Hello everyone!
I was working on this story when Erynn announced it was her birthday today. Ironically, it dealt with Frohike turning 50. Someone said maybe we could get her a story for her birthday, so I wrapped it up, and here it is. It may not be as finished as it could have been, but then, I was working against a deadline, so I apologize in advance. Hope you enjoy.
Peace, Joelle

Title: Sex, Guys, and Videotapes
Author: J.D. Rush
Archive: Unusual Suspects, Basement; others upon request
Pairing: Frohike and...don't want to spoil it. Sorry.
Summary: Frohike has turned 50, and he and the boys do a bit too much celebrating.
Spoilers: None that I know of; takes place before TLG series.
Rating: NC-17 for language and m/m relationships
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Chris Carter, Fox and 1013 Productions. I'm just taking them out for a spin. (yeah, like I wish!)
Feedback: Always welcome and appreciated: yanksfan462@gateway.net.
Author's Note: This was a rush job. No time for a beta. Any errors are mine. Sorry.

---

Sex, Guys, and Videotapes
By J. D. Rush

Fuck, my aching head! It hurt to even THINK about opening my eyes. What the hell? Oh, yeah...now I remember. The Foxy Lady. Something about a surprise birthday party. Right. Mine. Man, the big 5-0. And I feel every bit of it today, that's for sure.

The guys are really great, you know, planning that whole party thing. Mulder and Skinner were already there, front row, engrossed in the floorshow.

Even the luscious Agent Scully showed up to share in the celebrating. That's one classy lady.

Good ol' Mulder...arranging the endless parade of lap dances for me. The boy knows just what I like. And Byers! Making sure those bottomless pitchers of Kamikazes kept flowing. We were all doing great until Langly started ordering those damn Jell-O shots for everyone. I mean, what the hell was I THINKING?!

Oh, man...gotta get up. What? What's that? My right hand was all tangled up in something soft, and I noticed a dead weight over my chest and shoulder.

I risked cracking one eye open-hair. Long blond hair. Damn, I went home with one of those tasty strippers and I didn't even remember it? I've got to consider killing Langly one of these days.

I closed my eyes again-the light was just too bright-and let my fingers run through that long silky wheat-gold hair. Well, it was ONE thing I could enjoy, and take away from my birthday bang. God, and it's been so long, too. Longest dry spell of my life. Just my luck. Get polluted. Kill a few thousand more brain cells. Black out my first lay in nearly two years.

Happy fucking birthday, Frohike.

She shifted a bit in her sleep, moaning softly as she repositioned herself slightly. Gotta say, liked where her hand landed. Who knows? Maybe I could convince her for a repeat performance. Make turning 50 not be a total loss. My hand skimmed down her hair, and caressed the soft skin at her throat-she gave a small sigh, followed by a loud snort.

Snort? I only know one person who snorts like while sleeping. I again cracked my eye open, this time because I dreaded knowing the answer to my question. There. On the left bicep. A tattoo of Joey Ramone's signature, with a date, 8-6-96. Night of the last Ramones gig ever. Authentic autograph. Got it right after the show...convinced Joey to sign the arm, then ran right down to the tattoo parlor, and had it permanently etched. NO one else could have a tattoo like that. No one but Langley.

Oh God! No. No way. This did NOT happen. Oh god. I carefully pulled my hand from his hair, hoping not to wake him, and gingerly check under the sheets. I'm naked. So is he. And his hand is resting lightly on my...Oh, god!

Calm down, Frohike. Just calm down. Maybe nothing happened. Maybe you both just fell naked into your bed, and he just accidentally jerked you off while you were passed out. No. Don't go there. A wet dream. Yeah. That's all it was.

Awww, who the hell was I kidding? I had gotten trashed at a strip joint...and went to bed with my best friend.

Oh fuck!

Now what do I do? WE do? Shit! Everything's gonna get really weird between us. Nothing's ever going to be the same. We'll look at each other different, we'll act different. All that closeness we've shared-will we be afraid of getting close to each other? Always watching what we say, what we do, not to upset or offend the other? Is our friendship totally shot to shit forever?

