Once Bitten
    Originally posted as Riopa
    By livengoo at livengoo@tiac.net <mailto:livengoo@tiac.net>.

    They're not mine - if they were, Sunday nights would be a lot hotter
    than they are!

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Sunday, 10:40 p.m.

    "Jesus Christ! Mulder, STOP!"

    A hungry growl met his words.

    It wasn't working. Walter Skinner's shout echoed off the cathedral
    ceiling of his condo and it might have been a whisper, a squeak, it
    wasn't reaching past the flat, desperate need in Mulder's eyes. A
    quick lunge and one long hand grabbed his arm with desperate,
    bruising strength. Skinner's heart pounded as he twisted, managed to
    yank his arm free. The couch between them wasn't barricade enough
    and Mulder vaulted it too easily, muscles juiced by something
    Skinner didn't want to admit could be real. But the luxury of denial
    seemed empty as he threw himself back to keep the furniture between
    them.

    "Mulder, look at me. Come on! Look at me!" Hazel eyes watched him
    instead of looking at him. Tracked him. Gauged him. Skinner's bowels
    felt watery cold at that look. Spider eyes. Predator eyes. And he
    was so tired. Breath burning in his lungs, so tired. "Mulder, please
    . .."

    Spider. Wolf. Fox Mulder pounced.

    ---------------------------

    Friday, 8:13 p.m.

    "You're dead." The tone was, perhaps, curious. Mainly he sounded
    stunned.

    "Yes," Kristen answered. "Or no. It depends on how you look at it.
    Or maybe. Maybe dead. Just not enough."

    The misty rain glittered in her hair as she swayed, stepped closer.
    Fox Mulder swallowed hard, backing into the harsh, jaundiced circle
    of the streetlight's protection. She followed, eyes shadowed by the
    light. It took an effort to keep his voice even. "Everything burned.
    Is this the old Sherlock Holmes rule? If you don't find the body
    they're not dead?"

    The smile on Kristen's vivid lips was more sorrow than a laugh. "I
    told you. Maybe they're both."

    He stopped. Made himself stop, and let her step close. Her body
    shifted, shoulders turning to match the set of his own. "It's a long
    way from California. You could have called." Not wanting to admit
    how much it hurt to look at her.

    Her head tilted, a fast, unnatural movement. "Some things have to be
    said in person. Some things have to be face to face."

    He leaned close, almost against his will, wanting to catch a
    remembered scent, feel the warmth of her through the soft, autumn
    rain. "Tell me. Tell me everything."

    Her nails were as livid as her mouth. The polish gleamed when she
    raised her hand to his face, cool fingers brushing soft as moth
    wings over his cheek. "I needed your help once, and you gave it to
    me. I need your help again."

    He couldn't smell her. Could feel her touch but not her heat. And he
    shivered. "Talk to me, Kristen. You owe me that. I thought you were
    dead. Tell me what happened."

    Her fingers had dropped to his throat, resting lightly in the hollow
    where the pulse ran hot and close to the skin. He could feel his own
    heart beat racing against her touch. Her tongue didn't flick out. It
    slid in along, rich motion over her lips, leaving them glossy in the
    streetlight. "I'll tell you. Before tomorrow's dusk I'll tell you
    what you ask. But there's a price."

    He tried to pull back, almost surprised when she let him, her hand
    still raised and shaping where his throat had been. "I've paid a
    price for you for three years. I pay it in dreams over and over."

    Her smile promised . . . something he couldn't read. "This time
    you'll know. I won't leave you with dreams again, Fox Mulder."

    "What will I know?"

    "That I'm dead. I need you to help me die."

    ---------------------------

    Sunday, 9:58 p.m.

    The buzzer broke the Sunday night quiet, grating through the empty
    space of Walter Skinner's big apartment. He looked up, startled. It
    buzzed again, urgent and insistent. Skinner finally put his drink
    down, heavy glass clicking on the table. The noise whined on, not
    stopping while he'd set his book down and walked across the room. It
    didn't stop until he pressed the intercom button. "Who is it?" Not
    saying what he wanted to say.

    "It's Mulder. I need to talk to you." Breathless voice.

    This time Skinner didn't hold himself back. "Agent Mulder, it's
    late. What the hell do you want?"

    "Let me come up. I need . . . I need your help." He wanted to say
    no. Didn't really want to know what spy or tangle Mulder was about
    to bring into his life. But something in the ragged voice stopped
    him. He didn't answer, just buzzed the man through.

    The hall was empty and he didn't expect to see his guest for a few
    minutes. Hoped it would be enough to let him marshal his wits. He
    was polishing his glasses on the tail of his shirt when the elevator
    doors opened. Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't what he saw.

    Fox Mulder was alone. Pale and disheveled and very alone. But that
    was only the second thing he noticed. The first was his throat.
    "Jesus Christ, Mulder. Just stay there and I'll call an amb . . ."

    "Don't." The answer was hard and it stopped him where he stood. His
    steps were steady. Steadier than Skinner would expect with that much
    blood smeared over his throat and down to stain the collar of his shirt.

    "You're hurt. Don't be a fool." Turning to reach for the phone on
    the hall table. He didn't see Mulder move, didn't hear him but a
    hand was suddenly locked around his wrist like a vise.

    Blood was rank and sweet in the air. When he looked up he could see
    the sweat beading Mulder's lip, the glassy look in his eyes. Mulder
    licked his lips. "I need your help."

    "You damn well need somebody's help." Wanting to break that grip,
    wanting Mulder clammy skin off his. He held still instead. "You're
    hurt. It's shock. I'm just calling a doctor."

    "You don't understand." The hard tone melted into frustration. "It's
    not what it looks like."

    That was enough. Skinner shifted his weight, grabbed Mulder's arm
    and pulled the other man in and around, into a lock. Or tried to. In
    the instant of the motion he knew he'd misjudged. Didn't really see
    it or understand but it was fast and hard and strong and suddenly he
    was shoved back, body slamming the door shut behind him, pinned to
    its painted metal and breathing fast, adrenaline singing sour and
    electric in his veins.

    Mulder was so close he could smell his stale breath. See the
    fever-fast beat of the vein at his temple. "Please. I need your help."

    Mulder's hands were impossibly hard, holding his own pinned against
    the door. Under the stained, white shirt Mulder's chest was heaving
    with too-fast panting breaths. Skinner almost kneed him right then
    and there, but with the thought Mulder shifted. The older man
    relaxed breathing in consciously steady, calm breaths. "Okay. You've
    got my attention. What do you need?"

    The hands over his own relaxed muscle by muscle, finally let go.
    Mulder let his arms drop to his side and stepped back a pace. "Come
    on, Agent Mulder. It's eleven o'clock on Sunday. You just assaulted
    me. Neither of us is going anywhere until I know why."

    "Or until you kick my ass?" A glimmer of thin humor in Mulder's
    tense voice.

    "It's crossed my mind."

    Mulder squared his shoulders. Stepped back another short pace. "I
    need you to keep me here until after the sun rises. I need you to
    stop me from killing someone."

    ---------------------------

    Sunday, 10:42 p.m.

    Mulder hit the couch like a battering ram and it went over easy and
    slow, then faster. Mulder's long hands, tangled in the folds of
    Skinner's shirt kept him there just that little bit too long, too
    close, when the leather sofa tipped and fell, trapping him under its
    weight. Easy enough to squirm free. Easy enough if the madman
    weren't on top of him.

    "Shit!" Hot breath above him, and sweat dripping onto his face, his
    skin as Mulder bent over him. "Get the fuck off!"

    Hunger still flared wild in hazel eyes and the younger man didn't
    pause, didn't seem to hear. Bent to nuzzle the flesh under Skinner's
    ear. He smelled like sweat and soap and panic. A hot, wet tongue
    caressed Skinner's throat, tasting him.

    "Jesus Christ, get off!" But he knew it was pointless. And knew he
    believed what Mulder had told him. Desperate, ears singing with
    adrenaline, he grabbed a collar stiff with blood, braced his hand in
    the middle of Mulder's chest and pulled, pushed, sent the man on top
    of him somersaulting over his head. It only bought him a moment, so
    little time, but it would have to be enough.

    ---------------------------

    Friday 8:30 p.m.

    The small creaks and groans of his building were thunderous in the
    quiet. Water dripped softly off Kristen's coat and onto the dingy
    linoleum. Mulder turned the key and stepped through, flipping on the
    lights. The scan of his home was second nature but, for once, it
    didn't feel like the door at his back was safer than the space in
    front of him.

    Kristen rustled and followed him, looking around curiously. "I don't
    know what I expected. Somehow, it was hard to picture you having a
    life, existing outside . .."

    "Outside my beliefs?" Mulder turned, hung his coat on the rack
    inside the closet door and reached for hers. "I have a life."

    She stared at him, a hard, considering look. "You never married."

    "No." He took her wet overcoat, hung it. Curious but waiting. "Do
    you want something? Coffee? Tea?"

    Her lips parted in a broad smile, the first real one he'd seen on
    her face. "I never drink . . . coffee."

    It was infectious. He grinned back. "Cheeeeldren of theeee night,
    what sweet music they play," suddenly relaxing. Seeing her face go
    mobile and real, not so strange. He flipped on the stereo and headed
    to his tiny kitchen. "So, coffee'll keep you up all night and ruin
    that lovely, vampiric skin of yours. How about a beer."

    "Whatever you're having." She leaned on the counter, watching him.
    Glanced back at his small living room. "Jazz. Nice music for a rainy
    night."

    He found two ales and twisted the tops off, handed her one. "I
    usually question informants in these sleazy back alleys and dark
    corners. But it's a lot nicer if you can actually sit down and just
    talk."

    "That would be nice." Her voice was soft, wistful. She wandered his
    living room, studying the poster on the wall, reaching out but not
    quite touching the little objects here and there. A small skull. A
    photograph. "Who is she?"

    "My sister." Keeping his voice deceptively light. "You didn't come
    by to investigate my family tree."

    "No." She sighed and put her beer down. Sat gingerly next to him on
    his couch. So close. The dark flecks in her eyes drank the light and
    she reached again to touch his throat. "It's so strange. To know how
    you smell. How you taste. But I don't know who you are or what you
    like, or why. Just that you believe."

    He hesitated, sipped at his beer and looked away. "Believe in what,
    Kristen? Some things I believe in, but not everything. I barely
    believe you're here. And I want to know why."

    Her cool fingers turned his chin back to face her and a shudder
    rippled irrationally down his spine. "Fox Mulder. You believe in me."

    ---------------------------

    Sunday, 10:15 p.m.

    The cuts were neat, small, short and efficient. They just pierced
    the soft skin over the vein where the pressure of Mulder's pulse
    throbbed. "You need to have these looked at."

    Mulder sat very still, hands balled into fists. "I'm letting you
    look at them."

    "Don't be an asshole. I can have an ambulance here in fifteen
    minutes." Skinner studied the cuts with a vague distaste as he wiped
    them clean with a peroxide-soaked pad. Purpled bruises looked
    uncomfortably ripe.

    Mulder didn't even hiss, just tipped his head back. The cotton pad
    reddened with blood, bubbled to then dirty white as the peroxide ate
    away at the chemical bonds. "If I could have done that, I would
    have. Hell, I'd have gone to Scully for that."

    Skinner concentrated on the cuts, not looking at Mulder. "Why didn't
    you go to Scully?"

    Mulder sat quietly for a minute, hissing softly at the sting of the
    cuts. When he answered his voice was guarded. "I didn't go to Scully
    because I need someone who can listen to me. Right now disbelief
    could get someone killed, maybe even her."

    "And you think I'll believe what she wouldn't?" Skinner let a little
    of his office voice get through.

    "I think you'll look at the evidence objectively." Mulder glanced up
    at him finally. "You don't need to disbelieve."

    "What happens if I don't believe you?" Skinner observed mildly.

    "I think you will." Mulder worked his shoulders slowly. "Or at least
    you won't assume I'm crazy."

    "I can't promise that. Jesus, you're a mess." He smoothed ointment
    over them and pressed a bandage into place. "Those bruises look at
    least a day old."

    "They are." Mulder's face was expressionless. "Kristen Kilar's been
    with me since Friday night."

    Skinner looked up, startled, wrappings balled up in his hands.
    "Kilar? She's the dead witness from that case in '94?"

    "Yeah. Right after Scully disappeared." The look Mulder shot back at
    him was hooded. "Or maybe I should say the undead witness."

    The sterile wrapping rustled as Skinner pushed ointment and peroxide
    back into the first aid kid. "There are a lot of things I'm prepared
    to believe in, Mulder, but vampires is really pushing the envelope."

    Mulder's ironic grin answered his wry tone. "Been there. I felt the
    same way until I watched a man spontaneously combust."

    "I might even believe that over vampires, considering what's in a
    Twinkie." Mulder didn't move as he walked away, stowed the kit back
    in his kitchen and got a glass of water and a Tylenol for the agent.
    "Why not try me on viral mutations or alien hybrids or something I'm
    more likely to buy than vampires, Mulder?"

    He could hear Mulder sigh as he walked back into the living room. A
    rueful grimace met him. "That's the problem, sir. It doesn't matter
    whether you buy it or why. For twelve hours, I need you to believe.
    Because if you don't, I am in a lot of trouble."

    The dead sincerity of his voice got through where all the bullshit
    in the world wouldn't have worked. Skinner sat down on his coffee
    table facing Mulder, knees almost touching. "So Kristen Kilar made
    it out of the fire."

    Mulder nodded. "She said it damn near killed her. That she burned.
    But that when night came, she healed."

    "And you believe her?"

    "Right now, I don't think I can afford not to. I've seen people like
    her, people who burned to a crisp and who should have been dead, get
    up at night and try to deck me with a pile driver. It's pretty
    convincing when the crispy critter shows up in one piece and punches
    you out."

    "What does she want?"

    "She wants me to kill her."

    ---------------------------

    Friday, 8:48 p.m.

    The kiss went on forever, like it had never stopped. Like three
    years had never happened. Kristen's cool, soft lips pressed his and
    her tongue tasted like sweet water in the desert. He couldn't
    remember why he'd kissed her that first time. He knew better. It
    just . . . swept him up. He'd thought he was desperate. Perhaps he
    was desperate now, because he fell back into her kiss with a need
    that made no sense and no difference.

    Her hands combed through his hair, holding him, finding the shape of
    his skull, the back of his neck, the solid shape of a shoulder. Her
    waist was tight and firm in his grasp, ribs in finger ridges that
    lost themselves under the soft weight of breasts. Firm, high breasts
    that just filled his hands. She groaned as his thumbs kneaded her
    nipples, pushed forward a little into his grasp and one hand dropped
    from his hair to run teasingly slowly down his chest.

    "Ah!" Almost painful to break away from her, pushing her back,
    lifting his hands from her breasts. "Kristen, Jesus! this isn't . . . "

    "It isn't what? What's your first name?"

    "Ah . . . shaking his head, trying to find his balance. "Fox. I
    don't like to be called Fox."

    "What should I call you?" Her hand was on his thigh. He took her
    wrist but didn't quite lift it off.

    "I'm Mulder. That's my name."

    "Don't wear it out?" The laugh danced in her eyes.

    "I don't believe I said that," he winced, shared her laugh.

    "It's all right." Her voice was throaty. "I like when men make me
    laugh."

    Sudden heat washed through him again, prickled across his skin.
    Mulder eased back from her a little, trying to find some distance
    from temptation. "I think you'd better leave."

    Her smile was very sad. "You weren't shy with me before."

    It stopped him. He looked into her eyes, wishing he didn't want her
    to stay. "I don't know who you are. I don't know anything about you."

    "It didn't stop you before." She cocked her head. "I'm not even your
    witness now."

    Mulder shut his eyes, opened them. Gave her his most polished,
    artificial smile. "The last time I went to bed with a strange woman
    she drank my blood."

    "I didn't. You stopped me." Her expression gave nothing away. "You
    were very gentle, and very sweet. I dream about you sometimes."

    She didn't move towards him but the room seemed so small, walls
    pressing in, pressing her close to him. Mulder reached out slowly,
    pushed a thick lock of black hair back from her face. "Why didn't
    you tell me you were alive."

    "I wanted to protect you." Her eyes went on forever. "From me. From
    the life. But I'm not strong enough to take it anymore."

    "What? Why did you come to find me?"

    "Because you believe and you are strong." She licked her lips, a
    motion that might have been erotic, might have been predatory. Might
    have been both. "This time, don't stop me."

    ---------------------------

    Sunday, 10:50 p.m.

    He didn't have a hope in hell of getting to his gun. It was just too
    far and Mulder was just too close.

    Magazines. Books. A footrest. No fucking cover and no fucking
    weapons that would stop somebody who might have been on angel dust
    for all he noticed. Skinner didn't need to see Mulder. He knew the
    bastard was on his feet and scrambling over the couch after him.
    Jesus Christ. Nothing. A fucking Marine and he was down to the
    scotch on the rocks and not sure whether he should drink it or throw it.

    Shit! Fingers closing around his belt decided him. The scotch
    splashed into Mulder's eyes, heavy glass bouncing off his cheekbone,
    pressure cut livid on his pale face. Skinner shouted, raised the
    glass again but Mulder had cursed and curled away, scrabbling at his
    eyes. The A.D. didn't waste the chance. Mulder barely twitched when
    Skinner vaulted him, heading for his office and his gun.

    Jesus but the heavy, service weapon felt good in his hands. Solid
    and secure and terrible. He turned and waited for Mulder.

    His stalker didn't make him wait long. Dragging steps louder than
    the pounding of the pulse in his ears. Mulder draped himself against
    the door frame, leaning his head against the wooden jamb. A trickle
    of blood ran thin in the alcohol on his face, but his eyes were
    focused. They were still hungry but they were sane. "Thank god I
    didn't get you."

    "Here." He didn't take his eyes off Mulder when he leaned sideways
    and found his cuffs by touch. "I think you'd better put these on."

    Mulder caught them in mid-air, let them dangle from his hand. "Just
    cuffing me isn't going to work. It won't stop me the next time it hits."

    Skinner's pulse was finally slowing a little, the adrenaline fading.
    "Christ. How do you get into these things?"

    The answering smile was very wan. "Here's another fine mess?"

    ---------------------------

    Friday, 9:15 p.m.

    She was beautiful. Not pretty or lovely. She was harder and sleeker
    than that. Beautiful. Mulder caught his breath as she pulled her
    shirt over her head, shifting at the sudden throb of his balls. Silk
    rushed over the ripeness of breasts and the wrinkled mauve of
    nipples. He smothered a soft moan of desire and reached out, wanting
    to feel flesh, feel it yielding and warm. The taut curves gentled as
    she dropped the blouse and lowered her arms.

    His palms were sweating. She studied him, a smile playing over her
    lips. Under the tips of his fingers, her denim-clad thighs were
    solid, inviting him to press the flat of his hands around them. Fox
    Mulder leaned into her, pushing his hands up the length of her
    thighs as she watched his face. His thumbs met in the deltad valley
    of her crotch. Kristin let her head fall back as he pressed against
    the seam of her jeans, rolling it over the tiny bundle of nerve he
    knew hid beneath it. He couldn't feel her soft folds but her caught
    breath told him he'd found them and what they hid.

    Her chin came back down, wide eyes unreadable in the narrow oval of
    her face. "Do you still want me, Mulder?"

    "Jesus," he whispered, resting his weight on the crease where her
    thighs met her hips. Finding her mouth with his own. Her teeth were
    sharp and smooth against the tip of his tongue. She leaned back to
    stare into his eyes, pursed her lips. He took a deep breath,
    squirming a little at the throb of his balls and the frustration of
    a cock starting to strain against cloth. "Kristin. You're beautiful."

