Title: Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar

Pairing: Ethan Hunt/Fox Mulder Andrew Yarborough/Daniel Ballard Connor/Daniel Mulder/Rollie Tyler/hunt

feedback: poet_77665@yahoo.com

Chapter 19 Notes: Still pre mission. Roland (Rollie) Tyler is the special effects wizard from F/X and F/X2, played by Bryan Brown. Lovely Australian accent. I got the trick Rollie uses on Fox from the great make up effects artist, Tom Savini. His book, Grande Illusions, is highly recommended. I actually used this in a demonstration on make up in a college class. Pretty effective. The technique for making foam latex appliances is as accurate as my memory could make it, since I don't have the book any more and didn't have any luck locating explicit instructions on the net. But the 'wear-ever' fixative is, to my best knowledge, my own invention.

Chapter 21 Notes: Takes place shortly after Connor and Daniel arrive in Dublin. Daniel's explanation is based on information obtained for The Language of Flowers Based on Meanings, at http://www.cybercom.net/~klb/flwrmeanings.html a very interesting page, and a terrific source for something novel the next time you want to do something a little special for a loved one.

Dumb show = pantomime, act with no words.

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar

By Scribe

Chapter One: Mission Assigned

The two girls sitting on the brick planter outside the mall were thirteen, and were on a high that only thirteen year old girls who have spent the day at the mall can achieve. They'd hyped themselves with liberal doses of caffeine and sugar, and had reached a stage of twitching giggles. Now they were waiting for a parent to come and take them home, and gloating over their loot.

"That is so totally kewl, Jasmine," the little blonde said, envy clear in her tone. "I wish I had one."

Jasmine examined her prize smugly. "Don't blame me, Tara. If ya hadn't gotten that N'Sync CD you'da had enough to get one, too."

The object of their attention was what looked like a large automatic pistol. Closer inspection showed it to be made of plastic. "What flavor ammo did ya get?" Tara asked curiously.

"Chocolate, what else?" Jasmine showed her what looked like a clip. But instead of bullets, it was loaded with small brown candy lozenges. She carefully loaded the clip into the butt of the fake gun. "I can't wait to take this to school. I'm gonna nail that booger Mark Blanchard right between the eyes. That'll teach 'im to snap my bra an' ask why I bother wearing one."

"Yeah, well, ya better be careful, or they'll take it. They call 'em 'dangerous nuisances'. My mom says they're gonna recall 'em cause the spring is too strong. They say some kids choked, shooting the ammo into their mouths, an' one kid even put his brother's eye out."

"Crap." Jasmine said confidently. "That's one of those urban whatchamacallits, like in the movie where they get chopped up."

Tara frowned. "Prom Night?"

"No, the other one."

"The Shining?"

"No! The one with the cute guy from Dawson's Creek, except he's blonde, an' he gets, like, hung from a tree."

Understanding dawned. "Oh. Urban legends."

"Yeah, that one. It's just stories grownups are passin' around to stop us from havin' fun."

Tara sounded doubtful. "I dunno. I think I saw it in the paper. They wouldn't lie in the paper, would they?"

"That's not what my dad says." Jasmine pointed the plastic pistol toward her own open mouth, and pulled the trigger. There was a sproinging snap, and a tiny brown pellet shot out, directly into her mouth. She chewed smugly. "See?"

"Do me!" Tara opened her mouth. Jasmine took aim, and shot. Direct hit. Suddenly her friend clutched her throat, eyes going wide.

"Tara?" Tara made a wheezing sound, grabbing Jasmine's arm. "Omygawd! Tara!" She thumped her on the back, hard. "Don't die! I'll do the Heinie maneuver on you!"

As she started to grab her friend, Tara laughed. "Get away from me, you 'mo!"

Jasmine got red in the face. "Tara, you snot!"

"Gimme! I wanna try!" Tara grabbed for the toy.

Jasmine tried to hold it away from her. "No way!"

The two friends struggled for possession of the toy, shoving and snatching. Neither one of them noticed the Jaguar that parked in the space nearby, or the man who got out. He started walking toward the mall entrance that was just to the left of the girls.

As he came up on the curb, Tara wrapped her hand around the butt of the candy gun, and Jasmine tried to jerk it away. She pulled the trigger. There was that familiar, sproinging snap, and a candy pellet shot out of the muzzle.

Both girls froze, gasping in horror. Because the little dart was flying straight at the man who was just passing by. It was going to smack him right in the head. They were doomed.

Casually, without looking around or breaking stride, the man brought his arm up. The candy bullet smacked into his palm, and his fingers closed around it. He took two more steps, then paused, and turned toward the girls.

Tara and Jasmine sat motionless, gaping at him. They were sure they were about to be hauled before mall security.

He regarded them, but they couldn't see his eyes, because he was wearing really kewl looking shades. In fact, this was quite possibly one of the kewlest looking guys they'd ever seen. Oh, kinda old. He was, like, almost thirty, or something. But he looked nice. He was wearing tight blue jeans, and a black T-shirt, and he had the kind of body those guys on Xtreme Sports had. His hair was black, and kind of long, falling over his forehead and ears, and down past his collar.

He just stared at them, no expression on his face. Then he pushed the shades up on his forehead. He had the greenest eyes they had ever seen. He smiled slowly, and Jasmine felt the crotch of her panties get moist, like they did when she went to the Backstreet Boys concert and screamed herself into a frenzy.

He held up the little brown lozenge between his thumb and forefinger, then slowly wagged a finger at them admonishingly. He popped the candy in his mouth. Lowering his sunglasses again, he headed into the mall, chewing.

The girls stared after him. Then they looked at each other and burst into hysterical giggles, hugging each other frantically. "Omygawd!" gasped Tara. "I thought we were toast!"

"I almost was!" Jasmine fanned herself. "Yow!" She looked at the mall entrance longingly. "I wonder if he likes younger women?"

Ethan Hunt munched the candy as he pushed through the doors into the mall. As he walked, he took the headphones of the micro cassette player he had hooked on his belt and slipped them on. He punched PLAY, and a lively instrumental, driven by drums and laced with the wailing of flutes, filled his ears. He window shopped, occasionally snapping his fingers in time to the music.

At last he made his way to a kiosk in the middle of the mall called Munchsters. The glass fronted cases held a wide assortment of bulk candy, nuts, and snacks. As he shut off the music and removed the earphones, the man inside the counter gave him a professional greeting smile. "Need a nibble?"

Bingo. "Yeah, I'm having severe munchies, but I can't make up my mind. What do you recommend?" Proper response given.

"That all depends on your mood."

And counter response. "I'll rely on your judgement."

The man seemed to consider him. "You look like a chocaholic to me." He tapped the counter above a display of brightly wrapped miniature candy bars. "How about some Hershey's Miniatures? A little of everything."

"Sounds good. Half pound, please."

The man scooped the candy onto the scale, watching the needle swing. He removed two, then added one, finally nodding his satisfaction. He poured the candy into a white paper sack, and took Ethan's money. "Enjoy. The Special Dark Chocolates are my favorites."

"Mine, too. Thanks."

Ethan sauntered back out to the parking lot. The two sharp shooters were gone, he noted. He made his way to the forest green Jaguar and got inside. Opening the bag, he unwrapped and ate first a Krackle, then a Mr. Goodbar. The guy was right, he was a chocaholic.

Digging through the contents of the bag, he located a single Hershey's Special Dark Chocolate. Ethan skinned off the paper and unwrapped the gold foil. Instead of a chocolate bar, he revealed a micro cassette. Ethan sighed. He really liked the Special Dark.

Ethan donned his headset again. He took another tiny wire and connected the player to a small port hidden in the frames of his sunglasses. Then he plugged the tape into the player and started it. Immediately the familiar, smooth voice with it's hint of Britain filled his ears.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hunt." Ethan half lifted a hand in greeting to the operative who was most likely several thousand miles away. You never could tell, though. It was entirely possible that he was being observed at the moment. Didn't hurt to be cordial.

He closed his eyes, and there was a sudden flicker of light across the backs of the closed lids. When he opened them, he was no longer looking through the windshield at the mall parking lot. He was looking at a photo shimmering on the inside lenses of his glasses. To anyone passing by, they would seem their usual dark shade.

Ethan was immediately interested in this mission, more so than usual. After all, it wasn't often that he began his assignments by being presented with a dossier photo of himself.

No he corrected himself. That's not me. Pretty fucking close, though. I'd say maybe me, five years down the road. What gives?

"This is Connor Galbraith. I'm sure you've noticed the remarkable resemblance to a certain M:I agent, who shall remain nameless.?"

Ethan studied the photo with interest. Galbraith was at some sort of society bash. Hm. I look pretty damn good in a tuxedo. The photo changed to show Galbraith more casually dressed, climbing out of a Porsche. The photos changed as the voice continued, showing the man in a variety of situations and outfits.

"Mr. Galbraith is an Irish lad made good. He's moved from the streets of Dublin into the lower levels of international high society. His interests are varied. As you can see, he's very sports oriented."

That he was. Tennis, rock climbing (Ethan?s personal favorite), wrestling... He shook his head. The surveillance teams never ceased to amaze him. On the street was one thing, but how the fuck did they get such good shots from inside a closed gymnasium, or out in the open with the subject halfway up a cliff face?

"Mr. Galbraith has ties with the IRA, and has used his extensive smuggling contacts to run guns for the cause. But in his case, it's more business than political fervor. He's been well compensated, and has channeled the funds into his main enterprise. Drugs."

A photo of a handsome Latino man replaced Galbraith. He was big, at least 6'3", and powerfully built. His Indian black hair was cropped brutally short. His clean shaven face was handsome, but there was an edge of cruelty to the thin lips. The olive black eyes were sharp, showing a near fierce intelligence. He looked thoroughly dangerous.

"This is Olivero de la Montana, Columbian drug lord. He is known affectionately as 'The Jaguar'. This is due to his preferred methods of dispatching his enemies. He either disembowels them, or breaks their necks, as the big cat does. At present, he's only a mid level player, no threat to the big boys. But if he can form an alliance with Galbraith, and use Connor's extensive smuggling operation for distribution, he can rise to the top. The present powers in the cartels won't like that, and it could trigger a bloodbath. Since it is known that Galbraith uses commercial transport extensively, many innocent lives could be lost in the struggle."

Damn straight. A Columbian in a pissing contest is more fanatic than a Muslim fringe zealot on a jihad. They don't care who gets in the way: kids, grandmas, nuns, dogs. They all go.

"Montaa's scheduled a meeting with Galbraith in two weeks time to discuss a merger of interests. Quite obviously, it is in the best interests of all but the two participants that this partnership never come into being."

"We intend to intercept Connor Galbraith and his traveling companion, and detain them. An operative will take Galbraith?s place. This should not be too difficult, as Montaa's never actually met his prospective business partner, and knows him only through photographs and by reputation. And, as I'm sure you've noticed, Galbraith bears a certain resemblance to one of our more seasoned and, if I may say so, dashing agents."

"Flatterer," Ethan muttered, grinning.

The subject of the photos changed. The man in these was taller, rangy. He had thick brown hair that seemed to have a tendency to flop, and hazel eyes. Nice. Sulky looking mouth.

"This is Daniel Ballard, Of the Maryland Ballards. It may not mean much to you, Ethan, but I assure you it means a great deal in some circles. Daniel is the proverbial black sheep of the family. He is also Connor Galbraith's personal assistant, and lover."

The photos that followed were much like the first series. Daniel, sitting in a crowded banquette at a club, lounging beside a pool in a tiny pair of Speedos Niiice. Daniel looked good in a penguin suit, too. Connor had good taste.

"He's a spoiled and decadent young man. He has a trust fund, but it doesn't keep him in what he considers proper style, so he has been living with a series of sugar daddies since he left prep school. He is Galbraith's kept man. Galbraith is quite besotted with him and, as far as things go with Daniel, he seems to have genuine affection for his patron. Connor and Daniel are inseparable, so it would not be believable for Galbraith to make a trip like this alone. An operative will have to be found to portray Daniel convincingly."

This assignment might have a few perks, if I get to squire around someone who looks like that.

"So, Mr. Hunt. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to present yourself at this meeting as Connor Galbraith, discover what you can about Monta's organization, sabotage any chance of Galbraith ever forming an alliance with anyone in the cartels, and get yourself and any other M:I operatives out safely. If you agree, you'll find pertinent information at the agreed upon safe house. We're sending you directly into the jaws of the jaguar this time, Ethan. Be careful."

Ethan put the keys in the ignition and fired up the motor, pulling out. There wasn't much traffic, and he took the ramp up onto the freeway as the voice continued. "As always, should any of your M:I operatives be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. This tape will self destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Ethan. Five..."

Ethan stopped the tape, counting, "Four." He ejected the tape. "Three." He rolled down the window. "Two." He whipped his arm, scaling the tiny cassette out toward the verge. There was a hissing sound, as the tape began to smoke. "One." It was dissolved before the plastic shell hit the ground.

Ethan disconnected the player, tossing it on the seat beside him. He popped a CD into the dash, and turned the volume up. The same instrumental he had listened to in the mall poured from the speakers. He began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the drums, singing under his breath. "Dah dah dah, dah da. Dah dah dah, duh dah..." He headed for the safe house.

Chapter Two: Perfect Match

Inside another false candy bar Damn. A Krackle, my second favorite. Why couldn't they have screwed up the Mr. Goodbars? he found a small key, with the address of the safe house and the number 2 etched into the metal.

The safe house was located in a fairly upscale neighborhood in Baltimore. It was in the borderland between suburb and downtown: a nice, respectable two story brick building. Ethan opened the mailbox for the second floor apartment down in the entry hall, noting that his name here was Ethan Bridger.

Inside was an unaddressed manilla envelope that he knew would contain all the identification he would need to maintain this identity for the two weeks he had to prepare, credit cards in the name of Ethan Bridger, and a key to the upstairs apartment. As he was shutting the mailbox, the door to apartment 1 opened, and a middle aged lady in a flowered duster peered out. She beamed at him happily, as if he were a long lost friend. "Good evening, Mr. Bridger. How long are you back for this time?"

Ethan didn't hesitate an instant. "Just two weeks..." He cast a casual glance at the other mailbox. "Miz Gluckman. I'll be having a friend stay over with me."

She smiled naughtily. "A lady friend?"

He laughed. "No such luck."

"Well, let me know if you need anything. You know that you're the best tenant I've ever had." The smile broadened a little. "Sometimes I scarcely know that you're there."

*

Ethan locked the door behind himself and studied the room. Not bad. Hardwood floors with a good grade Persian rug, dark wood furniture upholstered in leather. There was a glass and chrome dinette set to one side. A computer was set up at a desk, and a paper shredder sat beside it. There was an entertainment center with a large screen television, DVD player, and CD sound system, complete with a selection of music ranging from classic to rap, and everything in between. All the comforts. Control must be feeling guilty about this mission.

He checked the kitchen. Fully equipped. Maybe he'd get a chance to cook a little. He'd like that, but the microwave would probably get the biggest work out. It all depended on how fast a study his partner turned out to be. If he was quick, then there would be a little time to relax. If not... He hoped there were good restaurants that delivered in the area.

The pantry and refrigerator were well stocked, and he helped himself to a Heineken Dark before wandering back into the living room. There was just one other door, besides the front closet. That meant one bedroom. Ethan grinned. That probably means one bed.

He went in and checked. Yep. King size brass bed. He can start off on the couch if he's skittish, but he's gonna have to sleep there with me eventually. After all, we're playing lovers. He needs to get used to it. Whoever he is. That's the first order of business.

Back in the living room, he finished the beer before sitting down to the computer. No point in risking an accident. A drenched keyboard wouldn't fuck things up entirely, but it would be an annoyance, and a bad omen, as far as Ethan was concerned.

Ethan booted up the computer, reflecting that the information it contained would be worth a great deal of money to a great many interested parties. It would also endanger the lives of many people if it were to fall into the wrong hands. That was why Ethan was particularly careful signing on. A slip would have resulted in the information being destroyed, along with whoever had entered the wrong password, and a good portion of the surrounding room.

There were two icons on the desktop: one for an Internet connection, and a stylized jaguar head. Ethan clicked the jaguar, and opened the program that contained dossiers on all M:I operatives, worldwide. Another click brought up a photo of Daniel Ballard, and a line drawing of a man's body, each marked with dozens of red dots. These represented physical points. The operative who had the highest match on the physical scale while possessing certain personal skills would be the one.

Hopefully they would be willing. The Impossible Missions were all voluntary, though well paid. No one was forced to do anything. That was why they were so effective.

Ethan specified that he was searching the data base of male operatives, then started the matching program. Immediately the screen began to flicker as images blinked on and off the monitor screen. Dossier photos were superimposed on Daniel Ballards image for a split second, matching features pinpointed and assessed.

Ethan sat and watched it, hands folded patiently across his belly. The machine winnowed the prospects down to a hundred, then fifty, then twenty, then ten... There was a beep, and the screen split. Daniel's image was shifted to one side, and the chosen operative's photo and particulars appeared on the other.

Ethan sat forward, frowning. This didn't really look anything like Ballard, aside from the brown hair and height. He checked the figures. No wonder. Only a 58% match. That wouldn't do, wouldn't do at all. If he couldn't find at least a 90% match, he wouldn't feel safe going into Montana lair. Well, as safe as he ever felt on any mission. "It looks like I hunt abroad," he murmured.

He minimized the screen, and signed on to the Internet. Mr. Bridger had a Netscape account. Ethan took the back entrance into the CIA's registry first. That was only a little better: 63%. Next he tried the DEA, and came up with 85%. Better, but not nearly good enough to suit him. He had more luck with the Department of Defense, finding an 89% there, but he didn't speak French. Ethan was not sure how much of a problem that would be, but he would have preferred not to have to worry about it.

One last chance. He went into the FBI files. The screen flickered again, and settled. A red light flashed at the bottom of the screen, haloing a figure. 97%. "Yes!" Ethan closed Ballard's profile, and the FBI agent's ID photo filled the screen. It was uncanny. Ethan figured it would take a close blood relative to tell them apart, and since Ballard wasn't really on speaking terms with his close blood relatives...

Ethan read the name under the photo. "Fox Mulder. Fox?" He smiled. Kind of an eighties term, but yeah. You are one. Now, let's have a look at your particulars, Fox. A few keystrokes. Hot damn! French and Spanish! He'll be able to keep track of what's being said around him. Let's see... Oh, very good. His only close relative is his mother, and she's in a managed care facility. And he's considered to be a loner.

Ethan went and got another beer to celebrate. He stood in front of the monitor and keyed up the photo of Mulder again, and studied it. If anything, he was actually better looking than Ballard. Ethan took a swig of beer, relishing the mellow, malty taste. His only really close contact is his partner, Dana Scully. Their director will help keep her satisfied about his whereabouts. Now, if he'll just play ball. Ethan stared at Mulder's mouth, eyes tracing the lines.

Unconsciously his tongue darted out to lick his own lips. "C'mon Fox," he whispered. "Come play with me."

*

The whole fucking world is going to hell in a handbasket.

Fox Mulder slumped on his futon, watching the midnight rerun of the ten o'clock news. On screen swarthy, rifle toting men in quasi-military uniforms stood guard over a huddled lump that was covered by an alarmingly blood splattered sheet. It looked like it had been tie dyed. The car behind them, door standing ajar, was a mess of shattered glass, exploded tires, and bullet punctured metal. The bland, accentless voice of a network news anchor was droning on about another drug war in Columbia that was threatening to spill over into other countries.

He sighed, and rubbed his face as the image disappeared, replaced by an ad for an exercise system. He was tired. Tired of beating his head against a cement wall. All his personal and professional investigations were stagnant. Nothing moved. He hadn't had a lead about what might have happened to Samantha in months. The Cancer Man seemed to have gone into retirement, though he knew thatwas too much to hope for. Even Alex Krycek hadn't been around to jerk his chain lately.

Scully couldn't understand his mood, of course. "Mulder, I'd think you'd be grateful for a little quiet. God knows I could use a little peace in my life."

There hadn't even been any new X Files for several weeks. Dana was doing mostly autopsies and forensic work on other agents' cases. Fox's last assignment had been babysitting a minor diplomat from a country he couldn't pronounce. That might not have been so bad if it had been a club hopping jet setter. But this one's idea of a good time was a rousing round of bridge. Fox had been pressed into service as a fourth, and had proceeded to thoroughly piss off his partner by losing trick after trick. It took five hands before he was finally allowed, ungraciously, to bow out. He wondered what his mother would have said if she knew he'd done it deliberately. She'd been rather proud of him when he could best senior level players before he went into junior high.

On screen a very muscular, dark haired young man stripped his T-shirt over his head as the announcer intoned, "This could be your body."

"All right. Send him over." Fox murmured. He winced at himself. Damn Fox, gotta be a smart ass, even when it's just you? And what was that, anyway? Well... he answered himself, ...the line was just too good to pass up. He silently pointed a finger at the screen, where an equally buff young woman was doing vigorous leg lifts. Send that over. Satisfied that he'd straightened that out, though for the life of him he couldn't say exactly who he'd been worried about confusing, he took a sip of beer from the bottle he'd been cradling between his legs.

"Ugh!" He grimaced, but forced it down. Warm. Note to self: don't hug beer anymore. Body heat bitches it up. The commercial ended, and was followed in quick succession by ads for luxury cars, long distance services, tacos, and a personal injury suit lawyer No charge for the first visit. Can visit you in the hospital. Of course, they don't mention the fact that if they aren't pretty sure they can get a hefty settlement, then grab a major portion of it in fees, you're shit out of luck.

Finally the news came back on. Disheveled men and women were being hauled out of a seedy looking house in handcuffs. More drug news, but on the home front, this time. The house had been a distribution point. Agents theorized that the bust had set the traffickers back all of three or four days.

Mulder squinted as a slight figure was led to a police car, ducking her head in the glare of lights. Aw, fuck. That kid can't be more than fourteen. Mulder stabbed at a button, shutting off the television, then threw the remote across the room. It was followed by the now empty beer bottle.

People getting gunned down in the streets, teeny boppers helping bag cocaine. He remembered the commercials he'd just seen. And a Chihuahua gets paid probably more than I do to shill for Tex-Mex fast food. I wouldn't mind it so much if I thought the little bastard could actually talk. Has the world always been this fucked up, or am I just now noticing it? He'd been watching tv with the lights off, so at least he didn't have to get up and go to the switch. He didn't feel like standing up at all, so he just shimmied out of his clothes and tossed them on the floor. He'd hung his jacket up before, so it wouldn't be wrinkled. Fox lay back in his jockeys and undershirt, and stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast by the light that seeped through the blinds.

Irritated, he sat up and jerked off the undershirt, then lay back down. Better. Again he stared up. He tried to make his mind blank, as blank as the white expanse of the ceiling above him. It didn't work. He closed his eyes and saw red splashes, and frightened young faces, trying to look tough.

I need to relax and distract myself. There's always the natural way. Let's see... Who do I want tonight? Eyes still closed, he began to flick through a mental Rolodex. There was Dana, of course, but he hadn't fantasized about her since the early days of their partnership. It seemed vaguely incestuous now.

There was the new secretary in records, she was a red head, too. Or...Yeah, how about Buffy, the Blonde Exercise Bunny? With that spandex, I've gotten a better look at her body than I have most women I know. She'll do.

Fox slid off his jockey shorts and spread himself out comfortably, letting the cool, air conditioned air wash over his naked body. With his left hand he grazed first one nipple, then the other, imagining that it was the crimson nail tips of the commercial model teasing him. They stiffened, and he pinched himself softly, letting out a small groan. One good thing about living alone and having sex with yourself; you didn't have to worry about how much noise you made.

A couple of his lovers had complained about that. "Dammit Fox, it's the woman who's supposed to be the screamer!" one had said. Embarrassed, he tried now to stifle his vocal responses when he made love.

Now he let his hands smooth down his torso, over his belly. He imagined the soft, small hands of a woman, but in the back of the mind he was thinking that his own larger, harder hands felt just fine. He was half hard already when he reached his cock. He half smiled to himself. Now, now, Buffy old girl. Don't be in such a rush. We want this to last, don't we?"

It was good that Mulder was careful about closing his blinds, because right then he would have been a voyeur's delight. His lean, long limbed body gleamed pale in the dim room. His face flushed slightly as he stroked himself to full erection, and he arched his head back against the pillow, lips parted slightly to let the ragged breaths flow more smoothly.

When he started the fantasy, he'd intended to have Buffy straddle him and ride him on the exercise bench, but it wasn't working out that way. Instead she was sucking him off, kneeling between his spread thighs.

Oh, and what a talented mouth she had. Fox didn't try to mentally direct the action. He just let it roll, and enjoyed it. He paused for a moment in his manipulations, and spat into his hands, then started again. Yes, that was better. Warm and wet. If he thought hard enough, he could imagine that it was a hot mouth he was sliding in and out of.

He got closer to the edge, the heat and tension rising. He was thrusting up into his own grip, grunting with each lift of his lean hips. Almost there now... In his mind's eye he reached down and tangled his hands in the thick, dark hair, guiding the head bobbing up and down at his crotch. And they obliged by swallowing him down to the root, while a large, firm hand gripped his balls, massaging them gently, and he came.

He arched, straining strongly into his fantasy lover's oral embrace, spilling his seed in a hot, liquid rush that bathed his belly. He collapsed, panting, and waited a moment to regain his breath. Then he retrieved his jockeys and used them to wipe himself clean before dropping them again. He needed to do laundry some time soon.

As he was starting to drift off to sleep, a thought drifted across his mind. Dark hair? Wasn't Buffy a blonde? Why was I thinking about dark hair down there tickling the inside of my thighs? And big hands?

His eyes popped open, and he spent another long time staring at the ceiling.

Chapter Three: Mission Explained

Mulder got a little sleep before dawn. On the way in to the Bureau, he got himself a double espresso, sweet, hoping that the caffeine and sugar would be enough to keep him from nodding off at his desk as he reorganized his files. It was the only thing he could think of to do, and it irritated him royally. He hated `make busy' work.

When he stopped to sign in at security, the guard said, "Mulder, Skinner wants to see you, first thing."

Mulder sighed. "What now? Another international air head need a nursemaid?"

The guard shrugged. "Like he tells me?"

Outside Skinner's office, Mulder paused and gulped the coffee as quickly as he could without burning himself. He immediately got a rush, feeling more alert and ready to face whatever the Assistant Director could throw at him. Maybe he was being pessimistic. Maybe it wouldn't be quite as tedious as the last assignment.

Fox entered the office, and paused, hand on the knob. Kim, Skinner's secretary, was not at her desk. He frowned, wondering if he should just go in. He jumped when a soft voice said, "She stepped out for a minute."

Fox shut the door, and saw that it had blocked from view a young man sitting in a chair against the near wall. Fox nodded, and received a nod in return. The other man was dressed much more casually than was usual for the Bureau: khakis, a plain white shirt, open at the throat, and a loose beige linen jacket. He had shaggy, almost black hair, and green eyes. Fox caught himself staring, then realized that he was being scrutinized with equal intensity.

"Waiting for Skinner?" He almost winced. Oh, real intelligent, Fox, since he's sitting in the man's waiting room.

The other man smiled, getting up and offering his hand. "Actually, I'm here to see you." His grip was firm, but not aggressive.

"Really? What can I do for you?"

Ethan's smile widened. Oh, I can think of all kinds of things. "I'd rather wait for Mr. Skinner to vouch for me. I'm going to need you to take me very seriously."

"All right." Fox wondered if he ever had trouble getting people to take him seriously. Sometimes really good looking people did, and this guy was...Well, handsome was kind of weak. Beautiful came closer to the mark. He must drip with women.

Skinner came in, carrying a cup of coffee. "Fox. Glad to see Murrow remembered to tell you. Come on back to the office."

The three men passed into The ADA's office. Fox and the visitor took chairs opposite the desk, while Skinner sat in his swivel chair. Skinner set aside the coffee. That's going to get cold now. Fox thought. He won't drink it during a meeting. Waste of perfectly good caffeine.

"Fox, I want you to meet Ethan Bridger. Ethan, Fox Mulder. Ethan is here to ask for your help on a case, and I'm hoping you'll consider it carefully. The situation may sound a bit odd, but I assure you there's a reason for everything, and you can trust him."

Walter paused, then said quietly, "I've been told to strongly urge you to cooperate, but I'm not going to lie to you, Fox."

Uh oh. I think things may be about to get interesting. Skinner didn't sweat small things. If he was going to warn Mulder about something, Mulder had damn well better listen, and listen closely. "Go on."

"I don't know what the mission will be, but I do know it will be dangerous. I believe you'll be out of contact with any agency for a period of time." He looked at Ethan, who nodded. "It's going to be field work, and undercover. You haven't done that before, I know, but you apparently possess unique qualities that suit you to this situation. You'll have to decide quickly, but I want you to be sure. I don't want you plunging into anything headlong without thinking about it."

"Would I do that?"

Skinner's lips twisted in a wry, almost smile. "You have been known. I'll turn you over to Ethan, and he will explain things. If you decide to refuse, go on with your work. If you decide to accept, good luck, and I'll see you when you get back."

"Just like that? No forms to fill out?"

"No forms," said Ethan. "My people aren't big on paperwork." He looked at Skinner. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Third door on the left."

Fox led the way up the hall. Ethan took the opportunity to watch his ass. Shit, do all Feebs have to wear pants that bag in back? He's going to look a lot better wearing the kind of threads Ballard favors. Can't wait to see that butt in a pair of tight jeans.

Once in the room, a cubicle bare of all but a table and two chairs, Fox sat down. Ethan locked the door, then reached inside his jacket and removed something that looked a little like one of those pocket sized liquid crystal televisions. "Excuse me just a minute, Fox."

Ethan extended an antenna on the device, and flipped a switch. There was a muted hum. He extended his arm and turned in a slow circle, watching the screen, adjusted a knob, and repeated the motion. He did this several times. Finally, he stood on the empty chair and spent a moment passing the device around the lighting fixture. Satisfied at last, he shut the machine off and pocketed it, then sat down. "It's clean."

Fox had watched these activities with interest. "Did you expect to find anything?"

Ethan shrugged. "You don't take chances when you can avoid it."

Fox studied Bridger. "You aren't FBI." It was a statement, not a question. Ethan didn't answer. "So, what? CIA, DEA, ATF, one of the other alphabet organizations?" Still no answer. "Look, if we're just gonna sit here and stare at each other, I want coffee."

Bridger smiled faintly. "Yeah, you have the attitude. No, I'm not any of those agencies."

"Are you gonna tell me? Because I have to tell you, the cloak and dagger shit gets old REAL fast."

"I could tell you. But then you'd either have to join, or I'd have to kill you." Fox looked at him sharply. For the life of him, he couldn't tell if the man was joking, or not. "I'm one of the good guys, Fox. That's all you need to know right now."

Fox sighed, resigning himself. Damn, he hated suspense. "All right. If Skinner vouches for you, that's enough for me." He folded his hands, and looked at the other man expectantly.

"First thing, Fox, what do you think about the drug trade?" Mulder rolled his eyes. "No, I'm serious. I'm not talking about politically correct indignation or moralistic horror. I mean your personal gut feelings."

"I hate it. I think it would be kinder if they shipped arsenic instead. At least the deaths would be quick, and the users wouldn't be killing and hurting citizens to get the next fix. I could rant for a couple of hours, but that's about it."

"And how do you feel about the government's `war on drugs'? No company line, here. Tell me the truth."

"What do I think? I think it's about as effective as holding up a `STOP' sign in front of a forest fire."

"Would you be interest in participating in a mission that would make a significant impact? At the same time, it would almost certainly protect the innocents who would get caught in the crossfire if it doesn't go down."

Mulder stared at Bridger, considering. Brief images flitted across his mind: a blood-splattered sheet, shattered glass, a slender figure in handcuffs. "I might. Tell me more."

"An alliance is being discussed between a Columbian drug lord and an international drug runner. If these two hook up, the flow of drugs into this country, and others, will swell. The cartels are notoriously jealous of their economic bases. They aren't going to like this, and they aren't going to let a challenge like this pass."

Fox winced. "Ah, shit. Drug war."

"A bad one, not limited to Columbia. When the distribution system starts operating, it will run through major cities throughout Europe and America. The cartels will try to stop it by attacking any shipment that they become aware of. These people do not do surgical strikes, Mulder. They go in with Uzis and bazookas. People WILL die, Mulder, and not just drug runners."

People would die. Yes, that was the way these things always worked. "You've convinced me it's a good cause. But what, exactly, do you want me for? I have a hard time believing you couldn't find someone else more suited. I like to think I'm a good agent, but I'm not James Bond, and I know it."

"It has to be you, Mulder." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a couple of glossy photographs, offering them. "This is why."

Fox took the pictures. Bridger, and... He frowned. "When was this taken? I don't remember this."

"Look closer." Fox studied the photo. It was obviously taken by a store security camera, but of excellent quality. In it, he was standing at a counter, sorting through a selection of ties. He looked closer. "Wait a minute. That's not me."

"No, it isn't. His name is Daniel Ballard. But even you couldn't tell at first. Is it becoming a little clearer now?"

"A little. It's only murky instead of completely obscure." Now he studied the photo of Bridger. Or is it? No, Bridger looks like this guy might if he had a really good month long vacation. "Okay, who's this, then?"

"That's Conner Galbraith, the drug smuggler. He's due to meet with Olivero de la Montaña in two weeks, and go to his estate. If this mission goes forward, goes forward, our people will detain him, and I'll go instead. I'll learn what I can about the Montaña operation, discredit Galbraith with so that he'll never be trusted to do business with any of the upper echelon, and get out."

"But where do I come in? I mean, I know it has to have something to do with Ballard, but I'm damned if I can guess why."

"Galbraith never goes anywhere without him. If I showed up alone, they'd be suspicious from the start."

"What are they, frat brothers?"

"Daniel's official position is that of Connor's personal assistant. A more quaint, but accurate, term would be 'concubine'."

"Oh. He's..."

"Just a gigolo. But a very exclusive, well compensated one. He's venal, but apparently not entirely so. He's had more lucrative offers, but he chooses to stay with Connor."

"So you're telling me that I'm a dead ringer for the male whore of a drug runner."

"A bit crude, but yes."

"My life just gets better and better."

"I need you on this, Mulder. I'll be doing most of the real work. All you really have to do is present yourself as Ballard, act like we're passionately involved, and keep your eyes and ears open."

"Uh huh. Exactly how passionately involved would I have to act?"

"Very. They aren't shy about their relationship. There's a lot of PDOA."

"PDOA?"

"Public displays of affection. It means that if I grab your ass in public, you don't flinch. If I ask for a kiss, you give it. With tongue. Ballard isn't effeminate, but Connor is definitely in charge of the relationship. Daniel exercises power through manipulation. He's a brat, and a tease, and Connor loves him dearly."

"How long would we be undercover?"

"As long as it takes. A few days, probably not more than a week."

"And we'd be totally on our own?"

"Not totally, but it'll be very limited. The marines aren't going to burst in and save our asses if we fuck up. I'm not going to sugar coat this. You'll be compensated." He named a figure that made Fox's mouth go dry.

Holy shit. This is serious. "But it's dangerous. You could die. If you do, your people will never know what happened to you. You will disappear off the face of the earth. But I'll do my damndest to see that doesn't happen. And I'm good, Fox. I'm very good."

Chapter Four: Shopping Expidition

Fox stared at the man sitting across from him, thinking about all he'd just heard. It was crazy. But then, when had craziness ever been a deterrent to Fox Mulder? "How much force would I be expected to use?"

"If all goes well, that shouldn't be an issue. I'd expect you to defend yourself, or me, if I was attacked. But this isn't an assassination. You aren't expected to terminate anyone in cold blood. If it should become absolutely necessary, I'll do it, but we try to avoid that whenever possible." His tone was mater of fact and unapologetic. "Anything else, Mulder? Ask anything you want. I need you to be sure about this."

Mulder thought. Was there anything else? He knew that there should be, but he couldn't say what. The choice wasn't really all that complicated. He could leave the room with this intense young man, putting his life in the hands of someone he'd known less than an hour, committing himself to going into a situation that most sane people wouldn't attempt with less than a company of fully armed marines. Or he could go down to the basement and resume reorganizing his files, hoping that something remotely interesting would turn up soon.

"Okay. You got me."

Ethan smiled. Not yet. But it's just a matter of time.

*

"No, I'm sorry, you can't contact your partner. Skinner will give her an explanation as to why you're unavailable."

Fox didn't particularly like that, but he could see it's necessity. He knew that some of the men they'd be dealing with considered wiping out an enemy's entire circle of family and associates to be good business practice. "What about clothes? Don't I need to pack?"

Ethan had escorted him to a very tasty green Jaguar, and they were on the road, headed toward Baltimore. That was where he was going to spend the next two weeks becoming Daniel Ballard. "No. I doubt if anything you have would be suitable. Daniel has expensive tastes. Outfitting you will be part of the learning exercise. We'll start today, and we can pick up the entire wardrobe gradually."

"Wardrobe? How much am I going to need?"

"A good bit. Daniel is a clothes horse, and Connor loves to indulge him. We may be inside as long as a week, and Daniel would want to appear at his best to impress his lover's potential partner. Kind of like a corporate wife. By the way, you may need to flirt with Montaña."

Fox eyed Ethan dubiously. "Just flirt?"

"Maybe." He slid a glance at Fox. "Will that be a problem for you?"

Fox was silent. "Don't worry about it right now. Olivero may have the stereotypical macho temperament."

"Maybe and may don't instill a lot of confidence, Bridger." Only about twenty minutes into this case, and already I'm having doubts. Oh, well. Montana is Latin American, what would be the odds?

The shopping was a new experience. Mulder had always made do at chain stores. His one prize was the Armani he had picked up deeply discounted from a store owner grateful for someone who didn't automatically sneer at his tale of a late night alien abduction. After careful investigation, Mulder came to the conclusion that the man was a fruitcake, but he didn't turn down the deal on the suit.

"You're going to need mostly casual and club clothes," Ethan explained as he led him into a small store with a dignified facade and a discreet sign, stating that it was `Talbot and Sons'. "But I think we should have at least one jacket. Daniel would want to be prepared for any occasion, but we'll skip the tux."

"Damn, and I was really looking forward to a satin cummerbund."

"You wore pastels to your senior prom, didn't you?"

A dignified, grey haired man approached them, a tape measure dangling around his neck. "Good day, gentlemen. I am the proprietor. How can I assist you?" He eyed Ethan's costume with approval, and Fox's with mild disdain.

Ethan gestured at Fox. "My friend and I are having a little holiday in South America. He needs some vacation clothes, and a nice blazer, I think."

Mr. Talbot stepped back and considered Fox carefully. "Hm, yes. All light weight, of course, what with the climate." He walked around Fox. "Well proportioned. Broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips, long legs. Yes, he'll be a pleasure to dress."

"What am I?" Fox muttered to Ethan. "A Ken doll?"

"Be quiet and let the man do his job, Fox."

Talbot took Fox's measurements, all of them: chest, waist, hips, shoulder to wrist, neck, outer seam... Fox wanted to balk at the inside leg measurement, but Ethan glared at him silently, and he acquiesced. Once the haberdasher had the measurements, Ethan and Fox were seated in comfortable chairs, and the assistants started bringing out the clothes.

Fox sat quietly while Ethan and Talbot discussed what cuts and colors would look best on him. At one point he asked if HE had any say in what he was going to wear. Ethan had replied certainly. He could chose from whatever Ethan saw fit to buy him. Fox slouched in his chair with a sullen look on his face, but didn't protest any more.

Mr. Talbot watched the interplay with interest. They were by no means the first couple like this to come into his establishment, though it was usually a much older man outfitting a younger one. He suspected that the dark haired one was going to have his hands full with his companion, who seemed a bit spoiled. But as the shopping continued, he decided that the young man with the green eyes wasn't the type to let his lover push him around.

They were loaded down with bags when they left. Fox was feeling a bit dazed by the conspicuous consumption. He had three silk shirts, three linen shirts, five pairs of slacks, blue jeans, underwear, a navy blazer, shorts, a couple of casual pullovers, socks, a tie that cost more than he usually spent on an entire outfit, and the tiniest pair of swimming trunks he'd ever seen. He'd flatly refused the thong, that was one thing Ethan couldn't budge him on.

And still they weren't done. After lunch they, or rather Ethan, purchased loafers, athletic shoes, and some executive lace-ups. At a sports store Mulder acquired new sweats, tees, and running shorts. The final stop was a jewelry store.

The clerk here greeted Ethan familiarly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Bridger. It's almost done, they're just finishing the engraving."

"That's fine. I need to pick up a watch, anyway." He went over to the watch display. "Okay, Fox, what do you think? Cartier? Or maybe Gucci, or Longines. They've got Movado, Vizio, Skagen, Omega..."

"No Rolex?"

He meant the question to be snide, but Ethan said calmly, "Only a second hand one."

"I was beginning to wonder what type of card you had. Is there anything after Titanium?"

"Let me see that one, please." Ethan pointed to a handsome watch of brushed steel. The clerk handed it out reverently. Ethan took Fox's hand and slipped it on his wrist, then studied the effect. He removed it, handing it back. "Now let me see one with a rectangular face instead." Again Fox modeled the watch. "Yes, that's better."

Fox got a look at the price tag, and blanched. "Bridger, I'd be scared to wear this. It costs more than my first car did."

An older man, who'd been watching them, leaned over and whispered to Fox, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, dear boy. You may be young and pretty, but good sugar daddies are hard to find."

Fox flushed, but murmured, "Thanks for the advice. I'll remember that."

Ethan paid for the watch. As he was signing his receipt, the manager came out of the back, holding a small velvet box. "Here you are, Mr. Bridger. It turned out lovely, if I do say so myself. Please, check it."

Ethan accepted the box and opened it. "Yes, that's perfect." He offered the box to Fox. "For you, Daniel m'love."

The box held a heavy silver man's ring, fashioned in a Celtic knot design. Fox picked it from the satin lining and examined the inside. In simple, dignified script were the initials CG and DB.

Ethan took the ring back, held Fox's wrist, and slipped it on his third finger, left hand. Fox stared at it. There was no mistaking the symbolism. He knew without asking that this was a reproduction of a ring that Connor Galbraith had given Daniel Ballard, and it was a sign of ownership as much as a token of affection.

He looked back at Ethan. The manager and a couple of the clerks were watching with pleased, excited looks on their faces. What had Bridger told them about this commission? That it was an anniversary present? Some sort of engagement ring, or wedding ring?

They were expecting some sort of reaction out of him, that much was obvious. And he could tell that Ethan was, too. This is a test. He wants to see how I'll do presenting myself as Daniel. What would Daniel do? I don't know that much about him yet, but Bridger said PDOAs.

Fox twisted the ring on his finger admiringly. Then he smiled at Ethan, softly said, "Babe, it's beautiful," and kissed him

Chapter Five: Settling In

Out in the car once more, Ethan nodded at Fox. "That was good, Mulder. Not a flicker, not a flinch. I think you may be able to pull this off."

"Thanks. I know you said tongue, but it just didn't seem appropriate for the rather romantic atmosphere." He said it dead faced, but Ethan's generous mouth curled at the corners. "So, does this mean we're engaged?"

"Connor considers himself married to Daniel, there's no question of that. Daniel... well, he likes to flirt. As far as we know he hasn't actually cheated on Connor. Connor likes to show Daniel off. There may have even been a little three way fun, but he'll definitely take apart anyone he feels is poaching on his territory."

"Huh. Sounds like a red neck. Shows off his girlfriend, then wants to beat the crap out of anyone who's interested."

"Not too far off the mark. Galbraith comes from the streets, no matter where he's ended up."

Fox wasn't sure what he had been expecting as far as the apartment went. Not anything this... middle class, anyway. In the downstairs hall, he waited while Ethan unlocked one of the mailboxes and removed several large manilla envelopes and a padded shipping envelope.

The door behind them opened, and a pleasant looking, plump woman peered out, beaming when she saw them. "Hello, Mr. Bridger. This must be your friend."

"Yes. Fox, this is Mrs. Gluckman, my landlady. Mrs. Gluckman, my good friend, Fox Mulder."

"Hi." Fox shook hands. The woman's face was bland, but her eyes were shrewd. "Pleased to meet you."

"What a nice, polite young man! But then, he WOULD be, being your friend, Mr. Bridger. Wait just a minute." She disappeared into the apartment, and appeared a moment later with a foil wrapped plate. "Here you are. I made a strawberry pound cake, and I just can't eat it all. You boys will have to help me."

Ethan took the plate. "You spoil me, Mrs. G. Thanks."

She smiled, darting a glance at the lanky man hovering near the stairs, and whispered, "Have fun, dear. But don't neglect business." Ethan winked at her, earning a chuckle, as he headed for the stairs.

Fox wanted to ask Ethan about the woman, but waited until they were in the apartment. "Does she... She isn't... part of your... uh... organization. Is she?"

Ethan set the plate and mail on the dining table. "What? You think spies can't bake? Want a beer?"

"Yeah." He followed Ethan into the kitchen, and glanced around. Almost as pristine as his own. Of course, he didn't do much more than make coffee and heat take out there. "I hope Daniel isn't a gourmet cook, expected to whip up a banquet for Montaña, `cause if he is, you're shit out of luck."

"I believe Danny probably pouts if he has to eat in more than twice a week. Dark okay?"

"What brand does Daniel drink?"

Ethan looked at him sharply. "You're learning." He handed Fox a bottle. "I don't know. It should be somewhere in the information they're sending us." Ethan took a beer himself and shut the refrigerator, then leaned back against it. "There's going to be a lot of details, Fox." He uncapped his beer and took a long swallow. "There's no telling what might be important, so you'll need to get it all. As far as we know, no one in Montaña's inner circle has had direct contact with Ballard or Galbraith, but we can't take any chances. Anyway, the two are fairly well known in the drug trade, so there's information floating around out there about them. Certain things will be expected, and looked for."

"Like PDOA?"

"Like PDOA. We might as well get comfortable and get started."

In the dining area, Ethan took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair before sitting down. He opened one of the envelopes and began to scan through the sheaf of papers he pulled out. After a moment's hesitation, Fox removed his own jacket and followed Ethan's example, sitting around the corner from him. Without looking up from the papers, Ethan said, "Why don't you take off that tie? You're strangling me, just looking at you."

After years in a prep school where a tie was part of the daily uniform, Fox had pretty much the same feeling about them. But at the Bureau, you wore ties, so he wore a tie. If he could go most of three weeks without wearing one, he'd count that as a perk. The tie went into the jacket pocket.

Ethan handed him some of the papers. "Usually when you go under with an assumed identity, you only have to know about the person you're impersonating. In this case, the two involved are so intimate with each other that we're each going to have to learn everything we can about them both."

Fox looked at the top sheet of the pile he held. It was part of a medical history. "Can I take notes?"

"Good idea. There should be legal pads and pens over in the desk."

Fox found what he needed in the bottom drawer. He examined the computer curiously. He didn't have a lot of experience with them himself. He left most of that to The Lone Gunmen. But he had a suspicion that there were some very interesting things inside that little beige box.

Ethan called. "Don't fool with that, Fox."

"I wasn't going to. Give me a little credit."

"I figured you had enough sense, but you never know what a temptation curiosity can be. So don't fool with it. It could get... messy."

I bet. God knows what's tucked in there. He carried his supplies back to the table and settled down to study. He pulled his reading glasses out of his jacket pocket, and slipped them on.

Ethan looked over. The rimless glasses were square, and gave Fox an almost scholarly look. He could very well be a junior professor of literature of philosophy. Handsome, but..."Daniel doesn't wear glasses."

Fox didn't look up. "Maybe Daniel is so vain that he'd rather have blurry vision."

"That's possible," Ethan admitted. "But he doesn't wear glasses. Do you need to wear those?"

"If I'm going to read, I do." He shuffled the papers. "Besides, it says here that the reason Ballard doesn't wear glasses is that he wears contacts. Looks like a stronger prescription than mine, actually."

Ethan made a note. "We'll have to get those set up tomorrow."

They worked in silence for awhile. The quiet was broken only by the faint scratch of Mulder's pen moving across paper. He came to the end of his section, reviewed it, then looked back over his notes. Ethan was reading what looked like a shipping report. He had the sheet lying on the table before him. His elbows were propped to either side of it, and both hands were buried in his shaggy hair.

Fox watched the intent green eyes flicking rapidly over the information on the sheet. He had a feeling that Ethan probably didn't really need to take notes. Some people just absorbed information like a sponge, and Bridger seemed to be one of them.

Every now and then, Bridger's lips moved slightly, as if he were talking to himself. Fox found himself following the movements. He had a very expressive mouth. Suddenly Ethan's eyes flicked up, locking on his. "Yes?"

Fox glanced around quickly for a topic of conversation. He tapped the padded envelope that had come with the mail. "What's this?"

"Let's find out. We've done enough of this for the time being."

Ethan ripped open the envelope, then put it through the shredder on the desk. It's content was an unlabeled video tape. He turned on the television and inserted the tape in the VCR, then went to sit beside Fox on the couch. The remote was on the coffee table before him, and he took it and hit PLAY.

There were no credits, no title. It merely showed what looked like a table in an expensive restaurant. The tablecloth was heavy, china, silver, and crystal gleamed against the rich fabric. In a moment, Connor Galbraith and Daniel Ballard were escorted to the table by a tuxedo clad maitre de, and seated. It looked like the camera was located no more than six or seven feet away from them.

Ethan shook his head admiringly. "The surveillance men are the true artists of this field. I'll never understand how they do it. We'll get periodic tapes like this so we can make personal observation on speech patterns and such." They listened to the two men discussing what to order. "You won't need to work on the voice, you're close enough. I'm going to have to brush up my brogue, though."

"I don't think Connor HAS a brogue. It's more of a lilt."

"Why Fox, that's a rather romantic term to use."

Mulder frowned. "I'm trying to think like Daniel."

They continued to watch the tape. Galbraith and Ballard had a leisurely meal. They were obviously very comfortable with each other. At one point Daniel remarked on something Connor was eating. Connor cut a forkfull and fed it to his lover, teasing him about never being satisfied. Daniel murmured that the only thing in the world that truly satisfied him was Connor, and squeezed his leg under the table.

Fox shifted. He'd never been that intimate with a woman in public. Now he was going to have to act like that with another man? Oh, well. He glanced over at Ethan, who was sitting forward, studying his double. At least with someone who looked like Ethan, it was plausible. It wasn't like he was going to have to make up to some bowser.

And since when does that have anything to do with it, Mulder? Wouldn't it be better if he was ugly? Then people would be less likely to think that you were really interested him. Wait, I'm supposed to make them think that. Well, yeah, Montaña and his goons. But I'd rather not have the rest of the world...

"You'll need to make your gestures just a little softer, a little lazier. Daniel's kind of a languid guy, except when he's partying."

"Check. Languid party animal."

The couple was leaving the table. "Good manners. They both fold their napkins. I'll need to find out what sort of tips Galbraith usually leaves."

"Probably big, to show off for Daniel."

"Could be." Ethan switched off the television. "Let's get some sleep. No point in over doing it the first day. You've had a lot to take in already."

He got up and went to the bedroom. "Cut out the lights, would you?"

Fox did, and went to the bedroom doorway. Ethan was sitting on the bed, removing his shoes. "There's only one bed."

Ethan looked around, then looked back at Fox. "I see that." He pulled his shirt off. Bridger wasn't big, but everything he had looked lean and hard.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?"

"Left or right side, your choice. I don't care." He stood up and started opening his belt.

"I... don't think so."

Ethan shoved his pants down muscular legs, took them off, and folded them across a chair. "All right." He picked up a comforter from the foot of the bed and tossed it, and a pillow to Fox. "But I'm not giving up the bed. You can have the couch."

"Okay." Fox started to turn away. The couch looked comfortable enough. He'd slept on worse.

"But Mulder?" Fox turned back. Ethan in a pair of very small dark blue briefs, was sliding under the sheets. "Daniel and Connor sleep together. We're going to share a bed at Montaña's, and there'll be no dossing down on the floor, either. There's no telling when someone might decide to check on us. So it might be easier for you if you get used to it before we go. Good night."

He switched off the bedside lamp. Fox stood there a moment, then went back into the living room.

In the darkness, Ethan Hunt smiled

Chapter Six: Acclaimation

The couch, Fox decided, was not as comfortable as it looked. Not for lying on, anyway. He spent a while tossing and turning. Damn it, he had a hard enough time sleeping, but trying to sleep in a strange place, in a strange situation, was impossible.

He finally rewound the tape and clicked it on, turning the sound down to a bare murmur. He sat up and watched the two men as they made their way through their meal, completely oblivious to observation. Galbraith and Ballard weren't blatant in their relationship, but the signs were clear, if you looked. There was a lot of eye contact, smiles for no discernable reason. They touched each other.

That one leg squeeze was the only one that even the most prudish could call sexual, but the others were intimate. Daniel would lay his hand over Connor's to make a point. Connor would reach over and push Daniel's hair up off his forehead. Gestures that didn't pass between 'just friends.'

"Mulder?" Fox jerked. He'd been so absorbed in the tape that he hadn't seen or heard Ethan come to the doorway. He was leaning one hand against the doorframe, rubbing his face with the other. "What are you doing?"

"Studying."

"I thought I told you to get some sleep."

"Easier said than done."

Ethan sighed. "Do you want a back rub?" Fox stared at him. "Shit, I'm not trying to seduce you, Fox, I'm trying to help you sleep. Offering a back rub would be just a little too corny."

"Okay. That would be nice."

Ethan padded over to the couch, then frowned. "Well, for one thing, you might be more comfortable if you took off your pants." All Fox had removed before lying down were his shoes and socks. He couldn't say why he hadn't at least taken off his shirt. Now there didn't seem to be any excuse, because Ethan was right, and he knew it.

Fox stripped off his shirt, then reached for his belt, and hesitated. "Could you turn around?"

"Jesus, Fox! Just drop them, okay? I'm gonna see you in your shorts, anyway. We're supposed to be lovers." Fox undid his pants and stepped out of them. Ethan immediately gave a wolf whistle, then grinned.

Fox rolled his eyes and lay back down on the couch, on his stomach. He bunched the pillow under his chin, crossing his arms over it, as Ethan sat on the edge of the cushion near his hip. Ethan took a moment to admire the long sweep of back leading down to what he suspected was a very tempting butt. It was a shame he wore those baggy boxers. He was glad that he'd bought some silk briefs for the other agent.

He took hold of Fox's shoulders and dug in forcefully. Fox yelped. "Hey!"

"Relax. This isn't going to be some wimpy little petting session, Mulder. You're tied up in knots, and I'm going to work them loose if I have to leave bruises." He began to massage deeply. After a few moments, the pain eased as the muscles loosened. Ethan worked the back of his neck, pressing hard with his thumbs, then moved down. He put his palms flat on either side of Fox's backbone, heels facing. With quick, hard pushes, he moved down either side of the spine. Cartilage crackled, and Fox groaned. "You okay?"

"Yeah. damn, that feels good." Bridger wasn't a big guy, but he sure as hell had strong hands, and a lot of upper body strength. He continued massaging, working out the tension.

Fox started to feel drowsy. He also started to feel a familiar hot heaviness in his groin, which he studiously ignored. People often got erections when they got massages. It didn't mean anything. Ethan finally paused, hands resting on the small of Fox's back. "Fox?" His voice was a whisper. "You asleep?" Fox had his eyes closed. He didn't move, didn't speak. He was curious, and half afraid, to see what Ethan would do.

Ethan's fingers made small circles, brushing the waistband of his shorts. Then he shifted, and Fox felt the comforter settle over him. Ethan's hand rested in the middle of his back again for a moment, then he got up, and Fox heard him walk back to the bedroom. Fox was just a few seconds away from sleep, but somehow he had time to wonder why he was feeling vaguely disappointed.

He awoke to the smell of coffee and stumbled into the kitchen. A fully dressed Ethan was pouring a cup, and he glanced at Fox. "Good morning, merry sunshine."

"Hi." Fox scratched his head.

"How do you take it?"

"Just sugar."

"Like Daniel. Good." Ethan stirred a couple of spoonfuls of sugar into the dark brew and handed it to him, then poured another.

Fox closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrant steam. "Damn, I bet I can get a buzz just smelling this."

"It's pretty strong."

Fox took a sip, and sighed. "Perfect. You know, the ironic thing is that the people who most need a cup of coffee in the morning are the ones who are least able to function well enough to prepare it without a cup of coffee first."

"If you can function well enough to operate the toaster, there's bread. Or Pop Tarts, if you're feeling decadent."

"What kind of Pop Tarts?"

Ethan checked the box. "Chocolate Fudge."

"With or without sprinkles?"

"Damn, you're picky. With."

"Gimme." Fox ripped open a package, reading the box. "Fuck. Did you know that they consider a serving to be one Pop Tart, but they package them in twos? Like I'm going to leave one in the bag and clip it shut for tomorrow." He bit into one of the pastries.

Ethan's eyebrows rose. "Aren't you going to toast those?"

"Why?"

"Barbarian."

"You toast the brown sugar-cinnamon ones, then slather them with butter."

"Finish that disgusting nonsense and get dressed. We need to go outfit you with luggage and toiletries today."

Can I use your razor?"

Ethan watched as Fox chewed, his strong jaw flexing. He reached over and stroked the other man's jaw, feeling the bristles. "Nah. Leave it till we get back. Makes you look sexy." He plucked an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter, snapped a bite out of it, and strolled into the dining room. Fox stared after him, then swallowed the mouthful of pastry he'd been holding, shrugged, and followed him out.

Ethan went down to check the mailbox. Once again there were envelopes, and a package. All of them without address, return address, or postage. He went back upstairs and removed the contents, then put the packing through the shredder.

One of the papers that came in the mail listed preferred brands of personal care products, and Ethan scanned it before folding it and stuffing it in his pocket. Fox came out of the bedroom, buttoning up a navy linen shirt. His eyes caught and reflected the color, looking more blue than anything else. Ethan watched as he stuffed his shirt tail down into his jeans, trying to make it neat. "Didn't your mother teach you how to dress, Fox? You're supposed to do that before you zip up."

"It's not my fault if these things are so tight I can't get my hand down the back."

"Daniel wears them tight. Connor likes to look at his butt. Hold still." Ethan had gone behind him. Fox jumped as his hand smoothed down his back and slid, flat, under his waistband in back. "I said hold still!"

Fox felt a tug on the back of his shirt, and the wrinkles smoothed out. "There." Ethan slid his hand out and patted Fox on the back. "Let's go."

All right, Fox, technically speaking, the man did have his hand on your ass. But nothing happened, it didn't mean anything.

"Fox!"

"Keep your shirt on, I'm coming."

They had to go to four luggage stores to find the exact right bags. The sales clerk just couldn't understand why he couldn't argue Ethan into one that had more features for a lower price. "Well," he said, ringing up their purchases. "It's nice to have someone who's so sure about what they want, anyway."

Ethan watched Fox, who was examining a display of wallets. "I know exactly what I want."

At the local Macy's, they went to the men's section in cosmetics. Mulder was scowling. "I'm not gonna have to wear makeup, am I? Daniel didn't look femme to me."

"No, you're not. I wouldn't put it past him to start using some concealer in a few years, though. No, we're just here for you usual toiletries."

"We can't get those at a supermarket?"

"Please. Daniel would probably break out in hives if he went anywhere near a Safeway." So, once again, Fox watched in silence as Ethan wore out the credit card purchasing luxury items that would keep him in style.

"L'Eau d'Issey Pour Homme All Over Shampoo? All over?"

"Moisturizes the skin."

"Forty dollars for less than seven ounces? Geez. And Grabazzi Shave Cream? I could buy a six months supply for that price."

"Nag, nag, nag. Are you really such a cheap date, Mulder, or is this protesting for form's sake? It's not like you're going to be expected to pay for any of this. Just relax and enjoy being pampered." Fox muttered something. "What's that?"

"I said it's funny how I can get all this expensive stuff, but I still feel cheap."

"We'll need to discuss that attitude over lunch."

"Can we have pizza?"

"I don't see why not."

Later Mulder sat back in a comfortably padded chair, staring around at the elegant restaurant Ethan had chosen. "This is not a pizza place. No oilcloth tablecloths, no plastic grapes hanging from the ceiling, and not a single wine bottle with wax dripped all over it."

"We can get pizza here, don't worry."

When the waiter came, he ordered, in Italian. "Don't I get any say in this?"

"No." Ethan calmly drank a little wine. "Look, Fox, we need to start getting into character. Connor controls things. He gives Daniel some leeway, but basically treats him like a spoiled child. And let's be frank, that's how Daniel acts most of the time. You're just going to have to get used to deferring to me. It's all right to tug on the leash occasionally, they'll expect that. But they'll also expect me to slap you back into line if you go too far. You've seen that sort of relationship before."

"Yeah, with women. I never could understand why they didn't leave."

"Some people have dependent personalities. Daniel's the sort who needs a `daddy'. Connor's younger than they usually are, but he's very top. And you need to stop thinking of Daniel as using Connor. This is a two way relationship. Connor knows that money and luxury are important to Daniel, and he's perfectly willing to provide them. In return, Daniel gives him the companionship and passion that Connor craves. If there's any using going on, it's mutual."

The food was brought to the table, and Fox eyed it suspiciously. Ethan helped himself and began eating. "Go on. You wanted pizza."

"It looks funny."

"This is a gourmet restaurant, Fox. Were you expecting Geno's?"

"It has green stuff on it. What is it?"

"This has a pesto sauce, topped with grilled chicken and shrimp, Portobelo mushrooms, and five cheeses: Feta, Fontana, mozzarella, Parmesan, and Romano, on a whole wheat crust. Try it."

"You sure they aren't trying to slip broccoli or spinach in there?"

"Why haven't you gotten rickets? Eat it."

Grumbling, Fox took a slice and bit into it gingerly. Ethan watched him, and saw him make a face. "Well?"

Fox took another bite before answering. "All right, it's good."

"Told you." Ethan took a soft bread stick outl f the basket on the table and broke it in half, dipping it in the melted butter/garlic sauce that had accompanied it. "You've got to trust me, Fox." He ate a few bites, then licked his fingers and smiled at the other man. "I'm going to know what you'll like."

Chapter Seven: Video Voyeurism

The first thing that Fox did upon returning to the apartment was to get out of his shoes and socks. He sat on the couch, rubbing his feet. Ethan noticed that Fox had long, elegantly shaped feet, rather aristocratic looking. Very mobile toes. He wondered if they curled when Mulder reached climax. He'd have to remember to check. Fox saw him watching. "Well, new shoes pinch sometimes, and I was on my feet a lot." he said defensively.

"I didn't say anything. You get just as comfortable as you like. Take off anything that feels too confining." Fox frowned as Bridger went to the dining room table and started sorting through the new batch of information. He's so flippant. I think he's enjoying teasing me. Must like making the Feeb feel like a dork.

Fox had no idea how right he was about Ethan's pleasure in teasing him, and no idea how wrong he was about the motive he assumed was driving the other agent. Fox wasn't used to being courted by another man.

"I'm going to need the name of your optometrist, so we can get some contacts made to your prescription. You'll have to start wearing them as soon as possible, so you can deal with them convincingly."

"Won't you need written permission for them to release my personal information?" Bridger just looked at him. "Right. Silly me." Fox wrote down the name of the doctor, and his office address. "So, what, will your people break in and rifle through his records?"

"You really don't need to know that." Ethan went to the computer, signed on, and got on the Internet. "But if it's any consolation, that'll only happen if his records aren't on file on a computer hooked to the Internet." He typed in the information off the scrap of paper, then closed the program.

"Is there ANY information about me you can't get?"

Ethan regarded him blandly. "Not much."

"Shit. The Lone Gunmen are seeming more sane all the time."

"Interesting people."

"You don't mean to tell me... Never mind. I don't want to know."

"Very wise. They didn't send us much on Daniel today, just his school records." He flipped through the pages, then handed them over to Fox. "Looks like he just barely managed to keep from getting expelled on a regular basis, mostly for breaking curfew. He was sneaking out to local bars."

Fox scanned the top page. "Whoa, Somerset Academy. Mommy and Daddy were willing to expend some serious bucks on Daniel. Plus they must've registered him about two seconds after the sonogram confirmed he was a boy. That place isn't easy to get into." He sat down and began studying.

Ethan started to go through a list of Galbraith's business contacts, taking particular note of the satisfaction he seemed to have had in his dealings with each one. It wouldn't do to express too high a regard for someone who'd fucked up a transaction, or slight someone who'd made the Irishman a considerable profit.

"Huh."

Ethan looked at Fox. "What?"

"Daniel did get expelled, his junior year. Ended up taking his GED. That's apparently what kept him out of an Ivy League college."

"Why was he expelled?"

"One of those illicit trips to a bar."

"One too many times, eh?"

"Not so much that as the fact that two guys got in a fight over him. He was letting one of them buy him drinks, then he slipped off to the men's room with the other. Guy number one was not happy."

"It says all that in the school record?" Ethan was surprised. Usually those exclusive, old money schools were a little more discrete, even with their private records.

"No. It says that in the police report that came with it. And..." Fox winced. "Oo, they really shouldn't have locked him up with the adult offenders. One of them didn't take kindly to him saying no, and laid his shoulder open with a sharpened wire."

"That's one of the points you didn't match. They should have a diagram or photo of it later on. We'll have to take care of it."

Fox sat up abruptly. "You are not carving on me!"

"Will you chill? God, haven't you seen any movies lately? They can work wonders with appliances. We can fix you up with a fake that will fool anyone except maybe a plastic surgeon, and it'll stay on till we take it off. I don't know what you're bitching about. I'M going to be sporting your... well... Daniel's initials." He touched himself just where the curve of his left hipbone lay. "Right here."

"Yeah? You didn't love me enough to get the whole name?" Ethan threw a paper at him. "I guess it could always be worse. They could be pierced."

Straight faced, Ethan said," I think they're waiting for their fifth anniversary for that. Gonna have a double ring ceremony."

"Ow. I can't understand people poking holes in their bodies for decoration."

"I dunno." Ethan reached over and gently pinched Fox's left earlobe. "I think you'd look sexy with a little diamond stud, or maybe a gold hoop."

Fox froze as Ethan's thumb stroked over his earlobe. He felt an insane desire to tuck his head against his shoulder, trapping the hand. Then it was withdrawn, and Bridger was studying his material. Fox shuffled the papers before him, and tried to get back his concentration. Daniel had racked up dozens of parking tickets. Seems like he felt privileged to park anywhere he felt like.

Ethan watched Fox out of the corner of his eye. The FBI agent shifted nervously after the touch. He watched as Fox unconsciously rubbed at his ear, then let his hand slide back to massage his neck. That was nice. The only thing almost as good as touching a sexy man was watching him touch himself.

He'd give Fox one more night on the couch, he decided. Then he'd start to push. It wouldn't be too difficult to convince him that it was necessary for the mission, that he needed to get acclimate to the situation BEFORE they were on assignment. Once he had him in bed, he'd see. He might need to wait another day before he made his move, maybe even two. But it was going to happen, he had no doubt of that. Fox was just too sensitive to his touch. He was skittish, but not phobic. Probably a virgin, at least with men. Isn't that sweet?

Ethan was finding that not only did he desire Mulder, but that he genuinely liked him. The FBI agent was quick, intelligent, and had a dry, off-beat sense of humor. Ethan even liked Fox's fascination with the unknown and unexplained. It meant he was curious, and probably open to... new experiences.

The thing to do, Ethan thought, was to build interest gradually, just as he had been doing. A little innuendo, a light, unexpected touch here and there. Make Fox very aware of him, surround him. Ethan was enjoying this. He didn't get to spend a lot of time with people in his profession. The subtleties of seduction often had to be passed over in favor of a more direct approach.

I probably could have had him last night. I know he got hard, and it wasn't easy, not sliding my hands under there and grabbing him. Just about two inches away from that ass... Yeah, I could have had him. But he wasn't ready for it. And he deserves to be seduced. He's worth a little extra time and effort.

The more practical, less romantic, side of his nature told him that it would be good for the mission. Actual physical intimacy would give their interaction that extra air of credibility that might mean the difference between success, and disaster.

"Fox, we need to start relating to each other as Daniel and Connor, so it will seem natural by the time we get to Columbia. We can start gradually. From now on, when we're out in public, I'm Connor and you're Daniel. As you get more comfortable with it, we'll spend more time in character."

"Yes, dear."

"Smart ass."

"One of the many reasons you love me."

After a meal of sandwiches, they sat down to watch the video tape that had come with that morning's information. The scene this time was obviously in some sort of club. The lighting was dim, except for the colored flashes that swept by every few minutes, and heavy techno- dance music throbbed in the background.

The focus was on a small, circular booth. Connor and Daniel were already seated, Connor on the inside. Daniel seemed to be pouting about something. He kept pettishly brushing off Connor's attempts to jog him out of his funk. Then a handsome blonde man approached the table, and asked Daniel to dance. Connor put a hand on Daniel's arm, but Daniel shook him off. With a cold glance at his lover, Ballard got up and moved out of frame, following the blonde. Connor stared after them, his expression dark.

"Uh oh." Fox commented. "Looks like trouble in paradise." "Danny's punishing him for something. But judging from the look on Galbraith's face, he isn't going to take it lying down." Connor watched whatever action was going on off screen, his anger building. His dark brows drew down in a scowl, and his lips thinned.

At last Daniel returned, followed by the blonde. He stood near the booth, back to Connor, speaking flirtatiously to his dance partner. Finally Connor reached out, grabbed Daniel by the back of his belt, and jerked him down into the booth. Daniel gave a startled squawk as he landed, Connor's arm snaking around him to hold him fast. Connor's voice was very cool, and very plain. "My husband forgets himself sometimes. Go find someone else to talk to."

The interloper backed off quickly. Daniel squirmed. "Con, let go of me! How dare you embarrass me like that!"

"Oh, it's me embarrassing you, is it?" Connor dragged Daniel deeper into the booth. "Was it me out there acting the slut with a stranger?"

Daniel pulled at his hands, trying to get free. "Just stop it! You like to watch me dance, I know you do."

"But I wanted you to sit with me, and you knew that. You've been trying to punish me for missing the ski trip, and I won't have it. I've business to attend to right now, and you're not going alone. That's final."

"I don't want to go alone, Con! I want to go with YOU. Isn't that the whole fucking point of being in a relationship? I've hardly seen you at all this week, outside of business. I'm lonely."

"Jesus, and THIS is how you get attention? Idiot child!" Daniel suddenly looked as if he might cry, and Connor's manner softened immediately. "Ah, don't take on so." His grip became an embrace, rather than a confinement. He kissed Daniel's temple. "I shouldn't complain. You are what you are. And I have neglected you of late."

"Yes, you have." Daniel agreed.

"My poor pretty." Connor kissed him gently. Fox could see the soft flicker of tongue, and Daniel sighed, leaning against his lover. Connor's hand moved down under the table, and Ballard's eyes opened wide, then half closed. "You need to be petted a bit more, don't you, love?"

"Don't, Con." Daniel's voice was breathy, meek.

"Sh, pet." Connor's hand moved slowly. "Be still."

"Damn," Mulder whispered. "Tell me he's not giving him a hand job right out there in the club."

"Yes," Ethan was watching raptly. "That does appear to be what's happening."

The Irishman pressed against his lover, licking and kissing his throat. He fastened his mouth on a patch of skin and began to suck and bite, drawing the blood to the surface. Daniel clutched at his shoulders, biting his lip. He whined, and Connor's hand stopped moving. "Quiet, sweetheart. Quiet, or I won't let you finish."

Daniel moaned. "Please, Con. I want to come."

"So you shall, pet. But you must be quiet about it." He took Ballard's chin in his hand, forcing him to look in his face. "I know how much you enjoy making your noises, Danny. This is your punishment. Be quiet, or I don't let you come. Do you understand?"

Daniel gave a sobbing gasp. "Yes. But please..."

"Show me you can be quiet." Daniel closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. After a moment Connor murmured, "That's my good boy." and began to stroke again. In a few minutes, Connor grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins and drew them under the table.

An instant later, Daniel stiffened, head tossing back, whimpering. He went limp, collapsing in his lover's embrace, and whispered. "Sorry, Con. I... I couldn't..."

"Sh, baby." Connor tossed the soiled napkins on the floor. He stroked Daniel's hair. "It's all right." He waved a waitress over, and ordered a fresh round of drinks. "I'll see about a trip next month. I promise."

There was only a few more minutes on the tape. The two men finished their drinks and left, Connor steering Daniel with a hand at the small of his back.

Ethan hit rewind. "Do you need to see that again?"

"No. I'm fine."

"I think I need to see that again. It's a very clear example of their relationship dynamics."

Fox got up. "I'm taking a shower."

"Do that." Ethan watched Fox disappear into the bedroom. And I'll just pretend that I didn't notice that you had a nice hard on pressed against the fly of those tight jeans, shall I?

Chapter Eight: Awarness

The couch, Mulder decided, was not getting any more comfortable. I need sheets. Leather looks great, but it's hell to sleep on bare legged. I keep sticking.

He found himself half wishing that Ethan would come out and offer him another back rub. But he quashed that idea quickly. Ethan was asleep. He'd have to wake up, and be aware that Fox couldn't sleep. The last time that had been because Fox was watching the video. Well, he wasn't going to be re-watching this one. Not any time while he's around, anyway. That was kinda... interesting, though.

Almost surreal, actually. Almost like watching himself have a sexual experience that had never happened. He'd never even come CLOSE to anything like that. The funny thing was, he could almost imagine what it was like.

He went to clubs. That probably would have surprised most people who knew him. Or thought they knew him. A dim, quiet bar they would have expected. He knew they could easily picture him sitting at the end of a bar, nursing a drink, maybe getting drunk enough to totally freak out some bartender or half in the bag fellow drinker with X Files tales. But Fox at home in noise, bustle, synergy? Too far fetched.

No, he went to clubs. And he danced. There was usually someone to dance with, but it wasn't necessary. That was the good thing about the clubs. People who were alone could go there and be alone together. And sometimes he wasn't alone the entire night. Sometimes there was a trip out to one car or another. Gropings, alcohol flavored kisses, a disarrangement of clothes, and a few moments of aw, shit, yeah, might as well admit it almost perfunctory sex. Sometimes he could even remember their name the next day, and it had always been women.

He frowned up at the ceiling. Is my mind playing tricks on me, or has it always been them who made the actual suggestion? I MUST have put the moves on a few of them. He kept thinking, racking his brain, and for the life of him couldn't come up with a single clear incident.

Well, shit, this was getting him nowhere. He got up and went to the kitchen to get a beer. Fox leaned back against the counter, twisting off the cap. When did they stop making the type you had to pry off? Mulder closed his eyes and took a long swallow. Was it his imagination, or did the beer go flat faster these days? He missed the old caps. Flipping them off had been part of the mystique of beer drinking. The old church key opener was sort of a symbol of manhood. If you were a kid, you didn't have an excuse to carry one, because all the soda pop machines had openers attached to the side. So "What are you planning to use that thing on, son?" The cool guys would snap the caps off against a counter. The stupid ones would open them with their teeth. He wondered if dentists were sorry to see the invention of twist off caps. "

"Can't sleep again?" Fox almost jumped out of his skin. He opened his eyes to find Ethan standing about a foot away. Damn, the man was quiet.

"Don't do that!"

"You're safe enough here, but you're going to have to do better than that out in the field, Fox." He reached out and put his hand lightly against Fox's throat, and Mulder swallowed. "I could've had you twice by now."

"I'm not that easy to kill."

Ethan opened the refrigerator and got himself a beer. Cracking it open, he took a drink, then looked at Fox archly. "Who said anything about killing you?"

Fox was suddenly aware of exactly how little clothing they were both wearing. Tonight Ethan's briefs were black. Fox had on a T-shirt, and wished that he had his own boxers instead of the skimpy jockeys Ethan had bought him. There was something unsettling and intimate about this: standing in the darkened kitchen, wearing underwear provided by the barely clad man beside him.

Having absolutely no idea how to react to the last statement, Fox reacted by not reacting at all. He ignored it, but he drank about half of his brew in one gulp. "You're gonna give yourself a headache, doing that," Ethan predicted.

As he finished speaking, a bolt of agony lanced across Fox's head. He squinted, wincing. "Ow! What did you do, curse me?"

"Shit, didn't your mama teach you not to take cold things too quick?" He set down his own beer and reached toward Fox, who pulled back. "Hold still, dammit. I'm trying to help." Ethan's fingers, cool from holding the chilled bottle, settled on Mulder's temples, and began to massage. Slowly the easy pressure seemed to release the vice that had clamped down on his skull. The pain began to fade.

Ethan was speaking. "The only thing that really helps a cold headache is when the temperature gets back to normal, but this is kind of soothing in the meantime."

"Thanks." Fox murmured, eyes still closed. He sighed. Ethan's fingers, strong and gentle, continued rubbing in circles. "That feels good." The fingers slid back into his hair, massaging his scalp, then moved down to work on the back of his neck.

Fox suddenly realized that, like this, Ethan was almost embracing him. He opened his eyes. Ethan was very close. There was only a few inches of space between them. He was looking into Fox's face, his expression unreadable. But even in the dim light that glowed over the stove, Fox could see how green Bridger's eyes were.

Fox cleared his throat, and pulled back fractionally. Ethan's hands dropped. "Headache gone?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Da nada." He stepped away and picked up his beer. "If you're really having THAT hard a time sleeping, you ought to come in the bedroom. You need to be well rested. That bed's plenty big enough for two people without being crowded."

Fox shifted uncomfortably. "I'm okay."

"Fox, you're being silly. You're depriving yourself of rest just because you're afraid to be alone in the dark with another man?"

Fox bristled, as Ethan knew he would. "Don't be ridiculous." He started to walk out. Behind him, he heard a very creditable clucking sound, and whirled around. "Are you calling me chicken?"

Ethan's eyes were wide and innocent. He spread his fingers on his chest in a `who, me?' gesture. Fox glared, and left the room, stomping as best he could with bare feet. Ethan chuckled, and lifted the last of his beer in a toast to that spectacular ass. He whispered, "But you ARE chicken, Fox. Pure white meat."

When Ethan went out into the living room, there was no pillow, no comforter, and no Mulder. Ethan pumped his fist in the air, silently mouthing, "Yes!" Then he composed his expression into blandness and went into the bedroom.

Fox was on the near side of the bed, stretched out on his stomach, head resting on folded arms, face turned away. The only thing wrong with this picture is that he's not naked. That will change.

Ethan walked around to his side of the bed, and slid under the sheet. Fox's eyes were closed. He wasn't asleep, though. Ethan knew damn good and well that he was awake. But Fox's body was not tensed, he seemed to rest easy. Hunt studied his face. Thick lashes, almost reaching to sculpted cheekbones. Straight, strong nose, full mouth. Mouth, mouth, MOUTH! Damn, that is a sexy mouth. Pretty soon I'm going to have to just kiss him stupid, then see what else we can figure out for him to do with that mouth. Thinking about the possibilities, Ethan went to sleep with a smile on his face.

Fox awoke with a pleasant, but unfamiliar, scent teasing him. What was it? He sorted through his olfactory memory, searching for it. There was soap, he recognized that. Some other spicy smell, and just a hint of clean sweat. Fox opened his eyes to find that his face was pressed against Ethan Bridger's bare shoulder. So, that's what it was. Ethansmell.

