In his mind, he heard the relentless beat of Patti Smith's Gone Again. It was like a piledriver, bang bang bang bang. Over and over, that angry, mournful voice that so reflected his feelings. It did no good to turn on the stereo. For some sick reason, the music in his head only increased in volume, as if he was conducting a stereo fight with the neighbors on party night.

He lay on his sofa, blanket pulled over his head, arm thrown over his eyes. The video reception in his head was high quality, too. For a long time, there wasn't much to see. But he could feel, he could feel it like it was happening still. Gentle, indulgent, worshipful hands manipulating his flesh expertly, bringing him to the brink again and again. A hot, sensuous, knowing mouth touching him in ways he could scarcely begin to articulate, kissing him, caressing him. Then he was entered, made love to, comprehensively, and for the first time in his life he thought he might lose consciousness from the intensity of his orgasm. No other experience he'd ever had could even touch it. Then the blindfold had come off and he'd known the man he'd thought had given him this amazing gift was not the man he'd thought it was.

Now it was Monday, and Fox Mulder had not gone into work.

Just beneath the music and the remembered sensation, he could hear his own cries, his own pleas, his own praise. He could hear himself calling out the wrong man's name, and he would retch to think of it now, but he had done it too often already and there was nothing left in him to expel.

Somehow, the worst of it lay not in what had been done to him, but in how it had affected his lover. Somehow it was not so much that he had been such a willing participant in his own violation, but that Walter had been forced to watch the whole thing. Fucking Krycek, Mulder snarled in his mind. It wasn't enough to fuck the body. He had to fuck the mind.

Mulder had lain there for the better part of two hours while Walter struggled to free himself. Two hours spent naked and handcuffed to his headboard, with Krycek's sweat and semen drying on his skin. Walter had been gagged, but his eyes had been very articulate. For his part, Mulder had been unable to say a thing. It took all his energy not to weep.

What with one thing and another, the binding, the hospital, he had spent the better part of the evening with Walter. And in that time, the man never spoke a word. Mulder wanted to know what was going through his lover's head, but there was too much going on in his own.

He'd enjoyed it. That was the hell of it. Krycek had touched him as no-one had ever touched him, not even the psychic he'd been with all those years ago. Krycek had had a knowing touch. As if he was a function of Mulder's fantasy. He'd lain there, thinking these were Walter's hands, and blessing Fellation: the Greek God of Fornication for his good fortune. It had not occurred to him for a moment to wonder why things were different. He had said the cosmic yes and let his body take care of itself.

It wasn't until later, laying on his sofa, that he had begun to wonder if some part of him hadn't known all along. The kisses were different, the hands different, even the sex act had not been the same. A different twist of the hips, maybe. Of all the people in the world who could have found him bound and blinded, why in the name of Christ had it been Alex Krycek?

Everything he had been working for with Walter had been gone in an instant. The AD was betrayal in the flesh, and Mulder felt as guilty as if he had invited Krycek over and applied the handcuffs himself. Both men knew the situation was not what they thought it was.

Intellectually, that was clear. Mulder would never have bedded Krycek voluntarily, whether he knew the best sex of his life beckoned or not.

He certainly would never have been unfaithful to Walter, with anyone.

Yet every time he thought of it, he came back to the image of himself, begging Krycek to suck him off, and he knew by Walter's expression that he did, too. And that was what should have tipped him off. Walter would rather walk out on him than have him beg. Yet he had done it repeatedly, without thinking, and the man he'd thought was Walter had never said a word.

Somebody banged on his door. "Fuck off," he grumbled. Another bang. He hoped today was the day someone had come to kill him. He didn't have the energy to do it himself.

"Mulder?" Scully. Shit. "Mulder, I know you're in there. Are you okay?"

He summoned up a weak smile. "I'm fine. Go home."

She unlocked his door. "Mulder?"

"Scully, come on." He heard her footfalls, and his blanket was pulled back to expose his head. He flinched. "I would have thought it was obvious that I wanted to be alone."

She crouched down beside him, her face full of concern. "You look horrible. How do you feel?"

He pulled the blanket back into position. "Go home." She stood and did a tour of his apartment. He knew what she would find. A phone unplugged, a phone turned off, his answering machine departed from this mortal coil.

"Mulder, what's going on?"

"I can't talk about it."

"Did something happen with Skinner?"

