Title: Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar
Author: Scribe
Fandom: Mission: Impossible/X Files crossover
Paring: Ethan Hunt/Fox Mulder
Rating: NC-17
Status: WIP
Archive: If you wish. Tell me where.
Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com
Series/Sequel: Not at present
Disclaimers: I own neither Ethan Hunt, Fox Mulder, nor the X Files or Impossible Mission concepts. Mores the pity. No money made from this endeavor.
Summary: Ethan Hunt is assigned to infiltrate a Colombian drug czar's organization, by posing as an American drug trafficker. He must be accompanied by an agent to pose as his lover, but none of the IM force meet the requirements. FBI agent Fox Mulder is determined to be the perfect candidate.
Warnings: Excessive drooling over Mulder. But then, you need to be WARNED about this?
Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar
by ScribeThe two girls sitting on the brick planter outside the mall were thirteen, and were on a high that only thirteen year old girls who have spent the day at the mall can achieve. They'd hyped themselves with liberal doses of caffeine and sugar, and had reached a stage of twitching giggles. Now they were waiting for a parent to come and take them home, and gloating over their loot.
"That is SO totally kewl, Jasmine," the little blonde said, envy clear in her tone. "I wish I had one."
Jasmine examined her prize smugly. "Don't blame me, Tara. If ya hadn't gotten that N'Sync CD you'da had enough to get one, too."
The object of their attention was what looked like a large automatic pistol. Closer inspection showed it to be made of plastic. "What flavor ammo did ya get?" Tara asked curiously.
"Chocolate, what else?" Jasmine showed her what looked like a clip. But instead of bullets, it was loaded with small brown candy lozenges. She carefully loaded the clip into the butt of the fake gun. "I can't wait to take this to school. I'm gonna nail that booger Mark Blanchard right between the eyes. That'll teach 'im to snap my bra an' ask why I bother wearing one."
"Yeah, well, ya better be careful, or they'll take it. They call 'em 'dangerous nuisances'. My mom says they're gonna recall 'em cause the spring is too strong. They say some kids choked, shooting the ammo into their mouths, an' one kid even put his brother's eye out."
"Crap." Jasmine said confidently. "That's one of those urban whatchamacallits, like in the movie where they get chopped up."
Tara frowned. "Prom Night?"
"No, the other one."
"The Shining?"
"NO! The one with the cute guy from Dawson's Creek, except he's blonde, an' he gets, like, hung from a tree."
Understanding dawned. "Oh. Urban LEGENDS."
"Yeah, that one. It's just stories grownups are passin' around to stop us from havin' fun."
Tara sounded doubtful. "I dunno. I think I saw it in the paper. They wouldn't lie in the paper, would they?"
"That's not what my dad says." Jasmine pointed the plastic pistol toward her own open mouth, and pulled the trigger. There was a sproinging snap, and a tiny brown pellet shot out, directly into her mouth. She chewed smugly. "See?"
"Do me!" Tara opened her mouth. Jasmine took aim, and shot. Direct hit. Suddenly her friend clutched her throat, eyes going wide.
"Tara?" Tara made a wheezing sound, grabbing Jasmine's arm. "Omygawd! Tara!" She thumped her on the back, hard. "Don't die! I'll do the Heinie maneuver on you!"
As she started to grab her friend, Tara laughed. "Get away from me, you 'mo!"
Jasmine got red in the face. "Tara, you snot!"
"Gimme! I wanna try!" Tara grabbed for the toy.
Jasmine tried to hold it away from her. "No way!"
The two friends struggled for possession of the toy, shoving and snatching. Neither one of them noticed the Jaguar that parked in the space nearby, or the man who got out. He started walking toward the mall entrance that was just to the left of the girls.
As he came up on the curb, Tara wrapped her hand around the butt of the candy gun, and Jasmine tried to jerk it away. She pulled the trigger. There was that familiar, sproinging snap, and a candy pellet shot out of the muzzle.
Both girls froze, gasping in horror. Because the little dart was flying straight at the man who was just passing by. It was going to smack him right in the head. They were doomed.
Casually, without looking around or breaking stride, the man brought his arm up. The candy bullet smacked into his palm, and his fingers closed around it. He took two more steps, then paused, and turned toward the girls.
Tara and Jasmine sat motionless, gaping at him. They were sure they were about to be hauled before mall security.
He regarded them, but they couldn't see his eyes, because he was wearing really kewl looking shades. In fact, this was quite possibly one of the kewlest looking guys they'd ever seen. Oh, kinda old. He was, like, almost thirty, or something. But he looked NICE. He was wearing tight blue jeans, and a black T-shirt, and he had the kind of body those guys on Xtreme Sports had. His hair was black, and kind of long, falling over his forehead and ears, and down past his collar.
He just stared at them, no expression on his face. Then he pushed the shades up on his forehead. He had the greenest eyes they had ever seen. He smiled slowly, and Jasmine felt the crotch of her panties get moist, like they did when she went to the Backstreet Boys concert and screamed herself into a frenzy.
He held up the little brown lozenge between his thumb and forefinger, then slowly wagged a finger at them admonishingly. He popped the candy in his mouth. Lowering his sunglasses again, he headed into the mall, chewing.
The girls stared after him. Then they looked at each other and burst into hysterical giggles, hugging each other frantically. "Omygawd!" gasped Tara. "I thought we were toast!"
"I almost was!" Jasmine fanned herself. "Yow!" She looked at the mall entrance longingly. "I wonder if he likes younger women?"
Ethan Hunt munched the candy as he pushed through the doors into the mall. As he walked, he took the headphones of the micro cassette player he had hooked on his belt and slipped them on. He punched PLAY, and a lively instrumental, driven by drums and laced with the wailing of flutes, filled his ears. He window shopped, occasionally snapping his fingers in time to the music.
At last he made his way to a kiosk in the middle of the mall called Munchsters. The glass fronted cases held a wide assortment of bulk candy, nuts, and snacks. As he shut off the music and removed the earphones, the man inside the counter gave him a professional greeting smile. "Need a nibble?"
*Bingo.* "Yeah, I'm having severe munchies, but I can't make up my mind. What do you recommend?" *Proper response given.*
"That all depends on your mood."
*And counter response.* "I'll rely on your judgement."
The man seemed to consider him. "You look like a chocaholic to me." He tapped the counter above a display of brightly wrapped miniature candy bars. "How about some Hershey's Miniatures? A little of everything."
"Sounds good. Half pound, please."
The man scooped the candy onto the scale, watching the needle swing. He removed two, then added one, finally nodding his satisfaction. He poured the candy into a white paper sack, and took Ethan's money. "Enjoy. The Special Dark Chocolates are my favorites."
"Mine, too. Thanks."
Ethan sauntered back out to the parking lot. The two sharp shooters were gone, he noted. He made his way to the forest green Jaguar and got inside. Opening the bag, he unwrapped and ate first a Krackle, then a Mr. Goodbar. The guy was right, he WAS a chocaholic.
Digging through the contents of the bag, he located a single Hershey's Special Dark Chocolate. Ethan skinned off the paper and unwrapped the gold foil. Instead of a chocolate bar, he revealed a micro cassette. Ethan sighed. He REALLY liked the Special Dark.
Ethan donned his headset again. He took another tiny wire and connected the player to a small port hidden in the frames of his sunglasses. Then he plugged the tape into the player and started it. Immediately the familiar, smooth voice with it's hint of Britain filled his ears.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Hunt." Ethan half lifted a hand in greeting to the operative who was most likely several thousand miles away. You never could tell, though. It was entirely possible that he was being observed at the moment. Didn't hurt to be cordial.
He closed his eyes, and there was a sudden flicker of light across the backs of the closed lids. When he opened them, he was no longer looking through the windshield at the mall parking lot. He was looking at a photo shimmering on the inside lenses of his glasses. To anyone passing by, they would seem their usual dark shade.
Ethan was immediately interested in this mission, more so than usual. After all, it wasn't often that he began his assignments by being presented with a dossier photo of himself.
*No* he corrected himself. *That's not me. Pretty fucking close, though. I'd say maybe me, five years down the road. What gives?*
"This is Connor Galbraith. I'm sure you've noticed the remarkable resemblance to a certain M:I agent, who shall remain nameless."
Ethan studied the photo with interest. Galbraith was at some sort of society bash. *Hm. I look pretty damn good in a tuxedo.* The photo changed to show Galbraith more casually dressed, climbing out of a Porsche. The photos changed as the voice continued, showing the man in a variety of situations and outfits.
"Mr. Galbraith is an Irish lad made good. He's moved from the streets of Dublin into the lower levels of international high society. His interests are varied. As you can see, he's very sports oriented."