Wait a minute! Maybe things will be okay. If I can't remember what happened last night, maybe HE doesn't either. If I just slip out of this bed, and go crash on the couch, then I can pretend nothing happened. Okey dokey...all I've got to do is care-ful-ly remove my hand here, and gent-ly slide his head off my chest...with-out...waking... him...up... Yeah, there we go. Now, I'll just roll to my...left...and...what the hell? Why can't I feel my left arm?

"Hmmmm, whaaaaaa?" a sleepy, masculine voice sounded in my left ear.

No. Oh FUCK no!

Rolling my head on the pillow, I came eye-to-blue eye with Byers. He was regarding me intently, a little grin quirking at his lips. " 'Morning, beautiful," he murmured.

A dream. Yes. That's what it was. A VERY BAD dream. All I had to do was wake up. Okay. Here I go. Wake up, Frohike! C'mon kid. Just wake up. Anytime now.

A hand-Byers's hand-glided across my upper chest, scrapping a nipple in its wake, causing me to shiver. He inched himself closer, his beard scratchy, but not unpleasant against my cheek. "Sleep well?" he purred, his lips making contact with my jaw line.

"Ahhhh..." the sound stuck in my throat. The hand was doing some very distracting things, rubbing down my torso, down further, into no man's land. Or, at this point, two man's land.

He was smiling at me as he whispered, "Happy birthday, buddy...did you like our gift?" By now his hand was almost touching Langly's, and his words were just registering to my numbed mind.

"This?? This was your gift?"

A chuckle. It's so rare to hear Byers laugh. It's a nice sound. "Uh-huh...wanted to give you something special." Teeth, straight white teeth, were nipping at my sideburns, down my cheek, down my neck. Why was I still lying there like that, instead of running like a bat out of hell? Why was I enjoying it so much? Why did I suddenly want more?

"Frohike?"

"Huh?"

Again, that small, sexy laugh. "I asked, did you enjoy it?"

Oh God! His tongue was licking around my ear, and I couldn't form a coherent sentence if my life depended on it. I forced my mouth to function, even though my brain had shut down completely. "I...I don't remember it."

That little bon mot won me a hearty chortle. "The Jell-O shots, huh?"

I stared into those beautiful blue eyes and sighed, "Yeah."

Long delicate fingers were twisting through my hair, curling it playfully. "Well, that's not good. Can't have you not remembering your gift." He tilted my head, and pulled me into a long, lazy kiss, his tongue wrapping happily around mine.

Goddam, this guy could kiss!

I was totally losing myself in his touch when a familiar voice piped up, "Man, that looks like fun."

Byers let go of me, much to my frustration, and smiled down at our now wide-awake partner-in-crime. "Help yourself."

The blond member of our troupe pulled himself upright until he was leaning over me, a lustful gleam in his eyes. (Damn, he's got real pretty eyes, without those glasses.) "Mmmm, think I will," he muttered, before he captured my mouth with his, all the while slowly stroking my hardening cock. When he had thoroughly stolen my very breath, he pulled away, with one final lick along my lower lip. Shit, and I thought BYERS could kiss!

But Langly wasn't finished yet. He let himself be pulled across my body, as John demanded a good-morning kiss of his own. I watched as their tongues darted out, parrying and thrusting, almost dueling, before they glued their mouths together. I pushed up, to get a better look, only to find myself invited to play, too. A three-way kiss isn't the easiest, or prettiest thing to pull off, but wow, it certainly was the funkiest.

Eventually, we all parted, by some mutual unspoken agreement. As we lay there, Byers massaging my chest, Langly still fondling my cock, I moaned contentedly, "This is nice."

"Yeah, that's what you said last night, too," Langly reminded me.

John seemed uneasy. "Ahhh, Ringo...Frohike doesn't remember last night."

Langly heaved a put-upon sigh. "I TOLD you we should've just gotten him the Blow-Up Barbie."

