...Except Temptation |
|
|
Epiphany, Continued
Epiphany, Part 4-- A cowboy in buttless chaps writhed in the pink neon go-go cage. Mulder forgot his gin and tonic as he took in the circus atmosphere. He felt trapped in an episode of Queer as Folk, On Acid. He was about to say, "what the hell am I doing here?" to Miss De Vine, the fuschia-haired bartender in the leopard-skin thong and nipple-rings, when a dark man in a leather jacket, looking suspiciously like Krycek, walked past, calmly flouting the no smoking ban. Mulder's mouth hung open. "We don't get your type in here that often," the dark man said. His voice had a hint of a southern drawl. "What type is that?" "The law-enforcement type." The man's eyes gleamed. They were grey, tinged with a canny shrewdness, and contrasted starkly with his shock of black hair. He was somewhere in his early thirties. He moved with an animal grace, his gestures sure and elegant. He smiled at Mulder's confusion. "How did you--" Mulder began. He reached intuitively for his holster. The man reached down to Mulder's hand and stopped him. "Don't. That's not a good idea." Mulder sighed. Exasperation and fear warred within him. He had not taken his hand from the holster, and now he wrenched the stranger's hand away. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to?" Mulder growled. The dark man laughed. "Easy, Agent, I just meant they don't like weapons in a place like this." The man stuck out his other hand for Mulder to shake. Mulder took it reluctantly. "Name's Agent Connor. Mikel Connor," he finished with a wry smile. "Let me see your badge, Agent Connor," Mulder intoned, not at all impressed. "Oh, Jesus," Agent Connor said, patting his coat breast pocket. He slipped his hand inside and retrieved a very authentic-looking badge. "Wouldn't have figured you for a stickler." Connor smiled, cocking his head slightly. "Haven't done your homework, then." Mulder narrowed his eyes at the man. "Who sent you?" As far as Mulder knew, no one without a GPS system knew where he was, and would not have suspected it in a million years. Connor just shook his head, and drew on his cigarette. "Confidential," he replied. "Confidential, my ass," Mulder spat out, eyes flashing. "If this is Kersh's fucked-up idea of a background check--" "Not Kersh," Connor murmured. "Skinner." Mulder froze in disbelief. He remembered his drink and slugged it back in one gulp, then shook himself. He wondered if Connor knew anything about the other night in the Airstream. The man had relaxed now, and was eyeing Mulder with an amused expression. "You don't need to worry. I won't tell." Just as Mulder was about to exclaim, "What the fuck?", Skinner's tall form appeared over the other man's shoulder. "Agent Mulder," Skinner addressed him formally, nodding toward Connor. "I'd like you to meet Agent Connor, from our New Orleans bureau. He's looking into the Missing Strychnine case in Agent Reyes's place. Just wanted to introduce the two of you." Mulder searched Skinner's face for some significance to all this, but he was inscrutable, as usual. Connor looked, well, bloodthirsty, like he had nabbed his prey and knew how to vivisect it. Mulder was beyond confused. "Agent Skinner, what is this about?" He watched as Connor's pupils dilated, making his eyes turn black. He did not like this at all. "He's a friend of mine, Mulder. I just wanted you to meet him," Skinner's voice trailed off. He looked down at his drink. Mulder shifted, back against the bar. "How did you know I was here?" "Connor told me." "What? Are you keeping tabs on me now?" "No." Skinner shook his head, liquid brown eyes appealing to Mulder's warmer emotions. Skinner looked lean and solid in jeans and a black leather jacket, and Mulder felt vaguely reassured. Mulder let out his breath softly. "Let's go somewhere where we can talk," Skinner said, taking Mulder by the arm. Connor followed silently. ****************end Part 4************************ In the dim light of the diner, Mulder noticed Skinner was wearing contacts. He was dressed in club gear, and looked much younger than he did at the Hoover. And less serious. He was actually laughing at something Connor had said, and was stirring more sugar into his coffee. Mulder watched the two opposite him, marvelling at the strange contrast. "See, Mulder," Skinner was saying, "we just happened to be at the same place as you tonight. Nothing sinister. Connor mentioned to me that you were over at the bar, so I sent him to talk to you." Mulder frowned at this, confused again. He didn't like to be kept off balance for too long. "How did you know, " he said, addressing Connor, "who I was?" "Pictures," Connor said cryptically, then grinned. He stole a glance at Skinner. "Pictures," Mulder repeated. He looked at Skinner. "You have pictures of me?" Skinner nodded, then reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet. "Yeah," he said sheepishly, holding out a photo of a very young Mulder from his early bureau days, possibly from an early ID. It was crumpled and dog-eared. Mulder was stunned. "Where did you get this?" He said. "And do you always carry it around with you?" Connor took over. "Agent Mulder, I know enough about Walter's feelings for you to know he does carry it around, all the time. He got it from Agent Scully." Great, he thought. Scully sold me out. But Mulder was also thrilled at the news. His heart beat a little faster as he remembered Skinner's soft kisses in the trailer. Connor licked the salt from his fingers after eating some french fries, and continued. "Walter and I are friends from way back. From when I first graduated from college, into the bureau. He told me about how he felt about you, and I gave him some advice." He took a deep breath, his grey eyes shining. "I'm gay, and Walter had lots of questions for me." "I'll bet," Mulder said with a dry laugh. Skinner