That he was. Tennis, rock climbing (Ethan's personal favorite), wrestling... He shook his head. The surveillance teams never ceased to amaze him. On the street was one thing, but how the fuck did they get such good shots from inside a closed gymnasium, or out in the open with the subject halfway up a cliff face?
"Mr. Galbraith has ties with the IRA, and has used his extensive smuggling contacts to run guns for the cause. But in his case, it's more business than political fervor. He's been well compensated, and has channeled the funds into his main enterprise. Drugs."
A photo of a handsome Latino man replaced Galbraith. He was big, at least 6'3", and powerfully built. His Indian black hair was cropped brutally short. His clean shaven face was handsome, but there was an edge of cruelty to the thin lips. The olive black eyes were sharp, showing a near fierce intelligence. He looked thoroughly dangerous.
"This is Olivero de la Montana, Columbian drug lord. He is known affectionately as `The Jaguar'. This is due to his preferred methods of dispatching his enemies. He either disembowels them, or breaks their necks, as the big cat does. At present, he's only a mid level player, no threat to the big boys. But if he can form an alliance with Galbraith, and use Connor's extensive smuggling operation for distribution, he can rise to the top. The present powers in the cartels won't like that, and it could trigger a bloodbath. Since it is known that Galbraith uses commercial transport extensively, many innocent lives could be lost in the struggle."
*Damn straight. A Columbian in a pissing contest is more fanatic than a Muslim fringe zealot on a jihad. They don't care who gets in the way: kids, grandmas, nuns, dogs. They all go.*
"Montana has scheduled a meeting with Galbraith in two weeks time to discuss a merger of interests. Quite obviously, it is in the best interests of all but the two participants that this partnership never come into being."
"We intend to intercept Connor Galbraith and his traveling companion, and detain them. An operative will take Galbraith's place. This should not be too difficult, as Montana has never actually met his prospective business partner, and knows him only through photographs and by reputation. And, as I'm sure you've noticed, Galbraith bears a certain resemblance to one of our more seasoned and, if I may say so, dashing agents."
"Flatterer," Ethan muttered, grinning.
The subject of the photos changed. The man in these was taller, rangy. He had thick brown hair that seemed to have a tendency to flop, and hazel eyes. *Nice. Sulky looking mouth.*
"This is Daniel Ballard, Of the Maryland Ballards. It may not mean much to you, Ethan, but I assure you it means a great deal in some circles. Daniel is the proverbial black sheep of the family. He is also Connor Galbraith's personal assistant, and lover."
The photos that followed were much like the first series. Daniel, sitting in a crowded banquette at a club, lounging beside a pool in a tiny pair of Speedos *Niiice.* Daniel looked good in a penguin suit, too. Connor had good taste.
"He's a spoiled and decadent young man. He has a trust fund, but it doesn't keep him in what he considers proper style, so he has been living with a series of sugar daddies since he left prep school. He is Galbraith's kept man. Galbraith is quite besotted with him and, as far as things go with Daniel, he seems to have genuine affection for his patron. Connor and Daniel are inseparable, so it would not be believable for Galbraith to make a trip like this alone. An operative will have to be found to portray Daniel convincingly."
*This assignment might have a few perks, if I get to squire around someone who looks like that.*
"So, Mr. Hunt. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to present yourself at this meeting as Connor Galbraith, discover what you can about Montana's organization, sabotage any chance of Galbraith ever forming an alliance with anyone in the cartels, and get yourself and any other M:I operatives out safely. If you agree, you'll find pertinent information at the agreed upon safe house. We're sending you directly into the jaws of the jaguar this time, Ethan. Be careful."
Ethan put the keys in the ignition and fired up the motor, pulling out. There wasn't much traffic, and he took the ramp up onto the freeway as the voice continued. "As always, should any of your M:I operatives be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. This tape will self destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Ethan. Five..."
Ethan stopped the tape, counting, "Four." He ejected the tape. "Three." He rolled down the window. "Two." He whipped his arm, scaling the tiny cassette out toward the verge. There was a hissing sound, as the tape began to smoke. "One." It was dissolved before the plastic shell hit the ground.
Ethan disconnected the player, tossing it on the seat beside him. He popped a CD into the dash, and turned the volume up. The same instrumental he had listened to in the mall poured from the speakers. He began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the drums, singing under his breath. "Dah dah dah, dah DA. Dah dah dah, DUH dah..." He headed for the safe house.
Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 2
Inside another false candy bar *Damn. A Krackle, my second favorite. Why couldn't they have screwed up the Mr. Goodbars?* he found a small key, with the address of the safe house and the number 2 etched into the metal. The safe house was located in a fairly upscale neighborhood in Baltimore. It was in the borderland between suburb and downtown: a nice, respectable two story brick building.
Ethan opened the mailbox for the second floor apartment down in the entry hall, noting that his name here was Ethan Bridger. Inside was an unaddressed manilla envelope that he knew would contain all the identification he would need to maintain this identity for the two weeks he had to prepare, credit cards in the name of Ethan Bridger, and a key to the upstairs apartment.
As he was shutting the mailbox, the door to apartment 1 opened, and a middle aged lady in a flowered duster peered out. She beamed at him happily, as if he were a long lost friend. "Good evening, Mr. Bridger. How long are you back for this time?"
Ethan didn't hesitate an instant. "Just two weeks..." Casual glance at the other mailbox. "Miz Gluckman. I'll be having a friend stay over with me."
She smiled naughtily. "A lady friend?"
He laughed. "No such luck."
"Well, let me know if you need anything. You know that you're the best tenant I've ever had." The smile broadened a little. "Sometimes I scarcely know that you're there."
*********************************************
Ethan locked the door behind himself and studied the room. Not bad. Hardwood floors with a good grade Persian rug, dark wood furniture upholstered in leather. There was a glass and chrome dinette set to one side. A computer was set up at a desk, and a paper shredder sat beside it. There was an entertainment center with a large screen television, DVD player, and CD sound system, complete with a selection of music ranging from classic to rap, and everything in between. All the comforts. Control must be feeling guilty about this mission.
He checked the kitchen. Fully equipped. Maybe he'd get a chance to cook a little. He'd like that, but the microwave would probably get the biggest work out. It all depended on how fast a study his partner turned out to be. If he was quick, then there would be a little time to relax. If not...He hoped there were good restaurants that delivered in the area.
The pantry and refrigerator were well stocked, and he helped himself to a Heineken Dark before wandering back into the living room. There was just one other door, besides the front closet. That meant one bedroom.
Ethan grinned. That probably meant one BED. He went in and checked. *Yep. King size brass bed. He can start off on the couch if he's skittish, but he's gonna have to sleep there with me eventually. After all, we're playing lovers. He needs to get used to it. Whoever `he' is. That's the first order of business.*
Back in the living room, he finished the beer before sitting down to the computer. No point in risking an accident. A drenched keyboard wouldn't fuck things up entirely, but it would be an annoyance, and a bad omen, as far as Ethan was concerned.
Ethan booted up the computer, reflecting that the information it contained would be worth a great deal of money to a great many interested parties. It would also endanger the lives of many people if it were to fall into the wrong hands. That was why Ethan was particularly careful signing on. A slip would have resulted in the information being destroyed, along with whoever had entered the wrong password, and a good portion of the surrounding room.
There were two icons on the desktop: one for an Internet connection, and a stylized jaguar head. Ethan clicked the jaguar, and opened the program that contained dossiers on all M:I operatives, worldwide. Another click brought up a photo of Daniel Ballard, and a line drawing of a man's body, each marked with dozens of red dots. These represented physical points. The operative who had the highest match on the physical scale while possessing certain personal skills would be the one. Hopefully they would be willing. The Impossible Missions were all voluntary, though well paid. No one was forced to do anything. That was why they were so effective.
Ethan specified that he was searching the data base of male operatives, then started the matching program. Immediately the screen began to flicker as images blinked on and off the monitor screen. Dossier photos were superimposed on Daniel Ballards image for a split second, matching features pinpointed and assessed. Ethan sat and watched it, hands folded patiently across his belly. The machine winnowed the prospects down to a hundred, then fifty, then twenty, then ten... There was a beep, and the screen split.
Daniel's image was shifted to one side, and the chosen operative's photo and particulars appeared on the other. Ethan sat forward, frowning. This didn't really look anything like Ballard, aside from the brown hair and height. He checked the figures. No wonder. Only a 58% match. That wouldn't do, wouldn't do at all. If he couldn't find at least a 90% match, he wouldn't feel safe going into Montana's lair. Well, as safe as he ever felt on any mission.
