For anyone who's ever read just *one* too many descriptions about Fox's lustrous locks <g>, a story in the grand tradition of bad!hair!fic...
Mulderlocks
Once upon a time, in the deep, dark woods, darker and deeper even than an international conspiracy to create a human/alien hybrid, there stood an tower of purest ivory. It stood tall and straight in a small clearing amidst the thick tangle of trees, and was tinged a dusky rose each evening by the setting sun. And in this tower lived a beautiful young man with the unlikely name of Fox Mulder.
Fox was one of the most incredibly handsome men who had ever lived, although he did not know it, having spent almost the whole of his post-amnesic life within the tower walls. His body was lean and well-muscled, his innocent eyes a shining hazel, his lips full and sensuous. But what made his beauty complete was his hair. It was a perfect shade of deepest brown, with chestnut highlights, and flowed down his back in long, silken waves. It was his pride and joy, although hell to wash.
He remembered little of his life before the accident. From the day Walter had rescued him and brought him to the tower, his life had been carefree and contented. Walter had sworn to protect him always, and they had quickly become lovers. Although he saw nothing of the outside world save what could be seen from his one small window, he had plenty to eat, a comfortable bed and cable TV. Most of all, he felt safe. And every night, after the sun had set, his happiness was made complete by the sound of his beloved’s voice calling from the base of the tower.
“Fox Mulder, Fox Mulder, let down your hair!”
Then Fox would braid up his long tresses, a skill he had down to five minutes, and throw the coiled bundle out the window. It was the only way in now, since the door had long been sealed against his many nameless enemies. His lover would then slowly climb to him, hand over hand. Although Walter was a broad, heavy man, and the pull of his weight often made Fox grit his teeth in pain, Fox had never once complained. Not even when Walter brought up the weekly groceries. All the happiness he had ever known was gathered in that broad chest, those strong arms that reached out to embrace him, the warmth in the kind eyes behind the wirerim glasses. Every evening they would talk a little, eat the dinner that Fox had lovingly prepared, watch some TV, and most nights end up curled in each other’s arms in sated satisfaction, Fox’s hair flowing over them both, softer than any blanket. And they were very happy. Though sometimes, late at night, when Walter was asleep, Fox would sit by the window and gaze out at the stars, trying to remember.
And so the weeks went by, each much the same as the last, until the day that Walter arrived home late, looking exhausted. Walter would never speak of his work, so there was nothing Fox could do but worry. He watched with concern as Walter only picked at his dinner, and was further alarmed that the preoccupied frown never left Walter’s face, not even when he was stroking the hair they both loved so well. That night Walter wanted only sleep, and when Fox slipped out of bed to sit by the window, he had the strangest feeling that he was being watched.
The next day Walter kissed him goodbye as he left for work, promising to be home early, and Fox felt much better. Later that day he was watching CNN and brushing his hair when the familiar command came from below.
‘Fox Mulder, Fox Mulder, let down your hair!’
Fox, lost in dreamy reverie, did not realise that the voice was not that of his lover’s, nor did he think it strange that the sun had not yet set. Humming softly to himself he plaited up his hair as always and obeyed. It was not until the strange lightness of the pull against his scalp made him glance out the window that he realised that the man was not Walter after all. Fox did not know what to do, and so let him climb. The man who squeezed into his tower room was tall and slim, with eyes as green as a serpent’s skin and hair almost as lovely as his own, though far less abundant. Fox, fascinated, could not help but find him attractive, though he was a little scared at the same time. They stared at each other for a long moment.
“Who are you?” Fox asked, finally.
The man brushed the question aside. “Your lover is in danger,” he said. “You must go to him.”
At these words Fox shook with terror. Walter was his whole world, his sun, his moon, his Discovery Channel. All thoughts of how attractive this man was vanished and in their place left only the need to know how to help Walter.
“But how?” Fox asked. “I cannot leave this tower and even if I could, I do not know where he is.”
The man smiled and his eyes gleamed. “I will show you the way,” he said. “But first, you must let me take you to bed so that I may hear you scream with pleasure and feel your silken tresses between my fingers.”
Fox had had no-one but Walter touch him since that fateful day, but at those words he began to think once again how attractive the mysterious man was and quickly agreed. He had two orgasms. After they had finished, the man said, “It is simple. You must cut off your hair, and tie it to the bedposts. Then we can both climb down and I will take you to him.” Fox obeyed at once and it was done. When they reached the ground the man was as good as his word, which is to say, not very. He promptly ran off into the woods, leaving Fox alone and frightened at the base of the tower, where Walter found him that evening.
“What have you done?” Walter asked in shock. Fox was now almost bald, his hair close-cropped as any Marine’s.
Fox fell into his arms, sobbing, and told him everything. “I only did it because I love you so much.”
Walter shook his head sadly and pushed him away. “But Fox, surely you must realise that it was only for your beautiful hair that ever I loved you. Now you have your freedom but you can no longer have my heart. If you needed to escape you should have used the bedsheets.”
To that Fox had no answer.
And so he moped unhappily ever after.
THE END