leveled clear brown eyes at Mulder. He looked serious and more handsome than Mulder had ever seen. "Questions that you weren't willing to answer the other night," Skinner said pointedly. "Oh." Mulder's mouth went dry. He took a sip of water and stared, not knowing what to say. This was a little too personal, even for him. "I'm sorry if I caught you off guard earlier," Connor said. He lit a cigarette. Mulder watched as the smoke curled ceiling-ward, noticing the wary glances of the waitress. Mulder shifted in his seat, his face feeling hot. What was it about the two of them, one so lithe and agile, the other authoritative and full of force, that left him breathless? He had thought-flashes of the three of them tangled under his sheets. Sweaty and glistening. He had to get a grip. "So," he asked Connor, wanting desperately to change the subject, "with possible apologies to Sir Conan-Doyle, what is the case of the Missing Strychnine again?" ************end part 5*************** Mulder rounded the corner of the basement only to be confronted with an other-dimensional reality: Doggett and Scully, wound around each other, kissing passionately. Hmm. Love was certainly in the drinking water. He made a mental note to bring Evian to work. Mulder cleared his throat noisily. The two jumped, then stared at Mulder like naughty highschoolers. Scully giggled, cupping her hand over her mouth. Doggett stepped away from Scully and straightened his tie. "Relax, kids," Mulder said. "I won't ask for hall passes." He nodded approvingly at his best friend and partner, and her new colleague. "So, how long has this been going on?" Doggett, looking distinctly uncomfortable, mumbled something about having back-logged files to sort through, and left. Scully stood looking at her smirking ex-partner, arms crossed now over her chest. "What?" Mulder said. "You don't expect me not to comment now, do you?" "You could be a little more subtle next time," Scully replied. "Oh, next time, huh? And when have you ever known me to be subtle?" "Good point." Scully looked at her partner with inquisitive green eyes. "What are you doing down here, anyway?" "Love you too," Mulder quipped, wrapping an arm around her waist. "I just came to take you to lunch. Got a problem with that?" "God, no," she said, exhaling with relief. "I'm starving. Besides, I've got to tell you everything..." ******************************** Mulder sighed as he perused his porn collection. Same worn-out titles: Hot Rods, Down Under, Big Guns, Frat House Memories, Cock Tales, Harley's Angels...And here he was again, sprawled on the couch in just his ripped Levi's, jerking off to a scene he'd watched over and over until the tape skipped and shuddered its death throes. He leaned back and closed his eyes, thinking of Walter. Walter, in those ungodly-tight jeans at the club, his muscular arms around the slim waist of that dark, hot friend of his...before he knew it, what had taken him an hour to achieve suddenly spilled across his stomach in mere seconds...Mulder lay panting, straining to catch his breath, yet feeling strangely empty and depressed. Tears welled up behind his squeezed-shut eyes. He nearly jumped at the insistent knocking. He leaped to his feet and almost shouted, "Coming," but thought better of it. "Just a sec," he called out, running to the bathroom and grabbing a damp towel. He quickly cleaned himself off, then pulled on a wrinkled tshirt. He opened the door in time to see Walter almost heading off. Walter turned back to face him. His eyes widened as he took in Mulder's flushed, satisfied demeanor. "Um," Walter murmured, looking him up and down, "hope I'm not catching you at a bad time, Mulder." He wanted to say, " Where were you five minutes ago?" but he bit his tongue. Walter looked constrained and official in his knotted tie, white button-down, and trenchcoat, and for some reason, that made Mulder hard again. Mulder invited him in, quickly turning his back to conceal his enthusiasm. "Have a seat, Walter," Mulder offered, then went behind the kitchen counter to retrieve two glasses and a fifth of something lethal. As Walter settled in, he waved away the glass. "Still on duty, sorry," he said. "But don't let me stop you." Mulder felt uncharacteristically self-conscious. "I can make coffee, sir." Walter let out an exasperated breath. "What the hell is that, Mulder?" "What?" "What's with the sir, all of a sudden?" But he was smiling. "Oh, that," Mulder answered, grinning wryly. "Just testing out my groveling skills for the office. Figure it might get me a key to the executive washroom or something." "I see." Walter had one arm stretched out lazily against the back of the couch, his muscular body slumped against the cushions like it belonged there. "Come here," he commanded softly. "What?" Mulder's hands were shaking, so badly he almost dropped the coffee pot he was filling. He set the pot down and leaned his back against the counter, staring stupidly at Walter. "I said, come here." Walter's voice was warm and silky, destroying all chance of Mulder feigning disinterest. Jesus, this was too perfect. Like a script out of one of his hotter videos. But better, because it was Walter, and it felt so amiable... Mulder approached and took Walter's outstretched hand. He knelt down and straddled him, wrapping his thighs around him on the couch. Mulder stared into those honey-brown eyes as he gradually unloosened Walter's tie. Mulder leaned his head down, taking his slow, sweet time before their lips met. Strong arms clasped him tightly, pulling him into Walter's lap. "I want to show you what I've learned," Walter sighed, holding Mulder's hips in both hands. A thrill of jealousy ran through Mulder as he considered how his new lover might have been taught. But he could smell the other man's arousal, and decided he didn't care. To be continued...
|