"It looks like I hunt abroad," he murmured. He minimized the screen, and signed on to the Internet. Mr. Bridger had a Netscape account. Ethan took the back entrance into the CIA's registry first. That was only a little better: 63%. Next he tried the DEA, and came up with 85%. Better, but not nearly good enough to suit him. He had more luck with the Department of Defense, finding an 89% there, but he didn't speak French. Ethan was not sure how much of a problem that would be, but he would have preferred not to have to worry about it. One last chance. He went into the FBI files.
The screen flickered again, and settled. A red light flashed at the bottom of the screen, haloing a figure. 97%. "YES!" Ethan closed Ballard's profile, and the FBI agent's ID photo filled the screen. It was uncanny. Ethan figured it would take a close blood relative to tell them apart, and since Ballard wasn't really on speaking terms with his close blood relatives...
Ethan read the name under the photo. "Fox Mulder. Fox?" He smiled. *Kinda an eighties term, but yeah. You are one. Now, let's have a look at your particulars, Fox.* A few keystrokes. *Hot damn! French AND Spanish! He'll be able to keep track of what's being said around him. Let's see...Oh, VERY good. His only close relative is his mother, and she's in a managed care facility. And he's considered to be a loner.*
Ethan went and got another beer to celebrate. He stood in front of the monitor and keyed up the photo of Mulder again, and studied it. If anything, he was actually BETTER looking than Ballard. Ethan took a swig of beer, relishing the mellow, malty taste. * His only really close contact is his partner, Dana Scully. Their director will help keep her satisfied about his whereabouts. Now, if he'll just play ball.* Ethan stared at Mulder's mouth, eyes tracing the lines. Unconsciously his tongue darted out to lick his own lips. "C'mon Fox," he whispered. "Come play with me."
*********************************************************
*The whole fucking world is going to hell in a handbasket.* Fox Mulder slumped on his futon, watching the midnight rerun of the ten o'clock news. On screen swarthy, rifle toting men in quasi-military uniforms stood guard over a huddled lump that was covered by an alarmingly blood splattered sheet. It looked like it had been tie dyed. The car behind them, door standing ajar, was a mess of shattered glass, exploded tires, and bullet punctured metal. The bland, accentless voice of a network news anchor was droning on about another drug war in Columbia that was threatening to spill over into other countries.
He sighed, and rubbed his face as the image disappeared, replaced by an ad for an exercise system. He was tired. Tired of beating his head against a cement wall. All his personal and professional investigations were stagnant. Nothing moved. He hadn't had a lead about what might have happened to Samantha in months. The Cancer Man seemed to have gone into retirement, though he knew THAT was too much to hope for. Even Alex Krycek hadn't been around to jerk his chain lately.
Scully couldn't understand his mood, of course. "Mulder, I'd think you'd be grateful for a little quiet. God knows I could use a little peace in my life."
There hadn't even been any new X Files for several weeks. Dana was doing mostly autopsies and forensic work on other agents' cases. Fox's last assignment had been babysitting a minor diplomat from a country he couldn't pronounce. That might not have been so bad if it had been a club hopping jet setter. But this one's idea of a good time was a rousing round of bridge. Fox had been pressed into service as a fourth, and had proceeded to thoroughly piss off his partner by losing trick after trick. It took five hands before he was finally allowed, ungraciously, to bow out. He wondered what his mother would have said if she knew he'd done it deliberately. She'd been rather proud of him when he could best senior level players before he went into junior high.
On screen a very muscular, dark haired young man stripped his T-shirt over his head as the announcer intoned, "THIS could be your body."
"Alright. Send him over." Fox murmured. He winced at himself. *Damn Fox, gotta be a smart ass, even when it's just you? And what WAS that, anyway? Well...* he answered himself, *...the line was just too good to pass up.* He silently pointed a finger at the screen, where an equally buff young woman was doing vigorous leg lifts. *Send THAT over.*
Satisfied that he'd straightened that out, though for the life of him he couldn't say exactly WHO he'd been worried about confusing, he took a sip of beer from the bottle he'd been cradling between his legs. *Ugh!* He grimaced, but forced it down. *Warm. Note to self: don't hug beer anymore. Body heat bitches it up.*
The commercial ended, and was followed in quick succession by ads for luxury cars, long distance services, tacos, and a personal injury suit lawyer *No charge for the first visit. Can visit you in the hospital. Of course, they don't mention the fact that if they aren't pretty sure they can get a hefty settlement, then grab a major portion of it in fees, you're shit out of luck.*
Finally the news came back on. Disheveled men and women were being hauled out of a seedy looking house in handcuffs. More drug news, but on the home front, this time. The house had been a distribution point. Agents theorized that the bust had set the traffickers back all of three or four days. Mulder squinted as a slight figure was led to a police car, ducking her head in the glare of lights. *Aw, fuck. That kid can't be more than fourteen.*
Mulder stabbed at a button, shutting off the television, then threw the remote across the room. It was followed by the now empty beer bottle. *People getting gunned down in the streets, teeny boppers helping bag cocaine.* He remembered the commercials he'd just seen. *And a Chihuahua gets paid probably more than I do to shill for Tex Mex fast food. I wouldn't mind it so much if I thought the little bastard could actually talk. Has the world ALWAYS been this fucked up, or am I just now noticing it?*
He'd been watching tv with the lights off, so at least he didn't have to get up and go to the switch. He didn't feel like standing up at all, so he just shimmied out of his clothes and tossed them on the floor. He'd hung his jacket up before, so it wouldn't be wrinkled. Fox lay back in his jockeys and undershirt, and stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast by the light that seeped through the blinds.
*I should sleep. Hell, of course I should. It's not like knowing that I should is going to make it any easier to actually DO. I've got so little going on in my life right now, why the hell is my mind still ping-ponging?*
Irritated, he sat up and jerked off the undershirt, then lay back down. *Better.* Again he stared up. He tried to make his mind blank, as blank as the white expanse of the ceiling above him. It didn't work. He closed his eyes and saw red splashes, and frightened young faces, trying to look tough.
*I need to relax and distract myself. There's always the natural way. Let's see...Who do I want tonight?* Eyes still closed, he began to flick through a mental Rolodex. There was Dana, of course, but he hadn't fantasized about her since the early days of their partnership. It seemed vaguely incestuous now. There was the new secretary in records, she was a red head, too. Or...*Yeah, how about Buffy, the Blonde Exercise Bunny? With that spandex, I've gotten a better look at her body than I have most women I know. She'll do.*
Fox slid off his jockey shorts and spread himself out comfortably, letting the cool, air conditioned air wash over his naked body. With his left hand he grazed first one nipple, then the other, imagining that it was the crimson nail tips of the commercial model teasing him. They stiffened, and he pinched himself softly, letting out a small groan. One good thing about living alone and having sex with yourself; you didn't have to worry about how much noise you made. A couple of his lovers had complained about that. "Dammit Fox, it's the woman who's supposed to be the screamer!", one had said. Embarrassed, he tried now to stifle his vocal responses when he made love.
Now he let his hands smooth down his torso, over his belly. He imagined the soft, small hands of a woman, but in the back of the mind he was thinking that his own larger, harder hands felt just fine. He was half hard already when he reached his cock. He half smiled to himself. *Now, now, Buffy old girl. Don't be in such a rush. We want this to last, don't we?"
It was good that Mulder was careful about closing his blinds, because right then he would have been a voyeur's delight. His lean, long limbed body gleamed pale in the dim room. His face flushed slightly as he stroked himself to full erection, and he arched his head back against the pillow, lips parted slightly to let the ragged breaths flow more smoothly.
When he started the fantasy, he'd intended to have Buffy straddle him and ride him on the exercise bench, but it wasn't working out that way. Instead she was sucking him off, kneeling between his spread thighs. Oh, and what a talented mouth she had. Fox didn't try to mentally direct the action. He just let it roll, and enjoyed it.
He paused for a moment in his manipulations, and spat into his hands, then started again. Yes, that was better. Warm and wet. If he thought hard enough, he could imagine that it was a hot mouth he was sliding in and out of. He got closer to the edge, the heat and tension rising. He was thrusting up into his own grip, grunting with each lift of his lean hips. Almost there now...
In his mind's eye he reached down and tangled his hands in the thick, dark hair, guiding the head bobbing up and down at his crotch. And they obliged by swallowing him down to the root, while a large, firm hand gripped his balls, massaging them gently, and he came. He arched, straining strongly into his fantasy lover's oral embrace, spilling his seed in a hot, liquid rush that bathed his belly.
He collapsed, panting, and waited a moment to regain his breath. Then he retrieved his jockeys and used them to wipe himself clean before dropping them again. He needed to do laundry some time soon.
As he was starting to drift off to sleep, a thought drifted across his mind. *Dark hair? Wasn't Buffy a blonde? Why was I thinking about dark hair down there tickling the inside of my thighs? And big hands?*
His eyes popped open, and he spent another long time staring at the ceiling.
Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 3
Mulder got a little sleep before dawn. On the way in to the Bureau, he got himself a double espresso, sweet, hoping that the caffeine and sugar would be enough to keep him from nodding off at his desk as he reorganized his files. It was the only thing he could think of to do, and it irritated him royally. He hated `make busy' work.
When he stopped to sign in at security, the guard said, "Mulder, Skinner wants to see you, first thing."
Mulder sighed. "What now? Another international air head need a nursemaid?"
The guard shrugged. "Like he tells me?"
Outside Skinner's office, Mulder paused and gulped the coffee as quickly as he could without burning himself. He immediately got a rush, feeling more alert and ready to face whatever the Assistant Director could throw at him. Maybe he was being pessimistic. Maybe it wouldn't be quite as tedious as the last assignment.
Fox entered the office, and paused, hand on the knob. Eileen, Skinner's secretary, was not at her desk. He frowned, wondering if he should just go in. He jumped when a soft voice said, "She stepped out for a minute." Fox shut the door, and saw that it had blocked from view a young man sitting in a chair against the near wall.
Fox nodded, and received a nod in return. The other man was dressed much more casually than was usual for the Bureau: khakis, a plain white shirt, open at the throat, and a loose beige linen jacket. He had shaggy, almost black hair, and green eyes. Fox caught himself staring, then realized that he was being scrutinized with equal intensity. "Waiting for Skinner?" He almost winced. *Oh, REAL intelligent, Fox, since he's sitting in the man's WAITING ROOM.*
The other man smiled, getting up and offering his hand. "Actually, I'm here to see you."
His grip was firm, but not aggressive. "Really? What can I do for you?"
Ethan's smile widened. *Oh, I can think of all kinds of things.* "I'd rather wait for Mr. Skinner to vouch for me. I'm going to need you to take me very seriously."
"Alright." Fox wondered if he ever had trouble getting people to take him seriously. Sometimes really good looking people did, and this guy was...Well, handsome was kind of weak. Beautiful came closer to the mark. He must drip with women.
Skinner came in, carrying a cup of coffee. "Fox. Glad to see Murrow remembered to tell you. Come on back to the office." The three men passed into The ADA's office. Fox and the visitor took chairs opposite the desk, while Skinner sat in his swivel chair.
Skinner set aside the coffee. *That's going to get cold now.* Fox thought. *He won't drink it during a meeting. Waste of perfectly good caffeine.*
"Fox, I want you to meet Ethan Bridger. Ethan, Fox Mulder. Ethan is here to ask for your help on a case, and I'm hoping you'll consider it carefully. The situation may sound a bit odd, but I assure you there's a reason for everything, and you can trust him." Walter paused, then said quietly, "I've been told to STRONGLY urge you to cooperate, but I'm not going to lie to you, Fox."
*Uh oh. I think things may be about to get interesting.* Skinner didn't sweat small things. If he was going to warn Mulder about something, Mulder had damn well better listen, and listen closely. "Go on."
"I don't know what the mission will be, but I do know it will be dangerous. I believe you'll be out of contact with any agency for a period of time." He looked at Ethan, who nodded. "It's going to be field work, and undercover. You haven't done that before, I know, but you apparently possess unique qualities that suit you to this situation. You'll have to decide quickly, but I want you to be sure. I don't want you plunging into anything headlong without thinking about it."
"Would I do that?"
Skinner's lips twisted in a wry, almost smile. "You have been known. I'll turn you over to Ethan, and he will explain things. If you decide to refuse, go on with your work. If you decide to accept, good luck, and I'll see you when you get back."
"Just like that? No forms to fill out?"
"No forms," said Ethan. "My people aren't big on paperwork." He looked at Skinner. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"
"Third door on the left."
Fox led the way up the hall. Ethan took the opportunity to watch his ass. *Shit, do all Feebs have to wear pants that bag in back? He's going to look a lot better wearing the kind of threads Ballard favors. Can't wait to see that butt in a pair of tight jeans.*
Once in the room, a cubicle bare of all but a table and two chairs, Fox sat down. Ethan locked the door, then reached inside his jacket and removed something that looked a little like one of those pocket sized liquid crystal televisions. "Excuse me just a minute, Fox."
Ethan extended an antenna on the device, and flipped a switch. There was a muted hum. He extended his arm and turned in a slow circle, watching the screen, adjusted a knob, and repeated the motion. He did this several times. Finally, he stood on the empty chair and spent a moment passing the device around the lighting fixture. Satisfied at last, he shut the machine off and pocketed it, then sat down. "It's clean."
Fox had watched these activities with interest. "Did you expect to find anything?"
Ethan shrugged. "You don't take chances when you can avoid it."
Fox studied Bridger. "You aren't FBI." It was a statement, not a question. Ethan didn't answer. "So, what? CIA, DEA, ATF, one of the other alphabet organizations?" Still no answer. "Look, if we're just gonna sit here and stare at each other, I want coffee."
Bridger smiled faintly. "Yeah, you have the attitude. No, I'm not any of those agencies."
"Are you gonna tell me? Because I have to tell you, the cloak and dagger shit gets old REAL fast."
"I COULD tell you. But then you'd either have to join, or I'd have to kill you." Fox looked at him sharply. For the life of him, he couldn't tell if the man was joking, or not. "I'm one of the good guys, Fox. That's all you need to know right now."
Fox sighed, resigning himself. Damn, he hated suspense. "Alright. If Skinner vouches for you, that's enough for me." He folded his hands, and looked at the other man expectantly.
"First thing, Fox, what do you think about the drug trade?" Mulder rolled his eyes. "No, I'm serious. I'm not talking about politically correct indignation or moralistic horror. I mean your personal gut feelings."
"I hate it. I think it would be kinder if they shipped arsenic instead. At least the deaths would be quick, and the users wouldn't be killing and hurting citizens to get the next fix. I could rant for a couple of hours, but that's about it."
"And how do you feel about the government's `war on drugs'? No company line, here. Tell me the truth."
"What do I think? I think it's about as effective as holding up a `STOP' sign in front of a forest fire."
"Would you be interest in participating in a mission that would make a significant impact? At the same time, it would almost certainly protect the innocents who would get caught in the crossfire if it doesn't go down."
Mulder stared at Bridger, considering. Brief images flitted across his mind: a blood-splattered sheet, shattered glass, a slender figure in handcuffs. "I might. Tell me more."
"An alliance is being discussed between a Columbian drug lord and an international drug runner. If these two hook up, the flow of drugs into this country, and others, will swell. The cartels are notoriously jealous of their economic bases. They aren't going to like this, and they aren't going to let a challenge like this pass."
Fox winced. "Ah, shit. Drug war."
"A bad one, not limited to Columbia. When the distribution system starts operating, it will run through major cities throughout Europe and America. The cartels will try to stop it by attacking any shipment that they become aware of. These people do not do surgical strikes, Mulder. They go in with Uzis and bazookas. People WILL die, Mulder, and not just drug runners."
People would die. Yes, that was the way these things always worked. "You've convinced me it's a good cause. But what, exactly, do you want me for? I have a hard time believing you couldn't find someone else more suited. I like to think I'm a good agent, but I'm not James Bond, and I know it."
"It has to be you, Mulder." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a couple of glossy photographs, offering them. "This is why."
Fox took the pictures. Bridger, and... He frowned. "When was this taken? I don't remember this."
"Look closer."
Fox studied the photo. It was obviously taken by a store security camera, but of excellent quality. In it, he was standing at a counter, sorting through a selection of ties. He looked closer. "Wait a minute. That's not me."
"No, it isn't. His name is Daniel Ballard. But even you couldn't tell at first. Is it becoming a little clearer now?"
"A little. It's only murky instead of completely obscure." Now he studied the photo of Bridger. *Or is it? No, Bridger looks like this guy might if he had a really good month long vacation.* "Okay, who's this, then?"
"That's Conner Galbraith, the drug smuggler. He's due to meet with Olivero de la Montana in two weeks, and go to his estate. If this mission goes forward, goes forward, our people will detain him, and I'll go instead. I'll learn what I can about the Montana operation, discredit Galbraith with so that he'll never be trusted to do business with any of the upper echelon, and get out."
"But where do I come in? I mean, I know it has to have something to do with Ballard, but I'm damned if I can guess why."
"Galbraith never goes anywhere without him. If I showed up alone, they'd be suspicious from the start."
"What are they, frat brothers?"
"Daniel's official position is that of Connor's personal assistant. A more quaint, but accurate, term would be `concubine'."
"Oh. He's..."
"Just a gigolo. But a very exclusive, well compensated one. He's venal, but apparently not entirely so. He's had more lucrative offers, but he chooses to stay with Connor."
