24/7 - Part Twenty Four: Guardian Of The House

Great title picture by  CDavis

I've created a 24/7 Fan Page as a memento of all the great
things that have been sent to me during the writing of this
series.

Spoilers: Vague references to Requiem.

Observant readers will have noticed slight, teeny tiny
differences between the 24/7 universe and the canon X Files
universe - like Skinner not having been infected by
nanocytes, and Scully not being pregnant, oh and Mulder and
Skinner being in a Master/slave relationship - that kind of
tiny, inconsequential little thing. I'm operating on a
'divergent universe' theory, whereby similar events happen
in the characters' lives, but they might take place at a
different time or be slightly altered in some way. Hence in
this universe the event in Oregon from Requiem takes place
in November and not May. Therefore people need not email
and tell me this because I do actually know.

Quotation courtesy of my sweet Alex. Standing thanks to
Emma.

Many heartfelt thanks to Phoebe for giving her time so
generously to help with this mammoth chapter.

24/7  is an erotic fantasy and NOT a BDSM resource guide.
The truth is sometimes exaggerated, or played with, for
dramatic effect. For more information, please visit the
24/7 BDSM Glossary.

Remember those juggernauts I mentioned? A couple of them
show up in this chapter...

24/7

By Xanthe

"A truth, still apparent, though disregarded, that
 things move violently to their place, but calmly in
 their place.  To put it another way, everything has
 its right home, the region that suits it, and, unless
forcibly restrained, will move thither by a kind of
 homing instinct."

   J. Winterson
   "Art and Lies"

 Part 24: Guardian Of The House

Mulder was humming softly to himself as he paused outside
the 17th floor apartment and reached into his pocket for
his key. It still gave him a thrill to use the key his
Master had given him on his birthday a couple of weeks
previously. It was surprising that something as simple as a
key could mean so much but it made all the difference to be
entering this apartment through the front door, truly
belonging here, rather than descending to it via the
internal staircase.  He opened the door, hating the fact
that he was returning to an empty apartment. His Master was
away attending a high level briefing in Los Angeles and
wouldn't be home for another few days. Mulder had coped
well with Skinner's absence – much better than the last
time, he thought wryly to himself as he let himself into
the apartment. He could scarcely believe the change in
himself. A few months ago, when Skinner had last gone away,
Mulder had spun out into orbit, but now he felt curiously
grounded. The apartment felt empty without his Master, but
Mulder was pretty sure that Skinner would make up for his
absence upon his return. In the meantime he had Wanda to
keep him company. He was surprised by how fond he had
become of the little cat. He had been taking care of Wanda
while Skinner was away, seeing to it that she was fed and
watered, and he never retired to bed, which seemed so empty
in his Master's absence, without taking her with him,
wrapped up in his arms, something to hold until his Master
returned home. Not that he'd ever tell Skinner that of
course – it was a secret between him and Wanda. He didn't
want his Master thinking he'd gone soft, or that he and
Wanda had declared a truce or anything.

Mulder glanced around, frowning. Wanda always ran to greet
him on his return home – she loved to come and say hello,
and receive her customary petting. If he was leafing
through his mail and ignored her for too long she'd miaow
accusingly and rub her face around his ankles. If he
persisted in his impolite behavior she'd stand on her hind
legs and dig her claws into his shins until he picked her
up and gave her a cuddle. After that she was fine and would
wander off happily do Cat Things. She clearly needed the
correct proprieties to be observed, and a formal greeting
ritual to be performed. Mulder chuckled as he considered
how well she had him trained – which made it all the more
surprising that she wasn't here engaging in her usual
welcoming procedure. A sudden panic gripped him, as his
overactive imagination presented him with a picture of her
lying dead somewhere, slain by some negligence of his - a
sink full of water in which she'd drowned, or a knife left
out carelessly upon which she had somehow impaled herself -
but he quickly shrugged this off as being ridiculous. Only
Skinner himself could have taken better care of the little
cat.

"Wanda!"

Mulder threw his keys absently onto the hall table,
feeling that something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up on end as he
walked cautiously towards the living room, drawing his gun
as he went. He wasn't sure why he felt that was necessary,
just that he did. Some instinct was warning him, and he had
learned over the years not to ignore his instincts.

"Wanda," he said again, softly…and then he froze.

Wanda was sitting on the couch, purring happily…and she
wasn't alone.

"Krycek."

Mulder stood in the doorway, eyeing the assassin, and then
nervously glanced at the cat who was sitting happily on his
enemy's lap, being petted and fondled. She took no notice
of Mulder, being far too busy rubbing her chin
enthusiastically against Krycek's gently caressing, oh so
dangerous hand: a hand that to Mulder's certain knowledge
had killed and beaten with impunity; a hand that would
surely take less than a second to crush a cat's windpipe.

"Put the gun down, Mulder. You aren't going to shoot me.
Not with the cat so close. Skinner would never forgive you
if anything happened to her." Krycek's hand effortlessly
circled Wanda's neck and Mulder stiffened but Wanda just
purred, seemingly oblivious to any danger, her eyes opening
and closing sleepily, only the pricking of her ears
indicating that she had sensed the sudden tension in the
room.

"Put her down, Krycek," Mulder said, still holding the gun
pointed at his enemy's head.

"Don't be ridiculous." Krycek rolled his eyes. "I'm not
going to kill her – she's adorable. I'm just here to talk.
Put the gun away."

"We have nothing to talk about. How the hell did you get
in here anyway?" Mulder glanced at Skinner's state-of-the-
art security system, which was winking away merrily,
oblivious to its own shortcomings.

"It wasn't exactly hard." Krycek shrugged. "Sit down,
Mulder. You're making me jumpy."

"Krycek, last time we met you lured me into a trap that
ended up with me in the hospital. I'm the one who should be
jumpy, not you," Mulder growled.

"That was payback for all the punches you've landed on me
over the years." Krycek smiled sweetly. "Now that I feel
suitably avenged, I'm happy to let bygones be bygones."

"It might surprise you to find that I am not," Mulder
snapped.

"Aw, you're not still smarting over my handiwork with the
knife?" Krycek raised an eyebrow, a grin hovering on his
lips. "And there was I thinking that kind of thing was just
part and parcel of your lifestyle of choice, slaveboy."

"Why are you here?" Mulder refused to rise to the bait. He
felt a sense of deadly calm settle into the pit of his
stomach. This bastard couldn't touch him any more. Whatever
power Krycek had once held over him was gone because he
wasn't going to give him that power any more.

"To offer you information. That's all. There's no need for
confrontation, or violence." Krycek tickled Wanda under the
chin and she gave a trilling purr. Mulder shot her a
murderous glance.

"Traitor," he muttered under his breath.

"Don't be like that." Krycek grinned. "She likes me. I
have a calm aura." That much was true. Krycek held himself
very still, with a deadly kind of detached tranquility that
suited his profession. "I bet she doesn't like sitting on
your lap," Krycek goaded. "Too fidgety."

Mulder furled his hand into a fist. Krycek was always able
to make his most violent instincts rise to the surface. He
seemed to know exactly the right buttons to press to make
Mulder itch to plant his fist in that smugly grinning face.
What, after all, did it matter that Krycek was right? That
Wanda invariably preferred sitting with Skinner rather than
him, because Skinner had a gentle, relaxed core to his
soul, and could sit still for more than a few minutes
without feeling the urge to stretch, twitch, rustle or
otherwise behave in the restless manner of his slave. Only
when Mulder was in deep submission, experiencing the total
serenity of subspace, would Wanda deign to sit anywhere
near him. It was absurd – it didn't matter that Wanda found
Krycek's a more congenial lap than his, but somehow it made
him boil with anger.

"Just say what you have to say and then go, Krycek,"
Mulder muttered grimly.

"All right." Krycek smiled, and allowed Wanda to sniff his
plastic hand and nibble on the end of one of his artificial
fingers. "I'm not here to fight, Mulder. I'm here with
information."

"You always offer information, Krycek. Most of the time it
isn't any use," Mulder snarled.

"Not true." Krycek looked wounded. "Sometimes I've risked
my life bringing you information that's been very useful to
you, Mulder."
Mulder chewed on his lip. That had a nugget of truth to
it. Krycek's motives might be hard to fathom but he had
occasionally done Mulder favors… which did not negate the
fact that his information was just as frequently flawed,
and had often landed Mulder in deep trouble.

"Just tell me," Mulder snapped. He leaned back against the
wall, prepared not to be interested in anything Krycek had
to say…only to be completely stunned by what came next.

"There's a spaceship in close contact orbit around Earth.
It's massive – a total motherfucking beauty. Get there and
you could become the first person to provide documented
proof of extra-terrestrial life."

Mulder gave a bark of laughter, shaking his head
incredulously. "First Samantha, now a giant UFO – you know
my buttons and you sure as hell know how to press them. I'm
not buying this, Krycek."

"I'm not lying. Call your geeky friends – radars are going
crazy and the UFO watchers are out in force, chasing across
the country to get there. They'll confirm everything I've
said."

Mulder clenched and unclenched his fist, still holding his
gun in his other hand, loosely pointed at Krycek. Finally
he snapped, and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out
his cell phone.

"If this is a lie…" he began.

"It isn't." Krycek's tone was flat, and deadly serious.
Mulder speed-dialed the Lone Gunmen with one hand.

"All right…where is this spaceship?" Mulder asked his
uninvited guest as he waited for the Gunmen to pick up.

"It's in Oregon." Krycek leaned back into the soft
cushions of the couch, and smiled.

Mulder froze. He wasn't sure why, but the hairs on the
back of his neck were standing on end, and a cold shiver
was creeping slowly up his spine.

"Oregon?" He repeated blankly, surprised by his physical
reaction to this information.

"That's right." Krycek nodded.

"Gunmen." Langley's voice.

"Langley it's me. Turn the tape off," Mulder replied.

"Yo – Mulder. We were going to call you but it's so crazy
here right now we didn't have enough hands."

"What's going on?"

"Something big." Langley's voice sounded distant and then
came back into focus. "Oh Jesus, Mulder. You wouldn't
believe what I'm looking at right now."

"Radar of the skies over Oregon?" Mulder hazarded a guess,
glancing at Krycek.

"You've heard already!" Langley sounded crestfallen.
"Well, dude, you'd better get yourself over there – it's
all happening. This one is like the mothership or
something. It's massive, and it's on a mission, crawling
over the state on a go-slow like it's looking for
something. There have to be sightings of this one – maybe
film. This could be it, Mulder. The big one."

"Thanks, Langley." Mulder turned his phone off and looked
at Krycek again. "So you're right. What worries me is why
you want me to know about this ship. Why do you want me in
Oregon, Krycek?"

"Maybe the time has come to make the world aware of what's
up there." Krycek stroked Wanda's head thoughtfully and her
purring went up a decibel. "And you'd be the perfect person
to do it. You're credible, Mulder. However weird you are,
you're also an FBI agent. You're a suit. A fibbie. A G-man.
People will believe you. You're not crackpot trailer trash
out looking to make a quick buck. You're the best we've got
if we're going to be believed."

"Well you can find someone else. I'm not going." Mulder
held the door wide open and gestured towards it. "Get out
of here, Krycek."

"Not going?" Krycek raised an eyebrow. "Hell, what did
Skinner do to you, Mulder? The Mulder I used to know would
be on a plane right now. What's the matter – do you need
your Master's permission to leave town, slave boy?"

"As a matter of fact I do – but that's not why I'm not
going. I'm not going because I know you, Krycek. Whatever
this is it won't be what I think it is. I'm not taking any
more risks for you. Go and tell your masters that, errand
boy."

Krycek's face darkened slightly, and Mulder felt a wave of
grim satisfaction that his barb had hit home. He raised his
gun cautiously as Krycek slowly and carefully picked up
Wanda and deposited her on the floor. Then the assassin got
up himself and stretched, his own movements almost as
feline as those of the cat. Finally, he sauntered slowly
towards the door, where Mulder was standing.

"It won't be there forever, Mulder," he hissed as he
passed. "Get down to Oregon tonight – or you could miss out
on what you've been looking for all your life."

"Thanks for your concern." Mulder smiled unpleasantly. He
escorted Krycek to the front door, ushered him through it,
then shut it again afterwards and locked it – a gesture
that he knew to be pointless considering how easily Krycek
had gotten into the apartment in the first place. That
done, he sank to the floor, his knees feeling like jelly.
Seeing Krycek had brought back too many memories, and he
fingered the fading scar on his chest absently, his throat
constricting as he recalled the hours spent as his old
enemy's captive, imprisoned in a warehouse waiting to die,
the betrayal of his Master eating away at his soul just as
Krycek had eaten away at his body with his knife. Finally,
still trembling, he walked back to the living room, and
collapsed on the couch, his body nerveless, bereft of
energy. He sat there for a long time, staring out onto the
balcony. Wanda leapt onto the couch and sniffed him
curiously, puzzled by his lack of activity.

It was a UFO, very probably an alien vessel, something he
had been looking for all his life, and it was out there,
waiting for him. There would be answers to all the
questions he had ever asked, and probably a few more
besides. It could be the culmination of his life's work…or
it could be a trap. It would be so easy to just pick up his
cell phone and call the airlines, to get a taxi to the
airport…he could be in Oregon within hours.

Mulder reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell
phone. His fingers pressed the buttons, seemingly not of
their own volition. He wasn't breathing. He wasn't even
sure that he was thinking straight. A reassuring voice on
the other end of the line broke through his trance, jolting
him back to reality.

"Skinner."

Mulder started to breathe again. "Master, it's me," he
whispered.

"Fox – what's up?" Skinner seemed to know immediately that
something was wrong by Mulder's tone of voice.

"Krycek was just here." Mulder felt the blood start to
roar through his veins again, and the world came back into
focus. His Master was an anchor on the other end of the
line, keeping him safe, keeping him grounded, not allowing
him to spin off into orbit along with whatever it was that
was hovering over Oregon right now. There was a pause on
the other end of the line, and then the sound of Skinner
taking a sharp intake of breath.

"Are you okay?" Skinner's voice was full of anxiety and
Mulder gave a little smile. Skinner's first thought was for
his slave's safety.