    "You wanted me then. You needed to be touched. Do you want me now?"
    Her voice was strangely formal, body still. "Do you want me?"

    "So much it hurts."

    She blinked hard. "I don't want to hurt you. Let me make love to
    you. Let me make you feel good."

    Skin was smooth, not warm, not cool in his apartment. Muscles moved
    gently as she breathed. Mulder fitted his fingers to the cage of her
    ribs, the weight of those breasts resting on his thumbs. "I want
    answers . . ."

    Her nipples were soft-rough-firm between his fingertips. Kristen
    pushed forward into his grip, breathed "now?"

    "It can wait." His groan answered her soft laugh.

    ---------------------------

    Sunday, 10:55 p.m.

    Steel chain clinked against the heavy brass of the headboard. Fox
    Mulder lay still, arms above his head, hands loose and relaxed as
    Skinner snapped the second bracelet shut around his other wrist.
    "Are you sure this is necessary?"

    It was a long moment before he got an answer as Mulder twisted
    against the chain and squirmed a little. "You don't know how it
    feels. This is absolutely necessary unless you want the worst hickey
    of your life."

    Skinner's lips thinned over his teeth. "Your bark might be worse
    than your bite. If it's that bad you're going to tear your wrists up
    next time it hits."

    Mulder shut his eyes and let his breath out, calm mask slipping. "It
    beats the alternative."

    "And what is the alternative? You never told me precisely what you
    expect to happen."

    "Nice way to put it." Mulder sighed and relaxed, shifting as if he
    couldn't find a comfortable position. "I didn't think it would be
    that bad. I really didn't. When the sun went down it started getting
    worse but . . . it got to where I couldn't think. To where I was
    hearing my neighbors. I was hearing their heartbeats, sir."

    Skinner grinned ruefully. "Mulder. You're lying on my bed handcuffed
    to the headboard. Calling me "sir" makes me feel like a character in
    a cheap S&M flick. Think you could make it Walter, at least until
    the sun comes up?"

    "Oh my god." He screwed his eyes tight shut. "You and S&M. There's
    an image to undermine office discipline."

    "I'm not going to dignify that with an answer," Skinner responded
    dourly.

    "Ah - let me rephrase that . . ."

    "Don't bother." The A.D. shifted. Sitting next to Mulder like this
    was not . . . conducive to a professional attitude. "Mulder,
    precisely what do you expect to happen? What is happening to you?"

    Silence answered him, so long he thought Mulder wasn't going to say
    anything, then the man on his bed wet his lips and frowned. "What's
    happening to me? I'm starving. I'm a junky. I don't know, sir.
    Sorry, Walter. It's just . . ."

    Skinner shifted again, aware of how the mattress canted under
    Mulder's weight. "Look, this is a little difficult."

    The laugh that answered him was a short bark. "You're telling me."

    Fox Mulder arched his neck back and worked his shoulders. "Your arms
    are going to get stiff over your head like that."

    The words sounded stupid in Skinner's own ears but Mulder didn't
    seem to notice. "It's better than the alternative." He drew his
    knees up, scooted up towards the headboard a little.

    Awareness of body heat finally made Skinner stand up, step away from
    the mattress. "Agent Mulder, go over this again. What happened while
    you were with Ms. Kilar? What did you eat or drink, and what did she
    do to you?"

    "What are you thinking?" Mulder's voice was quiet, tense.

    "To be frank, I'm wondering about PCP or similar drugs."

    "Shit!" The handcuffed man shook his head, frustration obvious in
    the sudden tension of his body. "I've been drugged. This isn't like
    that. No food and no drinks that weren't in bottles or straight from
    the tap. And I know damn well she didn't use a needle on me."

    "She cut you."

    Mulder hesitated. Nodded. "Yes. She did that."

    "What, exactly, happened?"

    ". . . sex."

    ---------------------------

    Friday, 9:45 p.m.

    Her skin was cool but her tongue was hot, burning into the hollow of
    his throat, racing up the vein like burning gasoline. Mulder
    shuddered and tipped his head back to let her find the tender skin
    under his chin, caught his breath as her teeth grazed his larynx.
    Kristen's back was finally warm under his hands, spine rippling
    under his fingertips, drawing his fingertips down to dive under the
    waistband of her jeans.

    "I want you. I want you bare." Her words were barely there, breathed
    in his ear as she pushed him back, down, onto the couch's leather.
    Any answer he forgot as her lips closed over his, her legs straddled
    his waist, her bottom grinding down against his cock. Jesus Christ .
    . . his cock throbbed, ached, strained against the cloth of his
    trousers. The light touch of fingernails tickled his chest as she
    unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it back from his chest.

    He arched, just a little, lifting her, thrusting up against her
    weight. "Let me," as he reached to unzip his suit trousers.

    "No," she pushed his hands back, held them lightly. "I want to do it."

    "I'm a little faster." He grinned at his own breathless voice,
    shivering at the currents of air over his chest. "Please?"

    Kristen smiled slowly down at him, hair falling from its loose
    chignon to shadow her face. "I'm in no hurry, Mulder. I thought
    about you a lot - how you felt on top of me. How you smell. How you
    taste. I want to take you slowly."

    Lust sparked his groin and up his spine. Good natured, clean lust
    that put a grin on his face and brought his palms up to cup her
    breasts. Squeezed. "You're beautiful. I thought about you too. I
    thought you were dead." His hands stopped their gentle kneading as a
    chill twisted deep in his belly. "You should have told me."

    "Later." She squirmed down, pulling his trousers and boxers down.
    "There will be all the time in the world, Mulder. Later. Right now
    just let me love you. Let me drink you in."

    Cold air and denim prickled over his legs, tickled the hair on his
    shins. Mulder half rose, leaning on his elbows to watch Kristen
    tugging his clothing off, freeing one leg and then the other. Her
    expression was intent, eyes dark and liquid. Solemnity broke into
    laughter as he wiggled his feet, tapped her nipples with his toes.
    "Hey. This is supposed to be fun. You look like you think I'm going
    to test you afterwards."

    Mischief shone as she grabbed his toes. "Multiple choice or essay exam."

    "Orrral defense," he drawled, then twitched as she leaned down to
    run the tip of her tongue along the sensitive skin of his ankle.
    "Kristen . . ."

    "Shhhh . . ." She nipped at his shin. "Quiet. I want to hear your body."

    He obeyed, lying back against the cushioned arm to watch her trace
    the long, straight bone of one shin and then the other, prowling
    forward on all fours to crouch over his feet. Her tongue was an
    ember on his flesh, leaving a startlingly cold trail for the air to
    dry. Hair whispered down around her face and over his knees as she
    moved up. Mulder tightened his abdomen, pulling himself up a little
    to reach for her hair but she stopped, looked up at him from where
    she'd kissed his kneecaps. "Stop. Lie down. I know what I want."

    Mulder tilted his head at the words. "What you want?"

    Something strange flickered behind her eyes and she reached up,
    smoothed those enameled nails over his scrotum, scratched lightly
    and smiled at his gasp. "Don't you want this too?"

    Somehow, with her fingers playing at the base of his cock he
    couldn't imagine wanting anything else. She was waiting, fingers
    nervous in the hair of his balls. "Yes. I want this. I want to make
    love to you."

    "You'll have to wait your turn." The creamy warmth of her voice
    washed over him as the exquisite wet heat of her mouth lowered to
    take in his rigid member.

    "God," he whispered, pushing his hips up, pushing deeper into her
    mouth. A muscular tongue swept over the head of his cock, the tip of
    her tongue flicking in and out of the tiny opening. Her fingers
    tightened on his hips, holding him still while her head bobbed to
    swallow most of his length, then eased back leaving his shaft wet
    and cool. And again. And again as his breath ran fast and his cock
    ran hot and cold with her touch. His heart beat faster, flushing the
    skin of his chest and his throat. Heat prickled up into his face as
    his penis grew harder in her mouth, more eager for the touch of her
    tongue, her lips. The hard graze of her teeth.

    Kristen's tongue probed the tendon that ridged the underside of his
    cock. He gasped as she found the tangle of nerves that brought his
    hips off the couch and up, deeper into her mouth. Lips tightened
    around his shaft, sucking that drew sensations along his length and
    he couldn't tell if his heart stopped or if it fused into a long,
    hard, racing beat as she rolled his balls and brought her lips up
    tight under the plum of his glans. A hard suck and she let him go,
    sat back to watch him from bright eyes, licking puffy, lovely lips.

    Mulder moaned softly, excitement and loss and urgent desire all
    singing sweet in his blood. "Please, don't stop. Don't stop."

    "Oh, I won't." Kristen kneeled up, shimmying out of her jeans. "I
    won't."

    "Good." He sat up a little, reaching to help her. Worn denim slid
    off slender hips, down a flat belly to reveal the dark curls that
    marked the seat of her desire. Mulder lay back, watching her catwalk
    her way up his body, spreading his legs to let her press close, her
    pubic mound pressing down on his cock. She kissed gently up the
    pulse of his throat, licking the silky skin under his ear. Soft and
    hard against his length as she pushed down with her hips, as soft
    and hard as the ribs cushioned by breasts, the teeth by lips. Mulder
    moaned softly and worked his hips in tiny thrusts, rubbing his body
    against hers, savoring what he hadn't felt in far too long.

    Her nipples burned against his chest. Mulder turned his face, buried
    his nose in her hair, breathing in the scent of her. Her buttocks
    were finally warm, heavy and solid in his hands. Their curves led
    his fingers to the cleft between her thighs. As her soft lips
    caressed the skin of his throat and her hands tightened in his hair,
    his fingers stroked the petals of her labia and found their way deep
    inside, into a warmth and wet both softer and richer than his cock
    had found in her mouth. Her moan in his ear set his pace and he
    stoked her heat now, willing to wait for his own pleasures, wanting
    to hear her come.

    Kristen lifted herself above him, hair spilling down to shadow her
    face. "We need more room." Her lips quirked in a smile.

    "My couch isn't good enough for you?"

    "Hit the floor, Mulder," she breathed, taking his shoulders and
    rolling off the couch.

    "Hey!" He landed on top, trying not to drop on her with all his
    weight but Kristen just laughed, a low, throaty sound. It brought a
    smile out of him that he hadn't thought was there. "Careful. It'd
    really wreck the mood if you got hurt."

    "I won't get hurt." In the dim light her glossy, wine colored lips
    caught his eyes. "Vampires are tough."

    "Hasn't anyone told you about safe sex?" He whispered the words
    back, letting himself down onto her body. His cock ached to get
    inside her, slipping between her legs and so close. So close.

    "We weren't safe last time." Her hands were splayed over his
    buttocks, her thighs wide and lifted to wrap over his legs. "You're
    a man who takes risks."

    God. He wanted to just . . . Hell. "Body fluids?"

    Her chuckle was rich and it tickled under his chest. "Body fluids.
    Semen and blood?" She let go of his ass and lifted a hand to stroke
    the length of his throat. "You didn't let me last time."

    Mulder frowned, instinctive distaste sour in his mouth. "We don't
    need that."

    "I do." She tilted her head, hair spilling across his rug. "You're
    having sex with a vampire, Mulder. Savor the experience to the full."

    Such an infectious smile. He sighed. "I don't like it."

    Her fingers pressed gently down on his pulse. His heart beat in his
    ears, his chest, blood surging under the skin. She tilted her face
    up, the tip of her tongue grazing his throat. "I want you. I want
    your semen. I want your blood. I want to drink you down and make you
    mine for just a little while."

    Mulder groaned, rested his forehead against her cheek, nuzzling her
    face. "God. I don't believe I'm thinking of this."

    Kristen rolled her hips back and forth, teasing. "I want you. I want
    you completely. I want to take you into myself . . ."

    Blood throbbed in his throat, loud in his ears, pounding in time to
    the hungry ache in his balls. "I don't . . . how would you do it?"

    A sad smile played over her face. "What do you think? That I'm going
    to bite you?"

    "Isn't that traditional?"

    Kristen hooked her jeans with a toe and dragged them along the
    floor. "Think of me as the thoroughly modern vampire."

    Mulder watched her pull a little case from her pocket. "Razorblades?"

    "Stainless." She pulled a fresh blade out. "Virgin blade for you."

    ---------------------------

    Sunday, 11:30 p.m.

    "Jesus fucking Christ, Mulder." Skinner ran a hand over his bare
    scalp. "If I still had hair you'd make it go gray."

    The thoroughly miserable look that answered him took most of the
    edge off his anger. "I did use a condom."

    Skinner stared at him. Smothered the irrational laugh that wanted to
    bubble out of his throat. "And she used a razor. I can see why you
    didn't call Scully. She'd have cut your throat herself for this."

    "Nah. She'd have gone straight for my balls."

    The resigned anger in his voice quenched any anger Skinner had left.
    "Okay. You got laid and you got your throat cut. I'm still finding
    vampires a little harder to believe than PCP."

    "The symptoms are wrong. And I know how it feels to be drugged."

    "So you're redefining sexually transmitted diseases?" Skinner
    grimaced. "Just humor me again. What did you eat or drink? Did she
    inject you with anything?"

    "When would she have drugged me?" Mulder's chest rose and fell with
    a sigh. "Okay, she might have injected me. The symptoms are still
    wrong and she wasn't carrying a purse. I don't think she had a
    syringe in her pocket either. The only think I recall her feeding me
    was blood."

    "Jesus Christ! Are you out of your mind?"

    "By that time I didn't have a lot to say in the matter." Mulder's
    tone was bleak. "She took two nights. Two days."

    "Why did you let her?" Skinner couldn't keep the disbelief out of
    his voice. "Are you going to tell me she overpowered you?"

    Mulder's eyes were unfocused. "Like she said. Yes. No. Maybe."

    ---------------------------

    Saturday, 1:08 a.m.

    He barely felt the tiny pain of the razor slicing into his vein
    again. The dull, dizzy ache faded then kindled into electric
    screaming pleasure that arced from his throat to his brain to the
    lightning rod of his cock plunging into her body. Kristen's moan
    vibrated through his larynx and ribs, and stars wheeled behind his
    eyes with every suck-fuck-plunge as she posted up and down on his
    erection.

    "Ogodogodogod oh fuck me please baby . . ." he heard the whispered
    words, barely knew they were his but wanted them to be his. Christ
    almighty fucking hell he couldn't stand it or think or breathe he
    just wanted to come again and again like the last time and last time
    and last time and all the other and . . . .

    "Oh god!" Rug prickling under his back and his ass. Kristen's
    gasping pants kept time with his own, in and out and in and out, hot
    cold touch of air on sweat slick skin. Air on his cock as she slid
    up, hot wet when she slid down. Her lips never left his neck, her
    fingers tight in his hair. Silky pussy. Silky wet and her nipples
    burned against his chest.

    "AH!" He didn't know if he cried or she did, but she threw back her
    head, hair fanning out, slamming up and down. Her lips were red.
    Bright red, not wine red. Blood red. And it trailed down over her
    chin, pattered in a filigree over her breasts.

    He wanted to touch her, cup her breasts, stroke her skin. His arms
    were so heavy, skin molten and icy all at once. Something hotter
    than sweat trickled slowly down under his ear, into his hair. He
    couldn't feel his hands, only his cock and his nipples and skin and
    hot cold in out. Kristen's voice ringing and echoing as he came
    forever and ever and sank into the dark. Into the dark. Dark. Forever.

    ---------------------------

    Sunday, 11:50 p.m.

    "I thought I was dying. You know, that's three times now." Mulder's
    voice was detached. Clinical.

    Skinner bit the inside of his cheek, wanting enough spit to swallow
    the sour taste at the back of his mouth but not wanting to get up.
    Not wanting to walk away from the man chained to his bed. He reached
    for a number. A detail. Something concrete. "How often did she cut
    you before you blacked out?"

    Mulder turned his face against his arm, grimaced. "I think . . .
    maybe four or five. I think she cut me a couple times each time we --"

    "You don't need to give me details," Skinner observed wryly.

    "You'd probably like them." Mulder tried to smile but the expression
    fell in on itself. "I remember thinking I should get her off me.
    That I was getting weaker. But I was so dizzy and it felt so good. I
    don't really understand . . . it was more than sex and more than
    loss of blood."

    "I suppose that telling you to just say no wouldn't work," Skinner
    observed with dry sympathy.

    "You can't imagine how it felt." Mulder swallowed hard and pressed
    back into the pillow under his head. His eyes were a little glazed.
    "When I investigated that case the first time it looked so
    straightforward. They were murdering people, slitting their wrists
    and throats and drinking the blood. Group pack psychology like
    Manson, with ritual aspects. I only saw one in progress. I startled
    one of them with a woman, feeding." He broke off in hollow laughter.
    "God, I'm thirsty."

    "I'll get you some water."

    "That's not what I want," whispered Mulder, staring back at him.
    "They said it was consensual. Chased me off. I was too embarrassed
    to hassle them and I just wrote it off as another paraphilia.
    Another kinky couple."

    He fell silent a long time. Skinner got up, choosing the bathroom
    because it was closer. The water drowned out the sounds for just a
    short time, but he was tense when he walked back into the bedroom.
    "Is that what you thought was happening to you."

    Mulder had shut his eyes, breathing in even, short pants. He had
    moved a little to ease his hands. "I guess so. No. I knew better.
    But you know . . . " His eyes opened wide. "Some things even I have
    trouble believing. Even after I've seen them."

    "I know the feeling," Skinner nodded. Mulder's hair was very soft
    when he held his head up, helping him sip a little water.

    The younger man grimaced. "So thin. I should have believed her."

    "You never did tell me what you expect to happen." Skinner set the
    little cup on the bedside table.

    Mulder's eyes were slitted, focused somewhere deep inside. "When I
    woke up she was kneeling over me. And she'd cut her wrist."

    "Christ. This keeps getting worse and worse," groaned Skinner.

    "Her blood tasted . . . salty and thick. I remember thinking I'd
    choke to death on it, and that it was the most wonderful thing I'd
    ever tasted. Everything sounded far away but I thought I could feel
    every molecule in the air. And she kept telling me to drink it." He
    looked at Skinner. "She told me it was my blood."

    ---------------------------

    Saturday, 5:00 a.m.

    He was so tired. He felt like had to think about breathing. Deep in
    his chest, his heart beat and paused, beat and paused. Mulder's skin
    was cold as ice but he couldn't lift his hands to find a blanket,
    didn't remember how he'd gotten into his bed. Kristen leaned over him.

    "Mulder. Listen to me." Her fingers were so warm on his jaw, tilting
    his face to look into hers. "You need to stay awake now. Do you
    understand?"

    Her lips were crimson. He couldn't look away from them. They kept
    moving, making the same sound over and over. "You need to stay
    awake." The words finally gelled into their forms, making sense in
    the dull plodding of his thoughts and he tried to answer. Felt his
    lips shape the words but couldn't hear them.

    She seemed to know. "Good. I need you to drink more." She lifted her
    hand to his face. No, not her hand. Her wrist. "Drink more."

    "no . . ." He finally heard the thready sound of his own voice. "g'way."

    "No." Her face was very solemn. "I need you to stay with me. I need
    you to live. Drink."

    He tried to tell her no, but her wrist pressed over his mouth and
    the blood spilled in and relentless as breathing, irresistible as
    sleep, he drank. He didn't want it. But he drank.

    ---------------------------

    Sunday, 11:58 p.m.

    "She kept talking to me." His voice was a little labored now, a
    little hoarse.