"Now, Langly...c'mon. After all, it's your fault," John explained, patiently.

"It's always my fault," Ringo pouted. "So, what did I do THIS time?"

"You insisted on ordering those stupid Jell-O shots, that's what!" I shot back.

"Hmmpth, Melvin never could hold his liquor," the spoiled brat responded, snottily.

John just sighed tolerantly, his hand sweeping through my chest fur, "Ringo-be nice. We still have a birthday boy without a birthday gift. What are we going to do?"

"Personally, I think he's lying. Just wants another sample of my expertise, isn't that right, Frohike?" he said with that know-it-all smirk of his that's both annoying and endearing. His hand was back, squeezing and teasing my engorged member. "You still horny, little man?"

"You know it, hippy," I hissed, between gritted teeth.

He just laughed snidely before ducking his head under the blankets. And as his mouth descended on my rock-hard cock, I discovered it wasn't just Ringo's Kung Fu that was the best!

So there I was, one of my best friends giving me the sloppiest blowjob of my life while my other best friend was giving me a French lesson like I NEVER got in school-I'm thinking I've died and gone to heaven-when the bedroom door opened. I tried to scramble away from my seducers, but they were having none of it, holding me tighter. Without my glasses, I could barely make out the shadowy figures in the doorway, until I heard Mulder's unmistakable whine, "Hey, no fair...you guys are starting without us!"

I watched in stunned silence while Mulder and his companion approached the bed. It was only as they were crawling in that I realized the other naked man was none other than A.D. Skinner. Langly reluctantly abandoned my penis to allow Mulder access to me. While Byers and Skinner were locked in a passionate clutch next to me, Fox laid down upon me, his hard-on burning against mine. Clasping my face in his hands, he purred, "Happy Birthday, Frohike," and pulled me in for a deep tongue kiss.

As I held him close, our erections rubbing against each other, with Langly nuzzling my neck, and Byers and Skinner rutting beside me, all I could think was, 'That, my dear Mulder, is the understatement of the century!'

*******************

In the next room, Scully adjusted the contrast on the monitor in front of her. Leaning back in the well-worn secretary's chair, she put her feet up on the workstation, crossed at the ankles, and settled in to enjoy the show in Frohike's room.

Well, she figured, she OWED it to herself. After all, SHE was the one who had to stay sober last night in that strip joint-she had arrived late; therefore she was dubbed the designated driver. SHE was the one who had to endure all the humiliating sexual come-ons from the men in that dive, and the drunken attempts by Mulder to slip dollar bills down her blouse. SHE was the one who had to pile all those pickled men into that damn VW bus, and drive them home.

And SHE was the only one who didn't get laid last night.

No, she was relegated to the couch while the Three Stooges crashed in one bedroom, and Mulder and Skinner stumbled off to the other one. She thought that was the end of her horrible evening. She thought wrong.

She had no sooner slipped off her shoes than she heard it: a low, keening kind of moaning of someone in pain, or agony. Instantly, she was on her feet, and rushing to the room she had seen her partner and her boss disappear into, her body tense with concern. Something was wrong. One of them must be ill. Her hand was on the doorknob, but she was stopped from opening it when she heard, "Oh, yeah, Fox...that's it. Suck it down, baby...suck my cock."

Scully stumbled back a couple of steps, staring at the door. Her rational mind tried desperately to wrap itself around this development, but just like Mulder's bizarre alien conspiracy theories, it made no sense to her. Mulder...and SKINNER?!? She knew her partner had some strange sexual quirks, but never imagined it extended to THIS. As for the assistant director, she couldn't even venture a guess.

On wobbly legs, she staggered back to the couch to sit, and think. But her meditation didn't last long. Sounds...whispers...groans...sighs...were coming from the other bedroom. She knew it was wrong, but she had to see it for her own eyes. Tiptoeing silently, she crossed the living room, finding the bedroom door ajar. Already hating herself, she peered inside.