"I'm fine. He didn't do anything. He was sitting in the
apartment when I got ho…"

"He was in the apartment?"

Mulder winced. Skinner sounded as if he was having an
apoplectic fit. "Yes. He broke in."

"Is Wanda okay?" Skinner asked anxiously.

"She's fine. She actually seemed to like him." Mulder
scowled at the cat who gazed at him steadily, without any
trace of remorse.

"Damn the rat bastard. I thought I made myself clear last
time we 'spoke'," Skinner snapped. "What did he want?"

Mulder filled his Master in as quickly as he could. When
he finished there was silence.

"Master?" He prompted.

"I'm still here. Tell me where you are right now, Fox. Be
honest," Skinner said softly.

"I'm in the apartment. Krycek only left a few minutes ago."

"Fox, don't take this the wrong way but I really need to
know. You're not lying to me are you? You're not on your
way to the airport?" Skinner asked.

Mulder winced but he knew that he had earned that inquiry.
"No, Master. I'm still here," he said quietly.

"And will you stay there?" Skinner wanted to know.

"I…don't know," Mulder replied honestly. "This is
everything I've ever wanted, Walter."

"I know, Fox, I know." Skinner's voice was husky with
repressed emotion.

"It's evidence of extra terrestrials. It could be answers
about Samantha. It could be proof."

"And it could be a trap," Skinner said flatly.

"I know that." Mulder chewed on his lip. "Are you ordering
me not to go, Master?" He asked. There was another silence
on the other end of the line, followed by a heavy sigh.

"No. No I'm not," Skinner replied. "I couldn't do that to
you, Fox. You'd resent me for it for the rest of your life
if I did. No, this is your decision. I'm asking you not to
go but I'm not ordering you."

"Thank you, Walter," Mulder said quietly.

"Damn…if I could get back home I would, but I have a top
level meeting tomorrow on a highly sensitive national
security issue. I can't…"

"You don't need to. I don't need babysitting. I'll figure
this one out," Mulder interrupted him.

"Fox – do what you have to do but listen to me," Skinner
said urgently. "I want you to promise me that you'll keep
me informed - even if you decide to go. Even if, when
you're there, you make decisions that you know I'll
disapprove of – just keep me in the loop. Let me know where
you'll be staying and take Scully or some other kind of
back-up with you. Don't do this alone. That much is an
order, both as your Master and your boss."

"Yes, sir." Mulder gave a wry grin.

"I mean it, Fox," Skinner said, his tone in deadly earnest.

"I know you do, Master and I promise that I'll do what you
say."

"Good. I have to go. I'm due in another meeting in five
minutes." Skinner hesitated, clearly unwilling to end the
call.

"It'll be okay," Mulder said reassuringly, still chewing
on his bottom lip. "You go, Master. I'll be fine."

"All right. I'll be home in a few days, Fox. If you go to
Oregon…if you're still there…I'll come straight to wherever
you are as soon as I'm free."

"Thanks." Mulder felt the weight lift a little from his
shoulders. It was good to share the problem, and to know
that Skinner cared. He had never had that in his life
before. Ever since he was 12 years old he had been used to
shouldering burdens alone, from his sister's abduction to
his mother's ill health. He had been the one who took care
of everything and nobody had ever taken any of that strain
from him before. He had never realized how good that would
feel. "Take care, Master," he said softly. "I, uh, you
know…love you." His voice dropped to a whisper as he said
that. He still found it hard admitting to such an emotion
at any time outside the heat of sex or his own intoxicating
submission, but the evidence was so incontrovertible that
there didn't seem to be any point in fudging the issue.

"I love you too. Go carefully, Fox," Skinner warned, "and
remember what I said about keeping me informed. Call me
anytime, day or night, just let me know what's going on."

"I will." Mulder ended the call and sat back on the couch
with a sigh. If he only knew what was going on himself,
he'd happily keep his Master informed.

Mulder sat staring into space for a long time, trying to
come to a decision. Finally the grumbling of his stomach
forced him to make a foray to the freezer to dig out a
pizza. When he'd finished eating he glanced at his cell
phone again. Should he call the airlines? Or the Gunmen? If
he asked them for an update he knew that he'd crack and
head straight for Oregon and he didn't want that. He felt
like a dog with his damn Pavlovian response to every piece
of bait Krycek dangled in front of him. It had always been
his weakness. One sniff of an answer to the burning
questions that had consumed his life and he went, like an
obedient puppy, tail wagging, and it nearly always ended in
disaster of one kind or another. He had to move on. He had
to transcend it. And yet…Oregon beckoned.

Mulder had never been more aware of his own weaknesses
than during this long, dark night of the soul. Hour after
hour passed. Night fell, and the sounds of traffic far
below faded into the usual night-time lull. He lay on the
couch, the restless churning of his mind at odds with the
listlessness of his body. His jacket was discarded on the
chair, and his shoes were kicked under the coffee table.
His tie was abandoned on the floor, his shirt unbuttoned at
the collar. When Skinner had first gone away he had reveled
in being clothed in the apartment. Usually he was naked, on
display, and while he found that a turn on it made a change
to be wearing clothes for once, as if it were some kind of
exotic, forbidden luxury. Who would have thought that
something as simple as wearing clothes could feel so
illicit? He longed for the uncomplicated reassurance of his
role as Skinner's slave and yet even as he thought that he
knew he couldn't hide behind that role. Skinner had never
allowed him to use his slavery as an escape from his
problems – instead he had made it a tool by which Mulder
faced up to them. Being naked, kneeling at his Master's
feet, would certainly be a distraction right now but it
wouldn't solve anything. If only the answers were simple.
His heart told him to go – but his soul told him to stay.
His head said that logically he had nothing to fear as long
as he took someone with him, and went to Oregon with
backup, but some instinct he didn't understand made him
doubt that logic. Somehow he knew that it would make no
difference. Even if his Master himself accompanied him to
Oregon, somehow something would happen to him there...and
he wasn't sure what.

Cold fingers of uncertainty nagged at him whenever he came
close to making a decision. Several times he got up, sure
that he had made the decision to go, and each time he sat
down again, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin. He even
got as far as packing a small bag and bringing it back down
to the living room. He sat with it between his feet, still
trying to come to a decision. He wanted this. He wanted it
badly. He needed to go. If he didn't go he knew that he'd
regret it forever…he'd always think of what might have
been, of the answers he could finally have uncovered.

It was nearly dawn when Mulder finally made up his mind.
He stood up, and grabbed the bag. He'd go. He'd call ahead
to the local PD and request back up. There was no need to
involve Scully in this. If there was any danger then he
didn't want her to get hurt. Relieved to have finally made
up his mind, Mulder patted Wanda's head absently, and wrote
a note to Mrs. Asher asking her to feed the cat and fish
for the next couple of days. Then he got up, picked up his
bag, walked to the door, grabbed his keys…and hesitated. He
looked back over his shoulder at the apartment and that icy
sensation swept through him again. Suddenly he knew,
without any shadow of a doubt, that if he left here this
evening he wouldn't come back for a very long time - if
ever. The sensation was so sudden and so strong that it
winded him, and he crouched, trying to get his breath back.
He saw Wanda through the open living room door, lying on
her side on the couch in a state of blissful feline
contentment. He saw one of his Master's paddles hanging
from a hook outside the kitchen – serving both as a
permanently on display reminder to his slave and a
conveniently available implement for Skinner to use when
his slave required immediate correction. Mulder took a
sharp intake of breath. This was it. This was his home, his
whole existence, and he loved it. If he walked out of the
door now it would all disappear, as if it had never
existed. If he went, he'd lose it forever. He wasn't sure
how, or why, he just knew that it was true. If he left now,
he might find his answers, but in so doing he'd lose
himself.

Mulder gave a low, choking sob, and walked back into the
living room. He threw his bag onto the floor, slumped on
the couch, and buried his face in Wanda's fur. He had just
undergone a most profound moment. He had been tested, and
had found the resolve to walk a different path, and by that
one act he knew that he had somehow freed himself from a
particular destiny, and chosen a different one instead. The
strange thing was that it didn't feel like a bad choice. It
felt good. It felt right.

"You're still here." The voice made him stiffen.

"Go away, Krycek." He didn't even look around. Krycek was
no longer a threat. Mulder was so sure of his decision that
nothing Krycek said or did would alter that.

"Skinner must have really screwed with your mind. I
thought you'd come to your senses when you had time to
think about it." Krycek sounded surprised. "Well, well.
This is different." The room was in darkness. Mulder heard
Krycek walk over to him, and he tensed, uncertain whether
the other man had a gun. "I'm not entirely sure how to play
this one. In fact, I'm speechless," Krycek said, his lips
brushing Mulder's ear as he leaned in close.

"You're patently not," Mulder commented acerbically. He
could feel Krycek's breath on the back of his neck, making
his hackles rise.

"I brought you this." Krycek threw an envelope onto the
coffee table in front of them. "Plane ticket…and a couple
of pictures." He walked around the couch and perched on the
side of the coffee table. "You might find the pictures
particularly interesting."

Krycek waited, but Mulder just sat, making no move to open
the envelope.

"I can see that Skinner also stole your curiosity. Okay."
Krycek opened the envelope and drew out the photographs. He
held one up. "Remember Billy Miles? One of your first cases
with Agent Scully I believe. He's an abductee. You
suspected aliens and she…well, Agent Scully has always been
more of a skeptical personality, hasn't she?" Krycek's
teeth gleamed a vivid white in the dimly lit room – the
only light being that from the hallway slanting through the
open door. Mulder clenched his fists, wanting to strike but
he still wasn't sure whether Krycek had a gun – or worse, a
knife. Mulder's finger went absently to his scar again.
"This photograph is of Billy. He's older now of course –
it's been a few years since you saw him after all. He
disappeared last night. In Oregon." Krycek threw the
photograph onto Mulder's lap. "His car was found abandoned
on the open road. The electrics weren't working." Krycek
paused, gazing intently at Mulder.

"It's just a photograph." Mulder shrugged. "It doesn't
prove anything. You could have got it anywhere."

"The second photo might interest you more." Krycek held it
up. Mulder could just about make out a cylindrical object
with flashing lights, hovering in a dark sky.

"It could be anything." Mulder shrugged. "You know how
easily those shots can be faked."

"This one isn't. It was taken a few hours ago. In Oregon."

"Okay. I'm still not going." Mulder shrugged. Wanda
stretched and yawned beside him, then sat up, her yellow-
green eyes sparkling in the half light.

"Why? Because of Skinner? He doesn't own you, Mulder."
Krycek sounded genuinely angry now, as if he hadn't
anticipated meeting this kind of resistance.

"As a matter of fact he does," Mulder chuckled. "And no,
not because of him, because of me. You wouldn't understand,
Krycek."

"I understand one thing – it's my mark on your chest,
Mulder. I'm the one who pulls your strings, whether you
like it or not. You'll go." Krycek sat back confidently,
his green eyes glowing like Wanda's.

"No. I won't." Mulder shook his head wryly, refusing to
rise to the bait.

"You couldn't even come after me yourself, could you?"
Krycek growled in a sneering tone, clearly annoyed by
Mulder's refusal to play the game his way. "You had to send
Skinner to take revenge on me for what happened in Seattle.
You had to hide behind him – just like you're doing now."

"That's crap and you know it," Mulder bristled. "I've
never shied away from a fight with you in my life Krycek. I
enjoy beating the shit out of you too much. And on that
subject, I think that you and I have some unfinished
business to take care of, don't you?" Mulder threw his fist
at Krycek's jaw without warning, striking the other man a
glancing blow. Krycek recovered quickly and launched
himself forward, landing on Mulder's body and winding him
as he pushed him back on the couch. He brought his fist
down hard on Mulder's face, making painful contact with
Mulder's cheek. Mulder twisted, and pushed up with all his
might, aware of Wanda scurrying away frantically out of the
corner of his eye. Anger gave him the strength to

lever his opponent away. "Get the fuck out of my life,
Krycek," he hissed, pummeling the other man with his fists.
They both fell off the couch and crashed onto the coffee
table, which shattered beneath them. They landed amid the
remains of sheared wood and broken glass, Krycek on top.

 "No deal, Mulder. I'm with you forever," Krycek growled.
"You'll never get rid of me." They rolled over together,
each landing a punch but not hard enough to decide the
outcome of the fight.

"You fucking bastard," Mulder shouted, lashing out in a
blind frenzy. He had a vision of Krycek following him for
the rest of his life, always there, smirking, offering him
leads that turned into traps, wrong-footing him at every
turn, and a wave of frustration swept through him. Krycek
took advantage of his loss of control and managed to land a
punch to Mulder's midriff that knocked him onto his back.
Mulder fell awkwardly, with a grunt, winded, and he lay
there, helpless, as Krycek raised his fist to strike.

"Let's face it, Mulder," Krycek hissed, his fist poised
ready to deliver the decisive blow in this particular
battle. "You're always going to be a sick, crazy pervert,
playing your stupid sex games with that thick as shit moron
you call Master." He said that word with a distinct sneer.
"You don't need my help to be any more fucked up than you
already are, slave boy." And with that he brought his fist
down. Mulder steeled himself for a blow that never arrived.
Instead the lights snapped on, blinding him momentarily in
the sudden glare. He heard a low growl of surprise and then
Krycek was lifted bodily from him and thrown
unceremoniously against the wall, where he crashed to a
halt and then slid slowly to the ground.

"Thick as shit?" Skinner's voice was as cold as ice, and
almost expressionless. "It seems to me there's only one
moron around here, Krycek. Tell me, what part of 'leave
Mulder alone' didn't you understand when I visited you last
time?" He grabbed the collar of Krycek's black leather
jacket and flicked a savage punch at the other man's jaw
that made Mulder wince. Krycek's head lolled back against
the wall, blood running down his chin.

"Leave me alone, Skinner," Krycek snarled, struggling
desperately in Skinner's grasp. He was suddenly transformed
into a vicious animal fighting for his life. "Mulder
doesn't need you to protect him. He's a big boy now, and he
wants to go to Oregon - don't you, Mulder?" He glanced at
Mulder over Skinner's shoulder. Mulder sat up, gingerly
feeling his tender abdomen and bruised jaw.