"So you're telling me that I'm a dead ringer for the male whore of a drug runner."
"A bit crude, but yes."
"My life just gets better and better."
"I need you on this, Mulder. I'll be doing most of the real work. All you really have to do is present yourself as Ballard, act like we're passionately involved, and keep your eyes and ears open."
"Uh huh. Exactly how passionately involved would I have to act?"
"Very. They aren't shy about their relationship. There's a lot of PDOA."
"PDOA?"
"Public displays of affection. It means that if I grab your ass in public, you don't flinch. If I ask for a kiss, you give it. With tongue. Ballard isn't effeminate, but Connor is definitely in charge of the relationship. Daniel exercises power through manipulation. He's a brat, and a tease, and Connor loves him dearly."
"How long would we be undercover?"
"As long as it takes. A few days, probably not more than a week."
"And we'd be totally on our own?"
"Not totally, but it'll be very limited. The marines aren't going to burst in and save our asses if we fuck up. I'm not going to sugar coat this. You'll be compensated."
He named a figure that made Fox's mouth go dry. *Holy shit. This is serious.*
"But it's dangerous. You could die. If you do, your people will never know what happened to you. You will disappear off the face of the earth. But I'll do my damndest to see that doesn't happen. And I'm good, Fox. I'm very good."
Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 4
Fox stared at the man sitting across from him, thinking about all he'd just heard. It was crazy. But then, when had craziness ever been a deterrent to Fox Mulder? "How much force would I be expected to use?"
"If all goes well, that shouldn't be an issue. I'd expect you to defend yourself, or me, if I was attacked. But this isn't an assassination. You aren't expected to terminate anyone in cold blood. If it should become absolutely necessary, I'll do it, but we try to avoid that whenever possible." His tone was mater of fact and unapologetic. "Anything else, Mulder? Ask anything you want. I need you to be sure about this." Mulder thought. WAS there anything else? He knew that there SHOULD be, but he couldn't say what.
The choice wasn't really all that complicated. He could leave the room with this intense young man, putting his life in the hands of someone he'd known less than an hour, committing himself to going into a situation that most sane people wouldn't attempt with less than a company of fully armed marines. Or he could go down to the basement and resume reorganizing his files, hoping that something remotely interesting would turn up soon.
"Okay. You got me."
Ethan smiled. *Not yet. But it's just a matter of time.*
*************************************
"No, I'm sorry, you can't contact your partner. Skinner will give her an explanation as to why you're unavailable."
Fox didn't particularly like that, but he could see it's necessity. He knew that some of the men they'd be dealing with considered wiping out an enemy's entire circle of family and associates to be good business practice. "What about clothes? Don't I need to pack?"
Ethan had escorted him to a very tasty green Jaguar, and they were on the road, headed toward Baltimore. That was where he was going to spend the next two weeks becoming Daniel Ballard.
"No. I doubt if anything you have would be suitable. Daniel has expensive tastes. Outfitting you will be part of the learning exercise. We'll start today, and we can pick up the entire wardrobe gradually."
"Wardrobe? How much am I going to need?"
"A good bit. Daniel is a clothes horse, and Connor loves to indulge him. We may be inside as long as a week, and Daniel would want to appear at his best to impress his lover's potential partner. Kind of like a corporate wife. By the way, you may need to flirt with Montana."
Fox eyed Ethan dubiously. "JUST flirt?"
"Maybe." He slid a glance at Fox. "Will that be a problem for you?" Fox was silent. "Don't worry about it right now. Olivero may have the stereotypical macho temperament."
"Maybe and may don't instill a lot of confidence, Hunt." *Only about twenty minutes into this case, and already I'm having doubts. Oh, well. Montana IS Latin American, what would be the odds?*
The shopping was a new experience. Mulder had always made do at chain stores. His one prize was the Armani he had picked up deeply discounted from a store owner grateful for someone who didn't automatically sneer at his tale of a late night alien abduction. After careful investigation, Mulder came to the conclusion that the man was a fruitcake, but he didn't turn down the deal on the suit.
"You're going to need mostly casual and club clothes," Ethan explained as he led him into a small store with a dignified facade and a discreet sign, stating that it was `Talbot and Sons'. "But I think we should have at least one jacket. Daniel would want to be prepared for any occasion, but we'll skip the tux."
"Damn, and I was really looking forward to a satin cummerbund."
"You wore pastels to your senior prom, didn't you?"
A dignified, grey haired man approached them, a tape measure dangling around his neck. "Good day, gentlemen. I am the proprietor. How can I assist you?" He eyed Ethan's costume with approval, and Fox's with mild disdain.
Ethan gestured at Fox. "My friend and I are having a little holiday in South America. He needs some vacation clothes, and a nice blazer, I think."
Mr. Talbot stepped back and considered Fox carefully. "Hm, yes. All light weight, of course, what with the climate." He walked around Fox. "Well proportioned. Broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips, long legs. Yes, he'll be a pleasure to dress."
"What am I?" Fox muttered to Ethan. "A Ken doll?"
"Be quiet and let the man do his job, Fox."
Talbot took Fox's measurements, all of them: chest, waist, hips, shoulder to wrist, neck, outer seam...Fox wanted to balk at the inside leg measurement, but Ethan glared at him silently, and he acquiesced.
Once the haberdasher had the measurements, Ethan and Fox were seated in comfortable chairs, and the assistants started bringing out the clothes.
Fox sat quietly while Ethan and Talbot discussed what cuts and colors would look best on him. At one point he asked if HE had any say in what he was going to wear. Ethan had replied certainly. He could chose from whatever Ethan saw fit to buy him. Fox slouched in his chair with a sullen look on his face, but didn't protest any more.
Mr. Talbot watched the interplay with interest. They were by no means the first couple like this to come into his establishment, though it was usually a much older man outfitting a younger one. He suspected that the dark haired one was going to have his hands full with his companion, who seemed a bit spoiled. But as the shopping continued, he decided that the young man with the green eyes wasn't the type to let his lover push him around.
They were loaded down with bags when they left. Fox was feeling a bit dazed by the conspicuous consumption. He had three silk shirts, three linen shirts, five pairs of slacks, blue jeans, underwear, a navy blazer, shorts, a couple of casual pullovers, socks, a tie that cost more than he usually spent on an entire outfit, and the tiniest pair of swimming trunks he'd ever seen. He'd flatly refused the thong, that was one thing Ethan couldn't budge him on.
And still they weren't done. After lunch they, or rather Ethan, purchased loafers, athletic shoes, and some executive lace-ups. At a sports store Mulder acquired new sweats, tees, and running shorts. The final stop was a jewelry store. The clerk here greeted him familiarly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Bridger. It's almost done, they're just finishing the engraving."
"That's fine. I need to pick up a watch, anyway." He went over to the watch display. "Okay, Fox, what do you think? Cartier? Or maybe Gucci, or Longines. They've got Movado, Vizio, Skagen, Omega..."
"No Rolex?"
He meant the question to be snide, but Ethan said calmly, "Only a second hand one."
"I was beginning to wonder what type of card you had. Is there anything AFTER Titanium?"
"Let me see that one, please." Ethan pointed to a handsome watch of brushed steel. The clerk handed it out reverently. Ethan took Fox's hand and slipped it on his wrist, then studied the effect. He removed it, handing it back. "Now let me see one with a rectangular face instead." Again Fox modeled the watch. "Yes, that's better."
Fox got a look at the price tag, and blanched. "Hunt, I'd be scared to wear this. It costs more than my first car did."
An older man, who'd been watching them, leaned over and whispered to Fox, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, dear boy. You may be young and pretty, but good sugar daddies are hard to find."
Fox flushed, but murmured, "Thanks for the advice. I'll remember that."
Ethan paid for the watch. As he was signing his receipt, the manager came out of the back, holding a small velvet box. "Here you are, Mr. Bridger. It turned out lovely, if I do say so myself. Please, check it."
Ethan accepted the box and opened it. "Yes, that's perfect." He offered the box to Fox. "For you, Daniel m'love."
The box held a heavy silver man's ring, fashioned in a Celtic knot design. Fox picked it from the satin lining and examined the inside. In simple, dignified script were the initials CG and DB. Ethan took the ring back, held Fox's wrist, and slipped it on his third finger, left hand.
Fox stared at it. There was no mistaking the symbolism. He knew without asking that this was a reproduction of a ring that Connor Galbraith had given Daniel Ballard, and it was a sign of ownership as much as a token of affection.
He looked back at Ethan. The manager and a couple of the clerks were watching with pleased, excited looks on their faces. What had Hunt told them about this commission? That it was an anniversary present? Some sort of engagement ring, or WEDDING ring? They were expecting some sort of reaction out of him, that much was obvious.