Moving very slowly and carefully, Fox pulled away, thankful that Bridger was still asleep. How had Mulder wandered all the way over to this side of the bed? Once he managed to fall asleep, he wasn't really a restless sleeper, not a whole lot of thrashing around. Well, he didn't think there was, anyway. Actually, he hadn't slept with enough people in his life to get an informed opinion of his own sleep habits.

Ethan yawned, and shifted onto his side. Fox slipped out of bed and eased to the bathroom. He needed to pee. He had a morning erection, and that was not something he cared to have the man he'd been sharing a bed with know.

He peed copiously, sighing in relief. The hard on didn't go away. "Oh shit." Fox muttered. He stared at his rebellious member, willing it to subside. "Come on, already. I peed. What else do you want?" He paused. "Don't answer that."

Fox stripped quickly, stepped into the shower, and turned the cold water on full blast. A yelp escaped him before he could bite it back.

" "Fox? You okay?" He heard padding footsteps over the hissing of the water.

Damn. "Yeah, I'm fine. Water's just a little cold, that's all." Ethan was in the bathroom. Fox could see his wavering outline through the frosted glass of the shower door.

"What, is the hot water out?" Fox stood dumbfound as the door slid open a couple of inches, and Ethan's hand poked in, under the spray. "Damn! No wonder you yelled. Are you trying to get hypothermia or something?" He reached down and turned on the hot, testing the water till it ran just past lukewarm. "There." The hand was withdrawn, and the door slid shut. "I thought you took a shower last night, anyway?"

"I just felt like another one."

"Good way to start the morning."

Oh, Christ. Fox watched as Ethan's blurred figure moved to the toilet, fumbled with his shorts, and peed. Look away, Fox. Look away. He didn't.

Ethan finished, shook, and tucked himself away. "Hurry up. You need to get shots, and we have to have new passport photos taken today." He strolled out.

Fox sighed, and looked down at his once again engorged cock. He reached for the hot water, twisting it off as he called, "It may be a few minutes."

Chapter Nine: Preparation

When Fox came into the kitchen, Ethan asked him, "Do you still need coffee to wake up after that shower?"

"I need coffee to get my heart started." He poured himself a cup, and inhaled the rich aroma before taking the first sip. He sighed contentedly.

"Addict."

"Drug of choice." Fox sniffed, and peered into a sizzling pan on the stove. "Onions? At this time of the morning?"

Ethan was whisking eggs. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have crunch in my omelette."

Fox watched as Ethan poured the eggs into a hot, greased pan, tilting it so that they spread evenly. As they turned opaque on the bottom, he lifted the edges with a spatula, tilting the pan so that the uncooked mixture ran under. When the surface was only moist instead of wet, he sprinkled it with the onion, and grated cheese and cubed ham. Then he neatly folded it in half, lightly pressing the edges.

He glanced at Fox, then, with a quick twist of his wrist, flipped the omelette in the air lightly, and slid it off onto a plate. "Damn!" Fox muttered. "I tried to cook an omelette once. Once. It took me three hours to clean the kitchen. I threw it out, and the neighbor's dog got mysteriously ill the next day."

Ethan cut the omelette in half and slid part onto a second plate, handing it to Fox. "Yeah, well, don't sweat it. You don't have to cook. Someone will marry you just for your looks."

"I want to be loved for my mind."

"If it's dirty enough, you'll be loved for it. Sit down to eat that. You'll get indigestion."

They went out into the dining area, and Ethan sat opposite him. Fox rapidly emptied his plate, then sat back with a replete sigh. "Well?"

"The plate is clean."

"I noticed that. I'm surprised you didn't scrape the pattern off it."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Is that what you're planning on wearing?"

Fox looked down at the cranberry colored silk shirt and black pants. "No, I thought I'd wear the pink tutu. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing. But we're having the passport photos taken. Wear your blazer."

"Yes, Dad."

"The correct term is `daddy'."

"Um." Fox got up and went to get the blazer.

Ethan wondered if Fox was consciously flirting back at him, or if he thought he was just teasing Ethan. Probably wasn't sure where smart ass left off and flirting began. He went and got his own jacket, joining Fox in the living room.

Fox spread his arms. "Happy?"

"Almost." Ethan buttoned the jacket, then hooked his finger in the breast pocket. "Remind me to get you a show handkerchief to fold in here."

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

"Detail, Fox." He paused. "Details, Daniel."

"Yes, Con."

"Empty your wallet out." He handed Fox an envelope. "Put everything in here. We'll have it put somewhere safe till this is over."

Fox stripped his wallet of everything but cash, stuffing it in the envelope, then sealing it. He didn't like doing this. He was used to always having his ID with him, it was an integral part of being an FBI agent. You had to be ready to identify yourself at all times. This made him uncomfortable. It was like his identity was being stripped away. It made him feel... raw, somehow. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Hunt seemed to sense something of what he was feeling. "You're not losing yourself. You're... just taking a vacation from your life for awhile. It doesn't really matter what the pieces of paper say, does it?" He tapped Fox's chest. "You're still you, here."

Downstairs he exchanged the envelope containing Fox's papers for one that was already in the mailbox, handing it to Fox. Mulder ripped it open and found a driver's license, social security card, gym membership card, credit cards, even a partially filled video rental redemption card, all in the name of Daniel Ballard. The photo on the license was the same that graced Fox's own. The physical information was the same, except for the weight. Daniel weighed about five pounds more than Fox. Good, everyone would think he'd been losing weight. Daniel wasn't a donor, though. Selfish bastard.

Ethan waited while he stowed the items in his wallet. The first stop was a small medical practice building. In an office waiting room, Ethan went directly to the check in counter. "Galbraith and Ballard. We're here for our travel immunizations."

"Certainly, sir. Just sign in, and have a seat." Ethan scratched `Connor Galbraith' on the sheet, then handed it over to Fox. He looked at Ethan for a moment, then signed `Daniel Ballard'.

When they sat, he murmured, "Shouldn't I practice `my' signature?"

"Yes, you should. I was going to bring that up later. Good catch. I'm getting more and more confident in you, Danny."

There was a stack of magazines on the table before them, and Fox started to sort through them. His hand hovered over a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, then he bypassed it and picked up an International Male Catalogue. Ethan smiled in approval. The catalogue was notorious for the sensual pictures of male models in skimpy attire, and was exactly what Daniel would have zeroed in on.

Ethan casually threw an arm across the back of Fox's chair, and peered over at the catalogue. He tapped a page. "You'd look good in that."

"Those sleeves? I'd look like Errol Flynn getting ready to swash some buckle."

"You can swash my buckle any time." Ethan saw the color sweep up Mulder's cheeks. Oh, I have got to make a play for you soon, Foxy. A middle aged nurse came to the counter. "Mr. Ballard, Mr. Galbraith? Follow me, please." They followed her back into a surprisingly twisty maze of corridors and exam rooms. Finally they were ushered into a typical looking exam room. "The doctor will we with you momentarily."

As she left, Ethan took the one chair. Fox looked around a moment, then perched on the exam table, long legs dangling. "Most doctors need appointments and medical records and insurance information before you get past the dragons at the front desk."

It wasn't stated as a question, but that's what it was. Ethan nodded. "Most doctors."

"Yeah, I guess you would have to have some discrete medical help in your line of work."

"Our line of work."

A small Asian man in a white lab coat bustled into the room. He offered them a blinding smile, and shook hands. "Mr. Bridger, wonderful to see you again. Mr. Ballard. Going abroad, are we?"

"A little jaunt to Columbia, Doctor Ling. No more than a week or so. But Daniel isn't up on his vaccinations, and I can't risk having him get sick."

"Well, that's easily taken care of."

Fox felt vaguely like he had as a child at the pediatrician's, listening to his father and the doctor discuss his medical care. The doctor removed a capped, disposable syringe from his jacket pocket. "We'll give you the gamma gobulin first. I assume that this trip will be soon?"

"In a little more than a week and a half."

"Hm. Well, you won't want the typhoid injection, then. That might make him ill, and it's very uncomfortable. We have a new oral medication he can take over a weeks time. Four capsules, one every other day." Fox was removing his blazer. "No, no, Mr. Ballard. You really don't want to take this in the arm. Haven't you ever had a gamma gobulin shot before?"

"No."

"They're very strong. They need to be injected into a much larger muscle mass."

Fox looked pained. "Not in the butt?"

The doctor smiled. "No, no, not the buttock. Just the hip. We wouldn't want you to have a bruise on your sit-down. Very uncomfortable. Now, lower your pants, please." Grumbling, Fox reached for his belt. He hesitated, looking at Ethan. Ethan just folded his hands and returned his look. Mulder undid his belt and opened his pant, then lowered them halfway down his thighs. Ethan wished that he had removed his jacket. The hem obscured his view of Fox's ass.

The doctor uncapped the syringe and pushed the plunger till a bead of liquid oozed from the needle. Fox hooked a thumb in the waistband of his briefs and dragged it down a few inches. The rather elegant curve of his hip was exposed, with a small expanse of pale buttock. Ethan wet his lips, thinking about running his hand along that curve, gripping it and pulling Fox close...

He looked up to find Fox watching him. Ethan didn't try to disguise the interest in his eyes, and Fox looked away quickly.

The doctor swabbed Mulder's skin with alcohol, chilling it. Then he framed a section of skin at Fox's hip and said, "All right, Mr. Ballard. I won't lie to you, this will hurt. But I need you to stand very still. I have to give you this injection slowly. Are you ready?"

"Just a second." Fox took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. "Okay." The bite of the needle was like a hornet sting, hot and sharp. "Jesus." His hands gripped the side of the table.

"Hang on, Danny." Ethan's voice was encouraging.

"Half way done." the doctor murmured.

He wasn't fucking kidding, it would hurt. The pain radiated, making the entire area covered by the doctor's hand ache.

Finally the sting lessened a little, and he felt the doctor swabbing him again with alcohol. "There. Done."

Fox gingerly rubbed the throbbing spot. "Damn, you'd think that with all the medical research, they'd come up with something a little less painful." He pulled up his pants and refastened them.

"You took that very well." The doctor solemnly pulled a purple sucker out of his jacket pocket and offered it to Fox. "For bravery."

Fox frowned. "Don't you have any red?" Just as solemnly, the doctor produced a red one, and handed it to Fox.

"What about cholera?" Ethan asked, standing up.

"Well, you generally don't have to worry about that, if you're careful about your water and your food. But since that isn't always possible...What we have available isn't really that reliable. There's an oral medication available in Canada or Europe that's much more effective." He cocked his head and said brightly. "Pity the FDA hasn't approved it yet."

"Yes, isn't it."

"You can go on out to the front. I'll send the medicines up with the nurse." He bustled out.

"Hey, wait a minute," Fox protested. "What about you? Don't you have to get a shot?"

"Danny, I stay current on mine." They went up to the front, and Ethan paid the desk clerk. As he was finishing, the nurse came out and handed him a small paper bag.

"Now, be sure that he takes those as scheduled."

"I will." On the way out to the car, Ethan said, "Something's bothering you. What is it?"

"Why does everyone keep talking around me? The medicine is for ME, but they gave it to you, and gave you instruction on making me take it. I'm starting to feel like I'm about twelve years old."

"This is how the Galbraith-Ballard relationship works. You need to get used to it... Danny."

Fox opened the bag and peered at it's contents. "There's two bottles in here, both of them with handwritten labels."

"Typhoid and cholera medicine."

"I thought he said that the cholera medicine wasn't available in the US?"

"It isn't." "Oh."

The next stop was a small photography studio. "We could have just done this in one of those quarter photo booths, couldn't we?" Fox asked.

"We could. But you insist on the best, and I indulge you."

"I'm high maintenance, aren't I?"

"But you're worth it."

In the studio, Fox was positioned in front of a plain white backdrop. Ethan said, "Hang on." Taking a comb from his pocket, he arranged Fox's hair more to his satisfaction, giving it a final smooth with his palm. "Okay, now you're ready."

As the photographer snapped the picture, Fox wondered at himself. I must be better at this assuming another person's identity than I thought I was. Having him touch me is starting to feel almost (good) normal.

Chapter Ten: Testing

"Okay, Danny. Time for the first real test."

"Already? Is it essay, or multiple choice."

Ethan ignored the question. They were pulling into a parking lot before a substantial building. The sign at the door said `Elysium Gym'. " This is your gym. We're going to go in and work out a little."

They got out of the car, and Ethan started for the door, but Fox hung back. Bridger paused, turning back to him. "What's wrong? Stage fright?"

"What if... if someone who looks like me shows up?"

"Not likely. He and someone who looks like me are in Ireland right now." Ethan smiled. "He's visiting the in laws. Or, in this case, outlaws."

Fox groaned. "That joke was old when they used it in the Disney version of `Robin Hood'. What about work out clothes?"

"Thanks for reminding me." He opened the trunk and pulled the new small case he'd bought for Fox. "I put some in the trunk while you were showering."

Every objection was met. Fox followed Ethan into the building. Fox looked around the entrance area. Nice. Plush carpets, rich paneling , subdued lighting. He had a feeling that the equipment room was going to be spectacularly stocked. Daniel did believe that he deserved the best.

The counter was manned by a muscular man in a tank top with the gym's logo on it. It strained over a sculpted physique. It wasn't until Fox noticed that his inch long buzz cut was steel grey that he realized that the man must be in his mid fifties. He greeted Fox with a warm smile. "Mr. Ballard, always a pleasure to see you, sir. I thought you were in Ireland this week."

"Change of plans." Fox modulated his voice a little, making it softer and adding a tinge of southern accent to it. He pulled out his wallet, and handed over his membership card. The man took it without question, and pushed a registry book toward him.

"Mr. Galbraith, will you be joining Mr. Ballard, or would you prefer to wait in the lounge?"

"Oh, I'll come along." He ran a hand teasingly across Fox's shoulder. "Can't let this one get too much stronger than me, can I now?" There was the faint hint of Ireland in Ethan's voice. Fox doubted that anyone could tell the difference between his voice and Connor's without a voice print.

They received a key, and went into the locker room. Daniel had locker 36, and Fox located it. It was a full sized one, with plenty of room to hang up both his and Ethan's clothes neatly. Hangers were provided. "Class operation, all the way."

Ethan was stripping out of his clothes. "They'll steam press your stuff for you while you work out, if you ask. Come on, Daniel. Before the lunch hour crowd takes up all the good equipment."

Bare chested, he was hanging up his jacket. As he finished speaking, he started to unbuckle his pants. Fox turned away and began undressing himself. Daniel's an exhibitionist. Don't act shy, don't hesitate. Just be casual.

When he turned back to get his own set of workout clothes out of the bag, Ethan was just pulling a T-shirt over his head. Fox watched as his head popped through, and he gave it a quick shake, tossing the shaggy black hair out of his eyes.

Sitting down on a bench, Bridger began to pull on a pair of athletic shoes. "Danny, as luscious as you look in your briefs, I don't think they'll let you in the weight room like that."

Fox scrambled into the shorts and T-shirt, put away his own clothes, locked the locker, and followed Ethan out into the gym.

Fox looked around. There seemed to be every expensive, state-of-the- art exercise machine in existence. Ethan went to one immediately and began doing leg lifts. After a moment's thought, Fox chose a treadmill. He wasn't much for pumping iron, but he jogged on a regular basis.

He started off slowly, then set a good, steady medium pace, and settled in for his run. Ethan chose machines where he could keep an eye on his partner. It was nice, having something to watch while he went through the mindless repititions. Fox ran with long legged grace, muscles flowing smoothly. He seemed to have good stamina, that could come in handy. Ethan grinned to himself. Could come in handy in a LOT of situations.

Fox jogged, never looking left or right. Well, never turning his head. If he cut his eyes sideways, he could still see Ethan. The dark haired spy went through a thorough set of exercises, working each portion of his body. Fox usually didn't think much about his own body, but Ethan made him feel very aware of himself for some reason.

He found himself comparing his own lankiness to Ethan's compact, muscular frame. Usually he saw his height as an advantage, if he thought about it at all. But Ethan made him feel gawky.

Ethan paused in his exertions. Dark, damp patches had bloomed on his T-shirt: under arms, across the chest and back, around the neckline. His face was beaded with perspiration. He pulled off the shirt, and used it to wipe his face and throat.

Fox felt a sudden surge of warmth, and reached out quickly to the treadmill's controls, raising the speed. He went from a trot to a run. Ethan watched Fox, his face enigmatic. Then he called, "That's enough for now, Danny."

Fox ignored him, and kept on pounding to nowhere on the treadmill. Frowning, Ethan got up and went to him. He dialed the speed down to medium, then low, then shut it off. Fox slowed with the treadmill, finally stopping and letting the moving belt carry him back off of the machine.

Ethan moved in close to the panting man, peering up into his face. "I said that was enough. Jesus, man, are you trying to kill yourself?"

Fox didn't answer, just staring at him, breath still ragged. Ethan said softly, "Tell me, Danny boy. Were your running AWAY from something, or running to it?"

Fox silently turned and went to the locker room. He was siiting on the bench when Ethan entered. Ethan stuffed his now damp and fragrant shirt into the bag, and pulled off his shorts.

"Well?"

Fox cut his eyes at him. "I'll wait till I get home to shower."

Ethan put his hands on his hips. "The hell you say. You're not getting in my jag in the state you're in, Ballard. Now get your round little ass under the shower and clean up."

"Fine!" Fox stood, and angrily began to strip out of his clothes. Ethan watched as he slammed the athletic shoes into the bag, jerked off the T-shirt, and skinned his shorts down. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic. But we can't shower in our briefs either, can we?" Ethan stepped out of his briefs, dropping them in the bag, and headed toward the shower, calling over his shoulder. "Bring the shampoo out of the bag, would you?"

Fox stayed where he was for a moment, and found himself swaying slightly on his feet. This is a public locker room, Mulder. Nothing is going to happen here.

He removed his own underpants and found the shampoo in the bag. He took a deep breath, cast his eyes toward the ceiling, and murmured, "Please, God, I'm begging you. Don't let me get a hard on."

A gym this fancy, and they didn't have private showers. Didn't it just figure? It was a typical communal shower; a large tiled area with a row of shower heads, and drains set at intervals in the floor. Ethan was under one of the sprays, in the process of scrubbing a bar of soap into a washcloth. His legs were already dripping with foam, which was washing away under the falling water.

As Fox stepped into the tiled area, he began on his arms. Glancing at Fox, he said, "You can put it on the shelf over here."

Mulder placed the shampoo on the shelf that hung on the wall near Ethan. Then he turned on the showerhead next to him, adjusting the water to a cool spray. He was tempted to use ice cold water, but was afraid that would be just a bit too obvious. There were wash cloths and fresh soap on the shelf also, and Fox helped himself and began to wash, working quickly.

He had to get this over with, and get out of there, fast. He kept his eyes lowered so he wouldn't see Ethan gliding the cloth over his chest, down his torso. He closed his eyes completely when it reached Ethan's groin, putting his head back and letting the spray hit him full in the face.

His eyes flew open when someone nudged him. Ethan, a pool of clear gel in the palm of his hand, was offering the shampoo bottle to Fox. Mulder took it numbly as Bridger slicked the shampoo into his own hair and started to scrub, working up a lather.

Fox followed suit, and had another excuse to close his eyes, so he wouldn't get soap in them. He heard Ethan's shower cut off as he put his head back under his own spray to rinse. He was startled when Ethan spoke, very close to him. "You keep your eyes closed a lot, don't you, Danny boy?"

Fox opened his eyes to find a naked Ethan Bridger, towel draped over his shoulders, standing beside him. Ethat reached over and shut off the taps, and the shower drizzled to a stop. He was studying Fox. Neither moved.

Ethan lifted the towel from his own neck, and draped it around Fox's. He took one end of it, and gently swabbed beads of water from Fox's face and throat. He said quietly, "Time to go home." He took another towel from the pile on the shelf, turned, and went out to the locker room.

Fox braced a hand against the wall and closed his eyes. Oh, God. At least I waited till he left the room to start to get hard. He quickly wrapped the towel around his waist, grabbed another one, and walked out, tousling his hair. Ethan was half dressed by the time he got there.

Fox made sure to keep his back to the other man while he got into his briefs, and tugged on his pants. He left them unfastened as he put on his shirt, wanting to be able to get the tail inside neatly. As he started to button the shirt, Ethan stepped over and pushed his hands away.

Silently, he buttoned Fox's shirt, concentrating on the motion of his hands, slipping the buttons into the holes. When it was done, he smoothed his hands down Fox's chest.

Then holding the waist band of his pants in his left hand, he carefully tucked the shirt tail in at the back, then at the sides. Then down in front. And his hand closed over Fox's semi-hard cock, gently but firmly.

Fox gasped softly, looking into his face. Ethan returned his stare, expression calm, but green eyes almost glowing. Slowly and deliberately, he stroked. Fox shuddered. Ethan nodded, then released him.

He zipped up Fox's pants, closed them, and buckled his belt, then handed him his blazer, all without saying a word. Fox just stood there as Ethan packed the rest of their things in the bag and closed it.

Ethan lifted the bag in one hand, took Fox's arm with the other, and led him out of the locker room. It stretched out to be one of the longest silences Fox had ever experienced with another person. Not a word was said the entire ride home, or during the walk upstairs to the apartment.

As Ethan set down the bag and locked the door, Fox laid his jacket on the table and went directly into the kitchen. He got a beer out of the refrigerator and opened it, leaning back against the cool metal. He drank half of it quickly, risking another cold headache, but not caring. He had to do something.

Ethan came into the kitchen, and walked over to him. He stood, almost toe to toe with Fox. Just stood. Watching.

Nervously, Fox rubbed the glass of the bottle across his forehead, trying to cool what felt like a fever. Ethan took the bottle away from him, tipped it to his own lips, and drank off the rest, then set it aside on the counter. He reached up and stroked Fox's moist brow, pushing his hair up off his forehead. "Have you ever been with another man before?"

Fox shook his head.

"There's something I need to tell you." He looked Mulder squarely in the eyes. "My name's not Bridger. It's Hunt."

Fox blinked, then his lips lifted slightly at the corners. "All right. I guess I should have seen that one coming. What about your first name?"

"No, that's the same."

Mulder nodded. "Easier to remember, I guess. Why are you telling me now?"

"Because I like to be honest with the people I'm bedding, Mulder, and I don't often get the chance." Ethan's hand moved lightly over Mulder's face, touching feather light on cheeks, jaw, chin, finally coming to rest against his mouth. With one fingertip Ethan traced the lines of the FBI agent's mouth. His hand cupped Fox's jaw, and his thumb teased at his full lower lip. "Are you all right with this?"

Fox's voice was low. "Who are you talking to, Ethan? Me? Or Daniel? Is this for the mission?" There was an almost painfully naked look in Mulder's eyes, and Ethan knew exactly what he needed to hear. He was glad that it was also the truth of the situation.

"This is for Ethan Hunt. And it's Fox Mulder I want to take to my bed. That's all. But I need you to tell me you're okay with this, Fox."

Fox closed his eyes briefly. "Fuck, Ethan. I don't even know what this is. But I do want it." Ethan's hands slid up into Fox's soft, slightly damp hair. "Then all you have to do is relax, Fox. This time, just let me take care of you."

He pulled Fox's face down, tilting his own up, and pressed their lips together. The touch was different than a woman's. Hunt's lips were smooth, and firm, and they moved ever so slightly against Fox's own.

Fox felt the warm, damp touch of a tongue, and he opened his mouth to allow Ethan access. Ethan made small, shallow licks into Fox's mouth, teasing him, then slid in and began a slow exploration. Fox felt Ethan lean in against him, measuring his shorter body against Fox's tall frame.

Fox put his arms around the other man, running his hands up and down Ethan's back as the kiss slowly deepened. Then Ethan pulled back a little, and began nipping lightly at Fox's lips, and chin.

Mulder groaned, and tried to reach up under Hunt's jacket. Ethan shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor, and began to unbutton Mulder's shirt. He spread the sides open and bent over, dropping a kiss precisely at the point where Fox's collar bones joined, flicking his tongue into the hollow of his throat.

Ethan licked at Fox's neck, moving up to nuzzle his ear. He moved his hands up to Fox's chest and pressed them flat, fingers spread, then scratched lightly. Fox gasped as nails grazed his nipples.

Ethan took Fox's earlobe between his teeth as he toyed with the stiffening points, stroking and pinching. No one had ever played with him like this, and he was amazed at the sweep of carnal pleasure that was washing over him. He was beginning to feel drunk with it.

Ethan was loving this. Damn, he's so sweet, and sensitive. He reacts to everything. Shit, Ethan, you're gonna be his first time. Make it good for him. Make him want more. Make him want you.

Ethan rubbed his cheek against Fox's, and Fox turned his head blindly, seeking Ethan's mouth with his own. Again they kissed, and this time Fox was an active participant. His tongue met Ethan's, sliding and stoking, and he made tiny sounds in the back of his throat that sent a bolt of pure lust through Hunt's body.

When the kiss broke this time, both men were breathing faster. Ethan pressed his face to Fox's chest, fastening his lips around one nipple and sucking strongly. Fox whined, arching to him, and Ethan nibbled before moving over to the other side and repeating the process.

He moved his mouth down the center of Fox's torso, drawing a wet trail, pausing at the belly button to lick and tickle. Then he looked up into Fox's face and slowly, gracefully sank to his knees before the older man. He reached up and began to unbuckle Fox's belt. "I'm going to suck you, Mulder. I've been wanting to taste you ever since you walked into Skinner's office, and now I'm going to do it."

Fox watched Ethan's hands work. The button was slipped from it's seat, the zipper drawn down. Ethan reached into the gap he'd created. Once again his hand closed over Mulder's cloth covered penis. This time, it was fully erect, and pushed out with almost aware eagerness to meet his hand.

"You're hard," Ethan said quietly. "And you're hard for me, aren't you?"

"Yes." Fox whispered.

Ethan hooked his fingers in the waist band of Fox's underwear and peeled them down. Reaching in, he eased Mulder's heated cock over the elastic band, gently working the balls over the barrier, too.

He blew a hot breath across it, and Mulder shivered. "Oh, god. Please, Ethan."

"Yes, baby." Ethan held Mulder's shaft, put out his tongue, and delicately lapped at the full, rosy head. Clear fluid oozed from the tear shaped slit at the tip, and Ethan used his fingertips to spread it over the glans, leaving them moist and glistening. Then he bent and fitted his mouth over Mulder's cock head, sucking softly.

Fox's hands splayed on the refrigerator behind him, scrabbling at the smooth surface as Ethan moved down, gradually taking half of his dick into the hot wetness of his mouth. Ethan's hands moved, pumping the bottom of his staff, and carefully squeezing his scrotum, rolling his balls together gently.

Fox had gotten head before, but it paled beside this experience. He watched in a sensual fog as Ethan's dark head bobbed up and down. Ethan pulled off, leaving Mulder's hard on spit shiny, and licked it from root to crown, swirling his tongue in intricate patterns. Then he followed the same path up, grazing lightly with his teeth.

He looked up at Fox with a wicked grin. "You like that, Foxy?"

Fox swore, and Ethan laughed. "Fuck yeah, I like it. Tell me your not a fucking tease, Hunt."

Ethan's eyes glittered. "No, I'm not a tease. I deliver. When you come, don't you dare try to pull out, do you hear me? I want every drop of come you have. Now, you just hang on to something, Fox. I'm gonna rock your world."

He plunged down suddenly, deep throating him. Fox gave a strangled cry. Unable to stop himself, he thrust forward strongly. Ethan reached back and grabbed his ass, not pulling away, sucking hard. Fox buried his hands in Ethan's hair, and bucked his hips. He was vaguely worried about choking the other man, but so lost in a frenzy of lust that he couldn't have stopped if his life depended on it.

It didn't matter. Ethan took everything Fox gave him, and demanded more. He'd been waiting for this for a long time, and he simply devoured the other man. The pleasure was so intense that Fox was almost weeping. He gasped as he plunged in and out of the steamy paradise. "Oh... god. So good. So good!" He felt his balls draw up tight, and shouted, "Ethan!"

It was both a warning, and a plea. His orgasm hit him like an electric jolt, followed by a wave of fire. It roared through him, and he came harder than he ever had before.

Ethan's hands clamped on Fox's ass, squeezing and kneading the firm cheeks, drawing him even tighter into his oral embrace as he felt the first jolt of come hit the back of his throat. He sucked and swallowed greedily, drinking the other man's essence, nose buried in the brown curls of Fox's pubic hair. There was another, slightly weaker spurt, then another. The taste, slightly bitter and so very, very Fox, filled him.

He was pressed against Mulder's legs, and he could feel them trembling. Fox was on the verge of having his knees give out. Ethan let the softening cock slide out of his mouth, and leaned his head against Fox's thigh, catching his breath.

Mulder still had his hands in Ethan's hair, and they moved gently, stroking him. Ethan smiled against Fox's leg, then moved to lick his sticky cock clean. Finally he stood up, and put his arms around the now trembling man, supporting him.

Fox wrapped his arms around Ethan, burying his face against the younger man's neck. "I didn't know," he whispered. "I never imagined."

"I know." Ethan whispered back.

"You... Ethan, you didn't..." He looked at Ethan, then said simply. "You didn't."

Ethan kissed him. "This time was for you." He rested his forehead against Fox's, gazing into his eyes, and smiled. "Don't worry. The next time will be for me."

Chapter Eleven: Intimacy

Fox looked at him consideringly. "So there's gonna be a next time?"

"Unless it would mean my having to rape you, yes. I'm not nearly through with you. As you pointed out, I didn't. But not just yet." He patted Mulder's cheek. "I want you rested and recouped before I get mine."

"Uh... that sounds kinda like you plan on wearing me out."

"Oh, I do."

"I begin to wonder what I've gotten myself into."

"I'm going to go downstairs and check the mail again. I think we may have a second delivery today. I found a list of places that deliver in that drawer. Why don't you call and order dinner? Anything but pizza. And Fox?"

"Yeah?"

"Personally, it would suit me fine if you wanted to run around the apartment naked. But if you have to answer the door, please remember to zip up." Blushing, Mulder quickly tucked himself back into his pants as Ethan exited.

Downstairs, Ethan reflected that it had been a nice episode. He had a feeling that Fox was going to be a more than satisfactory lover. So often he had to keep most of himself screened from the people he bedded, not able to reveal himself. With Fox it was different. The FBI agent knew what he was, and Ethan didn't have to pretend with Fox. That was... liberating.

And Mulder's wonder and enthusiasm was flattering, he had to admit it. Ethan saw it as a bit of a responsibility, being someone's first. He felt like he hadn't let Fox down. He smiled to himself, wondering if Fox would be as eager for the next first that he had planned. He thought he would.

There was, he expected, more envelopes in the mailbox. Besides another video tape, there was also a small box. Once again, nothing was marked in any way. He wondered if the real postman ever thought about why nothing ever came for this address.

Fox was at the dining room table, reviewing his previous night's notes when Ethan entered. That was another thing he liked about Fox: he didn't need to be told everything. He knew the importance of becoming as familiar with the material as possible. He was wearing his glasses again, and Ethan handed him the box. "I think this is for you."

Fox opened the box to reveal a contact lens case, a soaking box, and a bottle of lens cleaner. "Oh boy. Now the other kids at school won't call me four eyes."

"Go ahead and try them on. It may take a little while for you to get adjusted. Though I hear that the new extended wear soft contacts are pretty easy on the eyes."

With a little coaching from Ethan, Fox managed to get the lenses in. "How are they?"

"A little weird. Not as bad as I expected." Fox picked up a sheet of notes and studied it. "I can see great." He sounded surprised.

"Terrific. You're supposed to be able to sleep in them, keep them on for several days at a time. But I wouldn't advise it right at first. We don't want you getting an eye infection right before the mission. It wouldn't totally fuck things up, but you'll function better if you aren't in any physical discomfort."

"Your concern is touching."

"Hey, don't sound so cynical. I'm concerned." He looped his arms around Fox's waist, pulling their lower bodies together. "Don't' I LOOK concerned?" He made a serious face.

Fox snorted and pushed him away, but there was an undertone of amusement in the sound. "What else have we got?" "Let's see."

This time it was photos and family histories for both Ballard and Galbraith. They settled in to study. Fox found it amazing that he could end up looking almost exactly like a man who's parents in no way resembled his own. Genetics was a funny thing.

As he read, Ethan reflected that Connor Galbraith was really something of a success story. The man had been born into grinding poverty. His mother was a char, and his father worked odd jobs, when he wasn't drinking. There were six siblings, all older and all girls. Connor had been royally spoiled by the women in his family.

He'd gone against the tide in his neighborhood, staying in school, then taking university courses. He'd also begun a lucrative drug trade at a very early age. By the time he was sixteen he was running a large section of turf, with more than twenty underlings reporting to him.

A more established dealer had taken a fancy to him, and helped him get his business degree. With the contacts his patron provided, Connor had moved into the distribution end of the business. He soon showed a genius for finding small transport companies that could be taken over and used for drug running, while turning enough of a legitimate profit to keep the authorities from becoming too suspicious.

Handsome and personable, Connor networked for all he was worth. It became known that he was reliable, always turning a profit for whoever he worked with, and never getting caught. A few subordinates were nicked, but there was never enough evidence to connect Galbraith, and the captured employees kept their mouths shut. They knew that a nice bonus awaited if they did, and repercussions waited if they did not.

Ethan shook his head slightly. All that intelligence, ambition, and energy. What might Galbraith have become if he'd stayed in the mainstream? No point in speculating, really. In real life, such qualities were not always rewarded.

Connor didn't forget where he came from. His parents were set up in a comfortable suburban house, where his father quickly drank himself to death. His mother still lived there, with her second husband. All the sisters were either established with apparently happy marriages, or set up in businesses, courtesy of their baby brother. The family was well aware of Connor's lifestyle, both his financial, and his romantic. He'd been openly gay since his early teens. *Must be a tough bastard* Ethan thought. Street culture in Dublin isn't all that tolerant. He must've kicked some serious ass early on to earn respect.

Sure enough, there was a not inconsequential police record, all for fighting or assault. No drug charges. No theft. Connor wasn't going to do anything that would attract attention that might jeopardize his living.

The food arrived. Ethan was pleased to see that Fox had shown a little adventurousness in his selection. Instead of the burgers or Chinese food he'd expected, there was Greek cuisine: kebabs, pilaf, and moussaka. "Good choice."

"Yeah, well, this is the only way you're gonna get me to eat eggplant."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Well, it's weird. I mean, purple? Purple food is not natural. Except maybe grapes."

"What about plums?"

"Okay, and plums."

"What do you mean, not natural? They aren't artificially colored, so they HAVE to be natural."

"You just have to argue, don't you? You know what I mean."

"Sure, I do. I know you better than you think."

Fox poked at the last of the rice on his plate, them mumbled, "Yeah, maybe you do."

Ethan reached over and stroked a finger down Fox's cheek, saying softy, "Does that bother you?"

"I don't know." Fox said honestly. "I'm not used to people understanding me. It's a new experience."

Clearing away was quick, and easy. There was another video tape. It was apparent that they were being given a broad overview of how the two men acted and interacted in public.

Mulder studied the two men on the tape. They were standing outside what looked like a rural pub, and they were very oddly dressed. They were both wearing bright red jackets with brass buttons, tight white pants, high black boots, and black billed haps of some sort. "What, are they at a costume party?"

"I'm surprised at you, Mulder. Especially coming from Maryland. That's a popular sport there, as well as in England."

Fox squinted at the screen. A horse, mounted by someone wearing an identical costume, passed. "Oh, no."

"Yes, that's right. They're..."

"Don't say it."

"They're fox hunting."

Mulder groaned, putting his head in his hands. "They did this on purpose, didn't they?"

"Possibly. I suspect that our operator has a slightly twisted sense of humor. Anyway, it's a part of their life. It signifies."

"Well, you better hope that Montaña doesn't want to ride to the hunt, because I'm a lousy horseman. The damn things scare me, and they know it. They have hard hooves, heavy bodies, big teeth, and nasty attitudes."

"We should be able to avoid horseback riding."

As they watched, Connor patted Daniel's butt, and received a kiss in return. "You know, they're the most open physically affectionate couple I've ever seen, gay OR straight."

"We have to remember that. If we seem distant to each other, or cool, it may cause speculation that we don't need. Lots of pet names, too, honey bunny."

Fox grunted. "All right, lambchop." Ethan laughed.

They continued watching the tape. Yes, horsemanship was one area where Ballard and Mulder differed. Ballard sat his horse with easy grace, obviously at home in the saddle. Galbraith was obviously not as skilled, but he was competent and efficient, as he was in most things.

It had been easier to get this footage than it had some of the others, Ethan reflected. Hunts were often filmed, and the participants didn't think anything of it. There was even a good shot of Daniel jumping a hedge, leaning over his horse's neck, perfectly in tune with his mount. The hunt finished back at the pub, with pints all around.

Ethan clicked off the set. "Okay. Bed time." He stood up, and offered his hand to Fox. Fox looked at it for a moment, then looked up at Ethan. He put his hand in Ethan's, and allowed himself to be drawn to his feet and led into the bedroom.

Ethan switched the bedside lamp on low, then shut off the lights. He started to remove his shirt. He's nervous again. I can take care of that. "How about another back rub, Fox?"

"That would be... nice."

"Get undressed, then." Ethan went into the bathroom and returned with a towel. Fox was down to his briefs. Hunt spread the towel out on the bed, then said, "All of it, Fox."

Fox hesitated, then removed the briefs. Ethan noticed with satisfaction that his cock was already beginning to stiffen. Anticipation was a wonderful aphrodisiac.

Without being told, Fox crawled up on the bed and positioned himself on the towel, face down. Ethan stripped down to his own briefs, leaving them on for the time being. He opened the bedside table and pulled out a small bottle, then climbed up on the bed with Fox. He straddled the FBI agent's thighs, opened the bottle, and poured some into his hand, then set it aside.

Fox sniffed, puzzled, then said doubtfully, "Cookies?"

"Vanilla." Ethan spread the oil across Fox's shoulder blades and up his shoulders. The sweet scent filled Fox's nostrils. There was something undeniably relaxing about it. He poured more oil into his hand, and smoothed it the length of Fox's back. Then he settled in, and began cracking the cartilage in Fox's spine. Mulder grunted in appreciation. "Like that?"

"You keep asking me that. If I DON'T like it, Ethan, I'll throw you off." Ethan thought about telling him that he might <I.TRYto throw him off, but decided he didn't feel like issuing a challenge right now. Wrestling could be fun, but he was interested in a more direct sexual encounter right now.

Chapter Twelve: Subjects

Fox had always considered himself something of a `touch me not' when it came to sleeping. He often woke up almost falling off the bed, as far away from his bed partner as possible. Well, that was the few times he had actually slept with someone instead of just fucking them.

But somehow it seemed natural to fall asleep in Ethan Hunt's arms, with the warm, solid body pressed close to his own. Again Fox woke up with his face pressed against Ethan, but this time he didn't try to sneak out of bed.

He rubbed his face against the smooth skin of Ethan's chest. Eyes still closed, Ethan smiled. Fox whispered, "Ethan? You asleep?"

Ethan whispered back, "Yes, Fox. I'm asleep."

"Oh, good. Here comes a wet dream." He licked Ethan's left nipple.

Ethan groaned. "I gotta eat moussaka more often, if this is the kind of dreams it gives me."

"Wait'll you see what the kebabs do for you." Fox transferred his attention to the right nipple, sucking it softly till it rose to a stiff peak.

Ethan opened his eyes and watched Fox, his breath starting to speed up. He stroked the soft brown hair, then buried his hands in it and said quietly, "Bite me."

Fox hesitated, unsure. "Bite?"

"Yeah. Oh, don't draw blood, or anything, but use your teeth."

Fox nibbled experimentally, and earned a happy groan. "Yeah, like that. Perfect. You are so hot, Mulder."

"No one ever told me that before."

"I can't account for the stupidity of the rest of the world. Do you intend to do anything else?"

"Oh, yeah."

Mulder worked a wet trail down Ethan's torso, pausing to dip into his belly button, and enjoying the shiver of his abdominal muscles this caused. Then he continued down and kissed along the line of dark hair pubic hair, studiously ignoring Ethan's rising cock.

Next he moved down the hip bone to begin nibbling at Hunt's inner thigh. Ethan said quietly, "Fox, if you don't suck me off pretty soon, I'm going to be VERY pissed."

Fox slanted a glance up his body. "YOU'RE the one who made me nuts with foreplay last night. Take it like a man, Hunt."

Ethan reached down to tangle his hands in Fox's hair, pushing him toward his now weeping dick. "Nah. YOU take it like a man."

Fox groaned. "Puns, yet." He gripped Ethan's shaft, marveling at the velvety texture of the skin wrapped around such firm flesh, and stroked. "I... uh... You know that I don't know how to do this. It's going to be amateur time."

"What? You think I do it professionally?" When Fox glared at him, he chuckled. "Just do whatever you think will feel good, Fox. I seriously doubt I'll be disappointed."

"You've been warned," Fox murmured, bending back down. He studied Ethan's cock intently for a moment, then carefully dipped his tongue into the tiny slit on the head, eliciting a moan. He settled down and began a slow, gentle, all over lapping.

It was almost like a child eating an ice cream cone, and trying to keep the ice cream symmetrical. In no time Ethan's prick was quivering in his grasp. Ethan was just about to explain to Fox that they called it 'sucking someone off' for a reason, when the FBI agent took his glans into his mouth for the first time.

The wet heat was too much to resist, and Ethan pushed up into the oral embrace. Fox didn't retreat, letting the rigid flesh slide deep, till Ethan was almost two thirds buried. Then he pulled back and slid down again. Hunt breathed, "Oh, yeah. Baby, maybe you're not experienced, but you DO have the knack."

Fox pulled free and said, almost apologetically, "I'm not gonna be able to take all of it, like you did."

"That's okay, I can live with that. Don't feel like you have to swallow, if it squicks you, either. It won't hurt my feelings if you spit."

"I dunno. I'll have to see."

Once again Mulder slid Ethan's cock into his mouth, and began a slow, steady bob. Damn, that feels good! I ought to do something for him, too. "Fox, move around so I can reach you. I want to touch you."

Without stopping, Mulder shifted his hips up higher on the bed. Ethan pulled him closer, wrapped his hand around Fox's hard on, and began to work him gently. Fox made muffled sounds of pleasure.

The two men continued with their love making, their movements gradually becoming faster and rougher as the passion rose. Ethan jerked with the electric sensation as Fox's teeth rasped lightly along his shaft. Shit, he remembered about the biting! He's good!

The stimulation triggered his orgasm. Fox jerked a little himself when Ethan's come exploded in his mouth, but he didn't spit it out. He swallowed quickly, thinking that it wasn't so bad. Not so bad at all.

He let the softening dick slide out of his mouth, and panted while Ethan finished him off with a few more firm strokes. He gritted his teeth as he rode out his orgasm, bathing the enveloping fingers.

When he heard a low laugh, he looked up at Ethan, perplexed. "What's so funny?"

"I just noticed." Ethan sat up and stretched lazily, stroking the back of Fox's leg. "Your toes curl when you come."

No shopping expeditions that day. They stayed around the apartment, reviewing and talking. Fox talked more than Ethan, but he understood that. They would most likely never see each other again after this mission, and the less information floating around out there about Ethan, the better.

Fox told him about Samantha, and he listened soberly. "You don't think I'm crazy?"

"I don't know if I'd go so far as to say that, Mulder. Look at the situation you're walking into with your eyes wide open. But as for what happened to your sister...I've seen some weird shit in my time. Almost anything is possible."

He might have been saying that just to bull shit him, retain his cooperation. But somehow, Fox didn't think that was the case.

There was the usual daily load of information in the mailbox. Fox reflected that he was going to end up knowing more about Ballard and Galbraith than he did about most people in his life, including a number of relatives.

The video tape followed a handball game between the two lovers. There was no quarter asked for, or given, on either side. They played to win.

Daniel had a bit of an advantage with his greater height and reach, but Connor could really streak around the confines of the little court. It was a pretty even match. And you could tell that they liked pitting themselves against each other.

There was breathless, good natured needling between scores. Connor won by one point. In mock retaliation, Daniel threw his sweat towel over the shorter man's head and got him in a headlock. They staggered and grappled, laughing and cursing, till Galbraith pulled Daniel down to the ground, and it turned into a make out session.

The written information consisted of a time line of their history together. A list detailed what holiday's and vacations they'd taken together, giving as much information and observations as possible. Ethan said, "Hey, Fox, guess where they met?"

Fox pretended to think, "Express line at the supermarket? Monster truck rally? Wrestlemania?"

"No, though I wouldn't put that last one past Daniel, given the number of muscular men in spandex. No, they met at Casa de los Vientos del Susurro."

"House of the Whispering Winds. Oo, romantic."

"You aren't kidding. That's a prime resort hotel in Rio. Single occupancy rooms start at $350 a night. A suite will run you $1000 to begin with, in the OFF season."

"Yow. I'm going to make a guess and say that Daniel wasn't there on his own dime."

"Not our boy. His daddy at the time was Andrew Yarborough."

"Yarborough." Fox thought. "Yarborough Farms?"

"The same."

"Damn, they've had horses entered in the last twenty or so Triple Crowns."

"And he was also an old friend of the Ballard family. Very close, almost family."

"Uh oh. Funny Uncle Andy, huh?"

"Very possible, though there's no indication they were physically involved till Daniel moved into an apartment he furnished. Apparently Andrew just liked how he grew up. Daniel had been with him for almost five years before he left him for Connor."

"So Daniel was there in Rio, with his patron, and he dumped him for Galbraith."

"I don't think it was as cold blooded as that. There are indications that Yarborough was abusive to Daniel. He kept him lavishly, but was a pretty cold and demanding man."

"So when a hot blooded, handsome Black Irish showed up, he was ripe for the picking, huh?"

"Connor can be very charming. And he's always been protective of Daniel. I don't believe he would have taken kindly to the thought of Daniel's lover bashing him around."

"So it was the knight errant to the rescue?"

"I think so, yeah."

"That's kinda sweet." Mulder was surprised to find that he wasn't being sarcastic when he said this, and Ethan nodded.

"Sometimes you can find a little something to admire in even the worst people. Startling as hell when it happens."

Fox examined a photo of Andrew Yarborough taken during the time he had been with Ballard. He looked like an old money horse trader. He was big and bluff, with a ruddy complexion that probably owed as much to drink as it did to time in the wind and sun. He had small, shrewd eyes, a large nose, and a hard mouth. He wasn't a handsome man, but there was a certain raw power about him. His hands were enormous, and his arms and upper body slabbed with muscle. He had the thick, powerful thighs of a lifelong horseman. Probably had a heavy hand in training his horses, Fox thought. I bet he likes to break their spirits. Daniel wouldn't have done well with him.

"I wonder," Fox murmured. "What it was like..."

Chapter Thirteen: Meeting

Casa de los Vientos del Susurro. House of the Whispering Winds. The name appealed to Connor's romantic Celtic nature. And it was fitting. The resort was in a sheltered, relatively tourist free area of Rio. It had a private beach and the constant breezes were gentle and refreshing. They did, indeed, whisper through the sheltering trees.

He'd had a bit of business to see to here in Rio de Janeiro, but it hadn't taken long to conduct. He'd decided to indulge in a bit of rest and relaxation as long as he was there. No point in having money if you didn't enjoy it, he thought.

Usually you had to have reservations far in advance to get space at the Casa. But another perk of his line of work was an extensive network of contacts. He'd made a few phone calls, and suddenly the hotel had found that they did, indeed, have a room available. They apologized profusely that it was not a suite, but Connor magnanimously told them it didn't matter. He was alone at the present, and a single room would be fine.

Of course, just because he was alone didn't mean he intended to STAY alone. He was certain he wouldn't have much trouble finding a playmate. If not at the resort itself, then in a nearby club. Rio seemed to attract a remarkably high average of pretty people.

Connor didn't make an effort to get anyone into bed that first night, just enjoying the peace, resting up. He'd have plenty of energy to devote to his chosen conquest later.

That morning he awoke early. He was in a ground floor room, and french doors looked out on a tiny, private garden. He'd left the glass open, and the morning breeze was wafting the heavy, sweet scent of jasmine through his room. A call to room service brought breakfast. In defference to the local customs, he forwent his usual hearty breakfast in favor of croissants and café au lait. Then he showered and got into his vacation clothes.

He'd been in nothing but suits the last week or so, and it was a relief to wear something casual: loose white cotton pants and shirt, with simple sandals. It almost looked like a stereotypical Mexican peon costume, except that it had cost more than most peons would earn in a year's time.

He could have had the morning papers delivered to his room with his breakfast, but instead he went to the lobby to pick them up. He liked to people watch, and the lobby of a resort hotel in a jet set hot spot was excellent people watching territory.

Connor got several papers from the new stand, including one from Dublin that they'd brought in specially for him, and chose a comfortable seat where he had a good view of the entire lobby. He read the papers, and watched the comings and goings.

It was a little slow, what with the early hour. Most of the guests didn't stir till almost noon. He rather liked the feel of having the place almost to himself.

A taxi pulled up outside, and a bellman hurried out to assist the new guests. Another quickly joined him when he saw the number of bags that were being unloaded from the car.

Two men got out of the cab and entered the lobby. The older one, a thick set man in his fifties, went directly to the registration desk. The other, a tall young man, lingered near the door, surveying the lobby through a pair of very dark sunglasses. Connor studied him over the top of his paper.

He was probably in his late twenties, a few years older than Connor himself. He was long limbed, but there was little of the awkwardness usually associated with that body type. He had thick brown hair, falling messily over his forehead, and as Connor watched, he pushed at it impatiently, long fingered hands raking through it to make it even more disheveled.

Connor wished he'd take off the sunglasses, so he could have a better look at his face. He liked what he saw so far. There were high cheekbones, and a determined jaw. And the mouth... Oh, yes. The mouth. Beautifully formed, with a full lower lip. Sulky. It looked made for pouting, and that was what he was doing right now.

He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, chin tucked, glowering toward his companion. He wasn't pleased about something. This conclusion was confirmed when the older man called sharply, "Daniel! Quit moping and get over here."

Daniel pushed off from the wall and slouched reluctantly over to join his friend, leaning against the counter when he arrived. "I'm getting sick of this sullen shit, Daniel. Quit acting like a child. I got us the best suite the place has."

"I don't see why we had to come here." The voice has a soft southern accent, not quite a drawl. "We could have stayed at the Tallbridge in the city. It would've been closer to your business."

"And you would have been right in the middle of all the city clubs. I don't think so."

Ah, so he'd been right in his first assesment of the relationship. This was a 'boy' and his 'daddy'.

"You're always busy," Daniel complained. "It's bad enough you're gone all day. But you take evening meetings, too."

"I have to, you know that."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't keep me from being bored. I just want to have a little fun."

The man's voice was cold. "I know the kind of fun you have, Daniel." He went back to filling out forms.

Daniel fidgeted for a moment, then said, "I don't know why you insisted I come. I could've just stayed home, for all the time you're going to spend with me."

The older man grabbed his wrist, squeezing, and Daniel winced. Connor heard a crinkle, and found to his surprise that he had crumpled the newspaper in clenched fists. "After what you did last time I left you alone? I don't think so. You're going to stay here, where I can keep an eye on you, and you can't get up to your tricks."

Daniel's voice was so low Connor almost couldn't hear it, "Andy, we're in public."

Andy released him, and Daniel rubbed his wrist. "You don't have to be so damn macho about it. I said I was sorry. Have you got our rooms? I want to go freshen up. I'm bummed out from the trip. We could have at least taken a later flight, so I wouldn't have such jet lag."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. The manager is an old friend, I'm going to step back and have a word with him. You'll stay here till I'm ready to go with you." He looked at the waiting bellmen. "Take our things up." Then he went behind the desk and was ushered into a back office.

Daniel remained leaning against the counter, a petulant scowl on his face, as the porters gathered up the baggage and left. Then he walked over to one of the lobby chairs and threw himself into it, slouching in a loose limbed sprawl. Again he folded his arms across his chest, as if to show the world how very, very displeased he was with the way things were being run.

Daniel was in the middle of a deep, but not quite profound, funk. Andrew was really becoming impossible these days. Imagine, dragging him along on a business trip just because he thought he couldn't trust him.

What really bothered him was that his paramour was getting increasingly violent. Oh, Andrew had never been what could be called gentle by any stretch of the imagination. But lately... lately what Daniel thought of as 'the episodes' were increasing. That last time... Daniel had been genuinely frightened. He'd used one of his riding crops. The marks had only recently faded.

Daniel had accepted a certain amount of rough handling as the price he paid for his chosen lifestyle. He even enjoyed the milder forms of control and discipline. But Andrew Yarborough was taking it farther and farther. It was moving into the realm of pathology, and Daniel honestly didn't know what to do about it. There was a thrill in submitting yourself to someone strong and masterful, but not if there was the likelihood of being really hurt.

Daniel was an attractive man. People had stared at him from a very early age, and he could sense when someone interested was watching. He felt that familiar, warm prickle now, and looked around to see who might be watching. His eyes settled on a man sitting a few yards away, half hidden by a potted palm. He was looking over the top of a rumpled newspaper, and he had just the greenest eyes--like the best grade of jade, but warmer than the stone.

When he saw Daniel looking, the paper lowered a bit more. My, oh my. That was one almost ridiculously good looking man. He couldn't help but wonder idly if maybe they were having a fashion shoot in the area. He certainly looked good enough to be one of the models. Though, come to think of it, he didn't have that vapid, self absorbed air Daniel had come to expect with professionally pretty people. His eyes were much too sharp.

Then he smiled, and Daniel felt an immediate sweep of warmth. The smile was just a little crooked, the teeth not quite perfect, and it was devastating. "Hullo."

He really shouldn't talk to this man, he knew that. There was no telling what might set Andrew off these days, and he was just in the other room. But this was all so perfectly innocent, and the man seemed friendly, and he was lonely, and bored, dammit. "Hi."

The man accepted his response as an invitation to talk. He folded the paper, and got up, coming over. Daniel was careful to keep his expression neutral, but he watched him move with appreciation. There was a nice, taut body under those loose clothes, and he moved with fluid, catlike grace.

He held out a hand. "I'm Connor Galbraith. And you're Daniel."

Daniel shook. The grip was firm, the hand warm. "Daniel Ballard. You're from Ireland." There was a musical lilt to the man's accent, like the subtle flavor of peat smoke in a good whiskey.

"Aye, that I am. Dubliner by birth. And you, you're from the south, eh?"

Daniel found himself smiling faintly. "Is it that obvious?"

Connor shrugged, taking a chair beside him. "You sound like your words have been dipped in warm honey and butter."

Daniel felt a distinct tingle. How long had it been since anyone had talked to him like this? He laughed ruefully. `"Andy says I sound like a hayseed."

"I don't know Andy, so I'll reserve judgement. Maybe he's just teasing."

Daniel's smile faded. "No, he's not."

"And who is Andy, exactly?"

"Andrew Yarborough."

"All right, that's his name. But who is he, to you?"

Daniel hesitated. He removed his sunglasses, touching the earpiece to his lips thoughtfully, and regarded Connor. His eyes were hazel, what his Ma used to call `cat eyes', able to shift shade with what he wore. Later Connor would learn that this was true of his emotions, too. They could grow darker with anger, or passion. In fact, Connor thought, there was something distinctly feline about Daniel Ballard.

Finally Daniel said quietly, "He's my lover." Simple, direct, unashamed. Connor liked that. He liked it a lot. "He... takes care of me."

"Does he take good care of you?"

Daniel's expression went blank, and he slid the shades back on. "I shouldn't be talking to you. Andy wouldn't like it. I'm sorry."

He stood up, but Connor caught his wrist. Daniel stopped, and repressed a shiver. This was so much different than the way Andrew had touched him. It was gentle, almost tender. He was looking up at Daniel with those intense green eyes. He said quietly, "Andy won't be here all the time, will he?"

Now Daniel did shiver. He found himself answering, "No. He won't."

Connor let go, and Daniel moved quickly to the desk, leaning once again on the counter. It was a good thing that he did, for a few seconds later, Andrew Yarborough emerged from the back office, chatting with the manager.

He looked at his young lover sharply. It wasn't like Daniel to meekly obey orders. He had probably been up to something. Andrew scanned the lobby, and located a possible source of trouble.

That one over there, by the palm. He had a paper up before his face, but he could tell by looking at him that he had a lean, well proportioned body. If he didn't have the face of a gargoyle, then Andrew's little slut would probably be interested. But he remembered that he mustn't make a scene in public, and said mildly, "What have you been up to?"

Daniel peered at him over the top of his sunglasses. "I'm in the middle of a public lobby, jet lagged. What could I do? I waited for my prince to come."

Yarborough frowned, and said quietly, "That mouth isn't meant for making smart remarks, Danny. Maybe when we get to the room I'll remind you of what it is meant for."

Andrew heard a rustle, and looked over to see the man in white peering at him over the paper, which was much more crumpled than it should have been. He had green eyes, which were like chips of ice, and he didn't look anything like a gargoyle. Yarborough gripped the back of Daniel's neck, and the younger man stiffened. "Yes, I'd say it's time for a reminder."

He pushed his lover before him toward the elevator, casting a hard look back at the dark haired man in the chair. The look said clearly, This is mine. No trespassing. The other man didn't look away at all.

When the elevator doors slid closed, Yarborough swung Daniel around, banging him against the wall. Daniel yelped. "What did I do?"

"Don't play innocent, Danny. You haven't been innocent since before you had hair around your dick. What did you say to that man? What did he say to you?" He grabbed the taller man's chin, squeezing roughly. "Did he touch you?"

"For God's sake, Andy! I was just in the same room with him, nothing happened!"

Chapter Fourteen: Bonding

Connor found that he couldn't stop thinking about Daniel Ballard. He looked for him in the hotel restaurant at lunch, and supper, and in the bar later, but he never appeared.

Probably sleeping, he told himself. He'd complained about how tired he was. Connor hoped that was all it was. He hadn't liked that last look that Andrew Yarborough had given him as he'd marched Daniel to the elevator.

Galbraith met a perfectly nice, perfectly willing German tourist in the hotel bar... and didn't do anything about it. He drank a while with the man, then bid him goodnight, and left him obviously bewildered.

He lay awake for a long lime, staring up at the ceiling, trying to work out exactly where Daniel's room was in relation to his own. He fantasized that it was above his own. That right then, Daniel was lying under cool sheets, directly above him.

He imagined that long body in a graceful sprawl, brown hair tumbling over his forehead. When he imagined the hazel eyes opening, warm and liquid instead of fearful, as he'd last seen them, he started to masturbate.

In his mind he stood over the man who stretched out on the bed, and reached to touch him. Daniel arched to his hand like a cat seeking caresses. He purred with pleasure as Connor stroked and kissed every inch of his body.

It ended too quickly. Connor was just picturing that lush mouth descending on his needy cock when his orgasm hit him unexpectedly. He cried out in mingled relief and frustration as he spilled his seed. Relief, because it was always good, frustration because he hadn't gotten any farther in his fantasy.

But it was a little easier to sleep after that, because he had determined that it wasn't going to remain a fantasy forever. He was going to have that man.

He went to the restaurant the next morning, hoping that Daniel would be there. He was, but Yarborough was sitting with him. Connor chose a table at Yarborough's back, so he could observe without being observed.

There was the remains of a huge breakfast before the older man. He'd obviously had a good appetite. Connor, seeing that Daniel looked a little haggard, wondered sourly what he had done to work up that appetite.

Connor ate slowly, and his fondest wish was granted when Andrew signed the check and prepared to leave. He spoke to Daniel, who nodded listlessly, then he left. Connor waited till he was well away, then got up and went over to Daniel's table.

Daniel was poking dispiritedly at the poached egg on his plate. He really couldn't manage anything harder than that this morning. His throat was very sore. He'd spit up a little blood last night. Andrew must have torn something in his throat again. He had gargled carefully with an antiseptic mouthwash, and it had stung dreadfully, but he supposed that meant it was healing.

When he noticed from the corner of his eye that someone was approaching, he prepared himself for another round of instructions and warnings from Andrew. Instead a soft, Irish tinted voice said, "Good morning, Daniel."

He looked up to find Connor Galbraith standing beside him, and felt an odd flutter in his stomach when he saw the warm expression in the other man's eyes. He found himself smiling, despite his discomfort. "Good morning."

"May I join you?"

Daniel glanced nervously toward the restaurant exit. Well, it should be safe enough. Andrew was going into the city to conduct business. He never dwaddled when he was on his way to a meeting, he would be out of the hotel by now. "Please."

The waiter came over to see what Connor would have, and he ordered coffee. Daniel asked for hot tea with honey and lemon. Connor cocked his head. "Is it for your throat? I'm thinkin' you sound a bit hoarse."

"Yes." Daniel said shortly.

"Ah." Connor didn't ask for an explanation, and didn't elaborate on his comment, and Daniel was grateful on both counts.

Connor sipped his coffee, watching as his companion chewed up a bit of egg and swallowed with obvious discomfort. There were no visible marks on Daniel's throat, so Connor could imagine what Yarborough had done to get him in this state. He wished that he could get his hands around the bastard's neck.

Daniel gave up on his breakfast and sipped his tea instead. The hot, sweet brew soothed his raw throat, and he sighed with relief. When he saw Connor watching him, he shrugged. "I should be better by lunch. I usually am." The thought that this happened often enough for him to have a routine to deal with it made Connor's hand tighten dangerously on the thin china cup. For Daniel's sake, Connor did not comment on that, but said, "Did you sleep well last night?"

Another shrug. "I slept. I'm a little better rested now, even if I do look like death on a cracker."

Connor laughed. "Nothin' of the sort. You look fine. I'm thinkin' it would be hard for you to look bad."

Daniel gazed into his tea cup, smiling almost shyly, "Yeah, well, you wouldn't say that if you saw me first thing in the morning, fresh out of bed."

Connor's voice was suddenly serious, "I'd like that." Daniel's eyes flashed up at him, his smile faltering just a little. No, that wasn't quite the look, Connor thought. It was a good look, a bit startled, and pleased, but it wasn't what he wanted. "Will you spend the day with me?"

Daniel put his cup down slowly. "Andrew most likely has eyes here. He's generous enough when it involves keeping tabs on me." He dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin, and Connor wet his own lips, watching. Daniel saw, and paused with the cloth just touching his mouth. The two men stared into each other's eyes silently, neither one willing to look away. Finally Daniel dropped the napkin and stood up. "I enjoyed your company."

He turned away, and hesitated. Not looking at Connor, he said in a low voice, "You know, it looks like rain, but I don't think I'll be able to resist going out to the beach in a little while." He walked away without looking back.

Connor followed the subtle sway of his hips as he left the room. He sat there for a while longer, coffee cooling unheeded. Then he went back to his room to change into his swimsuit.

The beach was a small jewel, several hundred yards of golden sand lapped by azure waters. Post card perfect. All that was missing was a brilliant sunset with two lover's silhouetted against it, and there would probably be that, later in the evening.

If the weather cleared up. Right now, the sky was a sullen iron gray, clouds roiling close to the ground. The `whispering winds' were working their way up toward a shout. As Connor exited the hotel, there was a rumble of thunder right overhead, and the first flash of lightening. Fat raindrops started to pelt down, striking hard enough to kick up tiny puffs of sand on impact.

The few guests who had been out on the beach made a dash for shelter. They filed past Connor, muttering disgustedly, some of them shaking off water like dogs. Connor stood under the small awning at the exit, the rain blowing in to spray his bare legs, and surveyed the beach.

It was deserted, and Daniel hadn't come past him. Then he noticed the tent. It was an open fronted canvas structure, facing the waves, just up past high tide level. Here the more sun sensitive tourists could enjoy the ocean without worrying about sunburn. Connor regarded it thoughtfully. In this weather, that would be the perfect place for a meeting, if one did not want to be observed. Who would expect anyone to be out in this weather?

Of course, he could be wrong. Daniel might be in his room, regretting the unspoken invitation. But somehow Connor didn't think so. In any case, the rain was warm, and he was already wearing his trunks. What did a bit of wet matter? Especially if there might be a man like Daniel waiting for him out there?

Connor checked behind him, but there was no one near the entrance to observe him. He ducked his head, and darted out into the storm. The thunder boomed again, and the dimness of the day brightened briefly with a lightening flash. Connor was drenched in seconds, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was almost like a tepid shower; refreshing.

He made his way toward the tent at a steady trot. As he approached, he felt his heart speed up, and realized how badly he wanted Daniel to be there. He was going to feel like a fool if it was empty. Or worse, was sheltering someone else.

He came around the side of the tent, and stopped at the entrance, looking inside, trying not to let his anxiety show. Daniel, seated cross legged in the center of the tent, looked up at him, and smiled.

Connor just stood there, looking at him. He was wearing a pair of brief dark trunks that accentuated the pale perfection of his skin. Galbraith knew he had been obviously staring when Daniel laughed softly and said, "Well, don't you have enough sense to come in out of the rain?"

Ethan stepped in the shelter, grinning. "I dunno. Me Ma seemed to think so."

Daniel arched an eyebrow. "Yes, but she would be a bit prejudiced."

There was a blanket spread almost wall to wall in the little tent, providing a dry and comfortable ground covering. Daniel tapped it. "Sit down, before I get neck strain talking to you."

Connor dropped down beside him. "Nice place you have here."

Daniel shrugged. "The rent is reasonable. The view..." He looked out across the ocean, which was pitching. White caps broke steadily, sending foam far up the shore. It wouldn't quite reach the tent, but it was close enough for a particularly strong wave to now and then send a fine mist into the shelter. The sky was almost purple, and the clouds were laced now and then with silver bursts of lightening, which gilded the underbellies of the clouds. "The view is magnificent."

"You don't mind it raining on your vacation?"

He snorted. "This isn't a vacation. I didn't want to come. Anyway, I like rain."

"Me, too. Well, then, I'd better, hadn't I? Bein' from Ireland."

"I hear it's real pretty over there." Daniel sounded a bit wistful. "I wouldn't mind going some day."

"I haven't seen much of the countryside meself, what with livin' in Dublin, but aye. It's a fair land." He paused. "I'd like to show it to you."

Ballard picked at the blanket, looking down at his hands. He didn't really understand what was going on. Oh, he knew that Connor Galbraith found him attractive. He'd made that evident enough. But he had to be aware of Andrew's... attitude. Did it really bother him so little?

And then there was Daniel's own reactions. He'd flirted since almost before his age reached double digits. It usually came easy to him. Why was he feeling so awkward now? Not looking at the Irishman, he said, "I guess I'm glad I came after all."

"I'm very glad you came."

Daniel took a deep breath, and committed himself. He picked up a towel lying by his side and said, "You're going to catch your death if you don't dry off a little." Connor held out his hand for the towel, but Daniel tossed it lightly over his head, grabbed it, and began to tousle his hair vigorously. Connor chuckled, and allowed it.

When he had most of the water out, Daniel removed the cloth and tried to finger comb Connor's damp locks into some sort of order. "What a mop you have," he murmured.

"I'll cut it."

"No!" More quietly. "No. I like it."

He began to gently pat Connor's face with the soft terrycloth, pressing it to brow, cheeks, chin. Then he moved down to the other man's throat. He dried Connor's shoulders with short, slow strokes, and moved down to his chest.

Connor sat very still, his eyes alternating between Daniel's hand, and his face. He took hold of Ballard's hand and removed the towel, dropping it. Then he settled Daniel's fingers on his left nipple, and held them there. His other hand went up and caressed Daniel's cheek, then slid back into his hair to cup the back of his skull. He whispered, "Please, Danny."

Daniel drew a shaky breath, staring into Connor's eyes. Green eyes were supposed to be cool, but his were so warm. He didn't resist as Connor drew him closer, and he closed his eyes as the younger man touched his lips to his mouth.

It was gentle, sweet, and undemanding. Connor's lips moved on his, and Daniel opened his mouth to him. He shuddered as the warm, wet tongue slid in, brushing over his own. He moved his fingers, stroking Connor's nipple, and was pleased when the other man groaned into his mouth. He brought his other hand up, groping, and soon had teased both nipples into straining peaks.

Galbraith let go of his hand, released his head, and reached over to begin the same exploration. Their hands roamed each other's torsos, stroking and gently pinching, wringing muffled moans of pleasure, while their mouths stayed glued together.

Finally Daniel had to pull back, gasping for breath and light headed. Connor dropped his head to nuzzle at Daniel's neck, nipping him lightly. Daniel tried to speak, "This... this is happening very fast."

Connor chuckled against his skin, making him shiver again. "I can be slow for you, darlin', if that's what ya fancy. I like slow, too."

"You don't know me, Connor." he said miserably. "You don't know what I've done." For some reason Daniel felt compelled to confront this man with the truth. He was aching, knowing that it could very well drive him away. But he'd dealt with so much hypocrisy in his life, and he just couldn't handle it any more.

"I know all I need to know."

"No, listen to me." He grabbed Connors hair and tugged, forcing him to look at him. "I... Andrew keeps me. I've always been kept, ever since I was young. I'm... really just a high class whore."

"Don't say that about yourself." Connor's voice was almost fierce. "Some people aren't cut out to make their own way in the world. Alright, so you're one of those. I don't care."

"But I'm Andrew's bitch."

"You're not!" The kiss this time was more forceful, as Connor pulled him into his arms, dragging Daniel onto his lap. He kept kissing him till the other man was breathless. "You're Danny, that's all you are. And that's enough for me."

"Con..." he whispered.

"Oh, aye," Connor purred. "Say my name like that. Say it again, sweet Danny."

"Con." His arms went around Galbraith's neck. And he curled into him, almost childlike, as if seeking warmth, or protection

Chapter Fifteen: Falling

For a little while Connor just held Daniel. He didn't know it, but this was the sweetest gift he could have given him. Daniel wasn't used to being touched unless someone wanted something from him.

Daniel's head rested on his shoulder, his arm's about Connor's neck, and he stared out at the stormy ocean dreamily. After a bit, he turned his head and began softly sucking a patch of skin on the side of Connor's neck.

Connor sighed, enjoying the intimacy. "Is it marking me you are, Danny?"

"Yes." Daniel bit lightly, licked, then went back to sucking.

"I like that. I'll wear it proud." He touched Daniel's throat. "I only wish I could do the same for you." Daniel stiffened in apprehension, and Connor soothed, "No, pet. I know better than that. I'll not give that bastard any reason to suspect you. But it will be a sacrifice."

Again he touched Daniel's throat, and Danny arched his head back, offering himself more fully to the touch. "You'd look good with my mark on you, sweetheart. A bit of purple or red."

Daniel looked up at him, and now the look was what Connor had been hoping for. It was soft, warm, and wanting. Daniel began to kiss his way down Connor's chest. He found. the still hard nipples and licked them tenderly, bestowing soft bites. Connor groaned his appreciation, moving to hold Daniel's head. "Yes, sweetheart. Love me."

Ballard shifted off Galbraith's lap, but only to give himself more room. He ran his tongue down the lean torso to the flat, heaving abdomen, and spent a long moment lavishing it with every oral trick he could think of. Andrew only ever wanted a direct approach. Daniel relished the opportunity to use all his skills on an appreciative lover.

He made Connor gasp and laugh by playfully dipping his tongue into his naval. He reached for the waistband of Connor's trunks, pushing them down. Connor's cock sprang free, lifting proudly from a tangle of blue-black curls. Daniel touched it almost reverently. "You have a beautiful cock." He smiled mischievously. "I should know. I've seen a few."

Connor's voice was thick. "You'll not be thinkin' of them now, Boyo. You'll be paying attention to the one that's before ya." The tone was firm, but there was no harshness in it.

Daniel smiled to himself. "Yes, sir." He'd always hated it when Andrew demanded the submissive use of titles, but with this gentle, but intense Irishman, it felt right.

He bent down and dropped a kiss on the pink, moist cock head, then swirled his tongue around it. Connor moaned. Daniel started to take him into his mouth, and was startled when Connor pulled him up. "No, Danny."

Confused, he glanced from Connor's face to his rigid prick, and back. "But... I don't understand. Don't you want me to suck you?"

"Oh, more than you could possibly imagine. But not this time." He touched Daniel's throat again, concern mingled with the lust in his eyes. "Not while you're still hurtin' from what that shite did to you."

Daniel trembled. This man was willing to forgo his own pleasure for Daniel's sake. He could feel his eyes tearing up at this simple consideration, and wanted more than ever to do something good for him. "I want to make you happy."

"You will, dear one. Just not like that, not this time." Connor lifted, and removed his trunks completely. "Take them off. Let me see you."

Danny skinned his trunks down and tossed them aside. He was a little anxious. He knew he looked good in clothes, but there had always been a moment of anxiety the first time a new lover saw him naked. He wasn't entirely sure of himself till he could see the desire in their eyes, know that he hadn't proved a disappointment. There was no doubt with Connor. His eyes positively glowed as they swept over the older man. And Daniel, who hadn't blushed for many, many years, felt the warm pink tide creeping up his face.

Galbraith pushed Daniel back slowly, stretching his body out over the other man's longer frame. Danny spread his legs, letting Connor settle between them, bringing their groins together. When their hard cocks touched, both made noises. Daniel, a soft gasp, Connor an exhalation.

Connor kissed Daniel again, and began to move against him, slowly. Daniel felt the sensuous slide of spongy-firm flesh rubbing against his dick, his belly, his hip, streaking him with warm precome. He undulated beneath the other man, rising to meet him.

As his passion climbed, Connor began to thrust more strongly against his lover, holding his hips to guide him to greater pleasure. He reveled in the moans and whimpers that Daniel made. The sweet young man seemed helpless in his passion. It was a powerful stimulant, being able to cause such response.

Daniel's head tossed on the blanket, brown hair wild. His eyes were dark grey now, the gold, green and blue overwhelmed, the pupils dilated. "I'm close," he gasped. "So close..." He couldn't remember the last time someone had considered his sexual release, had tried to bring him to climax for any other reason than the fact that it would make their own experience more pleasurable.

"Then let go, darlin'," Connor whispered. He reached down and took both of their cocks in his hands, pressing them together, and pumped strongly. "Come, Danny! Fly for me."

Daniel Ballard gave a choked wail. "Con! Oh, god..." and had the most shattering orgasm he'd had in years. His hot sperm bathed his belly, spurting almost to his chest, and coated Connor's hands. Connor went still, except that now his hands worked quickly, sliding in the slick come, using it as a lubricant to finish jerking himself off. He grunted, adding his cream to the mess slicking Daniel's heaving belly, feeling as if his very soul were pouring out, in tribute to the astonishing man writhing under him.

Then he lay against Daniel as they both shook, and slowly regained their breath and senses. Connor mover off his lover, lying beside him, and Daniel turned toward him on his side, pressing his forehead to Connor's shoulder. Connor stroked his hair tenderly, murmuring, "What a wonderful boy it is. What a treasure, what a marvel."

Daniel made a cooing sound against his flesh. Then he reached down and skimmed his fingers through the mingled semen on his belly, lifted his fingers to his lips, and licked them clean. He reached down again, and offered his hand to Connor. Connor gripped his wrist, gazed into his eyes, and carefully lapped the pearly drops away.

They kissed again, and Daniel settled back with a sigh. After awhile, Connor spoke in a low voice. "I love you, Danny boy."

Daniel closed his eyes, biting his lip. "You don't know me, Con."

"We've been over this track before, haven't we?" He settled Daniel more comfortably in the crook of his arm. "It puts me in mind of what me grandma used to talk about. She'd say, `Connor, lad, there are two kinds of love, and neither is the better of the other. There's the kind that creeps on you, slow and gradual like. Then..'" Connor pointed out at the sky. As if on cue a huge flash of lightening split the clouds. "`Then there's The Thunderbolt' And that's what's happened to me, Danny. Square between the eyes. Maybe you're one of the slow an' gradual ones. I can wait. You don't have to say you love me now. But don't say that you don't, eh? Take a little time."

"We're only going to be here for three days."

"And who says you have to be leavin' with him?"

Daniel pressed his face against the smooth, fragrant chest of Connor Galbraith, mentally comparing it to Andrew's thick, powerful chest, covered with grizzled, graying hair. "He will."

"I might be havin' a say about that meself."

Daniel squeezed Connor's shoulder. "Please, Con. I think he may really be crazy. I..don't want you to get hurt."

"Don't trouble your mind about it right now, Boyo. There's time for that later. I don't want you thinkin' of that wanker right now, an' spoilin' our time together."

Daniel smiled. "Wanker? What's that?"

"Nothin' very nice." He whispered in Daniel's ear, "Well, I s'pose the American equivalent would be shit or bastard. But wanking..." He reached down and stroked his soft prick. "Is this."

Daniel smiled, but then it faded, and he stared up at the canvas overhead. "No, he doesn't really do that. That's why he has me."

"Stop it!" Connor shook him gently. "Don't talk about yourself like that."

"Like how?"

"Like you're... some sort of creature. A thing."

"But Connor, that's what I am. It's what I've let myself become. It wasn't always like that. When I first started out, I genuinely cared for the men I went with. Oh, it wasn't deathless, romantic love. But it was something. But with Andrew..." He blew out a breath. "I was pretty desperate when Andrew came back into my life. My last daddy, oh, he was a sweety. Gave me everything. He was really old, almost eighty. He couldn't really...do anything any more. But he liked to touch me, hold me, look at me. I was happy with him. But he died, and his family stepped in."

Daniel grimaced. "God, they hated me. And it wasn't like any of them ever took the time to be with him. I took care of him those last few months, me and his nurse. We made it possible for him to stay at home. The day after he died they kicked me out. I was allowed to take one suitcase of clothes."

"The bastards!"

Daniel shrugged. "I suppose it was natural. They thought I was after him for all I could get. He did leave me some, but I didn't find out about it till they contested the will. A little condo, a car, and a trust that would have paid me a couple of thousand a month for a year, so I could get on my feet. They froze it all. If I hadn't had about a thousand stashed out of my pin money and some good friends, I'd have been on the streets. Actually, that's where his son-in-law said I belonged; peddling my ass."

"Danny, you seem to have run into many people in your life I could very easily hate."

Daniel continued. "I was literally down to my last few dollars when a friend invited me to Belmont. And Andrew found me there. I remembered him, of course. He was around a lot when I was a kid. By the time I was fifteen, I knew he wanted me. I kept waiting for him to make a move. It was like waiting for a shoe to drop. I didn't want him to. I mean, I was never attracted to him. I finally figured out that he was waiting for me to get legal. The idea of chicken didn't turn him off, but the possibility of a statutory charge did. But I cut myself out of the family flock before he could do anything."

"So there I was, desperate straights, wolf at the door, mortgage foreclosed and all that melodramatic bull shit. And here comes old Uncle Andy. He's RICH, hee can afford me. And he still wants me. Lord, it came off him in waves. He did everything but lick me right out there at the track. I thought to myself, `Daniel, it could be worse.'"

He chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, it could have been worse. I could have run to a sociopath instead of just an asshole. But I didn't feel like I had any choice, and I could always leave later, right? So I accepted a dinner invitation. His eyes just crawled over me all evening. I didn't have to do anything. I knew it was coming. It was just a matter of waiting for it. And on the way home he pulled into an alley and dry humped me. He bought me clothes the next day. Expensive clothes. Roles established."

