From orlando@telusplanet.net Fri Jun 13 03:55:55 1997
Subject: NC-17 SLASH M/Sk Cyanide and Astroglide 1/11
From: orlando@telusplanet.net (Ethan Nelson)
--------
CLASSIFICATION: XRH (Mulder/Skinner) NC-17  
SUMMARY: Mulder is finally presented with an X-File worthy of his undivided
attention, and even though his birthday is months away, he reaps some
unexpected rewards as a result.

Howdy! For the first time ever, I am actually posting one of my stories my
own self, and providing my own e-mail address for all your threats and
derision.  That would be orlando@telusplanet.net. Just to simplify, for
your happiness and mine, no, I have not yet accepted Jesus Christ as my own
personal savior. Have at it, kids.

THE STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Fox Mulder,
Walter Skinner, and Dana Scully are all the property of Fox Television and
Ten Thirteen Productions. No copyright infringement is intended and no
money is being made from their use. 

WARNINGS AND WHAT-NOT ALL:"Ooh, ooh, ooh, what a little plot can do, hoo,
hoo..." This story contains scenes of consentual sex between two men. If
this is not your kind of reading, turn back before it's too late. Copious
naughty words appear herein, without remorse. I originally had a page-long
warning about the offensive elements of this story, but it was, you know, a
page long, so I settled on this: no matter who you are, what you think, or
what you do, you *will* be offended at some point if you read this story
from start to finish. If you have any hot buttons at all, I recommend you
click on 'back' and read something written by a decent human being. If you
can find something like that. Special thanks to the Beatles for keeping me
from slashing my wrists every time I read this over. This story is
dedicated to Jackie for Dr Pepper and fever dreams, to SpookGoddess, who
sends me her stories if I grovel enough, and to Michelle Moyer, whose truly
inspired poem"Green Eggs and Krycek" has become sort of the unofficial
anthem of my entire slash career. Whether she likes it or not. 


Cyanide And Astroglide
by Ethan Nelson

     
     The man on the screen was tall, ruggedly handsome, muscular, and
possessed of nary a tan line. With short dark hair, piercing brown eyes,
and long, long legs, he was a paragon of masculinity. His sizable erection
was almost incidental. Almost. He stared back at Mulder defiantly, as if to
say"What are you going to do about it?" The agent gazed at the picture
before him, as if something new would occur to him that had not in the last
fifteen minutes, willing it to do so. No such luck. *Nice pecs, though...*

    "Did you tell Bob what you wanted the overhead projector for before
you brought it down here, Mulder?"

     He started, almost tumbling off the edge of his desk. Scully stood in
the doorway of the office, arms crossed over her chest, one fine eyebrow
delicately raised. He gave her a nervous smile."Tell me what's weird about
this guy, Scully."

    "He's naked," she said promptly.

     Mulder blinked."What?"

    "That's a garage, right?"

    "Yeah."

    "He's supposed to be a mechanic?"

    "Yeah."

    "Mulder, if my mechanic looked like that, I wouldn't have taken all
those automotive courses last summer."

     The agent sighed heavily."You never used to be so depraved, Scully."

    "Pot and kettle." She crossed to the screen. Mulder smirked. A few
steps closer and the model's erection would be superimposed onto her face.
"Who is this?"

    "Peter Dyck."

    "You're joking."

    "It's a very popular name in the Mennonite community, Scully."

     She shot him a look."What am I supposed to be seeing here?"

    "In the last six months, Peter Dyck has appeared in over fifteen adult
films."

    "And?"

    "Of the forty-odd actors he's appeared with in that time, twelve have
died under highly unusual circumstances."

    "Forget it, Mulder."

    "What?"

    "We are not investigating murders in the porn industry."

    "Scully, I don't think--"

    "What am I supposed to tell my family? We'll all get together for
Independence Day. Bill can tell us about the new promotion and life on the
base, Mom can tell us about her tulips and the squirrels in the backyard,
and I'll pipe up with how you and I went after Horst Buttman, scourge of
the adult film circuit."

    "You know, I heard he can suck his own--"

    "I don't want to hear about it, Mulder. Forget it."

     Mulder sipped his coffee and considered another line of attack. Scully
was getting red in the face looking at Peter Dyck. And the tamest shot he
had of the guy was one of him still wearing his artfully torn cutoffs.
Unfortunately, they were worn down around his knees, and he was jacking off
in the shot. He switched off the projector."Scully. Listen."

    "Fine."

    "The only victims so far are men who have appeared in films with him.
Men who had sex with him in those films. Each of the victims died within a
week of wrapping the movie."

     She smirked."That's got to be a blow to his ego."

    "What do you say?"

    "I say it's not an X-File."

    "Scully--"

    "Where's the paranormal aspect, Mulder? Abnormal, fine. Paranormal,
forget it. What you're talking about is not some... *curse.*"

     He grinned."I knew it!"

    "You knew what?"

    "I wasn't even thinking of something like that, Scully."

    "Do I look stupid to you? You thought that salmonella outbreak in the
cafeteria was a curse."

    "I'm going to bring this to Skinner."

     She rolled her eyes."I guess we fly out tomorrow, then."

    "What are you trying to say, Scully?" 

    "Forget it."

    "Are you implying I might use my friendship with the Assistant
Director to gain leverage with my 302s?"

    "Your *friendship*?"

    "How would you prefer I labelled it?"

     Scully glared at him."Where's the studio?"

    "Washington State. Seattle."

    "*Swell*. Give me the file." He handed it to her, fighting a smile all
the way."I'm going home," she said."You want to come over for pizza or
something?"

     He was about to agree when he remembered."I can't. I have a thing
with Skinner tonight."

    "A thing. You're all double-talk these days. I don't know about you
anymore, Mulder--"

    "Not that you ever did," they said in unison. 

    "Good night," she said. 

     Some of the irritation was gone from her eyes. He knew how to take
care of that."I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Oh, Scully?"

    "What?"

    "Don't forget to bring your Wellies."

     She looked about a heartbeat away from making an obscene gesture, but
she was a woman of morals (on that occasion, at least) and she refrained.
Mulder watched her thoughtfully as she retreated from the office, thinking
as he listened to the clicking of her heels down the hallway. Slowly it
came to him. He grinned. How had she ever heard of Horst Buttman?

     Mulder sat down at his desk and flipped through the photographs in his
folder. One man had drowned in the swimming pool at his apartment complex.
Another had died of a drug overdose. A third had been hit by a truck while
jaywalking across a deserted street. Mulder turned the projector back on
and stared at the image before him once again. What was it about this guy,
anyway? Why had his costars only gotten around to dying in the last six
months? He'd appeared in dozens of films before that, some of which Mulder
himself had seen and enjoyed. Yet, to his knowledge, the very attractive
stars of such video classics as"Anal Andy's American Disco" and "The Boys
of Bonerville" remained very much alive, for better or worse.

     Peter Dyck. What a winner. To think there were innocent men wandering
the planet who had not chosen that name as their own. Everybody knew a guy
like that. Mulder himself had been in debating club with a guy named Randy
Cox. Still, you could forget all of that when you looked at the beautiful
man on the screen. Mulder was no stranger to the look of beautiful naked
men, but he knew of only one that could even hope to compare to this one,
and fortunately for him, that body was his, in spirit if not in fact. 

     Squinting, he tried to imagine Walter in Peter Dyck's place, perched
on a big, stripped tire, wearing nothing but a pair of yellow work boots
and some white socks. Walter of course didn't have a comparable tan, but
this was Mulder's fantasy and he was determined to do whatever he wanted
with it. Would he be wearing his glasses? No. His features softened when he
couldn't focus on anything enough to want to glare at it. Legs spread
apart, one hand on his cock, the other teasing a nipple, oh yeah... he
could get into that. Throw the head back a little to expose the neck...

    "I was about to be pissed at you for doing this on company time, but I
see it's after five, so I've decided to be pissed at you for doing it at
all."

     *Who =isn't= going to walk in on me with this fucking guy up there
today?*"Walter! I was--"

    "You were what, Agent Mulder?"

    "I was--" He looked up at the screen, raked his hair, and turned to
face the AD. "Fuck it. I was using it to help me work up the proper amount
of outrage for my editorial in the Catholic Times."

    "Outrage?"

    "What do you want?" he said testily. There was nothing he could say to
rectify this situation.

     Walter shut the door behind him and locked it."I want you to tell me
why you borrowed Bureau equipment to look at... that," he said, advancing
on the agent.

DISCLAIMERS IN PART 1

'Uh... don't ask, don't tell?" Mulder backed away. *Not in the office,
Walter, come on...*

    "Wrong organization." He was almost on Mulder now.

    "You're not going to buy that Catholic Times thing, hey?"

    "No." The AD pushed him against the wall.

    "Walter--" Whatever he'd been about to say was cut off by his lover's
mouth, hard and insistent against his own. The AD ground their hips
together, his tongue thrusting into Mulder's mouth, his body pinning Mulder
like ten tons of cement. The man could be a boulder when he had his mind
set on it. 

     Mulder struggled frantically, shoving at his chest, trying to throw
him off. *Cameras... bugs... rude secretaries... oh God, that feels
good...* He sucked on his lover's tongue before he even had time to think
about it, his hands snaking around to cup Walter's ass firmly against him.
'Walter," he croaked, tearing his mouth away. The AD tried to recapture it,
but Mulder was determined, sort of."Walter, listen. I was looking at it
for a case."

     Walter snorted."There's nothing paranormal about that, Mulder," he
said, pointing disdainfully at the man on the screen."It's an implant."

     Mulder told him about the police reports and his own findings."I
think there's more to it than coincidence."

    "Mm-hm. Tell me, Agent Mulder, does your sudden interest in this case
have anything to do with the fact that I'm going to be in Seattle myself
all this week?"

    "How can you even ask me that?" he said, all indignation.

     Walter's eyes darkened."I'm sorry, I shouldn't--"

    "Look at the ass on that guy!" Walter blinked. Mulder started laughing.

    "Fuck you, Mulder."

    "Oh, come on. What's it going to take to get a smile out of you?"

    "If you knew what was going through my head right now, you wouldn't be
asking questions like that."

     He sighed."Are we going to Seattle, or not?"

    "All right. I'll take care of it. But this is not a holiday, Mulder."

    "I'm aware of that. We still have the little matter of twelve dead
actor slash waiters to look into."

    "A matter which I'm sure under the circumstances is of grave personal
importance to you."

     He pulled on his overcoat and shut off his lamp."Scully thinks I'm
using the wily lure of sex to force you to do my bidding."

    "Little does she realize."

    "Disappointed?"

     Walter said nothing, leading Mulder from the room and shutting off the
overhead light. Mulder was beginning to get concerned until the AD leaned
over and casually pinched his ass on their way out of the building. Mulder
jumped."Sometimes I think you're possessed," he said. Walter only smiled.

*** *** ***

    "Nice place," Mulder said, sipping his coffee."What do you think the
serial killer to child molester ratio is?"

     He and Scully stood in the main parking lot of a vast apartment
complex collectively known as Sylvan Gardens. There wasn't a plant in
sight, apart from a weird, shrublike organism sprouting large yellow
flowers that dotted the front of each building. The buildings themselves
were never going to appear in Estates International; they were strictly
disco-era dwellings, covered in pebbles and shards of glass, the wrought
iron of the balconies painted brown and badly peeling. In total, fifteen
buildings made up the complex. It was the largest of its kind Mulder had
ever seen outside the pamphlets for"retirement communities" that he found
in the men's room at the Hoover building every now and then. 