"There's his bag by the couch, all packed and ready to
go," Krycek pointed out. Skinner glanced at it and then his
eyes swept over Mulder's face, utterly impassive. Mulder
shook his head. He didn't need to prove anything to Skinner
- his Master would take his word over Krycek's any day of
the week. Skinner's expression hardened as he turned back
to their uninvited guest.

"You see, no amount of 'Yes Master, No Master' is going to
change him," Krycek taunted. "He'll always be what he is,
however hard you work on him."

"Oh yes. And what exactly is it that you think he is?"
Skinner asked, his fingers digging deep into Krycek's neck.
Krycek gave a smirk, his cut lip splitting open even more,
causing a large bubble of blood to well up in the crack.

"He's easy," Krycek replied. "Mulder's easy. You just wind
him up, press his buttons, set him in the right direction,
and he goes – and I know which buttons to press far more
than you do, Skinner. He isn't really yours – I'm the one
who knows him best. I'm the one who can make him dance to
my tune like a puppet."

"Is that so?" Skinner's voice was deceptively mild.

"Yeah – those are my initials carved on his chest after
all." Krycek grinned smugly as he threw his ultimate jibe
at the man holding him against the wall.

Skinner's expression didn't change. "Fox, come here," he
ordered. Mulder walked over, wondering what his Master was
going to do. Skinner gestured with his head. "Open your
shirt, Fox. Show him what's on your chest."

Mulder exchanged a grim glance with his Master, and then
unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the smooth, neat, almost
invisible scar - a scar that no longer spelt out the
initials AK.

"You see, things can change, boy," Skinner said. "Just
like that scar changed. Mulder is mine – don't be in any
doubt about that. He's mine. Don't mess with him again."

Krycek's eyes were sullen and angry as he recognized that
he had lost this particular argument. "Let me go, Skinner,"
he gasped, struggling pointlessly in the big man's grasp.

"Not yet. I want to make something very plain, in words
that a moron like you can understand," Skinner said, his
large paw holding Krycek upright as he threw off another of
those punches that looked so easy but which had to hurt
like hell. The assassin's eyes were starting to look a
little glazed. "Leave Mulder alone," Skinner growled.
"Leave me alone. Don't ever, ever come back here. I don't
give a shit how scared you are of your masters – you should
be more afraid of me because if you ever contact us again
you'll really feel my wrath. And I mean that, Krycek. It
isn't an empty threat. If you ever bother either of us
again then it's serious. I won't play nice. I won't play by
the rules. There will be consequences. Do you understand?"

"Sure." Krycek nodded, licking his lips nervously and
wiping away the blood, only for it to well up again almost
immediately.

"No." Skinner shook Krycek as if he were a rag doll.
Mulder was in awe of his Master's angry strength. Skinner
was like a cat playing with a mouse – deadly and dangerous.
Mulder had no doubt that his Master could have killed
Krycek with one flick of his hands, snapping the assassin's
neck as if he were nothing, and he was suddenly profoundly
aware how much Skinner held back when dealing with his
slave, how those big hands also knew how to caress, and be
gentle, and loving. He had never seen Skinner like this
before, and it was a revelation to him. He suddenly became
aware, with an acute sensation of embarrassment, that his
cock had started to swell within his pants. Christ, that
was the last thing he needed right now.

"No, that's not good enough," Skinner said in a low,
intense voice. "You have to really understand, Krycek,
because this is the last warning. There won't be another
one." He shook Krycek again to illustrate the point. The
blood running down Krycek's jaw dripped onto his tee shirt
and splattered onto Skinner's face. "Leave us alone. Don't
come near Mulder – and that means no phone calls, no
visits, no turning up here or at the Hoover Building. No
emails, no letters – no contact of any kind. Don't follow
him. Don't come anywhere near him - or I promise you that
it will be the last time." Skinner's voice was so low and
hard that it was almost unrecognizable. "Now I'm going to
ask you again – do you understand?" Skinner pressed.

"Y…yes…sir…" Krycek stammered. Mulder smiled – even Krycek
was in awe of his Master.

"Good. Then it's time for you to leave." Skinner hauled
Krycek bodily to the door, then paused and pulled his cell
phone from his pocket. He called the doorman and requested
two members of the security team. When they arrived a few
minutes later, he handed Krycek to them with a grim request
that he be thrown onto the street and not allowed re-
admittance – ever. Then, finally, he shut the door and
turned back to his slave boy.

"I thought you had a meeting," Mulder said, unsure what
mood his Master was in. Skinner's chest was still heaving,
and he didn't know whether his Master had come down off his
battle high or not. If not…then he could still be dangerous.

"I couldn't stay knowing what you were going through. I
wanted to be with you for this decision – whichever way you
decided to jump," Skinner told him. "I said a personal
emergency had come up. I'm sure the Director wasn't
impressed, but this was more important."

Mulder was stunned by his Master's grasp of his
priorities. He wasn't sure he had ever come so decisively
first with anyone in his life before. "I had made up my
mind," he said softly. "I wasn't going. I almost did. I
packed to go but I turned back at the last minute. I just
had a really bad feeling about it. My decision seemed to
upset Krycek. He's used to me jumping through his hoops.
That's why we were fighting."

"Are you okay?" Skinner's eyes were dark and concerned. He
wasn't wearing his wirerims and his face was still
spattered with Krycek's blood. He traced his fingers over
Mulder's bruised cheek.

"I'm fine. You?" Mulder caught his Master's hand and
examined it. Skinner's knuckles were badly bruised and the
skin was scraped in places.

"I'm fine too. Come here." Skinner wrapped his arms around
his slave and held him tight, then pushed him away and
glanced in surprise at Mulder's crotch. "You're hard," he
observed, in a tone of mild astonishment. "I'm impressed.
After all the drama here tonight I'd have thought sex would
be the last thing on your mind."

Mulder felt the heat rise to the surface of his skin and
cursed his body silently for giving away a long-held
fantasy that fascinated and appalled him so much that he
had never been able to give it voice.

"What's this about?" Skinner asked, his dark eyes
intrigued, his fingers gently brushing his slave's swelling
cock.

"You're hot when you're in he-man mode that's all. You
know it turns me on," Mulder deflected the question,
feeling utterly embarrassed, hating his body for giving him
away. He disengaged himself from his Master's grasp,
turned, and went into the kitchen. He dug out some
antiseptic gel from the cupboard, and then returned to
escort his Master into the lounge, where he knelt and
applied the gel to Skinner's knuckles.

"I know how it looks – with the bag," Mulder said softly
as he soothed the gel into his Master's discolored skin.
"But I really wasn't going to go. I'd made up my mind."

"I believe you." Skinner smiled, and placed his free hand
on Mulder's shoulders, stroking him affectionately.

"You can go back to LA. Krycek would be an idiot to show
up here again and I'm not in danger of being abducted by
aliens in Oregon." Mulder gave a faint, rueful smile. He
felt that cold sensation again, and shivered.

"Boy?" Skinner's fingers found Mulder's chin and forced
his face up to look at him.

"It's nothing, Master. Just this weird feeling I've been
having all night. I think I made the right decision."

"So do I. As for LA – I'm in no mood to fly back straight
away. I want to go to bed and have my slave remind me what
I've been missing while I've been away." Skinner flicked
Mulder's dark hair away from his face, and gazed at his
slave boy fondly. Mulder melted into the caress, as he
always did. "Before that though…" Skinner drew back
reluctantly, and glanced around the room. "I suspect we
weren't the only ones spooked by what happened here this
evening. I think a certain someone will be in need of some
reassurance too."

"Wanda." Mulder got up, frowning. He remembered seeing the
little cat rush away at the first sign of violence but had
no idea where she had gone after that. They spent the next
twenty minutes scouring the apartment but couldn't find
her. Eventually, Skinner called a halt to the search with a
sigh of resignation.

"I guess she's gone to ground. That's fair enough. She
obviously doesn't want to be found. We'll have to wait
until she decides she's ready to come out. I've learned the
hard way that you can't force Madam to do anything she
doesn't want to do." He glanced at Mulder. "I don't know
about you, boy but I'm tired. Let's hit the sheets."

Skinner headed for the bedroom and Mulder followed,
chewing on his lip. He was still disturbed by his earlier
arousal and somehow he knew that this wasn't something
Skinner would allow to rest. He got undressed, knelt beside
the bed, and waited until his Master was settled under the
sheets before requesting permission to join him. Skinner
nodded, and Mulder slid into bed, and was immediately
pulled into a pair of big arms. Skinner pushed Mulder's
legs open forcefully with his knee, and pinned him to the
bed, kissing him thoroughly. Mulder's cock hardened
immediately.

"You denied me earlier," Skinner said, his large hands
holding Mulder down as surely as any method of bondage.
Mulder moaned, too distracted by sex to be able to fathom
what his Master was talking about.

"Denied you? I never…I wouldn't, Master," he replied in
astonishment. He had never once rejected his Master's
sexual advances – he enjoyed them too much for that.

"You denied me a part of your sexuality. I noticed you
were aroused and you made an excuse not to talk about it. I
want to talk about it," Skinner insisted, one hand holding
Mulder in place, the other stroking his slave's chest. He
paused over Mulder's left nipple and took it between his
fingers, rubbing it to a point. Mulder gasped out loud.

"I'm waiting." Skinner's fingers squeezed, and Mulder jack-
knifed against his Master's body.

"I don't know what you want me to say. I was embarrassed,
that's all. I didn't mean to deny you anything," he said
quickly. The pressure of the fingers on his nipple eased a
little.

"Talk to me about it. If it's a sexual fantasy then I want
to know. I have a right to know my slave's desires.  Why
does it embarrass you after all we've done?"

"Because…because it's…" Mulder struggled with what he
wanted to say. Skinner increased the tension on his nipple.
"It's not very PC," Mulder gasped.

"Neither is slavery." Skinner released the nipple, and
dropped his head to suck the abused nub of flesh, warming
and soothing it with his tongue. When he'd finished he
kissed his slave on the lips again, a deep, heartfelt kiss
then leaned back and gazed at him, clearly waiting for
Mulder to elaborate on his fantasy. Mulder remained mute.
This wasn't something he wanted to talk about. After a long
silence, Skinner gave a loud sigh, clearly accepting that
he wasn't going to get any answers and unwilling to press
the issue after all they'd just been through.

"I was afraid you'd gone to Oregon. I wasn't sure what I'd
find when I came home," he murmured, caressing Mulder's
features in the dark with his fingers as if to remind
himself what they looked like. "I sure as hell didn't
expect to see you writhing on the carpet with Alex Krycek."

"We really need to get a new security system," Mulder said
wryly. "He broke in twice without any difficulty at all."

"I'll look into it," Skinner murmured absently. He
released Mulder and turned over with another deep sigh.
Mulder lay there, his cock still hard and aroused. He knew
he'd upset his Master with his lack of trust, but this was
difficult. All the same – Skinner was right. He was a
slave, and he had given control of his body and his desires
to his Master. By withholding them he was committing a
breach of their contracts, and they both knew it. It was
only because they were both so shaken after Krycek's visit
that his Master wasn't pressing the issue and he was taking
advantage of that fact. Mulder thought about it for a
moment, and then touched his Master's shoulder.

"It was you, holding Krycek against the wall, being so
dangerous and uncompromising," he said quickly, before he
could change his mind. "You didn't care about him. You
weren't careful with him the way you are with me. You know
I have a thing about you in he-man mode anyway. You know
how much I enjoy really rough sex." He bit on his lip.
Skinner turned to look at him in the darkness. Mulder took
a deep breath, unsure how to proceed.

"You want me to force you?" Skinner asked.

Mulder made a face. "Kinda," he whispered.

"Tell me more." Skinner slung his thigh over Mulder's
legs, drawing him close. He reached down and began to
slowly caress his slave's hard cock.

Mulder grimaced, torn between pleasure and confession.
"It's not an easy thing to admit," he murmured.

"You can tell me anything. In fact I insist. As your
Master." Skinner smiled, his white teeth gleaming. "I won't
judge you, Fox. It's just a fantasy. Tell me," he urged.

"I know you're always careful with me and I'm grateful for
that because some of what we do is pretty…extreme…but…I'd
like to try maybe…something a bit more…when we're playing
that is…" He broke off, realizing what little sense he was
making.

"Keep going." Skinner pumped his cock hard and he gave a
gasp of need.

"I'd like to struggle," Mulder murmured, thankful that it
was dark so Skinner couldn't see the shade of bright red
his face had turned. "I want to be subdued. I want to
fight…I want to be…"

"Raped?" Skinner flicked some of Mulder's hair out of his
eyes. He was propped up on one elbow, gazing down on his
slave with an amused look on his face.

"No! I mean…not for real," Mulder said quickly.

"I know what you mean, slave boy." Skinner's hand was firm
on his cock as he milked Mulder to climax. "It isn't
anything to be ashamed of. It's a common fantasy."

"Is it? For men?" Mulder grimaced again.

"Well, a lot of men fantasize about being overpowered by a
strong, sexy woman so yes, why not? Your fantasy is more
skewed to your particular sexuality but it isn't uncommon.
It's okay, Fox. I know it's just a fantasy. I also know
that if anyone actually tried to rape you you'd fight him
tooth and nail. Being my slave means you can't say 'no' to
me. You're saying you'd like to have a controlled fantasy
scenario where you can say no. Where you can fight and
struggle against me without the normal rules applying. You
want me to take you by force, to make you submit. Yes?"

"I guess." Mulder glanced at his Master apprehensively,
waiting for some kind of reaction. This was a fantasy that
he had never shared with anyone before. It was too
personal, and, on some level, too shaming, but the idea of
his Master overpowering him, forcing him to do what he
enjoyed so much anyway…it turned him on. He should have
known better than to doubt his Master's response to his
fantasy. There wasn't the remotest trace of disgust in
Skinner' eyes as he dropped his head and devoured Mulder's
lips with his own, kissing him thoroughly, massaging his
slave's cock hard and fast at the same time.

"How much force?" Skinner whispered in his ear. Mulder
tried to concentrate on the question, his breathing coming
fast and hard as his Master expertly brought him close to
orgasm.