"Daniel," Connor said quietly, "Let me tell you something. I have some friends in the theater. I'm quite fond of it, I go when I can. And I've learned one thing. No matter how firmly an actor is established in a role, he doesn't stay in it forever." He stroked Daniel's chin. "He moves on."

Chapter Sixteen: Preparations 

The fifth day Mulder was with Hunt, their passports arrived in the mailbox. Fox studied his curiously. The thing was, it didn't look brand new. It wasn't exactly battered, but there were signs of wear. And judging from the stamps, `he' had been to a lot of different place. Daniel and Connor got around. London, Paris, Italy, Turkey... All in tandem. One indeed never seemed to go anywhere without the other.

Fox and Ethan studied lists of the other couple's favorite hang outs. This included employees they might be expected to know, and any incidents that might be remembered from a time they were there. There were a few times when Connor had gotten into fist fights when someone showed a little too much attention to his lover, and didn't take the hint to shove off. The tough Irishman always seemed to come out ahead in those brawls, but no one had been seriously injured. Well, unless you considered broken noses and missing teeth serious.

"He is just real protective of Daniel, isn't he?" Mulder remarked.

"One of the beatees is rumored to have been bought out of a civil suit."

"He was most likely persuaded that a few thousand and a long, healthy life were better than many thousand and a few months in a wheelchair."

"Do I really need to know that Connor punched some guy's lights out in `Trancers' a year and a half ago because he grabbed Daniel's butt again after being warned?"

"It can't hurt. Besides, the more we know of their life together, the easier it will be to portray them convincingly."

"Yeah, but you said the Montaña had never met them personally."

"But we can't be sure of what he has or hasn't heard. And people in those circles tend to get around. It's a real possibility that someone who does know Daniel and Connor will show up. We have to be as prepared as is humanly possible."

"I'm starting to get the impression that you aren't human, Hunt. You're too damn efficient. Are you sure you're not a cyborg, or something?"

Ethan gave him a mock serious look. "Would I be aware of it if I were?"

"Joke, joke. You haven't seen some of the things I have."

"I'm human, all right, Mulder."

Ethan had stood up, and walked behind Mulder's chair. His hands settled on the FBI agent's shoulders. This time, Mulder didn't tense up. Instead, he relaxed into the touch. Unseen, Ethan smiled. He'd really enjoyed that spontaneous blow job this morning. It showed a playful side of Mulder that he really liked, and he wanted more of it. He was perfectly willing to be the aggressor, most of the time. Most of the time.

Hunt started to massage, already a little familiar with what his new lover enjoyed. Fox's head dropped forward, and Ethan bent to nibble at the nape of his neck, drawing a shiver. He whispered in Mulder's ear. "I'm just a man. Flesh and blood."

He nipped at his earlobe. Mulder felt his cock stiffening at the same time the rest of his body seemed to be melting under Hunt's hands. Damn, what was it about this man? The slightest touch, the smallest look, the very tone of his voice, could speed Mulder's pulse. Was this how things were between Ballard and Galbraith? If so, he could almost understand their devotion to each other.

They hadn't made love the previous night. Mulder hadn't admitted it to himself, but he'd been looking forward to it. And Ethan HAD pulled him into his arms after the lights were out. But then he had just kissed Mulder, almost chastely, tucked the older man's head comfortably against his shoulder, and gone to sleep. Mulder had lain there for a long time, puzzled. Didn't Ethan WANT him? He'd thought about initiating contact. Perhaps nothing more than a gentle, questioning squeeze to Hunt's cock, but he hesitated.

During the hours between the morning eye opener and bed, a little of his unsureness had crept back in. What if that had been all that Ethan had wanted from him? Fox knew that was how it was with some men, no matter what their sexual preference. The conquest was everything. Once they had what they wanted, well... It just wasn't quite as appealing. He hoped very strongly that Ethan wasn't one of those.

Now he was beginning to think that his fears might have been unfounded. Especially since Ethan had reached around, unbuttoned his shirt, and was now playing with his nipples. Fox hummed appreciatively as Ethan stroked and plucked them to aching fullness. "Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?"

"Nah." Mulder scarcely had time to be surprised by the refusal, as Ethan gripped him under the arms and pulled him up. Mulder staggered a little as Hunt kicked the chair out from between them, not releasing his grip. Then one arm went around his chest, the other around his waist, and Ethan pulled him back tight against his body. "You did good yesterday morning, but you still need to learn to be a little more spontaneous."

"I like to plan my spontaneity. Oh..." He gasped quietly as Hunt simultaneously palmed his hard on, and ground his own erection against Fox's ass.

Hunt turned an unresisting Mulder, and kissed him as he worked at loosening belts and opening pants. When Mulder tried to help, Ethan took Mulder's hands and place them on his shoulders, saying, "Just hold on to me for right now... Danny." The Irish lilt was back in his voice.

Fox did as he was bid, feeling a bit disoriented. He wasn't sure he liked having Ethan direct this kind of attention at him...at Daniel? He couldn't be sure. And was it essentially Ethan, or Ethan as Connor who was about to make love to him? The lines of reality were starting to blur. After all the crap I've been through, a little ambiguity shouldn't bother me. Why does it?

Ethan worked both sets of trousers and underwear down their thighs, then even further. Then he reached behind Mulder and swept the notes off the table, sheets fluttering everywhere. He slowly started to bend Mulder back across the table.

Mulder clutched at him. "E.. Con, what are you doing?!"

"I'm gonna make love to you, sweetheart."

"Well, let's go in the bedroom. Or over to the sofa."

"Nah. Right here." He kissed Fox's throat.

Fox moaned. "Con, we eat off this table!"

"What the hell dya think they invented sponges for, ya daft boyo?"

"It... it won't hold. How will I explain cuts on my ass when they stitch me up at emergency?"

"It's sturdy enough, and we won't actually be on top of it. Not fully, anyway."

In a last ditch effort, Mulder gasped as his butt struck the glass. "Con, it's cold!"

"Poor baby." Ethan had pushed his legs apart, and now he moved into the vee of his spread thighs. "Let me warm you a wee bit." He started to hump his crotch against Mulder's. At the first exquisite slide of flesh on flesh, Mulder quit even the half hearted struggle.

Despite Ethan's assurance, Mulder wasn't so confident of the table's ability to hold up under a serious buffeting, so he was hanging on to Ethan for dear life, legs quivering with the effort to support most of his weight. Ethan was not a completely altruistic person, and cheerfully took advantage of Mulder's helpless position. This time he allowed his lover to be responsible for holding himself up, and just enjoyed.

He gripped Mulder's hips and moved against him strongly. He relished the taut arch of Mulder's long body, the way he was more or less helpless to move, lest he lose his balance.

"Connor," Mulder moaned, "You're a goddam sadist! I can't move!"

Ethan bit lightly at his throat, hips thrusting. "Then just take it, m'love."

Take it Mulder did. Soon he was whimpering with helpless arousal, unable to do anything but hang on and experience what Ethan/Connor was doing to him. "I'm gonna get you for this, you bastard." he panted. "You won't know where, and you won't know when, but you are gonna pay."

"Ah, well, I like me surprises now instead of later, so..." Mulder yelped, startled, and Ethan suddenly collapsed backward. Both of them retained their grips: Mulder on Hunt's shoulders, Hunt on Mulder's hips, and when they ended up on the floor, Mulder was on top of Hunt.

Ethan grinned up at him, and said, "Ya were sayin' somethin' about takin' revenge?"

Mulder responded with a growl, immediately beginning to rub against the man beneath him. Ethan found that those long limbs were very effective at trapping and holding. Ethan pushed up to meet him, purring, "Oh, yeah. Looks like you can top as well as bottom, doesn't it? Show me, pretty one."

Mentally cursing the lack of condom and lube, but not willing to pause for even a moment, Mulder continued. How was it possible for sex to feel this good without any actual penetration? But there it was. The silky, hot slide of Ethan's cock against his own was driving him crazy.

He pounded against the younger man, wondering vaguely if he was going to leave bruises on that wonderful pale skin, but not able to stop. It didn't seem that Ethan was worried about that. He managed to wrest his legs free of Mulder's entwining limbs, but only kicked his pants the rest of the way off, then wrapped his legs around Mulder's waist to hold him even tighter.

But Ethan couldn't entirely give up control of the situation. He felt the need to have more influence over Mulder's responses, so he pulled his head down, put his lips next to the FBI agents ear, and began to whisper lasciviously. "Feels so good, sweets. Such a lovely, hard prick you have, it's a shame I can't have it inside me. That's what I want, Danny. You won't make me wait long, will you? I want you inside me soon. I want to feel that hot meat plunge into me, right to the core."

Mulder was speeding up, striving against him almost frantically. "You're torturing me, Con." He managed to keep up the illusion, but it cost him.

"Aye, and you love it. Enjoy this, baby. `Tisn't often a daddy lets his boy fuck him." A dark, liquid chuckle that made Mulder moan, balls clenching.

He froze, trying not to come, wanting to prolong it. But Ethan sensed this, and reached down, firmly grasping his balls and rolling them in the velvety, furry skin sack. Mulder shuddered, his orgasm flowing over him before he could try to hold it back. He felt the hot gush of liquid lust between their bodies, and was gratified to hear Ethan groan also, feel him twitch.

His orgasm had triggered the spy's. So Hunt wasn't quite as in charge as he perhaps might like to be. Fox was right, Ethan HADN'T been planning on cumming quite that soon. He had intended to sweetly torment Fox for a while longer. He was a little surprised that Mulder could force this response from him.

Perhaps it would be better if he thought about this a little more. On a mission, it was imperative that he remain in control at all times. And this mission, in particular... He was becoming close to Mulder. Not just in a sense of professional comradery, or sexual play, either. That could be dangerous: both physically, and emotionally.

He remembered what a wrench it had been, sending Nyah to Sean Ambrose, knowing what would happen. But he had done it, and hated himself for it. The greater good sometimes came with a fucking high personal price tag.

As much as Ethan didn't want to admit it to either Mulder or himself, there was a very real possibility that Olivero de la Montaña would be sexually interested in either Danny or Connor. And would Connor, as much as he loved Daniel, be willing to pass up what he could gain by playing along, and coaxing his lover to do the same?

Not likely, thought Ethan, as he held the now quiet Mulder, stroking his back absently. Connor didn't seem one to pass up the main chance. It was a little surprising how Ethan Hunt, usually so astute in his estimation of others, could be so wrong about this.

Chapter Seventeen: Testing 

Casa de los Vientos del Susurro had seen more than it's share of young couples falling in love, and more than one couple with the need to be discrete about their relationship. Daniel and Connor fit both descriptions.

They stepped out into the now gentle rain, and let the natural shower wash away the traces of their passion. They gently rubbed the sticky residue of sperm off each other's bodies, kissing softly all the while, shielded from prying eyes by the tent that stood between them and the hotel.

Between them and the world, it seemed to Connor. As much as he wanted to stay in the beach side tent, just holding his Daniel and shutting out the world, things would have to be dealt with at some point. Daniel walked up to the hotel first. He looked so alone, trudging with his head bowed against the rain, that it was all Connor could do not to run and scoop him into his arms, Yarborough's spies be damned. But he couldn't do that, because it was Daniel who would have to face the consequences.

Connor waited a good fifteen minutes before making his way back to the main building. A bellman, lounging near the entrance, bored with waiting for a guest to arrive and need assistance, watched him approach. Where had this one come from? He wished he hadn't been looking at the chamber maid's tits, or he might have seen which direction the Irishman had come from. Senor Yarborough was paying well to have an eye kept on his pico chipero.

Ah, now THAT was a real ninfo, that one! An ass that almost made Pedro sorry that he didn't jugar a los dos bandos. He bet that ass was tighter than most cunts. But neither of the men who were interested in it seemed inclined to share. Pedro grinned engagingly at the dripping green eyed man. "Senor! Have you been out in this rain all this time?"

Connor looked at him shrewdly, wiping water from his face. "I sheltered under some trees. Daft, I know, what with that lightenin', but there it is." Careful, Connor m'lad. Danny says Yarborough has his eyes out. I wonder how much he's payin' this one, and if it would be worth while to try and better the offer? Ah, well. If he asked, the man would know for sure that something was up with Danny boy. Better to leave him with suspicions rather than firm convictions.

It was just as well that Connor took that tact, because Pedro decided not to mention the Irishman to Senor Yarborough. He'd just say that his toy had spent some time on the beach, sulking alone in the tent.

Connor wouldn't have been able to bribe Pedro. While he might have offered more cash, the yankee was the hotel manager's friend, and HE controlled not only Pedro's job, but those of several of his family members. Money wouldn't have been enough to make the Brazilian risk the livelihood of so many, and he didn't know Connor well enough to worry about his physical well being if he crossed the Irishman.

He went to his room and got into his clothes. It was chilly, and Connor turned off the air conditioner, and slid open the door out into his garden, letting the fresh, rain scented breeze blow through. He stretched out on his bed, hands tucked beneath his head, and stared up at the ceiling much as he had the night before. The difference was that now he had memories instead of fantasies. And Daniel was so much more than the fantasies.

He smiled to himself, remembering Daniel curled, warm and near naked on his lap, softly sucking at his throat. Connor fingered the slightly sore patch. He'd have a bruise there, all right, he thought with satisfaction. And Yarborough had no reason to know who had given it.

Three days, he'd said. Well, that wasn't much, but it was sufficient. He could make Daniel Ballard love him in three days, he had no doubt.

When Andrew returned that evening, he found Daniel dressed to go out, but lying across the bed on his stomach, chin propped on his hands. They usually DIDN'T go out these days, but his boy knew enough to be ready to comply with his daddy's impulses, whatever they were.

Yarborough went over and sat on the bed beside the man he considered to be his property. "Hello, Daniel. How was your day?"

Daniel didn't move, just slanting his eyes sideways at him. "Boring."

"You could have read a book."

"I can read a book anywhere, Andy. I'm in Rio. I didn't want to come in the first place, but now that I'm here, it's deathly being restricted to the hotel."

Andrew laid a hand on his back, and felt Ballard stiffen slightly. He frowned. Danny always seemed to be tense these days when he touched him. It was irritating, and a little insulting. Andrew Yarborough didn't take well to either.

But he resisted the urge, magnanimously he thought, to cuff his lover on the back of the head. Instead, he started to stroke Daniel's back. "I just can't trust you out in public away from me, Danny. I tell you what, we'll go down to the hotel bar tonight. How will that be?"

Almost as bad as staying in, if it wasn't for the fact that Connor will probably be there. He made his voice interested when he replied. "That would be nice. Do they have a band?"

"I think so. But you're not dancing." Now Daniel turned his head, giving him a sour look. "No, Danny. I'm not having everyone looking at you shake your butt."

"Why not? I know you like to show me off. You get that gloating `you can look, but you can't touch' expression on your face." This time Andrew did cuff Daniel, a medium strength slap to the side of the head. Damn, I gotta be more careful. I can't just say whatever I feel, not with Andrew. "I'm sorry." The words had become almost a reflex. Daniel wondered when that had happened.

"All right." Andrew continued to rub Daniel's back. It wasn't to give any pleasure or comfort to the other man, it was simply a gesture while he thought, like doodling, and Daniel knew it. Then he felt Andrew's hand, palm flat, start to slide under his waistband in back, and he knew what he was thinking about. It wouldn't be so bad if it was because he wanted to fuck me, but it isn't. It's because he wants to know if someone else fucked me.

He'd been through this before, when Andy was suspicious, so he knew that it would be best if he just laid there and took it. "Open your pants, Danny." Silently Daniel lifted his hips far enough to allow his hands to slip under. He undid his belt and button, pulling down his zipper, then lay back quietly, preparing himself for what was coming.

Andrew worked the garments down Daniel's thighs, and paused for a moment to admire the white, perfect globes. Daniel had an ass like a deeply cleft peach. He'd lost count of the times he'd felt compelled to sink his teeth into that smooth perfection, drawing a cry of pain.

The older man massaged Daniel's buttocks. "Were you a good boy today?"

Daniel closed his eyes, hating this. Why do you ask? You never believe me. But he knew what was expected. "Yes, Uncle Andy. I was real good."

"Let's see." He gripped, sinking his thumbs into the crease, and pried Daniel open roughly. The boy winced, but said nothing. He knew that the painful part was still to come.

I don't enjoy this Yarborough lied to himself. It's necessary, and it's for his own good. It keeps him honest. Well, as honest as a whore like Danny can be.

Andrew bent close and looked. The anus was tiny and puckered, as always when Daniel hadn't been fucked for awhile. But then, Ballard was remarkably resilient. Andrew had learned that over the years. There was only one way to be sure that someone hadn't gotten in where they shouldn't, and even THAT wasn't one hundred per cent, if they'd used a condom.

But he still had to test. Daniel tried to relax, willing his muscles to loosen, soften. If he just had a little more time to prepare himself... But then, that was the whole point of this exercise. He wasn't supposed to be ready for it.

He felt the first touch against the tight flesh, and was grateful that Andrew had gotten a manicure yesterday at the barber shop. He scarcely had time to think this when Andrew shoved, hard. He rammed one thick, blunt finger all the way into Danny's dry back passage, and Daniel couldn't contain the whimper of pain. Damn, it hurt!

Andrew felt his cock stiffen, listening to the sound of discomfort made by the man impaled on his finger. Daniel was tight, and dry, so he probably hadn't had sex. That was all he could hope to learn by this. There was no need to take it any further. No need... except that he wanted to.

He pulled back and rammed in again, watching as Daniel dropped his face to the mattress, his hands fisting in the sheet beside his head. He'd known a long time ago that Daniel would never love him, and he accepted that as best he could. He couldn't make Danny love him, but he could make him feel.

He crammed in a second finger, sawing them in and out brutally. Daniel was gasping and trembling, trying not to make any more noises that might anger him. Good, that was how it should be. His very being should be concentrated on keeping Andrew happy.

Partially to reward him for his submission, but mostly to add a bit more humiliation, Andrew crooked his fingers, pushed even harder, and found Danny's prostate. Daniel jerked, eyes flying open in horror. Oh, dear God, no! Not that.

Every now and then Andrew got it into his mind to make Daniel come, strictly for reasons of his own, of course. And he always did it in the most debasing and rough manner possible. Unfortunately, this was a way that Danny couldn't combat, even by passive resistance. "Uncle Andy, please," he breathed.

"Sure, Danny. Sure."

Is he willfully misunderstanding, or is he really that delusional? Andrew hit his prostate again, and Daniel almost cried as he felt his cock starting to harden. The damn nerve endings had no time for nonsense like romance when they were being stimulated. All he could do was endure.

At least it never lasted long. Andrew was now massaging the little gland steadily. Wave after wave of impossibly intense sensation was sweeping over Daniel, making him sweat, making his hear race. But it was only pleasure in the most primitive, biological sense. By no means was Daniel Ballard enjoying this. But when Andrew whispered, sking if it felt good, he responded, "Oh, yes, daddy! Yes!" and cursed himself for a coward and a liar. Forgive me, Con. I can't help it. I have to.

His dick was hard as a rock now, pre seminal fluid dampening the spread beneath him. The cloth was cool and silky beneath his tender, heated flesh, and he wanted desperately to hump against it, get this over more quickly. But he couldn't do anything without permission, not if he didn't want serious pain. So far Andrew had only talked about fisting. Daniel wasn't about to risk pushing him into a decision by acting without express approval. He didn't think he'd survive a fisting session with Andrew.

He moaned. That didn't take any real acting ability, not with the combination of pain and forced passion he was experiencing. Daniel rolled his head to look back at the man ravaging his ass, trying to make his expression lustful, his voice hot. "Please, daddy, can I jerk off?"

Andrew grinned at him, his hand moving even more strongly. "Is that what you want, son?"

God, he really gets off on this pseudo incestuous pedophilia play. Thank God he never had children. "Please, daddy, please. With sugar on it?"

"Only naughty boys play with themselves."

"No, daddy, I'm a good boy. It just feels so good. Pretty please."

"You have to be special nice to daddy later."

"I know. I will."

"All right." Daniel gritted his teeth as Andrew pulled free, emptying his anal passage. "Show daddy how you play with yourself."

Daniel's face was burning with anger, sorrow, and shame, but he knew that Andrew, self involved Andrew, would interpret it as passion. He rolled onto his back, his rigid cock swaying. Spreading his legs as far as his still on pants would allow, he slowly and sensually licked his hands, wetting the palms and fingers.

Andrew watched avidly. Daniel was better than any pornographic tape he'd ever seen. He'd thought about filming him for later enjoyment, but the ever present possibility of blackmail always stopped him.

Once his hands were sufficiently wet, Daniel reached down and grasped himself firmly. Clear precum drizzled from his pee slit, and he slicked it over his straining flesh. Added to his saliva, it made his hands slide smoothly. No chafing. He started to stroke, his rhythm quicker than he would have liked, personally. But Andrew liked things fast, and the quicker this was over...the quicker it was over.

He closed his eyes, pumping with one hand, and reaching down with the other to tickle the sensitive spot just behind his balls. He heard the rasp of a zipper, then the slap of flesh on flesh as Andrew began to masturbate, watching him. Let this be enough, Lord. Please don't let him want to climb in the saddle. Please, not this time. Not when I can still feel Connor on top of me.

And that was how he was going to get through. It's not Andy sitting there beside me, it's Con. Beautiful Con, sweet Con. Con, who says he loves me. Con, who cares how I feel. Connor, who can just hold me.

Daniel was hot tonight, Andrew thought, stroking himself briskly. He usually seemed almost reluctant to get turned on by these little sessions, but tonight... His face was flushed and intent, eyes squeezed shut, mouth softly open. As Andrew watched, the tip of his talented pink tongue crept out and wet his full lower lip, leaving it glistening. Andrew grunted, his hand speeding up.

In Danny's mind, all he had to do was open his eyes, and he would be looking up into Connor's tender green gaze. One hand left his throbbing prick to glide across his chest, plucking at his own nipples. Connor's hands, fingers long and elegant. He knows just how to touch me, he can find all the sweet spots.

The young man's hips began to lift as he fucked up into his own hand. He was moaning steadily now. Andrew's voice was thick with lust. "That's it, you whore! Squeeze your prick harder! You love it. You can't live without a man's touch. Come for me."

Damn you, Andrew, don't talk! Let me pretend. And I'm going to come, Uncle Andy, but it damn sure won't be for you. This is for you, my sweet Con.

Then he was climaxing, hot, milky spurts of sperm bathing his hand and belly and he was gasping, beginning to call Connors name. Catching himself, the terror of what he'd almost done giving a spurt of adrenalin that made his orgasm even more powerful, Daniel changed `Connor' into, "Ca- can't stop, daddy! Oooh..." his voice rose in a wail of mingled release and frustration, a maddening combination. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Andrew knelt up beside him quickly, maneuvering himself so that he shot his load onto Daniel's heaving belly. Daniel lay staring up at him as he milked his softening cock, stripping the last of his seed. Triumph did not have to be an ugly thing, if it was not achieved at the expense of others. But that was never the case with Andrew Yarborough.

In a moment, Andrew got a wad of tissues and cleaned himself off. Then he grabbed a handful of Daniel's hair and shook his head with what could almost pass for brusque affection. "Go get cleaned up. And make yourself pretty. You're right. I do like to show you off."

"Yes, daddy." Daniel pulled his pants up as much as he could without soiling them and hobbled into the bathroom, hating the awkwardness of the situation. He got a cloth, soaked it in warm water, and wiped the mess off his stomach. For a moment, he paused, remembering his come mingling with Connor's that afternoon. Sliding his fingers in it, tasting their combined flavors, and watching Connor as he'd licked the creamy stuff off Daniel's fingers like it had been his favorite treat.

For a moment, Daniel put his head down on the sink and cried. He'd gotten very good at crying without making noise.

Then he washed his face, made himself decent, and started to comb his hair. He'd been ordered to make himself pretty. Connor might be there tonight. Daniel intended to be fucking gorgeous.

Chapter Eighteen: Breaking Chains 

Connor ate dinner early. He knew he couldn't sit with Daniel without raising questions better left unspoken, and he didn't want to have to sit across the room and watch him. Oh, he wanted to watch him, all right. Connor thought he'd never get tired of looking at Daniel Ballard. But here, in the public room, he wouldn't be able to touch, and he felt that might just drive him mad.

Yarborough was due back in the early evening, and Daniel was hoping to persuade him to go out. Connor got a seat at the bar in the hotel lounge where he could keep an eye on the front lobby. If they left, it would be simple enough to find out where they had gone. Cabbies in any country were notoriously easy to bribe. Then he'd just see if he could find a way to slip a bit closer to his Daniel. He thought it might be possible, if he were careful.

From what he'd heard from his new lover, his daddy liked to tease others with his toy. Of course, if Daniel acted like he enjoyed it, or batted an eyelash one time over the unspoken limit Andrew had set, he suffered. "I almost hate goingout with him now, and I used to have so much fun," Danny had sighed. "It just isn't worth the stress of constantly worrying whether I stand too close to someone, or smile at them two seconds too long."

Not really feeling like drinking, he ordered a cognac. He could sip that slowly without drawing attention to his pace. It was almost nine when Andrew and Daniel came down to the lobby. Connor gazed into his small balloon glass as if the secrets of the universe were swimming in the inch of amber liquid he swirled around its bottom.

He was acutely aware when Daniel passed by. There was no acknowledgment from Danny, and he didn't expect one. Andrew had a firm grip on his arm, guiding him to a table in the back.

Connor turned casually, as if watching a passing woman clad in a tight red sheath dress. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, but she was just an excuse for him to end up facing Daniel's table.

Andrew was busy givingtheir drink order to the waitress, and Daniel risked an unguarded look at Connor. He glanced quickly at the woman, looked back at Connor, and arched one brow derisively. Connor smiled, and shook his head.

When Andrew turned his attention back to his companion, Daniel was calmly eating cashews from the courtesy bowl provided for each table. Andrew didn't quite frown. "You should ease up on the carbs, Danny. You'll get fat as a pig."

"And then you'll throw me out." His tone was mildly sarcastic, but his eyes said If I thought that would work...

"Oh, no, Danny. Then I'll put you on a regime, like one of my horses--in training." Connor saw Daniel's hand clench over the bowl. The fingers slowly uncurled, releasing the few nuts he'd been about to eat, and Connor mentally cursed Yarborough. He meant it, the son of a bitch. He'd have Danny on short rations and a monitored exercise schedule.

A steady trickle of people made their way over to the table, most sitting for a few minutes, but they all concentrated on Yarborough. Danny was left sitting, morosely sipping his drink while the talk flowed over, past, and around him. It was insulting. He was being treated like a child brought along on an adult outing, expected to be silent and behave himself.

The band had been on break, but now they started playing. The music was lively, Latin. He seemed to recall that the Americans called it salse, after the spicy sauce. Daniel wanted to dance. A blind man could have seen that. His fingers tapped the table in rhythm. He shifted in his seat minutely, as if he were helpless NOT to react. Connor could almost feel the energy radiating off him. He had a feeling that Daniel in motion would be a beautiful thing.

But Andrew noticed the tiny movement, and laid a heavy hand on Daniel's arm, frowning. Ballard sighed, and went still, settling down to being ignored again. Connor found that he was gritting his teeth. He very carefully unclenched his jaw. He intended to get over to that table somehow, and it wouldn't due to let his hostility show. Daniel would be the one to suffer.

He got his chance when the twist in the red dress sauntered up to the bar to get another drink. It would have been much easier for her to wait at a table, but the sideways glance she gave Connor told him she had her reasons for taking the bother. And here's your ticket in, Connor m'lad.

She had been talking with Yarborough. Connor gave her his best smile, the one with the little extra crook at the corners. "Hello, darlin'." He also thickened his brogue.

"Hello yourself. I thought you looked familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?"

"I'm Connor Galbraith."

Her hand was small and soft when she gave it to him. Her fingers lingered on his palm a bit longer than was strictly polite. "June Craven. Are you sure we haven't met?"

"Hm, now let's see... It might have been at Ascot. No? Perhaps The Kentucky Derby? Maybe The Irish Nationals?"

"Are you part of the horsy set?"

"Darlin', I own Galbraith Farms. I've had a horse in each of the races I've mentioned."

She brightened. "Really? Isn't this a small world? I have a friend over there who raises thoroughbreds, also: Andrew Yarborough."

"Yarborough, did you say? Now there's a man with a reputation." Though I'll not be sayin' what kind of reputation.

"Would you like to meet him?"

"I'd be pleased." Connor finished his drink and followed her over to the table, ostensibly keeping his eyes on the sway of her hips. Daniel didn't look up as he approached, but he plucked at a cocktail napkin, slowly reducing it to a pile of confetti.

Yarborough frowned at Connor, his eyes flicking quickly to catch his companion's reaction to the handsome man who'd just arrived. June burbled, "Andy! Look who I ran into! It's Connor Galbraith."

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. You'd think I was her cradle friend to listen to her. Yarborough nodded distantly, and June rolled her eyes. "You don't mean to tell me you don't recognize the name in YOUR business? Galbraith Farms,Ireland."

This sparked a bit of reluctant interest. "Yes? There have been some fine animals come out of those stables."

"Aye. Me personal favorite would be Morag's Faerie Queen." Which is true. I won near 100 pounds on the nag last year.

Andrew was nodding. "Good bloodline. That's very important. Of course, fine breeding doesn't necessarily assure a superior beast." He looked at Daniel, whose face slowly reddened. "This is my friend, Daniel Ballard." Daniel and Connor exchanged cordial nods. "Have a seat, Mr. Galbraith. Tell me, do you have any other interests besides horses?"

"To tell you the truth," Connor regretfully sat beside Andrew, across from Daniel, with June on his other side. "Me Da runs the farm. I'm more into me own business."

"And what would that be?"

"Oh, this and that. Mostly... distribution, and pharmaceuticals. Import, export."

Now Danny did look at him, sharply. Connor could see the switches clicking in his mind. Oh, he's 'cute one, is my Danny. Finally Danny sat back, head dipped slightly, and slipped a gaze at Connor, and Connor met him without flinching. There was no judgement in his eyes, and Connor felt a great weight lift. He'd been worried about how Danny would feel abouthis... enterprises.

Connor and Yarborough discussed racing for a bit. Since Connor had always fancied the ponies, he'd made a study of them, and could more than hold up his end of the conversation. As he spoke, he felt something touch his foot gently.

At first Connor ignored it, thinking that it was June being kittenish. But when he felt a small, warm hand on his knee under the table, he realized that the angle was wrong. No, that touch had to be coming not from beside him, but from across the table.

Again Daniel wasn't looking at him, but he was smiling faintly, and Connor could detect just the slightest of movements. He kept his eyes resolutely on Andrew Yarborough while June Craven massaged his leg, moving up to the inner thigh, and Daniel's foot softly stroked his calf. He started to get hard, and it wasn't because of June's more intimate manipulations. He hadn't thought that his lower leg could be an erogenous zone. It seemed that Danny might be able to teach him a thing or two.

Oh, be careful, me darlin'. It's a dangerous game your playin', with that shite sittin' right beside you.

Danny fished the maraschino cherry out of the dregs of his drink, holding it by the tip of the stem, and contemplated it, as if it held the secrets of the universe. He took the tiny red ball in his mouth and sucked on it softly, eyes downcast. Connor had to put his hands down at his sides and dig his nails into his palms, but he kept his expression bland. So, here's another side of you, Danny. You like to tease, do you? Well, I like to be teased. But rest assured, sweet boy, that you will make good on the promise that you're not speakin' out loud.

"For heaven's sake, Daniel! Eat the damn thing and get it over with."

Does the man have blood in his veins? Daniel dared a surly look at his older old, his old, I'm the new lover, and neatly nipped the cherry from the end of the stem, chewing slowly. "There are times, Daniel, when you are such a child."

Daniel's posture straightened, and his beautiful hazel eyes narrowed. Connor watched in fascination as they seemed to darken with anger. "Yeah, well, that's what you like, isn't it, Daddy?"

Yarborough flushed, his complexion going to a dusty brick shade. "Watch your smart mouth, boy!"

"But Daddy," there was a scornful twist to the title, "You like that too!" He looked at June, who had dropped her hand from Connor's leg, and looked stunned. "He's particularly fond of my smart mouth. Though he's too fucking impatient to let me really use any of my tricks."

Oh, Danny. Connor marveled. The mouse has turned and is biting the cat in the ass.

Andrew was puce now. "Danny! You're being an ass."

Daniel threw up his hands. "Whoops! Boy, lot of Freudian slips tonight, Uncle Andy! He likes my ass just as much as he likes my mouth. Of course he's just as fucking insensitive... I mean, it's wasted on him. The only time the man tries to make it last is if he's sure he's causing me enough discomfort."

"Daniel!" But Daniel was beyond stopping now. All the loneliness, humiliation, and physical and psychic pain had finally come to a head. He'd been trying to numb his feeling for so long, telling himself that it was the price he paid for survival. Now the beautiful, sweet man across the table, watching him with those shining green eyes, had showed him a little of what life could be like.

Everything he'd been keeping bottled up just came gushing out, like the poison when you lance a festering wound. All three men were ignoring the little socialite in the red dress, who sat in stunned silence, imagining the stories she was going to be able to tell later.

Daniel looked across at Connor. "Do you know what he does when he's awayfrom me for more than a few hours, and gets suspicious about whether or not I've been fucking around? He checks!" He spat the last word out, as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. "Hard, and without lube. Of course, sometimes Danny gets a little torn up when he does that."

Connor was gripping handfuls of the tablecloth. If Yarborough hadn't been so intent on the scene his lover was making, perhaps he would have realized the rising danger. "But that doesn't matter, does it? After all, Danny's nothing but a well compensated whore."

"And not even a good one," Andrew grated. "A good one keeps his mouth shut!"

Daniel's voice rose. Now he was flushed also. God, what a cliche, Connor thought, But he's beautiful when he's angry.

"Yeah, well a good one would get combat pay for dealing with a john like you!" He looked back to Connor. "You know, he wouldn't use a riding crop on one of his precious fillies, but me? He drew blood. All because I let the pizza delivery guy in. It was a fucking flood outside, and the guy delivered, and I just wanted to give him a cup of coffee before he went back out in the deluge! But one of the neighbors saw him come in, and Uncle Andy figured that if I had a man inside my place, then there had to be some fucking going on somewhere.

" "I... maybe I should... I have to go." June, not a stupid woman, even if she was a bit unperceptive, left hurriedly. That was all right. Danny hadn't been talking to her, anyway. Other patrons had been looking, and now the bar staff was noticing, too. The bartender whispered to the waitress to go find that lazy cabron and get him in here to do his job.

"Of course what's just really unfair is that he doesn't hold the same standards for his wife as he does for his piece on the side. Oh, yes, he's married. Nice woman, actually. She deserves better, so she's getting it. That doesn't seem to bother old Andrew. I guess since she's past childbearing, and he doesn't have to worry about his bloodline being questioned. I say good for her. She deserves a little happiness--she's put up with him longer than I have. Daddy, did you know that Mommy offered a little to Sonny boy once? It was at the Christmas party just after you acquired me. Of course, she was drunk on her ass, and hadn't worked up enough courage to go find someone else, and, bless her, she really didn't KNOW I was your new fuck toy right then."

"Enough!"

Andrew lunged at Daniel, knocking him out of his seat, finally driven beyond his limits. As he hit the floor, with Andrew on top of him, and his hands around his throat, starting to squeeze, Daniel thought Oh, dear. Well, I've really done it now. He's going to kill me.

And perhaps Andrew might have. Oh, he didn't consciously intend to. He wasn't really capable of that much organized thought right then. He just wanted to shut Daniel up. If he could do that without killing him, then he could drag him back to the room, beat him so hard he'd feel it for a month, and then fuck him senseless in punishment. But Daniel might very well have died in the process. Daniel knew this, even if Andrew didn't.

But it wasn't fated. Daniel felt the familiar crushing weight lifted off of him. The hands were torn from around his throat, already tender from Andrew's assault the day before, and he drew in great, whooping gasps of air. In just that brief span, his vision had started to cloud. While he was doing this, the noises started.

He shook away the last of the frightening haze and sat up. There was pandemonium going on around him. He seemed to be the most peaceful person in the room. Guests were fleeing shrieking in either indignity or terror. This sort of thing was not supposed to happen at an exclusive, premium resort! But, much clearer than the other patrons' cries, he heard the heavy, meaty sounds of fist meeting flesh.

Andrew was trying to fight back. But he was a middle aged member of the American moneyed class, and he didn't stand a chance against an enraged Irish street fighter. He got in a couple of glancing blows, but Connor paid them no more mind than if Andrew had been giving him affectionate pats. He pummeled the older man mercilessly, driving blow after blow into his gut and ribs. He threw one solid punch to his chest that might have stopped his heart if he'd been a weaker man.

Connor Galbraith in a fighting frenzy was impressive, and frightening. There were times when he could fight with cold calculation, but he was defending and avenging his chosen mate now, and he was vicious. Andrew's good sense overrode his anger and hurt pride. His survival instinct kickedin, and he began to try to escape rather than fight. But Connor wasn't allowing that. He intended to have Andrew Yarborough.

And he fought in almost eerie silence. Most might have expected an Irish tough like Connor to make swearing a ritualistic part of his attack, but he was deadly focused, and didn't waste his breath.

When Yarborough finally collapsed, he started using his feet, driving them into the man's sides and against his head, wishing that he had the steel toed engineer boots that had served him so well in pub brawls. A rib snapped, then another.

"Con!" Connor dropped, straddling his victim. Gripping a handful of Andrew's greying hair, he lifted his head and smashed his fist into it. He grinned fiercely when he heard the crunch of cartilage, and felt the hot gush of blood from the shattered nose. It felt so good that he did it again. Andagain. And again.

"CON!" Someone had hold of him, shaking him. He drew back for another punch, and his arm was seized. He looked back angrily... into Daniel's panicked face. And hesitated.

His voice was shaky. "For you, Danny. For you."

"I know, Con. But you'll kill him."

"I want him dead."

"I know. But you can't. Please." Daniel could feel the tension in his lover, the tautness in that hard muscled arm, cocked back for another blow to the pathetic old man who lay helpless in his grip.

"Don't you want him dead, Danny? I'd do it for you."

Daniel bit his lip, staring at the man who had governed his life for the past five years, and made it a living hell. "No. Because then I'd lose you, Con." He stroked his lover's arm, and felt some of the tension ease out. "It's not because I want to keep him breathing. I've just found you. I don't want you in prison."

Slowly the arm lowered, though he still retained his grip in Yarborough's hair. He looked at Daniel intently. "You'll come with me, Danny." It was a statement. But then, his tone softer, more hesitant. "You will come with me?"

Daniel pressed his head to Connor's shoulder. "Yes, love." The smile that broke over Connor's face was the antithesis of the feral grimace he'd worn during the fight. It was bright, and sweet, and innocent. He kissed Daniel's hair, rubbing his face briefly in the soft tresses.

Then he turned his attention back to Yarborough. "You're still conscious, Yarborough? Good. We need to be clear on some things. I'm taking Danny. No," he corrected himself. "He's leaving you, you shite."

Andrew's voice was thick, clogged. "...prison... bastard... fucking life..."

"Oh, I hardly think so. There are plenty of witnesses who saw you attack Danny first. I was just defending him. I suppose you could TRY to make trouble, but I'd be very..." he shook Andrew's head, and the man yelped in pain, "...very angry with you."

"And Andrew?" Daniel leaned over him. His eyes, so warm when they looked at Connor, were icy. "If you're thinking about making trouble later, or coming after me? Just imagine the kind of fodder this little incident would give Aunt Bettina's divorce attorneys. You never did get a pre-nup agreement, did you? Oh, never mind "Jaws". they are the biggest fucking sharks in the legal sea. And if they asked nicely, I'd testify my ass off."

Connor released Yarborough, who dropped back limply. The dark haired man stood up, absently shaking his hand. Now that the adrenaline rush was fading, he knew he was going to suffer with the bruised and cut knuckles, but it had been worth it--infinitely satisfying. He held out his hand to Daniel. With a sweet smile, Daniel took it, and stood up into an entirely different life

Chapter Nineteen: Magic 

There was less than a week left of preparation before the mission proper started. Fox wasn't exactly nervosa. Not exactly. But as it got closer, he realized more and more exactly what it was he was taking on.

He was learning about Olivero de la Montana. Olivero was in his mid to late thirties, no one was entirely sure exactly. Official records were not a priority among his people in Columbia. He was a mestizo, of mixed European and American Indian ancestry, but there was much more Indian in his blood. Olivero's family had worked on a coffee plantation for generations, and he had been expected to do the same.

But young Olivero was ambitious. He looked around, and saw where the real money lay. He began cultivating small plots of cannabis in the jungle when he was in his mid teens, harvesting and selling the crop himself. With the money he made, he bought a little land, and was able to grow even more, and make even more money, and buy more land.

Then he graduated to growing poppies instead of grass, and manufacturing the white powder that brought dreams, and great wealth. Other small entrepreneur disappeared. And Olivero always seemed to acquire their holdings.

Before he was twenty, he didn't have to do the actual physical labor himself, but he still kept active in the bottom level running of his business. Now people worked for him. Mestizos left the coffee plantations owned by the pale men of European descent. The men who treated them as fools, or children. Olivero was one of their own, and did not treat anyone like a fool or a child unless they were one. It sickened Mulder when he learned that children as young as six or seven worked for the drug lord. They toiled in the fields beside their parents, as poor rural children had since the beginning of time. The only difference now was that instead of coffee, bananas, or sugar, they helped produce cocaine.

Mulder slouched on the leather couch, leafing through photographs of Olivero. As usual, the M:I observation operatives had done an outstanding job. Most of the photos had obviously been taken with zoom lenses, but they were remarkably sharp.

Fox chose one photograph, and studied it. Olivero was a good looking man. His complexion was dark olive, and he was smooth skinned, as were most mestizos. His hair was even darker than Ethan's, a little coarse, and kept chopped off short. A marine drill sergeant would have found nothing to complain about in either his haircut, his posture, or his attitude. He looked seriously 'don't-fuck-with-me'.

The nose was a little long, with that straight from the brow look that reminded Mulder of Aztec temple carvings. It was balanced by a wide mouth, but thin lipped mouth. His high cheekbones seemed to lift up large eyes that were so black they looked almost purple.

He was a big man, too. The photo showed him standing in a doorway, and it didn't clear his head by much. Plus he nearly filled it, side to side. But even with his mass, there was something graceful about the man. Mulder had the feeling that Olivero wasn't one of those big men who were slow and awkward. He remembered his nickname: The Jaguar. Yeah, he probably moved like a jungle cat.

The other photos were a lot more disturbing. As an FBI agent, and especially working on the X Files, Mulder had seen more than his share of grisly crime scenes. It took a lot to turn his stomach. The photos did it.

There were ten of them. The victims were both male and female, and ranged in age from late teens to, well, old. It was hard to tell. Death did that to people. Especially violent death. Not all had been bloody, but all were violent. None of these people had died easily.

Mulder remembered Ethan telling him of how Olivero had acquired his nickname. He disposed of his enemies like the big cat killed it's prey. The jaguar, if the prey was small enough, would clamp it's massive jaws on the animal's throat and either suffocate it, or snap it's neck with a brisk shake of it's head. Montanta used his massive arms instead of his jaws, but achieved the same effect. One picture showed a young woman who might once have been pretty. Her head was lying over on her shoulder at an angle God had never intended for one of his higher creations to manage.

The second favored method of the jaguar was this: to hold the prey immobile, and kick with powerful hind legs, using razor sharp claws to disembowel the unfortunate beast. Olivero favored a large single blade knife for this task. He usually opened up his victims from side to side AND from crotch to sternum.

Mulder covered his mouth as he looked at the photos. Thank god they were in black and white. It made them almost abstract. Color, and he would have been rushing for the bathroom.

Ethan came back from checking the mail (nothing today, for a wonder). He paused near the doorway, watching Mulder as he studied Montana's handiwork. The FBI agent's smooth forehead was creased, and he was worrying at that full lower lip. Ethan had seen the photos himself, and could imagine Mulder's reaction to them. He almost hated exposing Fox to such things and precisely where the hell had that little piece of protectiveness popped up from?, but Mulder had to be aware of what the man they would be dealing with was capable of. Pictures said more than the written or spoken word could, in this case.

"Nasty."

Fox looked over at him. "Very."

He was holding the photographs so hard that he was bending them. Ethan walked over, took the photos from Mulder's hand, and ran them through the shredder. He watched as they were reduced to glossy strips, and behind him Mulder said, "I wish it was going to be that easy to get those images out of my head."

Hunt went and sat beside Mulder, waiting for his lover to say what was really on his mind. They hadn't been together long, but things developed quickly in this sort of tense environment. He could tell that Mulder had something he needed to say. At last, not looking at Hunt, he said quietly, "How many?"

"We don't know for sure. Those, and at least ten more. It may be as many as forty, forty-five, by his own hand. That's not counting the one's he's ordered, or the ones that were just a natural offshoot of his expansion."

Fox's hands were twisting in his lap, and he stared at them. "I know you said we were just going in to stop the partnership, and make sure Galbraith couldn't hook up with anyone else. But..." He trailed off.

"But?"

"I'm not feeling real politically correct right now, Hunt." He wasn't going to come out and say it, probably couldn't say it, and Ethan liked that. It was too easy for some people to say that someone else just needed to die.

Ethan said slowly, "I never go into my mission intending to kill someone. Like I told you, I'm not an assassin. But sometimes things happen. Sometimes people die. We always try to be sure it's not one of us."

Fox digested this. So, Hunt would not seek to kill Montana, but... But there would be no extraordinary efforts to avoid killing him, either. Fox found he could live with that.

"We need to get your mind off that stuff. Unfortunately, what we're going to have to do today might not be the best way to do that."

"What are we doing today?"

"Well, I'm getting tattooed, and you..." he ran a finger lightly across Mulder's shoulder. "are getting scarred."

*

The place was right on the edge, where gentrification was beginning to renew a seedier section of town. Lofts and warehouses were being converted into prime apartment space. The building they went to, though, looked as if it hadn't been given 'the treatment' yet. It was ragged.

Ethan pushed a buzzer at the front door. Almost immediately a window on the second floor flew open. A lean man with a craggy, handsome face leaned out. He was clad only in a towel wrapped around his hips. A small towel, at that. When he saw Ethan, his face lit up with a wide grin. "Bugger me! Look who's here!" He had a thick Australian accent. A key hurtled down to them, and Hunt caught it neatly. "Get yer arse up here while I get dressed."

"No need to on our account." Ethan was answered by raucous laughter, as the man pulled back in and shut the window. As he unlocked the door, he explained, "We've worked together several times. These missions often call for drastic changes of appearance. And, he's my friend."

They entered a dim hallway, and went to a lift. As Fox reached to open the door, which had to be raised, Ethan said, "Maybe I should warn you about..."

Something large, hairy, and as ugly as a madman's nightmare leaped at Mulder from the elevator, roaring. Mulder didn't scare easily, but the sheer shock drove him back into Ethan with a yell. He instinctively tried to sweep his lover behind him while he jerked his gun from it's shoulder holster. "No! Mulder, wait!"

He'd fired three shots before he realized that the thing wasn't advancing. It wasn't falling either. It was just sort of hanging there. "Fox, it's okay. Let me move."

Mulder found that he had Ethan behind his back, pinned between his own body and the wall. Eyeing the quiescent beast suspiciously, he moved enough to allow Hunt to slip free. "I wasn't fast enough to warn you. Rollie always has a little surprise tucked around the entrance, to discouraged unannounced visitors."

"Well, I gotta say that it's a damn sight more effective than a fucking 'No Solicitors' sign." Mulder reholstered his gun, and edged toward the hulking figure. "What the fuck is that?"

Hunt looked at the creature. "That's Fluffy."

"Fluffy."

"Yeah, from 'Campus After Dark'. Last time I was here it was the Gatorman from 'Bayou Beyond'."

Mulder peered more closely at it. He reached out gingerly and touched the snarling mouth. The gums exposed by black, wrinkled lips were plastic. The squinty red eyes were glass. "Son of a bitch. Yeah, I recognize 'im now. That movie bit the big one, but the special effects were good."

A voice floated down from above. "Thank you. Now get the hell up here."

The creature slowly moved back into the elevator, and Mulder saw now that it was mounted on a wheeled platform that ran along a short length of track. As they rode up, Fox said, "I'm not gonna have Frankenstein come after me when this thing opens up again, am I?"

"Probably not." Pause. "But I couldn't guarantee."

The other man was waiting for them in front of the elevator when it arrived. The second Ethan stepped out he was enveloped in a bear hug. "You bloody bastard! Months, it's been!"

Ethan slapped Rollie on the back before pulling away. "You know how it is. Things get hectic. Rollie, this is my partner in my latest venture: Fox Mulder. Fox, Roland Tyler, special effects maven."

They shook hands, "It's Rollie, mate, as this git bloody well knows. C'mon in and have a beer."

He led them deeper into the loft. Fox stared about in wonder. There were... things... everywhere. What he prayed to God had to be a fake severed head was resting on a plate on a table. He was relieved when he recognized it as the blonde starlet who'd come to a grisly end in 'Cannibal Cafe'.

A disembodied arm that looked something like it belonged to a hairy crab was on a work bench, it's end sprouting a nest of wires that was attached to an electronics board. As he watched, there was a click, a light flickered on the board, and the pincers slowly closed, then opened. Tyler, reaching into the refrigerator, saw where his gaze was directed. "Just a little remote control time delay I'm playin' around with. Workin' nicely so far."

He strolled back to Ethan and Fox with three beers, two of the bottles gripped comfortably in one large, capable looking hand. Passing them out, he cracked open his own, and lifted it to them. "Cheers."

Fox wandered over to look at a wall display of various life masks, sipping his beer. Ethan said, "You got the information on what we need?"

"Course I did. Last week. Been studyin' the bleedin' photos off and on the whole time. The tattoo won't be too hard. They traced down where he got it, an' sent examples of the artists work. I'll ve able to fake it with no problem." He grinned at Ethan. "Sure ya don't want to make it permanent? Y'd look sexier than ever with a tattoo."

"Not in my line, Rollie. It's easier to fake one on for awhile than to cover one up when it's not supposed to be there. How about what you need to do to Mulder?"

Rollie was eyeing Fox with open admiration. "Yeah, what about what I need to do to him?" Ethan poked him in the side, and he grinned. "Don't worry, mate. They sent along the photo they took of the lad when he got sliced up in the nick. Bleedin' shame, that was. How anyone could stand to mark somethin' that pretty I'll never know."

"Some people have no consideration for the rest of us. You'll be able to do it?" Tyler lowered the beer and gave Hunt a wounded look. "Sorry. Forget I said that. Force of habit. I know you can do it."

"I should bleedin' well hope so."

Fox felt a presence behind him, and turned to find the tall Australian standing close. "These are fantastic. You've worked with a lot of famous people."

"Yeah, once I did my time on the crap productions. Some of 'em are real nits when it comes to co-operating, though. How about you, Mulder? Are you co-operative?"

Fox raised his eyebrows. There had been a definite suggestive hint in that tone. He glanced at Ethan, but the spy was just smiling at him. Apparently he was familiar with Rollie's style, and it didn't bother him to see his friend coming on to his lover. Fox wasn't sure if he was relieved, or disappointed. Rollie Tyler really WAS a sexy man. And Mulder was rather curious as to whether this thing with Ethan was unique, or an indicator of a leaning he hadn't recognized in himself. It would be interesting to find out. "That depends on who you talk to. My partner Dana, and my boss might not think so. Hunt hasn't had any complaints so far."

"Mm. Good to know." Rollie had set his beer down on the littered work table, and was idly sifting through the various items that littered it. There was an open box of single edged razor blades, probably used to trim ragged edges off of make up appliances.

Fox watched as he extracted one and turned it over, flipping and rolling it through his fingers, as some magicians did with a coin. It was an oddly entrancing sight. "I like someone who knows when to be still so I can do my job properly."

Rollie stripped off the blade's protective cardboard band. Again he flipped it back and forth across his knuckles. Fox could feel the hair beginning to stand up on the back of his neck. What the fuck was he doing? He was going to slice the hell out of himself.

The blade ended up pinched firmly between thumb and forefinger in his right hand. Rollie pointed at Hunt, and Fox glanced at him briefly. "That one there. Good as gold. Sat for three hours once when I had to do a full mask."

Fox looked back at Rollie, and felt his insides clench as the saw the tip of the blade pressing down firmly against Rollie's left wrist. As he watched, the skin dimpled under the pressure. A bright bead of blood oozed up at the contact point. Then Tyler was slicing up the inside of his forearm, leaving a gory trail all the way up to the crook of his elbow.

Fox gaped in horror. He knew from his studies that this was the most effective way to commit suicide, if one was doing it by razor. Slashes across the wrists tended to clot. UP the forearm, and you could open up a vein so well that it would be difficult even for paramedic help to stop the flow. "Tyler...what the fuck...?"

Grinning maniacally, the man lifted the dripping razor to his throat. "NO!"

Too late. He slashed, straight across. Blood sprayed, splattering a startled Ethan in the face. Reacting on instinct, like he had downstairs, Mulder quickly knocked the blade from Tyler's hand, and grabbed him, pressing his hands to the throat wound to try and staunch the flow, and Tyler was laughing laughing. So was Ethan.

And that blood felt way too cool. The special effects wizard's eyes sparkled. "Gotcha."

"You...you..."

Ethan had gotten a paper towel off a roll on the table and was wiping his face. "I usually say bastard."

"Yeah, that'll do. That was a fucking gag?"

"One of my best." He turned his palm toward Mulder. Now Fox saw the rubber squeeze syringe, rather like the kind used to give babies enemas, he held. The snout was still oozing red fluid.

"You found a way to improve the projection on that since the last time I saw you," Ethan said, tossing away the red smeared paper. "Before all you could manage was a drip effect."

Tyler nodded. "And I'm using a glycerine base on the blood instead of the old Karo type. You won't be all over sticky from it. When I was working on Alpine Attack, the bloody cold kept thickening it, so it wouldn't ooze properly. I mixed it with vodka, to keep is liquid. The actors who had to hold it in their mouths for the dribble out effects kept swallowing it instead of spitting it out like they were supposed to. Half the cast was pissed most of the shoot." He smiled at Mulder. "Not that I mind, mate, but can I have me throat back?"

Fox realized that he still had his hands on the other man's throat. "I'm not sure. I think maybe I should wring your neck."

"Oh, got ya a feisty one this time, Ethan. Just a joke, lad."

"He wouldn't tease you if he didn't like you, Fox. I knew him a week before he made me think he'd blown his brains out."

Tyler indicated a dark splotch on the wall. "Never have been able to get rid of that stain. Damn good thing I own this shack. I'd never get the deposit back, otherwise. Now," He gently disengaged Mulder's hands, but held on to his wrists.

"How did you do that?"

Tyler's thumbs were stroking across the back of Fox's wrists. It was very distracting. Rollie let him go, and picked up the razor blade from where it lay in a pool of 'gore'. He stroked it across Fox's hand. Fox could feel the cool pressure of metal, but it was dull.

Tyler held the blade up for his inspection. "Look closely." Fox did. The tip was rounded, blunt. "I grind the edge off with a wetstone and sandpaper. Then I just glue it back in the cardboard safety strip, and it's good to go."

"Diabolical."

A wide smile. "Ain't I though? And well paid for it, too." He handed Mulder paper towels so he could clean his hands, and swabbed the red mess off his own throat.

"Your shirt is a mess."

Rollie plucked at it, peering down. "Yeah, well. I changed the coloring I use in it since then. It'll wash out, now. But it is a bit groddy." He casually skinned the shirt off, dropping it on the table and exposing a seriously buff torso. "Right. I'd best get the latex mixing for your appliance."

Fox watched raptly as he set about mixing up the stuff he would use to form the scar appliance. He stirred together a powder base, and various liquids that were used to stabalize, gel, tint, and increase the flow of the finished liquid. Then the concoction went into a very large commercial blender to 'cream'. "Right. Let's get the molds done while that finishes. Shirt off, Mulder." Fox looked to Ethan. Tyler sighed. "Don't be difficult, mate. I have to have a mold of the part I'm going to be working on to make a proper appliance. I COULD do it on Clyde," he gestured to a lifelike torso, "But it never looks as good, and you need the best."

Fox got out of his shirt, but held it up in front of him when Rollie approached with a cordless electric shaver. "What do you think you're going to do with that?"

Tyler grinned. "Well, mate, I didn't take you for the type who's into pain, but if you really want to have your body hair ripped out when I remove the plaster..." Fox scowled. "Just the area needed. If you're to have the full shave, I'll leave that to Ethan."

"Just around the shoulder, where you need it, Rollie." Ethan said. "I kinda like that little pelt he has."

Mulder blushed at the teasing, just a little uncomfortable that Ethan was being so open about their...well, he supposed it was a relationship. Of sorts.

Rollie clicked the shaver on with his thumb, and gripped Fox's left shoulder. "Let's see. It was the right one the poor boy got marked up." He touched the shaver to Mulder's skin, and began moving it, slowly mowing down the very few, light hairs that had crept up to that area, then stroking down his chest a few inches. Mulder shivered a little as the vibration of the shaver moved through his body. "Easy, boy. I won't be takin' off anythin' important."

Tyler clicked off the shaver and set it aside. "Let's see now." He passed a hand lingeringly over the shaved area. "Right. Smooth as a baby's bottom. Have a seat."

Fox sat, and watched as, this time, he mixed up molding plaster. Flirtatiousness gone now, Rollie smoothed a thick coating of petroleum jelly on the shaved spot, and laid a piece of fine cloth over it, taping down the edges. He then layered the plaster mixture on evenly. "Now. You just sit quiet like a good boy while that hardens. I'll start on Ethan's little decoration. Ethan, guess what articles of clothing you get to remove."

Hunt was already unbuckling his pants. "Yeah, right. Voyeur."

"Comes in handy in my line o' work." As Ethan stood there in his briefs, Rollie showed him a sketch. "That's what it will look like. Pretty tasteful, considering." The capital D and B were slightly gothic, but not overyly ornate. The entire tattoo was about three inches square.

Rollie had a special make-up chair, a padded contraption that could be folded into chair position, or stretched flat, like a massage table. It could also be raised or lowered, so the artist could work either standing or sitting. Ethan pulled off his briefs and stretched out on it, on his back. Rollie pulled a chair and small work stand up beside him, sitting down. He picked up an unlabled aluminum spray can and began shaking it. "You might want to shield John Thomas while I put the base on, Ethan."

Ethan covered his genitalia with his hands, and Rollie sprayed a fine, even mist on his hip. The spy grimaced, hissing, "Shit! That stuff is still frigid."

"Sorry, but I just haven't figured out a way to heat it yet, you baby. What would you do if I actually had to use a needle on you?"

"Probably break your neck if you tried." But Ethan lay still as Rollie taped a stencil to his hip, and mixed pigments on a pallette.

Tyler began to fill in the stencil, working the blue-black color on with a tiny brush. Ethan craned his head to watch him work. Rollie was meticulous, stroking the color on in swatches no bigger than a matchhead. He had his left elbow on Ethan's thigh, holding his 'work surface' steady.

As Mulder watched, Hunt's cock slowly began to thicken, without either man touching it. But Mulder could imagine the feathery, tickling touch on Ethan's hip, the warm weight of the Austrailian's arm across his leg, the complete concentration Rollie had on the younger man.

When the stencil was filled, Tyler sprayed it again. "There. That can settle while I get on to the next phase with your friend." The plaster was carefully loosened, and pried away from Mulder. He winced, losing a hair or two despite the precautions. Tyler gave him a towel and some sort of cleaning solution. "Get all that off. I'll need a clean surface to work on when the appliance is done."

Fox cleaned up, watching as Rollie used the negative mold to make a positive one: one that would be a 3D representation of the area. That was set to dry also. Rollie turned off the mixer and dipped up a tiny bit of the latex, matching it against Fox's skin tone. "I can't get it exact without painting it. You can never get a realistic look if it's just all over one color. But I can do a little better than that. Needs a bit more pink." He added a couple of drops of pigment, and started the mixer again, then went back to work on Ethan.

He's working on Ethan in more ways than one. That is growing into a really respectable boner. Enough to make Mulder's mouth water, in fact. Rollie began to whistle softly as he worked the tiny brush against Ethan's skin. The tune was familiar, but Fox didn't recognize it till the special effects man started to sing under his breath. "Tie me kangaroo down, sport. Tie me kangaroo down. Don' let him go runnin' round, sport. Tie me kangaroo down."

Ethan's voice was husky. "I got your kangaroo, right here, Aussie." Rollie grinned, and wiggled the brush at him. "You tickle me where you shouldn't with that damn brush, and I go upside your head."

"Nah. I'm finished, with the brush, anyway." He dropped it on the table. "But what about..." Still grinning, he reached out and ran one fingertip the length of Ethan's cock, root to tip, and slowly spread the first drizzle of pre-cum over the glans. "this?"

Ethan's eyes half closed. "I'm all right with that."

Rollie continued the gentle, circling touch, and Hunt sighed. His cock was stiffening quickly, almost fully erect now, and the crystal liquid dribbled slowly down the side. Tyler looked over at Fox, gaugeing his expression. "You all right with this, mate?"

"Should I leave the room?"

Ethan leaned up on one elbow, fixing him with his eyes. "No. Stay."

Fox hesitated. "Yeah. I'm okay with it." It's not as if we've sworn eternal devotion to each other, is it? We're not Connor and Daniel, no matter how much we resemble them. Why should it bother me if Ethan has a good time with him? But it did bother him, at least a little.

Either he wasn't as good at hiding his emotions as he thought, or Rollie Tyler was a keenly observant man. Still stoking Ethan with one hand, he beckoned to Fox with the other. "Come here."

Fox hesitated. But Ethan was watching him with that hot gaze. He got up and walked over to the table, standing next to it. Rollie turned a little, so that he was facing Fox. Stopping his petting of Ethan for a moment, he took hold of Mulder's hips.

His grib was undemanding, but firm. "I think your boy is feeling a bit neglected, Ethan. I don't blame him. Mind if I unruffle his feathers a bit?"

"Not if he doesn't have any objections." Ethan began to stroke himself lazily.

"Let's see if he does." Rollie pulled Mulder toward him, and nuzzled his crotch.

Mulder could feel his hot, damp breath through the layers of his clothing, and shivered. What is it with me? A couple of weeks ago, to the best of my knowledge, I hadn't thought twice about sex with another man. Now I seem to be turning into a slut. I didn't DO anything until after the first time I 'was' Daniel. Did that make it easier, if it wasn't really me doing it?

But as Rollie Tyler started to unbuckle his belt, he knew that he was grasping at reasons. It hadn't been because he was 'being' Daniel. Hell, he'd asked Hunt if it was Fox or Daniel he was seducing, and Hunt had answered without hesitation that it was Mulder he wanted. But this was the sort of thing Daniel Ballard would do. Was it the sort of thing Fox Mulder would do?

Rollie had lowered Mulder's zipper, and eased his prick out. It was hard. "Ah, that's lovely," Rollie breathed. He licked the tip, then slowly took it into his mouth, sucking, as he opened his own pants. Fox closed his eyes, surrendering to the wet heat. It wasn't as good as it had been with Ethan that first time. He was realistic enough to admit that he'd been unconsciously looking forward to that incident for so long that most others were going to pale beside it. But still, this was good.

He felt a tug on his arm, and opened his eyes. Ethan was half sitting up. He held Mulder's arm with one hand, and his own cock with the other. "Baby?" He began to pull him down. "Please."

Mulder bent, and took Ethan Hunt's cock between his lips. Ethan slumped back, sighing, and began to thrust lightly up into his mouth. He ran his hands caressingly through Mulder's hair as his head bobbed up and down. Then he reached out and stroked Rollie's head, in thanks for what he was doing for his lover.

By lifting a little, Ethan managed to reach Mulder's chest, and he played with the older man's nipples while he gave him head. Ethan worked until the little buds were swollen to aching perfection and his lover was groaning around Ethan's swollen flesh.

Fox was feeling overwhelmed by pleasure. A mouth on his cock, a cock in his mouth... What else could there possibly be? In answer to himself, he reached around behind, and began to run his fingers up and down the crease of his ass.

Ethan saw, and felt his pulse quicken. Mulder could fuck, he had no doubt of that, but he had strong bottoming instincts. He was instinctively craving a cock in his ass. "Do yourself." It wasn't quite a command, but it wasn't merely a suggestion, either. "Do it. Finger yourself. You want it, Fox. You know you do."

With another muffled groan, Mulder worked a finger up his tight back passage. He winced a little, but didn't stop. He began to move it in and out. Immediately his cock felt even harder. Rollie had pulled back, and was flicking the head with his tongue. Mulder sucked hard at Ethan, and rammed a second finger into himself. Almost, almost...

Rollie grunted, coming in a great white burst. The second his hand was coated with spunk, he smeared it over Mulder's quivering prick, and took it into his mouth again. Fox jerked off of Ethan's hard on, crying out as his balls clenched, and he orgasmed, spilling his seed down Rollie Tyler's throat.

Ethan clutched himself, and came with two almost vicious, efficient strokes, his handsome face contorting. All three men were quiet, panting. Fox leaned heavily against the table, half lying across Ethan. When he got his breath back, Rollie said, "Well, not quite a triple simultaneous orgasm, but fucking close enough for government work."

He had plenty of clean cloths around for his work, and hands some off to the two other men. After cleaning himself, he checked the latex, and decided that it was ready. He carefully scraped, carved, and sanded the plaster of the positive mold till there was a long, narrow, shallow jagged groove, no more than an eight of an inch wide, that ran on the lower part of the shoulder from the collarbone to the arm. "The latex will settle into that, and it will be slightly sunken on the appliance, like an old scar would. I'll attach the section, then paint it to match your skin tone, then fix it in place. The stuff we use will hold through sweat, water, heat, and cold. It won't come off till you remove it with a special solvent. My own invention."

"That should make you rich."

Rollie barked with laughter. "Are you kiddin' mate? They don't want stuff to stay on too firm in the movie business. The union would never have it. They do too much business doing repairs." He injected the latex into the mold, using what looked like a very large caulking gun. "You can take off that stencil, mate. Give y'self a last squirt of the fixer. And no skimping!"

Ethan grumbled, but did as he was told, again wincing at the cold. "And that's all we can do for now. It'll need to set, then cure for a few hours in a low oven. I'll want to do several of them. I don't anticipate any trouble with it, but...Well, never hurts to be sure, does it? You two can come back t'morrow, and I'll do the final fitting."

As they were getting ready to leave, Rollie handed Mulder a couple of large, dark red capsules. "What are these?" "Souveniers. You remember the vodka blood I was talking about? That's some of the dribble capsules I saved. Hang on to 'em. Terrific for practicle jokes. Or..." he smiled. "Well, if ya ever really need a bloody drink..."

Chapter Twenty: Escape 

Rio

Connor, knuckles bruised and bleeding, helped Daniel to his feet. His lips twisting, he spared a look at the man who'd curled into a fetal position on the floor. "I wish you'd let me kill him."

"Please, Connor. Don't bother with him any more." Daniel tugged him away, toward the front of the bar. "We need to go. He's friends with the management. They could make trouble."

As they left, the Irishman grumbled, "I just hope I don't regret this later."

Daniel said meekly, "I'll try to make you happy, Con."

Galbraith paused, sighing. "Oh, love." He touched Daniel's face gently. "I didn't mean about you. I meant not killin' that shite when I had the chance. You've a soft side to you, Danny. I love ya for it, but it might not be practical. Now, we need to get your papers. Are they in your room, or the hotel safe?"

"The room."

"Good. Me safecrackin' skills aren't what they could be." In the elevator up to Daniel's floor, Connor took him in his arms, kissing him hard. When he let him up for air, Con said, "I'll be doin' that to you a good bit, Danny. And in public, too. I don't hide my love."

Daniel rested his head briefly on Connor's shoulder. "It'll be nice to have someone who doesn't alternately flaunt me and pretend I don't exist."

"Flaunt, I may. Ignore? Never."

Outside the room, Daniel looked to Connor in dismay. "Con! Andy has the key."

"Darlin', a simple locked door isn't all that much of a problem. Though..." He lifted his leg and kicked the door in with two powerful blows. "...it would be a bit easier if I had me boots. Just your papers, love. I don't want you havin' anything that bastard paid for with you."

Daniel got his wallet and passport quickly. He tossed a last venomous glance around the room, and hissed, "I just wish I had time to burn all his clothes."

Connor laughed. "Bit of the cat in you, ain't there, love? I'll have to remember that. Come on, now."

Connor himself seldom unpacked when he went anywhere, a very useful habit for someone who often had to move quickly. Basically all he had to do was throw a couple of items in his suitcase and latch it, and they were off. The cab at the front door had been called for someone else, but the cabby saw the reason of a fifty dollar bill, and was happy to drive them to the airport.

By the time Andrew Yarborough was having his ribs taped, and sullenly telling a disbelieving policeman that no, he didn't have any idea WHO his assailant was, they were studying the departure board. A flight for Ireland was leaving in less than an hour.

"Well, now, Danny. You've heard of the luck of the Irish, eh? Here you see proof."

"Good God, Con. You're not going to be able to get seats on it at this late date."

"Won't I?" Connor walked over to where the passengers were waiting to board. "Excuse me. I was wonderin' if any of you fine people might be willin' to postpone your flight till tomorrow, and let me and my friend reimburse you for your tickets." Blank stares. Connor smiled at Daniel, then turned back to the small crowd. "Of course, I forgot to mention that I'm willin' to pay a bonus of two hundred dollars for each." People started whispering and digging in purses and pockets. "You see, Danny? Luck of the Irish, with a wee bit of a boost."

An hour later they were seated side by side in second class. Connor had tried to hold out for first, but Daniel had insisted that they HAD to sit together, and they just weren't offered two together in first. Connor stroked his arm as the plane took off. "This is the last time, Danny. The last time you have less than first class."

"I don't mind, Con. It's all right, since I'm with you."

"But you SHOULD have the best, love. And I'm going to see to it. You'll never regret comin' with me, Daniel. I swear it. Now then..." Connor signaled the stewardess. "Could we be havin' a pillow and a blanket, please?"

"I wouldn't have thought you'd be sleepy, what with all that adrenaline." Daniel was just the tiniest bit disappointed that Connor would rather sleep than sit up with him.

"Oh, it's not for me." The stewardess brought them the items. Connor said, "Put your seat back, Danny."

"But Con..."

"No nonsense, lad." Connor's voice was firm, and Daniel found himself obeying, reclining the airline seat. Connor slipped the pillow under his head, then spread the blanket over him. "Flyin' tires you out, so you'll have a wee nap now."

"But how did you...?" Daniel's confusion melted as he gazed at his new lover. "From the lobby. You remembered."

Connor nodded. "Aye. And I'll have to see you take care of yourself from now on, Danny." He leaned over, smoothing Daniel's hair off his forehead, and whispered. "You're mine now, and I must be careful of you." He planted a kiss on the corner of Daniel's mouth, where it was just beginning to curve up in a little smile. "Sleep now." His voice thickened a little. "I can't say how much sleep I'll be lettin' you have in the future."

Daniel snuggled down under the blanket. For the first time since his early days with the sweet old thing he'd been with before Andrew, he slept peacefully, looking forward to awakening.

Connor slipped on his headphones, and found some quiet music. He turned off the light over their seat, and sat in the dimness, watching his lover sleep. He dozed at some point. When he awoke, most of the plane was in darkness, the majority of the passengers trying to sleep. Daniel, still lying in the reclined seat, was watching him with dreamy eyes.

"Lay down with me, Con, " he murmured. Connor reclined his own seat. Danny whispered, "In first class, the arm will come down. I wonder..."

Connor examined the arm between their seats, and found a little lever. When he moved it, he could push the arm down and out of the way. Daniel immediately spread the blanket over him also. He moved the thin little airline pillow over and said, "We can share."

"That's a small pillow, Danny. We'd have to be very close to share that." Daniel nodded solemnly. Connor moved close, closer, turning toward him, and laid his head on the pillow beside Daniel's. Their faces were only an inch or so apart. Daniel closed the inch, and kissed him softly. Connor sighed happily, sliding his tongue out to tease at the firm lips pressing to his own.

He felt Daniel's hands, under the blanket, moving over his side, then down to his chest. His shirt was thin silk, and Danny easily found the beginning thrust of his nipples and pinched, bringing them to fullness. Connor moaned, licking between Daniel's slightly parted lips, meeting his tongue.

Daniel's hands slid down Connor's torso, scratching lightly at his belly, and began to drag the shirt tail from his waistband. "Danny, love, what are you doin'?"

"I need to touch you. I need to feel your skin." His hands slipped up under the shirt, fingers dancing over the suddenly shivering flesh of his abdomen.

Then Connor felt his belt being loosened, and his zipperlowered. "Jesus, Danny. You can't be doin' this." But Connor didn't move to stop him, because by now a warm hand had slipped inside his pants and was feeling for the comfort slit of his jockeys.

"Why can't I? No one will see. And if you're quiet, no one will hear."

Connor sighed as Daniel eased his cock out, and began rubbing his thumb over it's head. "Just a little, then, sweetheart."

"No, Con." Daniel said sweetly. "I need it all."

He burrowed under the blanket, curving his body down. Connor gasped, clutching at his back as a wet velvet tongue caressed the spot his hand had just left, gathering up the slickness that the thumb had spread. "Boy!"

He felt the vibrations of Daniel's quiet voice against his prick. "In medievil times it was said that man lived by meat and drink. Well, I tasted you this afternoon, Con. Tasted. But I didn't have my meat and drink, and I'm so hungry."

Connor pressed his face hard into the pillow as he was slowly swallowed by moist heat. "Danny," he whispered. "Oh, God, Danny..." Daniel finally had someone who would appreciate his skills and imagination, and he lavished on Connor Galbraith every bit of attention and affection he'd been storing up for years. Licks, nibbles, sucks, grazes... A dozen different techniques. It was the most skilled head Connor had ever received, and he was far from a virgin.

And just when he thought he would go mad with frustrated tension, and have to hold Daniel still and fuck his mouth, Danny settled down and gave him a steady, strong blow job, sucking and bobbing in a satisfying rhythm that had Connor arching to meet him.

When he finally came, he had to sink his teeth into his own palm to keep from screaming. As it was, a high pitched whine escaped him, causing several passengers to look around curiously. All they saw was a rather pale faced young man, covered to his chin in a blanket, his expression just going lax. Poor man, more than one thought. Must not be used to flying.

Connor fondled Daniel's head as his lover slowly licked him clean, collecting ever drop of sperm that had somehow dribbled out when he tried to swallow all of Connor's spunk. He'd ALMOST done it. But Connor had jerked so at the last moment, that he'd almost lost it. At last Daniel sat up.

He emerged from under the blanket flushed of face and tousled of hair. His mouth looked blurred, and was a little slick. Connor kissed him, licking the thin film of his own cream off Daniel's lips. He whispered, "No need to try and kill me now, Danny. I haven't signed over the insurance yet."

Danny chuckled sleepily, curled up beside Connor with his hand cradling Galbraith's still naked prick under the blanket, and drifted off to sleep again. It was dawn when they arrived.

Connor bundled a yawning Daniel into a cab. The two men cuddled in the back seat on the ride to Connor's flat. The cabbie, who had been driving a hack for near on twenty years, scarcely glanced back. The only thing he found remarkable about the pair was that they seemed to be so spectacularly pleased with each other. Well, good on 'em. There wasn't enough affection in the world, as far as he was concerned. And besides, happy people were better tippers.

He was proved right. Connor, in a fine mood, gave him a bill that was double what was on the meter, and told him to keep the change, and no, thank you, there was no need for him to help with the luggage, as there was only one bag.

In the flat, Daniel wandered through the rooms, examining his new home. "Is this where..." He was standing by the fireplace, his face turned away from Connor as he traced a finger over the marble mantle. "Is this where I'll stay, or will you put me somewhere else?"

The wistful doubt in his voice touched Connor. He went to Daniel, embracing him from behind, lifting on his toes a little to put his chin on the taller man's shoulder. "This is your home, Danny. OUR home. Did you think I would put you away somewhere, like the bastard did?"

Daniel sighed, running his hands lightly over Connor's arms where they embraced him. "Can I have a fire?"

Connor smiled, a little puzzled, but began to build a fire. It was a bit warm for that, but if it was what Daniel wanted... He soon had a good blaze flickering in the fireplace. "There. Is that what you were wantin'?"

Daniel nodded, and began to strip. Connor watched in amused satisfaction as Daniel threw each article of clothing into the flames. He only stopped him at the belt and shoes. "We'll just chuck 'em in the bin, eh, Danny? I know you'd rather they burned, but they'll stink the place up. Don't you want the stench of thatSOB out of your nostrils?" Connor finally opened a window and threw the offending items out into the street. Someone's husband later received a quite nice belt and shoes set for his birthday, and was very grateful, even if the shoes WERE a bit large.

Finally Daniel was naked. "That's it, Connor Galbraith. I come to you just as God made me. Well," he smiled. "slightly used."

"And I'll take you just as God made you, Daniel Ballard." They were in the bedroom. Connor pushed Daniel down gently on the bed. "And I will take you, m' love." He started to strip. "As often as I can."

As Daniel watched Connor undress, he put two fingers in his mouth, sucking them. Connor felt himself start to grow hard. While he was opening his pants, Daniel rolled on his side, cocking one knee, and probed his own anus, working the fingers in slowly.

Connor's mouth went dry as he watched the beautiful man fingering himself, his face intent, preparing himself to make love. He whispered. "You don't really know me, Con, but I've...I've been careful. I always used protection. That was the one thing I wouldn't give in on with Andrew. He beat me for it more than once, but he never got inside me without a rubber. I've been tested. I'm clean. If you don't want to use one, you don't have to."

"Do you want me to, Danny?" Connor was nude now, his rigid hard on swaying against his belly.

"If it would be all right with you, I'd really like to feel you inside me, Con. You'd be the only one. You will be the only one. If you're not worried."

"I'd like that, my love. Oh, I'd like that so much." Connor got on the bed behind Daniel, spooning up behind him.He licked two of his own fingers, pushed Daniel's hand away, and inserted them where Daniel's hand had been. Daniel moaned, pushing back against him as Connor gently pumped the digits deeper, preparing him. "Will this be enough, love?" Connor breathed in his ear. "I can go on a bit more, but I need to be inside you soon."

"Yes, Con, it's enough. Fuck me now. Please. I want you inside me so bad."

"Yes, sweetheart. Yes."

Connor pushed his hips forward. The blunt head of his cock spread the relaxed ring of muscle, slipping inside. The men groaned in unison. Daniel shivered as the thick staff oozed deep inside him, filling him as Andrew never had; with gentleness and love.

When Connor was all the way inside, he wrapped his arms around his lover and just held him, feeling the enveloping heat. "Christ, Danny, you're so tight."

"I didn't realize..."

"What, love? What didn't you realize?" Connor shifted, beginning a long, lazy glide.

Daniel made an odd little whimper. Connor was beginning to discover that Danny was a vocal lover. "I didn't know I felt so empty till you filled me."

Connor bit his shoulder lightly, increasing the speed of his thrusts. He reached around Daniel and gripped his prick carefully in both hands, beginning to stroke. Soon Daniel was writhing sinuously, pushing back to meet his thrusts, then forward into his grip. All the while he made soft noises of pleasure and need. They drove Connor mad, and he was soon pounding steadily into his lover's body, unable to hold back.