    "I would have thought this would look like a step up for you, Mulder."

    "I resent that, Scully. My building may be weird, but it's clean."
That the same could be said of him was a fact that did not escape his
notice. At least Scully had the courtesy not to mention it.

    "Having second thoughts?"

    "No. Let's do it." 

     Together they headed for block 2 of the complex, situated toward the
back, facing the highway. The noise was terrific. It was the kind of
neighborhood in which the drivers of eighteen-wheelers blasted their horns
at pretty girls unfortunate enough to be walking by. The kind of
neighborhood that housed a lot of young guys driving jacked up Oldsmobiles
with horns that played"La Cucaracha" for the same purpose. Anyone with a
suite facing that highway would have to be either deaf, insane, or away
from home a lot. Realistically, Mulder supposed Peter Dyck could fit any of
those categories.

     Scully scanned the buzzer list until she found his name. Looking one
last time at Mulder, she pressed the button by Dyck's name. They waited.
Mulder pressed it. Scully raised a brow. After another moment, they were
assailed with the sound of Gloria Estefan blaring through the tinny
speaker, singing"1-2-3-4."

    "What?" Came a voice.

    "Peter Dyck?" Scully said.

    "What?"

    "Go ahead, Scully," Mulder urged."Shout it."

     She glared at him."This is Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI.
May we come in?"

    "FBI?"

    "That's right."

    "Fuck you." The man on the other end cut them off. 

     Mulder looked at her."A little fame can just *ruin* a guy."

    "We can't just leave, Mulder."

    "We're not going to leave, Scully. We're going to do what countless
law enforcement officials have no doubt done before us." He leaned down and
squinted at the buzzer list."We call the manager."

     After a little confusion with buildings and identification, they
reached the manager and were admitted to the building. The interior was by
no means more impressive than the exterior except as a possible future
location of an episode of"Cops." Where the walls weren't dotted with
holes, they were dotted with drywall marks from repaired holes. The carpets
were stained but clean, if a little old. Each suite bore what looked to be
new brass numbers, possibly the only improvement this building had ever
seen. The agents paused outside Dyck's door. Gloria Estefan had been
replaced by Stevie Wonder in the time it had taken them to get here.

    "What do you think?"

    "You want to be good agent, or bad agent?"

    "Why change the routine now?"

     Mulder clutched his heart with one hand and knocked on the door with
the other. After a second, the door swung open to reveal the man whose
naked body Mulder and Scully had been arguing over mere days before. He was
somewhat less impressive in the flesh, his eyes dulled by what smelled like
enough hooch to kill a rhinoceros, that finely honed body covered by an
open red and black silk robe, a pair of blue and white striped bikini
briefs, and a matching pair of socks. He looked like he hadn't shaved in
days. His hair stood up in a number of places.

    "Peter Dyck?" Mulder spared Scully having to say it again.

    "What?" *This is going to be a short conversation. I should have
listened more carefully to his dialogue.*

    "My name is Fox Mulder, and this is Dana Scully, we're with the FBI."

    "You got ID?"

    "Yes. Here." He flashed his badge at Dyck."We'd like to have a few
words with you. If that's convenient."

    "It's convenient," he said with a bitter smile."It's very fucking
convenient. Welcome," he said with a sweep of his arm. Scully hung back, so
Mulder led the way, stepping over what appeared to be a dead cat in the
hallway and trying not to stare at the decor. 

     In Mulder's experience, there were two schools of thought as regarded
home decorating. Some people tried for a more catalogue-fresh look,
tasteful, coordinated. Something anyone might find comfortable. Some people
decorated their homes as an extension of the bedroom they had when they
still lived with their parents. Peter Dyck was such a man. Though the
carpet was admittedly not attractive, Dyck had somehow come to the
conclusion that a tiger-striped rug might be a better choice. His furniture
was all done in black lacquer. A Garfield telephone glowed malevolently
from his end table. The portraits on the living room wall were original
Nagels, if Mulder was any judge, and he had never truly cared for the man's
work, but in this apartment it went from the merely uninspired to
McDonald's quality artwork. The state of the apartment itself was nothing
impressive, either. There wasn't an ashtray to be found that wasn't piled
high with cigarette butts. A pile of beer cans by the patio window looked a
little like a toppled castle. Potato chip shrapnel dotted the carpet. *No
job is too small for your Dirt Devil.*

    "Can I get you something to drink?"

    "What have you got?"

     There was the sound of a refrigerator opening as Mulder watched, with
some amusement, while Scully looked for a place to sit. *If she had a
toilet seat cover...*

    "Hawaiian Punch, Kool Aid, Sunny Delight..." She shot Mulder a look
that he was unable to deflect. He wondered how many more things Dyck and he
had in common. 

    "Coffee?" She offered.

    "Coffee I got."

    "That would be fine. Thank-you."

     Obviously not concerned about his power bill, Dyck had both the
television and the stereo going. A rerun of Magnum P.I. was on, with the
volume turned down. He had done them the courtesy of turning down the
stereo somewhat, but the strains of"Ma Cherie Amour" could still be heard.
Mulder slouched in his chosen chair and looked around with some interest.
This was not how he would have imagined the apartment of the star of"3rd
Cock From The Sun" to look. Or, just maybe, it was. 

     In a telepathic moment typical of the agents, both Mulder and Scully's
eyes fixed on a dead bird on the patio at the same instant. *Maybe that
cat's not dead after all.* Mulder glanced at Scully. She was on to him, no
mistake. And the look of dread on her face said it all. She was going to be
hearing about this on the drive back to the hotel."You know, Scully," he
said now,"'Stud Puppy' magazine says he's looking for a relationship."

    "Mulder, you--"

    "Coffee," Dyck said, returning with a pair of mugs."You want anything
in it?"

    "I'm good," Mulder said."Scully?"

    "I'm fine, thank-you."

     Dyck seated himself next to Scully on the sofa, apparently untroubled
by his state of undress."What can I do for you?"

DISCLAIMERS IN PART 1

'Mr. Dyck, we're here to talk to you about a series of unusual deaths that
appear to be related to your recent film work."

    "Jesus Christ. Am I a suspect?"

    "Right now, we're just looking for some answers," Scully said."Each
of the deaths took place in the last six months. Has something happened in
that time that could have triggered something like this?"

     Dyck let out a breath and raked both hands through his hair."Shit, I
don't know. I'm not-- I been having kind of an extended party these last
few days, you know what I mean?"

    "What have you been celebrating?" Mulder said.

    "I'm looking on the bright side," he said."I get a couple of weeks I
don't have to suck any dick. Excuse me." He rose slowly from the sofa and
stared out at the highway."I was in the middle of shooting a movie when I
heard Fred died. 'Dick Smack 7.'"

    "Catchy," Mulder said."You're referring to Fred Hotte?" Scully looked
at him. He shrugged.

    "Yeah. Somebody spiked his JD." He turned to face the agents, his face
a mask of exquisite pain."Some guys don't want to work with me anymore.
They think I got the kiss of death or something."

    "Surely they must realize--" Scully started.

    "I was in the middle of the big love scene with Harry Harder when I
got the call. Beautiful set-up. He walked off the set. It came down to him
or me. I got a holiday. Shit."

    "Mr. Dyck, the first suspicious death occurred shortly after you
finished production on a movie called 'Red, White, and Blue Balls,'" Scully
said. Do you recall anything unusual taking place during filming?"

     He shook his head."I don't know. Maybe. What do you call weird when
you work in this business?"

    "Try to imagine it from my perspective, then, Mr. Dyck," Mulder said.
He blinked. *Man, that's brilliant, Mulder.*"Okay, from Agent Scully's." 

    "We lost a guy," Dyck said suddenly.

    "Someone passed away during filming?" 

    "Fuck, no. Probably wished he did, though. Alex Moorcock."

    "How do you mean you lost him?"

    "He plays hockey in his off time. Pick-up games, street, ice, he
doesn't care. We were shooting in this abandoned warehouse in Vancouver,
and he and some of the crew were going at it between takes, outside. Nobody
had any gear. He took a ball right where it counts. Lost a testicle."

     Mulder winced. It wasn't something he wanted to experience, but
neither would it turn him homicidal. He didn't think so, anyway."What
happened to him?"

    "Well, there was no way he could finish the movie, right? And then he
couldn't get it up anymore. He was in therapy and shit, never did him any
good. I heard he's working at Target, now. Selling shoes or some shit."

    "Does he have any reason to hold this injury against you?"

    "No. I don't play hockey. I got to protect my assets, you know? It's
not like I got all kinds of work experience I can fall back on if I lose
one of my nuts like him."

     *I guess nobody's telling Moorcock he can still lead a full life.*
'Did anything else happen at that time, Mr. Dyck? Maybe something outside
the studio?"

    "I don't remember nothing else. I can't believe I remembered that, even."

     Scully took a breath."What about the victims, Mr. Dyck? Is there
anything you can tell us about them?"

    "Like what?"

    "You... acted... with five different men in 'Cocks In Socks' alone,
yet only John Cummings has died."

    "Yet," he said, bleakly."Fuck. You don't know. Maybe they'll all turn
up dead before this is over."

    "Before *what* is over?"

    "Forget it. I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. I'm wasted."

    "Mr. Dyck--"

    "Look, you got anything else you want to talk about? I don't want to
be rude or nothing, but I'm not feeling too social right now."

    "Will you be willing to speak with us again if we need you to?"

    "Sure. I'll pencil you in," he said.

*** *** ***

     Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Mulder's steps were even and clean on the
wet pavement. The longer he ran, the more he felt them in every fiber of
his body. His sweat mingled with the rain that had been falling steadily
all night. His breath came out harsh and raspy; it sounded like more of an
accomplishment than it really was. He was pushing himself tonight, running
faster, running farther. He still hadn't reached the point at which his
thoughts would cease, when he could just be and not have to be anything
specific. No matter how brutally he pummelled himself, he couldn't beat his
wanting from his muscles. On the other side of town, Walter was already in
bed. As had been made clear to the agent many many times before, working
near Walter was no guarantee of anything more than diminished self-esteem,
a tension headache, and an unrelieved erection. He hadn't been joking when
he'd told Mulder this would be no holiday.

     Mulder consoled himself with thoughts of Scully, who had handily won
this year's honors for restraint that afternoon at Peter Dyck's apartment.
While Mulder himself had struggled to keep a straight face and prevent
himself from saying something offensive, his partner had looked no more
troubled by the proceedings than she might have, say, if they'd been
discussing lunch with the sandwich cart guy. *There's something sexy about
a woman who can say"Red, White, And Blue Balls" without cracking a smile.
There shouldn't be, but there is.* 

     Hours had passed since they'd left Sylvan Gardens, and Mulder still
didn't have a working theory on what had happened to the dead men apart
from simple accidents. He wasn't dismissing the one-balled wonder with the
great employee discount, but it seemed like a long shot, even to him. None
of Moorcock's teammates had even reported an ugly hangnail since the
accident.

     *I get a couple of weeks I don't have to suck any dick.* Idly Mulder
imagined Walter saying this to himself every time the agent left town on
assignment. Nah. Walter wasn't really one to mince words. If he'd appeared
to be avoiding Mulder as if the agent was a schizophrenic Scientologist
since they'd hit Seattle, it had to be a coincidence.