"Uh…as much as it takes. I want to feel the heat of the
fight…oh shit…I want to let go, to really get physical,
violently physical…oh god!" Mulder jack-knifed off the bed
as he came, helplessly, with a groan of satisfaction, and
then he lay nerveless and sated, sweat pouring down the
side of his face.

Skinner grinned down at him. "That seemed pretty physical
to me," he commented.

"It was. I'm not dissatisfied with anything you do to me,
Master," Mulder said quickly.

"I know." Skinner nodded.

"But you asked…I was being as honest as I could." Mulder
felt himself flush again. It was bad enough admitting to a
rape fantasy, but it was made worse by the fact that it
also meant admitting that part of that fantasy was that he
refused his Master his rights over his slave – and that was
something that went against the very heart of the contract
he had freely signed.

"I'm going to fly back to LA tomorrow," Skinner told him,
as the aftermath of Mulder's orgasm still buzzed in his
ears. "Just for a few days." He smiled at his slave. "As
for the other thing…I'll think about it," he promised.
"There's something else I want to talk about. Krycek broke
in here. He violated our home. Do you need to talk about
that? Do you still feel safe here?"

"After the way you threw the rat bastard around? Sure."
Mulder grinned. "It reminded me of that time, years ago,
when I brought him here and you slugged him in the gut and
handcuffed him to your balcony; the sight of you doing
that, bare-chested, fuelled my jerk off fantasies for
years. I walked out of this apartment with a hard on the
size of Mount Everest in my pants. I had no idea I'd be
lucky enough to have the real thing one day."

"You might like to reclaim the experience," Skinner mused.

Mulder moved his head in order to examine his Master's
face. He couldn't read Skinner's expression in the darkness
though. "I don't understand," he said.

"Well…just as we took what Krycek did with your chest and
made it our own – a bond between us, maybe we could do the
same with what he did here tonight and how he violated our
home, where we have every right to feel safe."

"How?" Mulder frowned in the dark, wondering what Skinner
was getting at.

"Like I said, I need to give it some thought." Skinner
sank back on his pillows with a weary sigh. Mulder grinned.
There was something he could do to make his Master more
comfortable. He disappeared under the sheets, and located
his Master's cock with his mouth. Skinner's hand came down
and rested on his hair, as it usually did when his slave
was serving him orally. His Master's cock was as responsive
as usual despite his weariness, and it didn't take long for
Mulder to bring him to climax. He swallowed his Master's
come, cleaned Skinner's beautiful smooth cock, and then
snaked his way up the bed. Skinner pulled him into his arms
and gave him a kiss and they both lay there in silence.
Mulder felt warm and safe within the circle of his Master's
arms but he knew that it had been so close. He had nearly
lost everything this evening.

Everything.

If he had gone to Oregon he could have found that space
craft - or it could have found him…If he had gone, then
instead of being held safely in his Master's arms right
now, he could be high above the earth, abducted, just like
he was sure his sister had been abducted. Mulder felt as if
someone had walked across his grave. He bent his head, and
kissed his Master's wrist, bringing himself back into the
present. It hadn't happened. Whatever might have happened
if he had gone to Oregon hadn't happened, and that was all
because his Master had given him something else to live for
beside his quest.

"Thank you," he whispered silently. Skinner laid his cheek
against his slave's. If he was puzzled by the remark he
didn't say so.

A few seconds later a soft thump on the bed and a little
squeak alerted them to the fact that Wanda had decided it
was safe to come out. Skinner scooped her up, and checked
her thoroughly for injury, but the little cat was clearly
fine – and equally clearly was thoroughly enjoying all the
attention. Mulder could empathize with that. He enjoyed
being examined by his Master himself, but for entirely
different reasons. Finally, Master, slave and cat settled
down to sleep, in a tangle of warm fur and entwined limbs.

Skinner left reluctantly to return to LA first thing the
next day. He had arranged for the meeting he should have
attended in the morning to be put back until the evening,
and he would make it there just in time. Mulder was left
with the debris of the previous night's drama to take care
of. The coffee table had been broken in the melee, and the
furniture in the living room was upturned. There was blood
on the carpet and the wall. Krycek's blood. Mulder looked
at it for a moment, then sighed, grabbed his keys, kissed
Wanda on the head and left for work. He'd clean up the
apartment when he got home.

Scully was already ensconced in his office talking on the
telephone when he arrived. He could tell by the teasing
tone in her voice that she was talking to John Doggett and
he struggled with his jealousy for a moment. He was pleased
for her. She deserved to find someone who'd give her the
kind of love that he wasn't capable of, but that didn't
mean that a part of him didn't hurt. She was his best
friend and he didn't like the idea of sharing her with
anyone, any more than he liked the idea of sharing Skinner
with anyone.

He didn't have long to think about that subject, because
as soon as he sat down at his desk he saw that his computer
screen was covered in yellow post-it notes. He raised an
eyebrow at Scully who mouthed the word 'gunmen' back at
him. Mulder reached for the phone, and called his geeky
friends.

"Hey, dude." Langly sounded bubbly. "How's Oregon?"

"I wouldn't know. I'm in DC," Mulder grunted, his heart
plummeting. However sure he was that he had made the right
decision last night, a part of him would always regret not
going after that UFO.

"You're what? Damnit, Mulder. This is what we've been
waiting for!" Langly remonstrated.

"Sorry, Ringo but you can get to Oregon just as easily as
I can," Mulder pointed out.

"We were relying on you, buddy!" Langly lamented.

Mulder's hand tightened into a fist around the phone. "I
know. It just wasn't…the right thing to do."

"Why?"

"Let's just say that someone else wanted me to go there
too much to make it safe."

"Safe?" Langly sounded incredulous. "Yo, Mulder, this is
me you're talking to! When did you ever want to play it
safe?"

Mulder gazed at Scully, who was giggling down the
telephone in a way he'd never have believed possible if he
hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

"It's just…sometimes…sometimes other things are more
important," he murmured.

"Yeah. Right. Either you've found religion or you've found
lurve," Langly teased. "Oh shit. You haven't, have you?" He
asked.

"Found religion? My work is my religion," Mulder
deflected. How long had he and Scully been locked away down
here in this basement? And for how much of that time had
either of them been really happy? They'd sacrificed their
happiness to their work, and now they both had a chance to
be fulfilled in an area of their lives that neither of them
had been very successful in before. It felt good. He
grinned at Scully as she finished her call and put the
phone down – only for it to ring again almost immediately.
"So, what happened in Oregon? I didn't see anything in the
papers about a flying saucer landing," Mulder said,
swinging his feet onto his desktop.

"That's because it moved on hours ago. It hovered over
Arizona for awhile and then disappeared into god knows
where," Langly told him. "It clearly didn't find what it
was looking for in Oregon so maybe it had more luck in
Arizona."

"What the hell is in Arizona?" Mulder mused. Out of the
corner of his eye he saw all the color drain from Scully's
face as she answered the incoming call. "Langly, I'll call
you back," he said quickly, putting the phone down.

"Scully?"

She stared at him, her face drawn and tense. "It's Gibson
Praise. He's been abducted."

"Abducted?" Mulder repeated stupidly. "From where?"

"He was being looked after at a children's home in the
Arizona desert."

Mulder felt as if a cold wind had blown up his spine,
causing all the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on
end. "Arizona?" he whispered.

"Yes. Why? Does that mean something to you?" Scully asked.

"Nothing that makes any sense. Shit!" Mulder rested his
forehead in his hands. "Oh shit."

"Mulder." Scully came over to him, and laid a hand on his
shoulder. "What is it that you know?"

"It's hard to explain. I just know that…Last night I made
a decision, Scully. I think someone had to be taken last
night…and if it hadn't been Gibson then it would have been
me. That poor kid. Shit!" He kicked his desk, feeling
utterly shattered. Gibson Praise was just a kid. If someone
had given him a choice, if someone had only explained it to
him, then he would have traded himself. He'd have gone
instead - if only he'd known.

"Mulder, you aren't making any sense," Scully perched on
his desk and rubbed his stiff shoulders.

"It's just a feeling, Scully. It doesn't make any sense
and I don't blame you for not taking it seriously. If it
were someone else, someone like your sister, Melissa,
coming in here and saying the same thing to me then I'd
dismiss it as just new age crap…but that wasn't what it
felt like. I felt as if my destiny was taking some kind of
divergent path – and it was all linked to a decision I made
last night. You know, I saw a play once where the whole
outcome depended on whether one of the main characters
smoked a cigarette before the end of Act One. They had all
these different scenarios to play out depending on that
cigarette. Last night…last night felt like that." He looked
into her uncomprehending blue eyes and shook his head. "I
can't tell you how I know but I just do. Last night Gibson
Praise was abducted – and if I'd gone to Oregon like I was
supposed to then it would have been me, and somehow, and
again I'm not sure how I know this, but somehow if it had
been me then it wouldn't have been him."

"Oh, Mulder." Scully put her arms around his shoulders and
held him. "You don't know that. You can't know that. It's
just that over-developed sense of guilt of yours talking."

"No. It isn't." He drew away from her. "It isn't, Scully.
Not this time."

"What will you do?" She gazed at him searchingly.

"What can I do?" He spread his arms helplessly. "What the
hell can I do?"

Mulder booked a flight to Arizona, knowing in his heart
that it was pointless. He called his Master to let him know
what he was doing. Skinner sounded worried, and Mulder knew
that the other man thought, just like Scully, that this was
just his overactive sense of guilt taking responsibility
for what had happened. Arizona yielded the dead ends he'd
expected. He spoke to a friend of Gibson's who,
communicating in sign language, told him what he already
knew in his heart. She and Gibson had been walking back
from a cook-out in the desert, when they'd seen bright
lights overhead. Gibson seemed to know what would happen.
He hadn't been scared – instead he had seemed almost
fatalistically resigned. She had looked away for a second
and when she looked back he was gone. She called his name,
but the bright lights overhead had moved away, taking
Gibson with them.

Mulder spent another day in Arizona searching for clues,
but he already knew it was a waste of time. Exhausted and
heartsick, he returned home – to find the evidence of his
fight with Krycek still littering the living room. He gazed
at it for a moment, and then sank down on his haunches,
fighting back tears of anger and frustration. This reminded
him so much of another time, a few years ago, when Scully
had been abducted and he'd returned to his trashed
apartment – only on that occasion he had been alone, with
nobody to share his despair. This time it was different. He
checked that Wanda was okay - his Master had called Mrs.
Asher to ask her to drop by and feed the little cat – and,
finding her as bright eyed as ever, he loosened his collar,
flung himself down on the couch, and speed-dialed his
Master on his cell phone.

"Skinner." Hearing those familiar deep tones made all the
difference. Mulder felt the tension start to lift from his
aching shoulders.

"Hi. It's me," Mulder said softly. "I just wanted to hear
your voice. Things have been pretty shitty the past couple
of days."

"No luck in Arizona huh?"

"No. Damn! I feel so useless."

"Listen to me, Fox. None of this was your fault," Skinner
told him urgently. "How are you holding up? I mean
honestly? I don't want to come home and find you've done
something stupid."

"Like going up to the Playroom and taking out my
frustration on myself with some of the more savage
implements in there?" Mulder asked.

"Something like that."

"No. I won't do that. I just want to fucking well…" Mulder
gave into another wave of angry frustration and thumped his
fist into the remains of the broken coffee table, watching
with some satisfaction as the shards of wood went flying.
"I'd trash the place if it wasn't already trashed," he
joked feebly.

Skinner gave a wry grunt. "I take it that sound effect was
you taking out your anger on inanimate objects?"

"Yeah. The coffee table was already wounded. I just put it
out of its misery."

"Look, I'll be home tomorrow. I know you're taking this
badly and I understand why, but hurting yourself – or the
apartment - won't change anything, and besides, that's my
property you'd be damaging, boy – in both cases." Skinner's
tones were deep, throaty and masterful, and Mulder felt
himself tuning out the rest of the world, and allowing his
Master's voice to wash over him, soothing him.

"I know," he replied. "I told you, I won't do anything
stupid, Master. I just wish I had a way of getting rid of
all this anger. Christ, I almost wish Krycek would break in
here again just so I could have the satisfaction of sinking
my fist into his stupid ass face. He must have known
something like this would happen. This was what he intended
to happen to me. If he'd just warned me…if I'd just known
that Gibson was at risk…"
"You couldn't have known that – and you can't be sure that
Krycek wanted you to go to Oregon so that you'd be abducted
either," Skinner pointed out in reasonable tones. "Shit – I
have to go, I've got a meeting in a couple of minutes.
Listen to me, boy," his tone dropped even further. "I want
you to take a bath, and then go and find the butt plug in
my nightstand drawer -the big one. Lube it up, and wear it
to bed tonight. Remember that you're mine, and that's where
my cock belongs – and where it's going to be planted just
as soon as I get home."
Mulder managed a wry smile, feeling his own cock swell at
the thought of his Master using him.

"Yes, Master," he murmured.

"You can remove the plug tomorrow morning and not before.
And Fox – I want you to check your email before you go to
bed tonight," Skinner ordered.

"Yes, Master." Mulder frowned, wondering what that was all
about. He jumped, startled, as something wet touched his
outstretched hand. "Damn, Wanda – you shouldn't be in here.
I thought I closed the door," he chided, worried in a case
she trod on a splinter of glass. He scooped her up out of
harm's way, nestled her on his chest, and tickled her under
the chin.

"When did you last eat?" Skinner asked, oblivious to the
minor piece of cat drama being enacted on the other end of
the line.

"I have no idea."

Mulder heard his Master give a deep, heartfelt sigh. "I
don't think you're taking very good care of my property,
boy, "Skinner growled. "You'll call the Lotus Flower for
take out. Menu options 14, 61 and 37."

"I don't believe you know that menu by heart," Mulder
commented, impressed.

"Well I do."

"And what are menu options 14, 61 and 37, Master? If it's
all vegetable dishes I won't be a happy slave boy."

"It's healthy – and you need something healthy right now.
You know what you get like if you run on empty for too long
and trust me, I have ways of dealing with cranky slave boys
that you will not like."