    Skinner remembered the nervous edge in it from when Mulder had
    walked through the door of his apartment. It felt like forever ago,
    but he remembered that tone. "How do you feel?"

    "Like shit. Hungry. Thirsty. But it's not so bad, not yet."

    Walter Skinner studied his face, wanting to see pretense. Wanting to
    believe this was as real as an cheap vampire best seller. But the
    color had drained from Mulder's face and his breathing was hitching
    in his chest just a little. The play of muscles across jaw and neck
    told him more. "Keep talking to me, Mulder. So she wants you to join
    her or make little vampires or what? What's the point of all this?"

    "Oh shit!" Mulder threw his head back, straining a moment at the
    cuffs then sagged like his strings had been cut. "I didn't listen
    when that bastard in LA told me. I just didn't listen. She wants me
    to kill her."

    "So she puts you through this shit?!" Skinner bit his tongue but it
    was too late.

    Mulder's eyes were glazed when he turned his head, looked a mile
    through Skinner and laughed. "She said she was sorry! And she said
    only a vampire could kill another vampire."

    "That doesn't make sense." Skinner snapped the words, trying to
    bring Mulder back to the present. "That is total bullshit. It
    doesn't make sense."

    The agent focused with a visible effort. Licked his lips. "You're
    right. It doesn't. It shouldn't. But that's how it worked."

    "Physical dynamics and . . . .what's the difference between you
    cutting her head off and me doing it?"

    "And why didn't she just jump out of a window?" Mulder asked sadly.
    "I don't know the answers to your questions. I don't know why it
    works that way but it does. I saw one come back to life but the ones
    in Kristen's house, the ones she killed stayed dead. I don't know
    why." His voice had gone thin. "Psychosomatic like voodoo. Or maybe
    there are quantum fields or prions or something, anything, I don't
    care but I'm hungry! Jesus!"

    "Christ, Mulder." The shrill edge of panic and fury raised the hair
    on Skinner's neck as Mulder threw his head back and forth.

    "Shitshitshit! Get out of here, I can hear your heart beating! God,
    I'll tear it right out of your chest!" He was yanking at the cuffs,
    hands wrapped around the chains and rocking his weight against the
    brass bed's resistance. The solid, antique frame held like rock and
    Mulder arched back and screamed frustration.

    "Stop it!" Skinner braced over his chest, pinning him back to the
    bed. "Stop!"

    Mulder was spitting, frantic, rocking against Skinner's grip but
    trying so hard to hold on. Skinner could see the effort in his face.
    "You have to get out of here! Please, get out of here now!"

    "Damn it! Look at me!" So close he could see the tiny, dark flecks
    of color in Mulder's eyes, smell his hair, his skin. "Focus. Focus,
    Mulder."

    "You fucking idiot!" Mulder hissed into his face. "I'm focused all
    right. I'll . . ."

    "You'll what? Talk it out. Come on, Mulder." The muscles under his
    hands were rigid, shivering with tension, the body under his taut
    and pressing up, back against him.

    "You need to get out of here. She said a believer's blood. . . .that
    if I drank a believer's blood I'd change forever. It's what she
    wanted. It's why she left me alone. You have got to get out of here!"

    "And what? What happens then?" Skinner braced his hands on either
    side of Mulder's head, but yanked them away as teeth snapped at his
    wrist.

    "You know what happens. Get out of here." The voice was a low hiss,
    anger and need and fear all wrapped into a tangled mess.

    "Did Kristen drink your blood? Is that what changed her?" It was a
    shot in the dark, and Skinner didn't know if he'd hit anything. He
    just needed to get Mulder's attention, to get him thinking past
    whatever he was feeling.

    It half worked. Hooded eyes fixed on his face, focused on his face,
    but the hunger still flickered just under the surface, edgy and
    harsh. "No."

    "No, what, Mulder? No it didn't change her?" He tightened his
    fingers in Mulder's hair, elbows braced down, pinning the other
    man's shoulders.

    "No." Mulder hesitated. "I didn't let her drink my blood. Not then."

    God. Skinner took a long breath, pushed all the command he'd ever
    worked for into his voice. "Stay focused. I need information."

    The chuckle under his chest surprised him, brittle sanity and
    control in Mulder's eyes. "Information, Number Six?"

    "You are such an asshole sometimes." Skinner ran his tongue over his
    teeth, feeling the heat of Mulder's body under his. Feeling more
    than that. He shifted nervously, suddenly aware of his own body, the
    blood pulsing strongly in his wrists, in his groin. "Are you done
    beating around the bush, Mulder?"

    "What do you want me to tell you?" Clipped words, under tight
    control. Skinner slowly unknit his fingers from Mulder's hair,
    sitting back up to kneel over Mulder's body. Relieved not to be in
    such intimate contact. Almost relieved that Mulder was so distracted.

    "You're a cop. Give me the details. Lay it out. What leads up to the
    crime?"

    "Which crime? My murdering her, or my murdering you?"

    "What did she tell you?"

    " . . . It's hard to remember. I was so dizzy."

    "Come on, Mulder. You're the man with a perfect memory whenever you
    want it. Want it now. You need it now."

    "All right. All right. I'll try."

    "Good." Under his ass, Mulder's belly still felt like stone.
    Handcuffed wrists were bruising fast. Skinner winced at the livid
    marks, looked back at the man's face instead. "What happens?"

    "Umm." Mulder arched, worked his shoulders like he was trying to get
    comfortable. Skinner shifted self-consciously but didn't get off
    him. "She . . . I think I remember her talking to me. I remember her
    telling me about how it was for her . . ."

    ------------------------------

    Saturday, 11:00 a.m.

    The fingers that stroked his skin weren't warm anymore. The lips
    that pressed against his were cool. "I'm sorry, Mulder. It'll be
    over soon."

    His head was so heavy. His whole body was heavy, hard to move. Hard
    to make his lips or tongue work. So cold. "What . . ."

    He didn't think he'd made a sound, but she seemed to hear his
    question. "I'm sorry. I need this from you."

    She moved away, then she was back, pressing a glass to his lips.
    "Here. It's just water. You'll feel better in a while, after the sun
    goes down."

    Dark in here. The curtains were drawn, Kristen's face pale in the
    gloom. "What . . . did you do?"

    A blanket was tucked softly higher around his chin, but it didn't
    seem to matter. "I told you. I need your help. I . . . .I'm sorry. I
    can't do it by myself."

    Her face pulled suddenly with the expression he'd seen .. . when?
    The night before? Longer? "Did you know that only a vampire can kill
    another vampire? It's true."

    She was lifting his hand, running her fingers over his palm. The
    touch of her hand was so far away. Miles and miles. He had to think
    about every single muscle, as if he had to move each one by will to
    push himself back and up on the pillows. "What'd you do to me?"

    "What they did to me." She dropped his hand. "I did it faster. But
    they did this to me. I . . . I had months. But I wanted it, too."
    Her bittersweet smile met his, but her eyes were dry. "I was so stupid."

    So dizzy. His blood pounded in his ears. "Why?"

    "Why did I do this? Why you?" She touched his face. "I'm going away
    tonight. I'll come back in three days. When you're stronger. And
    then you can help me."

    Words failed him, left him with need but no questions, no way to
    ask. He shook his head, not knowing how to ask. What to ask. She
    gave answers for questions he didn't know how to ask. "It'll happen
    fast, now. It was slow for me, but I need this to go quickly. I'm
    too scared for it to go slow."

    "What's happening to me? Am I dying?"

    "No. You're being born. Like me." Her tone was bitter. "You'll wake
    up tonight, hungry. You'll . . . it won't be your fault, Mulder.
    Believe one thing - it won't be your fault. You'll need blood too
    much to stop."

    What little heat was left in his body fled at her words. "Blood . .
    . .Oh, shit. This's . . s'impossible." Slurring, desperate words.

    "You know better. You saw. You believed."

    He wanted to laugh. Or scream. But the scream and the laughter were
    too heavy, caught in his throat. "I don't want this. I don't."

    Grief lit her face. "I'm sorry. I can't do this myself. I need you."

    "You bitch!" He tried for fury, almost felt the heat of it. "This is
    . . . is . . ." He didn't have a word big enough, bad enough.

    "Mulder. I couldn't do it myself and I didn't trust anyone else. I
    trust you."

    He sagged back onto the bed. "I trusted you. Too much. I should
    listen to myself."

    "I couldn't let anyone else have this, Mulder." She wouldn't meet
    his eyes, looking off into the shadows. "Anyone else would use it.
    You . . . I know you won't go wild. You won't be like them."

    "I thought . . . I thought you'd stop." So stupid. He tried again.
    "No. I didn't really want to believe you. You didn't want to be like
    this. I thought you'd just . . ."

    She finally looked back at him with a dying twilight smile. "I know
    what you thought. You trusted me. You thought I'd be like before,
    willing to stop. Able to stop. This is why I needed to take you,
    Mulder. Because I can't stop anymore."

    "Stop it. Tell me how to stop it."

    "I can't. I need you too much. When the sun goes down you'll feel
    better. You need one thing, Mulder. The blood of a believer. Hell,
    it can be your own. That's how I did it."

    He shook his head, comprehension warring with the desire not to
    understand. "I won't."

    She turned at the door, looking back. In her eyes, he saw years of
    hell and moments of hope. "You won't be able to stop, Mulder. You'll
    need it too much. You'll need it more than air. And when it's done,
    I'll come back to you. And you can help me stop."

    "Who will help me?"

    "That's why I came to you. I don't know anyone else strong enough to
    do it. Goodbye, Mulder. Sleep now. I'll see you in two nights."

    ----------------------------

    Monday, 12:10 a.m.

    "I don't know where to start." Skinner shook his head, consternation
    warring with frustration. "Did you stick your finger in the light
    socket when you were a kid?"

    Mulder didn't open his eyes, but his lips quirked at the corner. "As
    a matter of fact . . ."

    "What the hell were you thinking?"

    "Look, I was stupid. I was really stupid. I don't need you to tell
    me that." Skinner wasn't the only one feeling frustrated from the
    sound of it. "I . . Christ. It was going to be like high heels and
    bondage - a little kinky and no harm done."

    "You mean she didn't cut your throat last time so try it again?"
    Skinner half lifted himself off Mulder's body, then stopped as a
    long shudder ran through the man on the bed. Sweat gleamed on his
    forehead, darkening the hair at his temples. "It's not going away is
    it?"

    "Jesus fucking Christ you have no idea." The groan was low, grinding
    from deep in his chest.

    "Two nights. So what happens if you don't get dinner tonight?"

    "No dessert?" Mulder's expression belied the words light tone. "I
    don't know. I don't. But she was so sure .. ."

    The handcuff chains snapped taut against the brass again. Mulder's
    body arched high, then down and Skinner knew what was coming the
    instant before it hit, rolled off of him and to the side before the
    long legs could wrap around him, trap him. "Shit!"

    "Damn it get out of here!" A hoarse snarl even as those legs came at
    him, trying to wrap around his shoulders and drag him in. Mulder was
    yanking the cuffs, using them for leverage. His blood stained the metal.

    "Mulder!" Skinner let reflex take him over, reacted instead of
    planned. Shouting as he threw himself back across Mulder's legs,
    lying flat and solid to pin him down.

    There wasn't any banter this time, no answer, just panting and
    thrashing as the other man tried to throw him off, tried to get a
    grip on him. Walter Skinner thanked God and Joe Wieder that he
    outweighed the bastard. The hunger or whatever it was that was
    fueling Mulder was potent, but not enough to keep up that kind of
    frenzy for long. The clatter of steel on brass rang as Mulder fought
    the cuffs. He was bucking, wild, under Skinner's weight, hips
    thrusting up, trying to dislodge the larger man.

    Skinner panted, braced himself up to bear down on Mulder's wrists,
    keeping him from tearing them worse on the handcuff bracelets.
    "Jesus. Are you done?"

    "Oooh." A hoarse groan answered him. "This redefines late night
    snack attacks."

    Hard not to chuckle, even with his hands sticky with blood from
    where the cuffs had cut Mulder's skin. "I have some leftovers."

    "No. No, that's okay." Mulder shook his head, eyes still shut tight.
    "I've had enough adventure."

    "Vampire hickeys are all right but leftovers are deadly?" Skinner
    managed to keep his tone noncommittal with an effort.

    "It's the idea of you cooking."

    "What did you think I did? Eat junior agents for lunch?" Skinner
    brought his knees up a little, nervous at the solid weight of
    Mulder's thighs between his legs, Mulder's belly and groin under his
    own. The quick thrill of arousal made him shift to get up.

    "Something like - oh! Wait . . ." Mulder gasped, shuddered. "Please
    wait."

    ". . . why?" Skinner's voice almost cracked. The firm swelling of
    Mulder's cock against his own dried the spit in his mouth and left
    the blood singing in his veins. He cleared his throat, trying to get
    something more than glue in his mouth.

    Once Bitten 04 Riopa Send email to Riopa@hotmail.com

    A tiny shake of the head, wince as the motion pulled Mulder's hair
    again in Skinner's fist. "No. I don't like to be hurt."

    Skinner ground his cock against Mulder's. "You like this. It feels
    good. Good enough to keep you from wanting to rip out my throat."

    "I . . . it's been a long time." Skinner could almost hear Mulder
    swallow. Mulder's tongue ran over his lips but they were still dry.
    "Anybody'd be hard."

    He chuckled, but this time knew it wasn't an innocent sound. Mulder
    hadn't even blinked, totally intent. "You got laid this weekend. But
    then you came to me."

    "Scully wouldn't believe me."

    "She would have gotten you help." Skinner worked up and down, heat
    spreading throughout his body, settling into one of those deep,
    heady arousals instead of the quick need to jerk off fast. "It would
    have been enough, restraints and a hospital. Instead you came to me."

    "Hospital. It would have been terrible. I wouldn't have been able to
    . . ."

    "You think you'd have broken the restraints?" Skinner let go of his
    hair and slid his hands up Mulder's forearms to close lightly around
    his wrists. "You came here and let me chain you to my bed, Mulder.
    What did you think would happen?"

    "I don't know!" The words were half-wailed and utterly honest.

    Skinner drew back, kneeling to sit on top of Mulder's hips, feeling
    Mulder's erection pressing denim up against his butt. "Why did you
    think I would help you? What made you think I could?"

    Mulder stared at him, lips parted on words that wouldn't come, or
    maybe that didn't exist. Skinner leaned forward over him, holding
    himself above Fox Mulder's body, seeing that face in a tunnel vision
    that narrowed his world to this instant, to this man. "You're in my
    home, Mulder. On my bed. Chained. Why did you come to me? Is this
    what you wanted?"

    A shuddering groan answered him and Mulder turned his face away
    suddenly, burying it against his arm. This time though, Skinner
    knew, he wasn't trying to draw blood. Mulder's jaw was clenched. He
    could feel the tension through hot skin when he cupped Mulder's
    cheek and drew the other man's face back to look at him. "You had
    choices. You chose to come to me. I want to know why."

    "Just hit me!" The words were spat back at him. "I didn't come here
    to spill my guts. I thought you could stop me. I need . . . I need
    something. Something else that . . . hit me. Please."

    "You've never been the one to give orders where I'm concerned,
    Mulder." Skinner kept his voice calm and level, but could see the
    quick blink and fleeting alarm in Mulder's face. "You're hard to
    control but right now, you are under control. My control."

    "Help me." Mulder whispered it. "It's driving me crazy. Every time
    your heart beats, every time you breathe. I can feel your pulse."

    "Can you feel it here?" Grinding his hips against Mulder's, his cock
    rubbing along the length of Mulder's firm erection, with only thin
    cloth between them.

    The groan that answered him was long and rich, full of need. Very
    familiar need that came from Mulder's spine and balls, need that
    blood wouldn't satisfy. "Can you feel the blood in my cock, Mulder?"

    "ohgodohgodohgod . . . " Somewhere between profane and prayer.

    "Why did you come to me?" Softly, gently, kindly. Skinner ran two
    fingers under the other man's jaw tilting his face up. "Don't hide
    from me. Don't hide anymore. Why did you come to me?"

    The silence hung between them. Far away, miles, light-years, traffic
    hummed and the outside world went on. Here, Mulder was warm and
    solid and real between his knees. And in the quiet, even a whisper
    was loud. "I knew you would help me."

    "Why did you let Kristen get near you, Mulder?" Skinner's own
    erection faded a little, not so urgent, quieting to a simmering
    want. "Why do you let so many people get so close to you? Why do you
    let them hurt you?"

    "I don't want them to." Mulder's eyes were bright, and his voice
    shook the barest hint with the effort of control.

    "You let me chain you. You wanted me to."

    "You're safe."

    Skinner let the ambiguous words slide away before he continued. "You
    chose to come here and you chose to stay. What do you want me to do
    for you now?"

    "I want you to help me!" Bafflement and the edge of fear rang in the
    empty spaces of the apartment.

    "You want me to decide what to do?" Ambiguity of his own. "I don't
    ask you what you want very often, Mulder. I tell you what to do. I
    tell you how it stands. Is that what you wanted tonight, too?"

    Mulder didn't nod and didn't shake his head. He wasn't still so much
    as caught between equal forces. The tension of them showed in the
    play of shifting expression, shifting strain. "I just wanted you to
    help me."

    "How? I can't undo what you've done."

    "Keep me here. Keep me sane and safe until the light." Uncertain
    words, not as calm as they should be, not as sure.

    "How can I keep you sane? That's your choice." Skinner rocked back
    the slightest bit, letting his weight settle more heavily on
    Mulder's crotch. "Like this? Does this help you?"

    "No. Yes. Blinding . . ." The effort to find words was visible.
    Mulder focused on his face. "What will you do?"

    "What will I do? I'll wait for you to make a choice. And then I'll
    do what I always do with you."

    "What do you do? What choice?"

    Skinner leaned forward again, and long practice kept his face
    utterly neutral, totally calm. "Mulder, I lead people. I have led
    them for years. Leading them means you have to let them do their
    jobs, you can't do it for them."

    "What are you talking about? You never talk to me like this . . ."
    trailing off in nervous almost-words, almost-quiet.

    "What would I say to you? You let other people make your choices,
    Mulder."

    "Bullshit!" Firm again. Skinner smiled sadly.

    "Is it? You went into the Bureau because of your sister and your
    father. You said so yourself. You let us give you a partner. You let
    what happened to her control your course."

    "I solved crimes! I'm looking for the reasons!"

    "You let what happened to others define your whole life. And you let
    Kristen define you too, or close to it."

    "Bullshit! I don't want this! I'm here because I don't want this."
    Dark anger marred Mulder's face, but something else was there too.

    "You chose to go with her. You chose to let her do this to you."
    Skinner traced his finger over the cuts on Mulder's throat. "You
    might not have known all the consequences, but we almost never do
    for the choices we make. You let your dick think for you and she
    used that. You let her take you over. And then you came to me. Why?"

    "I told you." Mulder seemed almost to be pleading. "You believe me."

    "I believe you let me decide for you too. You have for years. And
    you came here to let me do it again."

    There wasn't any answer. Ideas flickered in the expressions of
    Mulder's face, but nothing settled, nothing firmed. Skinner watched
    him and let him work through them until some strange mix of
    not-peace, but balance held him. "You're going to have to decide
    now, Mulder. I won't make your choices for you."

    "What are you going to do?"

    "You're going to decide." Skinner got up and walked to the door.
    "I'm going to get the keys to the handcuffs. If you can tell me what
    you want me to do, then I'll do it. If you can't, then I'll let you
    go and you'll leave here."

    "I'll kill someone!" Explosive fear almost let Mulder sit up,
    muscles suddenly rigid with dread.