     At last Mulder returned to the hotel, dripping, panting, and
lead-footed. After the drenching he'd just received, it didn't seem to him
that he would particularly enjoy a shower, but neither did he relish the
idea of slipping into bed as clammy as he was.  He peeled off his running
gear without pause, padding nude into the bathroom. Once the first heat of
the water seeped into his bones, he changed his position on the
advisability of the shower. It was sensual, surprisingly. He could almost
see the steam rising from his skin. He took his time about getting clean,
turning the routine soaping into more of a caress, letting the spray soothe
his burning muscles. He allowed himself a luxurious stretch as he washed
his hair. Before he knew what was happening, he was singing"Ma Cherie
Amour." It might have been impressive, if he'd known any of the lyrics. He
was still towelling his hair with the only provided towel when he returned
to the main room.

    "Thank-you, Agent Mulder, this is a real little time-saver," Walter said.

    "Jesus Christ!" Mulder jerked, dropping his towel. He bent quickly and
retrieved it, glaring at the AD while he wrapped the towel snugly around
his hips.

     Walter raised a brow."Still modest, Mulder? After all we've been to
each other?"

    "You've been a pain in the ass, Walter. Don't try to read any more
into it than there is."

     The AD unfolded himself from the room's only chair."You wouldn't
believe the day I've had," he said, stripping off his trenchcoat and laying
it over the back of the chair."You'd think the organizers of these
bullshit seminars would think twice before asking a group of armed men to
participate in role-playing exercises. If I hear the word 'empowerment' one
more time--"

    "Ooh, you'll what?"

    "Never mind. It's not important. Come here."

    "Forget it. Not until I find my pants."

     He sighed."Mulder. I've been thinking about this all day--"

    "Well, you can just go back to your hotel and think about it all
night, too. *You* get the Playboy Channel."

     Walter smirked."Mr. Dyck didn't lend you his audition tape?"

    "No, but he did offer me the dildo they made from a mold of his dick."
The AD scowled."Only a hundred were made. It's a collector's item." He
took a step toward Mulder. The agent fought a smile."It comes with
Duracells--" Walter grabbed Mulder's arms and pulled the agent roughly
against him.

    "What did you do with it?" The AD asked. He tugged gently at Mulder's
towel and let it fall delicately to the floor.

    "Wh... what?"

    "The dildo." He ran his tongue along the shell of Mulder's ear.

    "I... stop that," he said.

     Walter stroked the agent's ass. Mulder shuddered. The friction of his
cock against Walter's slacks was doing terrible things to his equilibrium.
He could almost *hear* his IQ dropping."Mulder?"

    "I was going to give it to Scully," he moaned when the AD took a
nipple into his mouth,"but I thought she might use it to beat me to death.
I didn't want you to have to explain that." 

    "So thoughtful." He kissed Mulder then, for the first time. Walter
rarely kissed him so carefully; with the AD, it was all intensity more than
finesse. And he had a point, Mulder had to admit. Still, this kiss was
different, warm, and wet, and lingering. He bucked against Mulder in an
echo of his true intent, tongue sliding over Mulder's own as if he hoped to
make his lover come from this alone. It didn't seem so impossible, just
then.

    "We can't do this," Mulder gasped, jerking out of Walter's arms. The
AD's skin was flushed, his mouth swollen. *Oh my God, I really am insane.*

    "You're dodging me," he accused."What's going on with you?"

    "Nothing, Walter. Really, I--"

    "I usually have to beat you off with a stick, Mulder. Why start
protecting your virtue now?"

    "Not mine," he hissed."Will you keep your voice down?"

    "Start talking."

    "Scully has a boyfriend," he said.

     Walter blinked."What?"

    "She has a boyfriend."

    "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

DISCLAIMERS IN PART 1

Mulder raked his hair."She's never mentioned it to me, which isn't
surprising. But she has a boyfriend. And the reason I *know* that is I
heard her talking to him earlier." Comprehension was coming slowly to
Walter Skinner. *We should have had this conversation =before= I lost the
towel again.* He sighed."That's Scully's wall," he said, pointing.
'Listen."

     Walter did. He looked startled."Little House On The Prairie?"

    "I'm not supposed to know about that, either. Breakfast should be a
riot tomorrow."

     He colored as realization dawned."She must have heard us."

    "That's probably why her tv is turned up so loud," he agreed.

    "Shit."

    "Yeah, well, don't go embarrassing yourself grovelling for my
forgiveness, Walter."

    "How do you find these fleabags, anyway?"

     He slumped on the bed."I look for the ones that have Mello Yello in
the pop machines, usually. In a pinch, I'll take one with a flashing neon
sign. Of course--"

    "Shut up, Mulder, all right?"

     He grinned."You know, it could be *weeks* before Scully and I wrap
this one up. Justice is blind, and she's wearing a cheap watch."

    "Fuck you, Mulder."

     Standing again, he pulled the AD back into his embrace. Walter's hands
ran slowly up and down his back, kneading his muscles, testing his
resistance."You could always gag me," Mulder said.

    "Don't think that hasn't crossed my mind before."

     Mulder rested his forehead against Walter's shoulder."I'm going to
have to go running again," he mumbled.

     The AD tipped Mulder's face up and kissed him again, a searing,
mind-numbing kiss. *Jesus Christ. What the hell are they teaching you at
that seminar?* The agent worried his lover's lip with his teeth, sucking it
gently to remove the sting."Walter..."

    "I don't want you to think I just came here for sex," he said.

    "But you *did* just come here for sex."

    "I don't--"

    "I'm not complaining, mind you, but I think I'm in a unique position
to confirm that you aren't packing your Travel Yahtzee." He coaxed his
lover back and kissed him again, tongues mingling. A pleasant hum was
building in him. And it pissed him off that he couldn't do anything about
it.

    "We could talk about the case," Walter said, licking his neck.

    "Forget it. I'm off duty." He slid his hand into the front of Walter's
slacks and took hold of his lover's erection. The AD bucked into his hand.

    "We could... we could..."

    "We could watch the Weather Channel."

    "What about the parking lot?"

    "What *about* the parking lot?"

    "Your car..."

    "We can't do that," Mulder admonished.

    "Why the hell not?"

    "It's a rental." He started to loosen Walter's tie, but the AD grabbed
his wrist.

    "No."

     Mulder smiled."No?" He tried for a kiss, but Walter released his
hands, backing away.

    "Goddamn it." He ran a hand over his head.

    "If it helps, I can switch to an aftershave that smells more like
roach killer." The AD favored him with one final glare before he snatched
up his overcoat and stalked out of the room. Mulder collapsed on the bed.
*I just held an entire conversation with my boss, buck naked. Should look
good on my annual employee evaluation. 'Agent Mulder is diligent,
tenacious, and generously endowed. I recommend a significant salary
increase.'*

*** *** ***

    "All right, I need a sperm wrangler over here!"

     A young blonde woman brushed past Mulder and Scully carrying a huge
water gun."What the fuck is the matter with you?" the man shouted at her.
'You think this is a fucking fertility clinic or something?"

    "I'm sorry, Mr. Prokopchuk."

    "Forget it. Just..." He touched her arm, his face all sincerity."This
guy. He hasn't gotten laid in fucking *years,* right? This is the best fuck
of his life, such as it is. Fucking Gary, he's useless, you know? That guy
comes, it looks like a fucking squirt of hand cream. I want come on the
bed. The window. The carpet. I want people watching this movie, thinking
'*Jesus* *Christ,* that guy oughtta be coming blood by now.' You know what
I mean?"

     When Prokopchuk retreated, the woman got to work, firing God knew what
out of her gun. She went about the work gravely, placing each shot
meticulously before she made it.

    "So, Mulder, what does your girlfriend do?"

     Scully glared at him."I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

    "Oh, Scully, I'm not enjoying myself half as much as that guy," he
said, pointing to the tired-looking, naked young man lounging on the bed.

     She sighed."I would have realized something was up after the fifth take."

    "You know what they say: if someone's worth doing, he's worth doing well."

     She smiled."I want you to know I'm applying for a transfer as soon as
we get back to DC."

     They were standing in an old warehouse in the middle of nowhere, on
the set of"Specific Rim." It was a low-budget affair, even by the
standards of the industry, employing only three actors and one set. The man
in question was Gary Groening, a hardy soul who had already been called
upon to perform or participate in an astonishing array of sex acts in the
short time the agents had been there. That he was no longer capable of
producing an impressive amount of ejaculate came as no surprise to Mulder.
Despite his considerable staying power, Groening lay on the provided bed,
Christ-like, and as close to death as Mulder had ever seen anyone.

    "Why don't they give him a break?"

    "They can't, Scully. Your average adult film is shot in less than two
weeks. They let him go today, they have to worry about continuity."

     She raised a brow."Are we watching the same production, Mulder? he
can't even keep their names straight."

     Mulder smirked."*You* tell me which one is Cliff."

    "I suppose you know?"

    "Sure. He's the one with the feet."

    "What?"

    "He's got nice feet," Mulder said."Most people don't."

    "We've spent the last hour watching three men perform acts that are
still illegal in some parts of the country, and you noticed his *feet*?"

    "What were *you* looking at, Scully?" She flushed. *I think I see an
opening...*"What would Howard say if he knew?"

     She blanched."Mulder--"

    "You two are the feds, right?" Mulder turned to find a short, greying,
and extremely red man squinting at them over the tops of his bifocals.
'Andy Prokopchuk," he said."I'm the director."

    "My name is Dana Scully, and this is my partner, Fox Mulder."

    "Nice to meet you. We can talk over here." Mulder let him lead and
fell back into step with Scully.

    "Mulder, what did you do?" she said.

    "I must admit, I'm surprised at you, Scully. After all this time, I'd
have thought you'd be more careful with your private conversations."

    "Mulder--"

    "You want some coffee?" Prokopchuk asked.

    "No, thank-you."

     He leaned against the trailer, squinting at them once more."You're
here about Peter Dyck, right?"

    "Yes, sir," Mulder said."We're hoping you can shed some light on
events that took place during the production of one of your films. What was
the name of it, Scully?"

    "Red, White, And Blue Balls," she bit out.

    "That's right," Mulder said, snapping his fingers."I understand there
was an accident on the set involving Alex Moorcock. Is there anything you
can tell us about that?"

    "It was a fucking insurance nightmare, I can tell you that. That
arrogant little prick tried to sue me."

    "I take it the suit was unsuccessful?"

    "Of course it was. Playing fucking street hockey with no protective
gear during his off time on the set of an adult film, he could've caved in
his fucking skull and I'd still be laughing. Ignorant bastard, I don't know
what he was thinking--"

    "Mr. Prokopchuk, can you think of any reason why anyone would blame
Peter Dyck for any of this?"

    "No. Well, he was fucking Alex at the time. I mean, apart from his
obligations to the film."

    "You're saying the two men were romantically involved?"

     He gave Scully a pitying look."I'm saying they were *fucking,* honey.
Wasn't any romance about it."

    "We're having some trouble locating Mr. Moorcock," she said."We were
told he was working at Target--"

    "He quit that gig. Somebody recognized him. After that, it was all
over for him."

    "I see. Do you know where he is now?"

    "He's tending bar at Meaty Boy. I don't know who he's living with.
Little cocksucker's been leeching off the flavor of the month since his
balls dropped."

    "You seem to be fairly well-informed for a man who professes to
dislike him."

    "I said he was stupid, I never said I hated him. I pity the guy, you
want to know the truth. I mean, what's he going to do for the rest of his
life?"

DISCLAIMERS IN PART 1

    "You've stayed in contact with him, then?"

    "Sure. I buy him dinner sometimes. Talk over old times."