Yes, Scully, he handcuffed me to my bed, and in the five minutes he was gone, Alex Krycek knocked him out and dragged him back here. Then he tied Walter up and fucked me senseless. And I liked it. I didn't know it was him, because, you know, I was also blindfolded at the time, but I liked it.

Nah. She'd be more receptive to the idea that he had been in a nuclear accident and was slowly turning into a fly.

"Mulder?"

"Not tonight, Scully. Please."

"All right. When you're ready." She patted his head through the blanket. "Are you coming in tomorrow?"

"No."

He could almost hear her nostrils flaring. "Are you resigning?"

"No."

She sighed heavily. "Call me when you feel up to it. Okay?"

"Thanks."

After she was gone, he regretted sending her away. Having her to play off of, having her to tough love him into talking, somehow had taken his mind off of things for a minute. After she was gone, his brain gremlins turned up the Patti Smith and had at it again.

There had been no hesitation in Krycek at all, no clumsiness, no uncertainty. Was it possible to be dispassionate when you touched someone with such familiarity? Had he thought about it? That was too much to take. The very idea that Alex Krycek might have harbored secret fantasies about him through all the mayhem he'd caused, too much to take. The son of a bitch had looked happy enough when he'd left, with Mulder gone slack with satisfaction and shock, and Walter staring at him with eyes full of agony and resignation. Alex had been the happiest man alive. Little wonder, that. He may only have had sex with Mulder, but he had managed to fuck them both. Mulder rolled over and closed his eyes. And against all reason, he fell asleep.
 
 

"Mulder?" He came awake slowly, the sound of Walter's voice sweet in his ear.

He smiled lazily before he remembered why he should not. "Walter."

The AD was still wearing his suit and overcoat. His eyes were shadowed, his jaw tense. He looked wonderful.

"How are you feeling?"

"From a medical standpoint, I've never been better." He rolled off the sofa and stood, creakily. He hadn't been upright since morning, and it was almost morning again. "You want a drink?"

"Beer?"

"I think I've got something." He was walking like a geezer and he knew it, but he didn't care. When he got back, Walter was slumped on the sofa, looking lost. The AD cracked open his can and took a long swallow.

"Take it easy," Mulder said.

Neither man spoke for long, agonizing moments. Mulder just drank Walter in and watched him think, grateful that he had come.

"I can't get it out of my mind," Walter said at last. "While I'm awake it's all I can think about, and when I'm asleep-- if I sleep, I've been dreaming it. Him. And you."

"Walter, I didn't--"

"He wanted me to see it. He kept checking to make sure I was watching." He closed his eyes. "He said he'd kill you if I made a sound. He stroked you with his gun."

That's what that was. "I never--"

"I shouldn't have left you like that. Helpless. Tied up like that, looking like you do, it's an invitation to a man like him."

"Jesus Christ. You can't be blaming yourself."

"If I hadn't left--"

"If you hadn't left he'd probably have shot us both. I'm amazed he didn't do it anyway." He got up and started pacing. Leave it to him to hook up with an even bigger martyr than himself. Well, the hell with it. If they were going to play Guilt, he was damn well going to win. "I should have known it wasn't you."

"Because you liked it?"

"Walter--"

"Mulder--"

"I liked it. I shouldn't have, but I did. All weekend I've been trying to figure out if I knew it wasn't you. It was different, I noticed that. The way he touched me, everything. I think I chalked it up to the situation. You'd never shackled me before, either."

"Now I know why."

"I'm not going to go into that right now." He raked through his hair. "I feel... I feel violated. And dirty. Ashamed. Guilty." Sneezy, Dopey, and Doc.

"I feel betrayed, disgusted, and guilty."

"Well, we have the guilt in common, anyway."

"What do you want to do?"

Go hunting. "Lick my wounds."

"You should enter rape counseling. You know that."

"I don't have the time right now."

"Then make it."

He collapsed at the opposite end of the sofa. "Everything's so fucked up," he said. "The thought of having somebody touch me turns my stomach."

"It's not just about sex, Mulder."

"I know that. I just don't know how you can stand to look at me right now."

"I'm in love with you," he said wearily. "What I want doesn't factor into it."

Mulder stared. "What are you saying?"

"I think you know."

"What, you'll blindly accept whatever I do, no matter how repugnant--"

"You had no choice. Christ, if it was up to me the man would have been dead long before he had the chance to do this to us. I gave him that chance."