    "No. You won't. You're stronger than that."

    "You don't know what this is like!"

    "I know you only have a few hours and there aren't many people out
    on the streets at this time of night to tempt you. I know you didn't
    kill anyone in the hours before you came here. And you didn't kill
    me although you could have and you wanted to. You're not that weak,
    Mulder. And you have a choice to make." Skinner left the
    conversation hanging and walked into his office. The desk light hung
    hauntingly warm in the gloom. He looked up, out the window behind
    the desk to the sporadic lights that even at this hour spangled
    Northern Virginia.

    His heart was hammering in his chest and his fingers were so
    slippery with sweat he couldn't pick up the handcuff keys on his
    desk. He wondered if Mulder could hear it, wondered if Mulder had
    known how terrified he was sitting astride trim hips, holding that
    body between his knees. Wondered how Mulder had not heard it in his
    voice, increasing with every question, every chance for an answer
    that he wasn't sure he wanted to hear. He'd told Mulder not to hide
    anymore. Maybe. He wondered, really wondered, which of them he'd
    spoken to.

    The key burned in his hand when he walked back down the hall. Carpet
    muffled his steps obscenely, hid the hesitation that would have
    sounded on a bare, honest floor. Mulder blinked against the light
    when he looked towards Skinner. The glimmer of red, the glimmer of
    black, warred in his eyes. "You scare me."

    The words gave him his direction. He was grateful for an instant,
    then steeled his face. "No. You scare yourself."

    "Why are you doing this?"

    "Because it's a choice you need to make. I can't make it for you."
    Skinner leaned over and grabbed one bracelet, but Mulder's fingers
    were in the way.

    "If you set me free, I'll kill someone. Please."

    Skinner paused and looked at him. "If I set you free you're afraid
    that you'll kill someone. But Mulder, you've always been able to do
    that. Kristen needs you to become a killer to do what she wants. You
    let your sister and the rest shape who you are today, but you fought
    her when you came to me. If I set you free you'll just find another
    way to fight. I won't chain you just so that you don't have to make
    that decision. I can't. I can't make that decision for you."

    "Why are you doing this?" Pleading, urgent words.

    Skinner brushed his fingers aside. "I told you. Because you've
    already made the decision not to kill. What you're doing isn't about
    that anymore. It's about letting someone else make your decisions
    for you again."

    ". . . and what is this supposed to prove?"

    Metal snicked as the one cuff opened and fell away from Mulder's
    wrist. Mulder jerked, started at the sound. His face was very pale.

    Skinner backed away, keys left on the bed beside Mulder. "It doesn't
    prove a thing, Mulder. It's not a question of evidence. It's a
    question of choice."

    "What choice?" A low, harsh response. "The choice between you
    letting me free to kill or . . . or what?"

    Skinner shook his head. "You're stronger than that. You won't kill
    tonight. Kristen won't get what she wants. You've already made that
    choice. No. This is the choice of whether you stay or not. Whether
    you want me to do what I want to do with you. Whether you admit what
    you want me to do to you."

    Mulder sat up slowly, studying him. Idle fingers massaged first one
    wrist, then the other and he worked his shoulders unconsciously.
    "What do you want to do with me?"

    "What you asked me for."

    "I asked you to help me. I asked you to hit me."

    Skinner lifted his chin, a sharp, short movement. "And you asked me
    to keep pleasuring you."

    The silences didn't get any easier, any more practiced. Mulder's
    eyes reflected the light, unreadable. "Why do you want to? For how
    long? Why me?"

    Letting the smile soften his face was easy. "So many questions. You
    always have so many questions. My reasons are my own, Mulder. So are
    my choices. What is your choice?"

    Mulder's hands hung limply between his thighs now as he studied
    Skinner. "I want to rip your throat out more than I can tell you. I
    want to taste the copper and salt I can smell. I want to eat you alive."

    "But you're not. And you won't. What else do you want?"

    Maybe Mulder held his breath. Skinner knew he was holding his own,
    trying not to think or feel or move. Waiting. Trying to become the
    wait as Mulder sat there and stared back. The only thing that moved
    was the read out of the clock by the bed and Skinner didn't want to
    know what it said. Time stood still for him.

    Until Mulder lay back down, reached over his head, and quietly
    clasped the metal around his wrists again. "I want to stay. I want
    you to help me through this."

    "Then I will. It doesn't keep you from having choices."

    "What?" Nothing else, nothing given away this time.

    Skinner moved up by the bed and stood there, tall, over Fox Mulder.
    Tensed under changeable eyes that, like the voice and the words, now
    gave nothing away. "You will always have a choice. The choice is
    between whether I continue or whether I stop. The first time you
    tell me to stop, I will."

    Mulder's expression was ambiguous, changing too fast to read now.
    Skinner watched it until it finally settled into something that
    might have been defiance or might not. "And?"

    "The minute you tell me to stop I will. And I will set you free. And
    that will be it. I'll never say another word about it." Knowing that
    if Mulder told him to stop, he would never be able to bring himself
    to this point again. Easy promise to keep.

    Mulder nodded slowly, uneasily, but did not ask him to stop. "I
    agree. I want you to help me."

    Skinner mounted him like he'd mount a horse, throwing one leg over
    his body and shifting to sit across Mulder's hips, ribs held between
    his knees and ass squarely seated on Mulder's erection. "You came to
    me to help control you, Mulder. I'll control you. As long as you
    don't tell me to stop, I'll control you."

    The mindless thrust of the hips under his told him how hard those
    words hit. Mulder blinked, face shifting between apprehension and
    lust and relief. "I'm still hungry."

    "This pulls you away from it, doesn't it?" He barely needed the nod
    Mulder gave. Skinner rolled his hips, then leaned forward onto
    locked arms and stretched his legs back to press his erection
    against Mulder's. He could wait, but he wanted to feel it. Mulder
    felt it too, in so many ways. He could see it in the easing of the
    long face, the shift from one kind of need to another, one hunger to
    another.

    "It's . . . it's teasing and I can feel it in every inch."

    The words sparked him past wanting to stop, past wanting to wait or
    question or stop. "You will feel it in every inch. Oh, you'll feel
    it, Mulder."

    Not quite certain eyes met his. They were deep and dark, but not
    red. No, not red. "I want . . ."

    "More. I know." Skinner half raised himself, looking down. "I know.
    I won't hurt you. But I will make you feel, Mulder."

    Scarlet flushed across Mulder's cheekbones, stark against pale skin.
    "Fuck me. Please fuck me."

    The words shocked hot and cold over him, colder than he'd believed.
    Skinner knelt back, studying his face, fingers resting lightly on
    the buttons of Mulder's jeans. Something chilled deep inside him,
    something distant and calm. "Then you tell me. Tell me again. What
    did you want me to do? Why did you come to me? Were you desperate?
    Is this a new twist on the mercy fuck, Mulder? You beg to be fucked
    out of pity?"

    "Shit!" Mulder's Adam's apple ridged as he threw back his head. He
    brought his chin down fast to stare back into Skinner's eyes. "Shit.
    No. Yes, you're teasing me. I told you already what you asked! Yes,
    it feels good. So good - I want you to grind the hunger back into a
    corner and make it melt away but . . . but that's not it. That's not
    all of it."

    He knew what was curdling inside him. Knew what he'd felt in the
    study. Pride and icy loneliness knotted themselves in his gut. "I'll
    help you, Mulder. And it felt damn good. But I don't do mercy fucks.
    You want me to fuck you, that's another choice and it's one you need
    to make. Right now. Out loud."

    The struggle to think was clear in Mulder's face, the wheels more
    visible than they'd ever been in the years Skinner had known him.
    Honesty finally won past it all. "It's not just a mercy fuck."

    And suddenly it was Skinner who felt the burn of hunger and anger
    and need. He pounced again, on all fours looking down, spitting
    words so fast and hard he could see Mulder's flinch. "My job wasn't
    the only thing I didn't tell Sharon about. I want to fuck you right
    now so hard it hurts but I will be damned, blue balls and all if I
    rape you because it's better than being hurt and better than wanting
    to tear out my throat. Because that's what it is, Mulder. It's
    duress. Coercion. It's rape."

    Full lips trembled, then firmed. "Yes. That's rape. But if you . . .
    if you fuck me now, it won't be rape. Because that's not all it is.
    You're not a mercy fuck."

    It wilted his anger, if not his need. "Then what is it, Mulder? You
    screwed some of the best looking women in the Bureau. Hell, I'm sure
    you've screwed Scully, too."

    The grin that flickered for an instant was a joy, resurrected from
    the daylight world. "That would violate proper policy."

    Skinner shook his head at the evasion. "So what other rules did you
    break?"

    The grin quelled. Mulder's voice was whispery, not hestitant but
    dragged from somewhere deep inside a need for secrecy, a need to
    hide. "So I didn't just screw the best looking women. I screw
    vampires. What makes you think men are too outre?"

    He thought he'd forgotten how to laugh but Mulder demanded the
    laugh, demanded the memory of a life beyond desperate need and fear.
    "Vampires and men. What haven't you screwed?"

    The solemn expression was belied by suddenly gleaming eyes. "I can
    tell you in all honesty that I have never had wet dreams about
    livestock."

    "Shit!" The word burst out on a short, frantic laugh. Skinner knelt
    back, feeling that curdled, icy knot of pride and hurt melt away.

    Mulder's face was still pulled tight with need but it wasn't so
    lost. "Have you made up your mind? You've got a choice too. Fuck me
    or shoot me, sir. But I need one or the other soon."

    He'd undone the top button of Mulder's jeans before he was even
    aware he'd decided. "No jokes about shooting blanks, Mulder."

    A groan and a gentle upthrust of hips to meet his hands answered
    that. Skinner fumbled open the other buttons, pushing them through
    the button holes until he could pull the jeans down off Mulder's
    hips, pull denim and boxers free and down the long thighs, past
    knees to ruck up against ankles that disappeared into clunky, tacky
    running shoes. He tugged at the laces. "I can't believe you wear these."

    A breathless voice answered. "Don't rag on the shoes. At least
    they're not velcro."

    "What's wrong with velcro?" If he hadn't been distracted by pulling
    off one waffle-soled lump of modern engineering he might have known
    better than to ask.

    "Velcro. You think anything human could invent velcro? How can
    anyone doubt we've been infiltrated."

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    Mulder didn't ramble on, but let the idea drop as Skinner turned to
    free his other foot from its prison. Without the shoes, the jeans
    were so easy to pull off of him. Skinner's cock strained at his own
    fly as he stripped Mulder from the waist down. Mulder pulled his
    knees half up, seeming suddenly almost shy under Skinner's eyes. The
    older man let him, just watching as he deliberately pulled his own
    shirt over his head, then unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down
    until he stood naked beside the bed, naked and hugely erect.

    "You see this?" He fingered his own cock. Mulder's eyes were fixed
    on the tip, already beaded with clear pre-cum. He didn't have to say
    the rest. He could see Mulder thinking of how it would feel.
    Instead, he leaned over and unbuttoned the rest of the buttons on
    Mulder's shirt, spreading it back to bare the other man's chest.
    "Smooth," he whispered, trailing a finger across lightly furred
    pectorals. And tweaked a nipple to see Mulder jump, see how it felt
    to him.

    "What do you want? Why are you waiting?"

    Abdominals were solid under warm, beige skin. "It's been a long time
    since I fucked a man, Mulder. I want to do it right."

    "Riding a bicycle." The dry comment belied the shiver that ran over
    Mulder's skin.

    "No. Riding you won't be like riding a bicycle." He smiled at the
    flush that rose in Mulder's cheeks again, and spread down his chest.
    Soft, dark curls tickled, thin just below Mulder's navel but growing
    thick and riotous around the base of a solid, almost purpled cock.
    "The marines do things right."

    Skinner chose not to move fast. He could see how Mulder's eyes
    followed him, see how his attention was riveted. Slightly parted
    lips let show an edge of white teeth, the tip of a pink tongue.
    Skinner bent to pull open a drawer in the nightstand and Mulder's
    eyes flickered, curiosity and anticipation on his face even though
    he couldn't see past his own arm to what was happening beside him.
    The older man found condoms - a string of them - and lube. When he
    tossed them on the bed Mulder jumped, settled back pulling his knees
    up almost instinctively.

    The gesture brought a smile to Skinner's lips. He set a hand on one
    knee and squeezed lightly. Mulder's breathing was still fast, but
    his skin was less pale, flushing softly in the ivory light of the
    lamp. Skinner knelt on the bed and took his ankles, pulling them
    apart and back to either side of his hips, leaving them just bent
    enough to let him see Mulder's ass, spreading them enough to let him
    sit comfortably between Mulder's knees.

    God, but his cock was throbbing now. It had been almost a year since
    Sharon had left. A celibate, mournful year of nights broken only by
    the sound of the television set and his own voice, when the sheets
    smelled only like him, idle masturbation that was sometimes just too
    pointless to bother. Strange and wild to smell another man's
    arousal, the tangy, hot smell of male musk. Skinner cupped his own
    balls, squeezing them and rolling them as he studied Mulder, letting
    his eyes play over the light and dark that defined the shape of the
    man lying before him, shadowed balls and the darker cleft that ran
    between buttocks, the shallow arc of a penis, hay-brown shaft rising
    to the purpling knob of the glans that trembled upright over Fox
    Mulder's belly.

    "Are you still hungry?"

    A short, abrupt nod, definite but distracted. "Please touch me."

    Skinner knelt forward, trailing a finger between Mulder's cheeks and
    finding the pucker of anus, pressing on it with dry fingers, a
    threat of penetration to drive the other man wild. "I'll touch you.
    I'll fill you."

    The moan might have answered the words or the pressure or both.
    Mulder's anus pushed out, then gave way the slightest bit. Skinner
    stopped, took his fingers away. No mistaking the next moan for
    anything but frustration and he chuckled. "It's been a long time,
    Mulder. Let me get used to it again."

    "Since the last time you reamed someone? I know better than that."
    Even hungry for blood or cock Mulder's tone was utterly irreverent.

    The chuckle felt good, and so did Mulder's balls. He squeezed warm,
    soft skin, pinching between the testicles until the scrotum was
    drawn tight. "A long time since I fucked a man. Since I fucked
    anyone, really. But men . . ."

    Strange and familiar to feel the firm, silky skin of Mulder's shaft.
    Hard and soft all at once like satin over wood. Mulder worked his
    hips up and down, sliding his own cock through the fist that grasped
    it. "Should I ask?"

    The A.D. - no. He wasn't an A.D. here or now. He was just Walter
    Skinner, looked back at him. "You always talk during sex?"

    "I always talk during slow sex when my partner can't figure out what
    to do with his dick."

    Skinner smiled, long and wicked. "Pushy. I think I like having you
    handcuffed. I'll bet you're an impatient fuck."

    "I'm a . . . I want something big. Something too big to let me feel
    anything else." Mulder squirmed and it wasn't purely sexual.

    Skinner winced, remembering screams. "All right." He let go of
    Mulder's balls and leaned over to grab the lube. It was cool, wetter
    than water, thick and clear on his fingers. Felt good. Mulder jumped
    when he smoothed it into the crease of his ass, catching his breath.
    "Jesus, that's worse than the doctor's stethoscope!"

    "Friction will warm it up."

    No answer to that. A long hesitation as Skinner sat there, fingers
    between Mulder's cheeks and just let himself feel the anticipation
    in his own balls. It didn't catch him off guard until he looked up
    and into eyes that pooled a vivid, fiery red, a tongue that traced
    full lips and realized how intent Mulder's expression had become.
    Hot anger, perhaps at Kristen, perhaps at the man chained to his bed
    seared and he pushed two fingers through on a glim of lube to feel
    sharp satisfaction as Mulder's stare broke, Mulder's head slammed
    back into the pillow with a groan.

    Skinner twisted his fingers inside the tiny, constricted band of
    Mulder's sphincter and worked them in and out.

    "Ah! Ah! Ah!" Mulder was yanking on the cuffs again but not for pain
    this time, pulling in time to the fingers that fucked his hole.

    "Feel it, Mulder," he growled. A third finger pushing slippery gel
    deep inside and Mulder's anus was grinding his fingers together
    almost painfully, but it felt good too. "I'm going to fuck your
    brains out, Mulder. You don't look at me like your next dinner. You
    remember who's on top of you."

    He wasn't sure of all the places it came from but whatever he was
    feeling had all of Mulder's attention. Hazel eyes - hazel again, and
    dark and human - were wide and fixed on him with sudden apprehension
    as powerful as the anticipation there. Skinner pulled his fingers
    out quickly and reached up to wipe off the slippery lube on the tail
    of Mulder's shirt. "You don't come until I tell you you can come."

    "What?" Startled, Mulder tried to scoot back up the bed.

    Skinner grabbed his knees and pulled him back down. It was hard to
    keep his own arousal out of his voice as he went on. "You got
    yourself fucked and bitten, Mulder. And then you came to me to make
    it better. I've cleaned up your disaster areas for four years now.
    For once you do what I tell you when I tell you."

    Jesus, but he'd been right. Mulder's cock jumped with the words and
    he was breathing faster, totally focused. Skinner casually tore a
    condom off the string of them and started opening the package with
    deliberate care. "No more orders from you. And no more begging. You
    do what I tell you when I tell you and you do not come until I tell
    you you can."

    "What if I do?" It was hard not to laugh at the bravado in the answer.

    Skinner kept his head down and kept rolling the condom onto his own
    erection, afraid he'd lose it if he looked into Mulder's face. "If
    you come before I tell you, then wanting my blood is going to be the
    least thing on your mind, Mulder."

    A catch of the breath and Mulder's squirming was so . . . it was
    making him so hard. He reached out and got a good grip on narrow
    hips, amazed at how big his own hands felt, how far they wrapped
    around Mulder's slender pelvis. His mouth watered and his own cock
    bobbed, electric jolts of arousal running from cock to balls to
    spine. He lifted those hips off the bed and scuffed forward on his
    knees, getting Mulder's ass settled on his thighs until the head of
    his cock nuzzled between those cheeks and one short thrust would
    shove that first inch through Mulder's tiny little hole.

    The eyes watching him were all too human, wide and dilated and
    Mulder's skin was flushed a wonderful rose. Pebbled nipples cast
    tiny shadows on his chest. Skinner bucked his hips a half inch
    forward, not fully penetrating, just letting Mulder feel how hard he
    was, feel the first hint of how he'd be stretched by that cock. A
    quick blink and another as he did it again. "Tell me, Mulder. When
    you fucked men . . . were you on top or on the bottom?"

    Eyes that had flickered from his face to his hands to his belly came
    up to his face and stayed there. "What? Why?"

    This time it wasn't a half inch. Skinner leaned forward, pushing
    relentlessly with his hips and feeling Mulder's sphincter give way
    before him, stretch and the heat as his head slid into that narrow
    channel. Mulder yelped and arched and his anus clamping tight around
    the shaft behind Skinner's glans as half the length of Skinner's
    cock pushed into his ass. "Answer the question. Were you on top or
    bottom?"

    Mulder's swallow was visible. "I was on top."

    Skinner's lips stretched in a smile and he pushed his hips forward
    again, not fast and not slow, just utterly unstoppable. Mulder
    caught his breath in a fast, in-drawn gasp as Skinner's balls
    slapped home against his ass, Skinner's hairy pubes against his
    balls. "You're on the bottom with me. Say it."

    Mulder's knees tightened on his ribs, his ass squirming in Skinner's
    lap. "Fuck me!"