     *I think I saw that in 'The Big Drill.'*"Well, I think that's all we
need for now. Thank-you for your time."

    "No problem. Listen, Agent Mulder?"

    "What?"

    "You've got a good look. You ever do any amateur work?"

    "Just once," he said."It didn't pan out."

     They were interrupted by the trill of his cell phone."Mulder."

    "Where are you?" came Walter's voice, low and sexy.
 
     His gut clenched. *Shit.*"Hang on." He turned to Scully and
Prokopchuk."Excuse me a minute, will you?"

    "Mulder--" Scully began, but he was already gone.

    "I'm on the set of 'Specific Rim,'" he said,"watching--" he turned
back to the bed. His jaw dropped."Watching Gary Groening attempting to
blow two men at once. Jesus Christ, that's really something..."

    "Do I want to know exactly why you're there?"

    "Probably not. We can always go over it in your office."

    "Oh, I certainly hope so."

     Somebody turned on a portable stereo. The sounds of Kenny G filled the
warehouse."Let me just take this outside. I can't think like this."

    "How long are you going to be?" Skinner asked when Mulder was safely
outside. 

     The image of the three men was still prominent in his head. *That guy
must have TMJ from hell.*"What?"

    "Are you considering some part-time work, Agent Mulder?"

     He grinned."No, but I was offered some."

    "Mulder--"

    "Are you looking for a little afternoon delight, Walter?"

    "If that's the best you can do. Right now, I'll take fifteen minutes.
I'm not picky--"

    "*Mulder!* Look out!"

     The agent spun at the sound of Scully's voice. There was no time to
get out of the way before he was struck by a red Honda. Pain exploded all
over as he landed on the hood, rolled, and was tossed in a heap on the
ground. Dimly he was aware of Scully shouting at the driver, Scully firing
her gun, Walter's voice coming from the phone he still held. The squeal of
tires as the driver escaped. Scully, rolling him on to his back, probing
his head with gentle hands.

    "Mulder, can you hear me? Mulder!"

    "If I lose a testicle over this, I'm going to kill myself," he
groaned, and passed out.

*** *** ***
      
     He found consciousness slowly, fumbling for it was if through layers
of gauze. Pain was his first awareness, and part of him wanted to return to
the place he'd been, quiet, and warm. His head throbbed, his legs ached,
and his back burned. The only comfort waiting for him here came in the form
of the rain that still fell outside.  The lights had been extinguished at
some point during his sleep, and the only illumination was the leaky grey
rain-light that came through the window. Walter sat in a chair that might
have been designed by a sadist, glaring fruitlessly. 

    "Walter," Mulder croaked.

     The AD jerked in his chair and was immediately at Mulder's bedside.
Gone was the glare, only to be replaced by an expression of profound
irritation."Mulder. How are you feeling?"

    "Meaty Boy," he said.

     Walter rolled his eyes."Now is not the time, Mulder."

    "It's not what it sounds like. What time is it?"

    "A little after eight."

    "We've got to get going," Mulder said, dragging himself into a sitting
position. His head spun.

    "You're not going anywhere, cowboy. You've got to get examined."

    "I'm fine."

    "You're a wreck," Walter said equably.

    "I'm fucking *fine,* all right? I have to go." He swung his legs over
the side of the bed and started to rise. Those same legs, legs that had
carried him through far worse than this, crumpled beneath him. It was only
his lover's foresight that prevented him from hitting the floor."Shit,
Walter, what did they give me?"

    "Scully!" Walter said. He hauled Mulder back to the bed."Never let it
be said that your mother never raised any stupid children."

    "I'll get crutches. Come on!"

    "Scully!" He shouted again."Goddamn it. Where the hell is she?"

    "She's renting me a wheelchair, if she's got any sense."

    "You're staying here tonight, Mulder. I don't know how much clearer I
can make it. If I have to handcuff you to the bed, you are staying *here.*"

    "Scully!" Mulder cried, glaring at his lover. 

     At last she appeared, looking frantic, until she saw Mulder sitting in
bed."What? I thought you'd had a brain hemorrhage or something."

    "No such luck. Would you please explain the situation to him?"

    "I already have," she said calmly."You can't get out of bed. You took
a serious blow to the head--"

    "I've done it before."

    "All the same, I think it's a good idea for you to stay here overnight."

    "You know I can't do that." She was silent."Scully?"

    "I'm accompanying her to the bar tonight, Mulder."

    "The hell you are!" 

    "Mulder..."

    "I'm fine. Give me a few minutes to get my bearings and I'll be good
as new. You have to go back to the seminar in the morning, you can't afford
to piss around with this."

    "I realize this case is important to you, Agent Mulder--"

    "Yeah, well, I'm the one with the big H tattooed on my ass, I think I
deserve a little consideration."

    "We'll find the man who ran you down."

    "*I'll* find him."

    "Mulder, you really can't leave the hospital until we're better
informed of the extent of your injuries. I'm sorry, but it's true. It's for
your own good."

     He leaned back in bed. His vision was coming in and out of focus. His
balance was nonexistent. He felt a little nauseous, and it felt *really*
good to be resting his head. He was a hurting unit."Fine."

    "Fine?" Walter blinked.

    "Fine. The hell with it. I can always watch 'Walker: Texas Ranger.'"

     Scully let out a breath."Good. I'm sorry, Mulder. We'll come back and
check on you tonight."

    "Super."

    "I'll meet you outside, Agent Scully," Walter said. As soon as she'd
gone, Walter sprang into action, taking advantage of Mulder's weakened
position to snatch up his arm and lock it securely to the headboard. Mulder
was too queasy to do much more than protest. He certainly didn't put up a
fight.

    "Wouldn't you know. The first time you tie me up, I'm concussed and
you're on your way to a gay bar with the other woman."

    "I'm sorry," he said, meeting Mulder's eyes.

    "You'd better have your coffin all picked out, Walter," he said softly.

    "Who do you think you're fooling? You couldn't kick your *own* ass in
this condition." 

    "Son of a bitch," he said, to no-one in particular.

     Walter's jaw tightened."Get some rest. You need it."

     When he was gone, Mulder collapsed on the bed with a moan. *I need a
cyanide capsule, is what I need. Oh, Christ...* Whatever they'd shot him up
with, it was a good thing the vials were under lock and key. Anyone
possessing some would be pretty popular on the street. But it didn't really
touch his pain at all. It just gave him a more positive attitude about it.
*Call me Pollyanna. And change the name of this two-bit town to Gladville.*

     He yanked ineffectually at his left arm. The clinking sound of the
handcuffs pleased him somehow. *He should have chained a leg, too. I could
be like the guy in that Rubbermaid commercial.* He squirmed and thrashed
himself into the most comfortable position to be had and switched on the
television. Just when he'd come down to a decision between"Walker: Texas
Ranger" and something starring Connie Selecca, a nurse shuffled into the
room.

    "Mr. Mulder! How are we feeling?"

    "Better, thank-you."

    "Good. Dr. Wharton was worried about you for a while. But we were
assured you had a hard head."

    "I wonder who told you that?"

     She smiled."Can I get you anything? Something to drink, or a magazine?"

     Mulder put on his best ladykiller smile."You know what I could really
use right now?"

    "What's that?"

    "A pen, and some paper. I figure as long as I'm here all night, I may
as well write that letter I've been promising my grandmother."

    "You two are close?"

    "Oh, yeah. Just about broke my heart when she moved to Florida."

    "That's so sweet." She smiled again. *I am such an asshole.*"I'll be
right back."
     
DISCLAIMERS IN PART 1

     True to her word, the nurse returned within minutes with a brand new
ballpoint and a sheaf of hospital stationery. With one final sugary smile,
she left him to it. Mulder stared at the paper in his lap and tried hard
not to laugh. *Here's something to write home about. =Dear Grandma, I wish
I had more time to write, but I'm breaking out of the hospital so I can
join my lover at a gay bar and hopefully touch bases with a man who lost a
testicle during a freak street hockey accident on the set of an adult
film.=* He supposed it wouldn't have mattered if he had said that, even if
she had still been alive. Between his handwriting and her cataracts, nobody
would have known the difference.

     Sighing, praying, reciting mantras, Mulder dismantled the pen and set
about twisting its spring into a makeshift lock pick. After much fumbling,
and more cursing, the powers that be took mercy on him and the cuffs sprang
open, releasing his arm. He swung his legs over the side of the bed once
again, rubbing his wrist thoughtfully. *That was too easy.* Standing was
another matter. It took sheer force of will to remain upright, but he
succeeded after the third try. His vision was slightly blurred, and his
euphoria remained, as did his pain, but he was standing. That it could be
construed as a metaphor for his life was something he didn't care to
contemplate.

     As he surveyed his clothing in the small closet provided, he realized
just what was wrong with the ease of his escape. Walter has trusted him not
to try. It was a mistake his lover would likely not make again. It took
Mulder fifteen minutes to dress, and he was in no shape for a stealthy
escape, so he took the nonchalant route, walking straight past the nurse
who had been so helpful, going so far as to offer a grateful wave.

    "Mr. Mulder, you should be lying down!" she said.

    "I'm fine. Don't I look fine?" He stumbled badly, but recovered.
'Shit. I'm fine. Really. Would you call me a taxi?"

    "I don't think--"

    "Please." He gave her an earnest look."I'm fine. I'd have to be nuts
to leave if I wasn't, wouldn't I?"

     She sighed."All right. But if that bald gentleman comes looking for you--"

    "He won't. Scout's honor." It wasn't until he'd done it that he
realized he'd raised the wrong hand.

     The nurse cast him one final skeptical look before she picked up the
phone and dialled.

*** *** ***

     The music blaring out of the Meaty Boy club was loud enough to create
vibrations in the pavement that surrounded the place, loud enough to cause
an answering throb in Mulder's chest as he stood outside, staring at the
place, giving his idea a second thought. It took him a second to place the
song, and once he had, he was thinking again. Erasure,"River Deep,
Mountain High." 

     He was still coasting on whatever they had given him at the hospital,
and that may or may not have affected his clothing choices. Clad in jeans,
his leather jacket, a tight white t-shirt, and a pair of yellow
construction boots much like those Peter Dyck had been wearing in the
photograph that had very nearly ruined Mulder's life, he knew he looked
like Meaty Boy personified. And he had the unfortunate feeling that if
someone grabbed his ass at the wrong moment, he was going to join the ranks
of the many men before him who had undoubtedly done face plants in the
place. And God and all his angels couldn't help him if Walter saw that.
Nobody could.

    "Hey, are you going in, or what?"

     Mulder turned to face a tall, pale man with a wealth of red hair and a
pair of damned strange blue eyes."Yeah."

    "Good," he said, grinning."Maybe I'll buy you a drink."

    "Only maybe?"

     The man shook his head and headed inside. *Fox Mulder. Devoted son.
Special Agent with the FBI. Boy toy.* By the time he had definitely made up
his mind to go inside, Jimmy Somerville's"Coming" was blaring out the door
in place of Erasure. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the place.
A wall of tv screens played twelve different music videos, none of which
matched the music that Mulder was steeped in by now. Flashing lights, a
fine blue haze of cigarette smoke, and a *lot* of nicely put together
gyrating flesh dominated the room. It was at once both alien and completely
familiar to him. 

     Mulder affected a strutting gait and entered the throng, blessing all
who looked his way with an enigmatic smile. He couldn't spot Walter, which
wasn't that surprising, but neither did he see Scully, which was more
unusual. Of the many people in the bar, women were a tiny minority, most of
them sitting together in a booth, looking out at the other celebrants with
a sort of fond contempt. After much brushing against of bodies and the
occasional grope, Mulder made it to the bar. Three men served there; one a
tall, lanky blonde, one a stockier brunet, and the third a massive black
man with a decidedly unfriendly face.