"So did I. Every time I let him live. Now I have to examine that mercy a little more closely."

"Living with a secret crush, were you?"

"No." He paused. "I don't think so."

"Shit."

"Walter, do you have any idea what it was like for me? Lying there, watching you?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"You looked so miserable, so angry--"

"Mulder, I don't want to hear this."

"Then what the hell did you come here for? All night, in the car, at the hospital... they put me through a fucking rape kit and you never said a word. You dumped me off and left me alone with this--"

Walter's eyes flashed. "Why did you let him fuck you?" he said. It was a senseless question and he had to know it, but it was out, anyway.

"I was handcuffed!"

"You liked it!"

"I thought it was you!"

"Fuck you, Mulder, you knew it wasn't me!"

"How could I know that?"

"I never touched you like that!"

"I know. I thought I'd won something from Publisher's Clearing House." His eyes widened. "Christ. Walter..."

"Goddamn you, Mulder." His eyes blazed. He reached for Mulder. The agent backed away, unthinking. Walter blinked. "Mulder, I would never--"

"I know. I'm sorry." To his horror, he felt tears welling up in his eyes. If Walter touched him...

The AD folded him into his arms, so gently. Mulder didn't resist.

He buried his face in Walter's neck and breathed him in. Cologne, skin, assurance. The agent was shaking, but he wouldn't cry. Not now. Not with Walter. Not over this. He was alive, unharmed, and Walter was there.

"Let it go, Mulder."

"Go fuck yourself," he muttered.

Walter snorted. "That's more like it." He stroked Mulder's back.

"It's all right to cry, you know."

"Yeah, well, I envision a return to the days when it was all right not to." Walter held him for a long time, saying nothing. Gradually he began to relax in his lover's arms. His breath evened out. His thoughts were calm for the first time in days. He was all right.

"I could try a new technique," Walter said.

"I don't want you to touch me like he did."

"All right."

Mulder pulled back a little, kissing Walter softly. "I love you."

"I love you back."

"I need you to leave."

"You're sure?"

"I have a few things to take care of. I don't think I'll be back at work before Thursday."

Walter's eyes narrowed. "What are you up to?"

Building a better rat trap. "I thought I'd decoupage my coffee table."

Another rainy night in our nation's capital, Alex Krycek mused.

With all the rain they'd been getting lately, it was a wonder anybody but him was out this late at night. He enjoyed walking at that hour. He usually had the streets to himself apart from the occasional drunk, and it was easier to spot a potential threat when they had nobody to blend in with. It was in this fashion that he had first spotted Mulder tailing him, more than two hours before. What the man was waiting for was a question God Himself might not be able to answer. Weird. The man was no idiot, Alex knew. It baffled him why Mulder's surveillance was so obvious. If he'd wanted Alex dead he could have emptied his gun on him a dozen times by now. On the heels of this thought came a more compelling idea: maybe Mulder didn't want him dead.

Jesus fucking Christ. One good lay and he was turning into an egomaniac. As if his little surprise could erase everything he'd done.

Of course it had. He had betrayed Mulder, murdered both his father and Scully's sister, been instrumental in his partner's abduction (which in turn had led both to her sterility and an inoperable brain tumor) and he had abandoned Mulder in Russia to be tortured and killed. But that was all fine by the agent, because man, was Alex ever a great fuck.

Right. Mulder was an odd one, but he wasn't deranged.

"Alex!"

Strike that. He was deranged. He turned slowly and saw Mulder striding toward him. Alex had a whole new appreciation for the liquid way Mulder moved now that he knew it could be put to good use. "Kind of late to be out for a stroll, isn't it, Mulder?"

"I'm restless," he said. He was breathless, too. His eyes burned Alex to the core. He'd regretted Mulder's blindfold when he'd found him handcuffed to the bed, but he wished for it now. Those amazing eyes.

"Is something bothering you?"

He smirked. "I think you know the answer to that."

Oh. My. God. "How's Walter?"

"He's... conflicted." He frowned, glancing quickly around him. "I don't want to talk out in the open like this."

Alex grinned. "You've been following me all night. Are you sure you only want to talk?"