Danny didn't want him to hold back. He breathed encouragements, begging him to go harder, faster, deeper. In a near frenzy of lust, Connor rolled Daniel onto his stomach, needing something solid to push against. He turned Daniel's face to the side, so he could breathe, and did his damnedest to fuck his lover through the mattress.

Daniel cried out, thrashing beneath him, and Connor felt his hands covered in hot, slick wetness. Now that Danny had reached his completion, Connor really let go. He grabbed his lover's hips and, with a low snarl, rammed him with short, hard jabs. He kept hitting Daniel's prostate. Even though he had cum, and would not be able to get hard again for a little while, the pleasure was intense. He grunted and squirmed as Connor finally came, spewing a hot gush of semen deep inside him.

It was a new sensation to Danny. He hadn't lied when he'd told Connor that he'd never had unprotected sex before. The sheer, raw intimacy of it was astounding. He cried out along with his lover as he felt the scalding pulse, as Connor Galbraith claimed him. But Daniel hardly needed to be claimed. He'd already given himself to the Irishman: body, heart, and soul. This was merely the ritual that stated it more clearly than words.

When it was over, Connor lay sprawled on top of the larger man for a while, biting and sucking at the side of his neck while Daniel purred contentedly. He finally pulled free and dropped to lie beside him. Daniel immediately snuggled up under his arm and began stroking his nipples, keeping them taut. "Danny," Connor sighed. "Love, you'll not be gettin' anything else for at least an hour or two. I'm not bleedin' Superman."

"You're not? Could have fooled me." He bit one tiny bud, drawing a good-natured groan, so he licked it in apology. Then he rested his head on Connor's chest. "How long do you intend to keep me naked?"

"Only for the first year or two." Connor chuckled as Daniel pinched his thigh. "I'll have one of my lads bring something over later. Then we can go shopping tomorrow. Would that suit you?"

"Yes."

They were silent for a time. Finally Connor said, "Danny?"

"Hm?"

"Danny boy, I'm not just keepin' you, you know."

"I know."

"You're going to be more than just my boy." Connor lifted Daniel's hand to his lips. "You're going to be my mate. If the fucking law would allow it, I'd marry you."

Danny tilted his head so that he could look up at Connor. He was smiling, but his eyes were soft and serious. "Ah, well, Connor. You know what you're getting into. Too bad my parents wouldn't meet you. My mother would die to arrange a big wedding. But then, I'm a sad disappointment to her." Connor started to frown, but Daniel's smile widened. "Oh, she never had the same problem with my choice of lovers that my father had. But she'd be absolutely devastated that I couldn't wear white."

Chapter Twenty-one: Last Minute Pop Test  

Fox ran a finger experimentally across the thin, jagged scar that ran across his right shoulder. "This is so weird. I've got other scars..."

"I know." Ethan caressed his flank. Fox was shirtless, examining himself in the mirror hung on the closet door.

"Stop it." Fox swatted at Ethan's hand without any real conviction. "But this feels real."

"Looks real." Ethan ran his hand over it. Then, with an impish grin, he leaned over and ran his tongue along it. Fox shivered. The appliance was so thin that scarcely any sensation was lost. "But it tastes..." Ethan did it again, and smacked his lips thoughtfully. "I'm afraid it tastes like... chicken."

Fox shoved him. "I thought I was chicken."

"Rooster, maybe."

Fox looked at himself in the mirror again. "We're really going to do this, aren't we?"

Ethan rubbed his chin on Fox's shoulder. "Yes, we are. One more detail, then a test. We leave day after tomorrow for England."

"England? Not Columbia?"

"We go to Columbia from England. Our other selves are there now. I spoke with our operative yesterday."

Fox put on his shirt, spoiling Ethan's view. "That tone of voice is ominous. What did he say?" He stuffed the tail under his waistband. Ethan was tempted to do the 'get your shirt tail straight' bit again and cop a feel, but that probably only worked once. Besides, now he didn't really need an excuse.

"It's been decided that one final test is needed to see if we can pass. They want us to take out our opposite numbers."

"Take out?" Fox's voice was alarmed. "Look, I told you..."

"Relax, lover." Ethan nuzzled the side of his neck in a move that was calculated to soothe the FBI agent. It helped that Ethan enjoyed it, too. "In this case, 'take out' means we put the snatch on them. Neutralize them so other agents can whisk them away. Then the next morning, Connor Galbraith and Daniel Ballard check out of their London hotel, and fly to South America for their little business venture.

Fox blew out a breath. "This keeps getting more complicated."

"Life is like that."

"What's the detail we haven't taken care of? I mean, I dress like Daniel..." He thickened his accent to a drawl, "I talk like Daniel. I have his hair, his contacts, even his scar. What's left?"

"You don't have his fingerprints."

Fox was silent for a moment. "If there's one thing I've learned working for the FBI, it's that no two people in history have had the same fingerprints, not even identical twins. Close, but not the same. If clones were a posibility..." He checked himself. Later Ethan wondered about this, and made a mental note to ask him about it when things cooled down. "Even clones don't have the same fingerprints."

"Granted we can't permanently alter anyone's loops and whorls, but we CAN do temporary."

Ethan opened the box that had been sitting in the mailbox that morning, and extracted what looked like two extra large watercolor boxes. When he opened one, though, the long row of little cakes were all a uniform putty color. "Look at those."

Mulder peered closely. The surfaces of the disks were not smooth. There were faint ridges: ridges that formed the generically familiar loops and whirls of fingerprints. "These are yours, those are mine."

"Pardon my saying so, but what the fuck do we DO with them?"

"Patience. Sit down. You'll need to be steady for a minute or so." Fox sat at the table. Ethan took up another unlabled aerosol can, shaking it. "Hold out your hands, fingers spread as wide as you can, palm up." Fox obeyed. "This is going to be cold, and I'll have to work quickly once it's on you. I'm going to press each of your fingers on one of those disks. Don't roll them off, like fingerprinting. Don't move them at all till I tell you to, okay? These are kind of fragile, and we only get one chance. We might not NEED the right fingerprints, but I believe in belt AND suspenders."

"Liar. You have no problem at all with pants falling down." Ethan smirked, and sprayed Mulder's hands. He hadn't been lying: it was cold as hell.

The stuff felt rather thick: clingy. Ethan put down the can, took hold of Mulder's hands, and quickly and firmly pressed each fingertip onto a seperate disk. "Hold it."

"You said that already." Fox waited patiently, while Hunt watched the sweep hand on the clock.

"Alright. Pick them up gently, pulling up from back toward tip." Fox did so. "Show me your hands."

Ethan took Mulder's hand in his own, examining them. "Worked."

Fox stared at his fingers, perplexed, and flexed them. "Did that stuff absorb into my skin? I can't feel it."

"No, it's there."

"I can't see it, either."

"Trust me. To anyone who dusts an object you've touched from now till we remove that, you ARE Daniel Ballard. Now..." He shoved the can at Mulder and held out his own hands, palms up and fingers spread. "Do me."

Mulder shook the can and said, expression very serious, "You know, Hunt, there are a lot of ways to interpret those two words."

Ethan bit his lip, struggling against the grin that wanted to break out. "With the can, you horny bastard."

Mulder's eyebrows rose. "I'd think that would hurt."

Ethan gave up the fight and laughed.

As he sprayed the stuff on Ethan's hands, Fox murmured, "It's because they don't trust me, isn't it?"

Ethan hesitated, but he couldn't let the substance dry before he applied his fingers to the templates. He carefully fitted them in place, then said slowly, "You're an unknown quantity to them, Mulder. A lot is riding on this, and they want to be sure." Fox grunted. Ethan gave him a level stare. "I trust you. I'm the one who's going in there, with you watching my butt."

"And I know you'll be watching my butt, so we have sort of a mutual ass-watching society." His tone was flip, but Ethan could see in his eyes that he was still troubled.

"I don't like this either. I'm feeling schizophrenic enough as it is, just knowing there's someone out there who resembles me so closely. And now, practically living as him..." Fox ran down, not really sure how to express what he was feeling. For the last few days, they had been living as Ballard and Galbraith. They presented themselves as Danny and Connor whenever they left the apartment.

In the apartment, they continued the charade. If Fox slipped and called Ethan by his real name, he was ignored till he corrected himself. It didn't happen often, and hadn't happened at all for a while.

But it was getting to Mulder. Especially when Ethan called him 'Danny' while they were making love. He somehow felt like he was cheating another man out of an orgasm.

Ethan saw that Mulder wasn't just whining; he was truly upset about this. That bothered Hunt. He genuinely cared about Mulder now, and he was on the point of bringing him into a volatile situation where his life would, without a doubt, be at risk. He would be using his lover, no matter how nicely the idea was packaged in patriotism and duty. Ethan hated that like poison, but he didn't see any way around it.

All he could do was try to reassure Mulder that he wasn't subsumed into the role he was being asked to play. He had to let him know that he was valued as himself, and he thought he knew a way that might help, at least a little. Even if it didn't, they would both enjoy the hell out of it.

He carefully pried his fingers up from the templates and checked the surface of the pads for tearing or distortion. Perfect. He flexed his fingers, and gave Mulder a lecherous smile, "Hey, Mulder, how about we put Galbraith's and Ballard's fingerprints all over each other?"

Mulder answered the smile, but his effort was a little faint. "How many times have I turned you down, Hunt? What did you have in mind?"

"Well, like the Monty Python boys say, 'and now for something completely different'." He was pulling Mulder into the bedroom.

"You're scaring me," he said dryly. "I'll ask again: What do you have in mind?"

Hunt was unbuttoning Mulder's shirt. "Something that Connor and Daniel have probably never done."

"Oh, man, you're really scaring me now." Ethan was pulling Mulder's shirt tail out of his pants. Mulder was pretty sure by now that if it didn't involve the dead, bodily wastes, or farm animals, he would do whatever Ethan wanted. "I want to know what you're thinking of before this goes any farther."

"I'm thinking," Ethan kissed him deeply, working his tongue hungrily in Mulder's mouth for a moment. "That I want you to top me this time."

Mulder's mouth dropped open in astonishment. Never one to miss an opportunity, Ethan kissed him again. Mulder's eyes were a little wary. Testing, he said, "Is that what you really want, Con?"

Ethan jerked off his own T-shirt, exposing nipples that were already hard. "Fuck what Connor wants. This is what _I_ want! And don't you dare be Danny when we do this, Mulder. It's YOU I want in my ass, not him."

As Ethan had hoped, desire flared in Mulder's eyes, the gold of the hazel seeming to darken as his pupils dilated. Mulder pushed him back on the bed, falling on top of him. Ethan quickly spread his legs, then hooked his ankles up being Mulder's back "Yeah, like this. I want to look you in the face when you come inside me." He arched his pelvis up, grinding an already respectable erection agains Fox.

"Oh, damn!" Mulder gasped. "Christ, Hunt, you keep doin' that and I won't MAKE it inside you before I come."

"What do I care? I'll just suck you till you get it up again."

The raunchy talk had the desired effect. Fox ripped at his and Ethan's clothes almost frantically, swearing when he had difficulty with the fastenings. Ethan kept talking. "That's right, Mulder. Fast and hot. I won't need much to get ready, and I want you to RIDE me, you hear? I'm not a virgin, you don't have to worry about breaking me."

Fox was reaching behind himself to jerk off Hunt's shoes. Ethan twisted and managed to reach the night stand, driving the bulge of his fly up against Mulder's and making him moan. Ethan clawed out a condom and the tube of lubricant, dropping them on the mattress.

"Ethan, unhook your fucking legs so I can get your pant's off you!" Hunt laughed and pulled his knees up, letting Fox skin off his pants and underwear. Mulder almost fell off the bed removing his own pants, earning another snicker. "Oh, you're gonna PAY for that, Hunt!"

"I can only hope." Ethan grabbed Mulder's hand and coated his fingers with gel, then bent, and spread, his legs again, grabbing his knees. "Do me."

Mulder was as hard as a rock already. His hand shook a little as he smoothed the excess lubricant down Ethan's crease, then returned to circle around his ass hole. Ethan bit his lip as Fox massaged the little pucker, then slowly pushed one finger in. Fox didn't hesitate, pushing in a second finger almost immediately and scissoring them. He was taking Hunt at his word, and Ethan was loving it.

Mulder pumped his hand, asking, "Want me to try to get your prostate?"

"Shit, I love ya, but that's a fucking dumb question, Mulder."

"Yeah?" Mulder pushed hard, crooking his fingers and rubbing across the little bump. Ethan spasmed, yelping with pleasure. "How dumb is that?"

"That's fucking genius! Do it again!"

"Greedy."

"Fuck, yeah. I forgot how damn GOOD this was." Mulder stroked again, and again, massaging the gland till Ethan was jerking helplessly, whimpering. Unable to wait any longer, Mulder took his hand away to put on the condom. "Christ, Mulder!" Ethan wailed. "Hurry up!"

Mulder slipped on the rubber, moved up to Ethan, and slammed into him with one hard, long stroke. Ethan threw back his head, screaming in pleasure, and Fox almost came right then, but he managed to reach down and grab the base of his cock, pinching off any chance the sperm had to exit.

He just stayed there, sweating and holding himself while Ethan bucked against him. It was amazing. If he wanted to, all he'd have to do was just stay there, Ethan would fuck himself on Mulder's embedded prick.

But Mulder wasn't about to do that, not now that he was the active partner. He finally grabbed Hunt's waist, pushing him back against the mattress. "Hunt, be still for a minute!"

Ethan bared his teeth, and hissed, "Then fuck me, damn it!"

Mulder had no problem with that. He began to drive into Hunt in a hard, fast rhythm. He wasn't trying to be gentle, though he hoped he might do this with a little tenderness some time in the future. Right now, this was what they both wanted: raw, primative sex.

Groaning in time to his lover's thrusts, Ethan reached down and stroked his own dripping cock with one hand. With the other he reached behind Mulder, feeling for his crack. "Get your hand away from my ass unless you're just gonna hang on, Hunt," Mulder warned. "Not this time. This time I top all the way."

"Yes sire!" Ethan gasped, instead adding the second hand to the very pleasant task of jerking off while Mulder rammed into him.

Mulder came first, eyes squeezed shut as he unloaded into the condom, wishing he had met Ethan Hunt before the whole AIDs thing, when any thing you might pick up could be treated, and unprotected sex wasn't necessarily Russian roulette with more filled chambers than empty ones.

He pushed Ethan's hands away, and finished masturbating him, stroking him to completion and enjoying the added squeeze around his softening cock when Hunt's internal muscles milked him.

Finally they lay beside each other again, both sweaty and breathless. Ethan moaned, rubbing his face on Mulder's shoulder. "My ass aches, but in a good way."

"Yeah, well, you asked for it, slut."

Hunt bit one of Mulder's still erect nipples. "You're so damn butch."

Fox didn't think he had enough strength or energy left to laugh, but somehow he managed

Chapter Twenty-two: Mission Begins

"You're sulking again, Danny."

"No, I'm not."

"Oh, I grant ya that someone who doesn't know ya might not be able to tell, since ya look sulky even when you're in the best of moods. But you can't shite me, Danny boy. I know you, inside and out. What is it?"

Daniel closed his suitcase and moved it to the floor. "Well, Connor, what is it usuallythese days?"

"We've been over this a hundred times, Danny."

"And we'll be over it a hundred more. You know how I feel."

"And ya knew what I was when ya left Yarborough. I may not have told you straight out till after we got to Dublin, but ya knew."

"Yes, I knew. And it didn't matter. But Connor, drugs."

Danny sighed and sat on the edge of the bed in their hotel room, rubbing his face. Connor sat beside him, touching his shoulder. "Sweetheart, I don't put a gun to anyone's head and force them to take the shite, do I? I'm just a business man. I don't even make it, I just move it."

"Con, it's illegal. I wouldn't really mind it all that much if it wasn't for the whopping great prison term you could rack up if they catch you. And they don't have conjugal visits for same sex couples, to the best of my knowledge."

"Conservative repressed priggish bastards."

Daniel smiled faintly. "Yes, that does cover most politicians. But it doesn't change facts. And it's dangerous, Con. People die, all the time. And other people get left alone." His voice was small.

Connor hugged him. One way he was like Ethan, he knew that physical contact was a good way to soothe his lover when he was upset. "Put that out of your head, Danny boy. It won't happen."

"You can't promise me that, Connor," he said bleakly. "This man we're going to see, Montana? He's killed people."

Connor chided him. "Danny, have you been listenin' to gossip again? You know it upsets you. I wish you wouldn't..."

"Sometimes gossip ISN'T an exaggeration, Con. It can't all be just rumors. People disappear around him, all the time. And you're going to be just... just walking into the JAWS of that animal with your head up and your eyes open."

"Nothin' will happen, darlin', because he's a business man, too, and he needs what I can give him."

Danny turned toward him, gripping Connor's collar pleadingly. "Please, Con. Let's not go. You don't have to do this, you're doing fine with your legitimate concerns. In just a few months, we could have you totally legal; I've shown you how it could be done. You could be completely clean."

"And have our income reduced by more than half, Danny."

Danny pushed him violently, standing up. "Fuck the income! Connor Galbraith, after all this time, do you think that's why I stay with you? I could be with someone who'd give me twice as much as you do, if I wanted. I could go back to peddling my ass and pull down a half million in cash and perks a year. That sheik we met at the party last month offered me a Rolls Royce, a fifteen room mansion in his country, a court position, and a fucking title if I'd leave you."

Connor's green eyes narrowed dangerously. "He did, did he? He's damn lucky he's gone back to that sand trap he calls home."

"CON!" Daniel stamped his foot. "The point I'm trying to make is that I don't CARE about the money and the things. I used to, back when I was young and stupid, but meeting you showed me what's really important. You and me, that's all that matters, and I am so afraid that you're going to get yourself killed." He was almost crying.

"Darlin'." Connor stood up, going to take Daniel in his arms. Daniel tried to twist away from him, but Connor was persistent, and gentle. He soon had the taller man in a firm embrace, stroking his back and kissing his face, cheeks, forehead, eyes.

Daniel gradually stopped his half-hearted struggling, letting his head drop onto his lover's shoulders. "Please, Con. Please stop."

"I thought you liked my kisses, Danny," he teased. Daniel slapped at him weakly, and he relented. "Soon, m'love. Soon. Just a few more years, maybe no more than two, and I can retire."

Daniel heaved a hopeless sigh. "You could retire now. But you won't. And I used to think I was stubborn. I don't hold a candle to you, you hard-headed Mick."

"Watch that luscious mouth, you Maryland cracker," Connor joked.

"I should leave you," Daniel said sadly.

Connor froze. His voice was tense, almost frightened. "Danny. Danny, don't say that. Please, boyo. You know what that does to me."

Not picking his face up from where it nestled against Connor's throat, Daniel raised a hand and tenderly stroked his cheek. "I don't mean it, love. You know that. I could never leave you, Connor. You're my life."

Connor wilted a little in relief. There had only been one or two times in their relationship that Danny had threatened to leave him. That time he tried to push Danny into a threesome with a girl had been the worst. God, was THAT ever a mistake!

He hadn't even really wanted the bitch. He'd just been curious as to what it would be like. Danny had been furious at the suggestion. Connor hadn't had enough sense to realize how serious he was, and had gone out for a drink with the twist anyway, to punish his lover.

He'd returned to find a taxi at his door and a white face Daniel with one suitcase packed, stuffing clothes into a second. Connor had chased off the cabbie with threats and curses. When Daniel tried to walk out anyway, he'd literally gone down on his knees and begged, without shame, to be given another chance.

He almost lost him. But when Daniel saw the tears on his face, he'd melted. They'd ended up sitting on the floor, holding each other, and talking all night. "I know it doesn't make sense, Con," Daniel had whispered, wrapped tight in his arms. "But somehow it's different. I can handle seeing you with another man, as long as I'm involved, too. But with a woman... I have nothing against them, though they're not to my taste, but it just feels like a betrayal. A rejection of everything I am. You KNEW how I felt, and you went anyway..."

Connor had stopped his words with a kiss. "Never again, Danny. Christ, love, you've taught me well. I can take anything but losing you."

He want to go, seeing how it upset Danny, but the meeting was already set up. Montana would not be pleased if Connor tried to blow him off at this late date. He explained this to Daniel. "So ya see, love, we HAVE to go this time. I'll try to make it the last, I swear. Once the deal is in place and runnin' smooth, I'll be able to sell the operation for a mint. Then I'll spend the rest of me life just worshipin' that delectable body of yours."

"You do that, anyway." Daniel said archly, but he smiled. He kissed Connor on the corner of the mouth. "We're fools for each other, you know that, don't you?"

"Aye, love. 'Tis a bright, mad thing, this love of ours, and I thank God for the madness."

"Oh," Daniel pushed him away playfully. "You were mad a long time before I met you." He picked up a tiny pair of red trunks and a robe from the bed. "Well, I want a swim before I turn in. If I'm good and relaxed, I can sleep on the flight over."

"You do that. Then come back here and I'll relax ya proper."

Daniel laughed. "Nasty man." He kissed his lover again. "Love you, Con."

"Love you, Danny."

Daniel walked downstairs, avoiding the elevator. He needed to be just that much more diligent in exercise these days, now that he was approaching thirty. He didn't intend to get pudgy, like some of the fabulously good looking 'companions' he'd known. Connor wouldn't leave him if he put on a pound or two, he knew that. In fact, his lover often tried to tease him into eating a little more 'so I'll have a bit to cuddle when the nights get cold.' But Connor deserved the best, and Daniel was determined to give it to him. That was the real reason he was going for this swim.

An attendant was just getting ready to lock the door to the pool when Daniel arrived. "Wait, please!"

"Sorry, sir. Ten o'clock."

"Oh, come on! Just a half hour?" The man frowned. Daniel pulled a five pound note out of his pocket and wiggled it enticing. "Twenty minutes?"

The note disappeared into the man's shirt. "G'wan, then. You can have the half hour, but no more."

"Thank you!" Danny hurried into the deserted locker room and quickly started stripping. He'd have to hurry if he wanted to get any benefit at all out of the exercise.

He was just laying his pants across the bench when the door opened, and Connor came in. He could feel the happiness bubbling up inside. He hadn't expected Connor to join him. Maybe he was remembering the few times they'd made love in a pool, and wanted to experience it again. "Con, I thought you were going to wait for me."

Connor came to him, cocking his head, with that roguish look Daniel loved so much. "Couldn't wait, darlin'. Ya know how I hate to be away from ya."

"Well, I hope you're not going to be this impatient ALL night," he teased.

"Oh, no, love. You know me." Connor caressed his cheek, and Daniel leaned into the familiar touch, eyes half shutting. "I can be just as patient as ya want, as long as ya want."

Smiling, Daniel took Connor's face in his hands, and kissed him deeply. But as his tongue sought out the sweet depths he knew so well, a cool prickle washed over him. Something wasn't right. He... tasted wrong.

Daniel pulled back, looking at him sharply. Same green eyes, same crooked smile, same impossibly handsome, dear face, but still...

"What's wrong, darlin'?"

There was something missing. There was no love in the depths of those green eyes. "You... you're not..."

"Sorry, Danny." The beautiful Irish lilt was gone, and the eyes were hard. Danny knew Connor was capable of such a look, but it had never been directed at him. At the moment he realized that the man he had just kissed was not his lover, he felt a sting on his buttock. He stumbled back, rubbing at it, staring at the man in astonishment.

"I'm sorry about this, Danny." Ethan recapped the tiny syringe and returned it to his pocket. "Don't worry, you won't be harmed. You're just going on a little retreat for a week or two, and Connor will be there to keep you company."

"No..." Daniel whispered. "Not Con! You leave him alone!" He suddenly felt dizzy. He would have fallen, but the stranger wearing Con's face caught him and eased him down onto the bench. Daniel clutched at his arm with all his waning strength. "Please, I'll do anything you say. I don't know what you want, but don't hurt Con!"

"Relax, Danny."

The other man slumped on the bench, eyes beginning to flutter closed. He looked so much like Fox that it tore at Ethan's heart to see him so helpless and vulnerable. He reminded himself that this was the paid whore of a drug dealer, but somehow the familiar epithet didn't ring true. Not after he'd witnessed how Daniel thought first of his lover, even when it seemed that his own life was in danger.

Ethan couldn't resist stroking the fine brown hair back from his forehead. Then he shook his head, and called. "Come!"

Fox and the attendant entered immediately. Mulder came to stare down at the man on the bench. "It's uncanny. I feel like I'm having an out-of-body experience."

"We can't waste time. Get into his clothes."

While Fox started to strip, the 'hotel worker' rolled a large laundry cart close to the bench. Together he and Ethan lifted Daniel's unconscious body into the cart, and arranged linens over him. Ethan made particularly sure that he had breathing space.

"Is he going to be all right?"

Ethan looked at his lover. Fox had been listening to the exchange outside the door, and he knew how Daniel had reacted. "He should be. We were very careful about checking his records for possible bad reactions, and his weight for the right dosage. He should just sleep deeply, and wake up in about eight hours. He might have a little headache, but that should be all."

"I just don't want him hurt."

"Neither do we, Mulder." Mulder was finishing buttoning up Daniel's shirt. Now he toed off his own loafers and slipped into Daniel's lace-ups, tying them. When he stood up, he shivered violently. "What is it?" Ethan asked, concerned.

Fox's hazel eyes were a little haunted when he turned them on Ethan. "I just realized. If I died right now, they'd identify me as Daniel Ballard. Same looks, same scars, same fingerprints, all his papers. I... I'm not myself anymore."

Ethan grabbed him and kissed him, hard. "You're Fox Mulder, a damn good FBI agent, going undercover. Don't forget that, Mulder. Don't lose yourself so far in the role that you can't come back to me when it's over. Now go on." He pushed Fox toward the door.

Fox stood for a moment, head down, thinking. He said 'come back to me when it's over.' Oh, God. What if he means it? Fox lifted his head. When he left the locker room, he was moving with the languid grace that characterized almost everything Daniel Ballard did

Chapter Twenty-three: In Place

Outside Daniel's hotel room, Fox paused and checked his pocket. The tiny disposable syringe of drugs was there. A hotel key wasn't. Fuck! He came out without his key? Fox had been hoping to slip in quietly, and possibly give Connor the jab before he was fully aware that he was there. No chance of that now.

He was about to knock on the door when Ethan sprinted around the corner, waving at him frantically. Wordlessly, he pushed Daniel's robe and trunks into Fox's arms. Fox winced, looking at Ethan in anxious apology. Ethan shook his head, indicating that HE had almost forgotten them, too. He gave Mulder's shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and dashed back around the corner. Fox knew that the 'attendant' would be there, near the service elevator, with the cart containing a peacefully sleeping Daniel Ballard.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. There was a shuffling inside, and an Irish accented voice called out, "Who is it, at this bloody time of night?"

Fox modulated his voice, drawling softly, "It's just me, Con. Open up."

"Danny?" Fox heard the lock disengage, and the door opened. Ethan's twin stood there, smiling at him quizzically.

It took Mulder's breath away. My God, they're so alike.

Connar stood aside. "Well, don't stand out in the hall like a bleedin' rent boy waitin' for his johnny, love. Come in." Mulder went into the room. Down the hall, Ethan Hunt clenched his hands into fists as he heard the door close.

Fox moved casually, tossing the garments he carried on the bed. "I forgot my key."

"You'd forget your head if God hadn't screwed it on tight, love." Connor said good naturedly. He came over and reached down, fingering the dry trunks. "Didn't have your swim, then?"

"They were already closed."

"What a shame. Now I'll have to work ever so hard to get you relaxed, won't I?"

Fox was startled when Connor Galbraith grabbed his wrists and threw himself against him, knocking him back onto the bed. He moved Fox's wrists up over his head, pinning them there, lying on top of him.

Fox felt a very firm erection pressing against his thigh as Connor Galbraith's mouth descended on his. Connor shifted, bringing his crotch against Mulder's, and began to hump against him in a lazy grind. Fox started to get hard, despite his stress.

Connor felt the tension in Mulder's body, but attributed it to Daniel's earlier upset. "Oh, love, don't be like that," he crooned. He released Mulder's wrists, stroking down his arms. "I'm sorry about this trip, truly I am. We won't stay any longer than we must, and I'll take you somewhere nice after." His hands were between them, unfastening Mulder's... Daniel's belt. "What about Italy, eh? Haven't been there for awhile. You can shop yourself silly in Milan, and stuff youself on those Italian ices you like so much."

Fox knew he had to respond. Daniel would. If he remained silent, Connor might not suspect a substitution, not right off. But he'd know something was wrong, and that would make him examine 'Daniel' more closely.

Fox half closed his eyes, making his voice husky. "Would you eat some of them off me?" Connor laughed. Oh, God, he sounds like Ethan.

"You know I would, boyo." He had Fox's pants open now, and his hand moved into the gap, finding the slit in his boxers. He fondly stroked the hardening flesh he found there. Fox bit his lip. "Oh, you want to make some noise, don't you, Danny?" He squeezed gently, and Mulder moaned. "That's right, my lover. It's so sweet when you sing for me, Danny. You drive me crazy when you do that."

His hand moved steadily, stroking Mulder's awakening cock. It felt fantastic, but Fox knew he had to get to the syringe. It was in his pocket, and that meant that he had to get Connor away from that vicinity, and distracted.

Fox took Connor's face between his hands and kissed him. The Irishman's lips parted invitingly, and Fox didn't hesitate to go exploring. I don't know what Danny meant. Connor tastes pretty much the same as Ethan to me. But then, Danny's known Connor longer than I have Ethan.

He pulled back, flicking his tongue once more over Connor's lips, and murmured, "I want to suck you tonight." Connor drew in a ragged breath. Fox lowered his lashes, then looked up at the man who loomed over him through them. "Please, Daddy."

Connor groaned, and moved off him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Again he pumped Mulder's erection, then let his hand slide caressingly down the other man's inner thigh. "Yes, Danny boy. Daddy would like that very much."

Role playing within role playing. Fox sat up, winding his arms around Connor's neck for another kiss. He let his right hand drop into Connor's lap, fondling the bulge of his hard-on. "Oooh, Daddy," he breathed. "Is that all for me?"

"Yes, Danny."

"Is it because I've been good?" He licked Connor's throat.

"Such a good boy." Connor pushed gently on his head, urging him down.

Fox slithered down and around, dragging his hands over Connor's taut body as he went to his knees in front of the Irishman. He kneaded Connor's fly for a moment, then slowly pulled the zipper down and unfastend the button and belt. He reached inside and pulled out Connor's stiff cock. Maybe not exactly the same. I think Ethan is a little thicker, and he doesn't flush quite that deep.

Fox tipped his head, and leaned forward. Connor gasped as Mulder's soft hair caressed his turgid prick. Then Fox/Daniel lifted his head, letting the hot length slide along his cheek while he pushed the trousers farther down Connor's hips.

"Please, Danny," Connor moaned. "I need you, boyo."

Mulder lapped delicately at the clear drop of pre-come that quivered on the very tip of Connor's penis. At the same time, his hand slipped into his pocket, and he found the little syringe. With his left hand, he held Connor's shaft, as he ran his tongue carefully along the ridge that ran up it's underside. He flicked the cap off the needle with one finger, holding it cautiously so that he was not stuck.

Connor was whispering hoarsly. "Take me, lover. Oh, God, Danny. I love you so."

Feeling a twinge of guilt at the raw tenderness in the other man's voice, Mulder fitted his lips around the swollen, slick cock head. As he began to swallow Connor's prick, he brought his hand up, as if to grip his hips for more leverage. At the very moment he pricked Connor, pushing the plunger, he sucked very hard, and flicked his tongue.

Connor jerked, and gasped with laughter. "Jesus! Danny, boy, ya have a hang nail, I think." He grabbed Fox's wrist playfully, before Fox could pull it away. "What? What the hell is this?"

His voice was puzzled as he plucked the disposable syringe from Mulder's hand. Mulder sat back, letting Connor's dick slide free as Connor looked at the little device.

His face darkened in confusion as he looked from the needle to Mulder. "Drugs? Danny, I don't believe it. Not you. You wouldn't..."

"I'm sorry, Galbraith," he said hoarsly.

Connor's eyes went wide, sudden understanding flooding him. Before Fox could move, Galbraith lashed out. A fist caught Fox only a glancing blow as he tried to pull back, but it knocked him sprawling. Before he could get up, Connor was on him, kneeling on his arms. He grabbed a handful of Mulder's hair and screamed, "Where is he? Where's my Danny?"

The door burst open, and Ethan rushed in. Connor's head whipped around, and when he saw what looked like his doppleganger, his arm dropped in astonishment. But only for an instant. Then he dived for the bed, his hand reaching under the pillow.

Both agents knew what was happening. Ethan landed on him first, grabbing his arm just as he pulled the nasty looking automatic out from under the pillow. They struggled in grim silence for the weapon. Fox, careful to stay out of the possible line of fire, grabbed at Connor's arm, too, adding his strength to Ethan's. They knew that all they had to do was hold him for a few more moments.

The drugs moved swiftly through Connor's body. He felt them, and started cursing. His tone moved from venemous to desperate. "What are ya doin'? What do ya want? I've got cash and credit cards in me wallet, they're yours."

The others were silent. Connor gasped. "Oh, God. It's Montana, somethin' to do with that shite. What have ya done with Danny?"

Ethan glanced at Fox. "He's safe. We didn't hurt him. We won't hurt either of you."

"He's innocent, you bastards! All he does is love me. Let him go. I'll do whatever the fuck you want, but let my Danny go." Connor's voice was getting fainter, his struggles weaker. "Please..." Finally he went limp, eyes closing.

The laundry cart was rolled into the room. Connor was carefully depostied next to his lover, and both of them were covered. The the cart was rolled away.

Ethan shut the door, and looked at Fox. "From now on, you put them out of your mind. They'll be all right."

Fox sat on the bed, rubbing his face. "All they were worried about was each other. They must've thought they were going to die, and all they cared about was would their lover be safe." Ethan sat on the bed beside Mulder, putting an arm around his shoulders. Mulder leaned his head on Ethan, muttering, "I hate this part of it."

"I know. But it had to be done. And you did well." Mulder shivered as Ethan caressed his still half hard cock. "You did what you had to do. A lot of people come into this line of work thinking it's going to be like in the movies, or on television. When it gets to the nitty gritty, they think there's going to be a fade out, and they'll slip past having to really give anything up. You realized that wasn't how this works, Mulder. You got the job done. They can't have any doubts about you now."

"You didn't doubt me."

"No, I didn't." Ethan kissed him. "I know how good you are." His hand moved slowly. "In every way."

Fox swallowed. It was time to move fully into the character he would be living for the next week or so. If he didn't... if he couldn't... It might mean his life, or Ethan's. He turned to Ethan, putting his arms around the younger man, kissing him hard. When he pulled back, he said quietly, "Am I your boy?"

Ethan leaned his forehead against Mulder's. He knew this was hard for him, and he appreciated it. He silently vowed that he would make it up to him when this was all over. But now... "You're my good boy, Danny."

He pushed Mulder back on the bed gently. "Tonight, let Daddy take care of you." Mulder sighed as Ethan lowered his head to his crotch and took his dick into his mouth.

It lasted a long time, Ethan made sure of that. He brought Mulder to the edge of climax again and again. Each time he would pause, holding the throbbing erection tightly around the base, preventing the flow of sperm that would have brought relief. He intended to have Mulder thoroughly exhausted by the time he was done, so that the other man would sleep.

Near the end, when Mulder was whimpering for release, Ethan finally opened his own pants and reached inside to fondle his own rock hard erection. He returned to his task, now giving unrestrained fellatio while he pumped himself. In moments Mulder was thrusting deep into his throat, gasping with each lunge. There was a desperation about him that Ethan hadn't experienced before, and he thought he knew what had caused it.

If they hadn't taken Connor and Danny, the other two men would probably have been making love at this moment. Fox felt as if they were stealing a little of the other men's lives, and he wasn't sure how to deal with it.

Ethan released Mulder from his oral embrace, climbing up his body to lie over him. Reaching between them, he took both rigid cocks in his hands, holding them tightly together, and thrust. Fox cried out, grabbing at his shoulders, hips pushing up to meet him. When Ethan felt the hot stream of Mulder's spunk flow down over his hands, it brought him to his own climax. Their seed mingled, coating his fingers with warmth.

When they were done, Ethan got a cloth from the bathroom and cleaned them both, then helped Fox strip, and removed the rest of his clothes. They crawled into bed and held each other.

Mulder drifted off to sleep quickly, but Ethan remained awake for a time, stroking his lover's hair, staring at the ceiling. God almight, Fox. I think I've done something really stupid. I think I may have fallen in love with you, and now I'm going to run you in front of a thug who's probably a madman as well. Why the hell did I ever get into this profession? He thought a while longer, then sighed. Oh, well. He gently kissed the sleeping man, feeling rather than hearing his unconscious, questioning murmur. If I hadn't, then I wouldn't have met you, would I, Mulder?

Chapter Twenty-four: Captivity

Danny woke up groggy. God, did we go to a club last night? I haven't gotten drunk enough to warrant a hangover in ages. And I've never actually blacked out. Well, except that one time Andrew thought it would be cute to make me get drunk, and I almost ended up with alcohol poisoning. It was worth the beating to throw up in his lap.

He was feeling very uneasy about something. There was almost a sense of dread. Con. Something about Con. Daniel flailed out. He felt a wash of relief when his hand settled on the warm, bare skin of his lover. Eyes still closed, he moved over against Connor, throwing his arm across him and nuzzling his neck. The dear, familiar scent of his skin filled Danny's nostrils, and he almost drifted off to sleep.

But something was wrong last night. Something was wrong with Connor, wasn't it? What was it? Was he sick? He's so stubborn when he gets ill. Danny pressed even closer, absently licking Connor's throat in an affectionate caress... And his eyes popped open. He didn't taste right. It all flooded back. The near argument, going for his swim, bribing the attendant, Connor coming in. But it wasn't Connor. He had tasted wrong, and suddenly the Irish lilt was gone from his voice, and those green eyes held a kind of apology, but no love.

Daniel pulled back a little, fearfully studying the man lying beside him. He could have sketched those beloved features in his sleep, but that other man had been so like his love.

As he stared, Connor opened his eyes, and winced. "Oo, me head." He saw Daniel, and stiffened, glaring at him.

Oh, God, the look in those eyes! It was as if he wanted to murder him. Hurt, Daniel said softly, "Con!"

Connor's face went slack for a moment, eyes doubtful. Then joy and relief flooded his face. He pulled Daniel into a fierce embrace, pressing his head down to his chest. "Danny boy! Oh, God, sweetheart! I thought I'd lost ya."

Daniel wilted against him. "I'm here, Con. I'm all right. But what about you? He didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"That bastard tarted up to look like you? No, lad. A wee stick in me butt is all, and I suppose I can thank them for this headache."

Daniel pulled back a little to look Connor in the face. "Like me?"

Connor looked contrite. "I know, sweet. I should have known sooner, but... I was a bit distracted. He did look a lot like you, after all. He had the needle in me before I realized, and then I knew it couldn't be you."

"But Connor, the one I saw looked just like you."

"The fuck you say!" Connor sat up, round eyed with astonishment. "I'll be damned. I remember now. I had that devil with your face down on the ground, ready to pound him ugly, and someone who DID look like me came in."

Daniel was trembling. "Connor, what's going on?" He looked around. "This isn't our room." It wasn't bad, but it was by no means the luxury hotel room they had checked into.

"Fuck me if I know, Danny. I thought it was something to do with Montana, but why would he kidnap us when we were on our way to meet him?"

Connor got out of bed, moving gingerly. Once he got upright, the dizziness faded, and he was steady enough on his feet. "Mm. Well, I see they don't intend for us to go far." Both men were in their underwear, and there was no sign of any other clothing in the room.

There were two doors. One led to a tiny bathroom, complete with sink, toilet, and shower. Connor tried the other. "Locked. No great surprise there, eh?" He ran his hand around the frame. "Hinges on the other side. Dammit. That means we can't hope to take it down, and we can't hide behind it since it will open out. Fuck!"

Daniel sat, watching Connor prowl the room. He noticed that it wasn't actually a bed they'd woke up on, it was a futon. The only other furniture was a box cabinet with a television set sitting on it, facing the bed. The set was chained to the wall. At last, Connor dropped back down beside him. "Fuck. There isn't even anything I might be able to break up to use for weapons. Somebody has put some thought into this, Danny boy."

"I'm scared, Con." He was looking down at his hands, and his voice was a little shaky.

"Oh, love." Connor wrapped his arms around the taller man, holding him tightly as he began to shiver. "It's going to be all right. I won't let anything happen to you, you know that."

"I know you'll try. But Con, this... this is something pretty big, I think. The really big guys have left you alone so far. I'm afraid they may have decided to notice us."

"I've been in tough spots before, love. I got out then, I'll get out now." Only all I had to worry about then was meself. You're my hostage to fortune, Danny.

"Con," Danny had his head on his lover's shoulder. "I need to ask your permission to do something."

"What, darlin'?"

"I need you to tell me it's all right for me to do whatever it takes to try to persuade them to let us go."

Connor Galbraith closed his eyes in anguish. His lover was asking his permission to once again whore himself in an attempt to save both their lives. "No, Danny. I took you away from that sort of thing. You won't do it again."

"But it MIGHT work, Con. I'm good, you know that."

He kissed Daniel's hair. "No one knows that like I do, Danny. But they won't touch you, do you hear me? I only give you permission if it's to save yourself, to keep them from hurting you. I do not give you permission to do it on my account."

Daniel was quiet, then said, in a low voice, "I'll do it anyway."

Connor grabbed his chin and forced Daniel to look into his face. His eyes blazed, and his voice was hard. "I forbid it, Danny! D'ya hear me? I'm not worth it, love. I'm not worth that kind of sacrifice."

"But I love you, Con."

"Then you'll do as I say. How can I explain this to you, Danny? Nothing you could do would ever make me love you less, that's not why I'm sayin' no. But I couldn't live with the thought that you'd been through something like that to save my worthless hide. So you'll say no more of it. Besides..." He snorted. "They're probably straight. If they'll go so far as to drug us and kidnap us, I hardly think they would have resisted raping one or both of us while we were out of it. And my ass isn't sore. How about you, love?" He pinched Daniel's buttock, and, for a miracle, got a weak laugh.

"No. I seem to be as pristine as when I went down to the pool."

"Then I'll let them live."

"My hero." Daniel kissed Connor, his mouth soft against the Irishman's lips. And, despite their situation, despite the uncertain future and the almost certain danger, Connor started to get hard.

He wasn't prepared when the door opened, but he reacted quickly. He was on his feet in a split second, pushing Daniel behind him. He didn't attack: he knew better than to do anything violent when he was in such a vulnerable position without being absolutely certain of the situation.

Two men came in. One was the attendant from the hotel pool. The other was a dapper, older man, with an intelligent, cultured face. He nodded at them and said, in a British accented voice, "Please, Mr. Galbraith, have a seat."

Connor scowled. "Might have known the bleedin' Brits would be in on it." He sat beside Danny again, defiantly pulling the other man into a one armed embrace.

The Englishman didn't even raise an eyebrow. "Thank you for your co-operation. I hope it will continue. I expect you're feeling very confused."

"That's quite an understatement," Daniel said archly. His expression was calm, but Connor could feel the faint tremor in his body.

"Yes, I suppose so. I want to assure you that neither of you are in any danger. You will be treated as gently as you will allow us, and with as much dignity as we can manage. I apologize about the state of undress, but it did seem more sensible, till you adjusted to your situation."

"Adjusted? Exactly how bleedin' long do ya intend to keep us in this box?" Connor demanded.

"That I cannot say. It depends on many things. There are certain things that must be accomplished, and there is no fixed timetable. You will be held here, as comfortably as possible, until our operatives return safely."

Daniel said, "You say safely. That means there's danger involved. Judging from what y'all have gone through already, I'd say a good bit of it. What happens to us if they don't return, safely or otherwise?"

"We do not like to think about that possibility, Mr. Ballard. But in that case, you still will not be harmed. I'm not sure if I can guarantee you a quick release, though. It's not entirely up to me. There are many people involved in this enterprise, and the welfare of all must be considered."

"What's this all about, anyway?" Connor demanded. "What's it got to do with us? Specifically, what's it got to do with Danny? Why the hell are you messing about with him?"

"Mr. Ballard is a tad peripheral in some aspects, but vital in others. He is a part of your life, Mr. Galbraith. If you are held incommunicado, HE cannot be left at liberty."

"Oh, shit," groaned Connor. "I knew it. All my fault." Daniel squeezed him silently. "Who are you people? CIA? Interpol? FBI? Fucking KGB? Who?"

"None of those, though there are elements from all. There will be time to discuss this later, Mr. Galbraith. We have been observing you for some time now, and certain members of our organization have come to the conclusion that you and," he nodded graciously toward Daniel, "your friend, Mr. Ballard, have skills that would benefit us greatly. And in benefitting us, you would benefit a great many others, perhaps too numerous to count. But for right now, Mr. Galbraith, Mr. Ballard, you needn't worry." He smiled. "We're the good guys."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Charming. Connor, hon, we're in deep shit, because even the most liberal people in the world are hardly likely to believe WE'RE anything but bad guys."

"Not necessarily, Mr. Ballard. Not necessarily. You have to remember, necessity makes strange bedfellows."

"Well," Connor bit his lip thoughtfully. "Danny, we may have to listen to the man. After all," he ruffled his lover's hair playfully. "You and me, we've had our share of strange bedfellows, haven't we now?"

"If you're thinking about that contortionist in Vienna, I suppose so."

"I know you two have just wakened, but I'd advise you to sleep again, if you can. You have satellite television, and we can get you reading material for your amusement. When you wake up, we can get you some food. Any specific requests for food will be met as well as possible, though I will warn you that we are not a short order kitchen. Alcohol can be provided in >modest amounts, but no drugs."

"We don't DO drugs." Connor said indignantly.

"No, you only distribute them," There was no condemnation in the cool voice, but Connor felt his hackles rise. Why? It was perfectly true. He was a drug runner. "Is there anything you need right now?"

"Something for me head. It aches fierce. I expect it's the same for Danny." Daniel nodded. Connor looked his captor in the face. "And some personal lubricant."

"Con!" Danny hid his face against his lover's shoulder.

"Well, it's not like they don't know, love. Not from the way that one wearing your face acted." He glared at the other man. "You haven't got this box bugged or on candid camera, have ya?"

"No, we do not."

"Just as well. We wouldn't say shit you could use. And if ya wanted to watch us make love," He leaned over and nibbled Daniel's earlobe, drawing a longing whimper. "It wouldn't be the first time, would it, love?"

"Will you require condoms?"

Oh, he's a cool character. "No. Under the circumstances, I want to be as close to my lover as I can be."

"Very well. Headache remedy, and..." The ghost of a smile. "Personal lubricant." Without another word he turned, and left the room with his burly companion. Daniel and Connor heard several locks engage.

When they were gone, Daniel slapped Connor on the chest. "You are bad."

"But ya love me."

"Yes, I do. What does that say about me?"

"It says you're the kindest, most generous-hearted person I've ever been blessed with meetin', Danny boy. And I'll love you every chance I get. I'm startin' to think that they may not be bull shittin' us. They may not intend us bodily harm, just want to keep us out of circulation for awhile. In that case, I'm damn sure not goin' to give up loving you while we're locked up here." He nipped Daniel's shoulder. "It'll give us somethin' to pass the time, won't it?"

They sat close together while they waited for the man to return, murmuring to each other, saying things that lovers say. Daniel put his lips to Connor's ear and whispered to him, detailing all the things they loved to do together, making a list of amusements for the time of captivity. By the time their captor returned with the supplies, Connor was achingly hard, a damp patch showing on his boxers over the bulge of his erection.

The man who had attended the pool at the hotel silently offered four aspirin and a paper cup of water. Connor took them all. He popped two pills in Daniel's mouth, then held the cup for him to sip. Then Daniel repeated the action for Connor, giving him his medicine. Then, obviously fighting down a smile, the man offered Connor a tube of lubricant. "We got you the large size, so you won't need another right away."

Connor took it, straight-faced. "Thanks. We'll need it." He had his arm around Daniel again, and turned to lick his ear, causing him to shiver and almost laugh out loud. Shaking his head, and smiling now, the attendant left the room, locking the door again.

When he was gone, Daniel pulled off his jockey shorts, showing that he was half-hard himself. "Give it to me, Con. I'll get myself ready. I'll put on a nice show for you." Connor turned the tube over in his hands, looking at it. When he looked at Daniel again, Danny became still and quiet. For almost a minute they just looked at each other. At last he said tentatively, "Con? If you'd rather I sucked you..."

Connor reached out and caressed Daniel's cheek gently. "Danny boy, if I asked you nicely, would you fuck me?"

Daniel drew in a sharp, startled breath. "But Connor, you never..."

"Yeah, I never. I love you so much, Danny, and I've never had you inside me. I want that tonight, my lover." He kissed Daniel gently, nibbling at his full lower lip. "All these times over the years, Danny, you've given, and you've given, and I've loved it."

"I loved it, too."

"Then you won't deny me that, will you, boyo? You won't deny me the feel of the man I love filling me up." Connor reached out and gripped the thickness of Daniel's arousal, stroking slowly. "I know you haven't done it often, Danny, but you have done it. And it won't be the first time I've bottomed, though it's been so long that it might as well be. Please, love."

Daniel was swaying, losing himself already in his lover's knowing, familiar touch. Connor could make him do almost anything. And, though he was by nature a submissive, the idea of taking Connor was incredibly erotic. For such a forceful man to want to surrender... It was intoxicating. "Yes, Con. Oh, I'd like that."

Connor pressed the tube into Daniel's hand, then pulled off his boxers. "I wish we had a proper bed. I'd like to stand beside it and bend over, brace on the mattress. But I suppose the traditional position will have to do." He got back down on the futon and positioned himself on his hands and knees, spreading his legs wide.

Daniel just stood there for a moment, mesmerized by the beautiful sight. His knees were starting to feel weak, so it was easy enough to kneel behind Connor. He opened the tube, and squirted a large squiggle of gel onto his fingers. Spreading Connor's cheeks, he wiped it the length of the crack.

Connor jumped, "Jesus, Danny! Is it always that cold? Why haven't ya said somethin' to me, lad?"

"No, Connor, it isn't always that cold. You usually remember to warm it first. I'm a silly, overexcited ass." Daniel massaged, working warmth into Connor's flesh. "Is that better?"

"Heavenly." he sighed. "Come on, boy. I'm eager for your cock."

Said cock gave a twitch, hearing its name mentioned. Working slowly and carefully, mindful of Connor's long abstinence of this type of sex, Daniel worked first one, then two fingers into his tight channel. Connor grunted softly as Danny started to move them, gradually pulling them apart to stretch the tight, muscular ring. "Am I hurting?" Daniel said anxiously.

"Ah, no, Danny! Christ, that feels so good! I had forgotten how wonderful it could be. But I am sort of a virgin at this. I never had someone I love do it to me. Give me another one, angel."

Daniel bunched three fingers and worked them into Connor's rectum, ever mindful to keep his fingers angled so the nails wouldn't be a danger. He listened to the rumbling purr that seemed to throb through Connor, beginning to smile. Well, he knew how much HE enjoyed it when Connor did this for him. He wanted Connor to experience the same pleasure. "I think you're ready, Con."

"I'm past ready, Danny. Fuck me now, or I'll be done and limp as a rag when you come inside me, and I don't want that."

"Just a second. I want to give you a little more slickem' up." Connor felt the short nozzle of the tube nudge his loosened hole. "I've been holding this between my thighs. It should be warmed up." Indeed, the thick ointment that oozed into Connor's anus was body temperature. It made him even harder, thinking that it was from Danny's body heat.

Then the tube was gone, and he felt Daniel moving up closer behind him. Daniel's hands were on his hips, and then Daniel was sliding into him: hot and thick, stretching open a passage that had not been used in that manner for a number of years. It ached, despite the careful preparation, but Connor bit off a moan, not wanting Daniel to know. He'd worry, and he might stop, and Connor didn't WANT him to stop.

Finally Daniel was all the way inside him, and he paused, giving his lover a minute to adjust. He rubbed Connor's back in small circles. "All right?"

"Yes. So good, Danny."

"I'm glad. And you..." Connor yelped as his lover gave him a playful slap on the butt. "You are as tight as any virgin I'VE ever heard of."

"Good." Connor didn't have as much skill at this as Daniel did, but he was willing, and determined to please his lover. He concentrated, and bore down, trying to squeeze as Daniel did for him sometimes.

He must have succeeded, because Daniel made one of his lovely sounds, a little whine this time, and it made Connor smile to himself. "I can still make you sing, Danny. Even like this."

"God, you vain, vain man. I love you." Daniel started to fuck, moving in Connor with slow, gentle strokes. This is so different, but he feels so wonderful. What made you decide to give me this gift, Con? But he knew, really. They had both each thought that they had lost the other. It was a devastating thing. Connor was so joyful at his return that he wanted to do something that would bind them >even more closely. And Daniel... Daniel just wanted Connor, any way he could have him, any time.

Connor absorbed each thrust, relishing the feel of Danny filling him, pulling back, and filling him again. His hands worked in the sheets as Daniel's cock head glided over his prostate, again and again. He'd had Danny massage him internally with his fingers, that had been a regular part of their sex play, but it wasn't the same.

Connor sensed the tension in Danny, the tighter grip on his hips telling him that his lover was restraining himself, wanting to go harder. He glanced back over his shoulder, meeting a gaze that had gone dark with arousal, seeing that beautiful, flushed face from a different angle. "Give it to me, Danny! Don't hold back. I want all of you. You're a fine, strong man, my lover, and I want to feel you."

With a small cry, Daniel speeded up, throwing himself against Connor. Connor braced his legs and arms even wider, taking the jar of each now unrestrained thrust. Daniel took Connor at his word, pounding into his ass with all his speed and strength. It was an impressive performance, especially for a man who had spent most of his life as a 'passive' partner.

Connor's voice rose to mingle with Danny's as their coupling moved to its climax. Daniel lunged against him, driving himself to the very limit, and came, moaning Connor's name. Connor felt, for the first time, the hot pulse of Danny's sperm filling his body cavity. As he felt the first liquid gush, Danny snaked a hand under him and gripped his throbbing prick, bringing him to completion with a half dozen quick, expert strokes.

When they were done, as always after they made love, they held each other. Once again it was Daniel who snuggled in Connor's arms. He drifted off to sleep, and his face was peaceful. He had decided to trust Connor. If his lover said that he believed they would not be harmed, then they would not be harmed. As for Connor...

He held his love, feeling the warm trickle of Danny's sperm leaking from his still loosened, gently throbbing rectum. I'm going to have to remember how >good this can be. My sweet Danny. He hugged his lover, getting a sleepy, nonsensical murmur in return. Love, there's some who might think you not much a man for giving yourself up to me the way you do. But damn, haven't I just had proof of how wrong they are?

He thought, more briefly, of what it might be that the ones who were holding them wanted, in the long run. Well, Daniel had TOLD him it was time to get out of the business. Maybe retirement had just come early.

In the next room, Ethan and Fox's control decided that his two guests must have gone to sleep for the night. Cameras and bugs, Mr. Galbraith? Hardly necessary >with the ruckus you two raise when you're having a good time. And what was that I heard? I got the distinct impression from some of the things you were calling out that friend Daniel rode you tonight. That isn't what our information indicated about your relationship.

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I begin to believe that there's more to you two than we had thought."

Chapter Twenty-five: Arrival

The next morning, Mulder got up and showered, using Daniel's all-over body shampoo, shaved using Daniel's expensive shaving cream, and got into Daniel's clothes. He stood before the mirror, buttoning up the forest green silk shirt. His own wardrobe, the one Ethan had bought for him, was stowed in the suitcases, interspersed with Daniel's clothes.

When he was done, he just stared at himself in the mirror, and murmured, "Who the fuck are you?" If I drop dead of a heart attack right now, there are only about a half-dozen people in the world who will know that I am not Daniel Ballard. Two of them are Ballard and his lover.

Ethan, head to toe in cool black, came up behind him. He watched Mulder watching himself, then said, "What are ya thinkin', boyo?"

"I'm thinking that I'm an insurance scam waiting to happen. You sure a certain Irishman didn't take out a multi-million dollar policy on a certain Maryland ex-preppie, planning to fake something nasty and abscond?"

"Not the last I heard." He took Mulder's elbow. "C'mon, boyo. Time to check out."

Mulder sighed, and slipped on a pair of dark glasses. "Oh, all right, Con. I just wish we could have taken a later flight. You KNOW how jet lagged I get."

This is going to work. "I know, love. You'll have a nice nap on the plane before we land."

Downstairs, Ethan presented Connor Galbraith's credit card, and signed the receipt. The desk clerk mentioned what a pleasure it always was having them, and his eyes were bright and completely free of suspicion. He grinned appreciatively at the twenty the handsome Irishman slipped him, along with a wink. His tall companion, smacked the other guest lightly on the shoulder, and the clerk chuckled. That Mr. Ballard was nice enough, but he was a jealous one.

At the airport, they presented the tickets that had been on the hotel dresser, and were shown to first class. The stewardess was not quite smothering in her attentions, but spent more time than was necessary pointing out the various comfort features, explaining the champagne brunch that was available later on, and offering magazines, drinks, headphones... everything but her telephone number, and they might have had THAT if the other attendant hadn't bustled over and scolded her into getting to the other travelers.

The flight was uneventful. Both men took advantage of the champagne brunch. Mulder had flown often during his tenure with the FBI, but the coach accommodations he was used to were nothing like first class. Sipping the brut champagne, he reflected that it would be very easy to get used to this.

He took a nap later in the flight, so he was refreshed when they landed at Bogota in the afternoon. In the airport, he presented Daniel Ballard's passport, and it was stamped without a second glance. That's it. I've just committed fraud.

There were several men standing off to one side, holding cardboard placards with names written on them. One of them, a slender, handsome Latino in his very early twenties was holding one that said 'GALBRAITH'. He wasn't in much doubt as to who he was looking for, though. He was staring frankly at Fox and Ethan. Or rather, Connor and Daniel.

Connor was lifting their cases off the carousel, and Fox poked him gently. "Con, hon. I think someone wants us."

"I wouldn't be the least bit surprised, sweetheart. We're hot." Fox poked him again, then pointed. Connor turned his attention to the waiting man, and gave him an encouraging nod.

The man came forward, his manner deferential. "Senor Galbraith and Ballard?"

"That's us, laddie. But you're not Montana."

"Oh, no, senor! The padrone could not come himself, so he has sent me to greet you. I am Manuel."

"Of course you are," Mulder drawled. He turned to Ethan and said stiffly. "See? Doesn't even have enough courtesy to meet us himself."

"Danny, hush! Mr. Montana is a busy man. Things come up." Fox grunted pettishly. Damn. I do believe he has Daniel down

"Gentlemen, we have a suite reserved for you at our finest hotel." Manuel gestured for a porter, who began loading the cases on a cart. "It will be my pleasure to take you there, and Senor Montana will meet with you tomorrow. You will have time to rest and refresh yourselves."

Manuel's POV

The Irishman smiles at me. His smile is warm, but his green eyes are cold. "Oh, now, that's very thoughtful of ya, lad. But I think that Daniel and I will just have a bit of a taxi ride instead, if you'll give us the name of the hotel. Ya see, it's not that I don't trust ya," his eyes narrow. "but I don't know ya."

Good. I had told Olivero that anyone who had risen so quickly in our world would be unlikely to be trusting enough to just go with someone he did not know. In a way, this has been a small test, one of many that are to follow. Connor Galbraith has passed it handily. He has proved at least a decent level of caution.

I bow my head. "As you say, senor. A wise course of action. Would you mind, then, if I accompanied you? I can have an associate pick up the car later. Senor Montana would not like for me to abandon his guests." Galbraith looks at his companion questioningly.

Daniel Ballard has crossed his arms petulantly. Now he uses one fingertip to pull his sunglasses down his nose, and looks at me over the rims. He has the most extraordinary eyes I have seen in years. They look golden. No wonder Senor Galbraith is smitten with him. Even if he is spoiled. At last he says. "Oh, I suppose it's all right. He looks like a nice enough boy."

I drew myself up proudly. "Senor, I am a MAN." He smiles lazily. Perhaps he would have taken my remark more seriously if the top of my head was not even with his nose. I begin to see how Daniel Ballard draws others. It would be a great temptation to PROVE to him that you are a man, and not by beating him.

Daniel refuses to leave the terminal until a taxi is found and the luggage loaded. "Are you kidding, Con? In THAT heat? I'd melt into a little puddle on the sidewalk."

Senor Galbraith playfully pinches his hip. "Then I'd be there to lap ya up, Danny."

That is another bit of information confirmed. They are very playful with each other, these two. And they are not shy about expressing their affection in public, in words or acts.

Ballard snorts. "You vulgar man. Kiss me." They kiss, and I see the quick flicker of a tongue, though I cannot tell who is the aggressor.

We all three squeeze into the back seat of the taxi. I sit behind the driver, with Ballard beside me and Galbraith on his other side. Ballard sits back with a sigh as the taxi pulls away from the curb. "When will they invent something to keep all the cool air from leaking out when you open a car door? This is almost as bad as outside." He pulls a handkerchief from his pant's pocket, nudging me as he does so. "Oh, sorry, little man." Again the lazy smile. It makes me think about kissing him till he moans.

He takes Galbraith's chin in his hand and gently blots beads of sweat from his brow and jaw. Then he smiles at me. "You're awful sweaty, too. Would you like...?" He holds up the kerchief questioningly. I look at Galbraith, but he only raises an eyebrow. I nod.

His fingers are cool as he touches my chin. He pats my forehead, and my cheeks with the cloth. Then his hand moves down, and he slowly pats my throat. He is wearing his sunglasses, and I can't see his eyes. I want to, very much. His expression hasn't changed: there is still that small smile.

Galbraith says, "Danny, quit teasing the boy."

He sits back with a pout. "You're no fun."

Galbraith leans over him. "Forgive him, lad. He's a dreadful flirt. I'd have beaten him to death a long time ago if I thought he really meant it."

"Have I told you what an awful liar he is?" Ballard dries his own face, then his throat. I watch as he unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt and mops at the perspiration that glows on his chest. He is facing straight ahead, but somehow I know he is aware of my gaze.

"Danny." There is a hint of warning in Galbraith's voice.

Ballard grimaces, and re-buttons his shirt. "This shirt is going to be absolutely ruined, you know that, don't you? They're never the same after you sweat heavily in them."

"If that's a hint, yes, you can go shopping. Later." Ballard's smile becomes smug. Yes, he is spoiled. I can't help but wonder if he is worth it. I think he must be. Connor Galbraith is not so rich as my master, but he is well-to-do by the world's standards. He can afford to buy himself the best men and women to satisfy his every whim. He chooses to stay with this man, and treats him as an honored husband. That says much.

I know that my master cares for me... as much as he is capable of caring for any living being. But I do not delude myself by thinking that I am irreplaceable. If it suited his purposes, he would kill me. Perhaps he would mourn me for a few days, even as much as a few weeks. Then he would take someone else to his bed, and his life would go on. I know my worth in his eyes. I do all that I can to increase it.

My master is in the city, and nothing pressing keeps him away. It is simply that he does not wish to seem too eager. That would put him in the less powerful position, he feels. I do not doubt he is correct. Such men as my padrone and this Galbraith know that dealings in our world call for as much show and delicacy as any diplomatic relations between nations that could be allies... or foes.

Still, Montana does not want to be disrespectful, so he has sent an ambassador to welcome the visitors. I act in that capacity. I am to see to their every comfort, provide them with anything they might wish: liquor, drugs, women, men... myself.

The idea might have displeased me. It would not be the first time Olivero has used me as a whore to lever some concession from an interested party, male or female. This time it would be a pleasure to serve him in that manner. Both of these men are very beautiful, very hot. Their ease says that they know sex, and are comfortable with it. It would be enjoyable to service them.

Despite their mutual possessiveness, we know from our reports that Galbraith and Daniel occasionally take outside partners, almost always together. It is believed that any solo rendevous are know to the other partner, and approved. An 'open' relationship, yes, but a very NARROW opening. I do not doubt that if one showed interest in someone the other disapproved of, there would be fireworks. Neither Southerners, nor the Irish, are well known for their tolerance of unfaithfulness in their mates.

"If you wish, senors, I can show you a few of the sights in Bogota this afternoon."

Daniel again peers over his glasses at me. "Y'all DO have clubs here, right?"

"Of course, senor. Very fine clubs, of all kinds. My padrone wishes to invite you to one that he owns tomorrow night, as his special guests."

"That'll be fine, boyo. Danny, there'll be no clubbing for you tonight. You'll be going to bed early. I won't be dealing with you growling like a bear all day tomorrow."

"Connor, really!"

"You do, and you know it. You get jet lagged, and if you don't sleep, you try to make up for it with caffeine, and that makes ya as snappish as a bear trap."

Daniel leans toward me confidentially. "Not only does he lie, he exaggerates outrageously."

"Danny," Connor says quietly. "Darlin', it isn't that I mind ya flirtin' with the boy. But we don't know what his situation is. He may have a friend who'd object. Strongly."

"Oh." Ballard turns those bright eyes back on me. "So, DO you have a special friend, Manuel?"

There was a time when such a question might have made me blush. It was not easy for me to accept the fact that I found the mouths and asses of men more attractive than the pussies of women. Our culture does not much respect one who lusts after his own kind.

If you are a man who loves men, you must be very strong, or you are a victim. I have chosen not to be a victim. Though some would look at what passes between my master and myself, and think that I lie. But this is from choice, it is not forced upon me. I submit, but because I choose to.

I answer him honestly. "Yes. I belong to Senor Montana." I smile. "But he shares."

Chapter Twenty-six: First Report

Olivero's POV

I keep an apartment in the city, for the sake of convenience. Several times a year I spend a week or two there, and sometimes I lend it to friends or associates. I could have had Galbraith come here: there is room. But I do not want to appear over-eager to please him.

No, the hotel is good enough. I have made sure that the accommodations are lavish, but not ostentatious. I have seen to it that they are supplied with all the little amenities I think they might like, and I have sent my own boy, Manuel, to greet them.

I wonder if they realize that this is an honor I am showing them? It would have been simpler to send one of my grunts, instead of depriving myself of Manuel's company. Instead I send someone who means something to me personally.

I sit in my darkened living room, drinking brandy. He's taking his time, my Manuel. He left more than five hours ago for the airport. Or maybe it is not Manuel who is responsible for the delay in his return. Galbraith and Ballard have a certain... reputation. They like handsome young men, and my Manuel is very beautiful. Perhaps they have coaxed him into a bit of play?

The thought does not displease me. I told Manuel to give them anything they wanted. Anything. I like to share my boy, as long as it is at MY directive. He knows well enough not to make advances to anyone without my permission. I've never had to worry about that with him, not like some of my previous lovers. God rest their souls.

At last I hear his key in the lock. I do not look around as he enters, and I hear him pause near the door. I know what he is doing. He is studying me, trying to gauge my mood and decide what he will do and say, how he will act. That is one of the things I value in Manuel. He never ceases to think of how he may best please me.

I hear the muted clunks that tell me he has removed his shoes. It is a sign of subservience that he remains barefoot while under any roof I provide for him. There is the soft pad of his footsteps as he approaches, then he is kneeling near my feet. He is >mute, waiting to be acknowleged. "You took long enough." My tone is not quite accusatory.

"I am sorry, sir. They invited me to dinner, and I recalled your instructions to deny them nothing."

"You could have called."

His beautiful olive complexion pales slightly, but he does not protest. "Yes, sir. I should have. I did not think. I crave your pardon."

Normally such an infraction would earn at least a slap, but I relent. I am in a good mood. My plans seem to be progressing nicely, and I am feeling indulgent. "It's all right. This time."

He realizes he has escaped punishment, and his tense posture relaxes just a bit. He knows enough to be properly grateful. "Thank you, sir. Is there anything you want? Anything I can do for you?"

I pat the cushion beside me. Now that he has permission, he moves up to sit with me. "You can tell me about our two new friends." I tip the glass to his lips, and he sips obediently. He licks the last of the liquor from his lips and watches as I take another swallow, then set the glass aside on the side table."What do you think of them? What happened?"

He frowns slightly, his eyes intent. He takes this seriously, and he is marshaling his words. At last he says, "They are much as we expected. There was no great surprise. The photographs..." He shook his head, smiling now. "They do not do justice."

"Nice, eh?"

He nods. "Both of them, very attractive. I prefer Galbraith, but I think you will like Ballard more."

"Why is that?" I know why, but I like to hear him talk, especially about sex.

"His nature. Galbraith is the one with power. Ballard... he is not effeminate, you understand, but he is... softer."

Yes, Manuel, you know what I like. I have no use for the man/woman creatures. If I want a woman, I want a woman. If I want a man, I want a man.

"I will have to send someone for the car at the airport. As I thought, they did not accept the ride. More simple caution than actual suspicion, I think." I nod. Caution is a good thing: suspicion can be dangerous.

"Were they pleased with their rooms?"

He shrugged. "They did not complain. Galbraith thanked me. Ballard just examined everything, testing the bed. He seemed to take it all as only what he deserves."

I grunt, amused. "I hear his lover spoils him. Is he worth it, do you think?"

Manuel smiles slowly. "Yes, I think so."

I touch his leg. "Did you find out?"

He sighs. "Not this time, but perhaps another. They are both flirtatious, Daniel the most. I think he would be interested, if his keeper approves."

"An interesting possibility. You'd like to top him, Manuel?" I never allow him to top me; him, or anyone else. That happened a time or two when I was young, poor, and obscure. The ones who did it were careless of my pleasure, and my emotions. It spoiled the act for me. I will not do it again.

He answers me honestly, knowing I will not fault him for his desires, as long as he controls them and awaits my permission to act on them. "Yes. It is hard to look at him and not want to fuck him. But I want the other, too. I want them both."

"We shall see, my pet. Now, this talk of sex has awakened a certain part of me." I let my voice harden. "On your knees, slave."

He moves quickly, kneeling again near my feet. "How do you want me, Master?" Oh, he's a good slave.

"Your mouth. Slowly." I spread my legs, and Manuel moves forward to place himself between them. How many times have I seen him like this? Yet I never tire of the sight.

He strokes my thighs for a long moment, running his hands along the inside of my legs I am wearing thin, knit trousers, and I can feel his touch easily. His hands move up to cover my crotch, kneading gently. He feels, following the outline of my cock through the material. I am not wearing underwear. It was an unnecessary expense when I was a poor child, and I never got in the habit. I only wear it occasionally now, more for the erotic feel of fine linen or silk, and the added erotic fillip of having it removed. Not today, though. Today all that separates my flesh from his is that one, thin layer of cloth.

Manuel has made a study of what arouses me. He knows that I like it either fast and brutal, or slow and sensuous. He has gauged my present mood correctly, and his touch is light. He works, stroking and squeezing, as my prick firms. Soon it is stiff, lifting my fly in a straining arch. A small damp patch appears over the head, where pre-seminal fluid has begun to ooze from the slit. He leans forward and puts his mouth over the tiny spot, sucking and licking. I can feel the moist heat, and I sigh. "Open them, slave. I want your tongue on me."

He silently opens my pants, and I lift my ass to allow him to slide them down. He pulls them off and sets them aside while I remove my shirt. When I am sitting naked before him, he begins to reach for me, but I stop him. "Yours, now. But don't get up."

He strips while still on his knees. Much practice has made him graceful in this. I enjoy the slide of his muscles as he pulls his undershirt over his head, and reach out to caress one dark nipple. He stops, eyes half closing, a small smile ghosting across his lips. I pinch, and he winces, but heat flares in his eyes. "Did I give you permission to stop, slave?"

He opens his mouth, then hesitates. Looking down he says humbly, "May I speak?"

Good, good. "Yes. Speak if you will, unless I tell you to be silent."

"I am sorry, Master. May I resume?"

"Yes." The pants, then the underwear go. All are folded into a neat pile before he once again kneels before me. "Now, to your work, boy."

He moves up into the fork of my legs, his head dipping forward, and I feel the first velvet touch of his tongue on the very tip of my glans. He holds me at the base and begins the slow, soft torture I love so well. We can do this for a long time, Manuel and I. I have trained him to sense when I near completion, and to stop me if I have not indicated my readiness. A quick constriction at the base of my cock, just above the balls, halts the eruption of my sperm time and again. Part of the trick of being a durable lover is having a good partner. Manuel is excellent.

I watch his neat, dark head moving as he laps up and down the length of my shaft. I shift, and he pauses at the base to suck first one, then the other testicle, dabbing each firmly with his tongue. Then he rises again to suck just the head, and finally swallows me, slowly.

Halfway down he has to pause and take a moment to adjust, and I allow it. He is not being lazy or willful. I am generously endowed, and it is not easy for him to take my full length down his throat, but he never protests. In all things carnal, he is a willing participant.

Finally I am engulfed. I hold his head, gently tonight, and begin to fuck up into his mouth with short, easy strokes. "Touch yourself, but don't come. I want you to come when I fuck you."

He shifts, not really surprised that I want him both ways tonight, and reaches down to take hold of his own prick. Manuel has a pretty dick: not so big as some, but beautifully formed, and he knows how to use it. Now he strokes himself while I pump into his mouth.

His breathing is faster now, ruffling my pubic hair, and he makes tiny whines as I push in deeply. When I feel myself coming close to orgasm, I release his head. He does not pull back, but continues sucking, waiting for a signal from me as to what I want next."On your knees, over the table."

He pulls free and turns, arranging himself over the low, sturdy coffee table before me, presenting his small, perfect ass. I kneel behind him as he spreads his knees for me. Spreading his cheeks, I see that the butt plug is still in place. Manuel removes it only when he relieves himself, or when we fuck. I ease it out, noticing how it glistens. "Good. You used plenty of lubricant."

His arms are folded before him, and he rests his cheek on them. "It makes it slide so nicely when I move, Master."

I slap one firm buttock. "Slut."

He sighs. "Yes, Master."

I spread him again, and examine his opening. It is well stretched from the plug, and I will not need to prepare him any further. Manuel is always ready for me. But to be sure, I suddenly plunge three stiff fingers into his cavity. His back arches, and he hisses as I rake over his prostate. The tone of our session has just changed. He knows that it will be fast and strong now.

He knows what I want, and begs, "Fuck me, Master! Fuck me hard."

"How hard, bitch?"

He looks back at me, dark eyes glazed, mouth loose. "So hard that anyone who saw would think it were rape."

"It is impossible to rape you, whore. You always enjoy it." I slam into him, sheathing my cock in his rectum in one lunge. Manuel stiffens in a combination of pain and pleasure. Even loosened as he is, it is a shock, taking all of me so quickly. I relish the sharp cry that slides into a wanton, needy whimper as I begin to fuck him.

Manuel is still almost as tight as he was when I first took him three years ago. He was a cocky eighteen year old, who had the nerve to proposition me in the men's room of a club. It was obvious that he had slipped in: his clothing was far too shabby to have let him pass at the front door. He sucked me in a stall, then pushed me down on the toilet, dropped his ragged pants, and impaled himself on my cock, riding me to completion.

I took him home, and he has been with me ever since. He confessed that he had carefully chosen me as the man he would belong to, if I would have him. He had grown up on the streets, and knew the score. He knew exactly what he was getting into.

I have fucked him countless times since I acquired him, and it never grows dull. It's a shame he cannot bear children, otherwise he would have made a good enough wife. He is beautiful, intelligent, fiercely loyal, and can empty my balls like no one else I know.

At first, all he can do is hang on to the table as I ride him, buffeting his slender body. His erection, trapped under his belly, rubs against the smooth tabletop. Luckily, it is glass. Otherwise the fluid weeping from his rigid prick could leave streaks that would mar a wood finish.

But as I speed up, he finds my rhythm, and begins to thrust back at me. Our bodies meet with meaty smacks. Those, and our heavy breathing and grunts are the only sounds in the room. But as my strokes become shorter and harder, stabbing into him, he begins to whisper to me, obscenities and endearments, pleas and exclamations of pleasure.

Impatient for my release, I go still, buried deep inside him, holding his hips in a grip that will leave bruises, and command, "Work your ass, boy! Suck me with it."

He immediately bears down, and I feel the strong, talented muscles of his back passage ripple around me. He has practiced this, working on the plug or a vibrator for many minutes, strengthening his muscles to give me more pleasure. It is as if there is a fist inside him, gripping me firmly, squeezing and stroking. I come with a roar, spilling my seed into that tight grip.

When he feels the liquid pulse, he allows his own concentration to falter. I reach down and grab his balls, giving them a hard squeeze, and he comes with a choked gasp.

I pull out, leaving him to recover, collapsed across the table. I pick up the drink I had set aside and finish it, sitting on the sofa, watching Manuel as he slowly comes back to himself. Even in this dim light, I can see the shiny silver trail that my sperm makes, running down the inside of his thighs.

At last, with a groan, he pushes himself back firmly onto his knees. Turning, he moves between my thighs and begins to lick me clean. He had protested this once when we were first together, but only once. He's learned to keep himself cleaned out, if he doesn't like the taste of shit.

When he is done, I pull him onto my lap and sit, holding him in the dark. He rests his head on my shoulder. Anyone seeing us there would believe that we are simply lovers. I suppose it would never occur to them that occasionally a master will take his pet onto his lap to be caressed.

Chapter Twenty-seven: Introductions

The dinner with Manuel had been pleasant enough. Mulder thought that he might have really enjoyed Manuel's company, if he had met him under other circumstances, and if, perhaps, he hadn't known for a fact that he was a drug trafficker, and quite possibly a murderer.

You'd never know just by looking at him, Mulder had thought, watching as the young man laughed at something Ethan had said, his dark eyes sparkling. But then that was pretty much the way with all of the really 'successful' killers, wasn't it? The reason they went on for so long and claimed so many victims was because they could project a pleasant, even sometimes attractive or at least harmless image. Look at Ted Bundy. How many women had gone with him willingly? Or Jeffrey Dahmer. The man had looked like the class dweeb, until he was pulling out the knife or the drill. He had no way of knowing for sure if Manuel had ever committed a violent act, but his close association with Olivero made it not only possible, but probable.

When Manuel had touched his hand to make some point during the conversation, Fox had reminded himself of this. You don't know him, Mulder. You don't know what he looks like when he's angry, or what he'd do if he was crossed. You don't know what he's capable of.

The fact that Olivero had sent him said something. Judging from the size of his operation, and his precipitous rise, Montana was not a reckless man. On a deal as important as this, he would send someone he trusted. And Mulder doubted that Olivero would trust anyone who was not nearly amoral as he was. As to whether Manuel was an actual physical threat on his own, they'd have to wait and see.

In their room, Ethan quickly used the little electronic scanner he had used on the interview room when he first met Mulder. It would be left with a courier before they went on to Montana's compound.

The room was clean. Ethan put away the device, saying, "And what do you make of the situation so far?"

Mulder kicked off his shoes and sprawled comfortably on the big bed. "He hasn't even met with us yet, and already he's starting the games."

"You got that impression, too, did you?"