"Oh, I know all about those," Mulder laughed down the
phone, the combination of Wanda's purring and his Master's
erotic threats combining to de-stress him after the events
of the past few days.

"Damn. Much as I'd like to stay here and discuss the many
slow and painful ways in which I would enjoy punishing your
ass, I really do have to go," Skinner sighed. "Be good,
Fox."

"I will. When will you be home, Master?"

"Tomorrow sometime. I'm not sure when – it depends on when
I finish up here."

"I can't wait."

Mulder switched off his phone and settled back to stroke
Wanda. Tomorrow couldn't come too soon as far as he was
concerned. He did as his Master had instructed and called
for the take out - which actually turned out to be a
selection of some of his favorite dishes. Afterwards he
took a bath, and then went in search of the butt plug as
ordered. Skinner wasn't kidding – it was huge. He surveyed
it somewhat glumly – this one wouldn't be easy to either
insert or ignore, but that, he guessed, was the point; his
Master was trying to distract him. He was loose and relaxed
after his bath, and he slathered the plug with lube, lay on
the bed and toyed the plug in and out of his anus, just
teasing, inserting it further each time. He closed his eyes
and imagined it was his Master's hard length, sliding
effortlessly into him, and played with his cock, which
hardened immediately at the thought of his Master's touch.
The butt plug slid into place after a couple of false
starts, and Mulder brought himself off with his hand,
excited by the thought of following his Master's intimate
orders in this way. He was about to turn over and go to
sleep when he remembered that Skinner had instructed him to
check his email. He was tired and fought a battle with
himself about whether this was an order he could ignore
until the morning. It was a battle he lost, and, with a
resigned sigh, he got up, pulled on his robe, and wandered
upstairs to his old bedroom to check his email. He sat down
without thinking and jumped straight back up again, his
eyes watering, as the butt plug made its presence
unequivocally felt. Then he perched back down again, very
gingerly, and turned on his computer. There was only the
one message in this particular in-box, which was reserved
for Master/slave correspondence only. Mulder brought it up,
and read it:

To: slave@WSS.com

From: Master@WSS.com

Subject: A New Command For you

Dear Slave,

When I give you the command 'Wanda' I expect to be given
total control of your body, without question or hesitation,
for my immediate and urgent use.

As this is a special word between us, with considerable
significance, and one which holds a certain degree of
affection for both of us, I have decided to give it to you
as a special gift for a special reason. Needless to say it
will not have the same meaning when you say it as it does
when you hear it from me – so don't even think about it,
boy.

Upon hearing you say the word 'Wanda' I will immediately
cease any action that is giving you distress. However it is
only to be used in certain specific circumstances, which I
trust you will find clear upon my return. Please reply to
this email so that I'm sure you've understood.

BTW, my right arm has had a good rest over the past few
days and is feeling very strong right now, so I would
advise you to stay out of trouble until my return -unless
you want to discover just how rested it is.

As always,

Your Loving Master

Mulder laughed at the last comment, then re-read the
email, with a frown of surprise. His Master was giving him
a safe word? Why? And why now, after all this time? Not
that he needed a safe word. Skinner had never done anything
that had distressed him…and the one time Mulder had freaked
out during sex play he had found that using his Master's
given name had been enough to make Skinner stop what he was
doing and release him immediately. Not that he disapproved
of his Master's choice of safe word – it seemed pretty
fitting - but why now? And what did Skinner mean by
'specific circumstances'?
Puzzled, Mulder hit the reply key.

To: Master@WSS.com

From: slave@WSS.com

Subject: Re: A New Command For you

Dear Master,

I understand, Master. You're saying that 'Wanda', besides
being the name of the devil cat from hell, and the command
by which you make very thorough use of your poor, helpless
slave, is also to be some kind of safe word between us. I
assume you'll explain it all to me when you get home.
Speaking of which – this butt plug is not an adequate
substitute for the real thing so get your ass home quickly.
Uh, that wasn't an order, just a fervently expressed
wish…but obviously if you want to spank me for it I'd be
very interested in trying out the rested arm.

Ass raised high in anticipation,

Your slave,

Fox

He shrugged as he pressed the send key. Obviously that was
all the information his Master wanted to give him, or he'd
have elaborated further in his email. So what the hell was
it all about? Unable to figure it out, Mulder turned off
the computer and went back downstairs to curl up with Wanda
in bed.

Mulder was relieved that it was the weekend so he could
catch up on his sleep. He dozed until noon, then got up,
dressed in sweats, and went downstairs to begin the task
he'd been putting off for so many days – clearing up the
mess from his fight with Krycek. He carefully gathered up
the remains of the coffee table and put it in the trash,
vacuumed the carpet thoroughly to get rid of any last
splinters, and then opened the door and allowed Wanda to
reclaim the living room, which she did with her tail held
loftily high.

"Typical cat," Mulder commented, watching her pace around
the room and sniff in all the corners. "No sooner is a door
closed to you than what is on the other side becomes
instantly attractive. Don't you dare," he warned her as she
gazed at him speculatively. "No, we are not similar like
that. My comment was entirely justified - yours is just
plain ridiculous. I mean, I always have reasons for
breaking into secure government installations. With you
it's just plain curiosity and we all know the proverb about
what curiosity did to the cat." She gave him a look of
studied indifference and then washed her flank with
considerable vigor. "Ha. See -you know I'm right," he told
her.

He got a bowl and cloth from the kitchen and began
sponging the spattered blood from the walls. There wasn't
much, but it wasn't a nice task and it reminded him
uncomfortably of the image of his Master, holding a
bleeding, hissing, spitting Krycek against the wall. His
emotions were mixed on that topic – a part of him was
furious with Krycek for showing up and trying to ruin his
life yet again, but another part of him couldn't help but
be aroused as he remembered the sheer anger that had been
evident in Skinner's tense muscles as he'd dished out those
casual punches to their enemy. Damn, but it was just plain
perverted that this memory turned him on so much, and it
made him even angrier with Krycek.

Mulder was relieved when he had finished. He made sure the
whole apartment was tidy, then set off for the grocery
store. He wanted his Master to come home to a clean
apartment, a full fridge, and a very loving slave. It did
cross his mind that today was Slave's Day but he didn't
give it much thought. Their lives had been so chaotic these
past few days then he wasn't expecting the normal rituals
to take place. Apart from anything else he wasn't even sure
that his Master would be home before midnight. He'd called
Skinner on his cell phone when he first woke up, and the
other man had been in one final meeting so he wasn't
expecting him back for hours. Mulder hoped his Master
wouldn't be too late home. He was still harboring a certain
degree of anger and jitters after the week's events and he
was fairly sure that it was going to take a long session in
his Master's capable hands to slay a few of the demons that
had resurfaced.

Mulder returned home to watch back-to-back sport on the TV
– a luxury that his Master rarely gave him permission to
indulge - Wanda perched on his stomach, the remote hanging
loosely in his hand, a bowl of popcorn and can of beer
resting on the floor in the absence of the broken coffee
table. He hadn't heard from his Master but he wasn't unduly
worried. He'd left a message asking if Skinner wanted to be
met at the airport but his Master hadn't replied so he
assumed that his chauffeuring skills weren't required. At
8pm Mulder tried his Master's cell phone again, only to
find it switched off. With a sigh, he settled back on the
couch and closed his eyes, resigning himself to the wait.
He was a little concerned not to have heard from his
Master. He wanted to be a dutiful slave and serve Skinner
by driving him home, and carrying his suitcase, and he felt
he had been denied that opportunity. Even if his Master
didn't want his slave's help would a phone call have hurt?
And supposing Skinner was in trouble? Mulder was aware that
he wasn't the best at phoning in, but his Master had
drummed into him the importance of that lesson over the
past several months, and the basic tenet was always that he
worried when Mulder wasn't in phone contact. Didn't the
same thing apply the other way around?

Mulder was so busy nursing these resentments that he was
surprised when he heard a sudden noise behind him, and then
the light was turned on, flooding the room. He sat up,
bemused, and saw his Master framed in the doorway. Skinner
was wearing black chinos and a black sweater – and Mulder's
first reaction was lust, followed shortly after by a
resurgence of his anger.

"Master. I would have come to the airport for you. I left
a message," he said, unable to keep the resentment out of
his voice.

"I know."

"So why didn't you reply?" Mulder snapped.

"Come here." Skinner said, ignoring his question. He
seemed different. He was almost…distracted. Mulder went,
reluctantly, still disgruntled and in no mood to be treated
so peremptorily. Skinner grabbed him when he was within
arm's reach, and pulled him close. He was much rougher than
usual, and Mulder put out a hand to protect himself.
Skinner growled, grasped the offending hand and placed it
securely behind Mulder's back, holding it there painfully.

"Don't resist me, boy," he growled. Then he gave a vicious
smile, lowered his head, and whispered into Mulder's ear:
"I'm going to fuck you."

Mulder gazed at his Master, startled. This wasn't
Skinner's usual behavior. He normally gave orders and
expected obedience. He didn't usually grab, twist
and…overpower. A light-bulb went off in Mulder's head, as
he remembered the substance of that email he had received,
and his own faltering admission that he wanted permission
to struggle, and be overwhelmed. He remembered all the
anger he'd felt earlier in the day, and how he had thought
he needed a session at his Master's hands – it appeared
that Skinner was giving him just that. He felt as if he was
in a strait jacket, with his arm pressed up his back, and
his Master's hands roughly imprisoning him. He straightened
up as best he could, and looked the other man in the eye.

"Go to hell," he said, allowing all the anger and
frustration of the past few days to rise to the surface.

"Are you refusing me?" Skinner snarled. He looked more
dangerous than Mulder had ever seen him, and for a split
second he knew how Krycek had felt being on the receiving
end of this a few days before - and that made his cock
harden in his pants.

"Yes, I fucking am," he rasped. There was silence for a
moment, and then Skinner gave a low roar, and pushed Mulder
bodily against the wall. He grabbed his slave's hands, held
them above his slave's head, and leaned in close.

"You don't have the right to refuse me, boy," he growled.

Skinner's breath was warm on his slave's cheek. He smelled
of sweat and arousal, and looked so magnificently
frightening that Mulder wondered whether he'd misread this
and his Master was serious – and whether he should say his
safe word just to find out. He studied his Master's face,
searching for clues, and found them in his Master's eyes.
They weren't angry but they were very focused, and that
reassured him.

"What are you going to do – rape me?" Mulder challenged.
Skinner's fingers were hard on his wrists – painfully so.
It felt…exhilarating; very raw, and very real.

"If there's a word you want to say to me, boy then you'd
better say it now," Skinner told him in a low tone,
"because if you wait then it might be too late."

Mulder relaxed, sure that they were playing now. His
Master was giving him a chance to end this but Mulder had
no intention of doing so. The scenario was hot, and he
didn't want to do anything to spoil it. Besides, he was
just getting warmed up. He was being given a safe arena to
express all the fears and frustrations of the past few days
and he intended to make the most of it. He met his Master's
eye and they shared a moment of understanding. Thus
reassured, Skinner bounced Mulder back against the wall,
and pushed his slave's legs apart with his knee. "Get on
your hands and knees now," Skinner said, punctuating each
word with another bounce, each one jolting the back of
Mulder's head. "Get your ass in the air because I'm going
to fuck you into tomorrow."

"Fuck's a good word – let's add another. How about…off…"
Mulder replied, and then he suddenly relaxed his resistance
and, surprised, Skinner loosened his hold for a split
second – but it was long enough for Mulder to break free,
and throw himself towards the door. He didn't get there. He
had his hand on the handle when Skinner tackled him round
the waist, grabbed him bodily, and threw him in the
direction of the couch. He pinned Mulder there, bent over
it, his own large body covering that of his slave.

"The only fucking that is going to be done around here is
me fucking you," Skinner hissed into his ear. Mulder's cock
gave a spasm of arousal. He struggled with all his might as
Skinner started to slide his sweatpants down. Mulder could
feel that his butt was exposed, and he was suddenly
overcome with a need to make this more real. It felt too
easy, too staged. He pushed back hard with his elbow, and
Skinner gave a grunt of genuine pain. Mulder slid out from
under him, and threw himself at his Master. They both went
down, with Mulder hissing, spitting and struggling like an
enraged cat.

"You want to screw me then you'll have to take what you
want by force," Mulder snarled. He grabbed his Master's
head and thumped it on the floor. Skinner's face contorted
momentarily, and then he got one arm free, pressed it
against Mulder's throat, and pushed him away. Mulder fell
back, but Skinner was on him again almost immediately. He
pinned Mulder under him, held him down with one hand, and
reached into his slave's pants with his other.

"Oh I'll make you all right, boy. I'll make you," Skinner
told him. His hands were sweaty and rough on Mulder's skin,
arousing him unbearably. Skinner hauled Mulder onto his
hands and knees, and stripped his pants and briefs off,
leaving him naked and exposed from the waist down. Feeling
vulnerable, Mulder kicked back with his foot, and then
managed to turn over, and swipe at his Master with his open
palm. Skinner took a glancing blow on the side of his face,
and gave a growl of pure anger. Energy sparkled between
them in the room. Mulder was so pleased at this minor
victory that he hesitated – and next thing he knew his
Master had grasped his hard cock and was holding it firmly
in his hand. He couldn't struggle without causing the most
sensitive organ of his body considerable pain.

"Shit! Let me go!" he said, trying to push Skinner back.

Skinner just grinned, an evil, feral grin, and, still
holding onto Mulder's cock with one hand, reached with his
other to undo his belt. Mulder watched, momentarily
transfixed by the inherent threat in the action, then
realized he was missing his chance to escape. Suddenly
divining his Master's intent, he pulled away – only to stop
with a yelp of pain as his cock paid the price for that
action. Skinner moved in again. He grabbed Mulder's wrist,
and dragged it in front of his body. Then he released
Mulder's cock but only in order to grab his other wrist. At
the same time he took Mulder by surprise, kicked his legs
from under him, and toppled him back onto the couch. Mulder
gazed up, winded and startled by the turn of events – just
in time to see his Master tie his wrists firmly together in
front of his body with the belt.

