see ya' as he walks out the door.

I don't have to make the decision as he sets everything down and returns to me. He grabs my hand, forcing me to drop the remote control as he pulls me up to him.

For an instant, who we are and what we do during the rest of our lives doesn't matter. Our mouths meet, desperate for one final taste . . . one parting moment before we have to go our separate ways. But as always, it is a fleeting moment.

My fingers wrap around the material of his blazer, wrinkling it everywhere my hands fall. The sleeves. The back. Anywhere I can touch him. I make it lose its ironed perfection, turning it into something less than ideal in his world.

I suppose that is what I have done to his life. Put a wrinkle in its perfect exterior. Made it bend and mold in ways he never imagined it could. And now he has to wear that life everyday.

I try to pat the material smooth after we break the kiss, but I can't. It won't go back.

"It's okay," he says with that smile of his, the one that can get him anything, as he realizes what I'm trying to do. "It will remind me of you."

He walks away, picking up the few items he brought with. Before I can say anything, he's gone. All I can do is watch him depart through the very same window I watched him arrive.

"But what will I ever have to remind me of you, Harmon Rabb?" I mutter to myself.

The cabin and the surrounding woods are too lonely without him. I just want to go home.



The end