The sky is grey, and at the first thud of earth against wood, it starts raining. Typical Mulder, always with the dramatics. Scully's here, of course. She's staring straight ahead, tears streaming down her face; she's just letting them fall, her mouth set. Your mother beside her. Those three weirdos you used to hang out with, looking uncomfortable in mismatched black. A few people from the Bureau you didn't piss off too badly.

And I'm here, Mulder, as I've always been. There needed to be a speech, so I gave it. I talked about things like passion, dedication, the burning desire for the truth which, finally, cost you your life.

Truth is a dangerous thing, Mulder.

For instance, the truths I didn't mention. How you would turn up late nights, agitated, exhausted, needing to be soothed, held. Your reckless abandonment in bed, matching my thrusts with yours, back arched, gasping, sweat covering your body. The weary innocence of your face in sleep.

Truth, as the poets say, hurts. But none so much as the truth I denied you, the words I could never bring myself to speak aloud, not even to you.

Goodbye, Fox. I love you.

Loved you.



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Mulder paced.

“Why did you have to turn up *then*? Another minute and I would have had it out of him. The conspiracy, what happened to Sam, everything!”

“Need I remind you that he was holding a gun to your head.”

“If you hadn’t shot him he would’ve at least *told* me before killing me. It would have been worth it, to finally know the truth.”

“Is your life worth that little, Agent Mulder?” Calm, implacable tones.

Mulder turned on him in frustration, knowing his controlled, capable boss would never know the sleepless nights, the fierce all-consuming hunger.

“Do you know what it feels like, sir? To be so close to what you’ve been looking for your entire life, knowing it’s forever out of reach?”

He searched Skinner’s face savagely for some hint of common understanding, but could read nothing in the patient, steadfast gaze. He shook his head in defeat and turned to leave, lost in troubled thought.

Helplessly, Skinner watched him go, feeling the familiar, dull longing twist in the pit of his stomach, his carefully composed expression tightening with hints of pain. To Mulder’s retreating back he muttered softly, uselessly, “Every day.”

The door clicked shut.



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I’ve wondered, often, how you might react.

Sometimes you stand there, stunned, embarrassed, letting me taste your lips in a single, desperate moment of desire, before you mutter something unintelligible and turn quickly away, never to speak of it again.

Other times your eyes darken with surprised anger, as you push me from you roughly, perhaps violently. You’ve never struck me, not even when I’ve forced you to test your strength against mine. A first time for everything.

Or maybe, just maybe, you pull me close and let me breathe you in deep, returning my kiss with your own fierce, unexpected need. In my wildest delusions, I even imagine a time when you finally allow me through all your formidable defences, relinquishing that tightly-held control at my touch. Letting me see your face as you come, thrusting urgently into me, gasping your release.

Some dreams are too fragile to see daylight, lest they crumble away to dust and ashes. So I wait. And wonder. Until now.

“Sir,” I begin, hesitantly.

“Mulder... what is it?” Your eyes are concerned, unsuspecting.

What would you do, Walter?

I take a deep breath, and I think... I think, in another moment, I’ll know.



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‘Look. It’s all here.’

‘Who’s this?’ Skinner picked up a glossy 8x10.

‘He’s the leader of the whole thing! The *real* Consortium.’

‘Looks more like a beach bum.’

‘Don’t underestimate him, sir - he controls our very lives. Scully’s cancer, my sister, the aliens - he’s behind all of it! The Consortium’s just a front for his real operation.’

‘Which is?’

‘I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but there are huge sums of money involved.’

‘So what you’re saying is that we have no independent will of our own - we’re just blindly following the paths this... dictator... chooses for us.’

Mulder nodded mutely, looking lost.

‘That’s ridiculous, Mulder. Come here.’

Mulder walked into his arms, as if in a daze. He moaned helplessly as Skinner kissed him deeply, the heat of his body overpowering, sending shocks of arousal through them both.

‘There.’ Skinner said, firmly. ‘That’ll show them.’

Suddenly, the office swam, dissolving into Mulder’s bedroom. It smelled musty, unused, curtains drawn tightly against the sunlight.

‘What the hell -’ Skinner began.

Mulder gave him a strange, twisted smile, pushing him gently onto the bed. ‘Don’t look, sir... but I think we’re in *real* trouble now.’



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Sound of soft laughter.

Playful kisses, deepening into mutual need.

Hazel eyes wide with arousal, studying him. One hand pulling at a nipple, the other teasing him erect with gentle, familiar strokes. Full lips wrapped around his cock, skin sliding against skin. Inarticulate moans, his own.

Please, he begs wordlessly. Almost ...

Thrusting desperately, mindlessly now into the warm embrace of flesh. Thought, denial, despair, pain, all temporarily suspended in the overwhelming need for release.

Oh god.

Oh *God*...

‘Mulder,’ he gasps, once, brokenly.

Sticky warmth fast cooling on his hand and belly.

And the silence, the emptiness, the shame.



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Samantha 13:10


Silver scales slither through the undergrowth

Surveying the world with evil, ancient eyes that hold no light

Commanding an army of ferrets and rats

Half-seen within a cloud of foulest smoke

Pacing the carpeted cage

Sleek, striped pelt trapped behind self-wrought iron bars

Endlessly tracing the narrow line dividing order from chaos

Chasms on either side gaping to infinity

Prowling the wooded basement depths

Rough, unkempt fur seeking restlessly through shadowy places

Holding back the darkness with a single voice

Howling uselessly at glimpses of the moon

Who shall breach the prison’s walls?

Or end the hunter’s lonely quest?

Perhaps, in some far-off Revelation

The little child lost shall be reclaimed

And lead them softly from the wilderness

To be reborn

Then dust shall be the serpent’s meat

The tiger shall lie down with the wolf

And there may both find peace



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The voice was calm and even, but with the stern edge that Mulder knew from experience meant business.

'Mulder - you know the rules.'

The dreaded closet was opened, and the contents thoroughly examined.

'There's going to have to be punishment for this.'

Mulder did not dare let himself speak in the face of Skinner's displeasure. After what seemed an eternity, the paddle was chosen, a sturdy, square wooden model, studded on one side with raised bumps. A hand caressed the rough surface lovingly.

'And you *know* it's not going to be pleasant.'

The sound of a muted <thwack> as an experimental swing of the wood met denim-clad thigh.

'But if you promise to co-operate from now on, I'll go easy on you *this* time.'

Silence. Mulder's face remained a studied blank.

'I'm waiting for a response, Mulder.'

Mulder hesitated briefly. No sign of remorse in the hazel eyes, though, despite Skinner's conciliatory tone. That did it.

'Dammit Fox, get these handcuffs off me AT ONCE!' Skinner yelled, oblivious now to his dignity. Bound to the bed at hand and foot, his bare ass flexed invitingly in response to his outrage.

Mulder just smiled gently, and raised the paddle.



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