And he could tell that Ethan was, too. *This is a test. He wants to see how I'll do presenting myself as Daniel. What would Daniel do? I don't know that much about him yet, but Hunt said PDOAs.*
Fox twisted the ring on his finger admiringly. Then he smiled at Ethan, softly said, "Babe, it's beautiful," and kissed him.
Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 5
Out in the car once more, Ethan nodded at Fox. "That was good, Mulder. Not a flicker, not a flinch. I think you may be able to pull this off."
"Thanks. I know you said tongue, but it just didn't seem appropriate for the rather romantic atmosphere." He said it dead faced, but Ethan's generous mouth curled at the corners. "So, does this mean we're engaged?"
"Connor considers himself married to Daniel, there's no question of that. Daniel...well, he likes to flirt. As far as we know he hasn't actually cheated on Connor. Connor likes to show Daniel off. There may have even been a little three way fun, but he'll definitely take apart anyone he feels is poaching on his territory."
"Huh. Sounds like a red neck. Shows off his girlfriend, then wants to beat the crap out of anyone who's interested."
"Not too far off the mark. Galbraith comes from the streets, no matter where he's ended up."
Fox wasn't sure what he had been expecting as far as the apartment went. Not anything this...middle class, anyway. In the downstairs hall, he waited while Ethan unlocked one of the mailboxes and removed several large manilla envelopes and a padded shipping envelope.
The door behind them opened, and a pleasant looking, plump woman peered out, beaming when she saw them. "Hello, Mr. Bridger. This must be your friend."
"Yes. Fox, this is Mrs. Gluckman, my landlady. Mrs. Gluckman, my good friend, Fox Mulder."
"Hi." Fox shook hands. The woman's face was bland, but her eyes were shrewd. "Pleased to meet you."
"What a nice, polite young man! But then, he WOULD be, being your friend, Mr. Bridger. Wait just a minute." She disappeared into the apartment, and appeared a moment later with a foil wrapped plate. "Here you are. I made a strawberry pound cake, and I just can't eat it all. You boys will have to help me."
Ethan took the plate. "You spoil me, Mrs. G. Thanks."
She smiled, darting a glance at the lanky man hovering near the stairs, and whispered, "Have fun, dear. But don't neglect business." Ethan winked at her, earning a chuckle, as he headed for the stairs.
Fox wanted to ask Ethan about the woman, but waited until they were in the apartment. "Does she...She isn't...part of your...uh...organization. Is she?"
Ethan set the plate and mail on the dining table. "What? You think spies can't bake? Want a beer?"
"Yeah." He followed Ethan into the kitchen, and glanced around. Almost as pristine as his own. Of course, he didn't do much more than make coffee and heat take out there. "I hope Daniel isn't a gourmet cook, expected to whip up a banquet for Montana, `cause if he is, you're shit out of luck."
"I believe Danny probably pouts if he has to eat in more than twice a week. Dark okay?"
"What brand does Daniel drink?"
Ethan looked at him sharply. "You're learning." He handed Fox a bottle. "I don't know. It should be somewhere in the information they're sending us." Ethan took a beer himself and shut the refrigerator, then leaned back against it. "There's going to be a lot of details, Fox." He uncapped his beer and took a long swallow. "There's no telling what might be important, so you'll need to get it all. As far as we know, no one in Montana's inner circle has had direct contact with Ballard or Galbraith, but we can't take any chances. Anyway, the two are fairly well known in the drug trade, so there's information floating around out there about them. Certain things will be expected, and looked for."
"Like PDOA?"
"Like PDOA. We might as well get comfortable and get started."
In the dining area, Ethan took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair before sitting down. He opened one of the envelopes and began to scan through the sheaf of papers he pulled out. After a moment's hesitation, Fox removed his own jacket and followed Ethan's example, sitting around the corner from him. Without looking up from the papers, Ethan said, "Why don't you take off that tie? You're strangling me, just looking at you."
After years in a prep school where a tie was part of the daily uniform, Fox had pretty much the same feeling about them. But at the Bureau, you wore ties, so he wore a tie. If he could go most of three weeks without wearing one, he'd count that as a perk. The tie went into the jacket pocket.
Ethan handed him some of the papers. "Usually when you go under with an assumed identity, you only have to know about the person you're impersonating. In this case, the two involved are so intimate with each other that we're each going to have to learn everything we can about them both."
Fox looked at the top sheet of the pile he held. It was part of a medical history. "Can I take notes?"
"Good idea. There should be legal pads and pens over in the desk."
Fox found what he needed in the bottom drawer. He examined the computer curiously. He didn't have a lot of experience with them himself. He left most of that to The Lone Gunmen. But he had a suspicion that there were some very interesting things inside that little beige box.
Ethan called. "Don't fool with that, Fox."
"I wasn't going to. Give me a little credit."
"I figured you had enough sense, but you never know what a temptation curiosity can be. So don't fool with it. It could get...messy."
*I bet. God knows what's tucked in there.* He carried his supplies back to the table and settled down to study. He pulled his reading glasses out of his jacket pocket, and slipped them on.
Ethan looked over. The rimless glasses were square, and gave Fox an almost scholarly look. He could very well be a junior professor of literature of philosophy. Handsome, but..."Daniel doesn't wear glasses."
Fox didn't look up. "Maybe Daniel is so vain that he'd rather have blurry vision."
"That's possible," Ethan admitted. "But he doesn't wear glasses. Do you need to wear those?"
"If I'm going to read, I do." He shuffled the papers. "Besides, it says here that the reason Ballard doesn't wear glasses is that he wears contacts. Looks like a stronger prescription than mine, actually."
Ethan made a note. "We'll have to get those set up tomorrow."
They worked in silence for awhile. The quiet was broken only by the faint scratch of Mulder's pen moving across paper. He came to the end of his section, reviewed it, then looked back over his notes. Ethan was reading what looked like a shipping report. He had the sheet lying on the table before him. His elbows were propped to either side of it, and both hands were buried in his shaggy hair.
Fox watched the intent green eyes flicking rapidly over the information on the sheet. He had a feeling that Ethan probably didn't really need to take notes. Some people just absorbed information like a sponge, and Hunt seemed to be one of them.
Every now and then, Hunt's lips moved slightly, as if he were talking to himself. Fox found himself following the movements. He had a very expressive mouth. Suddenly Ethan's eyes flicked up, locking on his. "Yes?"
Fox glanced around quickly for a topic of conversation. He tapped the padded envelope that had come with the mail. "What's this?"
"Let's find out. We've done enough of this for the time being."
Ethan ripped open the envelope, then put it through the shredder on the desk. It's content was an unlabeled video tape. He turned on the television and inserted the tape in the VCR, then went to sit beside Fox on the couch. The remote was on the coffee table before him, and he took it and hit PLAY.
There were no credits, no title. It merely showed what looked like a table in an expensive restaurant. The tablecloth was heavy, china, silver, and crystal gleamed against the rich fabric. In a moment, Connor Galbraith and Daniel Ballard were escorted to the table by a tuxedo clad maitre de, and seated. It looked like the camera was located no more than six or seven feet away from them.
Ethan shook his head admiringly. "The surveillance men are the true artists of this field. I'll never understand how they do it. We'll get periodic tapes like this so we can make personal observation on speech patterns and such." They listened to the two men discussing what to order. "You won't need to work on the voice, you're close enough. I'm going to have to brush up my brogue, though."
"I don't think Connor HAS a brogue. It's more of a LILT."
"Why Fox, that's a rather romantic term to use."
Mulder frowned. "I'm trying to think like Daniel."
They continued to watch the tape. Galbraith and Ballard had a leisurely meal. They were obviously very comfortable with each other. At one point Daniel remarked on something Connor was eating. Connor cut a forkfull and fed it to his lover, teasing him about never being satisfied. Daniel murmured that the only thing in the world that truly satisfied him was Connor, and squeezed his leg under the table.
Fox shifted. He'd never been that intimate with a WOMAN in public. Now he was going to have to act like that with another MAN? Oh, well. He glanced over at Ethan, who was sitting forward, studying his double. At least with someone who looked like Ethan, it was plausible. It wasn't like he was going to have to make up to some bowser.
*And since when does THAT have anything to do with it, Mulder? Wouldn't it be better if he WAS ugly? Then people would be less likely to think that you were really interested him. Wait, I'm SUPPOSED to make them think that. Well, yeah, Montana and his goons. But I'd rather not have the rest of the world..."
"You'll need to make your gestures just a little softer, a little lazier. Daniel's kind of a languid guy, except when he's partying."
"Check. Languid party animal."
The couple was leaving the table. "Good manners. They both fold their napkins. I'll need to find out what sort of tips Galbraith usually leaves."