     The agent sidled up to the bar and surveyed the blonde as he served up
paralyzers to a pair of sweet young men in leather. His mind was foggy, it
was hard to tell, but with a little more weight, a better tan, a happier
expression... He stared hard at the blonde until the object of his
attentions noticed him doing it.

    "What do you need?"

     *There's a loaded question...*"I'm looking for Alex Moorcock," he
shouted. Up close, there was no further uncertainty. This was he.

    "What for?"

    "My name is Fox Mulder, I'm with the FBI. My partner and I have been
trying to find you."

     He grinned."You're FBI?"

    "Yeah."

    "Let me see your ID."

    "You don't believe me?"

    "Where's your partner?"

    "I don't know."

    "Where's your ID badge?"

     He patted himself down. It was getting harder to think."Shit. I left
it at the hotel."

    "Uh-huh. What are you drinking?"

    "Nothing. I'm on medication."

    "You and everybody else here, man." He poured Mulder a shot of some
cheap scotch and shoved it across the bar."You want Alex Moorcock?"

     Mulder met his eyes. Looked back at the shot glass. *Mulder, where the
fuck is the voice of reason here?* He picked up the glass and downed it in
one swallow."You're him?"

    "I'm him."

    "What can you tell me about Peter Dyck?"

     Moorcock poured him another shot, and took one for himself."Why?"

    "In the last six months, his costars have developed a nasty habit of
getting into accidents."

     He nodded."You think I'm involved?"

    "I don't know. Jesus!" he said. Someone had reached between his legs
and given him an affectionate squeeze. It was the redhead.

    "I was going to buy you a drink, but I see Alex beat you to it."

    "You snooze, you lose, man," Alex said with a smile.

    "I'll take the next round."

    "Wild Turkey, all around."

    "Fucking rotgut." He turned to Mulder."I don't think I've seen you
here before."

    "I'm in town on business."

    "Ah," he said, clearly disbelieving."My name's Cam."

    "Mulder,"he said.

    "First or last?"

    "Only."

     Cam grinned."The queer formerly known as Mulder."

     He sighed. How was he supposed to get rid of this guy? Where the hell
were Scully and Walter? Moorcock set down another drink and Mulder
swallowed it without hesitation. He was in serious trouble, he knew it, and
he didn't much care."So, Alex. You seem to be the key here."

    "How's that?"

    "Red, White, And Blue Balls." *Where's Scully when I need her?*

     He stiffened."I don't want any trouble."

    "I'm not giving you any. I just want some answers. I want to know why
the deaths started happening after your accident. Why one man and not
another?"

    "I don't know," he said."I didn't have anything to do with it."

    "I'm not suggesting you did. But this seems to be about you, and about
Peter Dyck. And you were involved with him. Right?"

    "I was--"

     Cam leaned in close and licked Mulder's ear. The agent jerked away.
'What--"

    "How about a dance?" In his eyes, another question. 

     *Shit.*"I really can't."

    "Come on. Just one. It's not going to kill you."

     Moorcock had taken advantage of this distraction to turn his attention
to some of the other men at the bar. Mulder knew he could blink and the man
would disappear."I can't. I don't dance."

    "We don't have to do it here," he purred in Mulder's ear."There's a
room upstairs--"

    "Is there a problem here?"

     Mulder spun to face Walter, obviously angry, and thoroughly out of
place here in his professional attire. Scully, he saw, had already located
Moorcock at the other end of the bar.

    "Just trying to wheedle a dance out of him, man. It's not a problem
unless he says no." Walter outweighed Cam by a good hundred pounds, but the
smaller man looked relatively unconcerned.

    "He's with me," Walter growled.

     Cam's eyebrows shot up into his hairline."Maybe you should let him
decide that," he said.

    "No, he's not kidding," Mulder grinned."I'm definitely with him."

     He gave Mulder a pitying look."You could do so much better."

    "And he could do a lot worse. Fuck off."

    "Mulder--"

    "You'd better go, Cam. I've seen him in this mood before. There's no
reasoning with him."

    "You want my phone number?"
DISCLAIMERS IN PART 1

    "Is your Miracle Ear acting up?" Walter came closer, looming over Cam
now."I said *fuck* *off.*" Cam shoved Walter backward. Mulder closed his
eyes, waiting for the blow he was sure would fall. When no sounds of agony
were forthcoming, he looked again, only to find Walter gazing at him with a
thunderous expression.

    "What the hell is the matter with you?"

    "I'm as corny as Kansas in August," he said."And high as a flag on
the fourth of July..."

    "Save it. How did you get out of the hospital?"

    "With the loving assistance of my grandmother."

    "I'm not asking, I'm not asking..."

    "I feel fine, Walter."

    "I'll just bet you do. Come on. We're getting out of here before you
vamp your way into a gang bang on the pinball table."

    "Moorcock--"

    "Scully's taking care of that." He grabbed Mulder's arm and led him
toward the back of the bar."I can't believe you," he muttered."Doped up,
stinking drunk, tarted up like Mr. February--"

    "Walter."

    "What?"

    "About the pinball table..."

    "Tread softly."

    "We might win a free game."
 
     He stopped in the middle of the dance floor, glaring at his lover.
'Fuck you, Mulder. You're an ignorant, selfish bastard. And you're a cheap
drunk."

     There was something sexy about Walter tonight. With all the men
dancing around them in leather and tight denim and Lycra, he alone stood as
an oasis of sanity. He was strength, and reason, and he looked fucking
*great* in that suit... 

    "Walter."

    "*What?*"

    "I love it when you're so Alpha."

    "Mulder--" Whatever he'd intended to say was cut off when Mulder slung
his arms around the AD's neck, letting his weight collapse the pair of them
against the wall. A chorus of hoots went up around them, but all Mulder
heard was the rasp of Walter's breath against his cheek. Wrapping one long
leg around his lover's hips and hooking his boot beneath Walter's ass,
Mulder thrust his tongue deeply into the AD's mouth. In this position, his
groin came into greater contact with Walter's own. Both men were erect, and
Mulder took advantage of everything he had at his disposal, setting a slow,
burning rhythm early on, sucking Walter's tongue into his mouth when the AD
proved reluctant to supply it. 

     After what seemed like an eternity, Walter began touching him back,
almost resignedly, his hands clenching in Mulder's hair when the agent
tried to tear his mouth away. He rocked his hips against Mulder's in a
brutal, punishing tempo that made Mulder mourn the fact that they could not
be alone. This, then, was the ultimate public fuck. Right out in the open,
more or less, with no-one paying them the slightest attention. Mulder
imagined Walter could drop his pants and fuck him on the spot and the most
interruption anyone would provide would be to offer him a cold drink in
between orgasms.

     Inevitably, Walter came to his senses, letting Mulder go so abruptly
that the agent would have fallen to the floor had his lover's reflexes been
less acute. Mulder stared at him, panting, burning, agonized.

    "Please..."

    "You're insane."

    "Oh, God." He rakes his hair, swaying toward the AD. Walter jerked
backward, nearly toppling a spindly table upon which someone was dancing
wildly."We could do it," Mulder said, smiling seductively."Please? The
bathroom..."

    "Yeah, us and fifty other men."

    "Fuck!"

    "You'll live."

    "I--"

     Their conversation was interrupted by the speedy passage of Alex
Moorcock, who was past them and out the door in a flash, Scully hot on his
heels.

    "Who says alcohol slows your reaction time?" Mulder staggered after her. 

     Walter grabbed his arm."Stay here," he said. He looked at Mulder,
looked back at the crowd, and let out a frustrated breath."Never mind.
Come with me."

     The two men had barely cleared the back doorway when the wall exploded
next to Mulder's head. Walter caught him in a flying tackle and they hit
the ground hard. Pain flared up all over Mulder's body once again. *Getting
hit by Walter is just like getting hit by a speeding car. That should
inflate his ego.*

    "Stay down!" Scully cried. 

     Walter covered Mulder from head to toe, his groin pressed tightly
against the agent's, his mouth inches away. His breathing was harsh, his
weight unmovable. *Under any other circumstances...* The AD risked a brief
look up. He tightened his grip on Mulder and rolled them both against the
wall.

    "I think I'm getting aroused," Mulder said.

    "Shut up."

    "You didn't have to go to all this trouble if you wanted to seduce me,
Walter."

    "I said shut the fuck up, Mulder!" He drew his gun."Where are you,
Scully?"

    "I'm here!" Her voice came from the opposite side of the parking lot.

    "Where's Moorcock?"

    "I don't know."

     Mulder struggled out of Walter's arms and pulled himself up on his
knees. His stomach lurched. *Oh, Christ, Mulder, now is not the time.* He
peeked around the corner. Scully hid behind a dumpster. He glimpsed a
movement within a bank of cars."Scully! He's behind the Corvette!" *And
we're fucked if it's his.*

    "Wait where you are!" Walter said."Agent Mulder, I doubt you could
recognize your own mother from five feet away in your condition."

    "You think I'm going to risk being wrong about something like this?"

    "You've already demonstrated your willingness to take risks once
tonight. Do the words 'you need to stay in the hospital overnight' sound at
all familiar to you?"

    "I'll bet I got more out of Moorcock than you did." He pulled himself
up on his feet, pressed his body against the wall."

    "You got felt up," he said."I had something more practical in mind."

     Mulder glanced back at the cars."Well, if *you'd* feel me up a little
more often--"

    "I knew it. I knew you'd bring that--"

     The agent bolted, yanking out his gun as he did so."Freeze! FBI!"

    "Mulder!"

     He heard several shots as he ran, but either he was blessed or
Moorcock had gotten his marksman's certificate from the International
Correspondence School. The only pain Mulder felt came from injuries he had
already sustained, and he was still sufficiently pickled to ignore it. His
vision had not improved noticeably, and he felt sure his knees would buckle
at any moment, but Scully was wearing heels, and Walter had caution against
him. Only Mulder had the slightest hope of catching their quarry and he
knew it.

    "Alex!" he wheezed."We just want to ask you some questions!" Moorcock
never paused. If he ever sprained his mixing wrist, he could likely begin a
third career as a sprinter. Leaping nimbly over cars, avoiding pedestrians,
he made Mulder look even worse off than he was. Had he been chasing the man
straight his sobriety might still have been in doubt. His lungs burned, his
legs were about to collapse under his weight, and still he gave chase. If
he stopped, he knew, he was going to be very, very sick. 

     The hunt led him into a darkened alley. He was halfway through it when
he realized Alex wasn't there. The hair on the back of his neck prickled
right up into his scalp. *Oh, fuck...* There was a thump behind him, and he
spun just in time to see the blonde's arms coming at him in a double-fisted
swing. It connected solidly with his head, and he staggered, but
thankfully, miraculously, remained standing. He pointed his gun at Moorcock
in the same instant the bartender pointed his own weapon at Mulder.

    "What, you're going to shoot me?"

    "That's what it looks like." His hand shook even as he said it.

    "You think you're ever going to be free after that?"

    "What the hell do you know about my life?"

    "More than you think. Look, you're not in any trouble,"he gasped. His
stomach was starting to protest."You can still walk away from this."

    "I can't."

    "You can. You can trust me."

    "Put your gun down."