He gave Alex a sheepish look. "Come with me." Mulder led him into an alley. When they were deep inside, the agent pulled him close, kissing him fiercely. Alex moaned into his mouth. Mulder kissed like a tsunami. No-one was safe. People in neighboring towns must feel the shocks. He thrust his tongue into Alex's mouth and reached behind him to grip his ass. Alex wrapped his arms around Mulder's neck and kissed him back. He could hear the hallelujah chorus in the back of his mind.

This was too good to last. Mulder wasn't hard yet, but Alex would take care of that. He sucked on Mulder's tongue, rocking his hips slowly against the agent's own. Mulder sighed. Together they fell back against one wall. Mulder crushed Alex against the bricks, cupping his head in his hands. Alex reveled in this change in Mulder. So aggressive, so passionate. The Gods were smiling on him now. Mulder rocked his hips against Alex's, moaning softly, his hands roaming over Alex's chest.

Before he knew what was happening, Mulder drew back, gripped Alex's head, and slammed it hard against the wall, once, twice, and then again. Alex felt his legs buckle as he crumpled to the ground. Oh shit, oh fuck, am I ever in trouble...

Mulder knelt down beside him, bringing his face into close focus.

"Ward, I think you should have a little talk with the Beav," he said.

Alex blacked out.
 
 

The first thing he was aware of when he came to was the cold. He was indoors, he was handcuffed to a bed, and he was naked. As his eyes focused and adjusted to the darkness, he saw that it was a bed he had recently come to know very well. He saw that the window was open. His head hurt like a bastard, which pissed him off more than these other setbacks. Broken bones, bullet wounds, these things were negligible.

Give him a headache and you could expect a more intelligent response from an eggplant.

He turned his head the other way and tried to sit up. The slightest twitch nauseated him. Mulder must have kicked him in the head a few times after he'd passed out. Son of a bitch. He had finally made what was probably a fatal mistake. Mulder was a lot more manageable tipsy and handcuffed. Unbidden, the lyrics to Fools Rush In began to run through his head. Shit.

"You were already a traitor and a murderer, Alex. I shouldn't be surprised that you decided to add rape to your repertoire."

Alex jerked his head in the direction of Mulder's voice. Big mistake. "Mulder," he croaked. "What are you doing?"

The agent pulled his chair to the side of the bed and sat. His eyes glittered in the shadows. "You're some kind of Renaissance felon," he said. "Type A criminal."

"Put away the thesaurus and tell me what you want."

Mulder slapped him. Alex almost laughed in spite of his spinning head and his lurching gut. He had only just come to and Mulder was going to knock him out again. "Have you ever been raped, Alex?"

"No."

"You ever rape anyone before?"

"No."

He laughed humorlessly. "You've certainly got your technique down. For an amateur, I mean. It was a rape, but then it also wasn't, was it? I've been trying to reconcile this in my head."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"In some cultures, they still emasculate rapists. What's your view on that one?"

Alex was getting worried. He spoke so evenly, his voice was so warm, they could have been talking about anything. He could have been trying to seduce his captive instead of terrify him. "Please, whatever you're thinking of doing--"

"Walter doesn't like me to beg. He says it's demeaning. It sounds attractive coming from you, though, I have to admit."

"You're scaring the shit out of me," he said, and for once he was telling the truth. Mulder was mercurial by nature, no matter how expressionless he had become. Always on the keen edge of whatever he was feeling. This detached Mulder, this indifferent Mulder, he was beyond predicting. Alex might have expected to get fucked, he might have expected to have the tar beaten out of him, but he would never have imagined he'd be shackled to Mulder's own bed and spoken to as if they had never met before.

"I want to scare you," he said. "I'd say I wanted you to think about what you'd done, but that's a little too precious for me."

"You're not going to kill me."

"I'm not?"

"You would have done it by now. Today. Last year. The year before. You keep letting me go. Why?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

"You can't even explain yourself to yourself, can you?" He was gaining momentum with his confidence. "You're so fucking pathetic, Mulder. After everything I've done to you, after I broke into your apartment and raped you on your own bed in front of your lover, you brought me here to talk."

"Are you trying to get a rise out of me?"

"I already did. I know you can't have forgotten. Granted, you were screaming Skinner's name at the time, but I'll just bet you never come like that for him."

Mulder backhanded him. It wasn't as sickening as before, but he could taste blood in his mouth. "Sore spot, is it? Did you have one of these meaningful discussions with him?"

"Shut up."

"We've established that you aren't going to kill me. Why is that? And don't give me some bullshit story about not wanting to make a martyr of me."