    Oh, sweet. Defiance and arousal in Mulder's face that swamped
    anything else. Skinner flattened his hand and slapped it hard
    against one buttock, no room for a good swing but hard enough.
    Mulder yelped again and bucked, his anus tightening to milk
    Skinner's cock. "Say it."

    "You're the boss." Breathless and excited.

    He slapped the other cheek even as his right hand soothed the hot
    mark of his hand on the other buttock. "Not what I told you."

    A grudging smile that shifted to impossible, pained pleasure as
    Skinner ground his hips forward. "You're on top of me. I'll do what
    you tell me to do."

    "That's right." Skinner lifted the other man's ass and moved slowly
    this time, wanting to let Mulder feel every inch as he pulled half
    out and slid back in, out and in, out and in. Each thrust in got a
    deep, vibrating moan and Mulder worked his shoulders back, trying to
    push his ass forward and onto Skinner's rod.

    Smooth, hot flesh inside Mulder's ass was silky against Skinner's
    cock, impossibly smooth and soft. He groaned and pulled back almost
    the entire length of his cock until he could see how the thick plum
    of his head pushed Mulder's anus out from the inside. He wanted to
    slam all the way in fast and hard but wouldn't let himself do that.
    He looked up at Mulder's face, seeing heavy lidded eyes and white
    teeth that caught at the lower lip now, but did not break the skin.
    "Don't bite your lip."

    Mulder let go fast, then twisted his hips. "Yes sir."

    A quick slap to his butt again, one that stung the skin of Skinner's
    palm and drew a low moan from Mulder's throat. "I didn't ask you. I
    told you. And don't move."

    Mulder went still, butt taut where it rested on Skinner's knees.
    Skinner looked down, enjoying it, the sight of his cock springing
    full and hard, to be taken into Mulder's ass, stretching his anus,
    filling his rectum. His shifted up, lifting and pushing Mulder's
    body back, impaling him slowly on that rigid length. "Tell me how it
    feels inside you."

    "I can't . . ." A quick slap again that had the muscles clenching
    along the length of Skinner's cock. Mulder whimpered softly. "It
    feels so hard. I can feel how you push my ass open every time you
    thrust into me."

    Skinner reached back and grabbed Mulder's legs behind the knees. "I
    want your legs over my shoulders."

    Ankles hooked up and to either side of his neck, knees bent. Skinner
    pushed forward until his shaft was buried to the hilt again in
    Mulder's ass, until Skinner's chest was pressed against the backs of
    Mulder's thighs. All hard muscles on the outside, runner's muscles
    under lightly furred skin, and all silky smooth and hot inside. He
    groaned, pulled half out and pushed in again. Out and in.

    Mulder was twisting under him, head back and hands tight around the
    chains of the handcuffs, using the leverage to fuck himself up and
    down on Skinner's cock. It felt so good, that tight little band of
    muscle that squeezed and squeezed and the deeper, smoother flesh
    clasping his length each time Skinner pushed forward and down into
    Mulder's body.

    Mulder was whimpering now, tossing his head and gasping open mouthed
    for air. Over Skinner's shoulders his legs were pulling, releasing,
    pulling, releasing, pacing Skinner faster and faster with Mulder's
    need, the pace of fucking speeding up. Skinner rolled his hips down
    to angle his cock up, impaling Mulder with a stroke that stabbed in
    at his prostate and Mulder screamed a quick, sharp note. He did it
    again and again, feeling the spasming eager legs that drove his
    pace, telling him how good it felt to Mulder.

    "You want it hard, don't you?"

    "Yes!" Breathless, punctuated with another gasping cry as Skinner
    pushed the head of his cock over that bundle of nerves again.
    "Jesus, yes! Fuck me hard!"

    Slap! "How do you ask?"

    "Please fuck me hard!"

    Slap! "How's a marine ask?"

    "Fuck me hard, sir!"

    "Again! Louder!"

    "Fuck my ass hard, sir!" Mulder couldn't arch with Skinner's weight
    pushing his legs back to his chest but he yanked with those legs and
    his ass clenched sweet and fine. Skinner probed deep, drew out fast
    and slammed in so hard his balls ached. In and out, slapping and it
    wasn't his hand that slapped anymore, it was his balls hitting
    Mulder's ass, his chest against Mulder's thighs with every thrust
    that buried his tool from the tip to the root inside Fox Mulder's
    hot little ass.

    "fuckmefuckmefuckme . . . " Mulder was babbling, moaning and
    panting. His ass milked and clenched and felt too good to believe as
    Skinner fucked into him over and over, back and forth, in and out.

    "That's right, squirm for me. Feel it." God, the long, shuddering
    moan that answered was almost enough to make him come right there.

    Tendons stood stark in Mulder's throat as he groaned.
    "Pleasepleaseplease I wanna come so much let me come let me come . . ."

    "I . . ." Christ. Skinner slammed forward again, in and out, slammed
    in again and each time Mulder cried out and writhed with the
    pain-pleasure-pain of his impalement. Skinner finally knew he
    couldn't wait any longer, wouldn't last much longer and he reached
    around, grabbed the thick, hard tool that was caught between his
    belly and Mulder's.

    "AHhhhhhh!" Mulder almost screamed, came up off of his lap, off of
    the bed and his anus had a stranglehold that set lightning and
    fireworks off behind Skinner's eyes. He came back down, taking
    Skinner's full length and did it again, up and down, spiking his own
    ass so deeply that Skinner's thighs stung with the impact of
    Mulder's back on his legs. Mulder braced his hands, incoherent and
    shoving himself down to push his ass against Skinner's hips,
    impaling himself impossibly deep on Skinner's erection.

    Couldn't believe it felt so good and fireworks and Mulder's cock was
    jumping in his hand, spurting white up over Mulder's chest and
    belly. Skinner slid his hand up and clutched tight just below the
    head, working his thumb back and forth over the little dimple that
    felt so good on his own cock . . .

    . . . so good to have his own cock buried so deep he thought he'd
    shoot cum all the way up Mulder's spine. It felt like he was fucking
    all the way into Mulder's body, filling him up, stretching him tight
    and it was constricting and sweet, impossibly good, lightning
    striking over and over from his balls to his cock as his balls drew
    up and shot semen hard from the tip of his cock, lightning running
    up and down his spine and balling up in his belly as he balled
    Mulder's ass. Shoved up and forward, in and down slamming over and
    over, trying to bury his cock, his balls, hell, his head was going
    to come off and he was coming and coming and coming into Fox
    Mulder's ass and it felt sooooo goooood . . . .

    Thunderclap orgasm faded slowly in his head and he was lying
    sprawled across Mulder's chest, his cock still hard and still
    half-buried in Mulder's anus. God almighty, almost too much when his
    penis was so sensitive. Mulder's chest rose and fell in drumbeat
    breaths under his cheek, slick with sweat that smelled good and
    clean, not like it had before. Sweat and musk and semen. His penis
    was softening, sliding out of Mulder's ass and he felt the groan in
    the chest under his as much as heard it.

    A whispery voice was soft, but loud enough. "Oh god, that felt good."

    "Yeah."

    "What time is it?"

    On the nightstand the clock said it was almost four in the morning.
    A sudden thought put wild, irrational laughter through him, laughter
    that could never be as sweet as orgasm. "Just about two hours to
    dawn, Mulder. We've got time for another long, slow fuck."

    "Oh, god. Give me a minute."

    "You're out of your mind." Skinner pushed himself back and up,
    wobbly on his knees and loving the loose, relaxed feeling in his
    body. "I'll need at least twenty."

    "You have it. Then will you fuck my ass again, sir?"

    He smiled, patting Mulder's thigh. "I thought you had to impale
    vampires through the heart, Mulder. But if spiking your ass is what
    it takes, I'm more than glad to help."

    A wistful, open smile met his. "From dusk until dawn?"

    Something in the words sobered him, pulled him back from the warm,
    clear feeling. He guarded his words, "at least."

    "Not too much longer." Mulder settled back, yawned and then
    squirmed. Even Skinner could hear his stomach growl. Mulder's eyes
    narrowed and his drew in a whistling breath.

    "But long enough to play Vlad the Impaler again?" Skinner fished for
    a real smile, a laugh.

    He got what he'd aimed for. "I think you've got it wrong. You're
    playing Van Helsing tonight."

    Two gentle fingers set alongside Mulder's jaw turned the other man
    to look him square in the eyes. "Take the spike out and they turn
    back into vampires again."

    "Until the light of day." Mulder's laughter dropped away.

    "We all make choices, Mulder. Then the trick is learning to live
    with them."

    "What are you saying?"

    "You weren't the only one who made choices tonight. I knew what I
    chose, and won't change my mind."

    "You're going to have to explain that one." Mulder stared hard into
    his face. "My mind-reading's a little rusty."

    "Good." Skinner laid one hand flat on his belly. Sensuous. Almost
    proprietary. "You came to me. I chose to help. I haven't changed my
    mind yet."

    ". . . what does that -"

    "Shhh." Skinner moved to straddle Mulder's hips again. "Buddhism,
    Mulder. Once you're involved, you're involved for life. So choose
    carefully when you get involved and make sure it's what you want."

    "You are so strange."

    "Look who's talking." Skinner smiled and reached up to pinch
    Mulder's nipples. "But you still don't come until I tell you to."

    A long moan made him shiver, and put the first hint of lust through
    his nerves. Dawn wasn't nearly as far off as it once had seemed.
    _____________________________

    Dawn broke softly, gray waxing to diamond brilliance as it played
    down the wall's surface.

    Walter Skinner sat up slowly, watching it creep closer to them.
    Mulder turned uncomfortably in exhausted sleep, chains jangling
    dully. As the light brightened, his face flushed. Even just sitting
    next to him Skinner could feel the fever starting to rise.

    The light reached them in minutes, and struck jeweled fire in the
    sudden beads of sweat on Mulder's face. He startled and grunted,
    opening his eyes then squeezing them shut against violent light. A
    groan of pain and he turned his face away but morning speared him as
    relentlessly as Skinner had the night before. And a great deal less
    pleasantly to judge by his expression.

    Not pleasant. But not agony either. Mulder grimaced then startled
    again, eyes flying open, "shit! Shit!"

    Skinner reached out and smoothed back hair already clumping with
    moisture. "What is it?"

    "I need to call in sick. Oh crap! I need to get out of here! I need
    to tell Scully and you . . ."

    "Shh." Skinner's finger on his lips stilled them. "I've already
    called in for me. I told Kim I was taking a personal day. And yes,
    I'll get the phone for you to call in for Scully."

    "That's not it! That's not all of it. I'll tell Scully but tonight
    she'll come for me." His eyes were wide, with that same desperate
    expression Skinner had seen the night before. Forever ago.

    He smiled, suddenly calm. "And what will she find? You might have a
    fever, Mulder but you're not going up in a puff of smoke."

    "I . . . She'll . . . " He swallowed, stopped.

    "I agree. She'll be at your apartment tonight. But so will we."

    "?"

    "You're staying here today. You need to sweat this out and I don't
    plan to leave you alone."

    "But what about -"

    Skinner cut him off. "I told you, I made a choice. You and I will
    both be there tonight. I'm not Scully, Mulder. You don't need to
    convince me she's real. Maybe she's a vampire, maybe not. But
    whatever she is, you won't be alone. We dealt with last night
    together. And that's how we'll deal with Kristen tonight. Together."

    Mulder stared at him long and hard, sweat rolling down his face and
    making him blink. It took a long time but his face slowly opened up
    into an expression of blank wonder, then even more slowly, relief.
    And, somewhere at the back of his eyes, maybe something else.
    Something more. Skinner didn't know. But he did know for damn sure
    that whatever came with the night, Mulder wouldn't be facing it alone.

     

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------

     

    30 Nov 98

    Once Bitten II: Twice Shy
    livengoo, email livengoo@tiac.net <mailto:livengoo@tiac.net>
    Well, after all that I couldn't just kick them out and send them
    home. Here's the morning after and Twice Shy. If you haven't read
    Once Bitten in a while I suggest you go read it first - this one
    picks up where Once Bitten leaves off.
    All characters property Fox and 1013. No intent to infringe, no
    profit gained.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Fox Mulder lay quietly and concentrated on breathing slowly and
    evenly. In the bright dark of sunlight through closed eyelids, his
    mind raced in frantic circles.

    The soft, scuffing sound of footsteps on carpet sent a shiver
    through his body. As the cool of a shadow fell across him he wanted
    to tense and fought to keep his breathing deep, counting the seconds
    of each breath to make them the same length. Just like being asleep.
    He looked just like he was asleep. Please, let him look just like
    that . . .

    Maybe he did and maybe he didn't but the footsteps scuffed away
    again. The scent of a man's skin still lingered in the air, mingled
    with the scents of semen and male musk. Mulder shivered again at the
    smell and his asshole tightened. The ache in his ass nearly shook
    him loose from his mimicry but he was used to holding still, long
    used to seeming other than he was. Still and all, he had always
    known the difference between seeming and being and his current,
    peaceful seeming did nothing to make him FEEL calm.

    Cloth was rustling, wood riffing over carpet as doors opened and
    shut. A drawer hushed and hushed again. Open and shut. In and out.
    Mulder trembled and his ass tightened again at the words, at
    remembered sensations and the dull, oddly pleasant burning ache of
    his anus, his rectum. Trying not to think of it and not able not to
    think of . . . say it. The shower hissed in the bathroom and he
    opened his eyes. Say it, he thought to himself. He fucked me. I
    begged him to fuck me. Twice.

    The bathroom door was mostly shut, steam wafting out of the narrow
    space between door and jamb. Mulder sat up slowly, wincing at the
    not-dull, not-pleasant ache in his wrists. He stared down at his
    hands a moment, thoughts chasing each other at blinding speed with
    no success. No finish line and no winners in that race. His hands
    twitched as he thought, bruises showing purplish black beyond the
    white gauze. No handcuffs. He glanced up, almost startled by the
    thought. They were carelessly draped on the nightstand. He didn't
    even remember Skinner taking them off but there they were.

    And his pants. Mulder glanced around and saw them and his shirt,
    neatly folded in a small pile on the heavy, leather chair in the
    corner. Didn't remember him taking his shirt off any more than he
    remembered Skinner taking the cuffs off. Or folding them. Christ. No
    wonder the A.D.'s office always looked tidy. For a second Mulder's
    agile mind went blank. Skinner. Skinner's office. Talking. To. . . .

    Skinner. His ass pulled in that goddamn, aching twitch again, like
    he wouldn't remember how it had felt to have Skinner sliding in and
    out and . . . and heard the water go off.

    Fox Mulder was not a coward. He'd looked things in the eye that
    would send most men or women screaming and while he'd never claim he
    hadn't blinked, he could honestly say there weren't many things that
    had sent him running with his proverbial tail between his legs. The
    thought of what the hell to say to Walter Sergei Skinner the night
    after nearly ripping his throat out and then letting same Walter
    Sergei Skinner cuff him to the bed and then begging him to . . .

    Mulder wasn't a coward but he grabbed his pants and his shoes and
    headed towards the door. "Christchristchrist," he was slow. Trying
    to pull on his pants on the move wasn't going to work. He stopped in
    the living room and yanked his shirt on, forget the buttons, grabbed
    his pants and shoved a foot through wondering why his heart was
    pounding like a jackhammer and knowing that he would never know what
    to say to Skinner. He needed time, needed to think about what to
    say, maybe he could send Scully to Skinner's office 'til the bastard
    took early retirement like any smart fed and oh crap! Fell over on
    his ass off balance with one leg in his jeans and looked up to see
    Walter Sergei fucking enormous Skinner standing in the hall stark
    naked watching him with absolutely no expression on his face at all.

    Mulder's heart stopped.

    His brain stopped chasing its tail, came to a screeching halt and
    backed up fifteen paces. And he was still sitting on his ass with
    one foot tangled somewhere around the knee of one leg of his jeans.
    He tried to swallow but all the spit that had ever been in his mouth
    had dried up and blown away. Skinner eyed him, glanced to the shoes
    tumbled on the floor and back to his face. "I'm going to make
    coffee. You want yours black or with cream?"

    "Black," he managed. No stammering thank god. Six foot long
    intestinal flukes. Werewolves. Telekinetics. Ghosts. Vampire
    wannabes and vampire probably were's. Okay. And coffee from the guy
    he'd attacked and who'd fucked him silly. Mulder got up slowly,
    using the still-overturned couch to lever himself off the floor.
    Leaning against it he actually succeeded at getting both legs into
    his blue jeans and pulling them up his thighs and over his hips.

    Somewhere a coffee maker started to burble and the wonderful smell
    of the really good stuff seeped out to catch his attention and jump
    start his brain again. Mulder groaned, trying to twist his hands
    back enough to fasten the buttons on his jeans. Christ, but the
    bruises and pressure cuts all flared and his fingers didn't want to
    move. He must have been out of it. Total tunnel vision because all
    of a sudden two bare feet were standing in front of him and a big,
    square pair of hands had brushed his own hands back. His heart
    stopped. Again. And his brain stopped. Again. The hands started
    fastening his jeans, one button at a time. He could feel it, hands
    that weren't his at his fly, fingers not obviously pressing into his
    cock but totally impossible to ignore. His dick wasn't ignoring
    them, that was certain. It twitched, throbbed, firmed at each casual
    brush of skin that wasn't his against it. No ignoring it.

    Mulder lifted his head slowly, almost as if he had to think of every
    muscle to move independently in order to raise his eyes. But he did
    it. He looked up, gaze traveling up over bare skin, unable to look
    away from any of it. Not from the flaccid but very respectable
    penis. His sphincter clenched so hard he had to muffle a gasp. Water
    glittered in dark pubic hair. Mulder watched one drop slide down a
    single hair, growing heavier and fuller until Skinner shifted, and
    it ran down the soft, umber skin of his cock. Mulder swallowed hard
    and lifted his eyes, almost hypnotized by abs that were just defined
    enough, trying not to notice the hair on pecs that were solid but
    not over-built. Nipples as dark as the skin of his cock. God, but
    Skinner's fingers were pressing his own penis back as they buttoned
    another button. Muscles flickered and tensed in the jawline. The few
    inches to those eyes were harder than Mulder had ever believed
    possible. He made himself look up. Made himself meet Skinner's eyes.

    Without the glasses they were endless. Dark brown. And cold. Colder
    than such a warm color should ever be. Colder than the blue of
    Scully's quelling stares. Icy. Skinner stared right back and
    buttoned another button.

    "I . . ." Mulder swallowed hard. The word 'dumbstruck' was becoming
    unpleasantly real to him. "I can do that."

    "Bullshit." Skinner's voice was utterly mild, almost uninflected.
    "Even if you could, you won't."

    Mulder bridled. "What does that mean? What the hell does that mean?"

    Skinner's fingers burned at Mulder's waist, pressed against his skin
    as the older man buttoned the top button of his jeans. "You haven't
    told me to stop, Mulder. Come get your coffee."

    The scorch of those fingers left his skin so suddenly Mulder felt
    chilled. Skinner's back rippled with muscle, buttocks tensing with
    each step. Mulder stood slowly, testing suddenly quivery knees and
    wondering why he felt so naked and vulnerable when he was the one
    wearing clothes.

    If the kitchen floor felt cold Skinner didn't seem to notice. Mulder
    thought it might be him, not the floor as the taller man turned and
    handed him a mug of coffee. It was a relief to have the mug to look
    at, hide behind. With both hands wrapped around it he could hold it
    steady and lift it, though he had to bend his head to get a real sip.

    "Your hands are too stiff to tilt the cup, aren't they?"