     He looked hard at Moorcock. He wasn't going to shoot Mulder, that much
was clear. Anything else would be negligible. The agent holstered his gun.
He had no sooner withdrawn his hand from his jacket when the bartender
hauled back and slugged him with his gun hand, flaying Mulder's cheek and
knocking him to the ground. He crumpled. *Here it comes.* Mulder retched,
again and again, head pounding, every muscle screaming, as close to coma as
he had ever been. When it was done, he was coated with a fine, cool, slimy
sweat, weakened further, gasping. Moorcock, of course, was gone. Mulder
heard hard footsteps coming rapidly his way. *Oh, great. The Grim Reaper.
It's about fucking time.* Scully and Walter sprinted past him.

    "Where's the car?" Scully shouted.

    "Back at the bar," Walter said.

    "Mulder?"

    "I took a taxi."

     His friends appeared in the alley opening. Walter was at his side
instantly, and it was gratifying to have him there, his only consolation.
His face was full of concern as he helped Mulder to his feet. Unable to
stand on his own, Mulder leaned into the AD for support."You're going to
need stitches," Walter said.

    "Shit."

    "Mulder, did you see where he went?" Scully asked.

    "No."

DISCLAIMERS IN PART 1

    "Dammit!" She kicked a garbage can that was unfortunate enough to be
in her way. Kicked it again, for good measure.

    "I'm sensing a lot of negativism here, Scully."

     Her head shot up. Moving slowly, her eyes never leaving his, she
walked toward him, gun still drawn. When she was done, she was scant inches
away from him, apparently unconcerned about the difference in height.

    "Fuck you, Mulder," he said helpfully.

    "And the horse you rode in on," she snarled.

    "So," he said, looking from Scully to Walter and back again."Who
wants pie?"

*** *** ***

     The face that met him in the mirror the following day was so far
removed from his usual visage that he couldn't even call it a pale shadow
of his former self. His left eye was blackened and almost swollen shut, the
right bloodshot and underlined by a dark ring. His cheek was also swollen,
held shut with butterfly bandages. The stitches beneath reminded him of
nothing so much as Robert deNiro in"Mary Shelley's Frankenstein." His skin
was pasty and puffy, his body was covered with scrapes and bruises, and he
could barely hold himself upright for the headache that lanced through his
skull with the slightest movement. After another moment of regarding
himself in the mirror, this was no longer a concern. Soon enough he was on
his knees before the toilet, retching once again. *I'll take it back. I'll
renounce my beliefs. I'll spend the rest of my life serving Slurpees to
kids on skateboards. Just make it stop...*

    "Good morning! I see you're feeling better."

     When his latest convulsions ceased, he risked turning to glare at the
figure in his bathroom doorway."You," he said. It was the best he could
manage.

     Walter dampened a face cloth and seated himself on the edge of the
bathtub. Mulder gave him the most piteous look he could manage. The AD's
expression softened minutely. Tipping Mulder's head back gently with one
hand, he ran the cloth over the agent's forehead with the other. Mulder
shuddered with pleasure. This was the first thing he'd experienced in what
seemed like weeks that wasn't unpleasant in any way. Crawling over, he
rested his head in his lover's lap. Walter quietly closed the toilet lid
and flushed.

    "This is probably the worst of it," he said."Drinking was about the
worst thing you could have done."

    "That's interesting. I thought getting punched in the face with a
big-ass handgun was pretty bad."

    "Well, think about the scar. You'll have a real ice-breaker with the
ladies."

    "It's not going to scar," he moaned."They said it won't be noticeable."

     Walter stroked his hair."You can't stay here today," he said."I have
to get back to the seminar this afternoon, and Scully's going to need you
for the interview with Peter Dyck."
 
    "We should be checking out Moorcock's apartment, assuming we can find it."

    "Oh, you'll be doing that, too. Scully's waiting for me to get you
dressed and downstairs."

    "That woman has no heart."

    "Only where you're concerned. Can you stand?"

    "I thought so, until a minute ago."

    "Let's try again." 

     Whether from Walter's love and attention or Mulder's empty stomach, he
managed to remain upright long enough to get showered, dressed, and folded
into the car. He could feel Scully watching him, worrying in spite of his
protestations of heartlessness, but he didn't have it in him to tell her
how he felt, much less offer her their stock answer. He let her drive,
unable to do much more than relax against the headrest and grumble about
how close to his shoulders his knees currently were thanks to Scully's
height problem. He told himself it was therapeutic and kept his mouth shut.

     After an eternity, the car came to a stop. Mulder reluctantly opened
his eye. Sylvan Gardens lay before him in all its questionable splendor.
'Nirvana," he said.

    "You know, Mulder, I can do this myself," Scully said decisively.
'Skinner didn't want me going alone--"

    "He's never seen you kick anybody's ass before."

    "I had a moment last night."

    "I know. I know."

    "Just stay in the car, I'll--"

    "Forget it, Scully. I'll be fine."

    "You don't know what you're talking about."

    "I do so." He opened the door and hauled himself to his feet by the
handle. *Shit.* His head spun, but his legs felt fairly reliable. He braced
himself against the car and took a deep breath.

    "Okay?"

    "If anybody makes a break for it..."

    "I'll do the chasing."

    "Right."

     There was no answer to Dyck's buzzer, so the partners called once
again on the manager to let them in. Once outside his door, the first thing
Mulder noticed was the profound silence in the hallway. He looked at
Scully. Her mouth tightened as she raised her arm to knock. There was no
answer at his door, either.

    "Maybe he's..."

    "Shopping for a new set of nipple clamps?"

    "Looking for a good deal on romaine lettuce," she said firmly.

    "You're so quick to defend him, Scully. Has somebody got a crush?"

    "It's never too late to lose that testicle, Mulder." 

    "Now what?"

    "We could get the manager back up here."

    "Forget it." He started patting himself down.

    "What are you doing?"

    "Looking for my--" he found his lock picks, yanking them from his
pocket with as triumphant a smile as he could manage.

    "Mulder, he's not home. You can't break into his apartment."

    "No, I can. Really. It's easy if you know how."

    "Mulder--" She broke off when he knelt gingerly by the door and got to
work.

    "What if he comes back?"

    "I don't think he will," Mulder said softly.

    "We should have called first," she said, pacing."How long is this
going to take?"

     He glanced up at her, grinning."How long does it take to say 'Laura
Ingalls Wilder'?"

    "I'm going to blacken your other eye."

    "Well, hold off on the righteous anger until I get the damned door open."

    "You eavesdropped on a private conversation."

    "Yeah. Yeah, I did." He heard a quiet click. The knob turned.
Affecting the voice of a teenaged girl, he said"No! Don't open that door!"

    "I'm definitely applying for a transfer," Scully said, rolling her eyes. 

     The agents entered the apartment silently, guns drawn, moving like
cats as they scanned the living room. It was empty. Mulder noted with some
amusement that the dead bird still lay on the patio. The bedroom was
likewise vacant. 

     Scully sniffed."Is that marijuana?" 

    "Sweetgrass," Mulder said. Where was it coming from? The only room
they hadn't yet checked was the bathroom, darkened and equally quiet, at
the end of the hall. His own words came back to him now. They were in a
horror movie, and Freddy Krueger was waiting for them with a couple of
one-liners and an ugly sweater."Scully," he said, nodding toward the
bathroom.

     The smell of sweetgrass grew steadily stronger as they approached,
almost overpowering when they finally reached the doorway. There was a
light switch to Mulder's left. He switched it on and stepped inside. His
jaw dropped. *Apparently we =do= have a lot in common.* Peter Dyck hung by
his neck from the curtain rod, the sash from his robe tied securely around
his neck. It was the only thing he wore. Semen was splattered everywhere,
reminding Mulder somehow of the sperm wrangler from"Specific Rim." 

    "Oh my God," Scully said from behind him.

     Mulder stared at the corpse for long moments."It's not for everyone,"
he said, finally. Scully produced her cell phone and placed a call to the
Seattle PD while Mulder wrapped his hand in his handkerchief and started
poking around. When he opened the medicine cabinet, he was given pause, in
spite of himself. Every shelf was crammed with pill bottles, pills of every
size and description. He leaned in further, squinting with his good eye.
One bottle in particular caught his eye.

    "We've got a match on the Honda," she said, rejoining Mulder in the
bathroom."It's registered to Cameron Redenbach."

     The agent glanced back at her."I flirted with him at the bar last night."

    "You flirted with the man who tried to kill you?"

    "It might be considered extreme for someone else..."

    "I was hoping the car belonged to Moorcock," she said."We still don't
have any leads on him."

    "On the contrary, Scully. Mr. Dyck isn't the only one who got lucky
today." Mulder brushed past her and leaned against the hallway wall,
breathing deeply. 

    "What are you talking about?"

    "We found Moorcock's flavor of the month," he said, handing her the
bottle he'd taken."Looks like our friend Alex is one of the fringe
citizens of the Prozac Nation."

    "Do you think Moorcock did it?"

    "I'd hate to speculate."

    "Uh-huh."

     Mulder closed his eyes."Well, I can't claim encyclopedic knowledge of
Mr. Dyck's sexual preferences, but I'm willing to bet he didn't consider
gunplay to be conducive to a romantic environment."

    "This is a pretty steep coincidence, Mulder."

    "The man was playing sugar daddy to a killer. Maybe the guilt got to him."

DISCLAIMERS IN PART 1

    "How does Redenbach figure into this?"

    "You tell me. I'm not exactly high performance right now."

    "We won't know until I find him, I suppose."

    "Hang on. Until *you* find him?"

    "Someone has to stay here to oversee the forensics people, Mulder, and
you seem to be the winner on that one."

    "Scully, I can't stay here."

    "Open a window, Mulder, it's not going to kill you."

     After a brief, half-hearted argument, Mulder agreed to remain behind
while Scully hunted down the man who'd licked her partner's earlobe at the
bar. While ordinarily not a particularly squeamish man in these situations,
Mulder was not happy about waiting alone in Dyck's apartment, with the
man's corpse cooling in the bathroom. The silence there was oppressive, not
even broken by traffic or domestic disputes among the neighbors. 

     *'You know, there are worse ways to go, but I can't think of a more
undignified one than autoerotic asphyxiation."
    "Why are you telling me that?"*

     *Fucking hell. And I can't even turn on the stereo.* Still, it could
have gone worse for Dyck, assuming Moorcock had intended to kill the man.
He wasn't a particularly inventive killer, but he wasn't gentle, either.
And maybe Dyck wouldn't have been happy to know what he looked like in
death, but he was dead. The worst that could befall him now would be if he
was forced to haunt this fire trap for the rest of his sorry ectoplasmic
existence. He hadn't seemed to glory in his profession, but at the same
time, this was the stuff of which legends were made. By the time it hit the
papers, some enterprising soul would already have a series planned around
this. *Nooky In A Noose, parts one through five.* Mulder dialled Walter's
number as he entered the bedroom.

    "Skinner."

    "Are you alone?"

    "Why? Are you?"

    "Not quite."

    "Where's Scully?"

    "I don't know."

     He sighed heavily."Where are you?"

    "Peter Dyck's place. He's dead."

    "Is he there?"

    "Yeah." Mulder opened Dyck's closet carefully. As if stocked by
someone with a serious dissociative disorder, it was sharply divided in
content. One side appeared to have been culled entirely from the
Frederick's of Hollywood catalogue, a strange, glittering menagerie of
rubber pants and studded pirate shirts. Each individual g-string was
carefully hung from its own lingerie hanger.

    "Mulder?"