Mulder nodded. "Oh, yes. Not meeting us at the airport. He's telling us that he's a busy, important man. Too many irons in the fire to neglect any of them just to welcome us. But he wants to show he appreciates us, so he sends someone special to him instead."

Ethan sat beside Mulder and started unbuttoning the FBI agent's shirt. "How special do you think he is? Is he someone that's going to be on the inside of the operation, or is he just Olivero's piece?"

Mulder watched Ethan's hands as he spoke. "I'd say he's in the loop. This venture means enough to Montana that he isn't going to want any slip-ups. He wouldn't have sent us anyone ignorant. I think Manuel might even be his second in command."

Ethan had opened the shirt. Now he stroked Mulder's chest slowly. "He's a little young for that, isn't he?"

Mulder closed his eyes as Ethan began circling around his nipples. "Age is relative. He might be young to us, but the records say he grew up on the streets, and you mature quickly in that environment, or you die. In any case, I think we have to consider him dangerous."

Ethan nodded, and leaned over, licking Mulder's right nipple. His lover sighed softly, and settled a hand against the back of his head. For a moment there was quiet as Ethan sucked the little bud to a firm peak. Then, with a gentle bite, he sat up and began removing his own shirt. "You were putting on quite a show with him in the taxi."

Mulder arched an eyebrow. In Daniel's voice he said, "Why, Con, honey! You know I don't mean it. You're the only one I love."

"Stop it." Ethan kissed him. "Not tonight, not now. I want one more night with just you, Mulder. We'll have to be careful when we're with Montana, but tonight I want Fox Mulder and not Daniel Ballard, okay?"

"I'm glad."

There was so much in those two words. Ethan wished that he'd met Mulder some other way, some way not tied into a mission. Mulder knew that Ethan had been seeing him in relation to Daniel Ballard even before they met in Skinner's office. He was a psychologist, and was bound to look for layers in the relationship they were building. Only a supremely self-confident person would be able to dismiss the possible association with the other man.

As they made love, Ethan spoke Fox's name over and over, whispering it in his ear, calling it as he climaxed, telling him again and again that he was the one he desired. When they were done, Mulder was able to go to sleep, secure in Ethan's arms. Ethan, however, lay awake for awhile, watching his lover sleep, wondering at himself for allowing someone he cared for, and quite probably loved, walk into such a dangerous situation.

*

Manuel came to their hotel a little before noon. "Good day, senors."

"Y'all believe in starting the day kind of late, don't you?" Mulder drawled. "And they say we southerners are lazy."

"Danny!" Ethan said sharply.

"Oh, pooh, Con. The boy knows I'm just teasing him," Mulder responded. He gave Manuel a smile. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't like you, right?"

Manuel returned the smile. "As you say, Senor Ballard." He thought, I hope you are careful with your teasing with Olivero. He is unpredictable in that. He may find you amusing, or he may decide to beat the impertinence out of you.

He continued, "My master thought that you would appreciate the chance to rest after your long flight."

Mulder nodded. "Yes, that was good of him. Flying fatigues me, I'm afraid. I'm just not part of the jet set." "And where, pray tell, is your master now, boyo?" Ethan asked.

"He has some business to attend to, but says..."

Ethan interrupted him, his voice hard. "Yes, he does have business to attend to, right here! I'm beginnin' to think that perhaps Mr. Montana isn't quite so keen as he let on."

"No, no, senor!" Manuel said quickly. "Please, you must not take offense! Senor Montana values you and your good regard, but things come up unexpectedly. You are a businessman, you understand this, yes?"

Ethan scowled. "A certain amount of delay I can understand, but it starts to feel like he's puttin' us off."

Mulder knew Daniel's place in a situation like this. He would try too calm and soothe his lover. "Con, darlin', cool down, now. It isn't this boy's fault if his boss man is having trouble getting things together, is it? Anyway, we have time." He tickled Ethan under the chin. "You promised to take me shopping, remember?"

Manuel jumped in eagerly. "Yes! We have many fine shops here in the city. I will be happy to take you to them. They will be proud to have friends of Senor Montana as customers."

Ethan snorted. "They can be proud to have us on our own merit, can't they?" But he softened when Mulder again tickled him, and he smiled. "Oh, all right. Let me go tend to nature, and we'll see what we can find for you, Danny."

When he was in the restroom, Manuel said quietly, "Thank you, Senor Ballard."

"For what?"

"For easing his anger. My master would be very upset with me if you and your friend were not happy."

Fox's eyebrows rose. "Well, he shouldn't hold you accountable for THAT. Anyway, don't bother to thank me. Keeping Connor Galbraith happy is my vocation." His eyes twinkled. "I was called to serve, and I answered gladly."

Manuel gave him a look that spoke of shared knowledge. "We have both chosen our place, haven't we?"

Mulder looked a little startled, then said slowly, "Yes, I suppose we have."

They had a light lunch at an outdoor cafe, then Manuel made good on his promise by taking them to the most exclusive stores in Bogota. Also as he promised, the mention of Olivero de la Montana's name was enough to have the staff of each establishment fawning in an almost embarrassing manner.

This time on the buying, Mulder showed a bit more determination and independence in his clothing choices. Once again he allowed Ethan to make most of the choices, as he had back in America. But once or twice he held firm on his pick, knowing that Daniel would be expected to show a certain amount of willfulness. Manuel watched him cajole and pout when 'Connor' tried to talk him out of buying the same shirt in three different colors. Ethan finally let himself be persuaded that Mulder needed green to make his eyes green, blue to make them blue, and brown to make them golden. That little transaction alone set the MI force back three hundred dollars, and he wondered what his control was going to have to say about that? They'd probably find some way to justify the expense as wardrobe, or uniform expenditures.

They were done by early evening, and it was agreed that the two visitors would refresh themselves and dress, and that Manuel would pick them up and bring them to meet Montana for dinner.

That evening, after a bit of debate, it was decided that Galbraith and Ballard would probably try to look a bit businesslike for their first meeting with Olivero. Ethan wore a simple, but fine, dark suit. Fox wore the dark blue blazer that had been one of his first pieces of 'Daniel wear', with a pearl grey shirt and white trousers. The businesslike effect was a bit offset by the tightness of his pants. They hugged his ass lovingly.

Manuel came for them, and Ethan said sharply, "So, he still can't take time to come for us personally, eh?"

Mulder put a hand on his arm. "Stop it, Con. Give the man a chance, will you? Don't start judging him till you've met him. I intend to have a good time tonight, and I won't have you spoiling it."

Manuel had told Olivero of Galbraith's impatience, and Ballard's peacekeeping. He understood Galbraith's irritation. He himself would have been furious if he had been in a similar situation. He decided that he couldn't afford to be any more aloof, and planned to make this evening a pleasant one for the two visitors.

Manuel took them to a small place on the outskirts of the city.. From the outside, it looked like the home of a well-to-do family, but inside it had been modified to be a discreet, high class restaurant. They were led into a private room, where Montana was waiting for them.

As he rose to greet them, both Mulder and Hunt studied him carefully. The photographs had not given a sense of how big the man was. Mulder was tall, but Olivero topped him by half a head, and his body was broad and thick. He was a massive man, but he moved with a smoothness that belied his bulk. And none of that is fat, Mulder thought.

He greeted them with a smile. "Senor Galbraith. Senor Ballard. I am Olivero de la Montana. I beg your forgiveness for the delay in our meeting. As I am sure you understand, things can come up abruptly in our line of work."

Ethan hesitated for a moment. Connor would probably be tempted to play power games along with Montana, but this deal was too important to do so for long. Finally he smiled, and shook hands. "Aye, the world has a way of..." he said with a shrug "having its way." He put a hand on Fox's shoulder. "My associate and friend, Daniel Ballard."

Olivero's grip lingered just a fraction longer than it had to. "Yes, I was expecting him. So pleased to meet you both." His hands were smooth, the nails well kept in the fashion of a man who does not have to do physical work for his living. But his early years of labor were evident in the strength of his grip, and the hardness underneath the smooth surface. "Please, sit."

Fox tried not to act surprised when Olivero pulled out his chair for him. Ethan raised an eyebrow, but did the same for Manuel before taking his seat opposite Fox. Olivero sat as a waiter brought menus and another poured water. "I wish to make a suggestion, Senor Galbraith. Tonight, let us put aside business matters. I would prefer not to discuss this in a public place, as I am sure you can understand."

Ethan nodded, sipping his water. "No objection to that. Pretty bloody sensible, actually."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. I've been listening to nothing else for the past week, and frankly, I'm tired of it." Fox gave a small smile to the handsome waiter who handed him his menu, inspiring a faint blush.

It didn't escape Olivero's notice. *He likes to play, this one. Good. The question is, does he only play if he thinks he is safe from having to make good on his unspoken promises?* Aloud he said, "Then I must do my best to amuse you tonight. When we are done here, would you like to go to a club?"

Fox sat back as if someone had made a shocking suggestion. "Would I like to go to a club?" He looked at Ethan. "He wants to know if I would like to go to a club."

Ethan smiled, shaking his head. "Senor, when it comes to Danny, 'like' is far to weak a word to use when you're talking about clubs."

"Excellent. There is a little place farther into town that is very popular. It is not always easy to get in, but I own a percentage. There will be no problem. And this will be a long week indeed if we continue to stand on ceremony. Please, call me Olivero." He smiled at Fox. "Or Vero, as my friends do."

"Yes, first names all around, eh? Much cozier. Now then..." Fox opened his menu and leaned a little closer to Olivero. "I'm going to need your help on this. My Spanish is hopeless. All I know is cerveza."

Oh, well done, Fox, Ethan thought, opening his own menu. Now he'll speak in front of you more freely, thinking you won't understand.

Olivero patiently translated almost the entire menu for the American. He enjoyed the faint whiff of Daniel's good cologne when he leaned closer to point out some item. Yes, Daniel Ballard was just his sort of meat: a well-bred, spoiled, handsome Anglo. Olivero had a penchant for Daniel's type dating back to his youth.

He resisted the urge to reach over during dinner and stroke the American's thigh. He needed to observe Galbraith a little more first, judge how he might react. Jealousy was a tricky thing.

After their meal, Manuel drove them back toward the center of town. Fox, sitting in the front seat with him, turned back to the two seated in the rear. "If this place is anything at all like the clubs back home, I am not dressed properly."

"Danny, you'll just have to deal with it," Ethan chided. "We're not going back to the hotel just so you can change clothes. You look fine."

Mulder huffed. "I can look better. Well, there are still a few things I can do so I won't look hopelessly out of place." He pulled off his tie, throwing it back at Connor. "Hold on to that for me, would you, dear?"

Connor stuffed the tie in his jacket pocket. "And why can't you keep it yourself?"

Mulder was unbuttoning his blazer. "Because I'm not going to be wearing this thing, and it might fall out of the pocket, that's why."

"Danny, I'm not sure you should."

"No, let him be comfortable." Montana smiled at Fox, his eyes glinting as the other man removed the blazer. "Please, Daniel, take off anything you like."

Fox tossed the blazer back to Connor, his eyebrows arching as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. "I won't be going any farther than this right now. I have to like you very, very much before I give free shows." He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, opening the collar with a relieved sigh. "There. I swear, sometimes those button-downs like to choke a man. Now." He looked down at himself. "Not quite as colorful as I might like, but I believe I'm presentable."

Ethan snorted. "He's fishin' for compliments again."

Half turned toward the back seat, Fox tapped a long finger on the headrest. "Well?"

"You're beautiful, Danny. As always."

Fox nodded in satisfaction, saying, "Yes. But you're prejudiced." Then he looked questioningly at Montana.

For a moment, Olivero was silent. Fox folded his arms on the seat, resting his chin on them. The pose said he was willing to wait to hear his due. At last Olivero said, "Connor speaks the truth, Daniel. He studied the other man a moment more, then said quietly, "Deseo darle beso negro."

Manuel stiffled a giggle. Connor and Mulder looked politely puzzled. Fox knew the literal interpretation of what Montana had said, but he somehow thought that it was a slang term that had a completely different level of meaning. So he just said mildly, "Well, I don't know what that means, but it sounds pretty."

Olivero's smile was wolfish. "It can be very beautiful. I hope I can show you before you leave."

Chapter Twenty-eight: Clubbing

The club was called Rendevous, a fairly typical club name, for a fairly typical club. Oh, it was nice, but it wasn't anything you couldn't find in any other major city on the face of the globe. ("Except maybe Salt Lake City or Mecca," Fox had remarked as they entered.)

What it WAS, was exclusive. There was a line at the front door that would have done justice to Studio 54 back in its heyday. They pushed their way to the front of the crowd, Olivero using his superior bulk to clear a path. At the entrance, Manuel, Fox, and Ethan clustered behind him as he spoke to the large, stolid looking man who was in charge of the velvet rope across the doorway. When he saw Montana, his craggy face split in a fawning smile, and he began nodding before the other man started speaking. He glanced back over Olivero's shoulders at the three young men waiting, and said something in Spanish.

Olivero turned to Fox. "He said he would have let YOU in, even without me."

Fox was unimpressed. "Of course he would. He knows quality when he sees it."

A man who turned out to be the manager rushed to meet them as they entered, not quite bowing but obviously wanting to. Olivero looked to Galbraith and said, "Would you prefer a table or a booth?"

"I think Danny wants to be close to the action."

"Ah. And Daniel gets what he wants?" There was really nothing judgmental in the tone or words, but something about it made Ethan look at Olivero sharply.

"Most of the time. It makes me happy to make him happy."

"Of course." They were led to a table right beside the dance floor. Fox noticed that waiters were quickly hustling patrons away from it and clearing it as they approached. It was pristine when they arrived, and the former occupants had been reseated, grumbling slightly, further back.

Olivero noticed that Daniel was already moving subtly to the driving music that surrounded them. His eyes were fixed on the packed dance floor, watching the flow and sway of bodies. Ballard ordered a Tom Collins when he was asked, but he was so immersed in the music that he scarcely seemed to notice the drink when it was set before him.

Olivero watched the shift of his shoulders, the lively excitement on his face. "You wish to dance?"

"I HAVE to dance." He looked at his lover. "I can, can't I, Con? You're not going to make me sit here and listen to that music and not dance, are you?"

Ethan was hesitant. This was the one part of Daniel and Connor's life that they hadn't practiced, and he realized now that they should have. He had no idea whether or not Fox could pass as a seasoned club hopper. He'd been so buttoned down when they started this mission, he doubted it. "I don't know, Danny. We're here with Olivero--we shouldn't neglect him."

"Nonsense. It's obvious that the boy wants to dance, and tonight is for pleasure, not business." Olivero indicated Manuel. "My young one likes to dance, too. It would be cruel to keep them sitting here, Connor."

The first strains of 'Fire' by the Ohio Players started to thump out, and Fox moaned, grabbing Ethan's hand dramatically. "They're playing disco! Con, please!"

"Oh, all right! Get on with ya!"

Fox gave a whoop and sprang into the crowd. In seconds he had located a petite blonde girl who had been dancing solo and they started a spirited version of The Bump. Ethan watched, surprised. He knew Mulder could be graceful when he wanted to, but this was something of a revelation. Mulder had been so hesitant in the beginning of their sexual relations, but on the dance floor he was hot, and he knew it.

The two danced apart during the verses, together during the choruses. Ethan watched as Fox writhed to the words. "The way you walk and talk really sets me off to a full alarm..."

Mulder grinned back at the men sitting at the table, winking as his hips swayed. "The way you push, push let's me know that you're, oh," Mulder put his hands behind his head and bumped his hips at Ethan, inspiring a startled burst of laughter, "You're gonna get your wish."

Fox was having a better time than he had expected. He'd danced often at clubs back in D.C. but he'd never really let himself go all the way there. There was always the chance that word would get back to the bureau. Perhaps nothing official would have been done, but sometimes an agent's career stalled for no discernable reason. Here, in the guise of Daniel, he could be as wild as he wanted with the sure knowledge that it was all for a good cause.

There was another rather heady reason Mulder was having such a good time, even knowing how delicate the situation was. He had long known that he was a voyeur: his semi-addiction to pornography proved that well enough. He was just now finding out that he was a bit of an exhibitionist, too.

That song ended, and 'Waterloo', by ABBA started up. Mulder laughed, but kept on dancing. He continued through several songs, never seeming to tire, never lacking for dance partners, both male and female. Ethan swatted himself mentally for worrying. It was clear that Fox was in his element.

Olivero watched, fascinated. He's so sure of himself, so aware of his power. He knows that everyone who looks at him tonight either wants him or envies him. I wonder what he would do if someone was to act on those desires? He whispered to Manuel, who grinned and nodded, then got up and went on the dance floor.

He made his way over to where the American was dancing with a girl in a skirt so short that the entire room knew what type underwear she was wearing when the raised her arms, which she did often. Manuel slipped in between them and started dancing.

Fox never missed a beat, but he frowned at the younger man and mouthed the word, "Rude!" Then he moved around him to find his former partner again, smiling apologetically at the girl. Manuel pulled the same trick again, and the frown deepened.

The music died away and started again with 'Never Can Say Goodbye.' Apparently this wasn't a favorite, Olivero thought, because Daniel turned away from Manuel and stalked back to the table. He picked up his drink and downed half of it, then said snappishly to Olivero, "Your little friend is rather pushy."

"He likes you."

"Why shouldn't he? But if I'd wanted to dance with him, I'd have asked. I'll have plenty of time to dance with him while I'm cooped up in the jungle."

Ethan winced at the rudeness, and considered calling Danny/Fox on it, but Olivero was smiling. "I can't deny him his bit of fun, Daniel."

Oh, there's something going on here, Ethan thought, remembering the whispered conversation before Manuel had gone to dance.

"Well, I certainly can!" A different song was starting, one that had a background of thunder, and Fox's head jerked around, his face lighting up. "I don't believe it! Oh, this one is mine!"

He plunged back into the crowd as the words started. "Hi! We're your Weather Girls. Ah-huh. And have we got news for you. You better listen! Get ready, all you lonely girls and leave those umbrellas at home. All right!."

Ethan wanted to whistle. Damn, I only thought he was dancing before! Fox was in the process of putting almost every other dancer on the floor to shame, and they noticed it.

"Humidify is rising. Barometer's getting low. According to all sources, the street's the place to go." The crowd started to thin out around him. Soon he had a fair sized audience gathered around as he dipped and spun joyously to the music as the Weather Girls adviced that the street was the place to go, because at about half past ten... Well, something WONDERFUL was due to happen.

Fox drew a cheer from the crowd when he threw his arms up, palms out and sang along with the chorus of the song. "It's Raining Men! Hallelujah! It's Raining Men! Amen! I'm gonna go out to run and let myself get absolutely soaking wet!"

Manuel had been part of the watching crowd. Now he stepped out and again began dancing with Fox. He received a glower, and Fox turned away from him. But as the song continued, Manuel kept up his pursuit. He moved in close to Fox, invading his personal space time and again. A murmur started in the crowd as his courtship became even more blatant, and Fox's disdain became more clear.

Finally Manuel made contact. He grabbed Fox around the waist and pulled him roughly against his body, thrusting their pelvises together aggressively. There was a gasp from the onlookers as Mulder tried to pull back and Manuel just clung tighter.

"I feel stormy weather moving in about to begin." Thunder was booming and crashing on the soundtrack when Mulder put his hands on Manuel's chest and shoved him violently. Manuel stumbled back a few steps, but he immediately leapt back. He grabbed Mulder's shirt and jerked hard, ripping it half open.

Ethan half rose, but Montana put a hand on his arm. "They're playing. Let them settle this themselves."

Mulder didn't strike the younger man, as Ethan thought he might. He glared at him, his hazel eyes so hot that they seemed to shoot gold sparks. Then to, a huge crash of thunder, he grabbed the edges of his shirt and tore it the rest of the way open, buttons spraying. As the Weather Girls sang, "Hear the thunder, don't you lose your head. Rip off the roof and stay in bed!" he slowly let the shirt slide down his arms, ending up hanging from its tail, tucked in his pants.

He was beautiful. Sweat gleamed on his chest and shoulders, and his hair was falling in his eyes. A hush of anticipation fell over the crowd. The music playing hinted of lightning, but there was electricity of a different sort in the club's air. "God bless Mother Nature, she's a single woman, too. She took off to heaven and she did what she had to do."

His eyes half closed, Mulder ran his hands sensually over his torso, skimming his palms over his nipples, which were hard with excitement, then down his belly to rest on his belt, toying with the buckle. Ethan tensed. He had heard that in the heyday of disco... hell, even today, some of the more uninhibited patrons stripped on the dance floor. It sounded like something Daniel would do, but did they want THAT much attention?

Manuel's eyes followed Mulder's hands avidly, and he licked his lips unconsciously. "She taught every angel to rearrange the sky. So that each and every woman could find her perfect guy."

His thumbs hooked in his waistband, Mulder raised one finger and waved it at Manuel in a 'naughty-naughty' gesture. In one smooth motion he pulled his shirt free of his waistband and threw it in Manuel's face, then started dancing again to the approving cheers of the crowd.

As the final chorus rang out, he danced his way back to the table, a slightly stunned Manuel following him, holding the shirt. Applause followed him. When he came to the table, Ethan stood up, slipping off his jacket, and put it around Mulder's shoulders. "There, love. Can't have you uncovered in this air conditioning after you've been sweating."

"Thank you, Con." Fox sat and drank the rest of his Collins. When Manuel sat opposite him he said coolly, "You owe me for that shirt."

Manuel bowed slightly. "Of course. May I apologize, Daniel? I am afraid I got carried away. But you were... intoxicating."

"I don't know." Fox leaned against Ethan, looking up at him. "CAN he apologize to me, Con? He's being very sweet."

"I suppose so. Though you should know, boyo, that if Danny was really mad, I'd be obliged to kick your ass."

"Of course."

"Well?" Fox leaned an elbow on the table, propping his chin in his hand. "You said you wanted to apologize."

Manuel smiled. "Senor Danny, I humbly beg your pardon for being such a... a..."

"Obnoxious little prick?"

Olivero and Ethan both smothered laughs, and Manuel shrugged sheepishly. "An obnoxious little prick."

"You're forgiven. Just remember next time: if I say no, I mean no."

Manuel thought privately that it would be interesting to see how much good that policy did him if Olivero decided that he wanted him. He watched as Connor pulled his lover over to sit on his lap, and Daniel wound his arms around the Irishman's neck. He shifted slightly now and then, and it was apparent that Galbraith had become aroused watching the show his lover put on.

He wasn't the only one. Manuel had started to get hard the moment he'd ripped Daniel's shirt. The exhibition had only increased his heat. Now he watched Danny squirming his rump against Connor's obvious erection, and he got even harder. Connor was murmuring in his boyfriend's ear. His hand moved into the open jacket and he tweaked Daniel's nipples drawing a soft moan.

Manuel felt a large, hot hand grip his thigh firmly, and looked over at Olivero. His master's eyes were firmly fixed on the couple on the other side of the table, but his hand moved to the inside of Manuel's leg, seeking. When he didn't find what he was looking for along Manuel's thigh, he moved higher. He came to Manuel's crotch, and discovered the firm bulge that said he did not need to be coaxed to attention. He gave a rough, approving squeeze, and Manuel moaned, too. He was going to be well fucked again tonight, that much was sure. Olivero would be like a bull after witnessing this little show.

Connor sat back, licking his lips, and said, "Olivero, would it be all right if we went on home now? It's not that we're unsociable, it's just that Danny is... tired." Daniel laid his head on Connor's shoulder, giving the other men a wide-eyed look.

"Of course. Manuel is tired, also." This time it was Mulder who gave Manuel a small smile of shared understanding. That smile said 'We're BOTH going to get it good tonight, aren't we?'

As they rose to go, Connor said, "Shouldn't we get the check?"

"Why?"

Ethan could come up with no argument for that. They walked out past three waiters, the manager, and the bouncer, and no one said anything. In the car back to the hotel, this time, Manuel had the front seat to himself. Fox sat between Olivero and Ethan, cuddling close to his lover.

Olivero could feel the heat of his body, smell the sharp tang of sweat mixed with cologne. It was all he could do not to touch him, but he managed. It didn't stop him from fantasizing, though. He imagined grabbing Daniel, throwing him across his lover's lap and ripping his pants open, then shoving his legs open and back till they were against his shoulders and mounting him dry. He pictured that handsome, arrogant face twisting first in pain, then lust, for he had no doubt that he could make Daniel Ballard enjoy whatever he chose to do to him.

By the time they dropped the American and Irishman off at their hotel, he was so hard that he was aching. He got into the front seat with Manuel. As they drove off, he opened his lover's fly, shoved his hand in, and began to stroke him, hard. Manuel tried to keep his attention on the road, but it wasn't easy. Twice he almost ran into a parked car, but he knew better than to protest.

When he finally parked in front of their apartment, he was ready to scream. Olivero was fighting with Manuel's belt. "Tilt the damn wheel up!" he demanded. Manuel hit the switch, and the steering wheel tilted up a few inches. At the same time he shifted, half turning so that his lap was moved out from under the wheel.

It was barely in time. Olivero had wrestled his rigid prick through his fly and now he fell upon it, seeming intent on devouring his young lover. Manuel cried out and grabbed at the headrest and the dash, bracing himself as Olivero raked him roughly with his teeth, but he did not soften at all. Knowing what was desired, he began to fuck upward as hard as he could in this position, driving his cock deep into Olivero's throat. This was at least one instance where his master's desires coincided perfectly with his own.

Montana sucked hard, biting occasionally. It was not enough to draw blood, not this time, though it had happened before. It didn't really matter. Manuel was his whore and he took what was given. In any case, he enjoyed it. Olivero knew this because if he was too gentle over a period of time, Manuel would deliberately provoke him, demanding the rougher treatment.

Soon Manuel came, gasping and sobbing as he shot down Olivero's throat. He fell back limply as Montana sat back from him, wiping his mouth with a monogrammed handkerchief. When he could breathe again, Manuel reached for Montana to return the favor, but was startled when his hands were slapped away.

When he looked more closely at his lover, he knew why. There was a dark, wet patch on the crotch of Montana's pants. Montana watched Manuel closely, waiting to see what his response would be.

Manuel was silent. Olivero Montana had come in his pants while sucking off his boy whore. This was not something that he would want known by anyone, even Manuel. Manuel followed the wisest course of action. He made his expression contrite and said sincerely, "Master, I am so sorry that I failed to arouse you." The dangerous light faded from Olivero's eyes, and Manuel heaved a mental sigh of relief.

"It is nothing, Manuel." He patted the boy's cheek. "But you... Did you enjoy yourself?"

He smiled brilliantly. "Oh, yes, Master."

"What do you think of those two now?"

"I want to fuck the American more than ever."

Olivero laughed. "Yes, he asks for it, that one. His words are cold, but his eyes and his body..." Olivero made that odd sucking sound that so many Latino men used to express admiration, or lust. "Galbraith is interesting, too, but Daniel... Daniel wants it." His eyes grew distant, and his voice was dreamy. "They all want it."

Manuel was quiet. It wasn't safe to deal with Montana when he was in this mood. It had something to do with his past, Manuel was sure, but he didn't know WHAT. There were parts of his history that Montana did not talk about, dark areas. And who knew what horrors crawled in those dark corners?

Chapter Twenty-nine: Tension Relief

Well, he sure as hell has PDOAs down, Ethan thought as they were driven back to the hotel. Fox was all over him in the car. His hands roamed restlessly, finding every sensitive spot, till Ethan was sure that he'd never before been so turned on while he was fully clothed.

Fox was nipping and licking at his throat and ear, whispering obscene suggestions. Olivero was half turned in the front seat, staring openly. Ethan watched his face as Fox murmured all the things he wanted 'Connor' to do to him in graphic detail. Ethan might as well not have been there, or been an inflatable doll, for all the attention he received. No, Olivero was fixated on Mulder, to the exclusion of anything else.

Not that Ethan blamed him. Fox was always hot, but tonight he was incendiary. The guise of Danny seemed to have let loose something inside him and, at this moment, he was the most sexual creature Ethan had ever known.

When they got out and said good-night, Ethan carried Fox's discarded blazer slung across his arm and hanging in front of him, to disguise the massive erection that bulged against his fly. In the elevator, he reached for Fox as the doors started to slide closed. To his surprise, and frustration, Mulder held him off. "No, Con..." Oh, so he was playing a game, was he? "You can't touch me, not yet."

"And why not, Danny?" Ethan kept the Irish lilt in his voice, playing along.

"Because I said so. You have to wait. Wait till we're in our room."

"Then what shall we do?" He reached out toward Mulder's face, but his hand was shoved away, and he found that he was, himself, baring his teeth.

"Then you'll take me, but not before." He reached into his pockets, then handed Ethan a rubber and a tube of lubricant. "So you don't have to go looking for it. Because do you know what I'm going to do?"

"What, Danny?" He slipped the supplies in his own pockets. He wanted his hands free. The lights were flickering as they drew closer to their floor.

"When we get in our room, I'm going to go lock myself in the bathroom for a nice, leisurely shower."

"You won't, you know."

"I will. If you don't stop me."

"I said you won't, Danny."

Mulder smiled. He slipped out of the jacket, tossing it on Ethan’s shoulder. Then he stroked his own belly, running a finger in a slow circle around the dip of his navel. "You've been so sweet and considerate, Con. But I know you can be... forceful." His hands slid up, and he rubbed his nipples till they stood out, hard as pebbles. He sighed, giving them a pinch. "Can't you?"

"You know I can." Ethan's voice was hoarse.

Mulder suddenly leaned close and whispered huskily, "Then show me! When we get in there, take what you want! No matter what I say or do. Take it, and don't stop till you're satisfied."

"You play dangerous games, Danny."

The door slid open. "I'm in it for the sport, Con."

At their room, Ethan unlocked the door, and stepped slightly to the side to allow Mulder to pass. Mulder slipped inside...

...and suddenly turned, throwing his weight against the door. Ethan lunged instinctively, managing to get his arm through before the door slammed against him. It hurt. It wasn't agony, but it damn sure wasn't a love tap. All right. We play for keeps.

He knew that Fox had been hoping to shut the door and throw the deadbolt. He'd have been trapped out in the hall, then, even with the room key, But slowly Ethan managed to force the door open a fraction, then a fraction more. Finally he slithered through. Fox hadn't realized he was so close to succeeding, and it took him by surprise. With nothing blocking the door, his weight slammed it shut, and he stumbled.

He made a lunge toward the bedroom, and Ethan remembered that the door had an inside bolt, also. He had to stop him before he got inside and threw it. He tackled Mulder, bringing him down with a jarring thump that drove most of the wind out of the FBI agent. Ethan moved up, straddling Fox's legs, and pulled off his own tie. "Give me your hands."

Mulder gazed up at him, eyes sparkling. Voice still breathy, he said, "Fuck you, Con." He bucked, hard. Ethan was half thrown off, and Mulder twisted lithely, trying to get on his hands and knees, preparatory to making another lunge for the bathroom.

But Ethan threw himself on Fox again before he could gain his feet, this time knocking him down so that he fell face first. Again he lost his breath, and it was longer coming back this time. By the time he could pull in enough oxygen so that he didn't feel like he was suffocating, Ethan had one arm up behind his back, the silk tie wrapped snugly around the wrist. Fox struggled in earnest, but Ethan caught his other wrist, dragged it back, and bound it to the other. Then he let him go and got up.

Mulder squirmed, cursing. Finally he rolled over onto his back and managed to lift himself up enough to sit against the couch. He watched as Ethan unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on the floor. When the dark haired young man started to unbuckle his belt, Mulder got his feet under him and started to push himself up. When he was halfway to his feet, Ethan shoved him back onto the sofa, and he landed in a half slump, butt low on the cushions and legs sprawled out. Immediately Ethan straddled his hips on his knees, trapping him.

"Where d'ya think you're goin', Danny? You've got things to attend to."

"Let me up!"

"When you're through, Danny boy. When you're through. After you give me what you offered back at the club."

"I didn't offer you anything."

"Oh, not in words. But promises were made, Danny, and you know it." Ethan unhooked his belt and opened his fly, pushing his trousers down his thighs.

Fox eyed the bulge in Ethan's jockeys, and said pettishly. "I don't want to."

"You shouldn't lie to me like that, Danny," Ethan chided. "Of course you want to." He massaged his erection through the straining cotton knit, fingering the damp patch of pre-come. "Look at that. See what you do to me? In any case, I think I'll believe this..." Ethan reached down and cupped the swell at Mulder's crotch firmly, giving it a squeeze and adding "...before I believe what you say."

He opened Mulder's pants, spreading the fly so that he could work Mulder's hardened prick through the opening. "Now, if you're good to me, I'll be good to you." He stroked the engorged shaft, and Mulder closed his eyes. "You like that, pet. Come on, now. Be nice to daddy."

Fox turned his head, but Ethan gripped his hair and turned him back. He moved his hips forward, and the rosy head of his prick touched Mulder's lips. He moved slightly, and warm pre-come slicked the sulky mouth. He crooned, "Be sweet to me, Danny." After a moment, the tiniest bit of pink tongue crept out and touched his glans hesitantly. "Yes, darlin'. Taste me."

Mulder licked his lips, then let his tongue dart out a little further, and lapped the slick pink knob. Ethan hissed in pleasure and bumped it again against his lips, asking for entrance. Another moment's hesitation, and Mulder took the head into his mouth, sucking it softly. Ethan sighed, and started stroking Mulder gently. "That's my good boy, that's my sweet boy." He pushed his hips forward, to slide more deeply, and Mulder tried to pull back, making a protesting noise.

Ethan held his head firmly, and his grip on Mulder's dick tightened in warning. "Go on, Danny. Take it. You know you want to.

Mulder's heart was thumping. He'd had sex with Ethan many different ways, but never like this. Ethan was forthright about what he wanted, and could be demanding, but it had never really approached coersion this closely. It alarmed Fox a little to realize how hot he was for this. But I know it's Ethan. I know that he'd stop, if I really wanted him to. Wouldn't he?

A drop of salty, slightly bitter pre-come landed on his tongue, and he decided that he didn't want to find out. Instead he opened his mouth wider and allowed Ethan to slide deep, stroking his tongue along the ridge that ran up the underside of Ethan's prick. This earned him a pleased whine, and Ethan resumed jerking him off.

Ethan had been waiting to see if Fox was serious, or was only playing at reluctance. When he felt Mulder's tongue moving against his heated flesh, he took it for what it seemed to be, if not what it was: acceptance. Still holding his hair he began to fuck Mulder's mouth with short, easy strokes.

Ethan had never actually forced himself on anyone and he wasn't going to start, but this, a willing partner playing at resistance... This was hot. He knew that Mulder wasn't really a submissive person. Tonight he was letting the persona of Daniel Ballard take over, and this was just the sort of game Daniel would play. Well, God bless you, Daniel. I'm sure reaping the benefit.

He pulled out of Mulder's mouth, and was pleased to see him strain forward, trying to recapture his treat. Instead Ethan turned him and pushed him farther down, till he was lying on the couch with his legs dangling off to the side. He kicked his pants the rest of the way off and knee walked up higher, bringing his crotch up to Mulder's face. Moving over him he said, "Do my balls, Danny. You know what I like."

He masturbated as Mulder licked at his testicles, swirling his tongue over the lightly furred globes, stretching to lick up behind them. Jerking himself with one hand, he lifted his balls with the other and said hoarsely, "Open your mouth." When Mulder shook his head stubbornly, Ethan grabbed more hair and pulled hard enough to make him wince. "Fuck! You've had my bloody cock in your mouth, and now you're gonna balk at my balls? I don't think so, Danny! Open!"

Mulder obeyed. Ethan lowered one ball into his mouth, and Mulder closed his lips around it, sucking and probing with his tongue. Ethan groaned. "Yes, like that. Oh, damn, that's sweet." His hand moved faster. "I know I'm neglecting you, darlin', but this is just too good. I'll take care of you, never fear." He lifted, and dropped the other testicle into the hot, liquid embrace, then resumed frigging himself.

A moment later, Mulder felt the globe of flesh in his mouth contract. At the same time Ethan cried out, his body jerking, and Mulder felt hot drops of sperm on his face and in his hair.

Ethan moved off of him, saying, "The hotel is going to want to slap a surcharge on the bill for cleaning the upholstery, but fuck them." He got the handkerchief out of Mulder's blazer pocket and used it to wipe his lover, then himself.

Mulder pulled his legs up to stretch out on the couch, and said, "Con, you promised."

Ethan grinned at him. "Promised what, boyo?"

Fox squirmed, thrusting his wavering, needy prick at thin air, and whined, "Please, Con!"

"What do you want, Danny boy?"

"Suck me."

Connor cocked his head. "No."

"Con!"

Ethan got the condom and lube out of his discarded trousers. "I didn't get to use these. I think I will now."

"Well, all right, if you think you can get it up again this quickly, but do something."

Ethan clucked chidingly as he opened the lube and squeezed some out onto his fingers. "Not very diplomatic, Danny. Particularly seeing that I have your hands tied, and can do any fucking thing I please with you."

"I don't care! Just fuck me, okay?"

"No."

"Con!"

To Mulder's astonishment, Ethan bent slightly at the waist, reached behind himself, and slid his hand into the crease of his ass. "Let me rephrase that, Danny. I'm going to fuck you, but not like you think."

"I don't believe this," Mulder whispered. Ethan had turned, and he watched as his lover slid two greased fingers into his hole and worked them industriously, loosening and opening the muscular ring. "I do not fucking believe this!" A third finger had joined the first two, and Ethan grunted as he fucked them in and out.

Satisfied that he was open enough, Ethan opened the condom and rolled it down over Mulder's stiff prick. "Well, Danny, if you won't believe your eyes, maybe you'll believe your cock." Ethan climbed back on the couch, straddling Mulder's hip on his knees. He reached behind him and took hold of his lover's prick with one hand, spreading his own buttocks with the other, and moved back slowly till he felt the latex covered head nudge against his anus.

"Untie me!" Mulder demanded. "Untie me, and I'll do it right."

"No, Danny. I told you, I'M going to fuck YOU." Ethan sank back, mouth falling open as he impaled himself on Fox's hot, thick erection. "Oh, yes," he hissed, as it scraped over his prostate. "You see, Danny..." He sank back till he was sitting on Fox's crotch, the other man's prick completely engulfed. "This way I can have it exactly like I like it. I can control the depth, the speed, the strength. I'M fucking you." And he proceded to demonstrate, rising and falling slowly.

Shit, he's right. He's fucking me, even if I'm the one with his cock up someone's ass. It was incredible, the tight, hot grip sliding up and down his hard-on, but he wanted to participate, not feel so helpless.

When he tried to buck his pelvis up, Ethan put his hands on Mulder's hips, pinning him to the sofa, and continued his slow, teasing pace. "No ya don't, Danny. You just lay there and take it, pretty boy. Let Daddy fuck you this way."

Mulder raised his head and thumped it back with frustration. Anyone who didn't believe it was possible to top while being fucked in the ass was sadly mistaken. Ethan was in complete control. He continued the slow glide, adjusting the angle and depth of penetration to his his hot spot on every pass. Mulder tried to wiggle, tried to push up, but Ethan held firm, and he ended up cursing.

Without touching himself, Ethan began to get hard again, blood rushing to fill tissues, his prick slowly inflating. Mulder watched in astonishment. "I don't believe it. I don't fucking believe it!"

"What will it take to convince you, Danny?" Ethan sank back on him, taking his prick as deeply as he could. Then he squeezed with his internal muscles, gritting his teeth in concentration. Despite his hold, Mulder's back arched. Ethan circled his hips, making grinding motions as he continued squeezing, and Mulder came with a howl, trembling helplessly.

While he still shuddered, Ethan dismounted and quickly rifled Mulder's pants pockets, coming up with another condom and the discarded lubricant. Panting and stunned, Mulder watched as he rolled the rubber onto his hard-on, then coated it thickly with the slippery gel. "You won't," Mulder gasped.

"When will you learn?" Ethan flipped the squirming Mulder onto his stomach, climbed on top of him, and entered him with one hard stab. Fox cried out. Even as relaxed as he was. the rough, sudden intrusion hurt. But the pain was secondary to the pleasure. Ethan fucked him hard and fast, pounding into the almost painfully tight flesh.

It was too soon for Mulder to get hard again, but the aggressive thrusts coaxed a few more dribbles of come from his softening cock as he moaned and whimpered in pleasure. Ethan pumped with almost vicious strokes. "You're mine, Danny. Body..."

"Yes, Con." It was a sob.

"heart..."

"Yes, oh, yes! I love you!"

"and soul." The last thrust took him over the edge, and he spewed his seed into the tight latex glove, thinking vaguely, We're both getting blood tests when this is over. I am going to fuck him bareback, I swear.

When it was done Ethan stripped off both of the condoms and took them into the bathroom for disposal. He returned with a warm, wet towel, and cleaned his lover and himself. Then he sat on the sofa, lifting Fox up onto his lap.

"Untie me?" Mulder's voice was tiny.

"Not just yet."

"All right." It was Daniel's acceptance, Ethan knew. Fox Mulder would have insisted, blasphemously if necessary, on being released.

Ethan held Fox, burying his face first in the agent's sweat dampened hair, then against his throat. Fox sighed dreamily, rubbing his cheek against Ethan's when the younger man looked at him questioningly. "I love you, Con."

"I love you, too, Danny."

They sat like that for awhile before Ethan untied Fox and they both went to bed, to hold each other through the night. And both of them were wondering when they would be able to speak those same words, but use their own names.

Chapter Thirty: An Obsession Begins

Montana occasionally required Manuel to act as his valet, but not always. Still, Manuel took particular care with Olivero that night. Montana was in a dark mood, even after the good sex in the car, and Manuel very much wanted to take his mind off of whatever had caused this moodiness. He coddled his master even more than usual. Each button was undone with meticulous care, each inch of uncovered skin stroked and kissed. When he was nude, Manuel urged him into the bed and gave him a slow, sensuous massage, ending by gently fellating him.

After spilling his seed for the second time that night, Olivero pulled Manuel up into his arms and fell asleep, holding his smaller lover in his sleep as a child might hold a favorite toy. Relieved and contented, Manuel rested against his broad chest.

It was the American who had brought about this edginess, he knew. He had come to recognize the type of man who could do this to his Olivero, the kind who drew out his passion in sometimes savage ways. It was a clearly defined type: physically they were Anglos with brown hair and light eyes, tall, lean, and handsome. But though there were a few exceptions in appearance, they were always much more similar in character. They were all from 'old families', socially prominent, well-bred, exclusively educated. They were flirtatious, confident, generally pleased with themselves, and a bit condescending to the rest of the world. Daniel Ballard seemed to fit this image perfectly.

Manuel drifted off to sleep wondering what it was in Olivero's past that had brought him to be so fixated on this one, almost iconic, type.

"Olivero, change your shirt."

Olivero stopped chewing his piece of bread (that and coffee were all they ever had for breakfast), and glanced down at the coarse, dun colored shirt that constitued approximately a fifth of his entire wardrobe. "Why?" It was clean, not that it mattered. They were going into the fields as usual today. It would be streaked with dirt and fragrant with sweat before they got home.

Margarite Montana frowned at her son. "The boss will be by with his new missus today."

Olivero shrugged, broad shoulders straining the shirt that was at least a size too small. He had outgrown it months ago, but his father had made it clear that he would have to provide his own clothing now that he was sixteen. Since his father also demanded a portion of his pitiful wages to cover room and board, that didn't leave much for new clothes. "So? The other shirt is just the same."

His father, pouring a third cup of coffee (Damn, the man drank so much that he should get a commission from the plantation owner for his support) snapped, "Don't argue with your mama, boy, and don't be stupid." Olivero felt himself beginning to flush. His father used that word, 'stupid', far too freely. "She means your good shirt, and you know it."

Now Olivero paused in his meager meal, putting down the crust. His good shirt? His one good, untorn, carefully reserved cotton shirt? The one that he wore to church on Sundays, and to the festivals? Wear THAT to sweat and grub in the fields? "No."

Luis Montana, Olivero's father, had married a woman who had more Anglo blood in her than most of the women in the area, but was himself unmistakably Mestizo, and mostly Indian, at that. His strapping son had inherited his size from some distant ancestor on his mother's side, and his hair and eyes from his father. His skin was a smooth olive that fell somewhere between his mother's paleness and his father's copper. When Luis flushed in anger, like now, his complexion was liverish. "Boy, you dare defy me?"

Olivero studied his father coldly. He had taken his share of beatings in the past. Finally he had come to the conclusion that there was no point in fighting the older man when there was no chance that he could win, and he had practiced sullen obedience. Luis had accepted it without question. It never occured to him that the boy was just biding his time till he was a physical match for his father. In the last couple of years, despite his heavy daily labors, Luis had gotten a little soft. He drank too much and ate more of the starch-heavy foods his wife fixed than he needed. Olivero, on the other hand...

Olivero had been growing. His father had forced him into the fields to work when he was twelve. There wasn't much money left after Luis took what he considered his due (always reminding the scowling boy that he could easily take all of it, as many parents did), and he made the contribution to the church that his mother insisted on. What was left, Olivero did not spend on candy, like most children his age. He didn't even spend it on the movies (all of them years old) that found their way to the single cinema a shopkeeper had set up in an abandoned storeroom. He spent his money on protein: meat, which he cooked himself on a fire out on the edge of the fields, away from the house. If he had brought it home, it would have found its way into his father's belly, he knew.

So Manuel had protein on a regular basis, and with the exercise he gained from his daily labors, his body had used it well. He had shot up in the last few years. He was almost six feet tall now, and would be even taller, he knew. No longer skinny, he was filling out. His long legs and stout arms were hard muscled from carrying loads and swinging a machete. While his father had been blindly complacent in his rule of his small family, Olivero had grown into a young man, a young man who would not tolerate the petty tyranny of the man who had sired him much longer.

Olivero finally answered what his father had meant as more of a threat than a question. "Yes."

Luis was so surprised that he let his cup tip, spilling coffee on the bare planks that served as the floor in the one room shack they all shared. "You dare..."

Olivero stood up quickly, so quickly that the rickety wooden chair spilled over backward, barely missing his mother, who squeaked in alarm. "Yes, I dare. The shirt would be ruined, you know this. Why should I wear it? To impress the owner's new bed warmer?" Luis' skin tone was approaching purple. Olivero wondered absently if he could anger his father into having a stroke. He could always hope. "Will she look at us and think 'Oh, what nice clean peons. They must live well, look at how nice their work clothes are'?" He spat on the floor, drawing a distressed cry from his mother. How a woman could be house-proud while living in such a hovel never ceased to amaze him.

Luis took a step toward the boy, hand raised to slap. But Olivero did not step back, as he had in the past. He stood his ground, dark eyes fixed firmly on his father's face. So Luis curled his hand into a fist instead, and waited for his child to back down with proper fear and respect. Instead Olivero took his own step toward his father, and Luis suddenly became aware of how big his son had grown. It occured to Luis that if Olivero had been some stranger he had met, he would have been very cautious to remain inoffensive. Because his son did not only look strong, he looked dangerous.

Luis dropped his hand, muttering, "Fine! You're a man now, eh? You can take care of yourself, then. Get out." He waited for the boy to apologize and beg for another chance.

Instead Olivero went over to the corner of the shack where he stored his meager belongings and began to stuff the few items into a canvas sack. He could hear his mother whispering frantically to his father, and the older man's grunting responses. Mama wanted Luis to make some effort to keep him here, but Luis' pride was hurt. Pride. Like that dog has anything to be proud of.

Finally he heard his mother muttered something about a paycheck, and his father made a small sound of dismay. His back turned, Olivero smiled coldly. Yes, you forgot about that, didn't you? You won't have what I bring in any more. He started to stuff the thin blankets that made up his only bed into the bag.

"Leave those," his father said gruffly. Olivero glanced back at him, then cinched the drawstring tight and knotted it. "Did you hear me?" His father raised his voice. "I said leave those! You didn't pay for them..."

Olivero turned and was back across the room in a few swift strides. He was so quick and came so close that his father moved back till he hit the wall. His son moved in still closer, till his flat belly pressed against the rounded one of the older man. "I didn't pay for them? No? I think I did. You've been taking two-thirds of anything I earned for the last four years, and don't give me that shit about how I owe it to you for all the money and care you put into raising me. We both know you gave as little of both as you could, and that only so I would grow up to bring in more money by my sweat. I could have gone on in school, I'm smart enough. A little work, and I could have had a scholarship, or I could have earned my tuition. But no, you wanted me in the fields, earning. Well, Padre, you can learn things in the world as well as in the classroom. I've learned. I've learned that I don't need you."

His father's mouth worked silently. Finally he said hoarsely, "Get out, ungrateful dog! Never come here again." He yelped as Olivero suddenly grabbed his throat in one hand and his shirt in the other, lifting him up on tiptoe. The grip on his throat wasn't quite enough to close off his wind, but Luis could sense the strength behind it, quivering and barely leashed in his son's big, tense body. He very wisely did not speak or struggle.

Olivero's voice was soft and chilly. "If I am a dog, Padre, what does that make you? You sired me." He gave the smaller man a quick shake, then dropped him. Picking up his dufflebag he dropped an absent kiss on his sobbing mother's forehead. "Don't worry about me, Mama. I'll do fine." Although he knew it was futile, he instructed, "Don't let the bastard work you any harder to make up for losing my pay."

Olivero left the rough, tiny building that had been the only home he had ever known without a backward glance. He wasn't really leaving behind anything he was going to miss. It still wasn't quite daylight, though there was a misty, grey light that made it just possible to make out where he was going. He walked quickly. His destination was several miles down the road, but his long legs made quick work of the distance.

He arrived at a small cluster of shacks almost identical to the one he had left, and knocked at the door of one of them. A grubby towel hanging over one glassless window lifted, and a suspicious face peered out. The face disappeared, and a moment later the door was opened by a young man a few years older than Olivero.

Bartolo eyed his friend, taking in the canvas bag, and grunted. "So. You finally did it, eh?" Olivero nodded. "Did you kill him?"

Olivero shrugged. "It didn't seem worth the effort."

Bartolo thought about this for a minute, then nodded and stepped aside, letting Olivero in. Olivero dumped his bag in a corner and sat down at a table that was just as rickety as the one in the home he had just left. Bartolo pushed a half loaf of dark bread toward him and Olivero broke off a chunk. As he began to eat, his friend said, "So, you staying?"

"How much?"

Bartolo named a figure significantly lower than what his father had demanded. "And you buy food every other week."

"Okay." Olivero pointed at a rough partition that screened off a small section of the room, cocking his head questioningly.

Bartolo grinned. "I knew you would be here, sooner or later." He shrugged. "Or some other who got sick of living at home. That," he said proudly, "Is the bedroom."

Olivero got up and went to look. The entrance was only an open space, no door, frame, or curtain. But inside there was a mattress on the floor. An actual, store bought mattress, even if it was old, stained, and bleeding stuffing. Most of the workers in this area made do with sacks stuffed with grass and leaves. Such a mattress, even a second or third hand one, was a luxury.

He looked back at Bartolo, who grinned. "Whichever one of us brings a girl home can have a little privacy."

Olivero grunted. He didn't really need the privacy. His mother had not allowed his father to send him outside when they made love, fearing that one of the great cats who still occasionally roamed the area, snatching pets and unwary children, would carry him off. Also the young girls, and some of the not so young ones, had been showing him a good bit of attention the last two years. He was well acquainted with sex. The idea of having someone else watch him while he did it did not bother him. The idea of watching others while they enjoyed themselves was desirable.

He looked at Bartolo and said, "What if I want to bring home a man?"

Bartolo had a cup of coffee halfway to his lips, and he paused, mouth hanging open as he regarded his friend. This was a surprise. True, Olivero had never confided much in him, but he knew for a fact that more than one girl had gone with the big man into the fields and returned with a dreamy smile, walking stiffly. It had never occurred to him that Olivero might be interested in both sexes. He considered his friend's bulk, remembered a few fights he had witnessed, and gave a mental shrug. It wasn't wise to express disapproval of someone like Montana. "Bring a sheep if you like, as long as it's housebroken."

A few minutes later the two young men walked out to the road and down to the spot where the plantation trucks would pick up the workers for transportation to their various jobs. Several dozen men of all ages, from younger than Olivero to grizzled old men, squatted or stood, talking softly and smoking as they waited. All of the men, he noted, were wearing clothes that would have been considered casual in among the middle class. Here they were the best each had. Even Bartolo was wearing a rather hideous pink shirt. The still stiff collar contrasted grotesquely with the grime that was engrained on his neck.

Olivero had asked him about it, and he had said sheepishly that he heard that the boss would be looking for a one or two workers to tend the grounds around his house. It would pay better than being a common laborer, and the work, though hard, would still be much easier than that in the field.

His father was among the group. Luis glared at his son. When Olivero did not drop his eyes, his father looked away and began talking loudly to a confused friend about the ingratitude of children. Soon three battered pickup trucks came rattling up the road and stopped.

The supervisor, very proud in his clean white shirt began making assignments: so many to clear more land, so many to plant seedlings, so many to cultivate and tend the budding plants. The coffee cherries, small and green, had appeared about four months ago and were swelling toward ripeness. Already some of them were beginning to show a faint reddish tinge. In another few weeks it would be time for the first picking, then all the men would be needed to harvest.

Olivero was assigned to help with the seedlings. The greenhouses were close to the owner's house, within easy sight of it. Olivero looked at it as he climbed out of the back of the truck with the other men. He'd seen it a few times before, slipping quietly through the trees to observe it from their shelter. It was, perhaps, not a mansion, but it would have been considered large even in a more developed area. He'd talked to one of the girls who cleaned it. There were more than twenty rooms, and FIVE bathrooms. Imagine that. Olivero had never relieved himself inside a building unless it was in a pot, the contents to be emptied outside at the first possible moment. The concept was fascinating.

I will have a house like that someday, he thought. There was no real envy in this musing. Why should he envy someone something when he would have the same or better later on?

In the greenhouse the gardener, Diaz, gathered the men around him and showed them how to transfer the delicate seedlings from their growing beds into the canvas sacks that would be used to transport them. "You wet the sack first--the roots must be kept moist for the trip. Then you loosen the soil carefully, gently. At least this far, all around the plant, and this deep. Then you pull slowly, carefully, wiggling. If there is resistance, you stop and loosen some more..."

It was made very clear that if any of the plants were damaged, the cost of replacing them would be docked from the careless one's salary. Several of the men looked reluctant about beginning the task once they heard this, but there really wasn't any choice. You did what you were assigned, or there was no pay. And jobs weren't all that easy to come by--well, legitimate jobs.

The other men worked slower than they needed to, trying to preserve their good clothes. Olivero, not having that worry, simply went about the task at hand. He scooped damp earth into burlap sacks, loosened plants, settled the seedlings carefully into the transport bundle, and tied them up gently, but securely. He was accomplishing a good third more than any of the others. The old gardener watched him work, nodding in approval.

They worked steadily till it was almost lunch time. The truck had already made several trips out to the newly cleared and cultivated fields, delivering the seedlings to the men who would plant them. As he loaded the last of the bundles into the back of the truck, Diaz came to Olivero. "You. You are Montana's boy?"

Olivero wiped a bit of mud off on his shirt, shaking his head. "Yes, I am Olivero de la Montana, but I am not Luis Montana's boy. I am my own man."

The gardener studied him for a moment, then nodded in understanding. "You work well at this, Montana. You are not afraid to get your hands dirty, but you have a light touch with the plants. Would you be interested in working here?"

Olivero did not hesitate. "Yes." Out of the fields? Hell, yes. And my old man will choke when he hears.

"Good. It is not certain, you understand. The owner has final approval, and I hear that his new woman rules him. But they will listen to my suggestion, I think. Come with me on this last trip. They are out touring the plantation, and we should run into them."

So Olivero went with Diaz and they drove out to the field that had been designated for the new planting. When they arrived, they saw that they had timed the delivery well. There were only a few seedlings left beside the field, waiting to be nestled into the earth. The reason that they were still unplanted was apparent.

A large, expensive car was pulled to the side of the road, engine idling, and the workers had gathered near it. A man and woman were standing by the car, speaking with the supervisor. Olivero recognized the man immediately as the plantation's owner: a florid man in his late fifties.

He was one of the old money Colombian families. His ancestors had come over from Europe generations ago and founded their dynasties. But according to the rumors, he had married an American. He had apparently done what so many of his peers had done: gone looking outside this social circle for a wife. It was a good idea, Olivero thought. The local upper crust had become a bit incestuous in the last few decades.

The truck stopped behind the group of workers. Diaz went to stand at the back, watching the three oblivious people near the car. Olivero, not too terribly interested, lowered the tailgate and began to unload the bundled seedlings. He only paused and looked around when he heard a soft whirring sound that he couldn't identify.

The rear window of the car was sliding down slowly. When it was fully down, the sound stopped, and Olivero realized that it had been the sound of the window being lowered electrically. He had heard of such things, but never seen them. A voice floated out of the shadowed interior of the car. "Mom." Olivero smiled to himself. It was the voice of a bored child. So, the owner had acquired a family at the same time he acquired a wife. The voice came again, more impatient. "Mom!"

The woman went to the car. "What is it, Duncan?"

"I'm bored and I'm hungry. When are we going home?"

"Soon. Why don't you get out? You haven't really been able to see a thing from in there."

"I don't want to. It's hot."

She frowned, and there was a touch of steel in her voice. "This is your home now, and you can at least take an interest in it. Get out of the car and try to act like a reasonably well-bred young man instead of a brat."

"Fine!" The door of the car opened. Olivero watched in surprise as a tall slender figure extracted itself from the back seat, then slammed the door. "Happy?"

"Duncan, you are being insufferable." The woman returned to the two men, making polite noises.

Duncan, obviously her son, slouched against the car, scowling. He looked as if he owned the world, and was very displeased with the way it was being run. Olivero continued working, but he couldn't help glancing at the young man now and then. He was older than Olivero had expected from the petulant tone, at least fifteen, perhaps more. He was almost as tall as Olivero, but his body was reed slender where Olivero was broad and sturdy. His hair was dark brown, but the sun would catch bright glints in it as he turned his head.

The boy scanned the crowd of workers, his expression mildly disdainful. His gaze passed over Olivero, and Olivero suddenly wished that it had lingered a little longer. But, after all, it was hardly likely that a smooth, moneyed boy like that would find anything of interest in a rough laborer on his new father's plantation. He continued with his work.

Soon he had to climb up into the bed of the truck to get to the plants that were at the back. He spent several moments arranging them so that they would be easier to transport, and was startled when a soft voice behind him said, "Hey."

He turned, a seedling cradled in each arm, to find the boy standing at the tailgate, looking up at him. "Si?"

The boy frowned. "Do you speak English?" "Yes, I speak English."

The boy studied the burlap wrapped bundles. "What are you doin'?"

"I am unloading the seedlings. They must be planted quickly, before the roots have a chance to dry out."

The boy frowned, then looked at the crowd of men. "Then why aren't they helpin' you? Why are you doin' it by yourself?"

Olivero shrugged, walking to the back of the truck. He nodded toward the trio. "That is your mother, yes? The padrone's new esposa?" The boy looked confused. "His wife?"

The boy made a sour face. "Yeah. He's my new step."

Now Olivero was puzzled. "Step?"

Duncan smiled, and Olivero was suddenly enchanted. It lit up the boy's face. He had been attractive when he was pouting, but the smile made him look positively radiant. "Guess you don't know English as well as you could, and I don't know Spanish as well as I might." The voice was fascinating, too. He had an accent which made his speech slow and drawling. "Step, as in stepfather. My Mom's second husband."

"Step. The men, they are paying their respects to him, and to her."

"But you're still workin'. Does that mean that you don't respect them?"

Olivero considered the young man carefully. Somehow he did not think that Duncan would be terribly upset if Olivero DIDN'T respect his parents. "Someone must work, or the seedlings will suffer."

The smile became impish. "Oh, now THAT'S an answer that isn't an answer, but it really answers the question quite well. Perhaps you don't quite have a grasp on the finer points of slang, but you know how to use the language."

Olivero stepped off the tailgate, landing lithely less than a foot from the boy. Duncan drew in a sharp breath, but didn't move. He was a an inch or two shorter than Olivero, and had to look up at him. Gold Olivero thought. He has gold eyes, like the jaguar. In this land of dark hair and dark eyes, Olivero had never seen hazel eyes before. Everything about Duncan seemed exotic and rich. Olivero looked down into those golden eyes and said quietly, "Not everything is learned in the schoolroom."

The boy gazed up at him, eyes wide. He ran his tongue nervously over a bottom lip that looked full, plush. He would look like he was pouting, even in the best of moods. Olivero followed the passage of the moist pink tip, then looked back into the boy's eyes, not bothering to conceal the heat in his gaze.

He was tempted to drop the seedlings, grab Duncan, and drag him up against his body, soiling that white skin with the mud that stained his own clothes and letting him feel the hard, hot bulge that was growing at his crotch. He thought about kissing him, biting that sulky lower lip, sucking a patch as dark as wine on the skin of his throat. He thought of bending him over the lowered tailgate, lowering his neatly pressed trousers, and fucking him there in the open air, under the glaring sun.

The boy swallowed. His voice husky, he said, "My... my name is Duncan Broussard."

Olivero inclined his head slightly. "Olivero de la Montana."

Duncan smiled again, with a touch of shyness. "Your name sounds like a Spanish Grandee's."

"No, senor. I am a simple peon."

One dark eyebrow raised. "Somehow I hardly think that you are simple, Olivero."

"Duncan!"

Annoyance flashed in his expression as he looked back at his mother. "What?"

"Duncan, what are you doing?"

Talking to that dirty peasant. Olivero mentally supplied the part of the sentence that was left unsaid.

"You wanted me to take an interest in my new home, didn't you? Well, that's what I'm doin'."

"That's good, but I don't want you wandering off like that."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Mother!" He put his hands on his hips, shaking his head in irritation. "It isn't like I'm some two-year-old, now is it?"

"You don't know this area, Duncan." Her eyes drifted to the large young man standing so near her son, and her eyes narrowed. "You don't know what sort of dangers are lurking. Now come over here."

Duncan looked at Olivero and rolled his eyes expressively. Then he jerked his head invitingly toward the car and started back. Without hesitation Olivero deposited the seedlings and followed him.

The new bride did not look pleased when she saw the worker following her son, but she didn't say anything. Diaz, the gardener, had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and now spoke diffidently to the owner. "Senor, if I might? You asked me to choose helpers to care for the greenhouses and the grounds around your home."

"Yes, that's right," he agreed. He beamed at his wife. "I haven't bothered much with the lawns and garden before, but I want to keep it pretty for my beautiful lady. Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Si, senor." Diaz beckoned to Olivero, who came to stand beside him. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "This is Olivero. I have watched him. He listens to instructions, and works hard."

The woman was eyeing him with distaste. "He's very rough looking."

"Well, what do you expect, Mother?" snapped Duncan. "He works. Do you think he's going to have a manicure? Do you expect him to be wearing a formal shirt and a cummerbund while he's planting trees?" He spoke directly to his stepfather for the first time that day. "You ought to hire him, John. I've been watching him. You might have noticed that he's the ONLY person who's really been working. He wasn't just standing around admiring the view--he was getting things done."

John looked at his stepson with not a little surprise. Then he looked at the young man in question. He was rough, yes, but that was to be expected. He was, after all, a mestizo, and a common laborer. But he was big, and strong, and there was a gleam of sharp intelligence in his eyes that was rare in the locals.

He nodded. "That's two recommendations. I suppose that's enough. Well, Olivero, do you want to come work at the house?"

Olivero's eyes shifted to Duncan, standing just behind his mother. He gazed once again into the gilded depths of his eyes and said quietly, "Yes, senor. I want that very much."

Chapter Thirty-one: Reminiscing

Manuel and Olivero stood outside the hotel room, and Olivero gave a brisk, but polite rap. When there was no answer, he knocked again. They could hear a voice inside call out, "Jesus, Danny, will ya get that?"

"Why can't you?"

"Because I'm peeing, and it isn't polite to answer the door with your dick in your hand, ya idjet."

They heard someone moving closer. "Maybe not, but more people would feel truly welcome if it were." The door opened. Daniel, fully dressed but with his hair still sleep-tousled, leaned against the frame. "Well, hello. Aren't you two the early birds? It's...," he consulted a handsome watch. "Good God, it's not even eight yet."

"I should have warned you that we would need to leave early, but we must if we are to arrive at my compound before lunch."

Mulder didn't seem inclined to move. "Couldn't we eat on the way?"

"This is not America, Daniel. We do not have a McDonald's every few miles."

Mulder made a face. "It's just as well. I outgrew those places about the time Daddy upped my allowance." At Olivero's questioning look he smiled and added, "My biological daddy."

Ethan came out of the bathroom. "Who was...? Oh, for heaven's sake! Danny, move your ass and let them come in."

"Whatever you say, Con." Said ass was given an extra sway as he moved back into the room, allowing the visitors to enter.

As he moved close to his lover, Ethan swatted his butt. "Go comb your hair. You look like a slut."

The older man gasped in feigned shock. "No! Really?"

As Fox went in the bedroom, Ethan shook his head. "I love him, but he's such a brat sometimes."

Olivero's eyes followed Mulder. Through the open doorway he could be seen standing at the dresser mirror, carefully arranging his hair. "Yes, but the spoiled little boys can be very appealing, can't they?"

Twenty years earlier.

That next morning Olivero bought his lunch from the rickity panel van that stopped at the spot where the men gathered each morning. It was loaded with simple, cheap food to sell to the men who had no woman to prepare their meals, and it did a brisk business. Olivero bought his usual fare, but more of it. And, in celebration, he spluged on one of the packaged commercially prepared snack cakes instead of the usual banana for dessert. There were mutters about what was viewed as his extravagance, but he ignored them grandly. He was master of his own finances now, and no one could tell him how to spend them. There would be time enough for frugality later: Today he wanted to indulge himself.

Diaz found Olivero waiting outside the greenhouse when he arrived the next day, just after dawn. The young man stood up as the old gardener approached, and Diaz reflected with satisfaction that he would not have to do all the heavy work himself any more. The boy was an ox. In body, Diaz thought, watching Olivero's eyes. He's sharp, though, even if he doesn't show it. And that's clever, too. The bosses don't trust a peon who's too smart.

Olivero spent the morning moving wheelbarrows full of soil from a churned-up patch at the edge of the forest into the greenhouse and packing it into seeding trays. At noon Diaz called him to the front. "Lunch time. Did you bring food?" Olivero nodded, getting a small cloth bag off a shelf by the door. "From now on you do not need to bring it. They will provide a meal, and we can eat in the kitchen. It is air-conditioned." He grinned as Olivero tried not to look interested. Living in this area it was doubtful the boy had ever actually felt air conditioning unless he had made a trip to a city.

They went to the back of the house and entered the kitchen. Olivero gasped as the chilled air struck him. After the heat outside the sweat cooling on his skin made it seem almost frigid. The cook, a fat mestizo woman, greeted Diaz warmly and gave Olivero a speculative look as she was introduced. She provided them with glasses of iced tea, and they sat at the table while she fixed a sandwich for Diaz.

"So, Luisa, how do you like your new mistress?" Diaz asked.

Luisa snorted. "She makes me tired. My cooking has been fine for the senor for more than ten years. Now this milk face comes and nothing is right. I use too much spice, I use too much grease. Must we have beans so often?" She sighed heavily, setting the plate before Diaz. "I think she will try to have him fire me so she can bring in one who is as pale as herself."

"I like your cookin', Luisa." They looked up to find Duncan Broussard in the doorway, smiling at them. He came over and planted a kiss on the now giggling woman's brow, having to lean down to do it. "An' you're right, she IS lookin' for a reason to dismiss you. Too much spice an' grease an' beans my butt. We come from N' Orleans, an' she's eaten plenty of all three, I can tell you. You got somethin' for me to eat, pretty lady?"

"You shouldn't talk about your Mama that way, Senor Duncan." The words were a reprimand, but the tone was amused. "Of course I have food for you. Go to the dining room and I will bring it."

"I don't wanna eat in there all by myself." Diaz and Luisa looked mildly scandalized as Duncan dragged out the chair next to Olivero and dropped down into it.

Luisa said hesitantly, "Senor, your Mama said..."

"She's not here, Luisa. She's off shoppin'. Again." Duncan turned to Olivero and said conversationally. "That's somethin' my Mama is REAL good at: spendin' someone else's money. Ask any one of my former daddies." He gave Luisa another charming smile. "How about that grub, Luisa? I'm tryin' to be polite, here, but my belly is about to make some real rude noises." Luisa started fixing a sandwich, and Duncan turned his attention back to Olivero. "Hi."

Montana nodded. "Good day, Senor."

"Oh, please, don't go callin' me that. I'm not old enough for a title yet. Call me Duncan." He flicked a glance at the two adults, who were watching this exchange. "You, too. Please. At least when Mom and the step aren't around." He looked back at the young man beside him. "Olivero, right?" Olivero nodded again. "De la Montana. The Spanish grandee. What you been up to this mornin', Olivero?"

"I have been bringing soil to the greenhouse."

"Hard work?"

"Not as hard as some I have done." Olivero cut a chunk off the sausage he was eating.

Daniel eyed it curiously. "What's that?"

"Just a local sausage. Cow and pig."

"Beef and pork," Duncan corrected.

"As you say. Many peppers. It is very spicy."

"Can I try some?"

Olivero said softly, "It is peasant food, Duncan. Very strong, very simple. I do not think it would suit you."

Duncan gave him a crooked smile. "You goin' to presume you know my tastes? I happen to like things a little crude. So, can I have some?"

Olivero sliced a bit off the sausage and offered it to Duncan, holding it on the blade. Instead of taking it in his fingers, Duncan leaned over and delicately lifted it from the blade with his teeth.

He started to chew. Olivero had to force down a smile when the boy's eyes flew wide open in surprise. He finished chewing quickly, swallowed, and grabbed Montana's glass of tea, hastily gulping down half of it. There was laughter in Montana's voice. "I warned you it was too hot for you."

Duncan fanned himself with his hand. "Oh, no, you don't understand. That's just how I like it: hot and not too refined." His golden eyes were fixed on Olivero's face as he said this.

Diaz sighed to himself as he ate. He wondered how long he was going to be able to keep his new helper. Not long if the boy's mother found out the game he was playing. Surely she must know by now? It wasn't as if the boy was making a great effort to disguise his interest.

Diaz finished his meal quickly, and arose. "I want to finish looking at that catalogue that came in yesterday. Olivero, when you are done, spread fertilizer on the vegetables. Evenly, mind you, but not enough to smother the plants."

He left, and Luisa took a sheet of paper from a cork board on the wall. "I must have one of the men take me to town for supplies. Will you be all right, Senor Duncan?"

Duncan cast a despairing glance at Olivero, but did not call her on the title. "Just show me where the cookies are before you go."

"Senor Duncan, there are no cookies. Your Mama has said you eat too many sweets."

"What?" He was outraged. "That is utter nonsense, Luisa!" His voice was wheedling. "You must have SOME sort of dessert around here."

She pointed to a fruit bowl on the table. "Apples, bananas, pears..."

"Luisa, I said DESSERT, not roughage." She shrugged, confused. "Oh, all right! Go on." His voice was pettish. Duncan slumped in his chair, arms crossed, scowling. She left, shaking her head.

Olivero casually picked up his lunch sack and emptied it. A slightly squashed package of chocolate cupcakes fell out onto the table. Duncan's eyes zeroed in on them as Olivero dropped the sack and began eating a small piece of cheese.

Duncan reached out and touched the cellophane with one fingertip. It crinkled faintly. He noticed Olivero watching him, and withdrew his hand. "I didn't know they had these over here."

"I think they are like the Coca Cola: there are not many places on earth they have not reached." Olivero continued eating. Duncan was ignoring his half-finished sandwich, staring at the snack cakes as if mesmerized. Finally Olivero took the package and unwrapped it carefully, setting the cupcakes down in their little white cardboard tray. He peeled one up and ate it slowly, taking several more bites than he needed to. Ask me, Chico, he thought. Ask for what you want.

As he was reaching for the last cupcake Duncan said, "Can I have some of that?"

"It would be a sacrifice, Duncan." He gave the boy a level stare. "I like sweets."

"Please?" Duncan smiled. He'd gotten a lot out of life with that smile, and he saw no reason why it shouldn't get him that cupcake. He'd expected Olivero to cave in and push the little paper tray toward him. He was disappointed when instead he picked up the cake himself. I must be losin' my touch.

But then Olivero scooted his chair closer to Duncan and reached toward him with his free hand. Duncan stiffened as the warm, slightly rough palm closed over the back of his neck, holding him. Olivero leaned closer and brought the pastry to Duncan's lips. Duncan stared at him, surprised almost to the point of astonishment. People just didn't TOUCH each other like this in his circles.

Olivero's voice was like his touch: warm and rough. "Don't you want it, Duncan?"

"Yes." When he spoke, his lips brushed the cake, leaving a smear of chocolate on his mouth. Instinctively he licked it off.

Olivero grinned at him and pressed the cake more firmly against his lips. "Then take it."

Duncan took a bite. Sweetness flooded his mouth, making it fill quickly with saliva. He chewed, hardly aware of the contrasting textures of the pasty icing and crumbly cake. All he was really aware of was the touch on the back of his neck and the dark eyes of the man feeding him.

The interior of the now broken cake was filled with foamy white cream. Watching Olivero, Duncan flicked out his tongue, capturing a blob of the sugary white fluff. When he saw the heat in Olivero's eye he did it again. Soon he was slowly licking the cake, probing into the crevices in search of the last speck of cream. Then he finished the rest of the cake in dainty nibbles.

Olivero had begun to massage the back of his neck. Duncan's eyes half closed in pleasure. When the dark smeared fingers touched his lips, Duncan unhesitatingly licked them clean, removing every trace of chocolate.

He waited for Olivero to release him then, but he didn't. Instead his free hand, fingers still damp, touched Duncan's face, tracing his cheekbone. He leaned even closer, and kissed him.

The boy's lips parted easily under Olivero's own, and Montana sent his tongue questing into his hot, moist cavern. Olivero tasted spice and chocolate as he licked deep into Duncan's mouth. For a long moment he explored, finding the taste of Duncan's flesh behind the others.

Suddenly Duncan pulled his head back, pushing at Montana's shoulder, and said breathlessly, "You shouldn't do that."

Montana stared at his flushed face. Then he reached down suddenly, cupping his hand over the mound of Duncan's crotch, molding his fingers over the lump that was beginning to strain at the fly, and whispered, "Such a weak little protest, Duncan. How can I believe you mean it? But I must get back to work now. There will be time later."

He left the kitchen with his own erection pressing against the rough material of his pants. For once he was willing to forgo instant relief. He had decided yesterday that he would have Duncan Broussard, and he wanted to have him at his leisure, when he could take time to savor the experience.

Present Day

Fox came out of the bedroom, tucking his comb in his pocket, to find Olivero watching him with a curiously intense gaze. "What is it? Is my shirt untucked?"

"No. You look wonderful. I was just thinking..."

Fox arched an eyebrow. "Penny for them? Or should that be a peso?"

"It isn't much, and it's rather silly."

"Well, go on. I can usually use a bit of silliness in my life."

"I was remembering last night. Your dessert."

" I had some absolutely sinful chocolate thing."

"Yes. I was only thinking how fond you seem to be of chocolate." When Mulder looked baffled, Olivero shrugged. "Some things are too personal to be explained. I'll ring for the bell hop."

Chapter Thirty-two:Obsession Grows

It was a different car from the one they had taken the night before. The back had a second seat facing the usual back bench, so that there was room for both of the couples, and there was a blank faced mestizo to do the driving. Manuel, it seemed, only chauffeured in the city.

Ethan and Mulder got into the front facing seat. Manuel sat facing them, and Mulder and Ethan exchanged looks when Olivero sat next to Mulder rather than joining his young lover. "I hope you do not mind," Olivero said as the car started. "but riding backward, it gives me a headache."

"Really? You look like nothing less than a two-by-four could give you a headache, Olivero," Mulder said mildly. Ethan dug a warning elbow into his ribs. "What? It's the truth."

"Do not scold him, Connor. It's flattering."

As they left the city, Connor said, "Your compound, Olivero? Is it close to your fields?"

"Some of them. I have a great deal of land in various areas, but most of the processing is done nearby." He looked at Mulder, then Ethan. "We can wait till we are at the compound to discuss this."

Mulder crossed his arms. "Look, you might as well know right now that I'm not some little fluff to be pushed off to the side while the big, bad men talk business."

"Danny." Ethan's voice was more chiding than irritated.

"No, Connor." He looked at Olivero steadily. "Yes, Connor started his enterprise on his own, and he has final say, but I'm an equal partner. I'm the one who runs the books and keeps the tax services off our asses by making it all look legitimate. It isn't easy to hide the kind of cash flow he has, you know."

Olivero looked at Ethan. "Connor?"

Ethan shrugged. "It's true. I'd have probably been in the nick a long time ago if it wasn't for Danny. He isn't just a pretty face. He has a business degree, and he isn't afraid to use it."

"I never had a chance before. Andrew was a nit. He was convinced that I couldn't have a working brain, since he was fucking me on a regular basis. I don't know if he just assumed that since I bottomed for him I was stupid, or if he thought that he'd fucked my brains out. Anyway, he never let me do anything more complicated than make dinner reservations. I could have increased his profits on his nag farm by twenty per cent, but he told me to shut my mouth unless he had something to stick in it." Mulder's voice had taken on an acid edge.

"He was a foolish man indeed. No, Daniel, you will not be totally cut out of the negotiations, but there will be times I wish to deal with your Connor alone."

Mulder looked slightly mollified. "All right. As long as you don't sell me short. I HATE being underestimated."

"I wouldn't do that, Daniel."

"Good. Now, can we have some music in here?"

"Certainly." Olivero called in Spanish to the driver, and he turned on the radio. Heavy classical music flowed from the speakers, and Mulder rolled his eyes expressively. Another order, and the driver fiddled with the dial. There was a ballad in Spanish, then some horns-heavy jazz.

Finally they hit a station with a bouncy, impertinent rock-n-roll song, and Mulder waved frantically. "Stop! Stop there!" He grinned, starting to sing with the song. "Where have you been hidin' out lately, honey? You can't dress trashy till ya spend a lot of money. Everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound..." He broke off, smiling at Olivero. "Billy Joel, the best of the eighties."

Olivero nodded. "Yes. He is very good."

"Oh." Mulder looked surprised. "You know his work? I wouldn't have thought it would have been that popular down here."

Olivero gazed out the window. "I had a friend once who was very fond of him."

Twenty years before

Olivero looked up from the near empty wheelbarrow as the door on the other side of the greenhouse opened. Duncan hesitated, then shut the door and began to make his way through the tables and beds toward him. Olivero wanted to just stand still, watching his graceful movements as he approached, but it would not do to show too much interest. He lifted another sack of fertilizer from the flat stack against the wall, shaking it so that the contents settled and allowed him to prop it up. The bags were stacked on a pallet, and were not quite waist high.

Duncan stopped in the aisle, a few feet away. "Hi."

Olivero nodded at him, "Buenos dias, Duncan." He said nothing more, letting the other boy begin to fidget. You seek me out, Chico. You should know what you want.

At last Duncan said, "Uh, Diaz went out to check on the seedlings y'all took out yesterday. He said to just finish spreadin' the fertilizer inside the greenhouse, then you could go home."