Mulder snorted. "A martyr to what? Rapists And Murderers Union Local 376?"

"Maybe you have another reason for bringing me here," he said.

"You could have tied me up anywhere. Why the bed? Why naked?"

"I..."

"Come on, Mulder, don't let that expensive education go to waste. Are you looking for payback, or just a final fling before you condemn yourself to Mister Congeniality?"

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

"Oh, I think I do." He struggled into a sitting position. "You knew, all along."

"No."

"Yes you did. Why lie about it? You knew it wasn't him the minute I first touched you. You were so... surprised. He doesn't touch you like that, does he?"

"You bastard," he said quietly. "You miserable fucking bastard."

Ah. This sounded more like the Mulder he knew. "Why did he leave you like that?"

"He had to get something from the car."

"He left your fucking door unlocked, Mulder. If it had been somebody else walking in on you, they might not have been so considerate of your needs."

"Why did you do it, Alex?"

"I wanted you. That should be obvious enough."

"Why make him watch?"

He smirked. "That I did for the pure evil joy of it. I can't lie to you." He was half-hard, he realized. He really was a sick man. "Why are you complaining, anyway? Didn't I show you a good time?"

"I don't want you."

"Well, you don't want to want me, I'll give you that. How do I compare? I'm guessing he's more on the rough side. That's okay once in a while, but you like something a little more... indulgent. Don't you?"

"You think what you did was acceptable because I enjoyed it?"

"Christ yes."

"Well, fuck you, Krycek. I thought it was him." He got up and began pacing. "He had to watch me, with you, he had to listen to me calling his name, and I fucking thought it was him. He can hardly look at me now."

"I'm heartbroken, Mulder. Really. But if it doesn't work out between you I'd love to take you to dinner."

The agent's head snapped around. He was on Alex in an instant, punching him, again and again. His face was a mask of rage. He called Alex every name he could think of, and maybe it was the concussion, but it seemed to Alex that he'd commenced with making them up after he ran out. By the time Mulder powered out, Alex was seeing stars. He could feel his eye swelling shut. He summoned up a weak laugh. "Jesus. If we were in grade school, you'd be pulling my hair right now." Mulder hit him in the gut. "Why did you bring me here?" Alex wheezed.

Mulder pulled back, appalled. Alex understood him better than he realized. He was no animal. Sooner or later, his humanity always kicked in. The agent stared down at him, breathing hard. A new look came over him. He leaned over Alex again. Touched his face, with exquisite care. Alex shuddered. This was what he'd been craving the last time they'd been together here. Mulder's hands on him. They had always looked like clever hands, and they did not disappoint. The agent stroked his chest, toyed with his nipples. Tested his flesh. Mulder frowned all the while, even as Alex arched into his touch. Pain and pleasure weren't all that different, he mused. Mulder massaged his stomach next, his hand roaming lower, finally coming to rest on Alex's cock. He pulled it experimentally.

"God, Mulder..." Mulder gently squeezed his balls. In spite of everything, Alex's hips shot up to intensify the contact. Clever hands.

Mulder bent over him and kissed him again, softer now, trying not to aggravate the lip he'd split. His tongue plundered Alex's mouth, and he lingered there, teasing, still working his cock. Alex was going to come soon. This was too much. He moaned ecstatically into Mulder's mouth, willing to renounce God, country, and his Garth Brooks fan club membership for just a little more... and Mulder pulled away.

"Oh, Christ, not yet."

Mulder laughed. "I don't want you."

"What?"

"You're morally bankrupt," he said, grinning madly. "You're too pretty. You're a disgusting human being, a waste of life. You have no fashion sense. You're mean-spirited, ignorant, and small. And you need to tone up."

"Hey, don't hold back, Mulder. Not on my account."

"I haven't been this flaccid since I got a rectal exam from a nurse who looked like Jabba the Hutt."

"What?"

"I've got to go."

"What?"

"I'll be back in a while. I promise to lock the door."

"Mulder!" he shouted. But the son of a bitch had gone. Shit. The least he could have done was turn on the TV.
 
 

"So, Peter, let me make sure I understand. Did you know you were going to marry Alicia when you first began babysitting her?"

"I knew from the minute I first seen her."

"And how old were you, Alicia?"

"Ten."