    "It looks like an accident. He tied the belt a little too tight. He
was jacking off." The opposite side of the closet was more LL Bean than PT
Barnum. It appeared that Mr. Dyck preferred the rugged look for his more
mundane activities, if he still leaned more toward the pin-up boy than the
outdoorsman. Again, each article was immaculate and carefully hung. It was
the only indication of a more meticulous outlook in the whole of the
apartment. 

    "Are you feeling all right, Agent Mulder?"

     He laughed shortly."Not really. But I'll survive."

    "Mulder--"

    "It's just a little close to home."

     *Now* it's close to home?"

    "The danger is part of the attraction, you know? Some people say it's
not, but it is. You let yourself go too far, and bang, you're dead. It's a
control issue."

    "Then it's a good thing you aren't doing that anymore. I've never
considered you to be a very reserved man."

     Mulder bent over the bed and squinted at the collection of books
stacked along the headboard. He smiled faintly. That"Anonymous" was about
the most prolific writer he'd ever read, apart from L. Ron Hubbard. And old
L. Ron was writing from beyond the grave. 

    "I said, it's a good thing you aren't doing that anymore."

    "You ever read 'Dianetics,' Walter?"

    "What the hell are you talking about?"

    "Agent Mulder?"

     He turned. A crabby-looking man stood in the doorway, carrying a large
nylon bag. Mulder hadn't heard him come in."Listen, the forensics guys are
here. I have to go."

    "We're not done, Mulder."

    "Yeah, yeah. Talk to you later, all right?" No sooner had he flipped
his phone shut than it rang in his hand. He sighed."Mulder."

    "Agent Mulder?"

    "Yes."

    "You want to find out about Alex?"

     The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it."Who is
this?"     

    "Meet me at 'Naughty Nights And Earthly Delights' in fifteen minutes."

    "Are you kidding?"

    "Look, I don't have time for this. Are you going to be there or not?"

    "No, I may as well," he said."If nothing else, I can always get some
shopping in." He ended the connection and dialled Scully's number.

    "Scully."

    "How far are you from the corner of Furlough and Roper?"

    "About twenty minutes. Why?"

    "I just had an anonymous tip that we should be at Naughty Nights And
Earthly Delights."

    "Mulder, do you have any idea how tragic it is that a man with a mind
like yours could waste it memorizing the location of every den of iniquity
in North America?"

    "I have certain parts of Europe in there, too. I mean, Amsterdam alone--"

    "Mulder."

    "Will you meet me there?"

    "Why not? I'll be the one with the red carnation and my jacket over my
head."

     By the time he'd folded himself into a taxi, he was limping badly, and
his headache had returned in full force. He was going to be useless to
Scully if there were too many asses for her to kick alone. With a heavy
heart, he called Walter again.

    "Skinner."

    "I've got a once-in-a-lifetime chance to spring you out of your
sensitivity training."

    "No, thank-you."

    "Come on. You're going to like this one."

     Silence.

    "All right, where?"

    "Naughty Nights And Earthly Delights."

     Walter expelled a breath."This conversation is over."

    "Walter, listen. I need you for back-up. I don't know what I'm getting
into here."

    "I know exactly what kind of backup you want. Wait," he barked. Mulder
was treated to the sounds of his lover's hand over the mouthpiece, muffled
voices, a slamming door.

    "Walter?"

    "I've had enough of this," he growled."You come on to me when the
only thing I can do is stare at you like the pathetic bastard I've become,
you parade around me dressed up like a gigolo, but always at a crime scene,
and now when you look like Jesus Christ's latest miracle you want me to
meet you God knows where--"

    "Naughty Nights And Earthly Delights."

    "I don't care. I'm not coming."

     *Huh. Huh-huh. He said 'coming.'*"Corner of Furlough and Roper.
Scully's already on her way."

    "God damn you, Mulder--" The agent cut him off and leaned back in his
seat, inhaling the mingled scents of faux-pine and urine that filled the
cab. *I never thought I'd say this, but I'm up to here with the sex
industry.*

*** *** ***

     Mulder extracted a patent leather biker's cap from the rack and
settled it at a jaunty angle on his head."Hey, Scully, what do you think?"
he said, grinning evilly.

     She stared at him for long moments, her expression inscrutable.
'Oddly, it suits you."

    "Thank-you," he said."We could get two..."

    "We're not getting any."

     He didn't give her time to rephrase."You, too? I thought Howard
sounded kind of virile."

     Scully sighed heavily and peered out the front window."If your friend
doesn't get here soon, I'm going to assume this was a prank." She turned
back and fixed him with her best Special Agent look."You don't want me to
assume this is a prank."

    "He'll show. What possible reason could anyone have to lure me here?"

     Walter strode into the shop before Mulder had even finished asking the
question.  

    "Oh my God," Scully said."Mulder--"

    "It's not what you think. I got a call, I called you, and I called him."   

    "What the hell is going on?"

    "I'm not sure, sir."

DISCLAIMERS IN PART 1

     Walter turned on him."What are you wearing?"

     Mulder flushed and yanked the cap off, tossing it on a shelf."The
shop was deserted when I got here. No note or anything." Walter glared at
them both, his eyes doing all the talking. Clearly, he still suspected
Mulder of nefarious intent in his invitation, but Scully's presence
absolved him. It galled the agent that his run-down appearance was not
enough to convince. 

    "What did he say when he called?"

    "Nothing. Just to meet him here." Mulder bent over a display case full
of dildoes and attachments. *Jesus. Some of that stuff looks like it
belongs in a fish tank.*"I'm thinking he maybe saw Scully and got scared
off. But he didn't say I should come alone."

     Walter ran both hands over his head."Not that I wouldn't like to
while away my afternoon here, but I am expected elsewhere, as I'm sure
you're both aware."

    "Sir," Scully began,"I'm sure we can handle this. If you'd prefer to
leave--"

    "Just give me fifteen minutes," Mulder said."I think we should wait." 

     Scully threw up her hands and prowled the shop, studiously ignoring
anything of an explicitly sexual nature. Mulder knew exactly what was
bothering her, all merchandising concerns aside. Thirteen men dead now, and
Mulder as good as dead himself. This was no time to be screwing around
looking for the good in people. As he watched, she settled herself next to
a carousel of skimpy costumes and crossed her arms over her chest.

    "How are you feeling?" Walter asked him.

    "Like a hundred bucks." He met his lover's eyes and smiled weakly.
'I'm still standing."

    "Yeah, but when you think about *where* we're standing--"

    "This makes getting off the bathroom floor worth the effort, actually.
Look at this," he said, plucking a pamphlet from the cash desk."They have
a customer rewards plan. Can you beat that?"

     Walter shook his head."You have thirteen minutes to convince me I
shouldn't be giving the manager of this establishment your letter of
recommendation. So  
far--"

     The shop was flooded with the sound of pan flute and drums. All three
drew their guns at once, heads turning.

    "Is that *Yanni?*" Walter said.

    "I think it's Enigma, actually--"

    "Who cares?" Scully said."Whoever you are, come out with your hands
up," she called out.

     Mulder crept toward the back of the shop, brushing past a display of
inflatable people engaged in an inflatable orgy. *They never get the faces
right.* Glancing back toward Scully, he moved further in. He checked the
bathroom, the stock room... When he reached the back door, he discovered
the reason for the delay. Cam Redenbach lay very still on the floor, his
hands tied behind his back. Mulder knelt at his side. There was a click
behind him, and the feel of cold steel at his temple.

    "Drop the gun, baby."

     He blinked."Did you just call me *baby*?"

    "Drop it!" Mulder did. Moorcock yanked him to his feet, wrapping one
arm around the agent's throat."Call them."

    "Shoot me."

    "You fucking call them, or I'll shoot all three of you."

    "That's some threat coming from a man with thirteen corpses under his
belt."

    "I didn't kill anybody."

    "You and every con to come through the American legal system in the
last fifty years. Dyck's was a nice touch, though. I'm still trying to work
out how you managed that one."

    "What are you talking about?"

    "It was a little too imaginative for you, I'll grant you that--"

    "*What are you talking about?*"

     Walter burst into the room, Scully right behind him. Both came to a
halt when they spotted Moorcock and Mulder. Neither had to be told to drop
their weapons.

    "We found Peter Dyck's body this morning." Moorcock's arm tightened
around the agent's throat. Mulder's breathing grew shallow as it became a
struggle to draw air."There's no walking away from this now," he wheezed.
'You can kill us, but people are looking for you. People who know you."

    "Shit." His voice was watery."Shit."

    "Give yourself up. It'll go easy for you."

    "Me and every con to come through the American legal system in the
last fifty years," he mocked."I'd be sucking cock every day I was inside.
I'm through with that shit."

     He couldn't argue with that."Why did you do it?"

    "Fuck you, Mulder, you think I'm going to tell you my life story? Make
you some coffee while we wait for your backup to arrive?"

    "Actually, you're looking at my backup." Walter expelled a breath. He
tore off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. *I guess they won't
be sticking me in any hostage situations any time soon.*"Look, Alex. I
don't know what your motive was for killing those men. But you don't have
any reason to kill us."

     Moorcock released him and shoved him over to where Walter and Scully
stood."You two," he said, waving his gun and Walter and Mulder."Get in
the closet." Mulder was about to speak, but the AD yanked on his arm. The
door slammed shut behind them, plunging the men into darkness.

    "I don't suppose you have Travel Battleship, either..?"

    "Shut up, Mulder." 

     Mulder heard the doorknob rattle."How secure is the lock?"

    "It's ornamental. I can have this door open in thirty seconds."

     He leaned against one wall."You fulfil all my boyhood fantasies about
the high school quarterback, you know."

    "Big and stupid. So you've said. What the hell is he doing out there?"

    "I'd like to think he's making her try on that Harem Girl costume by
the door."

    "You're cognizant of the fact that we're being held captive by a
murdering psychopath who may or may not be killing your partner as we
speak, are you not?"

    "He's not killing her. No motive."

    "What the hell are you talking about? You don't have a motive for the
other killings, either."

    "That was jealousy."

    "Mulder, if I killed every man who made me jealous of you..."

     The agent grinned in the dark."The difference there is you aren't the
murdering type. And I didn't have sex with those men."

    "I'm not going there," he said."Fuck. I hate this."

    "You're a can-do guy. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand
times: you need to stop and smell the Motion Lotion every now and again."
Silence."Come on. I have some right here. It's not like you have anything
else to do."

     Silence.

    "Walter?"

    "You have Motion Lotion?"

    "It's not mine. This is the stock room. Jesus, you think I carry crap
like that around with me?"

    "Since you asked..."

     Mulder hauled himself to his feet and followed the sound of his
lover's voice. The AD jerked when Mulder bumped into him."Sorry."

    "Of course you are."

     He flipped the cap on the bottle he held and snaked an arm around to
the vicinity of Walter's face."Go on. Take a whiff. I'm curious."

    "Fuck off, Mulder. Now is not the time to begin savoring life."

    "Are you kidding? These could be our last moments together."

    "And I'm trapped in a closet with a bottle of Motion Lotion thrust in
my face. Wonderful. This is exactly how I wanted to go."

    "Just smell it." Mulder heard him sigh heavily as he bent over the
agent's hand."Strawberry, or coconut?"

    "Smoke."

    "What?"

    "I smell smoke."

    "Well, I'll admit it's been a while since I used the stuff, but--"

    "Fuck the Motion Lotion, Mulder! He's started a fire." Walter pulled
away from him and rushed the door. Three sounds erupted almost
simultaneously: thud, grunt, curse. Mulder heard movements, and the pattern
repeated itself.