"Good. I am almost done here." He indicated the large, rectangular object that dangled from Duncan's hand. "What is that?"

"This?" Duncan held it up. "This is my boom box." When Olivero looked politely puzzled he said, "You know, a portable tape player. The sound is really cool. I thought maybe you'd like some music while you work. I know it always helps me when I have some grotty chore to do."

As Duncan cleared a space on a nearby table for the box, Olivero wondered with amusement what possible tasks this pampered young man had ever been assigned? Probably no more than picking his own underwear and socks off the floor. Duncan pulled a few tapes from his pockets, looking at them. "Which do you like? Blondie, or Billy Joel?" Olivero shrugged. He had never heard of either of them. The radios available in the area had a very limited range, and did not pick up American broadcasts, and American rock and roll had not gotten popular on the local stations.

"Okay, then I'll choose." He slipped a tape into the machine, shut it, and pushed the button. "This is good. It's his new one, 'Glass Houses'. I got it just before we left the states." The music was fast and bright. 'You May Be Right.' It seemed to be about a wild boy coaxing someone used to playing it safe into doing things a little more dangerously. "What do you think?"

"Appropriate." Duncan regarded him curiously, not understanding, as he pulled his pocket knife out and opened it, using it to slit the bag open. Olivero noticed Duncan's eyes on the knife and showed it to him. "You like knives?"

"Um, kinda." Duncan reached out hesitantly, laying one fingertip on the flat of the shiny blade. "My last stepdad gave me one once." He grimaced. "Mom took it away. She said I'd hurt myself."

"She doesn't want you playing with dangerous things."

He scowled. "No, she doesn't. Sent me to a damn boarding school 'cause she thought public school would be too rough for me." Olivero folded the knife, and emptied the bag into the wheelbarrow. Duncan watched as he hefted it smoothly and easily. "You're pretty strong from all this work, aren't you?"

"Si." Olivero picked up the shovel and began once again to spread the fertilizer. "The world makes a man hard, or it kills him."

Duncan sighed, watching him. "Well, I guess I might as well just commit suicide before I graduate, then, 'cause I expect the world is gonna kill my ass."

"Not necessarily, Chico. If you cannot defend yourself, there is always an alternative."

"Like what?"

Olivero paused, leaning on the shovel, and smiled at him lazily. "You can find someone to take care of you."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "What? Some rich old lady? I've seen some of Mom's friends with a second or third husband who's about half their age--and poor."

Olivero started shoveling again. "That isn't what I meant, Chico."

Duncan shifted, obviously wanting to say something, ask a question. But he decided against that. Instead he turned the music up a little louder. The song now was about a fantasy being all you needed sometimes. It, too, was fast and bright. Duncan began to bounce on his heels in time with the rhythm, singing the chorus with it. "It's just a fantasy, it's not the real thing. Sometimes a fantasy is all you need..."

Foolish, Olivero thought. Fantasies can serve only so long. He'll learn that.

Olivero worked steadily, carefully covering the greenhouse beds with the pungent fertilizer while Duncan continued to listen to the music and watch him work. Gradually the boy moved from bouncing to dancing in the narrow aisle, head bopping from side to side so that his brown hair fell in his eyes and Olivero had to resist the urge to brush it away.

Finally done, he leaned the shovel against the wall and walked the few steps back to Duncan. Reaching past him, he punched the STOP button on the player, and the music cut off suddenly. Duncan stopped moving, looking at him with a hint of annoyance. "Why did you do that? I was dancing."

"Yes, I saw. I know that the senor is busy in his city office today, and you say that the senora is shopping." Duncan nodded. "Luisa has gone to town, and Diaz is out in the field." Duncan nodded again, more slowly this time. "We are alone." The third nod was slower still. "Good." He leaned forward and kissed Duncan.

The boy pulled back with a nervous laugh. "Oh, now, look, a joke's a joke, but..." He had backed away. Olivero followed him, steps slow and deliberate, an almost gentle smile on his face. Duncan twitched. In the kitchen it had been different. It had been bright and cool and clean, with the smell of dish soap in the air. Here...

Here the light that fell through the overhead glass was dim, tinted green by the leaves through which it sifted. It was hot and humid, and he was very aware of what now seemed like the ridiculous layers of clothing he wore. No brisk, clean scent of soap here, either. No, the greenhouse had an earthy aroma, a smell of rich loam and growing things, a peculiarly primitive smell. And Olivero de la Montana seemed very at home here.

The urge to flee was almost overwhelming, but the memory of that kiss in the kitchen held Duncan as the other young man approached. He forced himself to stand still, and lifted his chin in an effort to look casual.

Olivero's smile broadened. "Duncan, you were not teasing me?"

"I... no. Teasing? I didn't... didn't do anything."

His voice was chiding. "Perhaps you said nothing, but there are other ways to make promises." He took hold of the boy's shoulders and kissed him hard. Duncan stiffened, jaws clamped tight shut. It had been one thing to flirt with this rough young man in the safety of the house, but here...

Olivero pulled back a little, murmuring, "Open your mouth." Duncan just stared at him. He put his right hand in Duncan's hair, gripping tightly. "Chico, when I kiss you, you will open your mouth. You will not try to keep me out."

Duncan's eyes were huge, his voice faint. "What makes you think I'm gonna let you kiss me?"

Olivero laughed. "Then fight."

The easy assumption of his compliance irritated Duncan. He kicked, trying to push the bigger boy away, and Olivero hissed in pain as a bruise was laid on his shin, but he did not release his prize. His left arm went around Duncan's waist and he spun him, then walked him backwards till he bumped up against the stack of bags. "So, you're not such a timid little kitten after all, are you? That's good. I like a little spirit in my fucks."

Duncan cried out as Olivero shoved him down on the stack, so that he half lay on it, legs dangling. Before he could pull himself up, Olivero had pulled out his knife, and opened it. Though he made no threatening move with the blade, Duncan fell back and lay still, staring at it, wide-eyed.

Olivero gripped the bottom of Duncan's shirt, stretching it taut. "You like knives." It was a statement now rather than a question. He slid the tip of the blade under the last button. With a flick of his wrist the little disc popped off, and he moved up to the next one, slicing it off. "Yes, Chico, I understand. Knives are very much a man's weapon." He made a short, sharp motion with his hand, and Duncan's breath caught painfully. "The stabbing. Very suggestive, yes?" He cut away the next button. "And a man who uses a knife must be in control, always in control." The fourth button spun away to be lost down between the sacks. Duncan's breathing had become ragged. "One little slip, a fraction of an inch to the left or right..." The fifth button was removed, and the sixth. "But I must be careful. It would be such a shame to mark that pretty white skin."

In quick succession he cut off the last two buttons. Then he put the tip of the blade under Duncan's chin, touching so lightly that the skin was not even dimpled. But when he pressed upward, Duncan lifted his chin quickly, meeting Olivero's dark eyes. "Do not look away from me, Duncan." He made no explicit threat, but Duncan carefully kept his eyes fixed on Olivero when the knife was removed.

Olivero used the blade to flick Duncan's shirt open, exposing his pale, smooth chest, heaving with his heavy breaths. The big man blinked in surprise, then laughed quietly. "Oh, Duncan." He reached out and carefully, lightly scraped the blade over the rigid pink points of Duncan's nipples. The boy moaned deep in his throat, and the already hard flesh stiffened even more.

Olivero closed his knife, putting it away. "So, you're not entirely a virgin?"

Duncan's voice was breathy, almost scornful. "I've been in all-boy schools since I was eleven. What the hell do you think?"

"How much have you done?" Olivero replaced the knife with his hands, sliding his palms over Duncan's chest.

The Anglo boy arched up to his touch. "That depends, I guess. A lot by school standards. I'm not quite the school slut, but I'm close. I don't know how it is compared to the rest of the world, though." Olivero pinched, and he gasped, then cooed. "Oh, that feels good. The other boys always act like I'm gonna break."

"Only boys? No men?" Olivero shoved Duncan's legs apart with his knees so he could move in closer. He bent over the boy and licked one straining pink bud, then bit it roughly.

Duncan whined, closing his eyes. "My... my swim coach. He's old, in his thirties, but he's still hot. I saw the way he watched me at practice, so I stayed after, asked 'im to help me with my stroke." He laughed. "Yeah, he helped me. Different kinda stroke, though. Oh, God, do the other one!"

Olivero obliged, nipping and nibbling, leaving the dent of teeth marks. They would fade in a few moments, since he was just playing. He had spoken the truth when he said he didn't want to mark Duncan. Not yet. "What have you done, Duncan? Tell me." He stripped the shirt off the other boy roughly, tossing it to the floor, then beginning to run his hands over the smaller boy's torso once again. Duncan was sweating, and Olivero's hands glided.

Duncan smiled at him, licking his lips. "You want me to talk dirty? Yeah, I can do that. Mostly it's just been mutual jerk-offs. We have to sneak around and find places at school. The bathroom, an empty classroom. I've sucked a lot of cock in the equipment shed out by the soccer field."

As Duncan spoke, Olivero cupped his hands over Duncan's crotch, squeezing. Duncan grunted, pushing up at his hands. "Keep talking, damn it."

"I... My roommate is a prude, and I can't bring guys there, so I went to another guy's room. His roommate didn't care. I sucked him off while the roommate watched. The roommate kept saying he was straight, but when I finished my friend, and went over and started licking his balls, he changed his mind." Duncan laughed breathlessly. "Kind of a record for me. I blew both of them twice before I left."

Olivero unzipped Duncan's pants and started to jerk both them and his underwear down. "Wait!" Duncan panted. "Hold on, I'll lift my ass, just..." He barely got his butt off the sacks before Olivero tore the garments off them. "Fuck! You're impatient."

Olivero was opening his own pants. "Have you been fucked?"

Duncan paled slightly. "N-no. I thought the coach was gonna, but he freaked when I asked him to put it in. Said the law would cut his nuts off. I... He put his finger in me." His lashes lowered over golden eyes, and he said dreamily, "It felt good." His eyes widened as Olivero pulled out his rigid prick. "You're not wearing underwear."

He sounded so surprised that Olivero would have laughed if he hadn't been so aroused. He dragged Duncan's butt closer to the edge of the stack with a hand on his hip. Gripping his own staff in one hand, he reached down to grasp Duncan's hard-on with the other. "You have such a pretty cock, Chico." He stroked slowly, and the boy writhed sensuously. "Pink and white, like a stick of candy."

Olivero bent swiftly, taking Duncan's cock head into his mouth. Duncan yelped with pleasure as the warm wetness encased him. Olivero cradled the bulbous glans on his tongue, sucking softly, like it was a sweet he wanted to last a long time. Then he rasped his teeth lightly on the sensitive skin just behind the head. When Duncan whimpered he released him to soothe the scraped area with a kiss, then lapped at his prick, delving his tongue into the tiny slit to coax out the first bead of clear liquid.

"Vero!" Duncan gasped. "Let me! I wanna taste you."

Olivero ran his tongue the length of the boy's quivering rod and gave each softly furred ball a sucking kiss. "Ask nicely, Chico."

"Please, Vero!" He pouted. " I want to suck your dick. Please."

Montana moved to the side, getting up on the pile of sacks on his knees. Duncan lunged at him, mouth open, and swallowed him to the root in one plunge. Olivero hissed in pleasure, grabbing hold of the thick, soft hair as the boy began to bob on his cock. "Y-es, pretty boy. Ah, I'm a lucky man to have found such a talented little whore."

Duncan pulled off him abruptly, gazing up at Olivero in shock and outraged hurt. "What did you call me?"

"A whore. Why are you upset, sweet one? It is not easy to be a good whore."

"You bastard!" Duncan tried to struggle up. "Where are my pants? Damn it, I don't need to be insulted."

"Hush!" Olivero shoved his shoulders back against the sacks and held him there. "I do not insult you, Duncan. Own what you are. You are a slut and a whore. I am a peon, and I would rather fuck your tight ass than all the sweetest pussy in the world."

Duncan just gaped at him. Montana took the opportunity to slip back to the floor and move up between Duncan's spread legs again. This time, though, he gripped each knee and lifted, dragging the smaller boy forward till he had his legs firmly draped over his shoulders. Duncan wiggled, but Olivero slapped his ass hard, his hand cracking on the pale flesh. "Be still!" he said sternly, as Duncan cried out, more from surprise than pain. "Your little lovers treated you like glass, eh? Afraid you would break?" He smacked the other cheek, and Duncan jerked again, but his pupils were dilating, and his hands had gone to his chest, plucking at his own nipples.

Olivero nodded in approval. "Yes, play with yourself, Chico." He grabbed one of Duncan's hands and pulled it down, wrapping the fingers around Duncan's rigid, weeping cock, guiding it till Duncan was masturbating steadily. Duncan watched as Olivero put two fingers in his mouth, sucking them till they were lavishly coated with saliva. Then he reached down and, without preliminaries, rammed them both deep into Duncan's ass. Duncan screamed, eyes squeezing shut as his body arched, trying to pull away from the rude invasion. That earned him another volley of slaps on his already stinging cheeks. "I told you to be still."

"Vero, please! It hurts."

Olivero continued to work his fingers deep into the yielding flesh, but with his other hand he soothingly stroked Duncan's heaving belly. "I know, mi amor. The first time hurts. Wait, be patient. It will be worth it, I promise. Can you do that?"

Duncan slitted his eyes. His voice was teary. "All right."

"My brave one." Olivero pushed deeper, curling his fingers, searching. Suddenly he found what he was looking for, his fingers gliding over Duncan's prostate. The American boy stiffened for a moment, then seemed to melt around him with a throaty purr. "Yes, Chico. You like that."

He rubbed again, and Duncan moaned, tossing his head back and forth. "So good. Never felt anything like that, never. Should have done this before..."

"No!" Olivero's voice was firm. "And you won't do it with anyone else, Chico. Only me." He forced a third finger into the tight passage. Duncan made a soft keening sound as he struggled to accommodate it, his face flushed. "Say it." Duncan pushed his hips down, trying to get the fingers invading him to reach that magic spot again. The pain wasn't so bad when there was that electric feeling as a trade-off. Olivero snarled, pushing so hard that half his hand disappeared into the boy's body. "Say it!"

He touched that special place again, and Duncan was shaking, so close to coming he thought he'd go insane. "Yes, Vero, yes! Fuck me! Please, please, fuck me!" Duncan wailed with loss as the fingers were withdrawn, but then he saw Olivero spit in his palm and slick it over his dark, straining erection. Duncan jerked his legs up and back, pulling off Olivero's shoulder. Before his new lover could object Duncan heaved, hooking his arms around his knees and pulling them back almost to his shoulders, leaving himself spread and vulnerable. Olivero didn't hesitate. He grabbed the boy's hips, fitted his cock against the loosened hole, and slammed in as hard as he could.

Duncan screamed again as Olivero drove into him, the thick shaft plunging deep and making him feel as if he were splitting open, despite the preparation. Then the head of Montana's prick passed over Duncan's prostate, and the pain began to change into pleasure, heat spreading out through his body. He grunted as Montana settled against his body, his staff fully embedded in the smaller boy's ass. "Oh, God," Duncan whispered. "I'm gonna die, and probably go to hell, and I don't fucking care! I love you, Vero. Fuck me hard."

Olivero didn't reply. Instead he began to thrust into Duncan, hard and fast. There would be a time later for slow loving, for gentle touches and lingering caresses. Indeed, Olivero wanted that very much. He wanted to be able to take Duncan in a soft, large bed, and spend hours touching and tasting him, then fucking him in a slow, lazy rhythm till they both melted from pleasure. But right now they both needed it quick, hard, and rough.

After a couple of minutes of pounding into the hot sheath, Olivero saw the tremors in Duncan's arms and legs, and pulled his knees back over his shoulders, taking the strain off his lover. Then he reached down and gripped Duncan's cock, which had slapped wetly against the boy's belly with each thrust into his bowels. He stroked and squeezed in time to his pumping. Duncan scratched frantically at the sacks beneath him, moaning and wailing deliriously. Olivero barely had enough presence of mind to be grateful that the rest of the household was gone. Duncan was a noisy lover.

Finally, knowing he was almost ready, Olivero seated himself as deeply in Duncan's rectum as he could, his balls nestling in the sweaty crack of the other boy's ass. He held Duncan's cock in both fists and rubbed as hard and fast as he could, then reached down and squeezed the boy's testicles.

Duncan arched with a strangled cry, his whole body spasming around Olivero's buried cock. His eyes rolled back in is head as his orgasm lashed through him, sperm spurting from him in a hot, milky arc that splattered on his chest and began to trickle down toward his belly. Olivero started to come as he felt the sucking ripple of muscle along the length of his prick. With a roar he shoved again, and again, somehow managing to force another fraction of an inch into the tightly stretched asshole. He shot into Duncan's accepting back passage, and felt the hot liquid begin to ooze back along the sides of his prick as it began to soften.

He pulled out of Duncan, the humid air of the greenhouse feeling almost chilly on his now moist prick. When he lowered the boy's legs, they dropped limply. "Duncan?" He leaned over him, concerned. Duncan's eyes were closed, his breathing rapid. "Duncan?" He tapped the boy's cheek lightly.

Long eyelashes fluttered, and glazed, golden eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling. Then they turned to Olivero, and focused. He was relieved when a slow, catlike smile curved Duncan's lips. "Oh, wow," Duncan whispered. "That was intense."

Olivero got Duncan's discarded shirt off the ground and used it to clean him, first wiping the spunk off his torso, then gently wiping the crack of his ass, removing the combined sperm and blood. He showed the soiled cloth to the boy sprawled over the sacks. "See, Chico? I broke your cherry."

"Animal." Duncan's voice was sated. He sat up, wincing. "Oo, that was terrific, but I don't think I'm gonna sit right for a week."

Olivero slipped Duncan's underwear, then his pants over his feet and worked them up to his knees. "Stand up so I can dress you."

"I don't think I can, just yet. 'Sides..." Duncan touched a fingertip to his crack and showed it to Olivero. There was a tiny smear of blood.

Montana ripped a swatch off the shirt, balled it up, and tucked it into the narrow crease. "You may need to keep some tissue back there for a day or so, but it isn't bad. Now, hold on to me, and stand up."

Duncan took hold of Olivero's shoulders and slid his feet down to the ground. The bigger man supported him as he pulled the clothes the rest of the way up the boy's slim body and finished closing them. "There." He caressed Duncan's cheek. "You should go have a hot bath, soak your aches away. Then take a nap. You Anglos have no sense, running around in the heat of the day when you don't have to."

"Yeah, that sounds good." Duncan slid his hands off Olivero's shoulders, reaching around to embrace him, leaning against his broad chest. "'Nother kiss?"

This kiss was different from the others, slow and tender. Anyone who knew Olivero would have been amazed. Duncan simply took it as his due. Duncan laid his head on Olivero's shoulder, whispering, "This wasn't just a one time thing, was it? Tell me you weren't just fucking the little Anglo boy to rack up some sort of macho points."

"No, Chico. You're mine now." Olivero tipped Duncan's chin up. Dark eyes met golden. "Remember that."

"Yes, Vero." Duncan walked to the door. For once he was less than graceful, his gate stiff and a little pained.

Olivero buttoned his pants back up and left the greenhouse, headed for the shack he shared with Bartolo. He wanted a beer very badly. Then he would begin to consider how he would change his life. He had always known he would not continue laboring on the plantation, that other things, greater things, waited for him. The time had come to pursue them. Now he had a clear goal. He must become rich enough to take care of Duncan properly.

"What are we doing here?"

Olivero's mind snapped back from its revery as Daniel Ballard leaned across him, peering out the window. He resisted the urge to just grab the man and drag him onto his lap. Montana looked out the window himself. They had turned into a small, private airfield. "We make the last leg of our journey by air, Daniel. There are no roads to my compound. Not anymore, anyway. Once it was built I had them destroyed."

Daniel pulled back, frowning at him. "But why? Doesn't that make a lot of trouble for you to get in and out?"

"Yes, it does, Chico. But it also makes it difficult for anyone else."

They parked, and Olivero and Manuel led the way toward a helicopter. The pilot, sitting behind the controls, fired the motor as they approached. The great rotors began to spin, and the churning air washed over them. A few yards from the copter Mulder halted, staring at it.

Ethan took his elbow. "C'mon, Danny."

Mulder shook him off. "I don't like it. No one said anything about going somewhere you... you had to fly to get in and out of. It isn't safe." He took a step back. "Send me back to the city. I'll wait for you there." Ethan looked at him sharply, but realized that it was part of the act. Daniel wouldn't like to be in such an isolated environment. It would be natural for him to be apprehensive.

"Danny..."

"No, Con!"

Ethan looked at Olivero, shrugging. Olivero went to Mulder. "Daniel, what is wrong?"

"I said I don't like it. Way out in the middle of nowhere. You two will be all busy, and what am I supposed to do all day?"

"I have amusements. There is a gym, a sauna, a pool. I have a video machine and many tapes."

The tall man's eyebrows arched. There was a hint of interest in his tone, despite his attempt to mask it. "In English?"

"Most of them, But," he touched Mulder's arm with one fingertip. "in most of the tapes it does not matter what language they speak." He stroked slowly. "Or should I say that the language is universal?"

Mulder gave a tiny, reluctant smile. "You're bad. But what if something happens out there? What if I get sick, or... or one of those great, big old jungle cats comes out and jumps on me?"

"With the helicopter I can have you to a hospital as quickly as any ambulance. Perhaps more quickly than some."

"I don't know..." Mulder pouted, looking at the drug lord from under half lowered lashes. His demeanor said Coax me.

His fingers curled lightly around Mulder's arm. "Come, Duncan. You won't regret it."

Mulder let himself be led to the helicopter. He joined Manuel and Ethan inside, and Olivero climbed in after him. They were pressed tightly together as the machine lifted off. In the air, Mulder looked at Olivero curiously. "You got my name wrong back there."

"What?"

"You didn't say Daniel. You said... what? Duncan, I think."

Olivero looked out at the ocean of green washing below them, then turned dark, blank eyes on Mulder and said softly, "No, you must have been mistaken. The noise of the wind, yes? I haven't known anyone named Duncan for a long time."

Chapter Thirty-three: The Lair

They flew for over an hour. The jungle flowed below them, an unending ocean of lush green. Mulder lolled back in the seat, next to Montana, legs crooked up uncomfortably to fit in the short space behind the pilot. He squinted ahead through the windshield, spotting an open space ahead. "There's a clearing." It looked roughly the size of a football field.

Olivero nodded. "Si. It took a lot of work, clearing that space. My groundskeeper has to work very hard to keep the jungle from creeping back in. A year, two years, and the jungle would take over again. In ten years my house would be covered as surely as those ancient temples in Peru."

The copter circled and headed for a landing pad on the far side of the clearing. There was a pool in the back of the large house, and a garden and patio. They set down lightly, the wash of the rotors blowing back the leaves of the nearby trees. When the pilot cut the engine, Montana said, "My pilot is also my mechanic and handyman. You see, Daniel? We will always be able to get back to civilization, if we need to."

"All right," Mulder said grudgingly. "But I usually consider not having a choice of restaurants that deliver to be roughing it."

Olivero bowed his head, but he was smiling. "We will try our best to keep you happy, Daniel."

They exited the helicopter. A man trotted out from the house, and he and Manuel began to unload luggage from the back of the copter while the other men walked to the house. Mulder eyed it, calculating. "Not bad. Better than the old family homestead, or Yarborough's digs. How many rooms?"

Olivero shrugged. "Twenty? I haven't really counted."

Ethan fought down the urge to roll his eyes. A man shouldn't be obsessed with his possessions but such casual indifference could only be a pose. Olivero had decided that was how the upper class acted, and he was damned if he was going to be any less blase.

The interior was just as impressive. The entry way opened directly onto the living room on the right, and both rose to two stories. The decor was light, the furniture rich, but comfortable. Mulder estimated that the price of the suite would have entirely furnished a modest suburban house, possibly with appliances included. Drug lords weren't known for spartan tastes, but this seemed a bit overdone for one who hadn't yet moved into the upper echelon.

Was it possible that Montana was over-extending himself? Mulder thought that a good businessman would have been contented with a bit less while funneling more funds back into the business. Not that one wanted savvy drug dealers, but something about this bothered him. They were counting on Montana reacting as a man whose main priority was profit. That should keep them safe, because he'd lose whatever benefit they could bring if he did away with them. But if Olivero had a different agenda... That would screw up the mix badly.

They went up a beautiful polished wood staircase and Olivero led them along a corridor, gesturing. "Here is the master bedroom, and here is Manuel's room. There are four others on this floor, and you may have your choice."

Mulder wasted no time in beginning to investigate the rooms, and the others trailed after him. In a dark paneled room he found a four-poster bed, across which he promptly threw himself, head first. Ethan followed him into the room, and Olivero stood at the door with Manuel and the servant waiting patiently behind.

Ethan strolled over to the window and gazed out. Good. We're far enough away from Montana's room to be able to move around without alerting him, and our window faces out on the jungle. If I need to go out that way, it won't be easy for anyone to observe. Aloud he said, "Ya like this one, Danny?"

When Mulder didn't immediately answer, he turned back, and had to smile at what he found. Fox had rolled onto his belly and stretched his hands and feet out toward the four posts in the classic spread eagle position. His voice was a little muffled. "Yes, this will do nicely."

"Ethan, you can have your own room, if you like," Olivero offered. "We may be working late. If you don't want to disturb Daniel when you go to bed..."

Mulder sat up, frowning. "Oh, no. I haven't slept apart from him a single night for the last two years. I'm not starting now."

"Very well." Montana stepped aside and allowed Manuel and the servant to bring the luggage into the room. "Perhaps Daniel will unpack while I show you my office, Connor."

Mulder's frown deepened, and he folded his arms. "I am not his wife--neither am I his maid."

Manuel cheerfully put a suitcase on the bed beside him. "I will be happy to do it, Danny, if you will direct me?"

Mulder relented. "I guess it won't hurt me to play domestic for once. Go on." He made shooing motions. "You men run off and tend to business."

On their way back down the stairs Montana commented, "He can be touchy, can't he?"

"That he can." Ethan shook his head. "But he's worth it. When he's in a good mood there's no one in the world sweeter. Maybe he won't cook or clean house, but he'd walk over hot coals for me if he knew it was important, and I'd do the same for him."

"That is as it should be. You are a most fortunate man, Connor."

Ethan was gratified to see that there didn't appear to be any special security measures on the room that Olivero was using as an office. But then, that meant that he'd have to do a more careful check later. The really good security systems were the ones that weren't evident at first glance. It was possible that Olivero considered the jungle surrounding them to be enough of a deterrent that he did not need to take extra precautions, but it wasn't likely.

He walked around the room, studying it. There were many shelves of books in both English and Spanish, everything from popular novels to respected works on economics, politics, philosophy, and culture. The surprising thing was that they all looked like they had been read. None of them had the prissy, knife-edged blockiness to the pages that Ethan associated with them never having been opened.

There was a small personal computer on the desk, and Ethan was surprised to see that it was several years old. He would have expected Olivero, who seemed dedicated to conspicuous consumption, to have the latest model. As he looked around a slow conviction grew. This is not the real office.

"Where do ya keep your files?" he asked, running a hand over the top of the monitor.

Olivero tapped the beige box. "In here."

Ethan frowned. "Jesus, Montana. What if ya have a power surge? Losing that kind of information could cripple ya for months." When Montana shrugged, Ethan continued. "Even I keep paper records. Well hidden, of course."

"Galbraith," Ethan did not miss the use of his surname. "how I run my end of the business is not your concern."

Ethan took the warning. "Yeah. As long as the middle join is smooth, then there's no need for either end to concern itself too much with the other, I suppose."

That tears it. The real deal is somewhere else, and it's in the house or on the grounds because Montana wouldn't want it to be too far out of reach. Well, we should be able to cover the entire house between us, but it may take a couple of days to do it without raising suspicion.

Upstairs Mulder and Manuel made short work of the unpacking, then Fox lay back down on the bed with a dramatic sigh. "I don't know what it is about flying, but even that little hop has left me simply drained."

Manuel sat on the bed beside him. "You will have plenty of time to relax here."

"I suppose so. I just hope I don't get so relaxed that my brain melts."

"Do not worry." Manuel stretched out on the bed beside Mulder. "I will do my best to amuse you."

Mulder rolled on his side and examined the young man. The innuendo in his voice had been so blatant that it could not really be considered innuendo. "Uh-huh. Tell me, darlin', are you comfortable with being considered recreational equipment?"

"I would not live this life if I did not enjoy it, Daniel." He reached out and laid a hand against Mulder's belly. "I chose Senor Montana. I enjoy serving him. Occasionally, though," he stroked lightly, "I want to be the one in control. That is not possible with him, but he does not deny me outside friends." His hand started to slide lower.

Mulder caught his wrist, firmly but not roughly. "I haven't asked Connor yet, pretty boy. He'll probably say yes, but this relationship is founded on being sure about what each of us wants."

Manuel nodded. "I understand. I would enjoy being with him, also. But you are the one I want most."

Fox smiled. "Boy, I have to wonder if you're this honest in everything."

Manuel suddenly twisted his hand, breaking Mulder's grip. In a flash he had seized the FBI agent's wrist in the same way that Mulder had gripped him, but more forcefully. He said softly, "Again you call me a boy, Danny. I told you, I am a man." He leaned down. Mulder sucked in a breath as he felt Manuel's mouth on the inside of his forearm, just below where he was held. There was the soft, warm press of lips, then a wet swipe of tongue. Then there was the pinch of teeth. Mulder jerked, but Manuel hung on, his bite tightening in warning. Mulder subsided. He wasn't breaking the skin, but he was telegraphing the possibility of damage.

After a moment, when Mulder didn't continue to resist, the bite eased and he licked the rapidly bruising skin soothingly, then pressed another kiss on it. When he let go Mulder scowled, rubbing the injured area. "All right, you're a man. A mean man."

"I don't want to be." Manuel stood up. "Please, Daniel. Have a talk with your lover. We are both in the same position. We should be good to each other."

Mulder, expression thoughtful, watched him leave. He looked down at the bruise forming on his wrist and muttered, "The puppy has fangs."

No, Manuel, you and I are not in the same position. You and Daniel aren't, either. Daniel might defer to Connor most of the time, but with them it's more a matter of form than anything else. They respect each other. Olivero may value you, but he sure as hell doesn't respect you.

Ethan returned to the room a few minutes later. He went directly into the bathroom and opened his shaving kit. "So, Danny, what d'ya think so far?"

Mulder followed him and watched as he unscrewed the base of what looked like a can of shaving cream and removed the same bug sweeping device he had used the first day he had met him. "Nice enough, I suppose, even if it IS a little isolated."

Ethan ran the machine in the bathroom. It flashed when it neared the lighting fixture. Ethan put the lid down on the toilet, stood on it, and peered up at the frosted glass globe that encased the lightbulb. "Nice and quiet, though, eh? Ya won't have to worry about the gunshots and car chases keeping you awake at night." He pointed to a small shadow, barely visible inside the globe, and Mulder nodded.

"I just hope that we don't have parrots screaming at all hours of the night." Fox watched as Ethan swept the machine around the bedroom. He located two more devices: one in a lamp on the dresser and one hidden in the elaborate carving on their headboard. When he saw the last he mouthed, "Why, those dirty voyeuristic bastards!"

Ethan put the machine away again, then took Mulder in his arms, pressed his lips to his ear, and whispered, "We'll have to be careful. They aren't strong enough to catch this, but anything approaching a normal voice is out of the question, and if we're quiet too long when we aren't sleeping they might get suspicious." He pulled back and said in his usual voice, "I don't think you'll have to worry about that. They sleep at night. Now, the jaguars are a different matter."

"Con! Don't tell me they actually have them around here? Good lord, I was joking when I said I was afraid a jungle cat would jump on me!"

"Relax, sweetheart. You weren't planning on hiking through the jungle, were you?"

"Most certainly not."

"Then you should be fine, though I 'd rather you didn't go outside at night."

Fox sighed. "But they have that lovely pool, and you know how much I like moonlight swims."

"All right. Just not alone, eh? You know I don't like you swimming alone, anyway. Some day you'll knock that fool head and drown."

"Not likely. I float. It's my buoyant personality."

"Anyone ever tell you ya do NOT suffer from an inferiority complex."

"Um... you have. But like I told Manuel, you're such a liar."

Mulder was pushing his hair back off his forehead when Ethan spotted the bruise just below his wrist. "What's that?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Let me see it."

"No, really, Con, it's all right."

"Danny, give me your hand. Now."

Sighing, Mulder complied. Ethan studied the nasty looking bruise. It was rapidly moving toward purple, and there were darker marks around the edge. "What the fuck? I know I didn't do that to you last night, and it wasn't there this morning. What the hell happened?" Mulder said nothing, fidgeting. He knew that he had to tell Ethan. It was essential that his partner be aware of the attitudes and actions of the men they were dealing with. But he was unsure of how Daniel would react in this situation, and then there was the question of how Montana and Manuel would react to whatever was said. At last he said, "Manuel plays a little rough."

Ethan's hand tightened, and he looked up at Mulder slowly. His eyes were like ice, but his voice was low. "D'ya mean to tell me that he marked you?"

"We didn't really do anything, Con. I told him there'd be none of that until I talked to you. It's my fault, a little. He was a little insistent about being taken seriously as a man, and you know me. I... push things."

Ethan stroked his arm. "Did he hurt you, sweetheart?" Before Mulder could answer, Ethan answered himself. "Fuck, of course he did! You've got a bloody great blue mark."

Mulder had a moment of disorientation. He couldn't be sure how much of this was Ethan acting as Connor, and how much of it was just Ethan. He knew that Hunt would not jeopardize the mission this early in the game for something as trivial as a bruise administered in what amounted to sex play, but he also knew that it wasn't going to be easy for him not to react.

He touched Ethan's cheek. "Baby, it's all right. Actually, it was a little sexy." He forced a laugh. "It's kind of like expecting a cocker spaniel and finding a Doberman."

"But if he does this when you aren't even..."

"Please, Con. He was just making his point. Look, we've come this far, gone through all this shit. We can't let it be spoiled just because someone didn't treat me like spun glass. Promise me that you won't make a big deal out of this."

Ethan sighed heavily. "Danny, are ya sure ya want to have anything to do with either of them? You don't have to, you know."

"Do you want me to stay away from them, love?"

"I don't know. I want you to be happy."

"We don't have to decide anything right now. We can just see what develops. So, you've seen the nerve center?" Mulder gave the last two words a sardonic twist.

"Yah. Ya know, Danny, it's amazing. The man doesn't keep any paper records."

"Is that so?" Ethan made a 'bullshit' gesture, and Mulder nodded. "My. He must be incredibly organized to run such a big operation without it. How are you going to be able to decide whether or not to make the deal if you don't have figures to look at?"

Ethan shrugged. "I suppose he'll provide what he sees fit, and I'll decide on that. I just hope he knows that too little information might decide me in a direction he won't like." He directed this statement pointedly at one of the bugs.

Downstairs, in a small room off Olivero's office, one that Ethan had been told was a supply closet, Olivero sat at a desk. looking at the electronics panel before him. The switch indicating the bedroom Galbraith and Ballard had chosen was flipped to 'ON', and he was listening to the conversation. Manuel stood behind him. "So. A bit over eager, pet?"

Manuel shrugged. He could tell that Olivero wasn't really upset. The big man wanted the American as much as Manuel did, and he was perfectly willing to allow his submissive to test the waters before he made a move himself. "He invites it, Master."

"How did he react?"

"Nicely. A little reluctance at first."

"Interesting. Do you think that Connor will give his blessing?"

"It is difficult to say. If he thinks Daniel wants it, I believe he will. I think that including him would make it much more likely than approaching Daniel alone, though. They are very devoted to each other."

"You think so? It looks like that, I admit. But appearances can be deceiving when it comes to fidelity, Manuel. I can attest to that."

Again there was the strange distance in his voice, and Manuel sensed that it was not necessarily Daniel Ballard and Connor Galbraith who had inspired it.

Chapter Thirty-four: Obsession Strengthens

Twenty Years Before

Diaz knew about the new situation almost immediately. How could he be mistaken? Suddenly the padrone's new son was underfoot at all times in the greenhouse. He offered to help, but he was not of much use. He was willing, but he had no talent for working with the plants, and they could not risk the precious seedlings. So the boy was relegated to sweeping floors, wiping windows, and finally, in desperation, polishing and sharpening tools.

And always his eyes clung to Montana. They followed every move the older boy made, lingering lovingingly on the more intimate areas of his body. Duncan would go to Olivero now and then, ostensibly to get his approval of a particular cleaning or sharpening job, and the mixed blood would touch him. Oh, true enough that it was no more than a hand on the back or shoulder, but it was a caress, not just a touch, and the boy would lean into it.

It was natural enough, Diaz supposed. The boy was far from everything familiar, and left alone most of the time with few amusements. At least the local men would not have to worry about their daughters turning up with pale babies. Still, if they were not more discreet, it would not be long before the entire area knew that de la Montana's boy was fucking the little American.

The padrone? The padrone was a blind man in such things, but his wife was another matter. The only reason she did not know was that she spent so little time with the boy, being busy in the city with her shopping and socializing. It could not escape her attention forever, though. She had plans for the boy. Already she had invited the young people of several of the city's more prominent families to the house to socialize with her son. Diaz, bringing in fresh flowers, had heard her urging him to dance with this girl, or be nice to that one. "You're probably going to marry one of them, Duncan," she'd hissed to the bored looking boy. "Now is the time to start courting."

*Oh, senora, you have no idea where your son's interests lie, do you?* The party had been set up out on the back lawn, and Duncan was supervising the use of his music machine. His American rock and roll scandalized the Colombian grownups, but made him very popular with the young set. Diaz watched him at the tape machine, standing close with a small, slender boy. Their heads were close together as they discussed the next tape selection.

There was a slight movement in the bushes behind the boys, and Diaz examined it cautiously. There were still dangerous animals in the area, and, though most would be frightened away by the noise and light, some might be drawn by curiosity. He saw that it was, indeed, a dangerous predator. Olivero de la Monatana crouched, almost invisible in the sheltering branches, and watched the exchange between the two boys with hot eyes. Duncan suddenly laughed, throwing his arm around the other boy's shoulder, and Olivero's lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl.

Diaz felt a stab of misgivings. The idea of crossing class lines did not bother him as much as it did some, but this... The boy did not know what he was dealing with. As Montana melted back into the shadows, Diaz reflected that it was possible that no one knew what they were dealing with when it came to Olivero. He shivered. *I think there is something very nasty beneath his skin.*

The party did not last very late, and soon cars came to collect the guests. Duncan, playing the proper host, saw them all off with thanks and vague promises to meet at a future date. When they were gone he sighed. *Dear God, they're all so backward.* He smiled to himself. *Although that Pasquale was kind of nice. That little butt certainly looked firm.*

With that his thoughts turned back to Olivero. He hadn't been able to see his lover all day, and he was starting to feel antsy. He knew where Olivero was living, and it wasn't too far away. He considered. His mother would be asleep quickly: she was worn out from organizing this do. If he was patient...

It was no trouble to slip out. Duncan was careful to stay in the center of the road as he made his way to the workers' huts. The jungle on either side made him very nervous, he could hear things moving in there.

Finally he reached his destination. The huts all looked alike, but he thought for a moment and figured out which one he wanted. He was relieved to see that there was light seeping under the badly hung door, and glowing around the cloth hanging in the single window. He hurried over and tapped lightly at the door.

There was a grumble inside, and Duncan's Spanish was good enough for him to recogize swearing. The door cracked open, and a swarthy man peered out at him. Duncan took a step back, eyeing the knife in his hand. Bartolo blinked at the tall, pale youth standing outside his shack, then grinned. "Olivero's chico, eh?" Duncan nodded hesitantly. "He isn't here."

"Oh. I thought..." Duncan stopped, biting his lip.

"He went to watch you at your fiesta."

"I didn't see him."

"You wouldn't have." Bartolo looked past Duncan, and the boy instinctively turned to see what had caught his attention. His heart lifted when he saw Olivero emerging from the jungle by the road.

Montana came to the shack, his eyes fixed firmly on Duncan. The boy felt a flutter of unease when he saw the man's dark expression, but the desire to be with him over rode the internal warning. Olivero stopped before him and said quietly, "It was foolish for you to come here. There are many dangers in the jungle."

Duncan knew instinctively that the proper response would be instant, abject agreement and apology, but he said, "You were out there."

Olivero cocked his head. "I am not a soft, pale Anglo boy, Duncan. The jungle is my home. I understand it, and it understands me."

Bartolo cleared his throat, getting Olivero's attention. "Montana, will you need the room?"

Olivero looked at Duncan again, and nodded slowly. "Si. I will need the room."

Bartolo favored Duncan with a sharklike smile, and went back inside. Duncan flinched a little when Olivero's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "Since you are here, you had getter get inside. It would not do for the peons to see the padrone's son entering the shack of a worker."

Olivero pushed Duncan into the shack, shutting the door behind him. Duncan looked around the rough room, eyes widening. He had been raised in comfort, never lacking for anything, and he had never really been exposed to such squalor.

Bartolo was sitting at a rickety table with a bottle of cheap whiskey and a glass before him, drinking. As he finished, Olivero went over and pulled the glass out of his hand, pouring a full glass. "I have a guest, Barto. Do not be a selfish pig."

Olivero handed the glass to Duncan, who took it gingerly, eyeing it with trepidation. He'd stolen a few sips of wine before, and his last stepfather had bought him beer occasionally, but he'd never tried liquor. Olivero smirked. "Don't worry about germs, chico. The alcohol will kill them, yes?"

"It's not that. I don't know if I can drink that stuff. It smells pretty strong."

Olivero laid a hand across the back of Duncan's neck. "Try, chico. For me." When Duncan still hesitated, he squeezed, hard. "Do it."

There was the unmistakable ring of command in that tone. Duncan took a deep breath and gulped the whiskey. He managed half of it before the coughing fit over took him. Olivero took the glass before he could spill it, and watched dispassionately as the boy choked and wheezed, tears forming in his eyes. When Duncan had gotten control of himself again, Olivero handed him the remainder.

Duncan's voice was hoarse. "But Vero, I might get sick."

"I would not advise that, chico. You would be wise this night to take everything I give you."

A little worried, Duncan said, "What have I done?"

"Finish it, Duncan. Then we will discuss your behavior." Frightened now, Duncan obeyed, finishing the raw liquor with a little less difficulty. He supposed that some of the cells in his mouth and throat were already deadened, or he would have choked again.

While he hitched and shivered, Olivero poured himself a much smaller drink, swallowed it, and handed the glass back to Bartolo. In Spanish he said, "Tolo, you come anywhere near that screen without an invitation, your cojones will suffer."

His friend nodded his understanding and watched as Olivero herded the already swaying boy back into the tiny cubicle. *Well, my friend, I cannot watch, but there is no way you can prevent my listening, can you?* He chuckled darkly. Judging from Vero's mood, the Anglo boy was going to get a real workout tonight.

In the partitioned off space Duncan said, "Vero, why are you angry? I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"I am always happy to see you, little one. You brighten my life." He still had his hand on the back of Duncan's neck. Now he put the other hand up to stroke the side of his neck.

"I wasn't sure. I haven't seen much of you the last couple of days."

"That is because I have begun working for our future."

"Ourfuture?"

"Si. I have always known that I would not spend my life like my father, and his father: working for the padrone. But until I had you, Duncan, I had no clear vision of how I would escape that fate. Now I know, and I have begun."

Olivero was massaging the back of his neck, and Duncan began to relax a little. Of course, the idea of a common future was ridiculous: they were from different worlds. Still, it was flattering to think that he was more to Olivero than a sex partner. What would it hurt to let him dream? "What has begun?"

Olivero stroked Duncan's throat gently, feeling the steady pulse of the blood just beneath the smooth skin. Duncan had only recently begun shaving, and he still did not have the stiff bristles that would come later. "Surely you know where the money lies in Colombia, chico? A smart boy like you."

Duncan felt a thrill of the forbidden. "Not drugs?"

"Some might consider it so, but not yet. Only the marijuana, Duncan. I do not yet have the resources to grow or process poppies, but that will come. The white powder is more valuable than the gold men have worked so hard to coax from the rivers and mountains. It will not be long, perhaps only a year or two, before I can move up into that profession."

"Vero, you shouldn't. I don't really mind it: some of my friends smoked pot back in the states."

"I have no choice, Duncan. There is no other way I can get what I need to keep you as you should be kept."

Duncan blinked. *He's talking about me again like I'm his whore. I hate that.* But it was exciting, too. Being desired so completely was intoxicating. "But it's dangerous. You could get killed, or sent to prison."

"Would you miss me, chico?" he whispered.

"You know I would. Nobody does me like you."

Duncan's eyes widened as Olivero's hand closed over his throat. The big man's voice was still silky as he said, "Not even the little cabron you were flirting with at your party?"

Duncan Broussard suddenly felt ice cold at the core. "Vero, I wasn't... I wasn't flirting."

He shrugged, but did not loosen his grip. "I have eyes, chico. I have ears. You put your arm around him. Your face was so close to his that if either of you had moved another inch you would have kissed. That is not flirting?"

"No!" Duncan tried to pull away, and he felt Olivero's grip tighten.

"If you try to get away from me, Duncan, I will choke you unconscious." Seeing the fear in the younger boy's eyes, he smiled cruelly. "No, I will not kill you, at least not on purpose. I do not wantonly destroy my property."

He moved so that he was between Duncan and the only exit, then released him. "Take off your clothes, quickly." Duncan began unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers. "Hurry, slut, unless you want to explain to your bitch mother why they are torn."

Duncan managed to strip off the rest of his clothes. He was more than half drunk now, and he almost fell when he struggled with the pants. When he was naked Olivero grabbed his shoulders hard enough to bruise. With one abrupt, brutal movement, he threw Duncan down on the ragged mattress that sat on the rough wood floor, and fell on top of him.

The breath was driven from Duncan's lungs on impact. Before he could suck in a breath Olivero had his tongue in his mouth, and after that he had little chance. Olivero did not release his mouth, even when he reached down to open his pants and free his rigid erection. He savaged the boy's mouth, biting hard enough to draw blood. Duncan cried out, but he didn't fight. Somehow he knew that, if he struggled, Olivero might not be able to keep his promise about not killing him.

Montana's hands were everywhere, even rougher and more hurtful than before. It frightened Duncan terribly when he began to respond to the violent caresses. His nipples hardened under the nip and scrape of Olivero's teeth. His cock swelled and began to leak pre-ejaculate as Olivero pulled and rubbed, chafing the tender skin.

Duncan felt panicked. After that first abrupt joining in the greenhouse, Olivero had been a strong, but considerate lover. This couldn't be anything but punishment. As his lover flipped him over onto his stomach and shoved his legs apart Duncan thought wildly, *All I did was talk to him.*

He screamed when Olivero entered him. There had been no lubrication, not even spit, and no preparation. It hurt worse than it did the first time. And he still didn't get soft. Olivero pounded into him, hard and fast, each stabbing thrust causing a bolt of pain along with the jolt of pleasure when Olivero's cock glided over his prostate.

In the dimly lit main room, Bartolo untied the drawstring on his pants and opened them. Reaching inside, he began to stroke himself as he listened to the pleading whimpers and the wet, smacking sounds. Oh, Montana had himself a hot little bitch, all right, but Bartolo wasn't entirely sure that he was dealing with this in the right way. Instead of breaking the boy to his desires, he might scare him off. Of course, Bartolo would never be fool enough to suggest such a thing. He was very fond of his prick, and did not want it sliced off and stuffed down his own throat.

Olivero whispered to Duncan as he fucked him. He told him how stupid it was to cheat on Olivero de la Montana. He told him how ungrateful he was to cast sheep eyes at another man when Olivero was prepared to give him the world. He promised that this would seem like a gentle caress if Duncan ever again acted in such a manner.

Duncan clutched at the thin, rough sheet beneath him, and tried not to succumb to hysteria. If he screamed again, he would not be able to stop, and Montana would very likely kill him. Even as the big man on top of him climaxed, filling his ravaged ass with hot sperm, Duncan had begun to plan his escape. Oh, not from the shack. He was fairly sure that if he could just endure the next hour or so Olivero would allow him to return to the house. He would be confident that he'd forced Duncan into submission, not expecting any kind of rebellion. No, Duncan needed to get totally away from here, at least for awhile, and he knew how to do it.

When Olivero had finished he forced Duncan to lick him clean. To Duncan's dismay, Olivero became aroused again. Olivero fucked Duncan's mouth, too impatient to allow the boy to suck him, and Duncan came close to choking when Olivero held his head and rammed deep into his throat.

After he came the second time, Olivero refastened his pants (he'd never taken his clothes off, and somehow that made Duncan feel even more degraded), then stood up, kicking Duncan's hip lightly. "Dress." Duncan could barely move, but he knew better than to hesitate or protest. He dragged his clothes on, knowing good and well that he was going to have to dispose of his underwear before his mother or one of the servants noticed the sperm and blood.

They left the room. Bartolo was just tying a knot in his drawstring, and Duncan felt sick when he saw the man's smirk and the fresh puddle staining the floor boards between his feet. Silently Olivero escorted him back to his home. Duncan's legs started to give out when they neared the house, and Olivero unhesitatingly scooped him into his arms and carried him the rest of the way.

At the back door, Olivero carefully set Duncan on his feet. "Can you make it up to bed?"

"Yes."

Olivero frowned. On the surface the boy sounded meek enough, but when he looked up at Olivero, gold eyes glinting through those dark lashes, he wasn't sure. "You understand why I had to do this, Duncan? You must accept the fact that you belong to me."

"Yes, Vero." Again the veiled look.

Olivero sighed. Well, there would always be time for another lesson, if it was necessary. He bent to kiss Duncan. The boy did not struggle or protest, he didn't stiffen or try to keep his lips closed and block Olivero out. But he was totally passive, almost limp. When he pulled away, Olivero studied him for a moment. "Good night, Duncan."

Duncan smiled. As he walked away Olivero heard his soft response. "Goodbye, Olivero."

The next morning his mother was concerned with how pale he looked. *The boy is almost haggard,* she thought. *This tropical climate can't be good for him. I really need to get him away. Perhaps this time he'll listen to sense.* "Duncan, have you considered what we talked about?"

Duncan put down the fork he had been using to push his breakfast around his plate. "Yes, Mom, I have. I've changed my mind. I want to go to school back in the states."

His mother wilted in relief. "Well, thank God! Maybe there's a chance you'll avoid turning out common, once you spend some time with the right people. I already registered you at St. Anthony's in New Orleans." She waited for him to protest her assumption that he would cave in, but he only nodded. "Next semester you can..."

"I want to leave now."

"But Duncan, the semester started a week ago. I might be able to manage it, but you'll be behind. You'll have to really scratch to catch up, and I know how you hate..."

"If I don't leave tomorrow..." He took a breath. "You can get me on a plane today, can't you?"

"I... yes. But Duncan, why are you suddenly..."

Her son stood up abruptly. "Don't nag me about this, Mom. You got what you wanted: I'm going to prep in New Orleans. But I'm only going to do it if I leave today."

"Duncan!"

"No arguments, Mom. You couldn't understand my reasons." She suddenly saw the bleak, haunted look in her son's eyes. "I'll just tell you that if I don't leave today, I think it will be too late." He gave her an almost ghastly smile. "I will have gone native, as you say."

She drew in a steadying breath. "All right, Duncan. Go pack, and I'll start making arrangements."

She was startled when her son came over and dropped a soft kiss on her cheek. Duncan could be such a charming boy, but lately he'd wasted precious little of that charm on her. Now, he gave her a sudden hug, and she had a brief flash of how it had been when he was tiny, and he'd come to her for a hug, and the assurance that he was safe from whatever boogey man had been haunting his imagination. She patted his back. "I don't know what's wrong, Duncan, but it will be all right."

Duncan stared past her, stared at the large bouquet of hothouse flowers that the gardener had brought in that morning, and murmured, "I hope so, Mom. God, I hope so."

Chapter Thirty-five: Getting Acquainted

Columbia, present day

They were served at table that night by a stolid mestizo woman and an Indian girl not long into herteens. Both were so silent that Mulder had no idea whether or not they spoke English. They were effectively mute. They might as well have beeninvisible, too, for all the attention that Manuel and Olivero paid them.

Mulder was a little surprised that they didn’t eat at a dining table roughly the length of a bowling alley. Instead they were at a table that was not much largerthan a card table. He realized why they were being treated to such informality when, about halfwaythrough the meal, a hand landed on his knee.

He didn’t change expression, or look up. Ethan wasacross from Fox, so it wasn’t him. *Let’s see. It’s coming from my right. That would be...* He looked at Manuel archly as he sipped his wine. The younger man smiled, and Fox felt a squeeze. The hand slid higher. *Well, if he’s expecting discreet, he’s misjudged Daniel.* Fox said coolly, "Young man, remove your hand." The other two men looked at Manuel, who retrieved his hand, but didn’t seem too embarrassed. Mulder spoke to Olivero. "It’s not so much that I object to being groped. It’s very flattering, actually. But we’re eating right now, and it’s hardly sanitary."

"Please forgive him, Daniel. It is a chore to keep him from having dessert first," Olivero said blandly.

Ethan added cheerfully , "And ya might keep in mind, laddie, that I’m holdin’ a steak knife and fork at the moment."

"My apologies, senors," Manuel murmured.

Olivero looked at Ethan. "Do you wish for me to punish him?"

Mulder waved his hand. "Hello? Injured party over here. No, there’s no need to slap his wrist." When Olivero looked at Ethan again Fox made his voice cold. "And you can just stop looking to him for the answer. Major stuff, yes, I defer, but not for petty shit like this. Now, let's forget this, shall we?"

After dinner they went into... well, it wasn't the huge front living room, and it wasn't exactly a recreation room. Mulder supposed that it would have been called a 'salon' in an English manor house. It was intimate, but still fairly formal. Mulder and Hunt settled on a small loveseat, Olivero took an armchair opposite them, and Manuel (as usual) went to the small bar to pour drinks. When he had distributed them, not taking one for himself, he settled on Olivero's lap and accepted sips from him.

"Tomorrow, Connor, I will take you out to view one of the nearer poppy fields, and introduce you to a few of my mid-level men." Olivero set aside his empty glass and began to massage Manuel's neck absently. *It's like someone scratching his dog behind the ears while he talks,* Ethan thought. "Good enough." He looked over at Mulder. "Do ya want to come along, Danny?"

Mulder hesitated a moment, waiting to see of Montana would objecte. When he didn't, Fox said, "Run around in that baking heat? No, I don't think so. I'll find something to do around here." Manuel gave him a wide smile. "I wasn't talking about you, Manuel." He cocked his head, then looked at Ethan. "Though I don't know..."

Ethan shrugged. "I know how you hate to be bored, Danny. He seems like a nice enough playmate, as long as his daddy doesn't mind." His eyes grew cold when he looked at Manuel, and he gently touched the dark mark on Fox's wrist. "And he behaves himself."

Olivero's hand tightened on the back of Manuel's neck. "I promise that any mark he puts on your boy will be doubly applied to his own smooth hide."

Fox looked at Ethan, who nodded. Fox scooted toward Ethan, then patted the seat beside him. "Then fly to me, little one, and let us become better acquainted."

Olivero released Manuel, who scrambled down and came over to insinuate himself in the narrow space between Fox and the loveseat's arm. He must have found it a touch too narrow, because he promptly hung one leg over Fox's. Fox looked at Ethan. "Friendly little thing." He looked back at Manuel. "Relax. We have days and days."

"True, senor, but I do not wish to wait that long." He shifted quickly, and ended up straddling Mulder's legs, facing him.

"Oh, and it's fast, too."

Manuel lifted and moved forward, setting his knees on either side of Mulder's hips. When he lowered himself again, their crotches rested against each other. He began to rise and fall, a few inches at a time, rubbing himself against the older man. Fox gripped his waist to hold him steady, and leaned back comfortably, letting the young man do as he wished.

His voice tolerant, Ethan said, "You're lazy tonight, eh, Danny? Going to let the boyo do all the work?"

Fox gave him a languid look. "Far be it from me to stifle his energy."

Ethan tipped a look at Olivero. "Good to see the children playing together so nicely."

They watched as Manuel rode against Fox, posting like a child on his first pony ride. Fox began to lift to meet him, holding him so that he could move against him more firmly. "I ought to stop this," he murmured.

Ethan reached over and touched Fox's throat. "Danny, why on earth would you want to do that?"

"Because I'm kind of old to come in my pants, that's why."

"We can take care of that, senor." Manuel moved Fox's hands off his waist and knelt before him, pushing his knees apart. Fox looked at Ethan, who nodded. They all watched as Manuel unzipped his fly and reached inside.

Olivero quietly shifted his chair so that he had a clear view as Manuel eased Mulder's cock out into the open. He cradled the half-hard organ gently in his palms, and Ethan realized that he was displaying Fox for his master. Without a doubt, Manuel wanted this, but he was doing it at the direction of his lover.

*Just as well,* Ethan thought. *I'm not so sure I want Montana to get his hands on Fox.*

Manuel bent his head and blew a warm breath across Fox's cock head. The older man shivered, sighing quietly. He was giving every evidence of relaxed arousal, but inside he was tied in a knot. He'd had sex now and then with someone he didn't know all that well, but never with anyone he was sure was dangerous--never with someone he wouldn't have freely chosen.

As he felt the first moist swipe of Manuel's tongue, he thought, *The movies always fade out before it gets to this point. There's always some distraction before the main character gives up his or her body to the bad guy. They also don't hint that it could feel this good.*

Manuel kneaded the strong muscles of Daniel's thigh with one hand, holding his cock steady with the other, and licked delicately at the flushed glans. He teased the tear shaped slit with his tongue, dipping into it until he had coaxed the first clear droplets of pre-ejaculate fluid from it. Then he drew back again to give Olivero a clear view as the fluid oozed out to trickle down the side of the shaft.

Olivero massaged his crotch, his eyes fixed on the tableau. When his gaze met Ballard's he smiled and said, "Manuel is quite good at this, yes?"

"Pretty good so far, but it's called cock sucking for a reason."

"Manuel, Danny is impatient. Get on with it."

Manuel took the glans into his mouth and began to suck, stroking the shaft slowly. He loved performing this act almost as much as experiencing it. While the one giving head was considered to be the submissive partner, it gave Manuel a sense of power. He had his partner's most vulnerable part between his teeth. He could maim, or he could pleasure--it was his choice. Tonight he chose to pleasure, but there had been times... One of Olivero's enemies had thought he was being given a peace offering when Manuel went on his knees before him. A bullet to his brain had ended the man's life, but the medical examiner said that the wound to his genitals might have let him bleed to death, if he had lived long enough.

Manuel slowly sank down, swallowing Danny's cock, till he had his nose pressed to the American's groin. Mulder was impressed. His experience with Ethan had taught him that trick wasn't all that easy, and Manuel did it with no hesitation. The younger man repeated the process over and over, swirling his tongue against the underside of Daniel's prick, then fastened again on the head, flicking.

Olivero opened his pants and reached inside, beginning to stroke himself. Danny's head dropped back against the cushions, and he moaned quietly. The sounds of passion were always similar, but was there something familiar about that small, breathy sound? Something that he had been waiting to hear for almost twenty years?

Ethan moved even closer to Fox, slipping an arm around his neck. He reached down to touch the sleek head that bobbed in his lover's lap, and at the same time pulled Fox's head down on his shoulder and began kissing him.

*He allows him this play,* Olivero thought, *but at the same time reminds him who he belongs to. Yes, I do not blame you, Galbraith. If he were mine, I would want him to hold me in his mind every moment.*

*I'm getting all sorts of experience on this mission,* Fox thought. *For instance, I've never been kissed while someone was giving me head. It's nice.*

Ethan rubbed his lips against Mulder's and murmured, "Is it good, sweetheart? Can he do it better than I can?"

"It's good, Con, but just different, not better. You know that no one is better than you. I love you."

*That is the right answer, chico. When you belong to someone, no one is better than he is,* Olivero thought as his movements sped up. *Not even if they are better.*

Galbraith kissed Fox again, then smiled lazily at Montana. "Can ya see all right from there, Vero?"

His hand did not cease moving. "For now, Connor. For now."

In another few moments Fox arched his hips up, thrusting deep into Manuel's mouth again, and began to come. When he finally went still, finished, the young man slid his lips back up Mulder's prick, keeping a tight seal. He continued, easing off the head with his lips pursed, as if preparing to bestow a kiss. With a final pet to Mulder's thighs, Manuel stood and went back to Olivero.

As the younger man seated himself again on Montana's lap, Fox said drowsily, "Manuel, what ARE you doing? You look like Alvin the Chipmunk with your cheeks all plumped out like that."

"Please, Danny," Olivero said, "do not make him smile, or he will lose it."

"Lose...?" As Ethan and Fox watched, Manuel fitted his lips over Olivero's open mouth, and Olivero sucked the boy's tongue in, capturing the mouthful of still hot sperm that Manuel had conveyed to him. "Oh, my." Fox looked at Ethan. "You know, darling, sometimes I feel almost innocent."

Ethan pulled out a handkerchief and tenderly cleaned Mulder's still slick cock. "You are an innocent, Danny, m'love. You will be no matter how many you fuck. Give us a kiss."

"I've told you that he lies? Well, he's also mad." Fox kissed Ethan almost chastely. "We should go to bed now, if you have to get up at some godawful time of the morning."

"Things are relaxed here in the jungle, Danny," Olivero assured him. "You and Connor may sleep as late as you like." He had pushed Manuel off his lap, and now the young man was assuming the same position that he had with Mulder, moving in between his patrone's knees. Olivero's dick jutted stiffly through his open fly, and Manuel engulfed it in a quick swoop, beginning to suck briskly.

Ethan and Fox exchanged looks, then remained where they were, and watched. They had provided a show, and now de la Montana was returning the favor. It would be impolite to walk out. Olivero's eyes remained fastened on Mulder. He didn't bother to try to hide his interest as his lover worked him toward orgasm. When he came, he was staring at Fox's mouth.

Fox smiled at him and said, "And to think that some people play bridge for entertainment."

Ethan stood, pulling Fox to his feet. "Yeah, well, Danny, we haven't had much experience with foursomes, have we? Though I suppose there's always a time to learn. Good night."

He looped an arm possessively around Fox's waist and led him from the room. Olivero called quietly as theyexited, "Good night, Connor. Duncan."

As they started up the stairs he whispered. "Mr. Olivero was about to eat you with his eyes."

"Well, people do tend to stare when your fly is open, but you're right. I'd have expected him to be interested, but the man was intense. And something else. He got my name wrong again."

"Again?"

"Yes. He called me Duncan. That's the second time. The first was at the helicopter. He said I must have misheard him, but I didn't."

"Could be a simple mistake, like calling someone named Andy Randy."

"I don't think so, and neither do you."

"You're right. I'm going to contact our outside help tomorrow and have them look into Olivero's past a little more closely and see what they can come up with about anyone named Duncan. I don't know what it might mean, but I don't like it."

"Neither do I. He had a funny tone in his voice when he called me by that name."

"What kind?"

Mulder thought for a moment. "Possessive. Gloating. Just subtly creepy."

They'd made it up the stairs and were approaching the room. They knew that they would have to finish their talk quickly. The bugs in the room were not the most sophisticated, but they didn't want to risk saying anything incriminating if they could help it.

"I'll need to get the location of as many of his growing fields and processing labs as possible. Once we get out of here we can take them out in a way that looks like it's due to the organization's carelessness. Montana's been careful so far, and we'll need to ruin any credibility he might have, or ever have. We have to hurt him to the point where he needs help, and make sure no one trusts him enough to give him that help."

They entered their room and undressed quietly, then slipped into the large bed. Fox stroked Ethan's chest, whispering, "And what's your pleasure tonight, sir?"

"I want to hold ya, Danny."

He quirked an eyebrow. "That's all?"

"Danny, love, that's enough. I think young Manuel made ya a wee bit winded, and I'm content just to be with ya." He nuzzled Fox's neck. "We have plenty of time, love. All our lives."

"Do you mean that... Connor?"

Ethan recognized the pause before the name for the question that it was, and answered him gravely. "I do indeed... Danny."

Chapter Thirty-six: Defining Moment

When the two visitors had gone, Olivero gave Manuel's buttocks a slow, thoughtful squeeze. "Go to your own room, chico. I want to think tonight."

The dark-eyed glance that Manuel gave him was understanding. Usually he slept with Olivero, but there were certain nights, nights when he had a lot on his mind, when Manuel was sent to 'his' room. Manuel went directly there. As he stripped, he once again examined the room.

It might have been that of a typical teenage boy--back in the eighties. That 'deja vu' feel came from the posters and accessories scattered carefully around the room. On one wall was a poster of The A-Team. Manuel was familiar with that--it was quite popular on late-night television. It was the ambition of many of the lower class young men to be able to wear as many gold chains and medallions as the scowling B.A. The other poster showed two good looking young men in jeans, one fair and one dark, leaning on a souped up car. The legend said DUKES, and it had actually been signed by one of the stars, he wasn't sure which one.

Olivero had spent a lot of money to get his hands on that. One day when he was feeling particularly brave Manuel had asked him why it was so important. Olivero had just replied that that was how it had been.

Manuel removed all his clothes, then went to the dresser. Manuel had never heard the term 'preppy', and merely considered the clothes too conservative. He sighed as he extracted a pair of baggy, white cotton boxer shorts. He much preferred briefs or jockeys, but when Olivero wanted him to sleep here, he wanted him to wear these.

Manuel shut off the lights. The last thing he did before slipping into bed was unlock the French doors that opened out onto the balcony. Then he slipped between the sheets and settled down. Olivero preferred for him to be truly asleep when he came to visit, and he could tell if Manuel was faking it.

Olivero had another drink after Manuel went up to bed, then turned out the lights and climbed the stairs to his own room. He did not turn on the lights, but switched on the lamp beside the bed, turning it to low. He went to the dresser and opened the top drawer, reaching inside.

He lifted out a carved wooden box, about the size of a double deck of cards. He took off his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed. For long minutes he just sat, running his fingers over the polished surface, tracing the delicate geometric patterns etched in the wood. Cypress wood. It wasn't a common material for these sort of things, but he'd stipulated it. Cypress trees were native to Louisiana.

Finally he lifted the lid from the box, setting it aside. The box was lined with white satin, and it held one item. Olivero reached in and lifted it out, setting aside the box.

It was a hank of hair--not very long, only about as long and thick as his middle finger. Olivero looked at it, remembering how he had prepared it. He had carefully inserted each strand into a bit of wax, then wrapped the wax in a gold-green satin ribbon. There was not danger that any of the precious hair would be lost.

The hair was a rich, dark, sable brown. Olivero passed it through his fingertips, feeling the silky glide. Closing his eyes, he lifted it to his face and sniffed deeply. The scent, still familiar after all these years, filled him, and he remembered...

Twenty years earlier

Diaz watched Olivero. The young man was moving with an even greater swagger than usual. *You are very pleased with yourself, de la Montana. What have you been up to?*

He worked steadily, but Diaz noticed that his eyes kept sliding toward the door. Diaz knew what he was looking for--or rather who he was looking for, but Duncan didn't show up.

At lunch time they went into the kitchen, as was their habit. Olivero frowned when he saw that Luisa was alone in the kitchen. He sat at the table and opened his lunch and began to eat, but his eyes never left the door that led into the house. Diaz watched as his edginess grew. Finally Olivero said, "Luisa, is Duncan ill?"

She looked up from the potato she was peeling. "Que?"

"Duncan, the young senor. He usually joins us."

"Oh. Senor Duncan is gone."

Diaz noted the sudden flex of Olivero's fingers, but the boy's tone was casual, "He does not usually care to go into town with his mother."

"No, not into town. He is..." she made a waving motion, "gone. Back to America."

Both of the older people were startled when Olivero stood up abruptly, his chair crashing to the floor. They gaped at the tall young man, who glared at them with hot, angry eyes. "No!"

Luisa stuttered, "But... but, yes. Early this morning. The sun had not even risen when the patrone took him to the city. They were going to the airport."

"No!"

"Olivero!" Luisa cried his name as he stalked out of the kitchen, making his way into the house. Only very select servants were allowed into the family quarters, and Olivero de la Montana was most definitely not one of the chosen few.

Olivero ignored her, moving through the lower level to the stairs. His pace increased as he walked, till he was taking the steps two at a time. Upstairs he dashed down the hall, heading for Duncan's room. He had never been there, but he knew where it was--Duncan had described it's location to him, and pointed out the window.

Downstairs he heard a babble of female voices, but they signified little. He found the door and opened it, then stepped inside. The room was neat, with none of the casual clutter he would have expected in Duncan's room. Olivero went to the closet and jerked it open. There were nothing but empty hangers on the rod, and single, battered pair of shoes discarded in the corner.

Olivero went to the dresser and pulled open each drawer, not bothering to close them. All empty. He jerked the last one from the dresser, throwing it on the floor.

"What are you doing?"

Olivero's head jerked around, and he saw the angry Anglo woman standing in the doorway--Duncan's mother. "Where is he?"

She frowned. "You know very well that you're not allowed up here. And look at what you've done! Well, you don't have a job here anymore, I can tell you that."

He took a step toward her. "Where have you sent him, you bitch?"

Her eyes hardened. "It looks like I was right. He's back in the United States. He'll be attending a good prep school in Louisiana, where he can be with his own kind. And I didn't send him--he wanted to go."

Olivero felt a stab of pain. "You lie."

"Why would I lie about that? He didn't just want to go, he insisted." She shook her head. "I think the boy would have gone by rowboat if I hadn't agreed. Now, get out of here, and get off my property."

Olivero glared at her, but she didn't flinch. He almost felt a bit of respect for her--almost. He shoved past her and went down the stair, but he did not go back to the kitchen. No, he left by the front door, and he left it standing wide open. He was through using the servant's entrance.

Seven months later

Bartolo entered the bar and paused near the door, letting his eyes adjust to the dim interior. It was a better class place than he was used to. They actually washed the glasses between customers. He saw the hand extend from the back booth and beckon him, and he walked back.

Olivero looked up at him. As he slipped into the seat, Bartolo reflected that Olivero's eyes were even flatter and more unreadable than they ever had been. He had always been hard, but since his chico ran away he was frightening.

There was a bottle of whiskey and an extra glass on the table, and Bartolo helped himself to a drink. Olivero watched him, sipping his own drink, not speaking. When Bartolo poured his second drink he said simply, "Well?"

Bartolo nodded. "He is back. It is their Easter vacation. Uh... spring break? He will be there a week."

Olivero ran his fingers up and down the glass, studying the amber liquid. "This isn't quite the color of his eyes. If I added a bit of absinthe, for the green..." He swallowed the last of the drink, then poured some more.

"You going to go see him, 'Vero?"

Olivero laughed shortly. "Yes, and have the senora call the police to haul me away. No, he'll have to come to me. If he comes back to your place, send him to me."

"Si." *It won't happen, Olivero, and not because he's worried about his mother's opinion. I suppose I'll have to tell him, but I'd better be ready to jump.* He said slowly. "He... brought a friend."

Olivero went ominously still. "Yes? Tell me about this friend."

"He is one of the teachers, I think, but not old, not yet thirty. He is blond." Bartolo paused. He knew it was dangerous, but some perverse urge made him continue. "He is very handsome--muy macho."

There was a grating sound. Bartolo felt a chill up his spine. It was Olivero, gritting his teeth. But Olivero's voice was quiet. "What is this person's name?"

Bartolo frowned in concentration. "I think it is... Gilbert. Gilbert Martin." Olivero grunted. "The senora seems very happy to have him there. Luisa says the lady thinks he is a good influence on her son. He will keep the boy from what she calls his 'low tastes'." Olivero did not reply, but continued to study the liquor that he swirled in his glass.

*He's going to do something, and it's not going to be nice. It is only a question of how far he will go, and whether he goes after both of them, or just one of them,* Bartolo thought.

De la Montana had been very busy in the last few months. Without his job at the plantation to distract him, he was able to concentrate on his less legal, but much more profitable, activities.

Olivero already had another three marijuana patches, one of them a fair-sized field, and it was more than he could handle on his own. Bartolo worked for him part-time, tending and harvesting a particularly lush patch. His friend paid well, and allowed a little sampling of the product, but he still turned a hefty profit. That was due mainly to the fact that his men were diligent and honest in their accounting. It was safer that way.

One peon who had 'misplaced' a kilo of the best leaves had... strayed. One day he simply could not be found, and Olivero turned management of that particular patch over to Bartolo. Bartolo, in the process of picking the choicest leaves for delivery to a favored dealer, had discovered a large patch of bloody earth in the midst of the plants. He had kicked more dirt over it, thinking, *Something made a kill. Something.*

Being of service to such a man, Bartolo mused, might pay off in the long run. He said carefully, "Surely they will not remain on the plantation the entire time. The young senor will want to show his friend some of the local sights. The family's driver is a reasonable man. He has expressed his desire to go to his family in Bogota. A few hundred dollars would be all he would need. Then, perhaps, when the chico and his friend take a ride they may see more sights than they imagined."

Olivero smiled grimly. "An interesting suggestion, Bartolo, but who is to say that the driver will not develop a conscience, or, worse still, greed? Thank you, but no." He looked away. "I may be hard to find for the next few days."

Gilbert Martin trotted backward smoothly, his arm swinging back. Then he lashed forward with vicious speed and strength. He was satisfied when he heard the *thwang* and felt the solid shock run down his arm, telling him that he'd connected solidly with the tennis ball.

The ball sizzled across the net, clearing it by a scant half inch. Duncan Broussard lunged for it, arm outstretched. He didn't make it. The ball kissed the rim of his tennis racket, smacked onto the clay court well in-bounds, then shot off to land in the lush green grass. Duncan stumbled, swearing, and barely caught himself from falling. He threw his racket down pettishly, his voice rising above the clatter and the sound of his opponent's laughter. "All those hours of lessons, and I'm no closer to beating you than I ever was!" His golden eyes narrowed as he planted his hands on his hips and stared at the other man. "Gil, I suspect you of holding out. You're only going to teach me so much, but never enough to beat you."

The older man hopped the net with casual grace, muscles flexing in his long, brown thighs. "You're paranoid, Dunc." He pointed at the discarded racket with his own. "And spoiled, and destructive. That's a fine racket--it cost your old man a bundle."

Duncan shrugged, kicking at it. "So? It's not like he can't afford it. He's happy to pay for anything that keeps me out of his hair." His eyes glinted at the other man, and the corners of his full mouth curved in a sly smile. "That's why he was willing to pay for your ticket."

"Oh, really? So I'm supposed to be a babysitter?" Gilbert moved closer, his step fluid and lazy. As he approached, he quickly scanned the immediate area, paying particular attention to the house. He could see no one. He slid an arm around Duncan's waist and pulled the boy against his body with a quick, rough jerk.

Duncan rested his hands lightly on the older man's chest and looked up at him through his lashes, a move that never failed to heat Gilbert's blood. "Don't you like being my daddy, Gil?"

Martin growled, and kissed Duncan--hard. As always, the boy's lips parted under his, his tongue snaking out to twine with Gilbert's in an erotic dance. Duncan claimed that he'd only been fucked by one other man. Gilbert was a little skeptical, but he liked the idea.

Even if he'd had scant experience with being penetrated, the little Louisiana boy certainly knew about sex. Gilbert had been delighted to find Duncan Broussard in his calculus class. At first he'd been disappointed that the boy was so good at mathmatics--he'd been hoping for intimate tutoring sessions. But then Duncan had come to him and asked for tennis lessons. (Gilbert, like most of the teachers at the small, exclusive school, had several duties, and tennis coach was one of them).

Duncan had pleaded for a late practice hour, citing other obligations and the need to study, so they had not gone to the court until nine o'clock. It was almost eleven, and the rest of the school was asleep when finally, sweaty and with Duncan sporting a grazed knee, they'd gone in to the locker room.

Gilbert had blessed the fact that the school still had (in the belief that they were teaching their students to 'rough it') a communal shower. Under the steamy spray, Gilbert had felt his mouth go dry, looking at the coltish beauty of his student. On the pretext of examining Duncan's scrape, he'd bent down, his hand on one firm, young thigh--for balance.

His eyes had wandered. He'd seen that Duncan was aroused, his cock lifting from the damp tangle of brown curls at his groin. Unable to resist, Gilbert had sunk to his knees and fellated him to a whimpering orgasm. Then he'd dragged the boy out into the locker room, bent him over a bench and fucked him, using a squirt of hair conditioner for lubrication. It had been fantastic. He and Duncan had a lot of late night practices after that.

If only the boy's parents had been away Gilbert would have pushed him down on the clay court and fucked him under the wide blue sky, but there was the scant chance that someone might came out, so he'd have to wait. He pushed his crotch against Duncan, letting him feel the warm firmness he'd created, then stepped back. "Do you know what I'm going to do with that later tonight?"

Duncan bent over to pick up the racket, deliberately pointing his ass at his lover. He knew that the sight of the firm swells, barely covered by his tight, white shorts, would inflame him even more. "Does it involve me being in a position like this?"

"You are such a little slut, Duncan."

"Yes. Aren't you grateful?"

They continued teasing each other as they walked back to the house. Neither noticed the slight rustle of the bushes near the court. If they had, they would have assumed that it was just an animal. In a way, they would have been right. Olivero squatted in the brush, his hands tearing at the grass as he watched the two men disappear into the house. He settled himself comfortably, and waited for night to fall.

Duncan stretched voluptuously as Gilbert paused in pulling on his pants to watch. The boy noticed his lover's gaze. Smiling, he reached behind himself and drew his finger down the crease of his buttocks. It came away smeared with come, and he rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. "You come like a fire hose, Gil. My poor little asshole is going to be tender all day tomorrow."

Gilbert leaned over and slapped his ass lightly. "Just so long as you're ready again tomorrow night, darlin'." He sat on the edge of the bed again and probed gently at the spot Duncan had just touched. He slipped a finger into the still loosened back passage, feeling it slide easily in the spunk he'd just deposited there. Duncan shuddered and purred when Gilbert located his prostate and caressed it. "Tell me again, honey."

"Tell you what?" Duncan's voice was coy.

"You know."

Duncan laughed. He pulled free of Gilbert's probing finger and turned to throw his arms around the older man's neck. "Oh, you are so vain! All right. You're the best I ever had, Gil. Only one person ever fucked me before you, and he wasn't much better than a rutting animal. All he knew was pound, pound, pound. You--you're a real man."

"I'm better than he was," Gil demanded.

"Much better. Infinitely better. I wish I'd never let him touch me. I wish I'd waited for you to be my first."

"Your first?" Gilbert's tone was laced with irony.

Duncan slapped his shoulder. "You! All right, the first one to bugger me. Satisfied?"

Gilbert gave him a licking kiss. "For tonight, anyway." He stood up and headed toward the French doors that led out onto the balcony. His room was next door, and he'd used their shared balcony to go back and forth to Duncan's room without worrying about alerting anyone in the household.

"Do you have to go? I've slept with guys, but I've never actually slept with anyone, you know?"

"I know. Maybe we can arrange something when we get back--both of us take a weekend and go to a motel." He opened the doors, and began to step out. "but until..." He made a sneezing sound.

"Till when, Gil?" No response. He could see Gil's back, his hand on the door handle, but the front of his body was obscured by the open door. Gil's hand jerked on the handle, fingers flexing. "Gil? Honey, what's wrong?"