Walter Skinner picked up his remote control, then thought better of it and set it down again. He wasn't likely to find anything of a higher quality elsewhere at this hour of the night. As he toyed absently with his watch, he tried to remember his own babysitters. Anna had been kind of attractive. Charlene, not so attractive. But she had given him his way more often than not, which had certainly endeared her to him. Nobody he had wanted to marry, anyway. Except for Mr. Millar, his grade five teacher. Not quite the same thing. He wondered if there was any point in trying to get to sleep. He wondered if Mulder was sleeping now.

All the pain in the world had been in his lover's eyes when he'd left him there. And Mulder, as a rule, carried his pain with him like Jacob Marley's chains, anyway. He was beautiful in sorrow, though, as few men were. It transformed him. He had the look of a bruised angel when he was hurting, and the AD knew he could deny him nothing, nothing at all, if it meant banishing that look from Mulder's eyes. He would lie, he would confess to every unsolved murder that had taken place in the last twenty-five years, he would eat pork rinds and sing Blue Bayou on karaoke night, anything.

Somehow images of Monday night had overshadowed the weekend's events in his mind. Where before he had been seething, horrified, angry, where before he'd thought he'd go crazy thinking about Mulder arching up eagerly to meet Krycek's thrusts, about the sounds he'd made, about the expression on his face when he'd come, now he could think only of the Mulder he had seen last. Broken. Despondent. Shaking in his arms. Refusing to cry. Defying Walter to leave. He'd wanted to be alone, and Walter had thought, in spite of everything, it was the least he could do. Now he wondered at the gleam in his lover's eyes when he'd left, so different from the emptiness that had been there when he'd arrived. The fight was back in Mulder, incredibly. Why hadn't he come in to work?

He started when his doorbell rang. It was after one. Who the hell was it? He shuffled to the door and threw it open without the slightest caution. Mulder stood in the doorway, grinning, wearing black jeans, black sweater, black bomber jacket. His adventure outfit. His eyes were still shadowed, but he was sex personified anyway, and Walter was having a hard time looking past that.

"What's going on?" Mulder brushed past him, stripping off his jacket and tossing it over Walter's sofa. "Where have you been?" The agent continued to ignore him and bent and removed his boots and socks.

"What are you doing?"

Mulder trapped Walter with his eyes and prowled toward him wearing a seductive smile. He yanked his sweater over his head as he went. The AD swallowed. This was not Mulder. Maybe a clone, maybe a shape-shifter, hell, maybe it was a hallucination brought on by too many reruns of Melrose Place. But this was definitely not Mulder. The agent's advance never faltered, even as he dropped his pants and stepped out of them. Walter backed away. Mulder kept coming. He moved like an animal, slowly, deliberately, as if waiting to pounce and looking to pick his moment. The AD's breath quickened. His blood quickened, too. He couldn't let this happen. But could he prevent it?

His back hit the wall and Mulder was on him, seizing him, possessing him. Rough hands tore the clothing from his body. Mulder kissed him like he'd been plotting it all his life. The agent caressed his chest as if he could feel it himself, gently pinching Walter's nipples as he plunged his tongue into the AD's ear.

"Mulder." His voice came out in a humiliating yelp. Mulder ground their hips together sensuously, bracing his hands against the wall, nipping at Walter's throat. "Mulder." He'd overcompensated. He sounded like Orson Welles.

"Touch me," Mulder said.

"No."

"Touch me, Walter." He bent his head to take a nipple in his mouth.

"Three days ago you never wanted to have sex... to have... Mulder..."

He shot the AD a wicked smile. "Are you going to finish that sentence?"

"Bastard."

Mulder sank to his knees, kissing along the insides of Walter's thighs. "Touch me," he breathed. His lips were a fraction away from the AD's cock.

"You don't know what you're doing."

"Is that a critique?" He kissed the head, opening his mouth just enough to tease. Walter slumped against the wall.

"Don't..."

Mulder sucked Walter's cock into his mouth, working it with his tongue, hie teeth, his lips. The AD bucked helplessly, moaning, his hands hovering just above Mulder's head. The agent massaged his thighs, milked his balls. Walter slid down his throat. He swallowed repeatedly, sucking harder now. He slipped a finger into his mouth and released Walter's thighs to work it into the AD's ass.

"Mulder, come on."

The agent didn't even slow down. His finger slid into Walter's ass, and the AD's resolve evaporated. His hands gripped Mulder's head.