Byers had his naked backside to her. (God, his ass was almost as nice as Mulder's!) It was the first time she had ever seen him without a suit, and she liked what she saw. A guy built like that shouldn't hide it, she ruefully thought to herself. He was leaning down, kissing his friend, Frohike. The shorter Birthday boy was hidden from her view, not just by Byers, but also by Langly, who was naked and on his knees, going south on his fellow Gunmen.

Just what the hell did they PUT in those drinks anyway?!

Of all the strange things Scully had seen since teaming up with Mulder, this was by far the strangest. Yet, to her amazement, she found the scene not just wildly erotic, but also sweetly touching. The three men, whom she had always thought of as just Mulder's oddball friends, obviously loved and cared about each other very much, as they touched and hugged and kissed one another, giving themselves over to sheer ecstasy. She couldn't help but feel a stab of envy. Stepping away from the door, to give the boys some privacy, she made her way back to the couch. Unfolding the old comforter that sat at the foot of it, she curled up on the sofa, knowing full well what a useless exercise it was. With thoughts of what she had seen and heard running rampant through her head, there'd be no sleep for Scully that night, she was sure.

Somehow, someway, she did manage to catch a few z's. She was dozing lightly the next morning when she was awakened by the sound of a door opening. She watched, from her hidden position, as Mulder and Skinner, both naked as the day they were born (who would have thought that her boss had a birth mark THERE), emerged from their love nest. Skinner turned on the younger man, and pressed Mulder into the doorframe, kissing him hungrily, stroking the agent's cock to its full hardness. Mulder pulled Walter to him, caressing the older man's full, solid ass cheeks. Scully could feel the passionate growls that rumbled between the couple, even from across the room.

Seeing them heading towards her, she ducked under the covers-not that it mattered. They never noticed her as they passed the sofa and strolled over to the other bedroom, the one where the Gunmen were sleeping, probably tangled around one another. She thought for a moment about warning them, but then it was too late. Mulder had opened the door, and was addressing the men inside: "Hey, no fair...you guys are starting without us." And with that, two of The Bureau's finest disappeared into the room.

At that point, Scully was completely fed up with all of them. Bad enough she hadn't had a date in months...now she was horny as hell to boot. She jammed her shoes on her feet, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door, before realizing her car was still back in the strip joint's parking lot. That left her two options...steal the mini-bus (which the guys MORE than deserved) or call a cab. Remembering how much she hated that damn hippy car, she put her purse down, and went to hunt down a phone.

That's when she saw the monitors. Two of them. Flashing a repetitive series of shots of the different rooms, as the hidden security cameras clicked on and off. Bathroom. Kitchen. Workstations. (Wave 'hi' Scully!) She couldn't help but laugh and shake her head. Only the Gunmen would be SO paranoid that they spied on themselves!

Wait. What was that? On the left monitor. A bedroom. Lots of clothes scattered around an unmade bed-numerous obscure rock posters on the walls. Definitely Langly's. Another bedroom. Bed neatly made. Toiletries lined up on the dresser, tallest to smallest. A suit, still in its dry cleaning baggie, hanging from the closet door. No doubt about it-this was Byers's domain. Which left only...

Eyes glued to the small black and white TV set, Scully was dazed as she saw five of the most important men in her life, naked together, making love to one another. Each man special, unique and handsome in his own way. Yes, even Frohike, who was currently the filling in a sexy F.B.I. sandwich, while Byers and Langly, locked in their own loving embrace, looked on with great interest.

She was just about to leave the guys in peace when her gaze fell upon the VCR, and a wicked idea embedded itself in her brain. With an evil smile crossing her face, Scully slipped a new cassette in the machine, pressed record, and took her seat, wondering what she'd eventually do with it.

She could always give it to Frohike as a gift. Or maybe she'd hold it over Skinner's head as blackmail, to force him into giving her that vacation she kept requesting. Then again, maybe she'd hand it over to Mulder so he could add to his extensive collection. Or even better, she'd use it to start one of her own.

Kicking off her shoes, and re-crossing her legs, she grumbled, "Man, if only these monitors were in color."

The End

Archived: April 07, 2001

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