    Skinner's voice was still horribly mild. Mulder looked up at him,
    into an expression of polite interest and those glacial eyes. He
    blinked, dropped his gaze and found himself staring at Skinner's
    cock. It was not so long when he wasn't erect, but still thick.
    Heavy balls hanging low in soft, brown scrotum. Mulder flicked his
    eyes away and took another sip. "Is your tongue stiff too, Mulder?"

    This time the words weren't mild. Old, sullen habits came back so
    easily. "Yes, my hands are stiff." An answer he might have given as
    a teen and his body's aches suddenly weren't so intrusive.

    It was easier to look Skinner in the face this time, seeing anger
    tightly leashed. Anger was familiar and reflex answered it. "My
    hands are stiff but they'll be fine. Thank you." He turned to set
    down the coffee mug and didn't see the motion until it was too late.

    Skinner's arms were braced on either side of his body and Skinner's
    big, wide chest was pressed against his back. Mulder froze, not
    breathing, not even thinking, caught against the counter with that
    body pressing against his. "I don't like bullshit, Mulder. You and I
    have a deal. Part of that deal is you tell me the truth."

    Something gibbered in the back of his mind. The hot breath on his
    neck shattered his thin control and set his hands shaking, spilling
    the mug. "Shit. Shit. Just get away from me! Get away!"

    The big presence pressing against him was gone just like that.
    Instantly, leaving his back cold, his neck chilled. Then one of
    those blocky, wide hands grabbed his shoulder and spun him, not
    roughly, just irresistibly. Skinner was still close, the length of
    an arm away. Flat, hard eyes watched him from a nerve-wrackingly
    impassive face. "Is this how it usually is with you, Mulder? You
    show up, take what you need then you disappear in the morning? Is
    that what was supposed to happen with her?"

    Mulder locked his hands on the edge of the counter to hide the way
    they trembled. "No. What the hell are you talking about."

    "I'm talking about you." Skinner voice suddenly dropped, so low he
    found himself leaning into them, so low he couldn't read emotion,
    only intensity in the other man's words. "You came here with this
    bullshit vampire story. Fine. Something happened. we dealt with it.
    You and I dealt with it. So you got what you need, did what you
    wanted to do and now it's bright and sunny and you're up and out of
    here like a reluctant date. I don't like bullshit and I don't like
    being yanked around, Mulder. You made a deal with me and I want
    answers."

    The counter was a wall at his back. Mulder moved a half-inch to his
    right, towards the kitchen door. Skinner didn't shift but something
    in his stance stopped Mulder cold, kept him where he was. And deep
    inside, even deeper than his jangling nerves, something watched the
    way that Skinner watched him, added it up. Added more than anger and
    nerves and relief. The piece of him that whistled to the things in
    the dark put together pieces of a puzzle Mulder barely knew he was
    solving. "What makes you think I got what I needed? What do you
    think I need?"

    Skinner's head tilted back, eyes narrowing. "Get the fuck out of my
    house."

    God. The skin seemed drawn tight over the muscles of Skinner's body.
    Mulder didn't drop his gaze, and forced himself not to look at the
    wall or Skinner's ear or any of the other tricks. "What . . . " His
    tongue was dry. "What makes you think that I got what I needed?"

    "Agent Mulder, when I was in the street I didn't let the
    motherfuckers I arrested jerk me around." Skinner's voice had fallen
    into that dangerous calm again. It raised the hair on the back of
    Mulder's neck. "I don't let the cocksucker with the cigarettes fuck
    with me either. And I didn't think you were fucking me over last night."

    Mulder was holding his breath, barely aware he'd stopped breathing
    as he listened to words that dropped like stones between him and the
    man in front of him. Skinner hadn't moved an inch but Mulder felt
    him filling the space in the room, in the whole apartment. Skinner
    opened his mouth to go on and Mulder threw words at him, not quite
    frantic but far from calm. "I wasn't fucking you over. Shit, you saw
    what I was like last night!"

    How the hell could Skinner loom without moving a muscle, without
    moving an inch, a centimeter, closer to him? Mulder wanted to
    cringe, trained reflex bracing to confront a man whose voice he
    hadn't heard in years. Wanted to jerk back, out of reach, and made
    himself stand still even if he couldn't force himself to stand
    upright and look Skinner back in the eyes.

    "What I saw was a distraught, possibly drugged man. What I saw might
    have been what you said it was, too. I was willing to believe that.
    But that's not what I'm seeing this morning."

    "What . . ." His throat was closing up, tongue sticking to the roof
    of his mouth. Mulder forced the words past all that. "I wasn't lying."

    Skinner's moves were deliberate and careful, too slow to startle but
    terrifyingly calm and irrevocable. One hand lifted and closed gently
    like stone over his collar. "I know. You were leaving. No one just
    vanishes on me, Mulder. You don't run out on me. I'm going to help
    you put your shoes on and button your shirt and I will call you a
    cab." Skinner's biceps suddenly bunched, pecs defined sharply and
    Mulder was up on his toes, dragged half off his feet by Walter
    Skinner, pulled up into Skinner's face so close he could smell
    toothpaste and shaving cream. "And then we'll forget this ever
    happened. You don't even try to file a damned X-File on this one.
    You will go back to your little shithole of an office like you were
    never here, and if you ever attempt to use me or weasel a half-inch
    of bureaucratic space with me I will transfer your ass to Arkansas.
    And if you ever breathe a word of this to me, or to anyone else, I
    will break your fucking neck."

    Sweat runneled Mulder's skin, icy down the valley of his spine. "I .
    . ." The words caught in his throat. This close, the tiny, jumping
    flicker of tension under Skinner's eyes was visible. The pinpoint
    contraction of pupils and . . . his knees went to jelly as Skinner
    let him go, let him drop and turned to walk away. "I didn't get what
    I need."

    Skinner stopped cold, sculpture of a man caught tense and elegantly
    poised. Only the play of motion under the skin of his shoulders said
    that he was flesh and blood. A quick, harsh ripple ran down
    Skinner's spine, prelude to the careful flex that half turned him
    where he stood. His iris showed dark in the one eye Mulder could see.

    "I'm scared of what I need." The words hung in the air between them
    before Mulder knew he'd done more than just think them. They were
    sour as bile in his throat, a sickening knot in his stomach as he
    stood and faced Walter Skinner.

    This time the eyes that studied him were not icy, not even
    artificially calm. They were expressionless. Totally unreadable.
    "So. What."

    Fox Mulder almost grinned in rueful appreciation of the technique.
    If he hadn't felt sick as a dog and shaky with more things than he
    could identify he thought he might have been really impressed by
    Skinner's style. Instead he raised a shaky hand and ran awkward
    fingertips through his hair, wincing at his wrist but needing the
    moment it gave him. "I wasn't running out on you."

    Quick, hard steps brought Skinner back so fast that Mulder's skin
    crawled. One arm's length away the big man stopped cold and stared
    at him with that terrible not-expression. "I can get bullshit
    whenever I want it, Mulder. You want to lie to me or yourself, you
    can finish what you started and get your shit out of my home."

    Mulder couldn't breathe. He didn't know what he was feeling but it
    left no room in his chest for breath or words or much of anything
    and it didn't break until Skinner turned his back in a sharp, quick
    motion and stalked out of the tiny kitchen. Mulder shut his eyes
    tight and rubbed at them, bandages rough against his skin.

    He listened until his ears ached but bare feet were silent on the
    thick carpet of the living room, even when the man was as big as
    Skinner. The faint thud of leather on leather thundered, made him
    jump. Mulder gulped against the sick feeling in the pit of his
    stomach, trying to figure out why his nerves were unraveling, why he
    still felt the heat of Skinner's body on his chest, his face.

    The red light over the coffee pot was hypnotic. Mulder poured the
    last of the stuff into his cup, hugging it tightly between his
    clumsy hands, blinking hard. Maybe time would hold still. Fucking
    General Foods moment. He drained half the cup, coffee almost burning
    on his tongue. He couldn't hear Skinner but he'd have sworn he could
    feel him, the warmth of that big body like sunlight from a brick
    wall, the scorch of fury that hummed in the air. Hummed down his
    nerves and tangled in the pit of his stomach. Acid was sour on the
    back of his tongue as he finished the coffee and set the cup down so
    carefully, oh-so-carefully so it didn't make even the tiniest click
    of china on the counter.

    Walter Skinner's body was outlined by the sun, shadowed back to him,
    staring out the glass doors of his balcony at October-gaudy
    Washington. Mulder shivered in shadows that weren't cold, ran his
    swathed hands over his arms and felt no relief through fabric that
    didn't protect. He twitched as Skinner turned to face him. The
    instant's profile was unreadable, expression lost in sun-cut shadow,
    the man a silhouette. Mulder's skin burned under his clothes, flush
    creeping up his belly all the way to his face. Skinner stepped away
    from the window, suddenly visible as he moved from the blinding
    light to walk, grim-faced, towards the man who'd shared his bed the
    night before.

    "You'll need help with your shoes." Edgy, controlled tones like
    Mulder had heard before in the presence of enemies, of smoke tinged
    lies.

    That voice lit a fuse of hot rage at the base of his spine that sang
    in his nerves, his guts, flaring towards his brain. "I don't need
    your help."

    Skinner stopped cold, staring at him. The corner of his mouth
    twitched, stilled before an expression could grow enough to be
    something real.

    Mulder didn't wait for the words, didn't want to hear them. He
    straightened, chin up in the air. The sick, cold knot in his stomach
    couldn't quench the heat of anger and. . . something else, growing
    in his chest. Something he didn't want to name or own. "I don't need
    your help," he repeated. "I don't need - "

    How could such a big man move so fast? Skinner was across the room
    and into Mulder's space so fast that his caffeine-jangled nerves
    jumped in electric response. He backed up a step and another until
    the backs of his legs hit the bottom of the upturned couch. Almost
    relieved the couch had stopped him as Skinner followed one
    deliberate step at a time. Pale skin looked hard over muscle, hair
    dark at the base of his cock. Mulder's own skin twitched under
    fabric, remembering that skin's warmth, a physical memory of how
    soft a touch could be, and how hard.

    It made the back of his neck prickle to look away from Skinner. Made
    his hands go sweaty-cold to sit down, lose the strength of height,
    the power that being clothed and upright should have given him. He
    grabbed his shoes in clumsy hands and yanked them close, shoving a
    foot in the right sneaker, then reaching for the left. Warm hands
    closed over his, shockingly warm. Mulder looked up from the hands to
    the body crouched in front of his.

    "Don't be stupid." Skinner's voice was too calm, his face still
    unreadable.

    "You want me out of here. Just get away from me." Almost snarling
    the words. Jerking the shoe over his foot and grabbing the laces.

    Skinner let go of his hands, staring into his face. Mulder dropped
    his gaze from narrowed eyes but that stare burned into the top of
    his head as he struggled to bend stiff, gauze-swaddled fingers
    through the deceptively simple motions of tying the laces. Let them
    go in utter frustration to scramble to his feet. Skinner rose
    smoothly, body almost rippling onto his feet. "Hold still. You can't
    button -"

    "Just stop!" Mulder almost shouted the words, wanting to edge
    sideways, back away, furious at being trapped against the couch,
    trapped inside his own skin with whatever was happening here.

    "Shut the fuck up." Skinner's voice was still too-icy-calm but his
    fist had closed on one open side of Mulder's shirt, balling it and
    pulling Fox Mulder close, so close he could feel hot breath against
    his face, feel it on his collar bone, feel his nipples prickle hard
    at the closeness of the body that had ridden his just a few hours
    before.

    Skinner's knuckles rested stony against Mulder's chest. "You can run
    away from me. You can run away from what you and I did last night
    but I live here. I'll let you run away from everything that happened
    but I fucking well won't let you leave me holding the bag in public
    you little shit."

    The words stopped Mulder cold, held the anger and naked nerves in
    his body still. "I wasn't running."

    Skinner knelt fast, not even looking at him anymore. His spine was a
    shallow valley between tense ridges when Mulder looked down at him.
    Fingers knotted his shoes efficiently, brusquely. "I don't want to
    hear any more crap from you, Agent Mulder. You want to get fucked up
    and laid and then cut and run it's your business."

    The older man stood up in that fluid, breathtaking ripple again and
    took the bottom of Mulder's open shirt again, looking into his eyes
    as he buttoned it. "You want to lie to yourself, that's your
    business. Just one thing."

    The feather-touch of fingers teased Mulder's nerves to a jumpy edge.
    He couldn't fight more than one word out and keep it steady. "What?"

    "Last night never happened. You never came here." Skinner's fingers
    were even with his nipples, buttoning steadily and easily even as
    dark, flat eyes held his fixed. "I never want to see you here again."

    Gooseflesh prickled over Mulder's skin as he stared back. Skinner's
    hands were at his collarbone, making his pulse jump when he reached
    up and put his own hands over them, holding them still. "I won't do
    that."

    This time Skinner pulled him almost onto his toes, pulled him close
    and up, held him there for a long, long moment then dropped him.
    Just dropped him and stepped back. His chest rose and fell fast, red
    violent across his cheekbones. "You son of a bitch. Get out, Mulder,
    get out now."

    "And what then?" Mulder balanced forward on his toes. "What then?
    You transfer my ass out of there so no one knows who you are behind
    that cast-iron, marine corps act of yours?"

    "You want to run away, Mulder? You want to play one night stand and
    run in the morning then now's your chance. Get out or I throw your
    ass out that door!"

    "Maybe maybe not!" He couldn't hold still, couldn't stop himself as
    he circled, moving into Skinner's orbit, turning the questions back.
    "You want me out of here so bad? What did you want, Skinner? What do
    you think happened last night?"

    "I think I got taken in by a cheap, little user who I used to
    believe stood for something." Skinner turned to face him. "I don't
    do one night stands, Mulder."

    "Not unless you have to pay for them?" He gritted his teeth to catch
    the words but it was too late. They were out and in the air between
    them already.

    "Get out." He'd never heard such an icy voice. It backed him up,
    sent him back a step and then two. Skinner turned his back and
    walked away. "Get out. When I walk back in here I want you gone."

    Mulder stood still as the other man stalked away. He was trapped
    with his own words, his own actions, hearing what he'd said and
    biting back too late again and again. Heard Skinner's words and all
    the little fights and big ones he'd ever let stand unsettled. As if
    he could always go back, later and later and . . .

    "Why do you always have to be in control of the situation?"

    "What?" Skinner turned, startled. Mulder couldn't blame him - he was
    a little startled himself that he'd followed Skinner into his bedroom.

    "I don't want to leave. I just want time to think." Mulder leaned
    against the door jamb, watching Skinner. The other man seemed
    suddenly self-conscious, standing there pulling up his jeans over
    bare skin. "You're so angry. Too angry. Do you really need to be in
    control of everything that much?"

    Skinner's mouth thinned into a pale line. He shrugged into a shirt
    quickly. "Which word didn't you understand? Get or out?"

    Mulder sucked down a long, deep breath and held it. Let it out
    slowly. "No."

    "This is not a debate and it's not a democracy. You're getting out
    or I'm throwing you out."

    Mulder tensed, but the tone was no longer frigid with anger so much
    as grimly determined. He kept his own tone low, fought to keep it
    level. "Why? So you can have the last word? Hold the field battered
    but triumphant?"

    "Save it for interrogations, Mulder." The growl was almost
    reassuringly normal, in spite of the hard grip that closed around
    his upper arm. "You get what you want. This never happened. You can
    tell yourself whatever you want."

    The younger man stumbled a moment, then dug in his heels. "That's
    not what I want!"

    Skinner rounded on him. "I got up and you were sneaking out like I
    was some goddamn one night stand you picked up in a dive in Middle
    River. Right now I don't care what you want. I want you out of my
    apartment."

    Mulder took a long, deep breath and blew it out in a slow, counted
    exhalation. "I wanted time to think. I needed time to think."

    "I wasn't asking for your fucking hand in marriage, Mulder!"
    Balanced on the balls of his feet, Skinner seemed huge. "But I
    deserve better than the cheap date treatment. I want . . . " He
    trailed off, face almost motionless but betraying so much. Shook his
    head in a quick little snap like he was trying to shed whatever he'd
    been thinking.

    It was a short, precious moment that Mulder could almost feel
    sliding away from him. He grabbed it tight. "I wanted time to figure
    out what to do. To figure out what happened to me and how I felt
    about what happened with you. It was a sleazy thing to do but is
    that so hard to understand?"

    The naked, blunt look that met his words left him feeling small.
    "Why bother, Mulder? Why the hell won't you get out?"

    He could smell the opening, drove at it fast and hard. "You don't
    really want me to leave."

    "Fuck you." Ah, the beetle-browed frown and Mulder almost sighed
    with relief. This he recognized.

    "If you wanted me to go that bad you'd have just kicked me out."
    Holding his breath to see if he'd pushed it too far, said it too
    plain. Softened the edge. "You're not a weak man, sir, or a player.
    And you haven't kicked me out on my ass."

    "I thought that's what we were on the way to do," noted Skinner in a
    wry voice.

    Mulder hesitated, ran the tip of his tongue over the sharp edge of
    his teeth and gambled. "You don't want me to leave any more than I
    want to leave."

    Too far. Shitshitshit too far and too simple and he knew it the
    instant that fist closed around his collar and hauled him up onto
    his toes again, cloth binding under his arms and pulled up around
    his ears. Skinner pulled him close, dragged him up, so close he
    could whisper in his ear. "Mulder, you don't have any idea what I want."

    The edgy nerves erupted into full fledged screaming alert, he'd
    pushed it too far, too glib, too sure he knew where he stood.
    Skinner's breath stirred the fine hairs below his ear, lips brushing
    over his skin, tongue tip burning in what was not a kiss but a
    predatory, teasing taste.

    Mulder's breath hitched in his throat, and Skinner shoved him back
    against the wall of the bedroom.

    "Tell me why you came to me, Mulder. Tell me what you want." Lips
    tickled his earlobe, then teeth fastened on and held, biting just
    until he flinched.

    "I needed help! I knew you'd believe - AH!" as the teeth tightened
    and loosened again. Oh, he was good. Mulder held his breath a
    moment, waited to see if Skinner would change pace on his again.

    Skinner let of his his earlobe, but his lips still touched tender
    flesh, wet and hot. "No lies. I'm tired of lies. If you lie to me,
    I'll punish you."

    Mulder shut his eyes tight, felt the pulse behind them. Fished for
    it. Gave Skinner the opening line. Whispered, "I don't know what the
    fuck you're talking about."

    Lips kissed softly, gently, along his jaw. Skinner paused, chuckled
    softly. It wasn't a reassuring sound. "I don't want you to leave and
    you don't want to leave. Isn't that what you said?"

    In the night he'd been terrified he'd kill Skinner, vampire strength
    breaking the man's bones and resistance. Now he couldn't imagine
    being able to break loose from Skinner's grip. Big, square hands
    held his shoulders to the wall, a smooth-shaven cheek and jaw
    pressed against his and the words that whispered into his soul were
    unreadably soft, "answer me, Mulder."

    "Yes. Yes. That's what I said." Not quite stammering.

    Skinner pulled back, gaze neither cold nor warm, but immovably hard.
    "Do you want to keep your secrets Mulder, or do you want to tell the
    truth?"

    Words, babbly words, nervous ones, hung on the tip of his tongue and
    he throttled them down. "I'm not the only one with secrets."

    Muscles flickered along a heavy jaw, but Mulder caught the briefest
    flicker too, at the corner of Skinner's mouth. "If you want to lie,
    to keep your secrets, you walk out of here right now. If you stay,
    you tell me the truth."