"Now just submit, boy, because your ass is going to be
royally nailed," Skinner hissed. Mulder tried to pull his
hands apart but the belt was unyielding. Realizing that
wouldn't work, he bunched them into fists and try to knock
his Master sideways. Skinner easily ducked the blow, and
Mulder fell off the couch and onto the floor from the force
of it.

"Don't fucking come near me. Don't fucking touch me. I
swear I'll fucking kill you!" Mulder shouted, finding a
strange kind of security in the restraint of the belt,
almost as if in losing the chance of seriously resisting
his Master he was able to release all his inhibitions,
giving him the opportunity to really let rip. Skinner
grinned. He stood astride his slave, and then slowly undid
his chinos. Mulder was still for a moment, transfixed as
Skinner released his large, swollen cock.

"See this, boy? I'm going to make you take every last
inch," Skinner told him in a dark, low tone that washed
over Mulder like molten chocolate. Mulder swallowed hard,
and then tried to slide back along the carpet, using his
feet to lever himself along. Skinner followed him, slowly,
still grinning. He watched as Mulder almost reached the
door – and then pounced, grabbing Mulder's ankles and
pulling him back bodily into the center of the room. Mulder
twisted pointlessly in his grasp, flailing with his tied
hands, but Skinner easily subdued him by the simple
expedient of sitting on him. He sat astride his slave's
body and pinned Mulder to the floor. Mulder twisted and
turned but eventually gave up, exhausted – Skinner was just
too heavy to dislodge. Finally satisfied that his prey had
stopped struggling, Skinner reached down, grabbed Mulder's
tee shirt, and literally tore it from his slave's body.
Mulder heard the sound of the ripping and wondered what it
was before he realized what his Master was doing – and
then, within seconds, he was completely naked, his torn tee
shirt discarded on the floor beside him. He shivered,
shocked by the look of intent and lust in his Master eyes,
but he wasn't about to give in just yet.

"Let me go," he hissed, raising his bound arms in attempt
to punch his Master in the stomach. Skinner caught his
fists easily, and pressed them back over Mulder's head.

"You're mine, boy. Submit and it'll be easier for you.
Resist and it'll hurt. I'll enjoy hurting you, boy. I'll
enjoy ramming your tight hole until you scream."

Mulder swallowed hard, feeling all the struggle leave him.
His cock was so hard and he was so turned on by Skinner's
display of strength that he wasn't sure he wanted to resist
for much longer.

"Had enough, boy?" Skinner mocked. "Giving in?"

Some competitive instinct in Mulder took over. "Not on
your fucking life. I told you, if you want to screw me
you'll have to do it by force," Mulder snarled, wriggling
as best he good within the prison of his Master's large
thighs.

"Oh, that can be arranged." Skinner grabbed Mulder's bound
wrists and held them above his slave's head, pressing them
into the carpet. Then he bent his head, took one of
Mulder's nipples in his mouth – and sucked down hard.
Mulder gave a hoarse cry – although he wasn't sure whether
it was in pleasure or pain. He bucked up against the savage
caress, shouting in earnest as the sucking turned into a
full bite, and his Master's teeth chewed on his nipple
unmercifully, pressing the metal of his ring into his
flesh. Finally Skinner released him with another feral grin.

"Beg me to fuck you, boy. Beg," Skinner demanded.

"Never," Mulder replied. "You can do what the hell you
like to me but I won't beg."

"Oh, you will. You'll scream at me to fuck you before I'm
through. You'll plead and scream and beg," Skinner told
him. He bounced Mulder's bound wrists back down on the
carpet again, and then paused. The look in his eyes changed
slightly. "Are you sure there's nothing you wanted to say?"
He asked softly. "You have a word."

Mulder didn't even need to think about – he shook his head
vehemently. He wanted this to end the way he'd fantasized
about it. He didn't want a let out, and he didn't want to
use his safe word. Skinner immediately snapped back into
the scenario.

"Good, because I'm going to screw you harder than you've
been screwed in your life, boy. You'll be so sore you won't
walk for a week, but, like I said, you're going to beg me
first."

"Go fuck yourself," Mulder replied, squirming beneath his
Master's body.

"No, I'm going to fuck you." Skinner lowered his head
again, and took Mulder's other nipple between his teeth.
Mulder tensed even before his Master bit down, and screamed
with all his might as his Master thoroughly tormented his
nipple.

"Shit…oh shit…let me go…please!" He cried, trying feebly
to push Skinner away. His Master held on tight, releasing
Mulder's nipple only to bite it again within seconds. It
was a maneuver he repeated over and over again until Mulder
was lost in a frenzy of his own desperate screams and
struggles. Finally Skinner pulled away from the tormented
nub of flesh. He looked down on his slave again, took
Mulder's sore nipple between his thumb and forefinger and
said one word: "Beg."

Mulder hesitated, but this had become a matter of pride.

"No," he replied and began screaming almost before Skinner
pinched his abused nipple. He was dimly aware that his cock
was rock hard and that he was as turned on as he'd ever
been in his life. The boundaries between pleasure and pain
had become so close that they were impossible to separate.
Skinner released the nipple, but only in order to pinch the
other one – savagely. Mulder roared and twisted but it was
no use. He was completely captured.

"Open your legs and let me fuck you," Skinner ordered.

Mulder shook his head mutely, and Skinner grabbed his
hair, and kissed him. It wasn't a kind kiss. It was
vicious, and brutal. Skinner's tongue forced its way into
Mulder's mouth, and explored it, hard and thrusting. At the
same time Skinner reached down again and squeezed hard on
Mulder's left nipple. Mulder couldn't even scream, with his
mouth completely full of his Master's tongue, and his hair
grasped in his Master's hand. He surrendered to the harsh
caress and when his Master finished, and pulled back, he
panted desperately for air.

"I said, open your legs and let me fuck you, boy," Skinner
told him.

"Go to hell." Mulder wasn't really sure why he was
resisting any more, as he was more than happy to be fucked,
but there was something so cathartic about the struggle
after all he'd been through this past week, and besides –
he was interested to see what his Master would do next.

"Maybe I will – but not before I've pounded my cock into
you so hard that you scream," Skinner promised with another
of those feral, evilly sexual grins. Mulder groaned, his
cock rigid with need. Skinner bent his head and caught
Mulder's right nipple this time, and tortured the flesh
with his tongue and teeth again, showing Mulder no mercy.
Mulder kicked out, desperate for the agony to end, and
Skinner used the moment to insert his leg between Mulder's
thighs. He released the nipple with a triumphant grin, and
moved his hand down to between Mulder's legs. One finger
pushed up roughly into Mulder's ass.

"Nice and tight. Just the way I like it," Skinner purred.
"Beg me for my hard cock, boy. Beg." He moved his finger
savagely, in and out, thrusting hard. Mulder couldn't help
raising his hips off the ground to meet the thrusts,
swallowing that finger deep inside his body, wanting more.
"Beg for it, boy," Skinner hissed. "Beg to feel my cock in
your tight hole."

"No…" Mulder replied, no longer sure he could hold out.

"Beg." Skinner inserted another finger. He held Mulder
down with one arm across his body, while he thrust in and
out of his slave's ass with his fingers. Mulder had lost
all sense of himself. He was too turned on.

"Want…want…" he gasped.

"Say it." Skinner twisted his fingers brutally and Mulder
cried out.

"Your cock. Please…in me now!" Mulder demanded.

Skinner gave a bellow of triumph. He withdrew his fingers,
thrust Mulder's legs apart with his hands, grasped his
slave's buttocks, positioned his erect cock, and then sank
himself deep into Mulder's ass, right up to the hilt
without pausing, all in one fluid motion. Mulder thought he
was going to pass out. He had never felt so filled, and he
was sure that he had never been penetrated so quickly, and
with so much power. Skinner's cock was burning hot inside
his ass – he could feel it pulsing - large, ravaging and
hungry. Skinner leaned forward, and as he did so the force
of his weight pushed his cock even deeper into his slave's
body. He rested his hands on the carpet next to his slave's
head, and pushed Mulder's legs over his shoulders. Now
there were almost nose-to-nose, both panting with the
exertion.

"Fuck me," Mulder said.

Skinner gave another of those terrible, evil grins. "When
I'm ready," he said.

Mulder could have screamed. Skinner drew back a little,
shifting his weight and stimulating Mulder's prostate
unbearably in the process. He nuzzled Mulder's nipples
again, and then nibbled in earnest. Mulder began to yell –
he wasn't sure what he was saying but the dual sensations
of his Master's huge cock filling him to the brim,
Skinner's large, sweaty, muscular body keeping him pinned
to the carpet, his own bound hands increasing his sensation
of powerlessness, and his Master's roving mouth on his
sensitive and tortured nipples was too much. He screamed
and screamed but his Master ignored him. Skinner remained
buried to the root in his slave, his teeth biting down on
Mulder's flesh. He would let go of one nipple just to start
on the other. Mulder needed to be fucked so much that he
wasn't coherent. He longed for the torment on his chest to
cease and for his Master to pound him into the floor with
his massive, hungry cock.

"Please, please, please, please, fuck me, fuck me, fuck
me…I beg you!" Mulder cried. "I BEG YOU!" He screamed,
banging his bound hands uselessly over his head. "Please,
I'm begging. I'm begging!"

"I know." Skinner raised his head for a moment, and then
grinned again – and this time he looked so evil that Mulder
almost came just looking at him. "I heard you," Skinner
said. "But I'm enjoying myself too much. Maybe later." He
dropped his face again, and, taking Mulder's right nipple
ring between his teeth, drew back, pulling on the tortured
nub. Mulder hollered so loud he was surprised that Mrs.
Asher wasn't knocking on the wall to complain.

"FUCK ME! PLEASE FUCK ME! PLEASE!" he screeched.

Skinner released the nipple and Mulder heaved a sigh of
relief. Skinner then plunged back for another deep,
brutally rough kiss, plundering Mulder's lips with his own.
Mulder opened up, wriggling to try and force more of his
Master's hard cock into him as he did so. He wanted Skinner
to thrust. He needed Skinner to thrust. Finally Skinner
released him, and Mulder was almost weeping now.

"Do it…do it…fuck me…" he moaned feebly.

"You know, I still don't think I'm ready." Skinner grinned.

He dropped his mouth to Mulder's body and began licking,
and biting all over Mulder's chest and neck. Mulder
screamed again, but this time from frustration and pure
need.

"I hate you!" Mulder roared. "I fucking hate you."

"Is that any way to talk to your Master?" Skinner gave a
smug grin. "Now I might just decide to have another snack
on these tasty morsels." He enveloped Mulder's left nipple
in his warm mouth again and Mulder was sobbing now, weak
with need. His body was a mass of sensation. Skinner's
mouth was as rough as ever, biting, and savage, and Mulder
wasn't sure he could bear the agonizing pleasure of it for
one second longer. He put his bound hands around his
Master's neck and tried to pull him deeper into his body.
Skinner looked up with another evil grin.

"Getting impatient?" He asked. "Is this what you want,
boy?" He moved his hips back, with agonizing slowness, and
then slammed back into Mulder's body fast, taking his
slave's breath away in the process. Mulder whimpered, still
hanging onto his Master's neck.

"Oh god…yes…fuck me…fuck me…please," he begged helplessly.

"All right, boy. I hope you're ready for the ride."
Skinner moved his hips back again and then thrust deep into
Mulder, and then again, and again, over and over, hard and
fast. Mulder could feel his Master's balls slamming against
his bare ass and he felt as if he would explode. He had
never been fucked harder in his life. Skinner's cock seemed
to go deeper than it had ever penetrated before, until
Mulder almost passed out from the sensation. His own cock
was exploding, and he felt his come on his chest, but still
Skinner wasn't finished, still he rode his slave boy, on,
and on, and on. His Master's face was close to his own, and
his brown eyes were fixed on his slave's as he pounded into
him. Mulder was lost in the moment, transfixed, and then he
felt his Master shudder. Skinner's face went a shade of
mottled red and then he collapsed on top of his slave.

They lay there for a long time in a messy tangle of arms
and legs. Mulder couldn't move – not just because he was
tied, with his legs akimbo and his Master's weight on top
and inside of him, but also because his muscles just
wouldn't obey his commands. Skinner's head was resting on
his slave's cheek, and his Master seemed to be just as
exhausted as he was. Finally Skinner managed to raise his
head, and glanced down on his slave speculatively.

"Okay?" he rasped.

"Would now…" Mulder's voice sounded croaky. He swallowed
hard and tried again. "Would now be a good time to say
'Wanda'?" He asked.

Skinner grinned, and then gave a deep roar of laughter
that made his cock twitch, lodged as it was, deep inside
Mulder's body.

"No, now would be entirely too late," Skinner replied, his
voice weak with laughter. He tried to move and then gave up
and flopped down on Mulder again. "Oh…fuck," he muttered,
and then he kissed his slave gently on the lips.

"Fuck, I think, being the operative word," Mulder
commented. "One hell of a fuck."

"And good?" Skinner stroked his slave's hair. "Was it
good? It looked good from where I was, uh, lying."

"Yeah, it was good. My nipples are in agony and I'm not
sure I'll ever walk again but yeah…" Mulder grinned. He
pulled his Master's face close, and kissed him again. "It
was definitely good," he murmured. They lay there for what
felt like the rest of the night, then Skinner finally
groaned and moved. Mulder gave a hiss as his Master
withdrew from his body – he had known he'd feel sore in the
morning but not this soon!

"I'd better take a look at that," Skinner said, with a
frown. He rearranged his clothing, and then reached down a
hand to haul Mulder to his feet.

"It's fine. Just…over-stimulated." Mulder grabbed his
Master's shoulder as he found his footing, trying to ignore
the loud buzzing sound in his head. "Oh shit." He glanced
around the room. "You do realize I just cleaned the place
this afternoon don't you?" He muttered accusingly. Skinner
took a look around at the disturbed couch, overturned
chair, and scattered clothing.

"That's the price of enacting a fantasy," he commented
wryly.

"It was a hot fantasy though," Mulder winked.

"Yes." Skinner looked a little strained and Mulder caught
the taut tone in his voice.