He rocked his hips in counter-rhythm to that questing mouth. Mulder's finger scraped lightly across his prostate. Walter moaned, pleading for something but too incoherent to properly verbalize it. Mulder was merciless, adding a second finger, sucking harder, letting Walter guide him only when it suited him. Twice the AD came close to orgasm, and twice Mulder withdrew just enough to inspire real obscenity from his lover. Walter's orgasm hit him suddenly, unexpectedly, wave after wave.

He no longer cared if Mulder gagged on him. He had to prolong this, and that was all that mattered. Mulder continued his assault, determined to wring from him every last spasm. When it was over, he collapsed against the wall, panting. Mulder straightened. He gave Walter a quick kiss and left him there, loping away naked to parts unknown.

It's too soon. This can't be right.

He hadn't yet caught his breath when Mulder returned, a tube of lubricant in his hand. "Mulder, you've just been through a horrible experience."

He smiled. "I don't know. You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"You know what I'm talking about."

Mulder kissed him again, gentler now. Coaxing. Walter was helpless. He had vowed to deny Mulder nothing, and this was something that under most circumstances he would have been more than happy to supply.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

The AD searched his eyes. He looked sure. But Mulder had enough nightmares as it was, and he didn't want to contribute any more than he already did on a day-to-day basis at the office. Mulder smiled, just then, a beautiful, heart-breaking smile. And from that point on, there was no hope for Walter. He snaked his arms around Mulder's waist and pulled him close.

"I found Krycek," he murmured against Walter's neck.

"What?"

"Don't get crazy." He gripped Walter's shoulders and turned him around. "I didn't kill him." Mulder rubbed his back, worked what little tension remained from the AD's flesh.

"Why the hell not?"

"I'm not a killer," he said, running his lips along the Walter's spine. "Neither are you."

"I'll learn."

"No." Mulder slid a finger into Walter's ass, gently stretching him, thrusting back and forth. The AD pushed against his hand, sighing. "It's the only thing that separates us from primates, Walter. The only thing."

"Mulder..."

The agent withdrew his hand. Walter felt his cock pressing against him. Mulder slowly began to push inside. "He's in my apartment," he said on a gasp. "Handcuffed to my bed."

"What... what did you do?" Mulder's arms wrapped around his torso.

He pulled out, pushed in, as if the slightest miscalculation would ruin everything. Before too long, they'd found a rhythm. "We talked," he moaned. "I roughed him up a bit."

"Faster..."

Mulder stepped up his tempo, stroking Walter's cock. "I didn't feel anything," he said. "Not a twinge." His movements were clumsier now. His excitement was besting him. "Oh God, Walter..."

Their hips slammed together. By now all thoughts that Mulder might be feeling something lacking had fled him. The agent was wild, crushing him against the wall, muttering incoherently. The AD was going to have a sore chest in the morning, but it hardly mattered in the face of this. Something had set Mulder off, and he didn't give a flying fuck what it was. He was just glad it wasn't Krycek.

"I'm going to come again," he moaned.

"At your age?"

"Fuck you, Mulder."

The agent bit his neck and thrust faster, harder, stroking him furiously. Walter stiffened. His second orgasm of the night. Second of the hour, in fact. It was a goddamned miracle. He felt Mulder explode inside him. They almost crumpled from the impact. Mulder held him tightly, breathing into his neck. After a long moment, he pulled out of Walter and turned him around, raining kisses over his face, his neck, his throat.

"If you think you're going to make me come again..."

Mulder kissed him on the mouth now. Probably to shut him up.

"Thank-you," he said.

"Any time." The agent rested his forehead against Walter's shoulder. Walter held him tightly. "What are you going to do about Krycek?"

"Turn him in, I guess."

"Somebody will spring him out."

"I don't think so. Somebody might kill him, though."

"Better them than you, is that it? It's a little morally ambiguous, don't you think?"

Mulder glared at him. "You have a better idea?"

"Let me have a talk with him. Something will occur to me, I'm sure."

"I don't think so."

"I do. Get dressed."

Mulder did as instructed. By the time Walter had finished cleaning up, he looked as if they had been doing nothing more strenuous or suggestive than spelling naughty words on the Scrabble board. They took Mulder's car for the drive back to his place, but Mulder needn't have run all those red lights or broken all those speed limits. By the time they reached his apartment, all that remained of Krycek was Mulder's handcuffs, still affixed to the headboard.