    Mulder narrowed his eyes, fanned the flicker of temper Skinner's
    words set alight. "And you said I was full of shit. Cheap games,
    sir. And a cheap shot if all the truth is on my side and none of it
    on yours."

    The fingers digging into his shoulders let go, one hand lifting
    softly to fondle the earlobe that still ached a little from teeth.
    "You aren't telling me to stop."

    " . . ." He wanted words, wanted their comfort. The silence hung
    between them and Mulder resented the heat in his own cheeks.

    "Do you want to walk out of here, Mulder?" Gentle words with no hint
    of anger, either real or feigned.

    Such a soft, reasonable tone. It rubbed every fey, black cat
    intuition he had. Mulder stared back, long and hard, wondering.
    Wondering when words were games and when they were truth. Traps.
    Shivered at the trap deep inside, the one he'd danced around for
    hours, maybe for years. And told the truth. "I don't know."

    The light kindled in Skinner's eyes. "When you know, you tell me."

    Such simple sounding words. Mulder swallowed, wanted to ask.
    Skinner's finger on his lips saved him, caught and held a dozen
    questions he wanted to ask, a dozen questions he might not want
    answered. The finger pressed closer until he felt it against his
    teeth, hesitated, and flicked the tip of his tongue across the salty
    flesh.

    He shut his eyes against the knowing, confident look on Skinner's
    face. Drew a short, sharp breath full of the scent of another man's
    skin, soap, coffee. A second finger slowly worked itself between his
    lips, cooler than the first. The fingers thrust slowly in and out of
    his mouth and he suckled them, trying to decide. Trying to ignore
    the pulse in his groin, the tingle of nerves and the flame of temper
    and to think.

    A hand kneaded his shoulder. In the dark behind shut lids, Mulder
    felt his eyes twitch. Felt a small frown collect between his brows.
    The wall of the bedroom was cool at his back. He wanted to cross his
    arms but was afraid to let his hands brush the other man's body, to
    know how close he stood. The hand on his shoulder moved up to cup
    the back of his skull.

    The fingers left his mouth, almost startled him as the wet tips drew
    a line up his cheek to weave in his hair. Mulder opened his eyes
    fast, twitched as lips closed over his, a tongue pressing his teeth
    apart and diving into his mouth, thrusting in and out. Skinner
    pulled him away from the wall, tight to his body. The bruising kiss
    went on and on, invading his mouth, arms wrapped around him pressing
    him against a wide chest, the bulge of an erection pressing against
    his own cock, grinding against it. Mulder moaned, half-erect and
    stiffening quickly in answer to an embrace that was half arousal,
    half challenge.

    Coffee and mint and man. He never remembered just exactly how kisses
    tasted, no matter how sure he was that he'd never forget. All those
    flavors and the strongest the sour-sweet taste of curiosity and
    fear. Mulder shivered and leaned into the kiss, brought his hands up
    between them to force the other man away, not sure if he was pushing
    Skinner from him or himself away from Skinner.

    Big, square hands rested at the sides of his neck, hot and rough,
    not the hands of a bureaucrat. Mulder licked his lips, tasting
    Skinner. Looked into his eyes and felt vaguely surprised that he
    didn't have to look up. Wide shoulders and big hands, felt like
    Skinner should be taller but instead he was just tall enough.

    "You wanted to say something?" Wry and a little impatient.

    "What do you get out of this?" Blurted words and Mulder bit his
    tongue much too late. One question too late.

    His face was hot, and flushed deeper as Skinner drew a slow thumb
    over his cheekbones and cupped his chin. "I get what I want."

    Words that set Mulder's back teeth on edge. He frowned. "That's not
    fair."

    Skinner leaned in again, and this time the kiss was soft, lingering,
    a promise and a lure. It drank in his lips and trailed along his jaw
    in a caress even as fingers knotted in his hair and pulled back his
    head. "If you stay you'll find out what I want and what I get. If
    you leave you'll never know what I want."

    The hands dropped away so suddenly his scalp stung and he slumped
    against the wall. Skinner's face was that cool, expressionless mask.
    "Maybe you'll never know what you want, either, Mulder. Do you know
    what you want?"

    " . . .when?"

    The mask cracked for a mere instant, a twitch of lips controlled in
    an instant but Mulder knew it had been there and stood up a little
    straighter. "I want to stay."

    A slow, considered nod as Skinner studied him. "Then strip."

    Blink. "What? No foreplay? No kisses and no more threats?"

    "There's a difference between threats and promises. Strip." The big
    man turned his back, walked to the bedroom window.

    Mulder fingered the buttons Skinner had fastened for him, barely
    feeling them as he looked after the other man, swallowing against
    too many feelings to name. Frustration and pain tightened his
    stomach and ached behind his eyes. "I don't like control games,"
    very softly, not even sure he wanted to be heard.

    Skinner turned, dark and sun-bleached patterns more than a person he
    knew. His voice was cool, smooth, "don't you?"

    The blood was pounding in Mulder's ears. His fingers tightened
    around a button, bandage binding across tendons and skin. Louder,
    harsher, "No. I don't like mind games and I don't like whatever the
    hell you're trying to play on me."

    A slow, controlled blink of brown eyes. Skinner gave a short, sharp
    nod as if he were answering a question neither of them had spoken
    aloud. Ask, "then why are you still here?"

    Curiosity and warmth in that tone. Mulder's stomach did a slow roll
    and he pulled his back a little straighter, muscles tightening
    between his shoulderblades. He flailed a moment, countered. "Why
    haven't you kicked me out like you said?"

    "Good question." Skinner stepped back towards him. Another step and
    he reached out, tugged at the top button Mulder hadn't been able to
    fasten or unfasten. His knuckles, fingers, pressed lightly through
    the fabric of the shirt as he pushed the button back through its
    hole. "But you haven't answered my question, Mulder."

    Mulder chewed at the inside of his cheek, not letting himself look
    away from Skinner's eyes. "You haven't answered mine either."

    One hand closed, warm and heavy, on the back of his neck. Not too
    tight, but cupping the base of his skull. The other traced
    fingertips over his cheekbones, down to rest on his lips. "Ten
    minutes ago I'd have let you leave. Kicked you out. You almost made
    it, Mulder."

    "So why -" A thumb pressd against his lips, stopped the words.

    "No. You want to leave, you do it right now." Skinner held him
    still, waiting.

    Shivery apprehension prickled down his spine at the words, the
    gentle, cool tone. Mulder twitched, tried to move and didn't want
    to, imagined himself brushing past Skinner, down the hall and gone.
    And finally just leaned his head back into the hand holding the back
    of his neck. Shut his eyes and thinned his lips, shaking his head at
    himself. The hand on his neck loosened, shook him gently. "I'm tired
    of playing yo-yo with you Mulder. If you want to leave, do it. I'll
    call a cab. Say it. Now."

    He wouldn't open his eyes. Wouldn't look. "I want my answers."

    Skinner chuckled and the sound was not reassuring but Mulder still
    didn't move. "Then you'll have to pay attention."

    He wanted to shout, lash out, scream instead of giving a soft,
    frustrated sigh. Tensed as if he really could walk away from the
    puzzle and just stop trading secrets with Walter Skinner.

    Maybe.

    Mulder shifted, but instead of walking found himself lifting his
    hands and wasn't sure why. Skinner's fingers flexed against his skin
    and the big man leaned in too close to see. Lips, soft over hard,
    touched Mulder's, too lightly to be called a kiss. The hands left
    his neck, his throat, eased down his arms to his wrists, pinning
    them against the wall at either side of his head. Mulder parted his
    lips in a quick gasp of not-shock, not-surprise and the tip of a
    tongue dove between the lips pressed against his, past teeth to
    explore that mouth. He moaned into the deepening pressure of a kiss
    and tilted his head to let Skinner explore him more deeply, quivered
    at the sudden rush of heat in his head and his groin as the heavier
    man pressed tight against him and ground their bodies together.

    Skinner let go of him so fast Mulder sagged back, slumped
    gracelessly against the wall. He met Skinner's measuring look with
    the practiced, sullen disguise of years. "Now what? What was the
    order? Strip?"

    A quick tightening whitened the bridge of Skinner's nose, the narrow
    line of his lips and he frowned for an instant. His face relaxed
    almost muscle by muscle, unmoving but far from still. Mulder
    couldn't look away, awareness tunneling to the strange, unreadable
    play in the other man's eyes. Skinner's hand lifted slowly, reaching
    to touch Mulder's cheek, trace his cheekbone. He blinked at the
    imminence of the touch, only just stopped the unnecessary flinch. "I
    want to see your body in the light, Mulder. I want you to strip. But
    I'm not ordering you and there aren't any strings. The only one
    binding you is yourself."

    "I thought you weren't playing head games with me." Mulder injected
    the words with all the amused disdain he could summon.

    The fingers on his cheek tensed, then relaxed. "You fight it so
    hard." Skinner pushed another button through its hole, let his
    fingertips rest on Mulder's bared chest.

    "I have no idea what you're talking about." A broad, callused finger
    on his lips stilled the words.

    Skinner pressed the finger a little harder, pushing Mulder's lips
    against his teeth, then drawing it along them to trace the shape of
    Mulder's mouth. "All those lies, Mulder. Who are you lying to? Me?
    Or yourself? Who are you so scared of?"

    Sharp, incandescent temper flared behind Mulder's eyes. "You've got
    no fucking right to talk to me about lies," he grated, pushing his
    weight forward onto the balls of his feet. He was in motion before
    he realized he'd made a mistake.

    Skinner's fingers closed over his forearms above the bandaged
    wrists. Fingers? They felt more like a steel vise. Mulder caught his
    breath at the tension of them, the leashed heat in Skinner's eyes.
    Couldn't think, could barely breathe as Skinner pushed his arms
    behind him and bent him back. Only when the midnight brown eyes left
    his, when lips grazed his throat did Mulder find his voice again.
    Squeaky voice, uncertain and strained from being bent back and held
    there, suspended, but a voice nonetheless. "Let go."

    "I can't read your mind, Mulder." The words whispered against his
    skin, too soft to hold emotion, more frightening for all that. "You
    say you want to go then refuse to leave. Playing games."

    "I want you to let go now," wishing his words weren't shaky, wishing
    he believed himself.

    The lips pressed against his collarbone hesitated. Mulder blinked,
    staring up at the tile of the ceiling. He was bent almost double and
    if Skinner let go he'd fall flat on his ass but falling was the last
    thing he feared. Falling physically, at least. The quick burn of a
    tongue traced his throat back up to flick the tip of his chin and
    suddenly Skinner pulled him up, face to face and pinned him with a
    stare that seemed equal parts anger and control, hunger and
    something else, something Mulder couldn't or wouldn't name. Mulder
    shuddered as lids fell over those eyes, shuttering them, letting him
    go for a mere instant before Skinner's lips pressed against his,
    Skinner's tongue hinting at a deeper, fuller penetration, a memory
    and promise that made Mulder shiver in delight and fear.

    He wanted to protest. He wanted to say no, to snarl anger, tell
    Skinner to get off. He wanted to tell him never to stop. He couldn't
    find words for any of it as the other man crossed his arms behind
    his back and pressed him close and hard with more power than Mulder
    thought he'd felt in a human being. And the lips kept kissing, tiny,
    burning touches that measured his jaw and drew his earlobe between
    teeth that barely closed, barely bit down. And a voice as husky and
    unreadable as those eyes. "Tell me."

    Languid silk as the tip of Skinner's tongue followed the curve of
    his ear, devoured the shape of him, and Mulder let himself relax
    into it, let the words slip from him. "Don't stop."

    A harsh, tickling chuckle rippled the skin of his scalp as Skinner's
    kisses paused over his temple to taste the pulse. Mulder felt his
    own heartbeat under the soft flesh, impossible icy heat of Skinner's
    tongue pressing against fragile skin and bone. That devouring mouth
    left his temple, dropped lightning quick to his mouth and swallowed
    him whole, tongue entering between his teeth and licking silky along
    the roof of his mouth, pressing down on his own tongue, filling him
    and stealing his words.

    Toothpaste and coffee and the indescribable flavor of another
    person's mouth. Another man's mouth. Mulder let the tension bleed
    from the muscles of his jaw, let Skinner plumb his mouth again and
    again, burning with the touch, with the strain of his own body
    arched back and caught by hands that held him taut and shaped to the
    other man's desire. He trembled, flashing between frustation and
    need and fear. A tiny whimper caught in the back of his throat
    before he could stop it. Skinner took the sound from him on the
    lingering withdrawal that left him standing, holding Mulder against
    him, trapped and knotted into the shape of Skinner's making. His
    hands never wavered on Mulder's arms, neck thick, but not strained
    even as he held at least half Mulder's weight from gravity's grasp.

    And one hand suddenly let go. Mulder felt the shift of weight,
    almost staggered when Skinner released his other wrist and looped an
    arm to balance him, hold him upright. Mercurial shifts he couldn't
    read eddied across that wide, carved face as Skinner gently pulled
    Mulder back onto his feet and let go. Backed away a step. Air was a
    cool shock where bodies had pressed so tightly together.

    Adrenaline sang in Mulder's ears, left an empty, dropping feeling in
    his belly that reason could not explain. He threshed through a dozen
    half-formed questions and let each one die unsaid as he tried to
    understand the expression on a face he had thought he knew.

    "Say it." Skinner's voice was suddenly brusque, the A.D.'s voice.
    "Say it out loud."

    "Say what?" Mulder couldn't keep the consternation and irritation
    out of his voice, baffled by the tone of Skinner's order as much as
    the words. The tattered shreds of his anger warmed, steadied him.
    "What do you want out of me?"

    Abruptly he was looking at broad shoulders, a wide, solid back. He
    shivered. waited. Imagined the look of cold distance on Skinner's
    face. His throat felt tight. He had to force words from a raw,
    burning throat. "You're scripting this. What do you need me to say?"

    The pacing man spun, a silhouette against the too-bright windows,
    the low, repetitive sprawl of Washington, D.C.'s suburbs crawling to
    the skyline. Mulder couldn't see the face but the voice wasn't cold
    or calm anymore. Tangled emotions hit him more strongly than the
    words. "This isn't about me. I don't play your games, Mulder. You
    want me to fuck you. You want me to tell you what to do and give you
    the green light then I'll do it. But you have to ask. No vampire
    bullshit, not excuses. Nothing but you and me. Ask."

    He stared, trying to make out that face. Sunlight shone brilliant on
    bare skin, caught in the fringe of hair, and shadowed the face he
    wanted to read. He hesitated, words not quite there.

    Heavy, fast steps and he flinched back, caught his breath as a
    lightning fast hand closed around the back of his neck and lifted,
    held him still, looking up into warning eyes. A look he knew. Caught
    him between sudden fear, desire and a flash of triumph and
    recognition. Shot easy, confident words back now, controlled words.
    Powerful words. "I want you to fuck me. Take me."

    Skinner stooped like a hawk, stopped a hairsbreadth from Mulder's
    lips, holding Mulder still, so close their breath mingled, and sight
    was a meaningless blur. "Liar." A word so soft and intimate that
    Mulder wasn't sure which of them had spoken it. There was no kiss,
    no deliciously brutal contact. Skinner's tongue, incongruously soft,
    slicked his bottom lip, tasted the curve of his upper lip, lingered
    in the cupid's bow. Abandoned him. Skinner's teeth closed
    oh-so-gently over Mulder's lip, pulled just the slightest bit. Let go.

    A nuzzling touch worked over the bristle of Mulder's cheek, found
    the soft place under his ear where the pulse beat close to the
    surface. Words that were read by the motion of lips, the kiss of
    breath in his ear sent a shudder through his frame. "What would you
    do, Mulder . . ."

    He raised his hands, placed them flat against Skinner's chest. Not
    pushing away. Not caressing. Maybe both. Maybe neither. "What are
    you doing, sir?"

    Skinner stood, deliberate slide of muscle against muscle, tendon
    clinging to bone. Lashes against cheek then open again and the hand
    on the back of Mulder's neck was irresistable. Stone. Mulder knelt
    to its pressure, found himself staring at the tented denim of
    Skinner's jeans.

    "Open my fly."

    Mulder caught his breath at the gentle words. "I . . ."

    "All you have to do is say no, Mulder. You say no and I call you a
    cab and you leave."

    "Just say no?" The ghost of a smile on his lips, he looked up
    through his bangs at Skinner. He couldn't turn his face up with the
    hand on the back of his neck.

    "Do it."

    The timbre of the words vibrated strangely through his body, sent
    tingling sensations he wasn't sure he could name, or wanted to name,
    singing along his nerves. Mulder rested the tips of his fingers on
    the denim of Skinner's jeans, skin suddenly preternaturally
    sensitive where it wasn't shrouded by gauze. Slowly, he dragged his
    hands up the length of Skinner's thighs. Each thread seemed
    magnified under the ridges of his fingerpads. Fabric stretched taut
    over Skinner's crotch, his groin, and Mulder felt an answering
    tightness and pulse of hunger racing through his own cock, pushing
    against the cloth of his own jeans. He paused, took a quick breath
    at the hint of tension in the fingers on the back of his neck, and
    fumbled at the top button of Skinner's fly.

    If it had been pitch black Mulder thought he'd have been able to
    read 'Levis" from the tips of his fingers alone. Cool metal through
    tough, rugged fabric and with each button he could feel the tug, the
    snug fit of cloth over hard flesh. With each button the triangle of
    bare skin, dark hair, widened, a wedge from the illusion of
    propriety, of distance, to mouth-watering hunger. His fingers
    trembled, dull ache under the bandages wakened by a racing pulse,
    overwhelmed by the painful-sweet fullness in his own erect cock,
    restraint of his own blue jeans.

    He could hear Skinner breathing. Heavy, even breaths, sighing
    through the man's nose and the sound told him what he would not look
    into Skinner's face to see. A full, darkening erection pressed
    forward into the half-open gap of Skinner's fly, smooth, velvety
    flesh over hard, and each little touch of his fingers brought a tiny
    push forward, so small Skinner might not know he was doing it.
    Mulder licked his lips, shifted forward onto his knees. Leaned
    towards Skinner, that hand heavy on the back of his neck but neither
    pulling him towards the other man, nor holding him back. Salt and
    sweat, and heady male musk was sharp in the air. Softer scents of
    soap. All of it bringing an answering arousal in him. Mulder's mouth
    watered, and he took another deep breath, lashed the fluid-beaded
    tip of Skinner's cock. Teased it and felt a grim smile on his face
    at the sharp gasp the touch brought from Walter Skinner.

    Salty-soapy sharp. Mulder hesitated again, suddenly took Skinner's
    cock so fast that the standing man bucked, pushed forward and
    gasped. Moaned as he sucked hard, drew back and softly drew his
    teeth over sensitive skin. Drew back and away. Skinner growled,
    pulled him forward until the blunt tip of of his rod just touched
    Mulder's lips . . . moved his hips in a slow, stirring motion that
    slid hard flesh over soft, cock over lips. "You want to tease me, Fox?"

    Ah, he had him. Mulder looked up, through his bangs and licked his
    lips. Teased the velvety tip and didn't need to speak. The flush
    across Skinner's cheekbones told him there'd be no more questions,
    no back and forth of things he didn't want to answer, didn't want to
    face.

    Skinner's hand moved on the back of his neck, lightening its touch,
    slowly ruffling into the soft, short hair at the base of his skull
    as Mulder struggled to push the last button free of its buttonhole.
    Ah, the heavy erection finally slipped free of its cloth bounds,
    paradoxically hard and silky soft. Its tip was so close it blurred
    in Mulder's vision, so close he'd have to cross his eyes to see it.