"Master? Was it hot for you?" He hadn't even considered
that. Skinner seemed to be having just as much fun as he
was.

"Yes. Maybe that's the problem." Skinner reached out a
gentle hand and lovingly caressed his slave's face with the
most tender of touches.

"I don't understand."

"Ah, well, you weren't the one getting off on raping
someone." Skinner pressed a gossamer light kiss on his
slave's lips.

"I see." Mulder nodded. "But you knew it was a fantasy.
You gave me a safe word. It was hot. Thank you." He pulled
his Master close and wrapped his arms around the big man.
Skinner looked oddly vulnerable, completely different to
the man with the evil, feral grin who had just overpowered
him. "I needed that tonight. Although I still think you
could have called." He pinched his Master's butt cheekily
and Skinner gave a grunt, and drew back, reaching for his
slave's hand and pulling him with him.

"I did try as a matter of fact – not calling you wasn't
part of the scenario. I couldn't get a connection on my
cell phone and I figured I'd be home soon enough anyway.
I'm sorry if you were worried."

"Apology accepted."

Mulder followed his Master up the stairs and into the
shower. Skinner turned it on full force and Mulder stepped
under the hot spray. It felt so good on his strained
muscles. He watched his Master undress and then Skinner
joined him in the shower. Mulder reached for the soap, but
Skinner stopped him, and took it from him.
"I want to wash you. I want to make sure you're okay," he
said, running his fingers carefully over Mulder's chest,
and checking the bite marks on his body.

"I'm fine." Mulder smiled. "I mean I ache all over but
it's one hell of a good ache."

His Master refused to be deflected though. He insisted on
examining his slave thoroughly. Mulder submitted easily –
he was used to being inspected. In fact he usually found it
a turn on, although he was so spent on this occasion that
his cock remained resolutely limp. Finally Skinner finished
with him and sent him into the bedroom. Mulder flopped
down, exhausted, on the bed, and Skinner emerged a few
seconds later with a towel wrapped around his waist and a
tube of gel in his hand.

"This will soothe the irritation. I want to take a careful
look. On your front, legs open," Skinner ordered. Mulder
rolled over and opened his legs as commanded. His sated
cock even gave a little twitch of interest at the order.
Skinner was gentle but thorough. He turned on the bedside
lamp, parted Mulder's buttocks, and probed him with his
finger. Mulder winced – there was no doubt that he was
sore. He had never been this sore after a sex session but
all the same, he wouldn't have given up the scenario they'd
just enacted for anything. He had enjoyed himself too much.

"There's no tearing," Skinner noted.

"That's because you keep me so well stretched." Mulder
glanced at his Master over his shoulder. "You had me wear
that massive butt plug last night, after all."

"It's still sore. I'll rub in some gel. If you feel any
discomfort during the night then tell me. I mean it."
Skinner gazed at Mulder sternly and Mulder nodded, a little
surprised by how big a deal his Master was making of this.
He gave a yelp as Skinner inserted a cold, gel-tipped
finger into his ass, and then relaxed. The gel stung a bit
but it wasn't too bad, and once it was applied the soreness
did fade. Skinner finished up, put the gel away, and then
got into the bed. They were silent for a moment. Mulder had
the feeling that something wasn't right.

"Master…thank you for the fantasy. I know you have some
issues with it but I enjoyed it. I'd never ask you to do
anything that freaked you out, but I hope that doesn't mean
we can't play this particular game again sometime."

"Maybe. I…need some time to digest this one, Fox," Skinner
said. His voice sounded a little strange in the darkness.
Mulder reached out, and pulled his Master close. Skinner
just seemed so…vulnerable. It was the opposite of what he
would have expected. He might have expected his own
emotional state to be fragile after such a fantasy but
instead he felt fantastic. He understood where Skinner was
coming from but it surprised him. He was also surprised by
how easily Skinner submitted to being held in his arms, and
cuddled - there was no other word for it. It was the first
time in their relationship that Mulder had ever seen his
Master like this and it brought out a fierce protective
instinct in him. He kissed his Master's face, and held him,
and at some point they fell asleep.

Skinner seemed to have recovered his equilibrium by the
morning. He certainly delivered his slave's spanking with
enough gusto. Mulder made sure to smother his Master with
affection – he was pleased to have him back in any case so
that wasn't hard. He also felt that Skinner needed it right
now. He was grateful to his Master for fulfilling his
fantasy for him, and he understood that Skinner was as
bemused by the reaction he was having to the mock-rape as
his slave was. Mulder cleared up the living room while
Skinner prepared brunch, and later they retired to the
couch with the Sunday papers. Mulder lay with his head in
his Master's lap, gazing up at the other man. Skinner was
looking at the paper, but he didn't seem to be reading it –
instead he was lost in thought.

"Want to talk about it?" Mulder asked. "Maybe we both need
to debrief after that kind of fantasy."

"Probably." Skinner took a deep inhalation of breath.

"Don't bury it." Mulder sat up, and faced his Master.
"Walter, it was consensual. I asked you for it, you gave me
a safe word, you prepared me with the plug – you gave me
two opportunities to duck out of it. It was entirely what I
wanted."

"Yes, I know." Skinner nodded thoughtfully. "Don't get me
wrong, Fox. I enjoyed it myself. It was hot. It was just
so…violent."

"My fault." Mulder made a face. "I stepped up the pace
when I poked my elbow into your ribs and thumped your head
on the floor. It's no wonder you responded. I needed that
struggle – I wanted it to feel real. It doesn't mean I have
any hostility towards you, repressed or otherwise. I just
enjoyed…letting go. Strangely, I felt most able to let go
after you tied me up – because I knew I couldn't escape
then."

"I suppose what shocked me was how lost I became in the
moment. There was a time when I was so into the fantasy
that I can't say for sure that I would have stopped if
you'd used your safe word. That worries me. I've never felt
like that before. I'm used to being more…in control."
Skinner looked deeply troubled.

Mulder shook his head, and placed a comforting hand on his
Master's neck. "You might doubt yourself, but I have no
doubts, Walter. You would have stopped. I know you too
well. I was into it too – you probably needed a safe word
to protect yourself from me!" Mulder traced a scratch on
the side of Skinner's face. He knew his Master also had a
couple of bruises on his body from the fight – hell they
both did. "Come here." Mulder pulled his Master into his
arms and they sank back on the couch. Although this was a
little different to their usual Master/slave interaction it
didn't feel wrong. In fact, Mulder was surprised to find
that it felt entirely right. A slave served his Master with
affection as much as with his body and his sexuality. Just
because his Master always seemed so invulnerable didn't
mean he wasn't allowed to occasionally be fragile. He was
pleased he had the opportunity to show Skinner that he
could take care of all his Master's needs, and not just the
simple ones.

They talked quietly for the rest of the afternoon, and by
the early evening Skinner seemed to be his old self once
more. They were both surprised when there was a buzz on the
entry phone.

"Expecting anyone? Scully's not on her way over with some
X File the two of you want to chew over is she?" Skinner
raised an eyebrow. Scully often dropped by to discuss X
Files with Mulder, and Mulder was used to the wry glances
his Master would give them as they bounced bizarre ideas
off each other.

"I'm not expecting her." Mulder shrugged. The entry phone
buzzed more urgently, and Skinner went to the door and
picked up the phone next to it.

"Skinner. Who is it?"

Mulder watched as Skinner frowned. His Master replaced the
phone and quickly unlocked the door, gesturing Mulder
forward as he did so. He was just in time. There, standing
in the doorway, was Ian – and he was covered in blood.
Beside him was a frail, pathetic figure, hanging from Ian's
arms, also covered in blood.

"Help me! He's too heavy…" Ian gasped.

Skinner and Mulder were just in time to catch the man.
Mulder helped his Master to carry him into the living room
and lay him on the couch. It was only when they put him
down that Mulder realized that the prone figure was Lee. He
didn't look the way he had when they had last seen him.
Gone was the long, dramatic braid, and he now sported a
much shorter, floppy cut, that fell into his eyes, although
the shorn tips of his thick dark hair had been dyed the
same shade of peroxide blond as before, giving him a
strangely jagged appearance. His formerly tanned face was
now pale, his exotic, almond-shaped eyes were closed, and
his nose was swollen and cut. Blood was pouring out of it,
staining his shirt and matting his dark hair. There was
another bloodstain on his pants – one that Mulder didn't
even want to think about. Skinner turned immediately to Ian.

"What's going on?" he asked. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry, Walter. I didn't want to dump this on you,"
Ian said in a desperate tone. Mulder crouched beside Lee
and examined him visually – he didn't touch, he just
observed, listening to Ian at the same time. "He just
showed up on my door step an hour ago. He refused to go to
the hospital, and Perry's out of town on business –
remember, I told you? He came to me because he knew Perry
was a doctor, but I'm useless. I didn't know what to do."

"You did the right thing." Skinner placed a soothing hand
on Ian's shoulder. "Do you know what happened to him?"

"He won't tell me, but I can guess." Ian shrugged.

"Franklin?" Mulder noticed how Skinner's fists clenched
involuntarily. Ian nodded.

Mulder stood up. "We have to call the police," he said
firmly.

"That's Lee's decision. First we have to get him to the
hospital," Skinner replied.

"No hospital." It was the first thing Lee had said. They
all looked at him. He opened one eye – the other was
swollen shut.

"I'm sorry, Lee, but I'm over-ruling you on this," Skinner
said gently, crouching beside the couch. "You're badly
hurt. You haven't done anything wrong. There's no need to
feel ashamed – or as if you've got anything to hide."

"He said he'd kill me," Lee whispered.

Skinner's jaw tightened. "Nobody is going to kill you," he
said firmly. "Now, we need to stop this bleeding." Skinner
glanced at the fresh, glistening blood-stains on Lee's
pants. "Fox, get some water and some towels. Ian, call for
the paramedics. Do it," he said firmly, when Ian gave Lee
an agonized glance. Ian didn't need any more prompting. He
pulled out his cell phone, and punched in the number.

"No…" Lee's face twisted and he looked as if he was going
to cry.

"Lee, listen to me. You're going to the hospital and then
we'll talk about what happens next, but nobody is going to
hurt you. I promise you that."

Lee gazed at Skinner with a glassy eye. Mulder could see
Lee responding to Skinner's innate authority almost by
instinct. Finally, he nodded, and Skinner smiled.

"Lee, I'm going to try and stop the bleeding so I'm going
to need to touch you. Just lie still. I'll be as gentle as
I can," Skinner said softly. He moved Lee onto his side,
and pulled his sweatpants down. Mulder moved forward to
hand him a towel, and then stopped, shocked: Lee's backside
was covered in long, raw, vicious welts. Many of them were
bleeding. There were also some faded scars on his back.

"These were caused by more than just a sex game," Skinner
muttered grimly. "A lot more. This is torture, not BDSM."
He pressed the towel onto Lee's wounds, and his hand came
away bright red. "Oh shit," he whispered. Mulder swallowed
hard. His Master looked up at him, a shocked look on his
face. "There's severe rectal bleeding," Skinner said in a
horrified tone. "Ian, we need those paramedics now."

"They're on their way. I'll go downstairs to show them
where to come," Ian said, his face frightened.

"All right, Lee. Not long now." Skinner packed Lee's
sweats with the towels as best he could, and then stood up.
He went into the kitchen to wash his hands and Mulder
followed him.

"We should have known this would happen," Mulder said,
kicking the fridge with his foot. "Christ, Walter, we
should have known."

"We did know, Fox." Skinner's shoulders seemed bent with
the whole weight of the world. "I should have done
something back then. I warned him…I told him…shit. If only
I'd done more."

"No." Mulder took a deep breath, and tried to get control
of himself again. "No…this isn't your fault. Lee was
warned…but christ, what a price to pay for not listening."

"We'd better get back to him. Poor bastard." Skinner
finished washing his hands and returned to the living room,
Mulder at his heels. Mulder crouched beside Lee again, but
was careful not to touch him. He knew from his years in the
FBI that while a touch might seem to be an obvious way of
giving comfort, to someone who had just been raped it could
seem like a threat.

"Lee – are you okay? Do you need anything?" Mulder asked
gently.

Lee's face crumpled and he shook his head, but a tear
leaked from his good eye. He moved his hand feebly, and
Mulder caught it in his own. Lee held on as if he thought
Mulder was going to disappear. Mulder glanced up at
Skinner, with an anxious frown. He and Lee had never
exactly been close – in fact they'd hated each other from
the moment they first set eyes on each other – but Mulder
wouldn't have wished these injuries on anyone. He noticed
the muscle in Skinner's jaw doing a vicious sideways clench
and he wished he knew what was going on in Skinner's mind.
This couldn't have been worse timing, he thought to
himself, bearing in mind the sex game they'd played the
previous night, and how concerned his Master had been about
his own slave's soreness subsequently. There was one huge
hell of a difference between that and Lee's condition, but
somehow Mulder wasn't too sure that his Master was in the
right frame of mind to appreciate that right now.

There was a noise at the door and then Ian burst through
with two paramedics in tow. They took over, and Mulder
tried to step back – only to find that Lee wouldn't let go
of his hand.

"Don't leave me," he implored.

"I'll be over here. I'm not going anywhere," Mulder
replied, gently disengaging himself. The paramedics checked
Skinner's first aid, and then transferred Lee to a gurney.

"Where are you taking him?" Skinner asked, grabbing his
keys.

"Arlington Hospital," came back the reply.

"We'll see you there."

"There's room for one person to ride with him," the
paramedic said, glancing back at them as they pelted down
the corridor towards the elevator.

"I'll go." Mulder glanced at his Master. Their eyes met,
and Skinner nodded.

Mulder climbed into the ambulance and took hold of Lee's
hand again as they made the short journey to the hospital.

"Lee, you have to let the police know how this happened,"
Mulder told the young man. He didn't want to force this
issue when Lee was so traumatized, but he was struggling
hard to keep his anger at what Franklin had done in check.
He was also annoyed with himself that he hadn't made more
effort to get Ian to report Franklin when he'd come to them
a few months before after his encounter with the sadistic
top. If Ian had reported it then maybe Franklin's behavior
could have been checked before it got this far. Lee shook
his head.