    "The lock's a little hardier than you thought, eh?"

    "There's something in front of the door."

    "Great. We're going to burn to death inside three tons of
flesh-colored latex." 

    "Help me!"

     They rushed the door together. Once, twice. Every time he hit it ,
Mulder came closer to passing out. The smoke was thicker now, and Walter
was coughing slightly. Mulder hacked like he'd had a three packs a day
habit from infancy. On the fourth try, the lock gave and the door opened
slightly. Smoke poured through the crack. The music was louder now, and he
could just make out Scully's voice over it, not speaking, just letting out
the occasional cry.

    "Scully! What's going on?" Moorcock shouted incoherently. A shot was
fired."Scully!"

    "Let's try the door again." It opened a little more."I think I can
push it." 

     Mulder stood back and let him do it. He peered over the AD's shoulder,
trying to get a look at what was taking place outside. Scully had fought
Moorcock for the gun. Crazy. If she'd gotten herself shot, he was going to
be the next one to fire on her. At last Walter had the door open enough to
squeeze through. Moorcock lay on his stomach on the floor. Scully knelt on
his back, reading him his rights as she tightened the handcuffs on his
wrists.

    "Jeez, Scully, if I'd known you were that hard up for a date--" he
broke off when he saw the blood spreading from her shoulder."Walter, get
her out of here."

    "I'm fine."

DISCLAIMERS IN PART 1

    "You and me both. You can kick my ass later." He opened the back door
and dragged Redenbach outside before coming back for Moorcock. The
sprinkler system kicked in as he knelt beside his captive.

    "You should have given yourself up," he told the man.

     Moorcock grinned."Live free or die, man."

     Mulder shook his head."You're not too bright, are you?" He helped
Moorcock up and led him out of the building. Scully leaned against the
fence opposite the shop. Walter was on his cell phone, glaring at Mulder as
he spoke. The agent was achy, smoky, grimy, and drenched. He grinned, all
the same.

    "All this and a wet t-shirt contest, too," he said.

*** *** ***

      "I would have thought you already knew everything there was to know
about that," Walter purred in Mulder's ear.

     The agent jumped. After all this time, his lover still had the skill
to sneak up on people. He gazed at the cover of the copy of"The Art of
Male Genital Massage" that he still held while he scrambled to come up with
a suitable response."Where is this *hostility* coming from?" *Hm. Better
than nothing.* He replaced the video on the shelf and turned to face the
AD.

     Walter had dressed for the occasion in a pair of jeans and a dark
green oxford cloth shirt. His eyes glowed through his glasses, his mouth
quirked up in as close to a smile as he ever came in public."I also
thought you'd be sick of this stuff by now."

    "Love me, love my sexual deviance," he said.

     The two men stood toward the back of one of Alexandria's 24-hour adult
video stores. It was a little after two in the morning, and the man on duty
was fast asleep at the front cash desk, a copy of"Biker Women" laid open
on the counter before him.

    "Why are we here?"

     Casting a glance toward the front, Mulder smiled shyly and wrapped his
arms around Walter's waist, tugging the AD gently into full contact."I
wanted to give you a chance to reenact our adventure in 'Naughty Nights and
Earthly Delights.' You know, without the fire and the gunplay."

    "We didn't have an adventure." He struggled to get away, but Mulder
held him firmly.

    "We could have," he said."I know you liked that Motion Lotion."

    "Mulder--"

    "Have you ever tasted it?"

    "Why do you think I'm not titillated at the thought?"

     The agent smiled."Now *I'm* titillated. When did this happen?"

    "Let's get out of here."

     Mulder met his eyes. Walter was already hard, so hard Mulder could
feel a pulse in his groin, right through his jeans. He looked a heartbeat
away from kissing Mulder. It had been well over a month since they'd last
had this opportunity, and he wasn't going to waste it cooing in his bed
over glasses of boxed Zinfandel."Why don't we take the back door?" he
said."It's faster."

     Walter gave him a feral smile and walked ahead of him, giving Mulder
the chance to admire his ass. *=My= ass.* He walked casually, slowly,
picking his moment, and then he sprung, just as capable of a good sneak as
his lover, shoving the AD into the office and tugging the door closed
behind him.

    "What the hell are you doing?"

     The agent switched on the light. Having forsaken the garish look in
the main body of the store, the manager had apparently decided to paper the
walls of his office with promotional posters instead. All around them were
images of naked, glassy-eyed men and women, oiled up and open-mouthed. A
calendar was tacked up over the torso of one attractive brunette."Don't
tell me you've done *this,* too."

    "No, I haven't--"

    "Good."

    "And I'm not about to."

    "Oh, yes you are." Walter batted ineffectually at Mulder's hands as
the agent got to work on his buttons.

    "No, I am *not.* There's someone out there--"

    "Dead drunk and fast asleep. I know that guy. I was here for two hours
once, and he never even twitched."

    "You were here for two hours?"

    "He was running 'Whores of Babylon.'"

    "Ah."

     Mulder took advantage of Walter's distraction to tug his shirt free of
his jeans. He was about to slide it from his lover's shoulders, but thought
better of it. He liked the way it framed the AD's chest. The jeans were a
slightly more complicated affair, tight as they were. Somewhere along the
way Walter had acquired a pair of button-flies, and as much as Mulder
admired them most of the time, they were inconvenient to him now. There
were so many better ways to spend his time...

     Walter gripped the agent's head in both hands and kissed him hotly,
working his lips and tongue, sucking on both. He moaned into Mulder's
mouth, a moan of surrender, of supplication. He licked the agent's lips,
stared briefly into his eyes, and kissed him again, gentler this time,
switching angles. This was more the kiss he'd received in the hotel room,
somewhere between wounding and worshipful. Mulder slipped Walter's jeans
down his hips and stifled a smile. *No more protesting now...* 

     He sank to his knees before his lover, taking the jeans with him,
yanking down Walter's briefs while he was at it. His cock danced before
Mulder's face. The AD's eyes were glazed over, his hips thrusting lazily,
waiting for the caress he knew would come. Mulder watched him, choosing his
angle, and finally settled for a lick at the AD's balls. He made a show of
it, a thrust and drag, from one end of them to the other, working them in
their sac. Slowly he pushed Walter's legs apart as far as the jeans would
permit, and moved in deeper, licking at the undersides. The AD was very
accommodating. Walter rested his ass against the counter and slid his hips
forward, the drunk at the front counter completely forgotten in the face of
this sensation. His hands sank into Mulder's hair. Mulder released him,
then repeated the stroke of his tongue up the length of Walter's cock,
slow, teasing, not quite hard enough. The pressure of Walter's hands
increased.

    "Don't be so greedy."

    "Suck me. Please..."

    "You're not going to make it. And I'm not done with you."

    "*Please.*"

     Mulder took the head into his mouth, applying a gentle suction he knew
was going to get him in trouble. He ran his tongue around it, keeping his
hands firmly on Walter's hips to keep him under control. The AD tried to
thrust, but Mulder knew him better than he did. And he had something
specific in mind.

    "You bastard," Walter gasped.

     The agent took him a little further in. He was taking a risk now. He
had to remove his hands in order to remove his shirt, but he knew Walter
wasn't going to do it. His coordination wasn't much better than Mulder's at
times like these. The agent stripped off his shirt and toed off his shoes.
At least *he* had thought to wear a pair of easily removed slacks. He
lifted first one leg, then the other, never faltering in his sucking.
*Nobody ever believes me when I tell them porn is educational.* When he was
naked, he risked a look at his lover. Walter's hands gripped the counter
tightly. His head was thrown back, his mouth slightly open, that beautiful
neck exposed. *Enough is enough.* 

     Mulder let Walter slide out of his mouth and stood slowly, sensuously,
rubbing his body against Walter's on the rise. The friction of furred skin
against furred skin was almost his undoing. He licked Walter's chest, his
throat, his mouth, thrusting his tongue deeply inside. Their cocks bumped
together, and Walter seemed to be happy with that. His hands had left the
counter to rock Mulder's hips more firmly against his own. Mulder tore away
from him.

    "Don't tell me you changed your mind."

     The agent fumbled with his jacket and came up with his travel-ready
bottle of Astroglide."I *told* you I don't carry Motion Lotion." He handed
the bottle to Walter and hopped up on the Xerox machine, grinning happily. 

     The AD looked down at the bottle in his hand, then up at Mulder,
absorbing the situation. He shook his head."You are without a doubt the
weirdest person I've ever met."

    "This cart has wheels on it," he said, demonstrating."You'd hardly
have to move at all."

    "What a relief." While Mulder waited, he bent and removed his shoes
and socks, clearing the way for his pants and briefs to follow. Like
Mulder, he apparently enjoyed the shirt. He left it on. He cast one final
glance at the door, one at Mulder, and, sighing, flipped open the cap on
the lubricant.

     Mulder swung his legs over Walter's shoulders to supply the AD with
the best access. He knew he was a slut, and that fact didn't trouble him
even slightly. *Yes, if I'm going to get fucked on top of a Xerox machine
in a XXX video store, I want Walter to be the man to do it.* He giggled.

     Walter's hand left him immediately."That's it. I'm going home."

    "Walter, come on. What happened to your sense of humor? I was just--
ah!" The AD slid two fingers into his ass, teasing at his prostate with the
same evil pressure Mulder had applied to his lover's cock. He bucked.
"Please..."

    "Please what?"

    "Make me a man, Walter," he said. Now he was laughing in earnest, and
his lover's hand slid in and out with each convulsion.

    "Cut it out."

    "I can't," he gasped. He felt tears gathering in his eyes.

    "Then do it quietly."

    "I can't do anything quietly."

     Walter's mouth captured his. His laughing abated slightly. The AD
replaced his hand with the head of his cock and Mulder stopped laughing
entirely. Slowly Walter thrust inside, strain outlining every muscle as he
breathed harshly into Mulder's mouth. He pulled out, then thrust again.
Mulder rocked his hips experimentally. The copier cart slid.

    "Well?" Walter asked.

    "Oh, baby," Mulder moaned."You love me so good." He collapsed into
laughter again. His abdominal muscles were starting to ache.

     With a growl, Walter thrust hard. The cart slammed against the wall.
He repeated the motion, gripping Mulder's cock as he did so, seemingly
determined to draw something other than giggles from the agent. It was no
mean task. Mulder bucked against him, pushing the cart forward, and Walter
thrust back, sliding it back. They hadn't yet found their rhythm, but they
were working on it.

    "If only it was... on carpet..." Mulder gasped.

    "Shut up." Walter thrust faster now, stroking Mulder's cock in
counter-rhythm. The agent had been craving exactly this for such a time
that he could do little more than arch happily into each stroke, moaning
almost continuously, not coherent enough even to say *yes.* Still the cart
squeaked back and forth, but Walter had succeeded in ridding Mulder of his
mirth. Pleasure streaked through his body, spiked in his extremities,
pooled in his gut. He bucked frantically, his hips slamming against
Walter's own, and then he was *there,* his muscles clamping down on his
lover's cock, his skin so slippery with sweat that he nearly fell off the
Xerox machine. He stopped breathing in that instant, his eyes rolling back.
Walter froze between his legs, moaning hoarsely as he came just as Mulder
was finishing. The AD collapsed on top of him, his cock softened and
slipping out, Mulder's legs hanging limply at his sides. He kissed the
agent weakly.

    "Hey," came a tentative voice from the other side of the door."I
gotta cash out."