"Probably big, to show off for Daniel."
"Could be." Ethan switched off the television. "Let's get some sleep. No point in over doing it the first day. You've had a lot to take in already."
He got up and went to the bedroom. "Cut out the lights, would you?"
Fox did, and went to the bedroom doorway. Ethan was sitting on the bed, removing his shoes. "There's only one bed."
Ethan looked around, then looked back at Fox. "I see that." He pulled his shirt off. Hunt wasn't big, but everything he had looked lean and hard.
"Where am I supposed to sleep?"
"Left or right side, your choice. I don't care." He stood up and started opening his belt.
"I...don't think so."
Ethan shoved his pants down muscular legs, took them off, and folded them across a chair. "Alright." He picked up a comforter from the foot of the bed and tossed it, and a pillow to Fox. "But I'm not giving up the bed. You can have the couch."
"Okay." Fox started to turn away. The couch looked comfortable enough. He'd slept on worse.
"But Mulder?" Fox turned back. Ethan in a pair of very small dark blue briefs, was sliding under the sheets. "Daniel and Connor sleep together. We're going to share a bed at Montana's, and there'll be no dossing down on the floor, either. There's no telling when someone might decide to check on us. So it might be easier for you if you get used to it BEFORE we go. Good night."
He switched off the bedside lamp. Fox stood there a moment, then went back into the living room.
In the darkness, Ethan Hunt smiled.
Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 6
The couch, Fox decided, was not as comfortable as it looked. Not for lying on, anyway. He spent a while tossing and turning. Damn it, he had a hard enough time sleeping, but trying to sleep in a strange place, in a strange situation, was impossible.
He finally rewound the tape and clicked it on, turning the sound down to a bare murmur. He sat up and watched the two men as they made their way through their meal, completely oblivious to observation.
Galbraith and Ballard weren't blatant in their relationship, but the signs were clear, if you looked. There was a lot of eye contact, smiles for no discernable reason. They touched each other. That one leg squeeze was the only one that even the most prudish could call sexual, but the others were intimate. Daniel would lay his hand over Connor's to make a point. Connor would reach over and push Daniel's hair up off his forehead. Gestures that didn't pass between `just friends.'
"Mulder?" Fox jerked. He'd been so absorbed in the tape that he hadn't seen or heard Ethan come to the doorway. He was leaning one hand against the doorframe, rubbing his face with the other. "What are you doing?"
"Studying."
"I thought I told you to get some sleep."
"Easier said than done."
Ethan sighed. "Do you want a back rub?" Fox stared at him. "Shit, I'm not trying to seduce you, Fox, I'm trying to help you sleep. Offering a back rub would be just a little too corny."
"Okay. That would be nice."
Ethan padded over to the couch, then frowned. "Well, for one thing, you might be more comfortable if you took off your pants."
All Fox had removed before lying down were his shoes and socks. He couldn't say why he hadn't at least taken off his shirt. Now there didn't seem to be any excuse, because Ethan was right, and he knew it. Fox stripped off his shirt, then reached for his belt, and hesitated. "Could you turn around?"
"Jesus, Fox! Just drop them, okay? I'm gonna see you in your shorts, anyway. We're supposed to be lovers."
Fox undid his pants and stepped out of them. Ethan immediately gave a wolf whistle, then grinned. Fox rolled his eyes and lay back down on the couch, on his stomach. He bunched the pillow under his chin, crossing his arms over it, as Ethan sat on the edge of the cushion near his hip.
Ethan took a moment to admire the long sweep of back leading down to what he suspected was a very tempting butt. It was a shame he wore those baggy boxers. He was glad that he'd bought some silk briefs for the other agent.
He took hold of Fox's shoulders and dug in forcefully. Fox yelped. "Hey!"
"Relax. This isn't going to be some wimpy little petting session, Mulder. You're tied up in knots, and I'm going to work them loose if I have to leave bruises."
He began to massage deeply. After a few moments, the pain eased as the muscles loosened. Ethan worked the back of his neck, pressing hard with his thumbs, then moved down. He put his palms flat on either side of Fox's backbone, heels facing. With quick, hard pushes, he moved down either side of the spine. Cartilage crackled, and Fox groaned. "You okay?"
"Yeah. DAMN, that feels good." Hunt wasn't a big guy, but he sure as hell had strong hands, and a lot of upper body strength. He continued massaging, working out the tension. Fox started to feel drowsy. He also started to feel a familiar hot heaviness in his groin, which he studiously ignored. People often got erections when they got massages. It didn't mean anything.
Ethan finally paused, hands resting on the small of Fox's back. "Fox?" His voice was a whisper. "You asleep?"
Fox had his eyes closed. He didn't move, didn't speak. He was curious, and half afraid, to see what Ethan would do.
Ethan's fingers made small circles, brushing the waistband of his shorts. Then he shifted, and Fox felt the comforter settle over him. Ethan's hand rested in the middle of his back again for a moment, then he got up, and Fox heard him walk back to the bedroom.
Fox was just a few seconds away from sleep, but somehow he had time to wonder why he was feeling vaguely disappointed.
He awoke to the smell of coffee and stumbled into the kitchen. A fully dressed Ethan was pouring a cup, and he glanced at Fox. "Good morning, merry sunshine."
"Hi." Fox scratched his head.
"How do you take it?"
"Just sugar."
"Like Daniel. Good." Ethan stirred a couple of spoonfuls of sugar into the dark brew and handed it to him, then poured another.
Fox closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrant steam. "Damn, I bet I can get a buzz just smelling this."
"It's pretty strong."
Fox took a sip, and sighed. "Perfect. You know, the ironic thing is that the people who most NEED a cup of coffee in the morning are the ones who are least able to function well enough to prepare it without a cup of coffee first."
"If you can function well enough to operate the toaster, there's bread. Or Pop Tarts, if you're feeling decadent."
"What kind of Pop Tarts?"
Ethan checked the box. "Chocolate Fudge."
"With or without sprinkles?"
"Damn, you're picky. With."
"Gimme." Fox ripped open a package, reading the box. "Fuck. Did you know that they consider a serving to be one Pop Tart, but they package them in twos? Like I'm going to leave one in the bag and clip it shut for tomorrow." He bit into one of the pastries.
Ethan's eyebrows rose. "Aren't you going to toast those?"
"Why?"
"Barbarian."
"You toast the brown sugar-cinnamon ones, then slather them with butter."
"Finish that disgusting nonsense and get dressed. We need to go outfit you with luggage and toiletries today."
"Can I use your razor?"
Ethan watched as Fox chewed, his strong jaw flexing. He reached over and stroked the other man's jaw, feeling the bristles. "Nah. Leave it till we get back. Makes you look sexy." He plucked an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter, snapped a bite out of it, and strolled into the dining room. Fox stared after him, then swallowed the mouthful of pastry he'd been holding, shrugged, and followed him out.
Ethan went down to check the mailbox. Once again there were envelopes, and a package. All of them without address, return address, or postage. He went back upstairs and dropped removed the contents, then put the packing through the shredder. One of the papers that came in the mail listed preferred brands of personal care products, and Ethan scanned it before folding it and stuffing it in his pocket.
Fox came out of the bedroom, buttoning up a navy linen shirt. His eyes caught and reflected the color, looking more blue than anything else. Ethan watched as he stuffed his shirt tail down into his jeans, trying to make it neat. "Didn't your mother teach you how to dress, Fox? You're supposed to do that BEFORE you zip up."
"It's not my fault if these things are so tight I can't get my hand down the back."
"Daniel wears them tight. Connor likes to look at his butt. Hold still." Ethan had gone behind him. Fox jumped as his hand smoothed down his back and slid, flat, under his waistband in back. "I said hold still!" Fox felt a tug on the back of his shirt, and the wrinkles smoothed out. "There." Ethan slid his hand out and patted Fox on the back. "Let's go."
*Alright, Fox, technically speaking, the man DID have his hand on your ass. But nothing HAPPENED, it didn't MEAN anything.*
"FOX!"
"Keep your shirt on, I'm coming."
They had to go to four luggage stores to find the exact right bags. The sales clerk just couldn't understand why he couldn't argue Ethan into one that had more features for a lower price. "Well," he said, ringing up their purchases. "It's nice to have someone who's so SURE about what they want, anyway."
Ethan watched Fox, who was examining a display of wallets. "I know EXACTLY what I want."
At the local Macy's, they went to the men's section in cosmetics. Mulder was scowling. "I'm not gonna have to wear MAKEUP, am I? Daniel didn't look femme to me."
"No, you're not. I wouldn't put it past him to start using some concealer in a few years, though. No, we're just here for you usual toiletries."
"We can't get those at a supermarket?"