    The hand at the back of his head gently urged him forward and he let
    it, leaned the inch or two closer until he knew Skinner could feel
    his breath and then stopped. Fingers pulled, pressing against his
    scalp until his neck vaguely ached with tension but Mulder held very
    still, snaking only the tip of his tongue to touch silky skin, taste
    the salty-soapy bite of the fluid there. Skinner moaned softly and
    this time Mulder let the fingers pull him closer, parted lips and
    teeth to take the plum-shaped head of Skinner's dick. Ran his tongue
    around it in a swirl that he knew he would have found almost
    painfully good.

    He didn't have the chance to do it again. The thrust that pushed
    Skinner's shaft deeper into his mouth wasn't brutal, but there was
    no resisting it. Mulder braced his hands on Skinner's thighs to
    control the pace and ran his tongue around the hard, silky flesh
    filling his mouth. Smooth and hard, velvet over teak almost
    bruisingly hard against the roof of his mouth and Mulder half gagged
    before he got his hand around the shaft, gentled the thrusts.

    Skinner growled and grabbed his hand, but didn't force his cock in
    any further. The gentle, careful motion felt as if he were teasing
    himself with the feel of palate and tongue. Mulder grazed him with
    the sharp edges of teeth, flicked the opening at the tip with his
    tongue and sucked hard at the groan of pleasure that rewarded him.

    It startled him when the fingers in his hair grabbed and pulled,
    stinging a little and drawing him back. The shiny, wet length of
    cock hung in front of his face when Skinner's let go, almost petting
    his hair, soothing him. "Not yet. I want to enjoy you slowly."

    Mulder shuddered at the words, wondering again why he hadn't run
    when Skinner offered. Knew he wouldn't run now. Maybe couldn't.

    Skinner's hands around his own caught him off guard. Mulder looked
    up into his face. "What?"

    "I'll help you, Mulder, but I'm not going to do this for you." Calm
    eyes, suddenly warmer than they'd been since the sun rose were
    looking into his. The hands on his pulled him up, brought him to his
    feet.

    "Why not?" Bravado felt thin as looked into those eyes. "You're the
    one on top."

    Irritation warred with amusement on the other man's face, tightened
    muscles under the bald scalp. "Is that what you think? I wasn't the
    one making demands last night."

    Mulder swallowed hard. Blinked. And took a deep breath at the sudden
    flare of pure curiosity. "Then what are you doing right now?"

    An edgy, wary look met his question and Skinner's hands went very
    still against his chest. Then knotted in the fabric and ripped it
    open and back so sharply it burned against Mulder's skin. Adrenaline
    spiked and Mulder tried to back up but was trapped by the cloth
    wrapped around him, then backing, stumbling as Skinner pushed him,
    grabbed his shirt again and kept him upright but backing up until
    his knees hit the bed and buckled, spilling across sheets still
    rucked up and smelling of sweat and sex.

    Then Skinner was on him, crouched over him, pinning his shoulders
    like a wrestler. His bare cock ground against Mulder's crotch,
    intent face staring down at him. Mulder froze, watching, gauging the
    reactions and Skinner's motion slowed, his weight rocked back until
    he was no longer pinning Mulder to the mattress, but sitting astride
    him and studying his face. Mulder carefully lifted his hands,
    watching for another sudden move. Skinner shifted, gripped his
    wrists before he could move again but didn't force them back. Mulder
    could have fought the grip on his wrists, considered it, but let
    himself be pinned again as the tension left Skinner as quickly as it
    had come. As the heavier man leaned down and kissed him again,
    softly. Lingeringly. Not grinding against him now, but still working
    his cock against Mulder's. Lowering himself to lie full length along
    Mulder's body.

    The kiss deepened, roughened with desire. Mulder found himself
    thrusting his tongue back into Skinner's mouth eagerly, nervously.
    He moaned softly, arching up to let the bare skin of his chest feel
    the cloth of Skinner's shirt, working his hips to let Skinner's cock
    feel his jeans. The fingers on his wrists flexed, a low hiss of
    pleasure cool in his mouth. Skinner's knee pushed between his thighs
    and Mulder let him spread them apart, relaxed into the kiss at last.

    It was like he'd flipped a switch. The instant he relaxed Skinner
    let go of his wrists and sat back, studying him, face flushed but
    eyes focused. Mulder reached for the erection that sprang from the
    jeans he'd unbuttoned himself, but Skinner batted his hands away.
    "Not until I tell you."

    "I thought you wanted me to ask for it?" Latching on to it,
    intuition telling him it was important. Telling him it was an edge.

    Reason and intuition were nowhere near in agreement when Skinner's
    mouth quirked into a very dour little smile. "You had your chance."

    "What if I say no?" Very softly, gently. Slippery.

    Skinner's face gave nothing away. "If you want to say it then say
    it. Don't screw around with head games."

    He almost made a mistake, almost needled Skinner again and stopped
    himself in the nick of time. Perhaps. The other man read the
    question in his face, he could see it, and could see him bridle and
    tense. Hesitated.

    "Are you saying no? Or are you fucking around?" Skinner's voice was
    low, intent.

    "Does it matter?"

    A sharp little flame kindled in Skinner's eyes but he seemed to
    relax. Tilted his head. "You may find out. Shut your eyes."

    "What?" Mulder hunched himself up on his elbows for what little
    advantage there was in not being flat on his back. "Why?"

    Because you trust me, Mulder." The thick irony brought a wry grin to
    Mulder's face, an answering one to Skinner's.

    "I do?"

    The grin faded into a very narrow, very focused stare. "If you
    didn't trust me, would you still be here."

    Mulder felt his own grin fade into a worried frown. Blinked fast,
    and finally laid back and shut his eyes. He wanted to peek.
    Desperately wanted to peek. And remembered all the men he'd
    questioned, all the women, and the way their lashes fluttered that
    tiny bit to give them that thin slice of vision. Even when Skinner
    got off of him he kept them shut.

    Square hands, solid hands, pushed the shirt back off his shoulders
    and down behind his back. Its sleeves held his arms at his sides,
    trapped in the soft cloth. He shuddered as those hands moved to his
    chest, started a slow, even massage across the muscles of his chest.
    Palms kneaded across the ripple of ribs down his sides and back up
    to circle and tickle at his nipples. The sudden pressure brought a
    moan to his throat, made the pinch and roll of his nipples between
    fingertips a shuddering pleasure that reached from his chest to his
    cock in electric tingles.

    "I want to open my eyes."

    "When I tell you." Calm, relaxed voice. Nails scratched lightly down
    the tender flesh over his breastbone, between his abs to the trail
    of hair that started under his navel. Found the buttons of his jeans
    and pushed them through their button holes leisurely, slowly. Cool
    fingertips dropped shocking little touches onto the warm, stiffening
    flesh of his dick and he squirmed, pushing up against the touch. It
    left his fly, grabbed his hips and pressed them flat.

    "Hold still. I'll tell you when to move."

    "Ah, not fair," Mulder smiled in the dark behind his eyelids.

    "You know what I said about fair." Skinner's voice was still even,
    calm, without anger but without humor too. "Don't move."

    "And if I do?"

    "I'll tie you or you can leave."

    The easy humor fled in an instant. Mulder shivered and frowned.
    Skinner's fingertips dug briefly through the denim, almost painful
    pressure that slowly worked in towards his fly again. He moaned as
    the fabric was pushed back and down. Hands closed around his length,
    squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing. Hard to hold still
    but he did, not wanting to test the strength of the threat of bondage.

    Mulder bucked lightly when the hands let go of his erect member,
    then forced himself still again. Fingernails scraped lightly over
    the smooth skin of his belly, hands tugging the blue jeans down off
    his hips, bunched under his ass then pulled to his thighs. He
    squirmed to help until a light slap on the hip reminded him to be still.

    Rough fabric dragged down over skin sensitized by nerves and he
    moaned softly as Skinner finally pulled both pants and shoes off of
    him, leaving his legs tingling, bare and more naked than he'd
    thought he could feel. Mulder blinked fast, not sure if the motion
    was intentional or not but then lay there in the self-imposed dark
    with the afterimage of Walter Skinner looming over him, dark eyes
    intent. He could feel those eyes on his body, felt his cock twitch
    under the imagined touch of vision.

    The air might have moved, the whisper of feet might have paced
    around him. What he did know was that finally a weight settled on
    the opposite side of the bed and hands settled flat and warm on his
    stomach, fingers barely kneading flesh. Friction tugged the fine
    hairs of his belly and chest as the palms pushed up under his shirt,
    fingertips found and pinched at his nipples. He squirmed, moaned
    softly. "How long?'

    "What?" Skinner's reply sounded distant, distracted.

    "How long will you make me wait?" Mulder gasped at the answering
    pinch, relaxed as the fingers soothed his flesh, circling where they
    had pinched.

    "How long do you think?" He could hear the smile in the answer.

    "You want me to beg?" Mulder grinned, nodded agreeably. "I can do
    that. Cut right to the chase."

    "Maybe." The hands left him, weight shifting off the bed. "Maybe
    not. Stay there. Don't move."

    A sound that had to be a drawer opening, and the rooting-around
    sounds that Mulder knew only too well from trying to find things in
    his desk. Comforting sounds, he mused, very normal. People with
    really organized nightstands would be scary. Not that Skinner
    couldn't be scary himself. The thought put another shiver, a little
    pleasant and a little not, all over Mulder's bared skin.

    "How long do I have to lie here and play dead?"

    "Until I tell you not to. And I don't want to play twenty questions
    with you, Mulder. No more questions, no more comments." The weight
    settled back at his side. "Not unless I hurt you."

    THAT caught Mulder's attention. He'd have opened his eyes but
    fingers touched him, tips on his lids. Not hard, lightly, but
    holding him still with a shuddery sense like a thunderstorm over his
    head. The fingertips traced down over his cheekbones, pressed his
    lips against his teeth and the message was inescapable. Lie still.
    Still.

    The little sound of a tearing package put a shudder down his whole
    body, tightened the muscles in his ass. Made him want to run. Made
    him want to stay. Mulder twitched, raised his hands and the weight
    next to him shifted, straddled his thighs. "Stay still, Mulder. Do
    you want to leave?"

    He swallowed and didn't pretend not to understand. It was hard to
    answer. "I don't know."

    The chuckle that answered him was dry, gentle. "Your nerves have
    shitty timing. Do you need to leave?"

    Mulder hesitated, then slowly reached over his head and grabbed the
    cold brass rails of the headboard, working his fingers and
    tightening his grip. "I don't think I want to leave."

    A hand pressed flat on his chest. Not kneading or playing, just
    flat. There. Solid. "Good." It lifted away and the weight shifted
    back, fingers suddenly wrapped around his cock warm and teasing.
    Mulder moaned softly deep in his throat, more loudly as a condom was
    rolled down over his dick. Surprise and relief warmed him and left
    him tense with desire, giddy with it. Gel was cool through the thin
    latex. Skinner's fingers played at the tip, snapped the condom and
    Mulder jumped, startled and stung. "What the fuck?"

    That low, almost scary laugh again. "How'd you get here, Mulder?"

    "I . . ." He stopped, wondering at it. The weight shifted again
    while he thought, lifted then poised and he gasped at warm contact
    on the tip of his erection, warm and tight as Skinner slid down.

    "Don't open your eyes. Don't move."

    "I'm not fucking made of stone!"

    "You feel like it." Husky voice. "Just hold on tight and keep your
    eyes closed, Mulder."

    Easy and hard and tight and hot. He wanted to look. He squeezed his
    eyes shut and groaned out loud, imagining the look on Skinner's
    face, the big man settling down on top of his dick, taking it in.
    Each inch that slid deeper almost hurt it was so good. So good.

    Skinner's bulk finally dropped onto his hips again, real weight
    instead of just that engulfing heat that left him barely able to
    stay still. Mulder squirmed a little, jumped as a slap stung his
    thigh. Not too hard, just a reminder. Hard-muscled buttocks pressed
    his hips down, ass into the mattress and Mulder gripped the brass
    headboard tighter to keep from just reaching up and grabbing the man
    on top of him, bucking and fucking him from below.

    The weight rocked, shifted, hairy calves gripping his sides.
    Skinner's weight left him, ass moving up and down on the rod of
    Mulder's cock. God, each time the man on top of him dropped and took
    Mulder's length into himself it sent a jolt through Mulder's body,
    ripped up his spine with joy and he wanted to go wild.

    Walter Skinner rode him, scolded, told him what to do and how to
    lie. Still, still still as that ass posted up and down on his dick
    and made him want to scream at the bastard to just hold still and
    let himself be fucked already! Forever and a day before Skinner's
    gasped command let him loose, let him finally have what he wanted.
    "Move, you son of a bitch, fuck me and move!"

    Little green men could have danced on the ceiling and Fox Mulder
    wouldn't have cared. He wanted to move, needed to move, had held it
    as long as he could and now he could finally do it, fucking and
    crying out, hips bucking like crazy to shove his hard dick up into
    an asshole so tight he thought it would squeeze him into a heart
    attack, a climax, a lightning bolt through the top of his head that
    was turning his brain into jelly and sucking him forward, clenching
    and working him right over the top, out of his mind, past caring if
    he was screaming out loud as he came and came and came into that heat.

    He couldn't move. He'd probably never be able to move again in his
    whole fucking life from the way he felt as the last drop of come
    shot out of the tip of his cock. He was arched up, seeking that last
    fraction of heat and depth he could get as the tension let him go,
    orgasm's warmth still keeping his cock hard even as his body melted
    and dropped in a limp heap on the bed. Mulder panted, whimpered
    softly as the man who'd straddled him slowly lifted himself off
    Mulder's body.

    "Very nice." The crisp edge he'd thought Skinner never lost was
    burred with arousal. Mulder risked it and looked, peaked, found he
    was staring at a cock thick and ruddy with arousal. An odd mix of
    selfish joy, guilt and apprehension roiled through him but couldn't
    lift his muscles from languor's grip.

    Skinner saw. Of course he did. Mulder grinned just a hint at the
    raised eyebrows, the long-suffering sigh. "Even when the rules feel
    good you break them. Asshole."

    Oh, he wanted to reply but didn't have the energy. A slow lick of
    his lips was the best he could do. Skinner might or might not have
    read it for what it was. Didn't matter much as the man tore another
    little foil packet, pulled another condom out. This one didn't go on
    Mulder and if he hadn't just crashed back out of an orgasm that left
    his brain stunned he might have tensed. He couldn't muster the will
    to be nervous as Skinner rolled the rubber down over his dick and
    rubbed himself shiny with a thick coat of lube. No surprises when
    the big man pushed his legs back, knelt up and Mulder felt the cold,
    slick tip of that lubricated hard-on nestle against his anus.

    He moaned softly, not sure if he did or didn't want this, if he was
    nervous or relaxed, ready to let it happen or not. Skinner studied
    his face, tip just touching Mulder's ass. It pressed a little, slid
    up and down a little, teased and threatened and promised. Skinner
    had such a thick voice, rough and raspy. "Last chance, Mulder. I am
    going to fuck you hard. Yes or no."

    Not what he expected. He frowned just a little, tightened his legs
    around Skinner's ribs and looked away, but those square-tipped
    fingers grabbed his chin, the cock pressing harder as Skinner leaned
    forward but still did not drive himself down into Mulder's ass. "You
    don't get off the hook, you son of a bitch. Decide."

    Husky, hard words and Mulder stared back, jaw aching from the
    fingers that dug into his skin. "Just fuck me, asshole. Why can't
    you just do it and quit talking?"

    "Answer the question."

    "Yes. YES! Fuck me, Skinner. Do it!"

    "Again." The fingers didn't loosen, cock didn't move from its spot
    not quite entering Mulder's ass.

    Anger narrowed his eyes, warred with the opium pleasure of his
    afterglow. "I, Fox William Mulder, do hereby authorize you, Walter
    SERGEI fucking Skinner to shove your dick up my asshole and fuck me
    stupid. Satis - AH!" The thrust wasn't too fast but it was steady
    and relentless, one deep, slow slide to impalement on a cock that
    felt impossibly long and hard, burning and aching and brutally sweet
    all at once.

    A backthrust brought him arching off the bed when he thought he'd
    never move again and Skinner slammed home into his ass, grinding
    against him before he did it all over again. Mulder let go of the
    brass rails, reached and didn't know what he was reaching for as
    that cock impaled him, burned molten into his senses and left no
    room for thought or fear or anything but a feeling somewhere between
    pain and joy and hungry, flaming need.

    He wasn't ready to get hard again. Not ready for fucking but each
    time Skinner's hard-on hammered into him it raked him with agonizing
    pleasure, pounded the little gland and seared his nerves with heat.
    Mulder twisted and took it, not sure if he liked having or being had.

    He hadn't made up his mind but Skinner's thrusts came faster and
    faster, short and sharp and needy until the man drove himself into
    Mulder's ass, threw his head back and shouted, trembled, muscles
    convulsing in ecstacy Mulder knew from the inside out. Mulder
    shuddered again, tightened his ass then dropped back, unable to
    decide if he could even get hard, unable to decide how he felt as
    Skinner pulled back out, peeled off the condom with shaking fingers
    and threw it at the wastebasket. Sagged down onto the bed, one
    thick, hairy arm across Mulder's belly.

    Sweat cooled, made the arm feel warmer than it already was. Mulder
    lay still now that no one told him to, wondering what he should do.
    What had changed. What he should feel. Shame didn't fit it nor did
    the pure and easy mortification of waking up in his boss's bed. He
    turned his face, found dark eyes that weren't hard or cold any
    longer studying his face. And said the first thing that came to
    mind. "You didn't have to make me beg."

    Skinner's grip tightened across his body, shoulders bulking as he
    scooted up onto one elbow and looked solemnly back. "I didn't."

    "Bullshit. What was all that crap about 'tell me what you want' and
    'decide' if it wasn't making me beg?" He was too tired for moral
    indignation but he couldn't let it go.

    A hand splayed across his ribs. "You let me push you into staying,
    Mulder. You let Kristin push you into this mess. Maybe you let me
    push you onto your back but I damn well didn't make you get fucked.
    I made you decide, that's all. You're going to have to make some
    really big decisions, Mulder and you're going to have to make them
    soon."

    A frown settled between Mulder's brows, ached behind his eyes. "Like
    what?"

    "She'll be back." Warm fingers lifted, feather-touched the wounds on
    his throat. "Or you'll go to her. You'll need to ask for help."

    A snort of disbelief down his nose. "So making me beg to get fucked
    will help?"

    "I didn't ask you to beg, Mulder. I asked you to decide whether
    you'd stay, and to decide if you wanted me to fuck you. For once you
    didn't let me or anybody decide for you. And maybe, when you have to
    decide if you want to live and have to decide to ask for my help,
    maybe this time you'll be able to."

    Mulder stared back at him, lips parted, words jumbling up in his
    head. He wanted to answer. Wanted to pull one simple, witty, biting
    reply from the babble of answers and questions and more that ran
    sour and scary through his mind. But none of them came clear. None
    really meant what he felt. Skinner studied him, did that strange
    thing again where he just pressed his hand flat, not possessive, not
    sexy. Just there. Mulder half lifted his hands, not sure what he
    wanted to do.

    "It's okay." Skinner's voice was calm on the surface but Mulder
    heard something that rippled and wouldn't come clear. Skinner lifted
    his hand, moved back just a little bit. "When you need to, you'll
    figure it out."

    For the life of him, Fox Mulder couldn't decide if that was true or
    the biggest lie he'd ever heard. All he could do was hope.