Gilbert took a step back, turning toward Duncan. For a confused moment, Duncan thought that Gilbert must have put on one of his T-shirts while he wasn't looking--a red one. Gil made a gurgling sound, and Duncan noticed that the red did not have the matte texture of cloth, but was shiny--wet.

Giblert took a faltering step back toward the bed, and Duncan said softly, "Gil?"

He had his hands clutched over his belly. They dropped to his sides, and a glistening mass spilled over his waistband to dangle almost to his thighs.

Duncan started to hitch in deep, whooping breaths. He thought vaguely that he'd eventually let it out in a huge scream, but at the moment he didn't seem able to exhale. He just kept drawing more air in as Gilbert sank to his knees, and his dangling intestines, bathed in the blood from his slashed throat, hit the floor.

A shadowy figure moved into the room, brushing Gilbert, who slowly toppled over. Duncan drew one last huge breath, ready to scream, then the knife was held before his eyes, and he stopped. It was huge, curving, and wicked, slick with his late lover's blood. He didn't scream.

A soft voice said, "Don't scream, chico. I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to."

Duncan, unable to take his eyes off the knife, whispered, "You killed him."

"Yes. He touched what is mine. Will you cry for him, chico?"

"Olivero... please."

"Please what, chico?" Duncan scooted back on the mattress as Olivero advanced. "That's far enough." Duncan stopped with his back against the headboard. Olivero climbed on the bed, moving till he was kneeling astraddle Duncan's outstretched legs.

Olivero laid the flat of the blade against the boy's smooth cheek. "I missed you, chico. Badly." He stroked the cold steel across Duncan's cheek, and the boy whimpered. "Your bitch of a mother told me that you wanted to go. She lied, didn't she, mi corazon?"

"I... yes, Vero. I didn't want to go. I screamed and I cried, but she made me. I didn't have any way to tell you... I didn't know how to write you. They wouldn't let me come home for Christmas."

"Poor lonely little boy." He backhanded Duncan. The only sound the boy made was a gasping sob. Olivero's voice was flat. "I watched you, Duncan, you and your stud. I listened to you." Olivero began to unfasten his pants. "I'm not much better than an animal. All I know is pound" he slapped Duncan. "Pound" He slapped him again. "Pound." A third slap.

Duncan was crying now, but too frightened to struggle, or even try to defend himself. He had been afraid of de la Montana before--now proof of all of which he was capable was bleeding on the floor.

Olivero continued talking. "He was better than I." He moved, forcing Duncan's legs apart so that he knelt between them. He grabbed Duncan's legs and jerked hard. Duncan slid down on the bed, his head striking the headboard, as Olivero hefted his knees up over his shoulders. Duncan gave a soft cry as the knife blade stabbed into the pillow beside his face, so close that he could smell Gilbert's blood on the blade. Blood, and a peculiarly earthly smell that had to be the scent of the man's bowels.

Olivero moved forward, fitting the head of his cock against the boy's still relaxed anus, and shoved in as hard as he could. "You wish I'd never touched you!" One hand came down on Duncan's mouth, stifling his scream of pain, and he raped the boy, much more violently than he had the night before he left.

Duncan rode out the assault, enduring the ripping, burning pain in his bowels, feeling the blood mingle with the semen as Olivero climaxed. *I survived this before, I can survive it again. He said he wouldn't kill me. Dear God, let it be true.*

When he was done, Duncan waited for him to pull out. He was ready to tell Olivero that Gilbert had blackmailed him into the relationship. He was ready to tell Olivero that he wanted to run away with him. He was ready to tell Olivero that he'd give him the combination to his step-father's study safe, and access to the cash and bonds therein, and tell them a story about a band of robbers who'd broken in and killed Gilbert. He was ready to tell him anything to survive.

To his horror, Olivero lay on top of him until he got hard, then took Duncan again, even more brutally than before. This time it took him longer to come. By the time he was done, Olivero didn't have to cover Duncan's mouth, because the boy didn't have the energy to scream. Even then it wasn't over. Olivero found several items in the room and used them to sodomize the mewling boy. It went on for several hours. Duncan finally, blessedly, passed out.

The Senora was awakened by Luisa's screams. She went out into the hall in time to see the stout mestizo woman stumble from Duncan's room, her normally swarthy face as pale as cheese.

She caught Luisa's arm before the woman could flee. "What is it? Damn it, what's wrong?"

The sobbing woman was crossing herself, over and over. "La madre de Dios, la sangre! El senor Gilbert... Duncan pequeno..."

"Sangre? Blood?" Terror swept over her, and she shoved the woman aside, running toward her son's room. "Duncan!"

The scene was a surreal horror. Gilbert Martin, that sweet, courtly young man, lay on the floor before the open French doors. He was naked, save for a pair of trousers bunched around his angles, and he was a welter of blood from neck to knees. A wound gaped in his throat, and his intestines spilled over his lap and down to the floor. He looked like a poor little deer she'd come across once while walking with her husband. He had told her that the unfortunate creature had been killed by a jaguar, and that she and Duncan must be very careful, because the creatures still roamed the jungle nearby.

A whimper drew her attention to the bed. Duncan was curled in a tight ball, head tucked, hugging his knees. He was naked, and had pulled himself into the same fetal positon he had used when he floated in his mother's womb, safe from the dangers of this world. She went to him and touched him gently. "Baby! Baby, are you all right?"

Another whimper. She ran her hands over his body, looking for wounds. There was blood, and there were bruises, but she saw no cuts. She absently noticed that his hair was in wild disarray, and a large chunk seemed to be missing. The stubble of the shorn patch was bloody, and it was decided later that his hair had been cut with the same weapon that had killed the poor teacher.

"Duncan, sit up. I'm going to go call the police, but I want you to get up and come out of this room." She pried at this arms, forcing him to uncurl. "Sit up!" He lifted his head, and she gasped. There were only a few bruises on his face, and those weren't too bad, but...

*His eyes! Dear God, he looks insane.* His expression was slack, a bright cord of drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were screaming. "Baby, who did this?"

Duncan shook his head slowly. His hands had been fisted at his waist. Now he held his right hand out to his mother, fingers uncurling slowly. There was a shoelace binding something to his palm, the cord drawn and knotted cruelly tight. She looked closer. It took her a moment to realize what it was. She cast a single, horrified glance at the body on the floor.

Duncan's voice was a hoarse whisper, and it was the last coherent thing he would say for a long, long time. "He... he said that... that if I wanted it so much, I should have it." Duncan's expression crumpled, his voice mournful. "And he was so good with it."

The present

Manuel came awake suddenly, as he always did. This time Olivero was standing over him. Sometimes he did not awaken until the large, hard body was pressing him down into the mattress.

The moonlight that seeped through the open doors glinted on Olivero's dark eyes. *Dios. It's going to be bad tonight.* His cock started to stiffen.

A soft voice said, "Don't scream, chico. I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to."

Chapter Thirty-seven: The Pitch

Back in England

"They want clothes." Control looked at the agent who had just brought the two guests their meal. He lifted an eyebrow, and the man shrugged. "Ballard says they're not savages, and he doesn't intend to spend however long they're going to be here in the same pair of underwear, or naked."

"What did Mr. Galbraith have to say?"

The man shrugged again. "HE didn't seem to have a problem with naked."

"Hunt and Mulder left some clothes, didn't they? Give them those. No, wait." He tapped a folder lying on the desk before him, looking thoughtful. "Just bring them to me. I'll take them in." He flipped the folder open, eyeing the contents, then closed it. "I want to have a chat with them."

Connor sat in the bed, back comfortably propped against the headboard. Danny sat between his spread legs, leaning back against his lover's chest, using the remote to idly flip through the television channels. He paused, and a voice boomed, "Today on the Jerry Springer Show: 'Surprise! I'm Divorcing You For Your Gay Cheating!'"

Connor groaned. "Danny, please!"

"Now wait, Con. Maybe Auntie Bettina will drag Andrew's ass on there."

Connor laughed. "I'd pay to see that. The public humiliation would hurt him worse than any financial reaming she could give him." Daniel made a humming sound. Conner slipped his arms around his lover's waist and gave him a squeeze. "What is it, love? Is it that shite again? I hate it when ya think of him. I should have killed him when I could have, then he wouldn't be in the world to trouble your mind."

"Connor..."

"I'm tellin' ya, Danny, it would have been called manslaughter at the worst. A word in the right ear and it would have been self-defense. Some cash, and it would have been justifiable homicide."

"Hush. Andrew isn't troubling me personally. I'm beyond that now."

"Then what is it? Something is upsetting you. Well," he waved a hand around the room. "something other than this."

"I'm thinking about his next one."

"Next one?"

Danny tipped his head to look back over his shoulder, and Connor saw that his expression was serious. "He had a taste of ownership with me, and he liked it--really, really liked it. I don't believe he'd give it up easily. I'm sure he's found someone else by now. What if he isn't as lucky as I was?"

Connor rubbed his chin on Daniel's bare shoulder. "Danny, love, don't. There are predators in this world, and there are prey, and ya can't save all the gazelles."

"You're so fucking poetic, love."

Connor sighed. "You'll never let me live down that sonnet, will ya?"

"I thought it was sweet. Besides, you're Irish--you're practically obligated."

The door opened and the man they'd decided was in charge of things around here came in. "Good evening, gentlemen."

"You know, in the best circles, we knock," drawled Daniel.

He locked the door behind him. "In the best circles, people generally don't have to worry about the people they're visiting beating them over the head when they get a chance." He lay a pile of clothes on the foot of the bed. "Your attire."

Daniel crawled down and began to examine the clothes. "Hmm. These aren't ours."

Control leaned against the wall. "Yours are in Colombia. Those were provided by our operatives. They chose clothes that they thought you would choose. How did they do?"

Daniel examined a collarless shirt of dark green linen. "Quite well, actually." He checked under the arms, and at the side seams. "And I see that they had them altered--no off the rack. Very good."

"Thank you."

"You can go now," said Connor pointedly.

"I'd like to speak to you two."

Daniel slipped on the shirt and began to button it up. "I do not have conversations with people unless I know their names." He paused. "Well, not unless I'm in a club, thinking about picking them up."

"I'm sure you'll understand that I can't tell you the name they gave me when I was born. You can call me Control." Daniel made a face. "Not that sort of control, Mr. Ballard."

Connor was studying him. Finally he jerked his chin toward the bed. "Have a seat, then. Danny hand me those pants, eh?"

Daniel passed over a pair of khakis, then he skinned off his underwear, picked up a pair of silk briefs, and began to slither into them. He acted totally oblivious to Control, who was sitting only a couple of feet away. Control had never felt a sexual interest in another man, but he could see how a handsome man like Daniel Ballard, who was so totally uninhibited, could be hard to resist.

Connor stood and started to slip on the pants, but Daniel grabbed them away and pointed at a second pair of briefs. Connor glanced at Control. The older man smiled apologetically. "I'm sure you'll understand if I don't want to turn my back."

When Connor frowned and reached for the pants again Daniel held them away and said archly, "Darling, if we were camping in the wilds it would be one thing, but you have a change of undies now. Use them."

"Bossy git." He looked at Control as he skinned out of his jockeys and took the briefs. "Why do I put up with him?"

"I suspect that you love him, Mr. Galbraith. He quite obviously loves you. Considering that, I think you should both listen to what I have to say."

Connor had his briefs on, and Daniel gave him the khakis. As he started to put them on he said, "Here comes the pitch, Danny."

Daniel had put on his own pants. "Shall we catch, or dodge?"

"We'll listen." Connor shrugged. "It isn't as if we have pressing appointments." They sat on the bed together, and Control again noted their comfortable intimacy. Generally they did not use couples as operatives. There was always the chance that emotion would step in at the wrong moment, and one of the agents would act for the good of their partner instead of the good of the mission.

But there were times where a closely connected couple could be an asset to the mission. The way some couples (and Ballard and Galbraith were one of those couples) seemed to be able to communicate without words could be hightly effective. Connor and Daniel had demonstrated that they were closer than most. Their swift detection of Ethan and Fox was impressive. Control was particularly pleased with Connor's quick reaction. Fox would have been in trouble if Ethan hadn't been there. He definitely had the instincts and reflexes of a potential operative.

"As you surmised when we first met, Mr. Galbraith, we are a government agency. We are not, however, under the control of a single government. We do not officially exist. I promise you that you could spend the rest of your life looking for some paper trace of us and you would die without finding satisfaction."

He crossed his legs, folding his hands on his knees, and continued. "There are laws. There are rules of ethics and social convention. Sometimes situations arise that cannot be dealt with effectively within these strictures. When all others have thrown up their hands and declared the situation impossible, we step in."

"And precisely who the fuck is 'we'?" There was no animosity in Connor's voice, only wry curiosity.

"'We' are the Impossible Mission Force, Mr. Galbraith, and we'd like for you and your friend to come to work for us."

Both of the other men were silent. Danny and Connor exchanged looks. "Why would we want to do that?" Daniel asked.

"Mr. Ballard, I believe that you have, for some time, been attempting to persuade Mr. Galbraith to retire from his rather hazardous profession."

"I'd ask ya what was so hazardous about shipping, but it's obvious ya know that there's an unofficial side to my business."

"Yes. However, the legitimate end of your enterprise is quite substantial, and very well run."

Connor squeezed Daniel's shoulder. "Ya can thank Danny for that. I did all right before, but he's the one who's really helped me grow in the last few years. And he's kept a solid front toward the coppers. You've never seen such a one with the books."

"We recognize Mr. Ballard's worth. The point is, you two are in a rather unique situation. You have access to people and areas that would be..." He smiled faintly, "impossible for most operatives to access. You can travel in high, or low society. Your lifestyle makes it plausible for you to be almost anywhere in the world without attracting undue interest."

"What are you proposing?" Daniel asked.

"If you and Mr. Galbraith sign on with us, we can see to it that you do not suffer finanacial loss when you faze out the less than legal part of your business. We can help you keep the appearance of your substance running--it will be an excellent cover. In return you'll be asked to do certain... favors for the operation. If any special training or materials are needed, they will be provided, and you will be paid for each mission."

"Do you provide a dental plan?" drawled Daniel.

"Ironically enough, we do. False teeth can be very useful for transporting certain small objects. We have dentists in our organization for that purpose, and they also provide excellent dental care."

Daniel started to say something, then looked at Connor. "I was joking. We should grab this. Do you know how hard it is to find a job with a dental plan?"

Connor slapped his shoulder. "Daft git." Connor studied Control, then said slowly, "If we don't feel like playing on your team, what then?" Control said nothing. "I said 'what then?'. Do you kill us?"

"No, Mr. Galbraith, we do not. But you must realize that if you try to expose us in any way, we can not only make you look foolish and dishonest, we can see to it that your life becomes very, very uncomfortable. Both you and Mr. Ballard could spend a long, long time in prison. We wouldn't have to do much. But please note that this would only happen if you threatened our operation. We are careful, but we are not vindictive."

Now Daniel was studying him. "You wouldn't expect us to enter a twelve step program and give up drinking and clubs, would you?"

"Indeed, no. We would encourage the clubbing. It is integral to the lifestyle that would make you so valuable to us."

Control watched as Ballard's expression grew shrewd. His voice was sober. "Do you mean it? Could you help us go legit? I've already worked out plans, but they'd take some cash and a bit of leverage in the right places to come off."

"Yes, Mr. Ballard. I mean it. You don't have to make a decision immediately, of course. I expect you will be with us for several more days." He stood up. "Please consider it. Before I leave, is there anything else you want?"

Daniel smiled. "Could we talk you into a threesome?"

"Danny!" Connor groaned.

"Well, I'm bored."

Control returned the smile. "I'm flattered, but no. However, if I ever DID consider experimenting with bi-sexuality, Mr. Galbraith and yourself would be the ones to tempt me."

Breakfast In Bed

Mulder was awakened by a soft tap at the bedroom door. He grumbled incoherently under his breath, but sat up. He glanced at Ethan, who slitted one green eye open, smiled faintly, then closed it again. "Oh, yes. Leave me to deal with the natives." He raised his voice. "What?" At his lover's sleepy chuckle he said, "Anyone who arrives before I've had coffee takes his chances."

Manuel's voice floated to them. "Breakfast, Senor Danny."

The aroma of strong coffee reached Mulder, and he said, "Oh, very well. Come in."

The door was pushed open, and Mulder realized that locking it last night hadn't accomplished much. Manuel lifted a tray off a small table in the hall and brought it inside, balancing it carefully. "Buenos dias, gentlemen." He brought the tray to the bed and unfolded its braces, settling it over Mulder's lap.

"Manuel, what on earth do you mean by barging in here in the middle of the night?"

"It is eight o'clock, Daniel."

"Like I said," Mulder poured himself a cup of coffee from the small carafe, "the middle of the night."

He sipped the fragrant brew while Ethan sat up, rubbing his eyes. When Hunt started to lift the silver dome sitting on the china plate, Mulder slapped his hand. "Ow!"

"That was brought to me, not you."

"Greedy cow," Ethan grumbled.

"Senor Connor, I can bring you a tray, but Senor Olivero hopes that you will join him for breakfast," Manuel said.

"Huh. You get breakfast in bed, and I get rousted."

"Aw, poor baby." Fox offered his cup to Ethan, who accepted a sip of coffee. "Go be polite to our host. Besides," Mulder lifted the dome himself, peeking at the plate's contents, "I intend to eat both of those croissants and all of the preserves, then go downstairs and pester the cook for more... eventually."

Ethan rolled out of bed and casually strolled naked over to the dresser. He didn't hesitate or try to cover himself, allowing Manuel a clear view. "What say, Manuel, how should I dress? Will we be goin' off into the bush much? If I ruin a good outfit, Danny'll skin me."

"I would suggest that you be prepared for a bit of hiking, senor. I am not exactly sure what Olivero intends to show you today, but some of his holdings lie in rough areas. You may very well do some traveling on foot, and our land is not very gentle. In particular you should wear sturdy boots." He smiled at Ethan angelically. "Snakes."

Fox winced. "I very well may not leave this house."

Manuel went to sit on the bed beside Mulder. "Do not worry. They usually stay off the grounds, and the grass is short enough to make them readily visible."

"I am so comforted," Fox said dryly. He picked up a buttery croissant and generously smeared guava preserves on it before taking a bite. He shook the pastry at Ethan, who was stepping into his boots, and spoke around his mouthful. "Connor, tuck your jeans in your boot tops. I don't want anything unhealthy slithering up there."

Ethan walked back to the bed, buckling his belt. He reached over and ruffled Manuel's hair, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "How didya know how much Danny loves breakfast in bed?" He grinned at Fox, who continued munching as he arched one eyebrow. "Ya just brought the one spread?" He shook his head, tsking. "Ya might want to provide one more." He smirked. "Danny loves a sweet spread, he does." Fox threw the last bite of croissant at Ethan, who dodged, laughing, and left the room in no great hurry.

Manuel picked the crumb off the bedspread and popped it in his own mouth. "You two tease each other a good deal."

"I suppose we do, but it's the good sort of teasing." He started on the other croissant. "We always follow through when it gets to the serious sort of playing, if you know what I mean."

"Si. No pelotas michinados ."

"Beg pardon?"

Manuel thought. "Eh... blue balls?"

Fox almost choked. He brushed the sheets. "Well, spraying crumbs is always attractive."

Manuel kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed beside Mulder, folding his hands behind his head. "Senor Danny, there is very, very little about you that I do not find attractive."

Fox finished the coffee and croissant, then set the tray aside on the night stand. "Oh, so there IS something about me that isn't attractive." He settled back down. "Tell. I can't improve if someone doesn't point out my meager faults, and Connor, bless him, is too besotted to be much good in that department."

Manuel turned on his side, facing Mulder. "The only thing I can think of is that you are unavailable."

Mulder turned to face him, too. "I'm not entirely unavailable." He reached out and touched Manuel's chin, then ran a finger down his throat to the middle of his chest. "I'll never leave Connor, and he's secure enough in that to allow us both a bit of room to stretch."

Manuel caught Mulder's hand and drew it back up. He licked Fox's finger, then sucked it into his mouth and rolled his tongue against it. When he released it, he said, "Would you like to finish your breakfast in bed with another spread, Danny?"

Mulder's mind was racing, even as he felt his cock beginning to stiffen. Am I a slut, or just into my role as Danny, or... is the way I'm feeling just more or less normal? I don't know, but... "What sort of spread did you have in mind, Manuel?"

Still smiling, Manuel stood up and stripped quickly. He lay down on his belly, wiggling comfortably, and opened his legs, resting his cheek on his crossed arms. "There are supplies in the night stand... if you have not already discovered them."

"Not yet." Mulder opened the drawer and found an assortment of condoms and lubes. He took out a tube, examining it. "Flavored." He glanced at Manuel. "Is this a hint, dear?"

In reply Manuel opened his legs ever wider, reached back, and pulled a small, glistening nub of rubber from his own anus. "A hint--yes. It is not necessary that you use it, Senor Danny." He sank one finger deep into his anal passage, and Mulder felt his cock twitch as the boy slid it slowly in and out. "As you can see, I keep myself prepared. You can take your pleasure quickly, but it would be... nice."

"Do you mean to tell me that you go around all the time with that inside you?" Manuel nodded. "You were wearing it when you picked us up at the airport, and at the club?" Another nod. Manuel pressed another finger into himself, pumping them deep. "When you ripped my shirt?" A slow smile, and another nod. "My God."

Mulder found that he was as hard as a stone at the idea. He quickly uncapped the lubricant and squeezed the clear gel onto his fingers. He moved over to kneel between his open knees. "Get your hand out of there, young one. Give me some room to operate."

Manuel obliged, sighing happily as he felt Mulder's longer fingers replace his own. They sank in easily. Mulder stroked over the sides of Manuel's anus, feeling for Manuel's prostate. He found it quickly--a small, firm bump. Manuel's back arched, and his hands worked at the sheets. "Ah!
Magicas manos."

"I'm not sure what you just said, but it sounded complimentary."

"It was, Danny."

"This may be a bit cold." He pulled his fingers out and inserted the tip of the tube, then squeezed. Manuel made a soft sound that wasn't quite a moan. "Sorry, pet. Let me make it up to you." He pushed the firm cheeks apart and bent down.

Manuel hissed in pleasure as Mulder's tongue flicked out, swiping over the crinkle of his asshole. It was different from the times he'd done this with Ethan. Before he'd always had to spend some time massaging the tight ring of muscle to get it to relax for him. This time he was able to push his tongue into the slick opening with almost no resistance. There was something undeniably erotic about having the young man so ready without having to coax and tease him along.

Mulder licked deep, then pulled back. He kneaded the boy's ass, and his voice was amused, "Manuel, were you trying to be ironic by giving me cherry lube?"

Manuel shrugged nonchalantly. "I am afraid it is the only way you will have anything cherry with me, Danny. Please?" Mulder bent back down and went back to work. He tongue fucked the younger man, alternating his tongue thrusts by sucking at the moist opening. Soon the boy was moaning quietly, rubbing his hard cock against the sheets. "Ay, Dios mio. How I love the beso negro."

Mulder paused, then said, "My lord. Your boss made an indecent suggestion to me on the way to the club, didn't he?"

"He only expressed a desire to give you pleasure, Daniel, like you are giving me."

"Well, that's... that's... That gives a person pause."

"Nooo, Daniel," he purred. "Do not pause, please."

"Um." Mulder shrugged. "Well, I suppose it's only to be expected. After all, Iam irresistible. I can't fault the man." He rolled a condom down his shaft and squeezed Manuel's buttocks. "Are you ready for me, sugar?"

"Very ready. Do not hesitate, Daniel."

Mulder lifted Manuel's hips a little and moved in closer. He fitted his cock head to Manuel's asshole and pushed gently. There wasn't much resistance, but once he was inside, Manuel's flesh clung to him snugly. He had expected at least some resistance, but Manuel took his entire length with only a pleased murmur.

It was very nice, very nice. Mulder hadn't had a huge number of female partners, and Ethan was the only man he'd ever fucked, so he didn't have all that much for comparison, but as far as he was concerned, Manuel was a choice piece of ass. Mulder began to stroke into the hot, tight depths.

"Yes, Danny, yes. Mm, so good. But do not be so gentle, my friend. Harder." Mulder strengthened his thrusts, pulling almost all the way back before he plunged back in, plumbing his depths fully. Manuel grunted happily and began to push back to meet him. But soon it wasn't enough. He panted, "Harder, amigo, harder! I need more."

Mulder was already fucking Manuel harder than he ever had any other partner. "Jesus, kid, I don't want to hurt you."

Manuel looked back over his shoulder, eyes hot, and snarled. "Hurt me, Danny! I want it! Fuck me hard."

Mulder was shocked by the intensity and hunger in the younger man's voice. He knew that there were some who enjoyed pain during sex, but he hadn't run into one before. He hesitated. I don't want to hurt him, even if it IS what he wants. I don't get off on causing pain. If I let myself...

"Damn you!" Manuel squeezed down hard, his rectum clamping down on Mulder's cock so hard that it was literally painful. At the same time he lashed backward, and his nails scored Mulder's chest.

Something snapped. Mulder slammed into the boy with a growl and began fucking him like an animal. Manuel cried out in pain, lust, and triumph. He ground and squirmed, fighting as much as fucking, and Mulder was carried along. He lost himself in the mindless rutting. Reaching beneath their bodies he found Manuel's rigid, weeping cock and tugged on it roughly. The boy screamed and his seed flooded Mulder's hands. He seemed to convulse around Mulder's impaling prick, and the spasms drew Mulder over the edge. Mulder humped against him, into him a few more times and shot into the rubber.

Manuel's voice was thick. "I wish we did not need the condom, Danny. I'd love to feel your come fill me, but that is a privilege that my master reserves for himself."

Mulder withdrew carefully, expecting to find his cock smeared with blood, but there was none, only the stickiness of lube and Manuel's natural moisture. He marveled as he stripped the condom off, dropping it into the wastebasket by the bed. "I don't believe it. I think I'd need a transfusion if anyone fucked me like that."

Manuel stretched. "It is what I am accustomed to. It is what I like." Mulder took the napkin off the tray and used it to wipe himself, then Manuel.

The boy did not object to this tenderness. He spread his legs again. When Mulder wiped down the crease of his ass, he wiggled backward so that Mulder's cloth covered finger dipped shallowly into his still open hole. "Good God, don't you ever get enough?"

"I do not think there IS enough, Danny." He giggled. "I want to see Conchita's face when she finds that napkin in the wash." He got up, and Mulder was surprised at how easily he moved. He would have thought he would be moving with difficulty for some time. Instead he retrieved the butt plug from the mattress and took it into the bathroom.

Mulder got up and followed him, leaning in the doorway as Manuel scrubbed the toy carefully with soap and hot water. When he was done he handed the still warm plug to Mulder, braced his hands on the counter, and bent at the waist, spraddle-legged. "If you would, Danny?"

Feeling a mixture of titilation and something bordering on revulsion, Mulder nudged the rounded head up against Manuel's rectum. It slid in easily, but the sphincter closed around the knob at its base, holding it in place. "Gracias." Manuel went back into the bedroom and began dressing. "Go back to bed, if you wish. I doubt our men will be back in time for lunch, and there is nothing you need to do. When you are ready, I will be here to amuse you," he trailed a hand down Fox's chest as he passed him "...in any way you wish."

For a moment after Manuel left, Fox just stared at the closed door. Then he sat heavily on the bed, falling back across it to gaze up at the ceiling. What the fuck just happened? I screwed his brains out, but I still feel like he was using me

Notes: Thanks to Kat and her friend DH for giving me info about the process.

Chapter 39: Touring

Olivero looked up from his plate as Connor strolled into the dining room. "Buenos dias, my friend. Did you sleep well?"

"Fine, fine." Ethan went to the sideboard and started to fill his plate from the dishes that were set there. "Say, Olivero, I haven't seen a spread like this since the last time I took Danny for a hunt weekend at some tarted-up inn in England."

"If we lack something you want, just tell me, Connor. Was Danny pleased with his breakfast?"

"Yeah," Ethan sat down and began eating. He chuckled. "Though he may be down here later pestering your kitchen staff." He slid a look at Olivero. "I think maybe Manuel is gonna help him work up an appetite."

Olivero sipped his coffee placidly. "I would not be surprised. I am sure that Manuel will be able to keep him amused while we are away."

"What exactly will we be seein' today, Olivero?"

"First I will show you some of the raw materials--the poppies and the coca plants."

"Good. It's always good to get a look at the source. You do both poppies and coca, Montana? I thought most people concentrated on one or the other."

Olivero shrugged. "I diversified early in my career. You see, Connor, I will be able to supply you with a variety of products. I have refineries that produce cocaine, I can supply morphine base, or I can refine the morphine into heroin. Once we become associated it may become more profitable to consolidate my efforts, but for now, I do quite well."

Fields, labs, we want it all, Olivero. You may not seem like much of a threat to some people right now, but once you get a wider distribution set up... You've shown how good you are at expanding. God knows where you'd be in five years. "Sounds fine."

Olivero had a Range Rover, brand new. It was almost showroom pristine, and Ethan had to wonder at its cleanliness. In this environment, with the lack of paved roads and the tendency toward mud, it couldn't be easy to keep a vehicle in good shape. That showed that Olivero paid attention to details, and was willing to go through some effort.

"First we will visit one of my poppy fields. This one is about an hour away. It has been a good producer, and there is a lab close to it, so you can see that side of it, too."

They discussed Connor's business as they drove. Ethan's intensive study paid off, and he was able to answer every question casually, without seeming to think about it. "My contacts in America aren't what I'd like them to be, but once I can assure them of regular bulk shipments, the big boys will be more willing to deal with me," he said.

They were traveling down a road that scarcely deserved such an exalted title. The grass had hardly been worn away, and the trees and bushes were so close that Ethan made sure to keep his hands inside to avoid getting scratched. Olivero slowed the jeep to a crawl. It can't be because of the track--he's been chugging along quick enough. It must be... ah.

A man stepped into the track before them. He had an AK-47. That weapon might have fallen out of fashion with the more technically advanced crooks in America, but it looked efficient enough from where Ethan was sitting.

Olivero stopped. "Sit still, my friend. This is only the one we can see. There will be at least one other at a hidden vantage point." Ethan nodded, keeping his hands carefully in view.

The man approached, weapon at the ready, his eyes darting from the car's occupants to scan the road behind them for others. When he got a close look at Olivero, recognition flitted across his face, but he did not lower the gun. "Hola, Jaguar. Quien es su amigo?"

"Éste es Galbraith, el que le dije alrededor."

"Ah, el Irishman." The man stepped aside and waved them on.

As they drove on, Olivero said, "I do not need much security this close to home. The authorities appreciate the fact that I provide work. Besides, without the smaller manufacturers, there is no squabbling."

Ethan understood this. The local authorities probably didn't have the manpower or finances to battle the drug problem. They might even consider Olivero to be helping them, since he policed his own area of interest, and kept down the bloodshed that inevitably occurred when rival groups fought for territory. There was probably a bit of graft going on as well. It was almost a way of life in some Latin American countries.

They turned a corner, and the scene that met Ethan's eyes was both shocking and stunning. He would never have suspected that only a few yards of close growing jungle had separated him from an open space that was almost the size of an American football field. The entire cleared space, aside from a small, bare patch that held a crude hut, was covered in brilliant poppies. The field was a blaze of orange-red, with a faint haze of yellow streaking it here and there when a breeze tipped the blossoms to show the inner parts of their petals. It was more beautiful than anything Ethan had ever seen at a botanical garden, but his aesthetic enjoyment was spoiled by the knowledge of the tragedy this beauty would yield. It was rather like admiring the picture of a gorgeous woman, only to be told that she had poisoned her husband and children.

There was a large, rickety table sitting in the sunshine before the shack. A man and woman sat before it on packing crates, working industriously at something. They looked up as the Range Rover came to a stop, and spoke to each other. The man got up and came over as Ethan and Olivero got out, but the woman continued with her task.

Olivero shook the man's hand, speaking to him in Spanish, indicating Ethan. The man nodded, then gestured at Ethan to follow him to the table. The tabletop was almost covered by pale, egg-shaped green pods, each about half as large as Ethan's thumb. The woman was picking them up and scoring them several times all around the pod with a wickedly sharp, curved knife. Almost immediately a whitish fluid began to ooze out, and she placed the scored pod in a large tin bowl.

"You see, Connor? They gather the seed pods, one from each poppy, then slice slits in them. That white sap is opium in its crudest form. It isn't of much value until it has been processed and refined. Soon the sap will turn darker and thicker, then they will remove it with a scraping knife and package it for transportation. They will form it into balls, bricks, or cakes and wrap it. I think Guardo here prefers to make it into flat bricks, because they are easier to stack, and he wraps them in leaves instead of plastic or waxed paper, because that way he does not have to pay for the material, and makes a greater profit."

Guardo pointed to his place at the table. There was a brick mold lined with leaves and half full of dark, fragrant opium paste. He took up a pod that was coated in brown, sticky paste and demonstrated how he removed it with a few quick but careful scrapes, then packed it into the mold.

As he did this, a boy of perhaps nine came out of the poppy field, carrying a canvas sack. He handed it to the woman, who emptied a fresh load of pods onto the table. The boy then took the bowl she had just filled and began to lay the oozing pods out neatly on a sheet that had been stretched on the ground.

Olivero indicated the boy, asking Guardo a question. The man shrugged. "Pronto será lo suficientemente viejo para ayudar. Por ahora, el cuchillo es muy filoso. Quiero que conserve sus dedos."

"He says that Tomaso cannot help with the actual gathering until he is a little older, and learns how to handle a knife." Olivero handed Tomaso a few coins, and received a sunny smile in return. Ethan tried not to stiffen or show apprehension when the other man ruffled the child's hair. There was no indication that Olivero was a pedophile, but he tended to take his pleasures as he found them, had no reluctance to use others, and seemed totally uncaring about how the world would react. It was a dangerous combination.

Ethan noticed a stack of several dozen leaf-wrapped bricks, placed neatly in another box. He pointed. "Will we be takin' that on to the lab, Vero?"

Montana shook his head. "No, Connor. I have people to do that. I do not transport--that is one reason why I wish to ally myself with you. I move my raw materials as little as possible around my home base. There are just too many factors that cannot be controlled."

When they left, Olivero took a cell phone from the glove compartment and spoke on it briefly. When he put it away he said, "We do not go to the labs without advanced warning. The security is much tighter there. Please do not wander away while we are there. A strange face..." Olivero smiled, "particularly one as pale as your own, would be suspect."

Connor couldn't be sure how far away from the field the lab was. Again they turned off the main road and spent some time squeezing their way through the jungle. There was no real clearing this time, and he didn't see the men with guns till after Olivero parked near the little shack made out of corrugated tin. Even then they were just vague, man-shaped figures with the metallic glint of weapons back in the jungle.

Another mestizo came out of the shack, and Ethan noticed that the man had a plastic-cone face mask (the kind worn by workers who had to deal with hazardous fumes) hanging around his neck, and a pair of safety goggles pushed up on his forehead. Olivero introduced him. "Connor, this is my good friend, Bartolo. He is the first one I ever taught how to cook the opium, and now he trains all my other lab men."

They shook hands. Ethan didn't like the thorough examination the stocky man gave him, and he liked even less the smirking look that he turned to Montana when he was through. But this one, at least, spoke English. "A pleasure, senor. I hear good things about you."

Ethan frowned at the innuendo in Bartolo's voice. "I'm gratified."

Bartolo glanced back at the jeep. "But you do not bring your friend?"

"Danny?" *What the fuck does he know about Daniel Ballard? Why would Olivero have discussed him?* "Danny doesn't care for strenuous activitity." The skeptical look on Bartolo's face made Ethan want to hit him.

"I want to show Connor the lab, Bartolo," said Montana.

"Ciertamente." Bartolo took a filter and pair of goggles just like the ones he wore from hooks on the shed wall, and handed them to Ethan. "If you please, senor."

"Are these necessary?"

"I must insist." Olivero had taken gear for himself from the wall, and was donning it. "The materials involved in this process are quite volatile, and exposure to them... It may not cause immediate death, but it is not healthy."

The interior of the shed was baking hot. There were several fifty-gallon metal drums, each perched over a gas heating element. Bartolo led them to one near the entrance. "You have timed your visit well. I am just now starting another batch, and the last one is almost ready for the next stage."

Ethan peered into the barrel. "What's this? It looks like water."

"It is water," said Bartolo blandly, "And it has just come to the boil. Now..." Bartolo put on a pair of heavy rubber gloves, then scooped a white powder from another barrel and dumped it into the water. He used a small wooden oar to stir it. "We add lime, then the paste." He began to unwrap jelly-like bricks of opium tar and slip them into the boiling water. "This will dissolve. The waste will sink, and the morphine will rise to the surface, like this."

He took them to another barrel. This one had a thick white scum on top. Ethan watched as Bartolo quickly skimmed it off with a skill that spoke of much practice. He poured the thick white fluid into another, much smaller container. "Now..." he picked up a bottle labeled AMONIACO. Even without the closeness of the Spanish word to the English, Ethan would have known what it was from the pungent aroma that seeped even through the filter. "We reheat it with ammonia, then filter it, and boil it again." He stirred the mix, then pointed to another stack of bricks waiting to be wrapped. These looked almost like brown modeling clay. "They have been dried in the sun, and are ready to be shipped."

"We sell some of this to help with immediate expenses, but it is much more profitable to continue with the process and make heroin." He smiled. "It is ironic, isn't it? Morphine was supposed to be a safe replacement for laudanum. Heroin was invented to treat morphine addicts." He laughed. "I wonder if they will come up with something more profitable still to combat the addictions of heroin and cocaine?"

The coca plants were not in a clearing, but rather spread out through a section of jungle where the trees and undergrowth was thinner. The plants were almost as pretty as the poppies, though not as showy. They had long, slender, pale green leaves, and creamy, star shaped blossoms.

In this case the flowers were ignored--the leaves were the crop. The shed for this lab was much larger than the other. Again they donned goggles and a mask before entering, and Ethan saw that the shack was divided into two rooms. The smaller, back room was filled with the ubiquitous 55-gallon drums. Olivero indicated them, saying, "You see that we keep our supplies away from the work area. The chemicals we use are even more dangerous than those we use for making the morphine." He shook his head. "I have lost several labs through carelessness. The ones responsible usually die in the explosion and fire. It saves me the trouble of killing the stupid pigs."

Ethan watched as liquid ether was poured over a barrel full of leaves. He was a nervous when they started the heater under the barrel, but he showed only cool interest.

Olivero continued talking, almost like a tour guide at any factory. "The first solvent I used was raw grain alcohol, but I would have made a greater profit just selling the liquor. We use liquid ether, unless it is too difficult to obtain. Anhydrous ether--the old anesthetic, you know? I don't like to use it. I had one man who did not put on his mask, and he passed out. There was no explosion, but the danger..." He shook his head. "He did not forget again, after the beating I gave him. We could use acetone, or nitrogen sulfate, but they smell bad. I prefer to draw as little attention as possible. And ammonium hydrous nitrogen... well, that is used for explosives to begin with."

Ethan was nodding. "But all these are poisonous. Don't they leave a dangerous residue? I'd think it would eat the lining right out of your nose if ya sniffed it."

"No, no. It is the same with heroin. It leaves here pure and safe, as long as the user is careful with his dosage. The danger is in what the others down the line use to cut it."

"Ah, sure. They use all kinds of shite, don't they? I've heard of 'em using baking powder, talc, and powdered sugar." He scowled. "There's even been a few vicious bastards who used rat poison."

"Our business sometimes attracts the less-than-stable. Most dealers do not want to kill off their customers, though. The most widely-used product is mannito."

Ethan frowned. "Mannitol?"

"You have probably tasted it yourself."

"No," Ethan said firmly. "I don't do drugs, I just move them."

Olivero laughed. "Connor, you would not need to sample your contraband! Mannitol is used as a sweetener, stabilizer, and bulking agent in foods. If you buy ice cream you have almost assuredly eaten it. It is used in many diet foods, as it is absorbed more slowly than other sugars. Diabetics would have little choice of foods if it were not for mannitol."

"Is that a fact? I'll have to tease Danny about that. He loves ice cream, and every now and then he goes on a diet kick and forces himself to eat those bloody substitutes till neither one of us can stand it. I get sick of his attitude and buy him a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey. He's fine after that."

Ethan was happy to get out of the lab. It wasn't the first time he'd ever been in one, but that was definitely the crudest one he'd ever seen. He didn't care how careful the workers were--he was fairly sure that the dump was scheduled to go up like a firecracker factory hit by a bomb.

Dusk was falling as they made their way back to Montana's estate. Ethan reflected that IM's assessment of the situation had been accurate. Olivero kept a close hand on his operation, and was responsible for picking most of the men in significant levels of the organization. If Montana was taken out of the picture, the system would fall apart soon. It seemed unlikely that anyone with a forceful enough personality and good enough connections would rise from the ranks to take over.

Except maybe Manuel, Ethan thought as they pulled up in front of the house. Olivero might not delegate all that much of the actual power to him, but the kid is sharp. He's bound to have learned everything about this operation, and he'll be familiar to the mid-level workers. He might be able to pick up the reins, especially if Olivero goes to prison instead of to Hell, and the others think Manuel has his backing.

Mulder came out of the house as they approached, followed closely by a grinning Manuel. Ethan eyed the frazzled looking man and said, "What is it, Danny? Ya look like you've been chased around the block."

"I feel like I've been through the fucking Boston Marathon, darling." He pointed at Manuel accusingly. "I am about to lock that little demon in a closet. I haven't had a moment to myself all day long."

"You've never complained about that before, Danny love."

"Not that!" snapped Mulder. "But tennis in this heat? I thought I was going to pass out. I would have passed out," he gave Manuel a suspicious look, "except that I had an idea of what would happen while I was out. Every time I turned around he was practically in my lap."

"He's fond of you, Danny. Come," he herded everyone toward the house. "We will have time for a shower before dinner. Manuel did not show you the gym, did he?"

"No, and I can't imagine why. I thought I'd seen everything, including the crawlspaces."

"In truth, I asked him not to." Olivero rested a hand on Mulder's shoulder as he steered him down the cool, dim hall. "That, Duncan, is a privilege I reserved for myself."

Grappling

They entered Olivero's house, and Ethan said, "I need to hit the men's room, Danny, but you go on in and relax with our host."

Mulder cocked an eyebrow at his lover. "You had that entire jungle, with a million trees and bushes, to take a whiz in. Why on earth did you wait?"

"Because I'm relatively sure that whatever might be watchin' me in the guest bog has two legs instead of none or four."

Mulder looked at Olivero. "He's so paranoid."

"That can be an advantage in our line, Danny," Olivero replied. He slipped an arm around Mulder's back and guided him toward the back of the house. "Manuel, a beer would be appreciated."

Ethan watched them disappear down the hall, then continued up to his room. Once there, he pulled his suitcase out of the closet and set it on the dresser, where he located a pair of sunglasses in the top drawer. Slipping the glasses on, he examined the case carefully, looking for telltale glowing patches. The spray he'd applied that morning from what looked like a can of brand-name deodorant would react with human skin, leaving evidence on the surface if anyone else had handled it in his absence. Finding no glowing marks, he put the glasses away and opened the case.

As Mulder had already unpacked, the case seemed to be empty. However, when Ethan turned the handle sideways, the false bottom of the case popped loose with a muted snick. Ethan lifted it aside to reveal a scaled-down laptop computer that would make its manufacturers obscenely wealthy when it was finally released to the public.

He made satellite contact with his IM contact and quickly relayed the information he'd gathered today. When it was time to give them instructions he typed 'CONTINUE STANDBY. REQUEST BACKGROUND INFO MONTANA. QUERY ANY AND ALL INFORMATION CONCERNING HISTORY WITH INDIVIDUAL NAMED DUNCAN. UNSURE IF FIRST OR SURNAME. URGENT. POSSIBLE DANGER TO PARTNER. REPLY ALL SPEED.' He closed down the machine, shutting the case and replacing it in the closet, then went downstairs.

Ethan made his way downstairs and went back to the room they had been in the night before. All three of the men were on the sofa--Olivero at one end and Manuel and Mulder at the other. Mulder was sipping a beer while Manuel cuddled against his side, and Olivero watched them.

When Ethan entered Mulder poked Manuel, saying, "Up, young man. The proper owner of that space has arrived."

Manuel scooted over next to Olivero, and Ethan, without hesitation, settled into the vacant place. "Ah, nice an' warm. Thank ya, Manuel." He put his arm around Mulder, who immediately settled his head on Ethan's shoulder. "Didya have a good day, Dannyboy?"

"I thought people took things easy in South America, siestas and all that. That little brute seemed determined to run me into the ground."

Manuel shrugged. "It is my job to keep you entertained, Senor Danny."

"Entertained and in motion are not necessarily synonymous."

"I hope you are not too fatigued, Danny," said Olivero. "I wish to show you the gym and the sauna after dinner."

Mulder perked up. "Sauna? Mm, that is so lovely just before bed. It just relaxes you to pudding consistency."

Ethan poked him fondly, "And here you've been complaining about the heat."

Mulder pouted. "It isn't the same thing, and you know it."

Ethan laughed and gave Mulder a kiss. "Yes, I know it."

"Connor, I have a handball court, also."

Now Ethan looked interested. "Is that so? Care for a game later, Vero?"

"I was thinking that you might play against Manuel." Ethan looked at the younger man in surprise. Manuel grinned back at him. "Granted, Manuel did not learn the game early in life, but he has taken to it. He may lack height and bulk, but he makes up for it with speed, agility, and cunning. I assure you that you will find him a worthy opponent."

"All right, then. It's a date." He rubbed Mulder's shoulder. "That's okay with you, Danny?"

"Of course. I'm not up to racing around this evening. Knock yourself out." I guess I'd better make nice to Olivero. I'm supposed to be a flirt, anyway. He didn't actually bat his eyes at Olivero, but he gave him a coy smile. "I'm sure Mister Montana will keep me occupied."

Olivero returned his smile, his dark eyes glinting. "It will be my distinct pleasure, Danny."

They were served by the same silent women, who expressed no more personality than they had the night before. Manuel gauged Olivero's interest in the lanky Anglo, and did not try to caress Mulder beneath the tabletop this time. He knew that it would be up to him to keep Daniel's lover busy as long as possible to allow his master time. Olivero would probably not do anything too forceful--yet. But he would want time alone to test the other man's resistance, see just how far he would be allowed before he actually had to push.

After dinner all four men changed into gym wear. Olivero and Manuel met Ethan and Mulder outside their room and led them down into the basement. They paused at the bottom of the stairs, and Mulder uttered a long, low whistle of approval as he looked around. "My God, this is better than the one they had at Somerset." He walked over to a pair of exercise machines. "Nautilus and Bowflex, bike, treadmill, benches." He strolled back to the others and walked around Montana, running a finger along his shoulders as he passed behind him. "No wonder you look so buff, Vero."

Olivero couldn't repress a slight shiver at the touch--and the use of the nickname. He opened a cabinet and tossed a handball and gloves to Ethan and Manuel, then indicated one of the doors set in the walls. "Enjoy yourselves, my friends."

Ethan bounced the ball. "Yeah. Come on, laddie. I promise not to be too rough on ya."

Olivero laughed. "Do not worry about that, Connor. My little one can take care of himself." He watched them disappear into the handball court. In a moment there was the thump and squeak of a game. Montana turned his attention back to Mulder. "Now, Danny, what is your pleasure?"

"Oo, what a loaded question. I usually do the treadmill."

"That's a bit lonely, isn't it? So solitary."

"Well, I'm not much for pumping iron. What would you suggest?" Olivero went to the side of the room and dragged a grey gym mat to the center of the room, unfolding it. Fox toed it, arching his eyebrows. "Looks just like what I used to take naps on in preschool."

"Most American prep schools have wrestling, don't they?"

Mulder crossed his arms. "They do, but we were given a choice, and I did swimming and tennis. It's not that I don't like the idea of wrestling. Hell, I went to Wrestlemania. Big, pretty men in spandex, what's not to like?"

"I'm not talking about commercial wrestling, Danny. I'm talking about classic Greco-Roman style. Didn't you attend any of the matches when you were in school."

"They weren't required--I didn't go."

"Oh, Danny, you deprived yourself." He moved closer, entering Mulder's personal space. "Think about it for a moment. Those hard young bodies, twisting together on the mat, grappling, sweating..."

Mulder didn't pull back. His voice was quiet. "Well, when you put it like that..."

"You enjoy roughhousing with Connor?"

Fox smiled. "Yes."

"Who usually wins?"

He sighed. "He does. He grew up a bit rougher than I did. I never learned to be aggressive."

"I could teach you a few moves that might let you gain the upper hand."

"Really?"

Danny bit his lip, and Olivero felt the first stir of blood in his cock. He hoped that the younger man would say yes, because he wasn't sure he'd be able to resist throwing him down on the mat anyway. "Well, all right, as long as you promise not to break or strain anything I might need later."

"Do not worry." He indicated the mat. "Get on your hands and knees."

Mulder regarded him with a faint smile, then rolled his eyes. "Romance is dead, but you did give me dinner, so I suppose..." He got down on the mat, bracing his hands and knees a little apart. "Like this?"

Olivero was behind him. Mulder's gym shorts were pulled up tight, molding his ass. Montana reached down and gave his now half-hard dick a quick squeeze before getting on his knees at Daniel's side. "Place your hands a little farther apart, at shoulder width. Yes, like that." He leaned over, encircling Mulder about the chest, locking his hands in front. "At the count of three I will drag you over on your side. Resist as much as you can."

"Oh, you WILL drag me over, and I'm to TRY to resist. Has anyone ever called you arrogant, Senor Montana?"

Olivero leaned down, and Fox shivered as his breath tickled his ear. "A number. Some of them are even still living. One, two, three..."

Mulder assumed that de la Montana would be pulling toward himself, and he immediately strained in the opposite direction. He'd been correct, but it didn't do him much good. Olivero jerked him so hard that his hands and knees came off the mat. In the scant second he was lifted, Olivero switched holds, turning him so that he had one arm hooked under one of Fox's legs and the other under the opposite arm. Mulder was slammed back onto the mat, Olivero coming to rest on top of him.

Knowing a little about wrestling, Mulder immediately strained his upper body, keeping his shoulders an inch from the floor. He twisted and kicked hard, trying to throw Montana off. It didn't work, but Montana's voice was pleased and a bit strained as he said, "Very good, Danny! I didn't expect this much from you."

"I'm a bundle of surprises," Mulder grunted. He kicked, and managed to hook his free leg over the back of Montana's neck, and began to pull down. But doing this, he couldn't keep his body raised, and his shoulders hit the mat. Olivero counted, "One, two, three. Out." He didn't let go. Neither did Mulder. "You've lost, Danny. Give up."

Fox was in pain now, his strained muscles starting to talk to him, breath being squeezed from his body, but he panted, "No. This isn't a collegiate match, no set rules, and I'm not gonna give a submission."

"It's going to be no more than a contest to see which one of us passes out from lack of air first. Would you settle for a draw?"

"I would."

"Then let us both relax our holds. Now."

Mulder felt Olivero's hold loosen. Gratefully (because he was sure that if he'd been held in that position much longer he'd have passed out), he unhooked his leg. Olivero sat back on his heels, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, if you use those sort of tactics when you wrestle with Connor, you hardly need instruction."

Mulder lay back, lacing his hands over his belly, and regarded Olivero archly. "But you're not Connor."

"I see." Oliver stretched out beside him, lying on his side, elbow bent and head propped in his hand. With his free hand he reached over and stroked the back of Mulder's wrist. "You don't try so hard with Connor?"

"I try, but with Connor I know all the ways it might end ahead of time."

Montana's hand trailed up Mulder's forearm, then to his upper arm. He squeezed Mulder's bicep gently. "You play with others, don't you, Danny?"

Mulder studied him, not moving. "Sometimes, with Connor's approval." Olivero's hand had strayed up to his shoulder, and was now stroking his throat. "In Connor's presence."

"Connor and Manuel are occupied, but they should be done soon." Olivero got on his knees again. This time he settled his hands on Mulder's thighs. "Any strains?"

"No."

Olivero began massaging. "Just in case."

Mulder sat up. "If you're going to be teaching me about wrestling then that's what you should do."

Olivero moved swiftly. He grabbed Mulder's arms and shoved, swinging one leg over the quickly prone man. Fox found himself pinned to the mat with Olivero looming over him, straddling his hips. "Can you get loose from this, Chico?" Mulder tried. He tried as hard as he dared without actually trying to hurt Olivero, and it was no use. He'd have to resort to dirty tactics, like trying to knee Olivero in the crotch to get up. Montana held him with little effort, a faint smile on his face. After several minutes Mulder subsided, panting. "All right, I give."

"So soon, Chico?"

"I'm getting tired of this," Mulder pouted. And that erection you have sitting on top of my crotch is distracting, to say the least.

"But you were always so good at learning things athletic, Chico." He shifted, rocking slightly.

Mulder squirmed as their crotches stroked firmly together. "What are you talking about?"

Olivero was moving steadily, staring down at Mulder. "Surely you remember, little one? You learned quickly from that tennis instructor."

Shit, something is happening here, Fox thought. He's turned on, which isn't a surprise, but his eyes look blank, and that's scaring the fuck out of me. He said sharply, "Mister de la Montana, I'd like to get up."

Olivero didn't stop. In fact he slid down a little to get a better angle. Now he was thrusting against Mulder. "Mister de la Montana? Oh, so formal. You called me Vero before, Chico. I like that, the nickname."

"I'm not ready for this! Get off me--I mean it!"

"You've been away too long, Chico. You've gotten rebellious."

Mulder jerked his leg hard. He couldn't get it into Olivero's crotch (he was too far up), but he landed a thudding blow against Olivero's back, which startled him enough for Fox to thrash and loosen the bigger man's grip. Mulder squirmed and thrashed like a landed fish. He managed to half throw Montana off and turned over, preparing to scramble away.

He wasn't quick enough. Olivero landed on top of him again, driving him to the floor. He grabbed the back of the other man's neck with one hand, pushing down. "Bad boy," he said breathlessly. "Oh, Duncan, you have to learn not to fight me." He reached down and grabbed at the waistband of Mulder's shorts.

Christ, he's strong! The information about de la Montana flashed through Mulder's mind. He killed the same way his namesake, the jaguar did--disemboweling... or breaking his prey's neck. Mulder took a calculated risk--he stopped struggling. The pressure on his neck eased up immediately.

He heard a door open, and Ethan's voice saying, "Ya aimed that last one at my head, ya devil. I know ya did. You... What the fuck is this?"

Olivero moved off of Mulder, helping him to his feet with casual ease. "I was showing Daniel some wrestling moves." He smoothed a wrinkle from Fox's shirt. "I hope I wasn't too rough, Danny, but you did say that I was not to hold back."

Mulder rubbed the back of his neck. The blankness had gone out of Olivero's expression. Fox had only a moment to consider how he would respond. How Danny would respond. Connor would attack if he thought that Danny had been manhandled, and Danny wouldn't want Connor to endanger himself by going up against Olivero unprepared. Hell, I don't want Connor going up against him right now. Fox drawled, "Oh, hell, you took me seriously. He said wrestling, and I was thinking WWF or WCW, Shawn Michaels, The Rock. I thought he'd teach me how to dodge clotheslines and talk trash."

"Since when have you needed tutoring on talkin' trash, Danny?" Connor went to him, pushing aside Mulder's hand to rub the taller man's neck. "You all right, love?"

Fox smiled. "Sure. I just have to remember that saying about not assuming anything, so I don't make an ass out of you or me. How was your game?"

Ethan gave him a suspicious look, but dropped the subject. "It was bloody hell, that's what it was. You're right about Manuel being a demon. The little sod was trying to angle the ball into me. I think he aimed at my crotch a couple of times."

Manuel gave him a smile. "Oh, no, Senor Connor. Your head, perhaps, but not your cojones." His smile widened, "Not when I hope for you to use them with me soon."

Ethan stared at him in astonishment. "And I thought you could be direct, Danny."

"I believe I was promised a sauna?" Fox said pointedly.

"Of course. This way." Olivero led them into a small room that was furnished as a locker area, with a shower and an ample supply of towels. Olivero indicated another door. "I had it turned on during dinner, so it should be ready now." He reached out and rubbed the back of Mulder's neck. "Perhaps the heat will melt the aches away, Danny."

"Danny's like a cat. He complains about the heat sometimes, and other's he can just soak it up till I think he's going to have a heat stroke."

As Ethan had spoken, Olivero and Manuel began to strip. Only a few seconds behind, Ethan and Fox followed. Olivero, Ethan, and Fox took towels, wrapping them around their waists. Manuel took the towel Ethan handed him and draped it around his shoulders, then casually went into the sauna. Ethan and Fox exchanged glances, then followed Olivero into the sauna

Sacrifices

The room was thick with steam, but they could make it out. It wasn't much larger than the bedroom had been in the safe apartment. The walls and floor were tiled in gleaming white. The floor slanted slightly from each side toward the center. In the exact middle there was a pit filled with stones so hot that they glowed. Sitting next to the pit was a bucket of water with a long handled dipper sitting in it. Olivero indicated it, saying, "There is a sprinkler directly overhead that can be turned on, or set to operate automatically, but I enjoy the traditional, old fashioned way." There were two ranks of wide wooden benches on every wall save the one that held the door. "Have a seat, my friends."

"You can have a seat, I intend to have a recline." Mulder arranged himself on one of the lower benches. It was just long enough for him to stretch out without anything dangling off either end. He closed his eyes and prepared to let the heat bake into him. God knows I could stand relaxing a little.

He felt his head lifted, and opened his eyes to find an upside view of a smiling Manuel. A folded towel was slipped under his head, and Manuel said, "Just a little pillow for you, Senor Danny." His fingers trailed down Mulder's cheek. "All we desire is your comfort."

"Thank you," he said faintly.

Olivero dipped up some water and poured it over the stones. It hissed and splattered as it struck the heated rocks, sending up a cloud of steam, then he moved to sit on the upper bench behind Mulder. Ethan sat on the other side, just beyond Mulder's feet, where he could keep an eye on him. Manuel, now totally nude, went to sit close beside Ethan, not quite touching him.

Mulder laid a forearm across his eyes, blocking out the milky light that filtered through the steam. "If I start to melt, just scoop me back up on the bench," he sighed.

He felt Ethan nudge his feet with his hip. "Lazy git."

"Never denied it, darling."

There was a few moments of silence, then Olivero said, "Ethan, I find your lover very attractive."

Fox didn't move, listening to Ethan's dry reply, "Yah? You know, I thought I noticed a bit of interest. I have no objection if Danny doesn't, but it's his choice."

"I am so glad you said that, so I didn't have to," Mulder murmured. He felt a hand settle on his chest--not moving, just resting there. "Whose hand is that?" There was no answer, but the hand moved slowly, tracing circles in the sweat that slicked his skin. It drifted to the right, and the fingers grazed his nipple. "I'm not sure I care." There was a soft pinch, then a thumb rubbed sensuously till the tiny bit of flesh had stiffened into a point. Mulder sighed. "I definitely don't care."

"Not very flattering, Danny." Olivero's voice was amused. "Are you willing?" Mulder arched, turning slightly so that Olivero's fingers slid over to his other nipple. The Columbian chuckled, beginning to caress the other nipple, but said, "I need your agreement. I have no wish for Connor to fly to your defense."

Mulder's apprehension was warring with the erotic glow that was kindling his body. Perhaps the danger of the situation even added to the spice. Exactly how sick am I? "Rules."

"Rules," Montana agreed.

"No penetration." Olivero's fingers tightened slightly, making the pinch sharper than it had been, but Mulder said firmly, "No--penetration. I seriously doubt that you're carrying condoms or lube in that towel, and I don't do it with anyone except Connor without protection."

Olivero let his hand drift down Mulder's torso, circling his navel, then fingering the towel where it was wrapped low on his hips. "Digital?" Mulder hesitated, then nodded. "And you will not deny me the hope of more later?"

I'd better leave things open, because I'm not at all sure that Olivero would take well to being forbidden. "Perhaps. We'll see."

"Fair enough."

Mulder felt the towel unknotted and spread open. He was already half erect. He felt a big hand slip under his cock and lift it away from its resting place along his thigh. If I keep my eyes shut, I can pretend that it's Ethan.

"Danny, put your left foot up flat on the bench." Mulder obliged, and immediately he felt Olivero's fingers skimming the slightly spread crease of his ass. He shuddered, and Olivero murmured, "Calm, sweetheart, calm. I will be gentle."

He pumped Mulder's thickening cock slowly. His fingertip located the crinkle of Mulder's anus and rubbed around it. The hand was withdrawn for a moment, and Mulder felt it swipe across his belly and chest. When it returned to probe at his ass he realized that Olivero had coated his finger with sweat, and used it to slick his way as he gradually worked it up inside Mulder. Mulder bit his lip. Olivero's finger was thicker that Ethan's--he thought that of his felt almost like two of Ethan's.

Olivero had forgotten the other men in the room, forgotten that Connor and Manuel were watching. He was focused solely on the man lying before him--his scent, the tight, hot feel of his flesh. He drank in the play of expression across his face, the teeth catching at his full bottom lip. Oh, Duncan, it has been too long.

He pushed hard and deep, and Danny's face tensed. He made a small whine of discomfort. Behind him Olivero heard Connor say warningly, "Vero..."

"Wait." He curved his fingers, feeling, and found the small, spongy nub. Mulder stiffened, then seemed to melt around him, arching his hips. "It's all right, Connor. You see?" He rubbed firmly, and Mulder moaned, jerking upward. "He likes it." He caressed the prostate again, enjoying the soft sounds of pleasure that the man made. "I remember what you like, don't I, Duncan?"

Oh, Jesus. There's something wrong with him--something other than what was in the information we got, Ethan thought. Control had better have something for me. I can't keep Fox here unless I know exactly what we're up against. "Danny, are you all right?"

Fox kept his voice calm. "I'm fine, Con. Please relax. Manuel, dear, why don't you distract my husband?"

"It will be an honor and a pleasure, Senor Danny."

As Manuel began to untuck Ethan's towel the agent thought, Fuck! I don't want to be distracted. I think I need to keep a very close eye on what Olivero does with Mulder. I'm going to be very nervous about leaving him alone from now on. But Montana had done nothing overtly threatening, nothing that could be singled out, and Ethan didn't feel he had enough information to end the mission now. If we can find his real records--then. There's going to have to be some serious snooping going on. It won't be easy, but it's necessary.

Ethan had been soft, too worried to be aroused, even by the undeniably erotic sight of Olivero working his finger deep in Mulder's ass. Under any other circumstances Ethan would have been very distracted, but Manuel was skilled, and enthusiastic. He began filling out from the first touch of the boy's tongue, and was completely erect in no time. Then Manuel took him down his throat with no discernable hesitation. "Damn, boy!" Ethan gasped. "You're not normal!" Manuel swallowed. "But normality is highly over rated."

Even as apprehensive as he was, Mulder felt a faint sense of regret when Olivero's probing finger was removed. His eyes were still closed, but he heard the whisper of Montana removing his own towel. Then there was a shifting. His bent leg was lifted even farther, and he felt Montana straddling the bench, moving between his legs. Olivero caught his wrists, and Mulder suddenly found his hands pinned over his head.

Mulder's eyes snapped open in alarm. "I told you..."

"I'm not going to fuck you, Chico. Not this time." Mulder's legs were pushed off to either side, and Olivero moved up, crouching over him. Their cocks brushed, and Mulder felt a thrill of heat as Olivero's prick, slick with a drizzle of pre-come, rubbed against his. Olivero leaned farther down, his weight resting on Mulder's wrists--and crotch, as he began to thrust against him.

"Danny?" Ethan tried to push Manuel away, but the boy had wrapped his arms around his waist and clung like a limpet. Hunt felt the faintest scrape of Manuel's teeth, and knew instinctively that it wasn't a mistake--it was an unspoken warning. He looked down, and Manuel pulled back a little, just far enough so he could tilt his head to look up. His eyes were unreadable, but Ethan didn't try to push him again.

"Con, it's all right. I'll scream for help if I need it." Mulder flexed his fingers. He couldn't budge his hands, and he felt trapped, but he maintained the pretense of being an old hand at swinging. This sort of thing would not be unknown to Danny. "Olivero's just feeling a little masterful, that's all. Besides, it feels good." It does, but I suppose that having a jaguar rub against you would feel good--till it turned around and ripped your throat out.

Olivero leaned down even further, closing the gap between them, till he was lying on top of Danny, and continued to pump, hardly registering the exchange between the two lovers. All that mattered right now was him and the man beneath him--him and Duncan. After all the times he'd thought he'd found his lost lover, now he was sure.

Fox thought he would scream when Olivero buried his face against his throat. He drew in a breath when he felt the pinch of the big man's teeth. But somehow he didn't scream, somehow he held it in, and he didn't lose his erection. The tension and heat and sparks of ecstasy swirled inside him in a crazing sensation, and he was certain that at that moment he was a little insane. Surely no sane man would welcome the hard thrusts of a man he knew was a murderer, and was almost certain was insane.

Olivero sucked a dark purple patch on the side of the writhing Daniel's neck. Never stopping his movements he moved up to lick at Daniel's ear, then whispered hotly, "So good, my sweet one, my golden one, my lover. But it can be better. It will be better soon, very soon." He grunted as he spilled himself against Daniel's flat, heaving belly. He moved, pinning both of Daniel's wrists with one hand. With the other he reached between them, found the other man's twitching cock, and squeezed roughly.

Mulder closed his eyes again, crying out as his orgasm washed over him. But this was different from any other he'd had--it felt like more of an obligation than a pleasure. It was something that happened because it had to happen, not because he wanted it. It happened because the man moving over him and against him needed it to happen.

Ethan was relieved when Olivero stopped moving, but he didn't relax till the big man got up and Ethan saw that Fox was unharmed. He let Manuel draw him to orgasm with his skilled lips and tongue. When his climax was imminent Ethan pulled out of Manuel's oral embrace, holding the boy back when he would have lunged to take him once again, and came on his face. He couldn't say exactly why, since he usually preferred for his partners to swallow. It was something instinctual. Shit, it's superstitious--not wanting an enemy to have any of your body--hair, spit, blood, nail clippings, or come, in case they gain some sort of hold over you.

Manuel took it in stride, picking up Ethan's discarded towel and wiping his face. "You need not have done that, Connor."

"Force of habit, boyo." He reached over and rubbed Mulder's thigh as Manuel moved to begin cleaning him, then Olivero.

Instead of feeling relaxed, like he usually did after sex, Mulder felt like he was about to jump out of his skin, but he didn't show it. He stretched luxuriously, and yawned. "Well, that was nice, but me for a shower, then bed."

As he stood up Olivero, who'd seated himself on the bench, reached out and caressed Mulder's hip. "Could you be persuaded to share my bed tonight, Danny?"

Mulder kept his voice carefully neutral. "I don't know you well enough."

"No sex, only sleep."

"That's what I mean. I'll have sex with someone before I'll actually sleep with them, you know?" Olivero nodded his understanding. In his profession you did not sleep around someone unless you trusted them very strongly.

Outside the sauna the four men took fresh towels and wiped the sweat from their bodies before donning their gym clothes once again and leaving the gym. Mulder and Hunt walked close together, Ethan's hand on the small of Mulder's back, as if reassuring himself that his partner was indeed still there and still in one piece.

Olivero and Manuel said goodnight and entered Olivero's room, leaving the other two to walk down to their quarters. Mulder murmured, "I'd lay odds that they trip off to wherever the monitoring equipment is about ten seconds after we close our door."

"No bet."

"What's our scene?"

"Shit, Fox, you're calling it more than I am now."

"I enjoyed it, but he's got nothing on you." He smiled faintly. "You're a teeny bit jealous, but you aren't being a bastard about it."

"Sounds good."

"Con?"

"Yeah?"

Fox's voice was a whisper, and when he looked at Ethan his eyes were haunted. "I didn't enjoy it. I don't care what the fuck my body did, I didn't like it at all." Ethan started to speak, but Fox said quickly, "But I had to do it. And if I have to, I'll do it again, but I'll feel like I'm fucking a King cobra."

There was so much Ethan wanted to say to him, but Mulder was opening the bedroom door, and the characterization had to be maintained. "What say to sharin' that shower, Danny?"

"Sounds good to me--there's plenty of room."

"You go start the water and get it nice and hot. I want to take a quick look at that map in the suitcase and try to estimate where we were today."

Mulder tipped him a questioning look, but went into the bathroom and started the water. Once again Ethan checked to be sure no one had touched the suitcase. It was entirely possible that Olivero, to allay suspicion, would have an underling go through their things while he was with his guests. There were no prints, and he extracted the laptop again.

There was nothing useful. So far there had been no direct connection between Olivero and anyone named Duncan, but MI had only been able to access records for the last ten years. They promised to go through the next ten years worth by the next day. Ethan thought for a moment, then typed. CONTINUE SEARCH BACK TO AGE OF FIFTEEN. ANY LEAD. CONCENTRATE ON POLICE RECORDS." He thought again. "EXPAND SEARCH. MISSING PERSONS THIS LOCAL AND BOGOTA, SAME PERIOD. MALES ONLY, CAUC" He considered. "15 to 35. PHOTOS WHEN POSSIBLE." Ethan could just imagine the look on Control's face when he read that request, but once a mission was begun there was no stint on expenditures--or effort. When he was done he once again stored the laptop and prepared the suitcase, then put it away. Then he joined Fox in the bathroom.

Fox was already in the shower, and Ethan stripped quickly, then stepped under the spray with him. Mulder smiled at him and said, "Eek! There's a strange naked man in my shower."

"Better than a naked strange man, love. Give me the soap and I'll do your back."

Fox handed it over, saying, "You can do my back. You can do my front. You can just do me."

Ethan laughed. "Ya slut! You still haven't had enough?"

"Not of you, lover." Though the hissing of the water would probably have masked what they said, Mulder put his lips against Ethan's ear and whispered. "I need you. This shower isn't enough to wash away his touch. I still feel like his hands are crawling all over me."

"Not here, Danny," Ethan said. As he spoke, he cupped Mulder's cheek, gazing tenderly into his eyes. "I don't want to risk breaking either of our fool necks. We'll take it to the bed, eh?"

"Then hurry up and wash me, daddy. This little boy is ready for a cuddle, then sleepy-bye."

"You're not the most ridiculous man I've ever known, but you come close."

"But I'm not boring."

"No." As they spoke, Ethan had been stroking his soapy hands over Mulder's body--torso, arms, long legs... Now he worked up a handful of slippery foam and massaged it into Fox's crotch. "And you're awful fun to play with." He glanced down and laughed.

Fox sounded miffed. "You've never found my package amusing before."

"I'm sorry, Danny, but with all that lather and your hard-on... Laddie, it looks like one of those rolled wafers stuck in a pile of whipped cream."

"You and your food play." Fox stepped under the spray again and rinsed, then stepped out of the stall. "Hurry, or I'll start without you."

Ethan called after him. "Don't make me spank you!"

Fox's voice drifted back to him, "Promises, promises..."

Obsession Revealed

Daniel and Connor lay beside each other in the dark, breath and pulse slowly returning to normal after a round of good sex. They were quieter than normal. Usually this was a time for whispered confidences and teasing, but both of them had serious thoughts tonight. Daniel rested his head on Connor's shoulder, one hand idly tracing circles on his lover's sperm-slick abdomen. Then, as he had years ago on that beach in Rio, he licked his fingers clean, tasting the familiar flavor of his essence mingled with that of Connor.

He felt Connor nudge him. Smiling, he dipped his finger again and lifted it so Connor could suck it into his mouth. Daniel sighed as Connor stroked his finger with his tongue, then nipped it gently before releasing it. After a moment Daniel said softly, "Do you think they're serious?"

Connor was silent, then said, "Yeah, I do." He sighed. "It looks like you're goin' to get your wish, laddie." He stroked Daniel's soft hair thoughtfully. "Can I tell ya something, and you'll promise not to get mad at me?"

Danny turned his head to look up at him, resting his chin on Connor's chest. "You know I can't promise that, Con. I love you, but you really piss me off sometimes. I can promise you that whatever you say won't make me stop loving you, not even if you flew to Virginia and took out a full page ad in the biggest paper, telling the world that I'm a bottom boy slut." He smiled. "Of course, I'm so notorious back home that it would hardly surprise anyone."

"I've lied to you, Danny." Daniel's expression became serious. He didn't deal well with lies. Connor took a deep breath. "I never thought that I'd get out of the business alive, Danny. You know how we talked about settin' up wills, and insurance and all that. He touched Danny's cheek. "You've always been the sensible one about things, but you never nagged me about it, and I love you for that. But I did it, Danny."

"Did what?"

"All of it. Everything we discussed. My will. I leave my shares in my family's businesses to them, but the rest of it goes to you. Everything--the business, the flat, the cars. Me mum's to have what she wants of my personal effects, but you know how she feels about you, love. She won't clear things out. There's an insurance policy." He chuckled. "A million, double indemnity. The agent almost came in his pants when I signed for it."

Daniel studied Connor and said, "When did you do all this?"

"A year after we found each other." Daniel sat up suddenly, looking at him with a stunned expression. "I'm ashamed that I waited that long."

"I... I don't know what to say, Con."

"There's more. Come here." He pulled Danny back down and held him close, tucking his head under his chin. Daniel felt a chill of apprehension. What did Connor have to say to him that was so difficult to articulate that he couldn't look him in the face?

"My mum has an envelope. There's another insurance policy in it. It's a burial policy." He felt Daniel tense, and held him tighter, continuing to talk. "There's a detailed list. The coffin's paid for, the stone, except for the dates, the plot--a double plot." He squeezed Danny, and felt him shaking. There was a dampness on his chest. "Shh, love. It's all planned; the music, and all. I don't want you to have to deal with it if anything happens. We can leave it to Mum. She's a tough lady. She had to be, raising me in that neighborhood. Tell me you'll stay with them, at least for awhile. You'll need each other..."

"Stop it." Danny's voice was small.

"I'm sorry."

"No, just give me a minute." Connor waited, silently cursing himself . At last Daniel wiped his eyes. His voice was husky as he said, "I don't want to think about this, Con." He hugged him hard. "But God, darling, why are you telling me this now?"

He shrugged. "There just never seemed to be a good time. I knew it would upset you."

Daniel sighed, "Oh, Connor." He sat up, looking down at his lover. He said gently, "I love you for wanting to protect me, but you have to realize that I'm not all THAT fragile. I went through some nasty things before I found you. There are things I don't like, and things I'd rather not deal with, but if I must deal with them, I can." He settled back down. "When this is over, we're going to your mother's and we're going to get that list and go over it together. I'll probably cry, but this is something that I'm not going be left out of. Now, go to sleep. We need to have a talk with our keeper in the morning." He yawned. "Aren't you glad I went ahead and drew up those plans for phasing into legitimate business?"

Connor kissed the top of his head. "Yes, my own clever boy."

"So if your operatives are caught, they're on their own?"

"I din't say that, Mr. Ballard. I said that they were not officially acknowledged. Please be assured that we make every effort to be sure that our operatives do not suffer for their actions when they are in the line of duty." Control stood up. "Would either of you care for a refill?"

They were in a small room that was furnished and decorated in a bland style that was typical of thousands of mid-priced hotel rooms. There wasn't a single thing to distinguish it, no clue as to where they might be. For all they knew they weren't even in England. They'd discussed it before, but hadn't come to a conclusion. Control had a faint British accent, but the man who had helped capture Danny sounded American.

Daniel shook his head, but Connor handed over his glass. "Just a wee bit more. I must say, your organization does you proud on the potables. That's as fine a whiskey as has ever graced me palate."

As Control poured another inch of amber liquor in the short, heavy glass, he said, "As I was saying, we have our own methods of extracting agents who find themselves in sticky situations, but that's a last resort. We expect our agents to be resourceful, because every time we come up against the authorities there is a risk of exposure." He handed the glass to Connor and sat back down. "I won't lie to you--we have lost a few people. It's the nature of the game. But considering what we do, the casualties are surprisingly light."

"How is payment made?" Daniel asked. "I'm the practical one. I take care of the books, and I've managed so far to keep them looking innocent. Let me tell you, it isn't always easy. Learning English and Irish tax law was a bitch. I don't want the tax council to suddenly come down on us because we have unexplained, but legitimate income."

"That will be no problem. We have numerous businesses which can provide you with paperwork that would pass FBI inspection." He smiled. "And IRS inspection, which can be much more vicious."

Daniel and Connor exchanged glances, and Control sensed the silent communication that he'd suspected before. Finally Connor looped an arm over Daniel's shoulder and nodded. "I can't say I like the way we were recruited, but I don't think this is a chance we can pass up. Yeah, okay. You want us, you got us."

Control extended his hand, and shook with both men. "Splendid. You're going to be an asset to the group, gentlemen, and I believe you will benefit also."

Daniel spread his hands. "So, what now? I assume you aren't just going to pop us back on the street."

"No, I'm afraid not. Our men are still in Columbia. If you two were sighted and word got back to Montana, they would be fatally compromised. In fact, we received a contact from one of them just last night. There may be a problem."

"What is it?" Connor asked. When Control was silent, he said, "Damn, man, we're goin' to be a part of this, and what's happening to them may affect us. We should know."

Control considered, then said slowly, "We expected Montana to express a certain amount of interest in our agents, in the guise of you two. Our Connor clone has expressed concern about Montana's attitude toward the agent representing Daniel."

Connor sat forward quickly, his eyes sharp. "Is he threatening him?" Now that he had joined the organization his anger with the men who had kidnapped him and Daniel had faded.

"Not physically," Control assured him. "But his attitude is ominous. From what I read between the lines, Olivero is acting possessive. Tell me, does the name 'Duncan' mean anything to either of you?"

They both gave it some thought. "First or last?" Galbraith asked. Control shrugged. Connor rubbed his chin. "Well, there were a number of lads named Duncan where I grew up, but I can't think of any connection they'd have to Montana or your lads." He shrugged. "Most of 'em are in jail or in the grave."

Daniel shook his head. "The same here, though the ones I knew are summering on Martha's Vinyard these days. Disgustingly respectable."

"I'm going to refine the records search. I believe that it's vital to our agents' safety that we know what connection this person has to Olivero. I'd hate to abort the mission, but I will if it's indicated. We can find some other way to discredit Montana with the other drug czars, now that an alliance with you is out of the question. I need to go check on the research results now. You two have the run of the house, but please do not go outside." He got up and went to the door. "One never knows who might be watching."

The research man handed Control a sheet of paper. "We got a little with the added parameters, but not much. There was a Gloria Duncan who sold him a parcel of land two years ago. There's a Duncan's Detailing that cleans his car every month. There was a Duncan Broussard, son of an ex-employer, and a Duncan Peterson. He's a possibility. Last year Monatan was apparently testing the waters for export, and Peterson was working as a mule. He swallowed several balloons of pure coke, and one of them aparently ruptured. He Od'ed in an airplane restroom."

"That's a more logical connection than the real estate or the car washer, but Olivero isn't the kind to grieve over the loss of what was to him product packaging." He thought, his eyes skimming the page. "What about this Broussard? Can we get more information on him?"

"Shouldn't be difficult."