"He warned me not to drink," was all he said,
mystifyingly. Mulder frowned, and leaned in close. He
smelled Lee's breath, and thought he detected the faint
odor of alcohol, but Lee didn't appear drunk.

"Listen, Lee, nobody has the right to do this to you,"
Mulder said, gently but insistently.

"He does. You know he does." Lee fixed his good eye on
Mulder, with an agonized expression. He squeezed Mulder's
hand fiercely. "You know how it is. It's the same with you
and the Guardian. You know. He had every right. I disobeyed
him."

Mulder bit on his lip and sat back, still holding Lee's
hand. He was glad his Master hadn't been present to hear
that comment. It was wrong, but he knew he wasn't going to
be able to convince Lee of that while he was in this
condition – it was clear that Franklin had done quite a
number on Lee's mind. Untangling that might prove difficult.

They arrived at the Emergency Room and Lee was whisked
away. Mulder met Skinner and Ian in the corridor, and they
leaned against the wall, waiting for news.

"Shit, this is my fault. I knew what Franklin was," Ian
berated himself.

"Lee made his own choice. We all tried to warn him but
he's an adult. He makes his own decisions," Skinner told
Ian firmly.

"Lee thinks Franklin had the right to do this –
because…well you know why." Mulder glanced up and down the
corridor to check they weren't being overheard. "I talked
to him about it in the ambulance. I don't think it'll be
easy convincing him to report this. In fact, I think it'll
be impossible – for the same reason that Ian didn't want to
report it."

"Dragging the lifestyle into the courtroom. They wouldn't
get it." Ian shrugged. "Vanilla people never do. Even if
they accept Franklin went too far, they'll take one look at
Lee and think he was a perverted faggot who had it coming."
"Maybe I have more faith in the justice system of this
country." Skinner shrugged. "Even if it's hard someone has
to make a stand, to try and change attitudes and
prejudices. Lee has as much right to justice as anyone else
in the US."

"I agree. I don't want to see that bastard Franklin get
away with this kind of thing – over and over again," Mulder
said vehemently. Ian looked from Master to slave, and shook
his head.

"I know you both have to believe in the law because you
spend your day working to uphold it, but some of the rest
of us are just a little more cynical," he commented. "Me
and Lee included."

At that moment they were interrupted by the doctor.

"Lee's asking for you," he said, addressing himself to
Skinner, as people generally tended to do.

"Is he all right?" Skinner asked.

"He'll live – but we'll need to admit him overnight. If
you'd like to follow me." The doctor led them into a side
room. Lee looked a little better, with some of the blood
washed from his face, and a couple of butterfly stitches
inserted in the bridge of his nose.

"Lee, is there anyone you want me to contact?" Skinner
asked. "Any family? Friends?"

"Don't have either," Lee replied. He suddenly looked very
lost, and small. Mulder found himself taking Lee's hand
again, and squeezing.

"We just spoke to the doctor, you're going to be fine."

"Yeah? What's the damage, doc?" Lee glanced at the doctor,
who, in turn, glanced at Lee's visitors. Lee blinked. "I
don't mind them hearing. They probably already know," he
muttered.

"Well, your nose isn't broken – just badly bruised. The
swelling will go down in a few days. You have a rectal
bleed as a result of some tearing. We've stitched it up, so
there's no danger of peritonitis, but it's a good thing you
got here when you did." The doctor shrugged.

Lee glanced at Skinner.

"Looks like you made the right call, sir," he whispered
sleepily.

"Does he have someone who can take care of him?" The
doctor glanced at Skinner again. "He'll need somewhere to
stay when he gets out – he can't be on his own."

"He can stay with us," Skinner replied tersely.

"All right. We'll be moving him upstairs in a few minutes.
You can stay here until then if you want." The doctor left
the room, shutting the door sharply behind him.

"See. Disapproval radiating from every pore," Ian
commented, making an obscene gesture at the door.

"He was just being professional. There was nothing
personal going on," Skinner said, going over to Lee's bed.
He gazed down on the injured man. "Lee, rape is a very
serious crime. You have to report…"

"Wasn't rape." Lee shook his head. "S'not rape if…" He
frowned. Mulder moved forward in his chair by the bed, and
squeezed on Lee's fingers again, encouraging him to
continue.

"What are you trying to say, Lee?"

"It wasn't him…in me. That's not rape. He said it was a
lesson…He told me not to drink. I used to sneak the liquor
when he was out. Filled up the bottle with water so…he
wouldn't know." Lee shrugged. "He found out. Said I had to
learn. Beat me first and then…used the bottle to…he said to
ram the point home…he was laughing, called it the
punishment fitting the crime. That's not rape though…is it?"

Mulder glanced up at Skinner, horrified, to see that all
the blood had drained from his Master's face. Franklin had
punished his slave by inserting a bottle into his rectum?
Mulder thought he was going to explode. He didn't know how
his Master could remain so calm when he felt so furious he
couldn't even trust himself to speak.

"It's a serious sexual assault, Lee," Skinner said in a
low, growling tone.

"Yeah. Well…I shouldn't have. I knew he'd be fucked off
with me." Lee shrugged. "He's out a lot. I just wanted him
to notice me. I get bored…it was my own fault…I knew he'd
be mad."

"Nothing justifies this, Lee," Ian told him.

"He's just edgy, that's all. You've played with him, you
know." Lee wet his dry lips with his tongue. "He can be
really hot when he's angry – I just pushed him too far."

"The police will want to talk to you," Mulder said,
struggling to control his temper. He badly needed Lee to
make his report – he wanted to see Franklin brought to
justice because if he wasn't then Mulder thought he might
very well decide to take the law into his own hands.

"I'm not saying a word." Lee shook his head. "He'll kill
me if I do."

"We can protect you," Skinner told him.

Lee glanced from Mulder to Skinner and back again.

"You two make me laugh," he said, still shaking his head.
"I don't trust you or anyone else to protect me. He'll find
a way to kill me. I'm not saying a word." And with that he
closed his good eye, and ignored them. A few minutes later
the door opened again, and the medical staff prepared to
move Lee upstairs.

"We'll visit," Mulder said, but Lee didn't even open his
eye to watch them go.

It was late by the time Mulder and Skinner dropped Ian
off, and then got back to their own apartment. Mulder was
concerned about his Master. Skinner hadn't said a word
throughout the entire journey home, and his face was closed
off, and wary, lost in thought. Mulder didn't know whether
to try and engage him in conversation or to leave him to
his introspection. After several uncomfortable minutes, he
decided that he couldn't bear the silence any more, and
turned to Skinner, opening his mouth to speak.

"Mast…" he began, but he didn't get any further.

"Your silence, please, Fox," Skinner snapped.

Mulder closed his mouth, surprised. This wasn't behavior
he'd witnessed from his Master before, and it worried him.
He wasn't sure what was going on in Skinner's mind and he
didn't like being shut out – more than that, he didn't
think it was good for Skinner to shut him out. He had
pieced together a good deal about Skinner's relationship
with Andrew over the months of his slavery, and one factor
had recurred – the hardest part of Andrew's task had been
getting Skinner to open up to him, and talk about whatever
might be causing him anxiety. Mulder knew he wasn't Andrew
Linker, but he was his Master's slave, lover, and friend.
Whatever was going on in Skinner's mind, he wanted to know
about it – and he wanted to help. This protective instinct
he had towards his Master wasn't new. It had been something
that had surprised him since the early days of their
relationship, but as his feelings towards Skinner had
deepened, so had Mulder's protective instinct intensified.
This, he knew, was one of the reasons why he had always
pushed people away when they threatened to get too close in
the past. He ended up caring too much – and that hurt. He
was at a loss as to how to deal with this situation. He
didn't have the same kind of relationship with Skinner that
Andrew Linker had enjoyed – what he had with Skinner was
just as close, maybe more so, but Skinner wasn't his sub.
Although, as a slave, there had to be a way of making his
Master confide in him, Mulder wasn't sure how to go about
that task. He hated feeling this helpless, but in the end
there was nothing he could do but sit in the car and watch
his Master drive.

They made the journey up to the 17th floor in silence, and
entered the apartment in silence. Then Skinner turned to
his slave, and spoke to him in a low, terse tone.

"Go upstairs and go to bed," he said.

"What will you do, Master?" Mulder asked, as Skinner
turned on his heel and walked towards the living room. His
Master paused, his back tense. He didn't turn around.

"I believe I gave you an order," he hissed.

Mulder stared at his Master's back, uncertain what he
should do. Yes, Skinner had given him an order, but he
wasn't sure that order was in the best interests of either
of them. On the other hand Skinner was still his Master –
and he couldn't choose which of his Master's orders he
would obey. With a sigh, Mulder began to walk up the
stairs. He paused, halfway up, and glanced back down.
Skinner was still standing frozen to the same spot. His
muscles were bunched under his shirt. He stood there for a
moment, and then shook his head, and, with brisk, jerky
steps, disappeared into the living room. Mulder sighed and
resumed his walk up the bedroom. He got undressed and slid
into the bed, but he couldn't sleep. He wasn't by nature
someone who could just stand by and watch. He was used to
taking action. Slavery had curbed some of his more
headstrong instincts but Skinner had always told him that
he didn't want him not to be Fox Mulder – it was Fox Mulder
he had fallen in love with after all. It didn't seem right
to Mulder that his Master could delve so deeply into his
psyche and help him when he was obviously struggling, but
refused to accept the same help back. Skinner had only once
before shut him out like this but on that occasion it had
been as a result of something Mulder had done, and a trust
that he had breached between them by investigating his
Master's past. This was different – this time Mulder hadn't
broken any trust – and his psychology background told him
that it wasn't healthy for Skinner to deal with whatever
was troubling him alone. The truth was that Mulder cared
far too much about his Master to ignore his problems – but
he needed to find a way to tackle them that didn't threaten
the bond they shared. Mulder struggled with it for a long
time, but when two hours had gone by and there was still no
sign of his Master, he couldn't bear it any longer. He got
up, pulled on his sweatpants, and padded downstairs,
barefoot and bare-chested. Usually he went naked in his
Master's presence, but that didn't feel right at the
moment. He didn't want to lure Skinner into bed – he wanted
to talk to him.

He found Skinner in the living room, sitting at the table
with some papers strewn out in front of him, the phone
perched on top of them. Mulder also noted the nearly empty
glass of whisky. His Master was staring absently into
space, and Mulder's heart did a little lurch. He hated
seeing his lover look this lost. He crossed the room, and
placed a hand on Skinner's shoulder. It never occurred to
him that Skinner had not heard his approach, so his
Master's startled reaction took him by surprise. Skinner
slapped his hand away with a growl, and Mulder fell against
the table. He regained his footing and looked at his
Master. Skinner's jaw was practically scissoring in
distress, and although he put out a hand as if to steady
Mulder, he drew back, as if stung, without actually
touching his slave. There was a grim sense of resolve in
his Master's eyes.

"You surprised me. You should have said something. I
didn't know you were here," Skinner muttered. Mulder just
gazed at him, thoughtfully. "I thought I gave you an order.
Go to bed," Skinner snapped, refusing to meet his slave's
eyes.

"Come with me," Mulder urged softly. "Then we can talk
about this."

Skinner crossed his arms defensively over his chest – he
clearly didn't want to engage in any kind of conversation.
Mulder was going to try anyway.

"Walter – it's late. I'm worried about you," he said softly.

Skinner took a deep breath. "I know. I'm sorry. Go to bed.
I'll be along soon."

"What are you thinking?" Mulder ignored the order.

"Nothing." Skinner reached out and played idly with the
papers on the table.

"You made some phone calls?" Mulder pressed, glancing at
the phone.

"Yes. Guardian stuff. I thought…" Skinner cleared his
throat and began again, not looking at Mulder. "I thought I
should call a meeting of the House."

"What can the House do?"

"That's what I need to find out. We can certainly tackle
Franklin." Skinner shrugged. "We can make sure he isn't
welcome at any more parties or clubs in DC – but there are
always parts of the scene that we can't police, and there
will always be places that will welcome someone that
dangerous. There'll even be some stupid boys who venerate
him for being a violent abuser. They'll just think he's
particularly masterful." He clamped his jaw shut, clearly
not having intended to say so much.

"If Lee would only make a report to the police…" Mulder
began hotly.

"Let's face it, Fox, that isn't going to happen," Skinner
snapped. "The House is our only other option. Now, I
thought I told you to go to bed."

"And I thought I should find out whether my Master was all
right." Mulder put his head on one side, and gazed at the
other man. "Is he? What's going on, Walter? Don't shut me
out."

Skinner glared at him for a moment, and then all the
tension suddenly left his body, and he lifted his hands,
helplessly. He shook his head, but didn't seem to have any
words.

"Don't even think it," Mulder warned him.

His Master raised an eyebrow. "You know what I'm thinking
now?" He asked.

"I have a pretty good idea." Mulder stepped close to
Skinner, and gently touched his Master's cheek. Skinner
stiffened. Mulder reached down, took hold of one of
Skinner's hands, and placed it on his own waist. "I'm not
made of glass, Walter, and I won't break. You're not
Franklin. You'd never hurt me."

"I've often hurt you," Skinner replied, still unmoving,
his hand like a lead weight on Mulder's body.

"What was it you said when you first brought me home?
You'd hurt me, for my own pleasure – but you wouldn't harm
me? That's the distinction here. Lee and Franklin aren't
holding up a mirror to our relationship, Walter. What they
have is no more or less than domestic abuse – something
that happens in non-BDSM relationships as well."

"Sometimes I don't know my own strength. Last night…"

"Was fantastic. We talked about this."

"And if one day I went too far?"

"I don't believe you could. It isn't in you. Even last
night."

"What do you mean?" Skinner's dark eyes were intense.

"I mean that I asked you for a rape fantasy but you
wouldn't deliver. You had to make me beg to be fucked – you
needed my consent on some level. Even in a fantasy."

"I…" Skinner hesitated.

Mulder put his other hand on his Master's face, and
caressed him with his thumbs, stroking Skinner's cheeks
softly. "You aren't Franklin. You aren't going to abuse
your power over me, or turn me into