The agent started tapping the keyboard industriously. The minutes ticked by. "This is odd."

"What?"

"There's no listing for a driver's license or ID card. There's no college record, or even record of a graduation from public school. Social security shows no wage deductions. His family was well-to-do, but hardly rich enough for him to live an idle life." He tapped a bit longer. "This is weird. He seems to have dropped off the face of the earth sometime in the mid eighties."

"Run a check on his family."

Another pause, and the man made a surprised sound. "Well, no wonder he wasn't leaving a paper trace out in the world. He's been in a private sanitarium for nearly twenty years. It can't be him, then."

"I'm not so sure. Is there anything unusual listed for his family around the time that he was committed?"

"You're reaching."

"You never get any results if you don't. Please continue."

He did. Finally he stopped tapping and stared at the screen, then looked silently at Control. He hit 'PRINT'. "Look at this. I'm going to pull up the photos on the missings that were requested, then I'm going to run a sort on them while I try to get a photo of Duncan. There may be one in the alumni section of his Louisiana prep school."

Control read the report, feeling a chill settle in the pit of his stomach. A visiting American teacher had been murdered--eviscerated and emasculated. Duncan Broussard had been found with the mutilated corpse--abused, raped, and near catatonic, the dead man's severed penis lashed so tightly to his hand that the police had to slice the bindings. "This," he said, "is very bad."

"It gets worse. I had the program sort the photos of the missing men from that area of Columbia, matching physical characteristics, and look at this." He punched a button and a series of pictures appeared on the screen.

Control blinked, feeling his alarm rise as photo after photo of brown haired, hazel eyed, tall, lean young men filled the screen. He remembered the photographs he'd seen of Fox Mulder, and thought of Daniel Ballard, somewhere nearby. "And here's Duncan Broussards's photo when he was a junior."

The agent clicked his mouse, and a photo of a good-looking teenager who might have been the younger brother of any of the missing men appeared. "Good God," Control muttered.

"Olivero was a suspect in the murder and assault, but he was alibied by his roommate. Forensics weren't all that much over there in the eighties, so they didn't hold him. The boy's mother was convinced it was Montana, but apparently her husband was too frightened to use his influence to put the screws to Montana. From the sound of the crime scene, I don't blame him."

Control said, "I want a printout of all this. This should be very effective in case Mr. Galbraith has second thoughts about the wisdom of getting out of his former occupation. Then I want you to send this information to Mr. Hunt."

"Check." The agent was already typing as Control walked toward the door. "Oh, do you have a message to go with it?"

Control paused at the door. His expression was as bland as ever, but his eyes were bleak. "Yes."

The agent picked up a pencil, dragging a notepad closer. "What should it say?"

Control looked again at the description of the crime scene, picturing the blank faced, blood-smeared boy. He raised his eyes to the waiting man. "Get out." Without another word he turned and left.

Alarm

Alarm

Mulder drifted up to awareness. Eyes still closed, he reached out, feeling for Ethan. His hands met only cool sheets, and he frowned. His expression smoothed as he heard the sound of the shower from the bathroom. He luxuriated for a few more minutes, wondering that after all his years of insomnia, he'd managed to sleep so soundly while he was in the lair of a man he knew to be a vicious murderer.

The water shut off, and he thought, Gotta be the companionship. He propped himself up against the headboard as Ethan came out of the bathroom. One towel was tied low around his hips, and he was tousling his hair with a second. "Good morning, Bright Boy." He came over and sat beside Mulder, giving him a brief kiss. When he started to pull back, Mulder caught the back of his head and held him, prolonging the kiss. When he finally turned him loose, Ethan grinned. "I thought the hot climate was supposed to sap your energy, Danny."

Mulder's eyes fell on a tray sitting on the dresser, and he pointed at it, asking, "How early were you up, Con?"

Ethan glanced over, and his expression tightened. "Bloody hell! Manuel must've sneaked in while I was in the shower and left that. I tell you, I'm getting right tired of that little spook creeping about."

"Don't let it raise your blood pressure."

"I mean it, Danny! Have we no privacy at all?"

"Very little, it would seem. I'll admit that I'm not too happy with the idea of someone wandering around when I'm asleep."

"Ah, well, no point in the breakfast going to waste." He went to the dresser. Fox watched in amazement as his lover swung his arm and knocked the lamp, the one that he knew was bugged, to the floor. "Shite! Fuck me for a clumsy bastard. Danny, look at what I've done. Ah, well," he picked up the lamp, jerking the cord from the socket. "I'll just put this in the closet to get it out of the way. I'll buy Olivero a new one before we leave." He got the tray and brought it to Fox, setting it across his legs. "Let me make you more comfy, love." He took both the pillows and arranged them behind Fox, carefully covering the place where they'd found the hidden microphone. "Lean back, Danny." Smiling, Fox did.

"Now," Ethan said quietly in his normal voice, "we should be able to talk as long as we aren't too loud. Have your breakfast, and I'll check to see if Control has sent me any more information."

As Ethan got the suitcase and opened it to the transmitter, Fox said, "Do you have any idea of where Olivero might have his real records? Manuel was on my tail so tight that I didn't have a chance to do a search."

Ethan sighed. "No, but they have to be here. I think he must have them on disk and paper. He's the sort who'd want to have a backup, just in case. They could be anywhere in the house, and this is no cottage, dammit." He started tapping keys. The machine whirred quietly to life. "Ah. They have something for us." He blinked. "A number of somethings."

He sat next to Mulder, holding the laptop so that his lover could see the screen, too. "Lots of graphic images attached, and a couple of text documents." He frowned. "The message is marked urgent. Better look at it first."

Ethan's fingertip skated over the touch pad, and he tapped. Two words appeared on the screen. GET OUT. He sat back. "Shit!"

Mulder glanced at him. "Is he always this to-the-point?"

"No. He loves language. If he's this terse, he means it. Well, fuck! All this effort and expense, and he wants us to tank the mission." He sighed. "Still, he must have a good reason. He doesn't spook, not easily, anyway. Maybe the rest of the info will shed a little light on the subject."

He opened one of the documents. "It's a police report." They began to read. When they came to the name 'Duncan', Mulder felt a sudden chill shoot up his spine. "A goose just walked over my grave."

Ethan didn't respond. He continued reading, his expression growing steadily grimmer. He started whispering, "Shit, shit, shit, shit."

Mulder winced at the description of the body. "Disemboweled. That's Montana's style, all right," He covered his mouth. "Though the castration is new." His tone was calm, but his voice was the slightest bit unsteady. Ethan reached over to rub Mulder's neck, and Fox said quietly, "Those must be photos of the missing men."

"I don't think we need to see them. This is enough information to..."

Mulder brushed aside his hand and opened the attachment. Photos filled the screen. Ethan groaned, "Good God. Mulder, they all look..." he trailed off.

The last photo, labeled 'Duncan Broussard' appeared. Fox touched it. "They look like me." He turned wide eyes on Ethan. "What the hell have I stumbled into?"

"I don't know, but I agree with Control. I need to get you out of here."

"You mean WE need to get out of here." Ethan was silent. His voice was sharp. "No! I am fucking well not leaving you here. Besides, they wouldn't buy you sending me away, you know that."

Ethan nodded reluctantly. "They'd be suspicious, and with both of them concentrating on me, I wouldn't have a chance to finish the mission myself, anyway. The problem is going to be getting out of here. I don't suppose you can fly a helicopter?"

"A skill I have neglected to pick up, and since you're asking, I assume you can't, either."

"Anything with wheels, yes--rotors, no."

"There's the jeep."

"Yes. If worse comes to worst, we could try it, but I have no idea how far what passes for roads around here would take us toward civilization, and I only have the roughest idea of where civilization is from here. We don't want to end up on foot in the middle of the jungle. We'd be likely to run into one of the four-footed jaguars."

Ethan bit his lip, and Mulder said, "You don't have to say it--I will. I don't want to give up on the mission--not yet, anyway. How much trouble would we be in if we disobeyed?"

Ethan shrugged. "It's not like we could be brought up on legal charges. We aren't officially here, remember? I think it would depend on whether we came out with casualties, or anything worthwhile. But I don't want you here any longer than is absolutely necessary."

"Hell, I don't want me here any longer than is absolutely necessary, either. My skin is doing a full body crawl right now. But if it's going to be difficult to make our way out of here anyway, we ought to at least try to do something."

Ethan got up and paced restlessly. Any other time the sight of the young man striding around the room dressed only in a skimpy towel would have distracted Mulder, but not now. Now all he could think of was the odd looks Olivero had given him ever since they had first met, the intimate tone of voice, the non sequiturs that seemed to have some hidden meaning. It made sense now. There were times when, in Olivero's warped mind, Mulder was not Danny Ballard, but Duncan Broussard. He had brutalized the boy more than two decades ago, and whatever dark obsession had led him to the vicious act still haunted him.

Ethan stopped, then said slowly. "I could call for a pick-up in twenty-four hours. What do you think?"

Mulder didn't hesitate. "Yes. I don't think the risk CAN increase much more, and we might be able to accomplish something. Besides, I honestly don't think we'd have much of a chance of making it out of here on our own. In an urban environment I might make it, but out there?" He made a sour expression. "Too damned many things with fangs out there, and I didn't get to bring my gun."

"Uh... well..."

Mulder shook his head, smiling faintly. "No, I refuse to believe it. Where?"

"Both the suitcases have false bottoms."

"What? That other one didn't feel unusually heavy. What have you got--a pearl handled derringer?"

"You can get them made mostly out of plastic these days, you know. They just aren't good for long term use, but I don't expect anything we'd get into here would last long." He sat down at the laptop again and started tapping keys. "I'll ask for an immediate reply on this. I don't want to leave this room without knowing what to expect."

They waited. The response came quickly, and Ethan nodded in satisfaction as he typed in a reply, then shut the machine off and closed the laptop. He replaced it, saying. "Okay, we're getting out of here at seven a.m. sharp tomorrow, whether we've found anything or not. They'll send two choppers for us--one to pick up and one to cover, out near where we landed. They'll want to take out Montana's copter so there'll be no chance of them following us. They're going to hit the lab and the poppy field at the same time. If we find any pertinent information, they'll use it later."

Marking Time

"All we have to do is stay cool for about twenty-four hours, Mulder," Ethan said. "But I'm worried. I gotta tell you, I think that Montana is close to the edge."

"Fuck that. He dived over the edge a long time ago. How do we work this, Hunt? At least one of us needs to try to snoop a little, and that means that Olivero and Manuel have to be distracted." Ethan was silent, not looking at him. "If you won't say it, I will. I'd have a better chance at distracting them than you would."

"No."

Mulder looked at him levelly. "This isn't your choice, Hunt."

Ethan's eyes flashed. "It fucking well is my choice! I'm your superior on this mission."

"We're past that, and you know it. I have to. We can't have come all this way and gone through all this without bringing back something. Hell, if nothing else, we owe it to Connor and Daniel. They could end up being targets after this. They'd never be able to convince anyone that it wasn't them here."

Ethan sighed. "You're right about that. Damn. I hate it when civilians get caught up." He sat next to Mulder. "I really, really, fucking really don't want to leave you alone with Olivero. I already know what he wants from you." Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Mulder, did he try anything while I was playing handball with Manuel? I mean, fuck, he was on top of you when I came out."

Mulder didn't hesitate--he lied. "It was more groping than grappling, but nothing ominous. Just an excuse to cop a feel."

Ethan grunted, the started dressing. "I still don't like it, but I don't see any way around it. Just be sure to hold him at as much of a distance as you can." He zipped up his pants and paused, pointing at Mulder. "No bondage! If he whips out silk scarves or straps, you get your ass out of there. Go it graciously if you can, or be fucking rude if you can't, but don't let him tie you up or down. You're vulnerable enough as it is."

There was a knock on the door. In the second between the knock and when Manuel entered, Mulder quickly slid the pillow down to uncover the hidden microphone. "Good morning, senors. Did you sleep well?"

Mulder stretched, cat-like. "I was just boneless."

Manuel smiled. "Senor Olivero, he is a vigorous man. And you have not yet known his full attention." Manuel shook his head, making a clicking sound. "Ah, what an experience you have ahead. I envy you your first real time with my master."

Ethan scowled. "You both take a hell of a lot for granted, laddie-buck." Manuel shrugged. "We'll see what happens." He looked at Mulder. Fox's expression was bland, unreadable. "I'm not really comfortable with the idea. I don't mind doing business with Montana--I'm smart enough to know what a benefit it could be. But I'm not sure I want him in my personal business." He looked sharply back at Manuel, "Or you either, for that matter."

"Senor," Manuel said softly, "You are our friends. Would we wish to do anything that would upset either of you?" He spread his hands. "I can assure you..."

"Save it," Ethan said shortly. "What's scheduled for today?"

"Since yesterday Senor Montana showed you some of his holdings, he wishes to hear of what you would bring to this venture."

Mulder sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I'd better get dressed, then."

"No need, Senor Danny. I can once again amuse you while Senor Connor speaks with Olivero."

"Look, sonny," Mulder's voice was tart, "If you're going to be going over the nuts and bolts of the operation, then you need little Danny. I know even more about it than Connor does. I know the ins, the outs, the whys and the wherefores. I can tell you what routes will need to be changed soon, and which ones can be used more frequently. I know who's bought and how much we paid for them. I'm part of this. I don't just sit around and look good." He put his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes. "I won't just sit around."

Manuel gave a small bow. "As you say, Danny. Senor Montana respects business sense. It can only increase your worth in his eyes. Can we expect you downstairs soon?" Mulder nodded curtly. Manuel bowed to them both, then left.

Mulder started to get dressed. Hunt stood still, watching him. Finally Fox went to him, cupping his cheek in his hand, and said, softly but firmly, "Con, it's going to be all right." He leaned close and whispered in his ear, "I'll be careful. I'll talk business as long as I can. I probably do know the business as well as our friends."

Ethan nodded, putting his lips beside Mulder's ear and whispering, "I've got a nice little digital camera. I'll get away when I can today, and look around, snap anything I find."

"Careful."

"Always."

They made their way down to the dining room. Olivero and Manuel both stood as they entered. "Good morning Connor..." his gaze slid over Mulder, "Danny. Did you sleep well?"

"I was exhausted, but I recouped well," Mulder drawled. He and Ethan went to the side board and filled their plates from the dishes set out there. Mulder was feeling queasy with tension, but he was careful to take normal helping. He had a feeling that there was very little that interferred with Daniel Ballard's appetite, and it was critical that all seem normal.

When they came to the table, Olivero held Mulder's chair, tucking it under him as he sat. Then he laid his hand on Mulder's shoulder, squeezing lightly. Fox fought down the urge to push his hand away, or at least tense. Instead he tipped a slightly amused look up at the dark man, and received a smile so faint that it was barely there.

Olivero and Manuel resumed their places. Olivero picked up a cup of coffee and indicated his empty plate. "Forgive us for starting without you, but..." he shrugged, "we did not know if you would be right down, or if you would be, um, distracted."

Ethan smirked as he began to cut up a fried egg. "Aye, that's been known to happen a time or two." He winked at Mulder, who arched an eyebrow. "Likes his eye-opener, does Danny."

"If you are quite through discussing me," said Fox dryly.

"But you are such a fascinating subject, Danny," Olivero teased.

"I'm not denying that, but I don't care to have people talking about and around me, as if I'm not here. Choose another subject."

"Very well. Manuel says that I will be speaking with you about Connor's operations. In England..."

Mulder held up a hand. "Stop. I also do not discuss business at breakfast. It can wait till after lunch--we aren't on any timeline."

Olivero nodded, cradling his cup in his palms. "As you say, Danny."

"I hope you realize, Senor Danny," said Manuel, "that Senor Olivero is not easily distracted from his business."

"Neither am I, once I set my mind to it," said Mulder shortly. "But I like to keep my business and my pleasure separate."

"Keep the times separated if you wish, chico--not the participants." His eyes were watchful. "I'd be very disappointed if I thought that I might not once again experience the delight you afforded me last night."

Fox regarded him, then said softly, "We'll see--later."

Fox took his time eating, spinning the meal out as long as he could. He wanted to fill up as much time as possible. Twenty-four hours. No, more like twenty-three now, and a half, maybe. God, this is going to be a fucking long day. I'm glad I studied up on Galbraith's system. I should be able to fake my way through it, as long as Montana doesn't have access to detailed reports, and it looks like he doesn't.

After breakfast they lounged in the recreation room. Olivero mentioned that he might be interested in travel, once the new alliance was set up. It would make good business sense to check out things on the other end of the line, and he might as well enjoy himself, so he questioned Connor and Daniel about places of interest in America, England, and Ireland.

Ethan looked for an opportunity to slip away, but there was no chance during the morning. Olivero, though he was obviously more interested in Mulder, played the good host by including Ethan in the conversations.

As lunch ended, Olvivero said, "Now, we have reached a civilized hour, Danny, and I claim your time to speak to me of this merger. I have shown Connor some of what I have to offer. It is time for you to show me what you have to offer."

Oh, and you'd have to be deaf or simple to miss the double entendre in that statement, Mulder thought. "Fair enough. I'll go get the papers and bring them down here."

Ethan stood to follow him. "I'll just be takin a bit of a nap myself. I'm beginnin' to understand the custom of a siesta in this sort of climate. And before you start," he pointed at Manuel, who had been rising from his seat, "no, I don't want a bed warmer. I said I want to sleep, laddy, and I think there's be precious little of that with you there."

In their room, Ethan got the gun from the bottom of Mulder's suitcase while his partner retrieved the briefcase that held all Daniel Ballard's carefully assembled paperwork. Ethan hesitated for a moment, looking at the small, but deadly gun, then looked at Mulder. The FBI agent caught his gaze, interpretted it, and shook his head. "No."

"I think you might need this more than me."

Though he was fairly sure that no one would be monitoring their conversation, Mulder carefully covered the bug in the headboard. "You're the one who might get caught where he shouldn't be. Besides, I don't have anywhere to hide that. This shirt is too form fitting, and if I change before I go down, they'll be curious as to why. Besides," he made a face. "I have a feeling that Montana may be getting more touchy-feely in the next few hours."

"Right," Ethan snarled. "It wouldn't do for him to go to slide his hand down the back of your pants and put his hand on a gun, would it? Might make him feel unwelcome." Mulder just stared at him. Ethan put a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"I know," said Mulder quietly.

"It's just... Now I know why they don't want couples working together. All I can think about is what Olivero probably did to those other missing men, and what he wants to do to you."

Mulder dropped the case on the bed, went to Ethan, and embraced him. "It's going to be okay. We've come this far, and it's only a little while longer. I don't think I'm in much more danger now than I have been since we first arrived. And if we can do this, if we can get something that will take him down, it will be worth it." He paused, then laid his cheek against Ethan's and whispered. "I have to. For all the ones before me, and all the ones who could come after if we don't do this."

Ethan turned his head, kissing Mulder softly, then stepped back. Never taking his eyes off his partner, he slipped the gun into the waistband at the small of his back, letting the shirt drape over it loosely. "If he hurts you," he said quietly, "I'll kill him. I swear it."

His eyes said more. His eyes said and I can get away with it. The ones who know I'm here, who know who I am, will never speak. But even if I couldn't escape the consequences, I'd still do it.

Oh, God, Mulder thought. To have someone care that much... He knew that Dana cared about him on many levels, even loved him in a way, but still... If it were her on this mission, if Olivero... She would defend him, of course, but she would be by the book. Even if Mulder was killed, she'd try to take Olivero in for the impersonal justice of the authorities. Ethan would leave anyone who killed Mulder to moulder in an unmarked grave, without a backward glance, no matter what it might cost him.

Mulder gripped Ethan's arm. "Just hang on. Nothing more than is necessary, okay?" Ethan was silent. Mulder squeezed. "Okay?" Ethan nodded slowly, grudgingly. Mulder slapped him on the shoulder and whispered, "Damn, Hunt--you're scary sometimes, and I've seen scary." That earned him a tight smile, and Mulder could feel that Ethan had moved a step back from that edge he'd been walking along a moment before--the emotional edge that could pitch him off into an emotional darkness that Mulder had sensed before, but not yet experienced. "Wait for a few minutes before you start out." He straightened his collar. "I'll keep them both occupied." When the frown crease started between Ethan's dark eyebrows Mulder said, "With business, for as long as I can."

Ethan nodded. "Shut the door to the hall after yourself, if you can do it without raising suspicion. The more layers between me and them, the better, but I think I can make my way around by a different route if I have to."

"Fine, but if you go outside, don't go very deep into the jungle for cover. Something might bite your ass," He patted Ethan's rump, "and I've become fond of it."

They exchanged another smile, but it faded, and they gazed into each other's eyes. There was so much still left unsaid between them, and there was no time now. But somehow, both knew what would be said later, when they were out of danger, when they were both once again who they really were.

Notes:"He is a desperate man, and a man of nerve," and "an identification of the reasoner's intellect with that of his opponent," are quoted from The Purloined Letter, by Edgar Allen Poe. locura para el oro--madness for gold (gold rush, gold fever)

Misdirection

Manuel was sitting beside Olivero, gravely watching his face. He'd seen this look before, when Olivero had finally found one of his 'chicos', when the time of his completion was drawing near.

But this one... this one is different. Always before he knew. It was always in the back of his mind that they were... who they were. That they were not that one from long ago. But this time he is losing himself, I think. I believe that this time he truly believes that he has found Duncan again.

This troubled Manuel--he felt threatened. Yes, threatened. Always before he knew that Olivero would satisfy himself in an orgy of sex and death, and then for a long time he would be at peace. He would be Manuel's. But if he truly saw Daniel Ballard as Duncan Broussard...

He had not killed Duncan. No matter how the boy had betrayed him, broken his heart before it had hardened--he had not killed him. Hurt him, yes--in the most basic way he could, with sex, fists, and the bloody death of the one he had given himself to--but not killed.

For the first time since he had turned himself over, body and soul, to Olivero de la Montana, Manuel felt... insecure. Yes, this one is different. Most of the others, they were of no consequence--weak and silly. He would have grown tired of them quickly enough if they had survived. But Senor Danny...

Olivero was slowly smoothing his trousers, big hands stroking down his thighs as he stared at the door to the hallway, waiting. Manuel bit his lip. This one has depths, though he pretends to be shallow. This one could be...

Manuel shook his head minutely to push away the thought, and Olivero noticed. "What?"

"Nothing, master."

"You will stay here with us, you will not visit Connor. I believe that if you were to go to him, he would be suspicious. He would come to check on his lover, rather than leave us in peace. Besides," Olivero relaxed back on the sofa, rubbing Manuel's head genially. "The drug I slipped into his last drink should take effect soon." He chuckled. "Not enough alone to make him unconscious, but since he will be relaxing anyway," Montana shrugged. "It should be a peaceful sleep--deep enough to remain undisturbed by any," his smile broadened, "fussing."

Manuel nodded, but felt a bite of dismay. Manuel wondered if Olivero's desire for the profitable business contacts Galbraith could bring him would outweigh his madness and desire, and keep the Irishman alive. Because Olivero wanted Daniel Ballard very, very much. Wanted him--Manuel was very careful not to use the word that had almost come to him before. He was very careful not to think 'love'.

Fox walked down the hall toward the salon where he'd left Olivero and Manuel. He tried to keep his pace steady, without hesitation, but he was wincing inside at the way his shoes clacked on the bare floor. You'd think with all his conspicous consumption, Monatana would have sprung for a nice, thick hall rug, but noooo--he has to go for the fashionably bare look. So the accoustics have to be better than Carnegie Hall. Damn, I hope that Ethan is careful.

He entered the salon, and the two men looked up at him. He almost winced at Olivero's smug, expectant look. And Manuel... That was odd. Manuel wasn't looking as... friendly as he had before. He looked troubled. Crap. I hope that isn't an indication of what Olivero has in mind. But then, I haven't had the impression that Manuel would object to anything hairy that his owner felt inclined to do.

Mulder was reaching back to take hold of the door knob and shut the door when Manuel's expression cleared, though with an effort, he thought, and the young man bounced up, offering his seat with a sweeping bow. "Please, Danny!" He reached to move aside the brass figurine a jaguar, of course. How fucking symbolic that graced the center of the coffe table, leaving a clear space. "Here, plenty of room for your work."

Don't hesitate. Mulder casually let his hand drop from the knob and continued over to sit on the sofa. He put a foot of space between himself and Olivero--any more would have made it awkward--he'd have had to reach to use the table to display the work. He placed his case flat on the table and moved his hands to the latches, then paused, looking at Olivero shrewdly. "You know, what I'm going to show you could land myself and Con in some nasty place with thick walls and bars on the windows--bars that are meant to keep people in rather than out. I really think that it's only fair that you show us yours, if we show you ours. I want to see your records before we leave."

Olivero rubbed his chin. "It is possible. But Danny, I risk more than you."

"How do you figure that?"

Olivero shrugged. "The fools in charge are always more eager to stop a producer than a transporter."

"Oh, come on!" Fox snapped. "We all know that with the right kind of money, prison in this country can be a half-step up from spending time at a spa--you just don't get 'town days'. A foreigner caught on drug charges, though--oh, they love that. They take the opportunity to show the world how tough they are. Ask the college students who've been caught trying to mule out a kilo of coke."

"When I have become acquainted with your operation, I will allow you and Connor access to my own information." He gestured to the briefcase. "Now, if you please?"

Mulder stared at him, wondering if he dared press the matter, then decided that he didn't. Besides, if he actually gave in, it would be awkward if we ran into Ethan out there. With a slight grunt, he snapped open the latches, and opened the case, revealing stacks of papers and folders. "Where to start?"

Ethan had changed into a pair of athletic shoes, trusting to the rubber soles to hush his footsteps. He made his way lightly down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to check out the door to the salon where Mulder was meeting with Olivero. Open. That means I'll have to make my way around the outside of the house. Thank Christ he doesn't keep an entourage around here.

There was a door to the side, leading out onto the lawn, and eventually to the tennis court and helicopter landing pad. Ethan eased it opene and slipped out, shutting it carefully. There were two possible routes to get to the 'office' (which was where he'd decided he should start his search, figuring it would amuse Olivero to have the actual records hidden somewhere that was manifestly empty of information). The route to the right was much shorter, just to the other end of the house--but it led past the salon, and there were windows. Better to go to the left. It would mean going all the way around the house, but he wouldn't have to worry about being glimpsed, unless Manuel decided to go wandering. He'd be careful, but somehow he had a feeling (a sinking feeling) that both of their hosts would be concentrating on Mulder for some time.

He sidled along the side of the house, halting before each window, silently cursing Montana's housekeeper for being conscientious enough to open the curtains to let the sun into each room. Each time he crouched, darting his head over to take a quick glimpse into the room, and each time they proved empty, and he would proceed.

At the last window before he rounded the corner, he suddenly got light headed as he stood up. He almost stumbled, catching himself against the wall, and shaking his head to clear it. What the fuck? Because it didn't go away. And while his head was light, his legs suddenly felt heavy, and were getting heavier with each step. It felt at first as if he were wading through water, then molasses, then sand.

You didn't spend much time in Ethan's line of work without finding out what it was like to be drugged. In fact, it had been part of his training--learning to recognize the symptoms, and various make-shift methods of bringing yourself out from under it.

He could tell from how he felt that it wasn't a massive dose, in fact he wouldn't pass out if he kept his wits and fought it. But the problem was, he needed his wits and co-ordination right now. Why the hell didn't I bring smelling salts? Note to self: pack fucking ammonia capsules from now on.

He'd come to the kitchen door. It was unlocked. Monatan must feel pretty fucking invulnerable out here. More luck for me. He opened the door and stumbled through. The door almost got away from him, almost slammed back into the wall--but he caught it before the smash could go echoing through the house and alert anyone. He knew that if he didn't do something quickly he was going to end up on the tile floor. You don't have what you need--you improvise.

He headed for the sink, praying that housekeepers in Columbia weren't much different than housekeepers in America. No, not that much different. The cabinet under the sink was stuffed with boxes, cans, and jugs of cleaning supplies.

He reached past cans of scrubbing cleanser and the familiar white Clorox jug and grabbed another clear jug of pinkish fluid. He didn't recognize the brand, but he did recognize amoníaco. He dragged the jug out, swearing softly when it knocked over a spray bottle filled with blue liquid. He was kneeling on the floor by now. He scrabbled at the cap, his hands feeling limp and clumsy, and managed to work it free. But he made the mistake of trying to raise the jug instead of bending down to it, and it slipped.

He swore again as the pink liquid spilled out on the floor, but he didn't hesitate--he bent his face close to the spill, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.

It worked--it worked very well, almost too well. The acrid fumes surged up his nostrils, seeming to fill his head and instantly drive away the fog that had been creeping in. Unfortunately he sniffed too hard. A droplet went up his nose, and he was instantly coughing, eyes tearing from the sting. He welcomed it, though, because the discomfort drove away the last of the disorientation, and he was clear headed again. He left the puddle--he doubted that Olivero and Manuel entered the kitchen very often, and the cleaning women wouldn't think to comment on it.

"We stagger the delivery schedules for the two shipping lines, and we never send anything over in more than four out of ten deliveries. As far as I know, the Feds have absolutely no suspicions about these two. Now, this one--they're watching it. One of the crew men found the goods and helped himself to just a little bit, and the fucking idiot got caught. He was hinting around about making a deal to get out of a stretch, but some associates had a talk with him. He was supplied with a good lawyer, who managed to plead him down to simple possession, and he got out on probation. He has since made himself scarce, and we're going to keep this line completely clean for at least another year." Fox paused, waiting for comment.

Olivero was looking over shipping schedules. "This informant--did he disappear on his own?"

Mulder's voice was cool. "We had nothing to do with it--directly, anyway. A few of the second level distributers were rather upset with him. I have no idea if they were involved, or if he simply got into the wind."

Olivero laid aside the paper. "Doesn't Connor see to such leaks himself? I had no idea that he was such a gentle soul."

"I'll thank you not to say that as if it's an insult. Connor does what's necessary. In this case the man was being watched too closely for any permanent type of solution, and any half-measures would have just driven him into the clutches of the DEA. This was the most effective and practicle solution. Violence may occasionally be an answer, but it is far from the only answer." Mulder opened another folder. "These are the vitals for our trucking companies--America, Ireland, Mexico, Britain, France, and the Netherlands. We're expanding there. Routes change on a regular basis, but I do have maps of the major ones..." Olivero's arm settled across the back of the sofa, brushing Mulder's shoulders. His fingers pinched down, creasing the paper he held slightly, but that was his only reaction.

Once he was sure that he wasn't going to cough and sneeze anymore, Ethan wiped the ammonia-induced tears from his cheeks and cautiously made his way out into the hallway. He'd made his way almost around the house, and had ended up approximately as far from the salon as he had been when he descended the stairs--just on the other side now. But the office was down a side corridor, and he made his way toward it, moving more quickly once he was around the turn.

Once inside the small office he shut the door and went directly to the computer, booting it up. As he'd expected, Olivero had set a password--even a megalomaniac had to be cautious at some point. But Ethan had a gut feeling that Olivero would have chosen something fairly obvious to anyone who had a bit of knowledge about him. He also thought that it was unlikely that anything significant was stored on the computer, so he allotted himself ten minutes to get in--no more.

First he tried both of Olivero's names, then his birthdate, and the place of his birth. He did the name of the club Olivero owned an interest in, Manuel, and the names of his parents. Nothing. He tried 'jaguar'. Access denied. Finally, feeling his throat tightened, he tried 'Duncan'.

The familiar Windows desktop appeared. Ethan wasn't sure he'd know enough Spanish to recognize anything truly significant, so he decided to take it all. He had several blank CD's in the pouch hanging from his belt, and he set about copying everything but the operating systems. Before he left it to copy and started his search of the rest of the room, he took a quick cruise through some of the files.

What he found in one unnamed folder made him want to throw up. The crime scene photos of Olivero's victims had been bad enough. Though these were actually less gory, they were worse, because the men in them were still alive, in pain, and terrified. And they look like Fox. Ethan clicked off the folder and stood up shakily. Someone needs to kill that son-of-a-bitch, they really do.

He started opening drawers and sifting quickly through papers. If anything looked the least bit interesting, he snapped it with his digital camera. Every few minutes he had to change out the CD. Finally he had eight CDs, and a few dozen pictures. He wasn't sure if any of them would be of any use. Everything he'd found so far looked several years old, and legitimate. He finally emptied each drawer and checked for false bottoms. Nothing.

He packed up the CDs and glared around the room. He started examining the floor and the walls, inch by inch. Still nothing--no panels. It's here somewhere, damn it.

"These are the warehouses we own, listed by country and city. These are the ones that we don't own, but we have key people employed in them, and they can move goods through with little effort." Mulder offered a thin sheaf of papers.

"You can trust these people?"

"As much as anyone can be trusted. Their tails are firmly in the crack if anything is ever discovered. Is it absolutely necessary for your hand to be precisely there?" Fox looked pointedly at where Olivero's free hand rested on his knee.

"I could move it higher, if you wish."

"We're still discussing business."

"As you wish." The hand was withdrawn from his knee and Olivero began questioning him about the number of truck in each company, and their hauling capacity.

A few minutes later the hand was back, this time kneading the back of Mulder's neck. Mulder glanced casually at the watch Ethan had bought him when he began preparing. It seemed like several lifetimes ago. Three o'clock--sixteen hours to go. Jesus Christ.

All right, I've tried the painfully obvious--the computer and the drawers, and the obscure--hidden caches. What else? I'd bet a year of my life that the records are here, in this room. Olivero is so fucking arrogant that he wouldn't feel that he'd need special precautions, but too cautious to just leave them in the usual places. Where haven't I looked?

His eyes roamed over the room, and suddenly a phrase occured to him. "He is a desperate man, and a man of nerve," he murmured. The line was from 'The Purloined Letter', by Edgar Allen Poe. Why am I thinking of that? That was about blackmail, but the detective was hunting for something, too. Something that he knew had to be in a particular room.

Ethan's eyes came to rest on the bookshelves. The seeker makes an identification of the reasoner's intellect with that of his opponent. All right, Olivero--not too clever, not too obvious. He reached up and took down book of history, held it upside down, and shook it. Nothing. He flipped the pages, and found nothing but history. An art book--upside down, shake, flip. Some nice van Gogh prints, but that was all. He frowned. Patterns, patterns. His hand passed over what looked like a novel, a slim book of what was probably poetry, an oversized art book... No, it was one of those stylish coffee table books, titled... He read. Locura Para el Oro. Oro is gold. Locura--loco? Crazy? Crazy for gold? The picture on the front showed a rickity sluice set up over a mountain stream. Oh, the gold rush.

He felt a sudden tingle. Holding his breath, he turned th book over, and shook it. His spirits dropped a little as nothing fell out. Not really expecting anything, he flipped the pages, giving them a cursory glance... and froze, eyes going wide. Then he started to laugh softly. "Oh, you cocky bastard." I wonder how much he agreed to pay the bookbinder, and whether or not he let him live?

The reason nothing had fallen out was that the records weren't between the pages, and weren't taped or pasted to the pages, they were the pages. They had been bound in as neatly as anything you might find at Barnes and Noble.

Ethan started snapping pictures quickly. He found two more--one on economics, another He must've really had a giggle fit over this was a history of drugs and drug addiction.

He supposed that there might be more scattered through the small library, but he'd already spent too long. He checked to see that everything was just as he'd found it, then stored the camera in the belt pouch, eased the door open, and peeked out into the hall. It was clear. He eased out, then paused thoughtfully.

There was a small, marble topped cabinet in the hallway, just before the turn to go into the main hallway. He checked it and, as he'd surmised, it was empty--just a pretty decoration. Judging from the dust inside, after it had been set in place, it had never been opened.

It would be better if his purloined information wasn't on his person any longer than necessary. And considering that we may have to make a quick exit, we might not have a chance to get back to our room and dig through luggage, so...

Ethan removed the pouch and put it in the cabinet, closing the door. It was four o'clock--fifteen more hours.

Olivero was nodding. "Quite an operation you and Connor have built for yourselves. You could even make a nice living without the special products." He laid the papers he was holding in the briefcase, then took some from Mulder and replaced them also. "I am convinced that this will be a profitable and mutually beneficial merger. All that remains it to negotiate terms with Connor."

"He'll want to go over your figures first," Mulder said. "Plenty of time for that, but there has been enough business for today." He reached over and closed the case, snapping it shut.

Mulder felt weight and warmth on his other side as Manuel wiggled into the small space on his other side. Mulder turned his head to give him a daunting look, only to find the dark young man resting his chin on his shoulder, smiling angelically.

Again there was the sensation of weight and heat on his other side, and this time when he looked back, Olivero had closed the space between them. "Gentlemen," Mulder said quietly, "I begin to feel claustrophobic."

He felt Manuel's arms slip around his waist--tightly around his waist. Olivero ran one finger over Mulder's collar. "You are a dreadful tease, Danny."

"Yes, I am, but I haven't been--not now. I know when I tease--I'm very aware of when I tease, and I HAVEN'T been teasing."

"No? Danny, you've been provoking."

He pushed Olivero's hand down. "I don't see how."

Olivero sighed. His finger dipped into the small vee of his collar, tickling the little hollow that marked the notch of his collar bone, and Mulder had to fight down a shiver. "It isn't your fault, chico. You can't help it--it's your nature--it has always been your nature. You breathe, and it excites. You smile, and it enflames."

"Yes, I'm irresistable, but you have to try, Olivero." Manuel's hands had begun to move--one sliding up, and the other down. Mulder grabbed his wrists, holding him, but he found that he had to strain to do it. Manuel didn't look all that impressive, but his slender body was all ropey muscle. From the corner of his eye, Mulder could see that the boy was grinning, knowing that Mulder must be feeling dismay.

Olivero was leaning toward him. God, I'm a fucking idiot. I should have stood up the second he took that last paper from my hands. Letting myself get trapped like a fifteen year old girl about to get date raped...

There was a loud sound, a ridiculous sound, and it filled Mulder with sudden relief. It was a yawn--a long, luxurious one. All three heads turned, and Ethan was coming through the door, casually scratching his side. "Sorry, gents. Me mum would have my hide for not covering me mouth for that one--it was a right jaw-cracker."

Olivero had sat back against the cushions, his expression blank, though there might have been a faint hint of displeasure in his eyes. Ethan walked over and stood over the sofa, looking at Manuel pointedly. Manuel continued to smile. He wiggled his fingers, as if to demonstrate his inability to comply with Ethan's unspoken demand. Mulder let go, and Manuel stood up, making a small bow as Ethan took his place.

Ethan looped an arm around Mulder's shoulder, snugging him against his side. He said casually, "You know, I can't remember the last time I was ever that sleepy in the middle of the afternoon. I just couldn't keep me eyes open."

"You looked sleepy," commented Olivero. "I am surprised to see you downstairs so soon. I thought for sure you would nap till dinner time."

"Did you, now? I'm just a bundle of surprises." He nudged the briefcase. "Did Danny satisfy your curiousity about the business?"

"My curiousity was satisfied, yes. I would be very happy to form an alliance with you, Connor. I believe that together, we can become a force to be reckonned with." He smiled. "Well, even more of a force."

"Brilliant. All that leaves is the negotiations, yeah?"

"Yes, but that can wait for tomorrow. I've had enough of dry facts and figures for today. In any case, this merger will not be documented as such on paper." He let his eyes roam once again over Mulder--and over Hunt, and his voice was soft. "But there are other ways to make pledges."

Notes: un poco loco--a little crazy

The Stall

Fourteen hours, Ethan thought. Jesus. How long can we stall him?

Mulder was thinking along the same lines. All right, I guess it's Showtime. "You know, I'd like a chance to try out that lovely pool--but I believe I've forgotten my swim trunks." He looked at Olivero, lowering his eyelashes and peeking through them. "Do you suppose it would be all right if I skinny dipped?"

Olivero smiled slowly, obviously turning over the idea in his mind. "No, Danny. There will be no problem at all."

"Wonderful." He stood up and strolled toward the door. "Come on, Con, and get some tan on that pale Irish skin of yours. Manuel, would you be a dear and bring some towels for later, maybe some suntan oil? If I'm here in this tropical clime, I might as well take advantage of the sunshine."

Ethan was in the room long enough to see Manuel's small snarl, and Olivero's almost casual slap before he hurried after Mulder. He caught up with his lover near the door that opened out on the pool area, knowing that he had a few seconds before Olivero joined them. "Maybe we should just head out into the jungle right now and hide till the copter comes."

"We both know that won't work," Mulder whispered. "If he didn't find us, something with teeth would. We just have to stall, Ethan. I have to stall." He gripped Ethan's arm. "Stall him from killing either of us. Whatever else happens... It'll be all right if we get out of here in one piece."

"Fox..."

"It--will--be--all right. Ethan, I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this." He smiled. "Well, didn't sign up--you people not being big on paperwork."

Olivero and Manuel came out into the hall. Manuel gave Ethan and Fox a sullen look, then went upstairs as Olivero came down the hall to them. "I don't know what has gotten into Manuel," Olivero said apologetically. "He has never taken such an attitude before." He looked at Fox curiously. "Did you have a quarrel?"

Fox gave him an innocent look, spreading a hand on his chest. "I? I am the most genial person on the face of the earth. I quarrel with no one. Perhaps he's having his monthlies."

Olivero shook his head, smiling faintly. "I will not tell him you said that. Usually I can control him, but when he is insulted by anyone other than myself..." He shrugged.

They went out onto the tiled area around the pool. Mulder strolled casually to the end near the diving board, surveyed the area with seeming satisfaction, and began to unlace his shoes. "I'm going to swim till I'm almost pruned, then soak up rays till I'm done to a turn." He tucked his socks in his shoes, then began to unbutton his shirt. "Perhaps then Olivero can send his cook home, and you can cook your specialty for our dinner tonight, Con. It's been a long time since I helped you in the kitchen."

"Depends on what you mean by 'help', Danny." As Mulder dropped his shirt and began to open his pants, Ethan said, "About the only thing Danny really likes to do in the kitchen is have sex, and even then he complains that the tiles are cold. But yeah, I suppose I could make my Mum's shepherd's pie, if there's the proper ingredients. And you can help with mincing the veg, Danny." He looked at Olivero, who was staring as Mulder skinned down to his briefs. "He'll probably end up just drinking a bit of wine and watching me work, but it's nice to have him about. You know, 'Vero," he gestured at one of the lounges, "you can sit down for the show." He started opening his own shirt.

"Perhaps I would prefer to join you."

Ethan smiled easily as he kicked off his own shoes. Fox was watching them, idly running his fingers along the waistband of his briefs. "You're welcome, of course." He laughed. "Bloody hell, listen to me! You're the host here." He leaned over and whispered, "But why not just enjoy the show for a bit? Danny likes having an audience, he does. Makes him, mmm, interested, if ya know what I mean."

Olivero considered this. Ethan could see the thoughts moving behind his dark eyes. That's right. You're trying to decide if you want to indulge yourself in one quick grab, or draw the pleasure out, teasing yourself by thinking of what you can have. Thinking that you'll take it no matter what we want. And I think you'll take the scenic route, just because you know you don't have to hurry. Olivero sat down on one of the lounges.

Ethan walked back over to Fox. Fox smiled, hooked his thumbs in his briefs, and slowly, slowly slid them down his thighs. When they reached his knees he let go, allowing them to drop to the tile, and he stepped out of them. He would have stepped away, but Ethan caught his arm, holding him. He touched Mulder, running his hand first over the other man's shoulder, then his chest. Mulder had a small, peculiar smile on his face, and his eyes... God, I've never seen so many emotions in one man's eyes, Ethan thought. There's fear, and anger, and grief. Grief? God, he's feeling the same thing I am--that we might never have a chance to really tell each other what we're feeling.

Ethan tried to tell him--tell him with his eyes, and his touch. Instead of letting his hand slide down to cover Mulder's cock, as he had been planning, he reached up, and touched the other man's cheek gently. Mulder reached up and covered his hand, pressing his cheek into Ethan's palm, and his smile grew a little, becoming more genuine, telling Ethan that he understood. Then he stepped away, turned, and dived into the pool, his long body cutting cleanly into the glittering water.

Mulder had made a lap by the time Ethan finished stripping. He was bobbing out in the middle of the water, waiting when Ethan finally dropped his own briefs, laughed, and leaped. He tucked his legs and head neatly, grabbing his own knees, and entered the water as a ball, sending up a huge splash of water. Mulder was spluttering when Ethan came up, grinning and panting. He shook his head like a dog, dark hair whipping, then said, "Cannonball, Danny, and don't ya say a word about gettin' splashed. Ya were already wet."

Fox looked back at Olivero. "My child bride. He's a fine, strapping young man, but inside he's about twelve."

"Damn cradle robber," said Ethan cheerfully. He'd been wading toward Fox--now he pounced. Fox tried to back away, but the water hampered him, and he ended up with Ethan plastered to him--arms around his chest, legs around his waist.

"Oh, fine. Vero, you didn't tell me you had leeches in your pool. I guess there's only one way to handle this." He lifted his legs, and simply dropped under the surface of the water, taking Ethan with him.

The water boiled as the two men rolled, wrestled, and thrashed. It was Ethan who surfaced first. He drew in raw, whooping gulps of air. Gasping, he said, "That shite can always hold his breath longer than me." He laughed as Fox, much less frantic for oxygen, came up near him. "Makes him pretty fantastic in the oral lovin' department, though." Fox just smiled, stretched out, and began to float on his back. "And I wish I knew how he could do that. Me butt always drops, and I end up swallowing half the damn pool."

"Why worry?" Fox drawled. "I haven't peed in the water."

Ethan swam after Fox, approached, and dived under him. As he passed under him, Fox suddenly lost his serene air by jerking and yelping. "The son of a bitch goosed me!" he fumed.

Olivero shook his head as he watched the two men disport themselves in the water. It was like watching a couple of young teenagers, just horsing around, perhaps in one of their back yards. Then Connor firmly wrapped an arm around Danny's neck and kissed him. Daniel bent to him, his long body pliant, lips parting to accept Connor's tongue. Perhaps not any pair of boys.

Connor moved Daniel back till they reached the wall of the pool. There Danny parted his thighs, allowing Connor to move into the space, and begin rubbing against him.

He reached down and squeezed the awakening bulge of his cock. Had his own Duncan been like this once? He remembered the brown haired, hazel-eyed youth. He remembered the first time he'd seen him, stepping out of the car at the edge of the field where he worked, leaning against the vehicle, his expression sullen and contemptuous as his mother and stepfather received the obesciences of the other workers.

He remembered how Duncan had come over to where he, alone, continued to work. He remembered the first time he'd mentally taken stock of Duncan Broussard, at close range--the slender grace of his body, his pale skin, his silky hair, his pouting mouth and golden eyes.

The memories flowed. The flirtation in the brightly lit kitchen. The later visit in the warm, earthy greenhouse--and what they did there. He was so full of bravado, trying to cover up the fact that he was unsure. Bragging of his exploits at school, and then discovering what sex with a real man was...

Ethan was undulating against Fox, watching Olivero over his lover's shoulder. He put his lips against Fox's ear and whispered, "Something's going on. He's just staring. I haven't seen him blink for several minutes. It's like he's in a trance."

"As fucked up as he is, occasional spells of something like catatonia wouldn't be surprising," Fox whispered in response.

"Maybe he'll stay like that for awhile."

Fox gripped his shoulders more tightly. "Babe, I don't know it this is a good thing or not. He's excited. The psychosis is probably intensifying. He could break over the edge into a full-blown 'incident' at any moment."

"Shit." Manuel came out of the house, his arms full of towels. The young man noticed them, and one corner of his mouth curled upward, almost reluctantly. "Manuel," he called softly. "You'd best check on Olivero. I think something may be wrong."

Frowning, Manuel went to Olivero, bent to put his face on level with his master's, and studied him. He sighed, sitting up. "You need not worry, Senor Connor." He shrugged. "Sometimes he goes into himself for awhile."

Fox and Ethan had moved apart, and now both were standing at the edge of the pool, watching the pair. Fox said, "Shouldn't you wake him up?"

"Oh, no!" Manuel shook his head. "It is something like the sleep walking. It is not good to wake him suddenly." He touched his own cheek, grimacing. "I learned this through experience. We will just let him sit. It never lasts more than an hour or so."

Fox and Ethan exchanged looks, then got out of the pool and went to where Manuel had taken a seat in a lounger beside Olivero. They both took towels and began to dry themselves. After a moment, Fox said, "How long has this been going on?"

"Since I came with him."

Fox finished drying himself, hung the towel around his neck, and sat naked on a lounger on the other side of Olivero. "Dear, heaven knows I have wide boundaries for what constitutes 'normal behavior', but this strikes me as serious."

Manuel gave him an opaque look. "He has me to take care of him when these happen."

Ethan went to stand behind Fox. "Hasn't he seen anyone about this? Hasn't anyone suggested that he speak to a professional?"

Manuel snorted. "Senor, who would suggest to Senor Montana that he might be..." he clicked his tongue, "un poco loco?"

Connor shook his head. "Right." They'd have to be as crazy as Montana to take that risk. "Danny, love, if you're going to stay out here, you need some lotion. I don't want a repeat of that Hawaii incident." He looked at Manuel. "He fell asleep, and the wind blew away his umbrella. Sun poisoning. It's just a damn good thing we weren't on the nude beach. My sweetheart was miserable for a week, so I was miserable." He held up his hands. "You brought sun screen?"

Manuel tossed him a plastic bottle. It sailed within inches of Olivero's face. He didn't flinch, or blink. Ethan checked the bottle. "UV protection. Very good. Get comfortable, love." Fox stretched out on the lounge. Ethan pulled the towel from around Fox's neck and draped it over his lover's crotch. "Shade the tender bits, remember?" He squirted some lotion into his palm, rubbed his hands together, and began to stroke the lotion over Mulder.

Manuel watched as Connor's strong hands worked at his lover's flesh, spreading a thin sheen of oil over his body. His eyes traced the jagged white streak that ran along Daniel's shoulder. He reached across, and touched the smooth, shiny line. Daniel flinched, and Connor eyed him sharply. "I had heard about this," he said quietly.

Mulder turned his head to look at Manuel. Suddenly his heart was pounding. Ethan's hand on his back remained relaxed, but Fox could feel the tension rolling off his lover. This might very well be the most dangerous part of their mission to date. Rollie's work was being put to the test. Manuel was actually touching the fake scar, and had obviously heard about it. If there was a flaw in the illusion--they were dead.

"What," said Mulder, his voice cool, "have you heard?"

Manuel shrugged. "Surely you know that there is gossip the clubs, Danny."

"Look, this happened back home when I was a stripling. I fail to see how word of it managed to make it's way to the back waters of South America."

Manuel was still smiling, but his eyes were flat. "Who can understand noteriaty? You and Connor have," he cocked his head, "shared yourself with others." Again his finger stroked over the latex scar tissue. Ethan had a vision of the appliance peeling up in the wake of Manuel's finger. It made his balls draw up tight. It didn't happen, though. Rollie Tyler was a pro--his work didn't shift until you wanted it to.

"How did this happen?"

"You don't know? You seem to know so much." Mulder didn't bother to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. Manuel had always made him edgy--every moment he became more convinced that the young man was as dangerous in his own way as his master.

"A riding accident, perhaps?" Manuel's voice was falsely commiserate. "Polo pony? Your hunter refused a jump?"

"You really want to know?"

Ethan put a hand on Mulder's arm. "Danny, don't. This always upsets you."

"No, Con. Better to have the truth out than have him speculating. God knows what he'd come up with. It was done," he continued, "with a bit of sharpened metal by a very large, very nasty man who didn't know when to take no for an answer, and he still didn't get what he wanted."

"Very traumatic, Danny. People came to your rescue?" Mulder said nothing. "How lucky you were that this occurred where there was help at hand." He stared into Mulder's eyes. "You cannot always count on assistance."

Ethan's voice was harsh. "Danny always has a protector close by."

It became quiet as the unspoken hung heavily in the air. Even the small, ever present sounds of the surrounding jungle were muted. Then there was a slow, deep, indrawn breath, and they all looked to Olivero. He blinked, then slowly turned his head right, then left--as if loosening tendons that had grown stiff through long disuse. When he turned his gaze to Ethan and Mulder, he was once again focused. "I am sorry, my friends. Sometimes I become distracted." He sighed. "Memories--they are very powerful." He looked at Mulder, his gaze thoughtful. "They color everything in our world, and they are with us always."

They couldn't draw the sunbathing session out for more than a half hour. Connor's care for Danny was notorious, and he would never have allowed his lover to risk sunburn, so they had to go inside.

Between the pool side respite, and Ethan and Fox's determined chit-chat, they managed to make it to six, and Ethan declared it was time to fix dinner.

They'd done this often before back at the apartment in America. Ethan would prepare dinner, while Fox sat by watching, occasionally performing some small, simple task. Those had been pleasant, almost peaceful times. This couldn't be more different. It's like standing a few feet away from a wild animal, cutting up its meat, and knowing that its thinking that it would much rather have you for dinner.

Ethan kept up a smooth line of talk, explaining that they wouldn't get the full effect of his Mum's best recipe, since there were no leeks, and she always insisted on Irish lamb, but he supposed South American would do well enough. "The secret's in the gravy, though, yeah? Got to cook it long and slow, get it nice and brown, and make sure it loses that floury taste."

"Strange." Olivero was sitting at the kitchen table with Manuel, both sipping wine, watching the other two men as they moved about the kitchen.

Mulder paused, poking a fork into a pot of potatoes to judge their doneness. He'd hated to put down the knife he'd used to peel them. "Well, we're not exactly middle America, but I hardly think..."

"No. I just meant that I have heard something of you two, but I never would have expected such domesticity."

"Well, we're old marrieds, aren't we?" Ethan hugged Fox from behind, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, eliciting a small, secretive smile.

"Don't distract me, or you'll have lumps in the potatoes."

"Yer worth a few lumps, Danny, m'love."

"This is very charming," Olivero said softly, and there was no irony in his voice. "Very touching, to be so close, and so comfortable with each other--to belong so completely. You do belong to each other?"

Fox silently put down the masher he'd been using and put his hands over Ethan's which were folded across his belly. Ethan leaned his cheek against Fox's back, and there was no playfulness in his voice as he said, "Let there be no doubt about that."

Fox closed his eyes briefly, hearing the conviction that rang in the younger man's voice. He's good--he's very good at acting, but so help me, I think that's Ethan speaking, and not 'Connor'.

"I wish I had that." Fox's eyes snapped open, and he felt Ethan's grip tighten. But Olivero continued. "What you two have found together--to have someone who belongs to you so completely--forever. I thought I had that--once, long ago."

There was raw pain in Olivero's voice. If Mulder didn't know the man's nature and history, he would have felt sympathetic. It was quiet for a moment. Silences that went on too long could lead places you didn't want to go, so Mulder spoke. "Tragic love affair?"

"You could say that."

"Did her parents disapprove?" Manuel made an almost inaudible sound of disgust. "All right, his parents."

"In fact, they did. That wasn't the problem, though."

"What was the problem?"

"Danny!" Ethan squeezed him in warning, and this time he meant it.

"It's all right, Connor. He's honest about his curiosity. I'm sorry, but I do not speak of this. Let me just say that--the world came between us."

"Has time healed the wound?"

Olivero's eyes were bleak. "It is still as raw as the day it was inflicted--Duncan."

Part 47
Necessary Diversion

The meal was quiet, but there were no long silences. At Olivero's prompting Ethan gave them a detailed account of his rise as a drug runner, moving up from selling nickel and dime bags of grass to his current extensive operation. When he spoke of the beating he'd received at seventeen when he made his first major territory acquisition (taking over a square mile of territory in Dublin), Fox found himself wincing in sympathy. Ethan patted his hand comfortingly, "I told ya before, Danny--ya should have seen the other guy. He had four inches and close two stone on me, but I put the shite in the hospital for a week. He left me and mine alone after that. I did catch hell from my Mum, though. He knocked out a cap she'd just gotten through paying for."

They drew the meal out as long as possible. Fox even managed to gain a little extra time by fussing that the food had grown cold and needed to be reheated, but it came to an end eventually. There came a point when there was nothing more to do but put the dishes in the sink. Olivero wouldn't even let Fox rinse them and load the dishwasher, insisting that was what the housekeeper was paid for, and she could tend to it in the morning.

It was almost nine o'clock when they finally ran out of ways to stall without being obvious. Olivero plucked away the dishtowel Fox had been using to dry his hands, tossing it on the counter. "Where shall we spend the rest of the evening, my friends? The salon? The gym?" His eyes were hooded. "My bed was specially constructed. It can easily hold four."

*I'd like to stay on the ground floor--keep as little distance between us and the chopper landing point for as long as possible,* thought Ethan. *Plus we haven't seen Montana's bedroom. There's no telling how difficult it might be to get out of, and I'd want to give it a thorough search before...*

"I was thinking of the sauna," said Fox lazily. "I spent far too long in boarding schools, and..." he
shrugged, "the atmosphere of the locker room just appeals to me." He tipped his head, glancing at Olivero and Manuel through his lashes. "Saunas get me hot in more ways than one."

*Good choice, Fox,* Ethan thought. *If this has to happen, neither of these two will be able to hide a weapon while we're all buck-naked. I just hope that we don't end up having to run for the chopper in that state. It wouldn't be the first time I've escaped a bad situation nude, but it damn sure isn't my preference.* "Sounds like a fine idea to me." He kissed Fox on the cheek. "I love ya when yer slippery, Danny."

Olivero smiled. "A most appealing thought. Manuel," he said, putting a hand on the shoulders of Ethan and Fox, steering them toward the door, "bring supplies." He paused at the door. "Plenty of them. We must celebrate the consummation of our joining."

Montana's tone was suggestive, and Ethan shot a look at Fox. Olivero was a little behind them, unable to see their faces, but Ethan saw Fox's expression stiffen. It only lasted a second, then he relaxed into the slightly ironic expression he had worn most of the time since this charade had begun. The look Manuel gave them as he headed upstairs was anything but pleasant. Lately his mask of genial subservience was beginning to slip, and that worried Ethan almost as much as Olivero's more obvious predilection.

As they entered the gym, Mulder headed directly for the handball court. As he put his hand on the doorknob, Olivero caught his arm. "Danny--the sauna."

"Well, you don't get the full effect unless you've worked up a nice sweat." Olivero's eyebrows lowered a fraction, and Mulder said quickly, "Connor got to try himself against Manuel, and I'd like my chance. I think I'd have a bit of an advantage, with my height, and..."

"Later, Danny, later." Olivero ran his free hand down Mulder's back, letting it rest just about the curve of his buttocks. "There will be time. You will be here a while, yes?"

Mulder reluctantly let his hand drop. *Till seven, you psycho.* "Yes, I suppose that's so." He allowed himself to be manuevered into the locker area, careful not to look at Ethan, whose green eyes were darkening toward black.

He had intended to undress as slowly as possible, perhaps drawing things out with a strip tease, but he didn't get the chance. Olivero reached for Mulder's shirt as soon as they were in the room, unbuttoning it with a swift deftness that Mulder would not have expected from such large hands. Those hands seemed meant for nothing more delicate than snapping a man's neck. Mulder felt a shakiness creeping up on him, but he managed to keep it out of his voice, saying, "Slow down a little, big man. First thing, if you rip that, you pay for it. Secondly..." Olivero had paused, hands still gripping the edges of the now open shirt, and Fox lightly laid his hands over Olivero's. "I am NOT in the mood for fast and furious. As you pointed out, we have time, and I'd like to fill it."

Olivero smiled, heat flaring in his eyes as he began to use the material to pull Mulder closer. "More than time will be filled tonight, Chico."

*I am going to kill the fucker,* Ethan thought coldly. *If there is the slightest excuse, I'm going to kill him.*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Manuel was in the master bathroom, attending to his assigned chore, muttering angrily to himself in Spanish. Normally he had no problem with performing any humble task that his master set for him, even perversely relishing the more menial and degrading ones, but Olivero's obvious favor for the languid Southerner was like gall. *The others have never bothered me, but they were disposable. I knew he would use them and toss them away, but this one...*

He emptied tiny guest soaps from a wicker basket on the bathroom counter, and opened the cabinet. There were dozens of assorted boxes of condoms, various lubricants, and other supplies. One could not simply run to the store for fresh supplies here in the jungle, and it was part of Manuel's job to be sure there was always a plentiful stock. He began to open boxes, emptying the individually wrapped condoms into the basket. Olivero wouldn't want to waste time fumbling with packaging, so the prophylactics would be presented like a basket of party favors.

Once he had several dozen condoms, he started grabbing bottles and tubes of lubricants--plain and flavored, simple and refined. Olivero would want a wide choice. *He will fuck this Ballard as many times as his flesh allows tonight, then he will try to have Galbraith extend their stay as long as possible. The longer they stay, the greater his obsession will grow.* He shook his head unconsciously. *He will want to keep Danny.*

Manuel was well versed in what Olivero wanted when this type of opportunity arose, and he was careful to include the special items he needed. He would have to arrange the basket just so to be sure that Danny or Connor did not see them too soon, and get spooked.

He started out of the bathroom, and halted just inside the bedroom, his eyes narrowing in consideration. *Senor Galbraith will not suffer that. Olivero would have little reservation about killing him--if it would secure his 'Duncan'. Things can get very... confused. I have seen my master when the frenzy comes upon him. It is entirely possible that he would not be able to
restrain himself, if Danny fought too strongly, and if Danny were to see his lover killed...*

He reached back into the bathroom and plucked a hand towel from the bar near the door, then walked to the dresser. He emptied the basket, then slid open the top drawer and moved aside a stack of linen. He reached in and removed a sheathed knife. Manuel unsnapped the strap and slid the knife from the sheath. The blade was nine inches long, slightly curved. He thought of the times he'd watched Olivero spend long minutes honing it, his master's eyes taking on the fixed stare that warned him to step softly. He remembered watching Olivero use the blade, how quickly it could draw blood with only the faintest pressure, how quickly the clean slices became messy with blood.

Manuel held it up and examined it closely, watching the light glint along the hair-fine edge. He ran his eyes critically over the weapon, wondering if a laboratory would be able to find a trace of blood. True, Olivero was meticulous about cleaning his 'tools', but this had been used so often and so well, and modern science had made great strides.

Manuel opened the towel, lining the basket. He gently lowered the knife into the basket, then lapped the terrycloth over it, and piled the condoms and lubricants on top of it. He picked up the basket and turned toward the hall, smiling cruelly. As he headed for the stairs he murmured, "Just in case, my master. Just in case."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fox forced himself to remain still as Olivero bent to kiss him. He wasn't at all sure he'd be able to endure what was coming without showing some evidence of his reluctance, but it would be disastrous to show it too soon. Still, he kept his lips closed as Olivero's mouth descended on his own. *I may acquiesce, but I'm damn sure not going to be eager about it. Danny wouldn't, and I won't, either.*

Olivero wasn't going to give up easily, though. He pressed, his mouth moving on Mulder's, tongue probing. Mulder didn't give in till Montana nipped at his lips, then he parted them. He rested his hands on Olivero's arms, but didn't join in the kiss--he just allowed it. Olivero didn't seem to notice his lack of activity. After a thorough exploration he drew back a little, and smiled. "You're looking thoughtful again," said Mulder. "What are you thinking of?"

"About the first kiss--how you tasted of chocolate and peppers."

"What? There weren't any peppers in the Shepherd's Pie, and we didn't have..."

Montana slid Mulder's shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. "I'm sorry, Chico. I'm afraid I'm intoxicated, and I am likely to make little sense tonight."

"Maybe we ought to delay things a bit," said Ethan, his tone a little flat. "After all, Olivero, as you said, we have time. Sleep off the wine ya had with dinner, and tomorrow..."

"You mistake me, friend Connor," Olivero dropped the shirt and reached for Mulder's belt. "It is not the wine that makes me feel drunk, but this little one, and the only cure for this befuddlement will be to drown myself."

Mulder stood numbly as Olivero opened his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. Olivero dragged the zipper down slowly, the faint rasp loud in the tiled room, and moved his hand into the gap. Mulder's eyes closed as he felt the big hand cup over his genitals, squeezing lightly. *Oh, damn. I've never felt less turned on in my life, but if I stay limp, he's going to get angry, and maybe suspicious.* He started to pray that his will would be able to override his body, and mind's, reluctance.

It truly was uncanny how in sync Ethan and Fox's minds were. Hunt sensed what Mulder was worrying about, and moved to help him allay any suspicion. He came up behind Fox, looping one hand loosely around his neck, and the other around his waist, beginning to rub small circles on his bare belly. He whispered in his ear, "It's all right, Danny, love. It's all good. Just relax, me darlin'. I'm here."

Olivero didn't speak, or frown, but his eyes were hot with more than passion. Manuel, entering with the basket of supplies, saw this at once, and his hope flared, but Montana only pulled down Ballard's pants and underwear, stripping him completely. He took Mulder's chin in his hand and kissed him firmly, showing that Connor's show of possession wouldn't deter him, then he stepped back and began stripping also. Ethan was reluctant to release Mulder, but he had to hurry and remove his clothes, lest Olivero hustle Mulder into the sauna before he could accompany them. Manuel joined him, and soon all four men were nude.

They didn't bother with the towels this time, and Manuel again carried the basket as they entered the sauna. The room was already thick with steam. *Shit,* Ethan thought. *This reminds me of pea-soup fog,* He looked at Olivero, guiding Mulder to a bench. *With its own Jack the Ripper lurking. They never caught that bastard. I don't want this one to escape, and I'm not sure that screwing up his reputation and leaving him to be taken down by the cartels is enough. He might survive.* As much as Olivero might need to be killed for past crimes, Ethan
was not by nature cold-blooded. He'd never just out-and-out assassinated anyone--he hadn't lied to Mulder about that. *But if he hurts him...*

Olivero put his hands on Mulder's shoulders, pushing him down to sit on the bench. His touch was very firm, but it didn't cross over into force. He slid his hands up to rest on either side of Mulder's throat, and Ethan tensed, but then he moved to thread his fingers through Mulder's hair.

Duncan looked up at Olivero, hazel eyes darkened, moving from gold toward brown. He didn't remember that from before. Had his Chico changed so much in the years they had been apart? Then Duncan's eyes dropped, fixing on Olivero's thickening cock, biting his lower lip almost unconsciously. No, not so changed.

*I'm going to have to do it,* Mulder thought with resigned dismay. *We've reached that point where something always interrupts--on TV. That isn't going to happen, and I'd better be convincing. I'd better show him a good time, if I don't want him to get suspicious.*

Fox reached out and settled his hands on Olivero's hips. The tall man's crotch was exactly at face level. The FBI agent mentally took a deep breath, then leaned forward and rubbed his face against de la Montana's half-hard cock. Olivero murmured softly as he felt the faint, sandpaper rasp of his Duncan's lightly stubbled cheeks. "Si, usted ha crecido, mi Chico. Pero usted sigue siendo muy dulce--todavia mi amor."

As Mulder rubbed his lips delicately against Olivero's awakening shaft, he thought with apprehension, *He's slipping further. We've presented Connor and Daniel as not knowing Spanish, but anyone who even watched I Love Lucy knows what mi amor means. He's saying that to me while Danny's lover, his occasionally jealous and VIOLENT lover, is not three feet away.*

"Your voice is like honey," breathed Olivero. "Show me that your tongue can do other sweet things."

Steeling himself, Mulder slid one hand under the soft weight of Olivero's scrotum, and used the other to cradle the big man's awakening prick, lifting it slightly. He put out his tongue and flicked it against the pink, heart-shaped head, tracing the vertical slit. Olivero inhaled sharply, his hands
tightening in Mulder's hair. "Teasing is nice--a little teasing." There was a subtle warning in his
voice, and Mulder heeded it. The next pass, he made a full lick, then swirled his tongue around the glans, like a child eating an ice cream cone. Olivero made sounds of approval, his cock lengthening and thickening quickly under the soft, moist touch.

Ethan could feel his teeth gritting together as he watched, but he made an effort of will and managed to look interested instead of enraged. He felt a slick hand grip his cock and looked over at Manuel. He was just laying aside a tube, and Ethan realized that the boy had liberally greased his hand before beginning to fondle him. Manuel smiled--or more accurately
smirked. "Senor Connor, how can you remain like this--still soft," he nodded toward the other couple, "when two such beautiful men are together?"

"I worry about my boy--you know that."

"Si, but Olivero will take care of Danny." He began to pump Ethan's still flaccid cock, squeezing gently. "He will take GOOD care of him, I assure you. Now, relax, and think of nothing but the pleasure I can give you."

As Manuel masturbated Ethan, Olivero had gotten enough of the preliminaries. He held the sides of Mulder's head and pushed his hips forward. Mulder didn't dare try to deny him entrance, and the Columbian's cockhead slipped between his lips. Olivero seemed inclined to
push deeper, but Mulder tightened his grip on Montana's hips and began to suck strongly on the wedge of flesh in his mouth. The pleasure was great enough to make Olivero pause to enjoy it.

*He tastes different from Ethan,* thought Mulder. *It's not as bad as I might've expected. Knowing what he's done, I would have expected the taste of rotten meat--but he's bitter. Can't let that stop me.* He slid his fingers up and pulled gently, sliding the foreskin down. He fluttered his tongue, letting it find the faint groove that ran up the underside of the glans, then tracing it. This coaxed out a thick ooze of pre-come--oily and vaguely sickening. He'd loved this with Ethan, but now all he wanted to do was jerk away, brush his teeth, and then gargle with antiseptic.

Ethan closed his eyes. *I'm never gonna get hard if I watch Olivero with Mulder. It might be the hottest fucking show in the world to anyone else, but it makes me feel... lacerated.* He ignored the subdued, wet sounds and forced himself to concentrate on the feel of Manuel's slippery hand. The boy was talented, and he began to get hard. Manuel whispered, "Much, much better. You are almost ready for me." There was a crinkle, and Ethan felt a thin latex sheath fitted over his erection. Manuel gave him another couple of strokes, then said. "Pardon, Connor, but I must first see that my master has all he needs." There was a shifting sound as Manuel put the basket within Olivero's reach, then returned to Ethan.

Ethan heard Manuel moan softly, and looked over at him curiously. He was in time to see Manuel pull a glistening butt-plug from his anus. He turned and bent at the waist. His buttocks were pale, compared to the olive tone of the rest of his body. He parted his cheeks, and his anus spread slightly, a hint of pink interior showing inside the pale brown ring. In spite of his worry for Fox and his realization of how dangerous Manuel was, he got harder. It was an
incredibly erotic sight.

Ethan started to stand up, but Manuel turned enough to stop him. "No, stay there." He gave him a wicked smile and nudged Ethan's thighs apart, then sat on one braced leg, looping his arms around Ethan's neck. His voice light and high, he cooed, "Hola, Tio. Usted tiene un presente para mi?" When Ethan gave him a small frown, Manuel said, "Uncle, I am so glad you are
here. You have something for me, yes?" He reached between them, stroking Ethan's hard-on. "Something nice?"

*Uncle? God, how many layers of perversity are there around here? Play along, Hunt.* "Very nice, have you been good enough to deserve it?" He let his hand slide under, and he probed into Manuel's crack. His finger slid easily into the young man's ass hole, eliciting a hiss and squirm. "What's this?" Ethan said sternly. "Laddie, your hole isn't tight and dry, like it should be." He reached into Manuel's lap with his other hand, gripping the younger man's eager cock, and squeezing roughly. "You've been letting nasty men diddle about with you, haven't you?"

"Please, Tio," Manuel breathed.

"Please be damned!" He pushed hard, shoving his finger deep. "Is this all they've done, boy, or have you had something else up there, eh?" He jerked his hand roughly. "Tell the truth--have you had a cock up your ass?"

"Yes, Tio!" Manuel gasped. "Many cocks."

"Then one more won't matter." Ethan grabbed Manuel around the waist and shifted him, facing him out. When he was in position, Hunt spread the boy's buttocks and pulled him down. He lined his cock up, glans touching the loosened hole, then jerked down hard. He gritted his teeth as he was suddenly engulfed in tight heat, and Manuel yowled excitedly, enjoying the forceful claiming.

There was soft, knowing laughter from Olivero, but he would not allow himself to be distracted long. He pulled free of Duncan's oral embrace, saying hoarsely, "On your back, Chico. I love seeing your face when I fuck you."

Reluctantly Mulder lay on the bench, letting his legs dangle over each side. He watched through lidded eyes as Olivero took a tube of lubricant from the basket and used it to slick both his cock, and the fingers of his right hand. He slipped on a condom, then took hold of Mulder's right ankle, lifting his leg and spreading it outward, so that his anal crease was spread wide.

Manuel rode Ethan smoothly, spitting himself again and again, but Ethan's attention had been once again drawn to the tableau being played out only a few feet away. *Shit, I need to get this over with quickly. Fox may need me.* For the first time in his memory, Ethan set out to come as quickly as he could. He slammed Manuel's slender body up and down on his rigid prick, his arms and shoulders tensing strongly. He fucked brutally, and Manuel screamed in pleasure, his orgasm erupting in a hot, white fountain. A moment later Ethan ground him down tightly and spasmed, grunting his release. He took no pleasure other than the most primal, physical relief.

Manuel swayed forward when Connor released him, smiling vaguely as he felt the hot trickle of
liquefied lubricant and a little blood seep down to tickle his slowly unclenching balls. He had finished in time to see his master sink the first finger through Daniel's sphincter. Daniel made a small sound that wasn't quite a gasp, pressing his palms flat over his eyes. *What, you do not enjoy this, Danny? You think you will simply endure? Olivero will not be denied your full attention. You are his Duncan now, and you have many years, and many hurts, to atone for. I will look forward to watching it all.*

Olivero thrust the finger in and out several times, then added a second one. During the brief time
between their first encounter and Duncan's first betrayal, Olivero had tried to be gentle with his
boy--he tried now, but it had been too long, and too much had happened. He found Duncan's prostate and rubbed roughly, demandingly. He was a man, and his lover WOULD respond to his touch.

Mulder's chest heaved as the stimulated nerve endings sent a totally impersonal burst of pleasurable sensation sizzling through his body. In spite of the pain that the abrupt penetration was causing, in spite of his horror of the man fondling him so intimately, and his hideous vulnerability, his flesh responded, and his cock firmed a little. He prayed it would be enough, because he was pretty sure he'd never get a full hard-on with all this fear and tension, and Olivero's dissatisfaction could only make things worse.

Apparently it was enough. Olivero hooked the other man's right leg up over his left shoulder, in order to free his hand. Then he masturbated Fox roughly as he bunched three fingers together and crammed them home. Fox winced. His voice strained, he said, "Vero, that's enough."

Montana paid no heed. He pumped strongly, twisting his hand to spread the hole even more. "You have to be open, Duncan, otherwise you won't be able to take it all."

Manuel had gone to stand near Mulder's head. "Listen to him. You must relax, or you could be injured."

Ethan had stripped off his rubber and gone to drop it in the wastebasket near the door. He said sourly, "You're all right, Montana, but you're no bloody Gargantua. Quit being so rough on Danny, or I'll call a halt to this." The soft laughter this remark prompted from Manuel chilled his blood. Manuel moved quickly. In a flash he'd grabbed both of Mulder's wrists, jerked them up over the prone man's head, and sat on them, straddling the bench and leaning forward to grip Mulder's arms and press them down. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Olivero was reaching into the basket. "It is merely a precaution, Connor--for his own safety." Olivero pulled something limp and white from the basket. "He mustn't move when I am inside." There was a snapping sound as de la Montana pulled on the latex glove.

Fox stiffened instantly. People DIED from rough fisting sessions, and Montana wasn't likely to be gentle. His body curved in a bow as he simultaneously tried to pull his arms free and brace
the foot that was on the floor. "NO! I didn't agree to fisting! It's too fucking dangerous, and I'm NOT into pain."

Ethan had spent a split second thinking that he was about to pass out, because all the oxygen seemed to have been suddenly sucked out of the room. "Montana, you SHIT! Let go of him!"

Olivero was squirting a copious amount of lube on his clenched fist. "We have an agreement, Galbraith."

"It doesn't include him." Ethan started toward the trio.

Olivero moved quickly. He swung, and a huge, rock-solid fist caught Ethan in the face, knocking him staggering and leaving a gelid smear of lubricant on his cheek. "See what you have done?" said Olivero, almost mildly. "I'll have to change now. I can't risk giving Duncan an infection." He stripped the glove off and reached for another one.

"Montana, I'm not Duncan!" Mulder shouted.

Manuel's grinning face appeared, upside down, as the boy leaned over him. "Do you think it matters now, Chico?" he crooned. "You ARE Duncan. They were ALL Duncan."

Mulder tugged frantically, trying to free his arms as Ethan dazedly began to pull himself upright. Manuel had lifted his ass slightly to tilt his weight forward, the better to pin his victim's arms. In his panic Mulder realized that he was feeling coarse hair brushing his palm. Acting on instinct he summoned his strength and abruptly squeezed as hard as he could.

Pain exploded through Manuel as his testicles were compressed, grinding together. He shrieked and jerked, and it gave Mulder just enough slackness. He squeezed again and shoved upward, tipping the boy off. Olivero had been staring in astonishment, the sudden scream ripping away most of the trance he had been under. He started to reach for his Duncan, to punish him for daring to struggle. Mulder jerked his knees back toward his chest, then kicked like a mule.

His heels connected with Montana's chin, snapping him back and causing him to fall. There was a crisp snap as his teeth met, and blood sprayed from his lips as he bit off the tip of his own tongue. Mulder lunged to his feet, intent on getting to Ethan, then getting the hell out of there.

Something snagged his ankle, and he looked down to see a grim-faced Manuel hanging on doggedly, while still clutching at his injured nuts with his other hand. Mulder unhesitatingly stamped on his forearm. Even barefooted he managed to crack bones in the wrist, and
Manuel let go with a snarl.

Ethan, on his feet and clear headed again, grabbed Mulder's shoulder and shoved him toward the door. "Run!" He kicked over the bucket of water that was sitting near the room's central pit. The liquid hit the glowing stones and a billowing, blinding cloud of steam filled the room as he slipped out the door.

Choking and nearly blinded, Manuel crawled to the wall, felt carefully, and located a switch. Strong fans roared to life, and the steam quickly began to dissipate as it was sucked out by the powerful ventilation system. He then crawled to where Olivero was just sitting up, propped against a bench. Manuel wailed softly as he saw the blood dripping down Olivero's chin, streaking his broad chest. "Mi corazon!" he moaned. "Usted esta lastimado. Bastardo
asqueroso, usted lastimo a mi amante!"

Olivero turned his head and spat a bright gob of blood onto the tiles. His voice was bleak. "Traicionado. El me traiciona otra vez."

"Yes, Vero!"

Olivero dully watched as Manuel reached into the basket, jerking at the towel. Brightly wrapped condoms pattered unnoticed to the floor as he reached into it. When he sat back, he was holding a knife--THE knife, the same one he had used all those years ago, and had used so often in the years since. Manuel laid the knife across his palms and lifted it toward Olivero, like an Aztec priest offering up the still beating heart of a sacrificed warrior. His eyes glinted murderously as he whispered. "Such faithlessness must be punished."

An unholy light kindled in Olivero de la Montana's eyes as he gazed at the blade. He reached out slowly and gripped its hilt, then stood and stalked toward the door. Manuel nodded in vicious satisfaction, preparing to follow him. "My jaguar hunts tonight."