"Please. Daniel would probably break out in hives if he went anywhere near a Safeway." So, once again, Fox watched in silence as Ethan wore out the credit card purchasing luxury items that would keep him in style.
"L'Eau d'Issey Pour Homme All Over Shampoo? All over?"
"Moisturizes the skin."
"Forty dollars for less than seven ounces? Geez. And Grabazzi Shave Cream? I could buy a six months supply for that price."
"Nag, nag, nag. Are you REALLY such a cheap date, Mulder, or is this protesting for form's sake? It's not like you're going to be expected to PAY for any of this. Just relax and enjoy being pampered." Fox muttered something. "What's that?"
"I said it's funny how I can get all this expensive stuff, but I still feel cheap."
"We'll need to discuss that attitude over lunch."
"Can we have pizza?"
"I don't see why not."
Later Mulder sat back in a comfortably padded chair, staring around at the elegant restaurant Ethan had chosen. "This is NOT a pizza place. No oilcloth tablecloths, no plastic grapes hanging from the ceiling, and not a single wine bottle with wax dripped all over it."
"We can get pizza here, don't worry." When the waiter came, he ordered, in Italian.
"Don't I get any say in this?"
"No." Ethan calmly drank a little wine. "Look, Fox, we need to start getting into character. Connor controls things. He gives Daniel some leeway, but basically treats him like a spoiled child. And let's be frank, that's how Daniel acts most of the time. You're just going to have to get used to deferring to me. It's alright to tug on the leash occasionally, they'll expect that. But they'll also expect me to slap you back into line if you go too far. You've seen that sort of relationship before."
"Yeah, with women. I never could understand why they didn't leave."
"Some people have dependent personalities. Daniel's the sort who needs a `daddy'. Connor's younger than they usually are, but he's very top. And you need to stop thinking of Daniel as using Connor. This is a two way relationship. Connor knows that money and luxury are important to Daniel, and he's perfectly willing to provide them. In return, Daniel gives him the companionship and passion that Connor craves. If there's any using going on, it's mutual."
The food was brought to the table, and Fox eyed it suspiciously. Ethan helped himself and began eating. "Go on. You wanted pizza."
"It looks funny."
"This is a gourmet restaurant, Fox. Were you expecting Geno's?"
"It has green stuff on it. What is it?"
"This has a pesto sauce, topped with grilled chicken and shrimp, Portobelo mushrooms, and five cheeses: Feta, Fontana, mozzarella, Parmesan, and Romano, on a whole wheat crust. Try it."
"You sure they aren't trying to slip broccoli or spinach in there?"
"Why haven't you gotten rickets? Eat it." Grumbling, Fox took a slice and bit into it gingerly. Ethan watched him, and saw him make a face. "Well?"
Fox took another bite before answering. "Alright, it's good."
"Told you." Ethan took a soft bread stick out of the basket on the table and broke it in half, dipping it in the melted butter/garlic sauce that had accompanied it. "You've got to trust me, Fox." He ate a few bites, then licked his fingers and smiled at the other man. "I'm going to know what you'll like."
Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 7
The first thing that Fox did upon returning to the apartment was to get out of his shoes and socks. He sat on the couch, rubbing his feet. Ethan noticed that Fox had long, elegantly shaped feet, rather aristocratic looking. Very mobile toes. He wondered if they curled when Mulder reached climax. He'd have to remember to check.
Fox saw him watching. "Well, new shoes pinch sometimes, and I was on my feet a lot." he said defensively.
"I didn't say anything. You get just as comfortable as you like. Take off anything that feels too confining."
Fox frowned as Hunt went to the dining room table and started sorting through the new batch of information. *He's so flippant. I think he's enjoying teasing me. Must like making the Feeb feel like a dork.* Fox had no idea how right he was about Ethan's pleasure in teasing him, and no idea how wrong he was about the motive he assumed was driving the other agent. Fox wasn't used to being courted by another man.
"I'm going to need the name of your optometrist, so we can get some contacts made to your prescription. You'll have to start wearing them as soon as possible, so you can deal with them convincingly."
"Won't you need written permission for them to release my personal information?" Hunt just looked at him. "Right. Silly me." Fox wrote down the name of the doctor, and his office address. "So, what, will your people break in and rifle through his records?"
"You really don't need to know that." Ethan went to the computer, signed on, and got on the Internet. "But if it's any consolation, that'll only happen if his records aren't on file on a computer hooked to the Internet." He typed in the information off the scrap of paper, then closed the program.
"Is there ANY information about me you can't get?"
Ethan regarded him blandly. "Not much."
"Shit. The Lone Gunmen are seeming more sane all the time."
"Interesting people."
"You don't mean to tell me...Never mind. I don't want to know."
"Very wise. They didn't send us much on Daniel today, just his school records." He flipped through the pages, then handed them over to Fox. "Looks like he just barely managed to keep from getting expelled on a regular basis, mostly for breaking curfew. He was sneaking out to local bars."
Fox scanned the top page. "Whoa, Somerset Academy. Mommy and Daddy were willing to expend some serious bucks on Daniel. Plus they must've registered him about two seconds after the sonogram confirmed he was a boy. That place isn't easy to get into." He sat down and began studying.
Ethan started to go through a list of Galbraith's business contacts, taking particular note of the satisfaction he seemed to have had in his dealings with each one. It wouldn't do to express too high a regard for someone who'd fucked up a transaction, or slight someone who'd made the Irishman a considerable profit.
"Huh."
Ethan looked at Fox. "What?"
"Daniel DID get expelled, his junior year. Ended up taking his GED. That's apparently what kept him out of an Ivy League college."
"Why was he expelled?"
"One of those illicit trips to a bar."
"One too many times, eh?"
"Not so much that as the fact that two guys got in a fight over him. He was letting one of them buy him drinks, then he slipped off to the men's room with the other. Guy number one was not happy."
"It says all that in the school record?" Ethan was surprised. Usually those exclusive, old money schools were a little more discrete, even with their private records.
"No. It says that in the police report that came with it. And..." Fox winced. "Oo, they REALLY shouldn't have locked him up with the adult offenders. One of them didn't take kindly to him saying no, and laid his shoulder open with a sharpened wire."
"That's one of the points you didn't match. They should have a diagram or photo of it later on. We'll have to take care of it."
Fox sat up abruptly. "You are NOT carving on me!"
"Will you chill? God, haven't you seen any movies lately? They can work wonders with appliances. We can fix you up with a fake that will fool anyone except maybe a plastic surgeon, and it'll stay on till we take it off. I don't know what YOU'RE bitching about. I'M going to be sporting your...well...Daniel's initials." He touched himself just where the curve of his left hipbone lay. "Right here."
"Yeah? You didn't love me enough to get the whole name?" Ethan threw a paper at him. "I guess it could always be worse. They could be pierced."
Straight faced, Ethan said," I think they're waiting for their fifth anniversary for that. Gonna have a double ring ceremony."
"Ow. I can't understand people poking holes in their bodies for decoration."
"I dunno." Ethan reached over and gently pinched Fox's left earlobe. "I think you'd look sexy with a little diamond stud, or maybe a gold hoop."
Fox froze as Ethan's thumb stroked over his earlobe. He felt an insane desire to tuck his head against his shoulder, trapping the hand. Then it was withdrawn, and Hunt was studying his material. Fox shuffled the papers before him, and tried to get back his concentration. Daniel had racked up dozens of parking tickets. Seems like he felt privileged to park anywhere he felt like.
Ethan watched Fox out of the corner of his eye. The FBI agent shifted nervously after the touch. He watched as Fox unconsciously rubbed at his ear, then let his hand slide back to massage his neck. That was nice. The only thing almost as good as touching a sexy man was watching him touch himself.
He'd give Fox one more night on the couch, he decided. Then he'd start to push. It wouldn't be too difficult to convince him that it was necessary for the mission, that he needed to get acclimate to the situation BEFORE they were on assignment. Once he had him in bed, he'd see. He might need to wait another day before he made his move, maybe even two.
But it was going to happen, he had no doubt of that. Fox was just too sensitive to his touch. He was skittish, but not phobic. *Probably a virgin, at least with men. Isn't that sweet?*
Ethan was finding that, not only did he desire Mulder, but that he genuinely liked him. The FBI agent was quick, intelligent, and had a dry, off-beat sense of humor. Ethan even liked Fox's fascination with the unknown and unexplained. It meant he was curious, and probably open to...new experiences.
The thing to do, Ethan thought, was to build interest gradually, just as he had been doing. A little innuendo, a light, unexpected touch here and there. Make Fox very aware of him, surround him. Ethan was enjoying this. He didn't get to spend a lot of time with people in his profession. The subtleties of seduction often had to be passed over in favor of a more direct approach.
*I probably could have had him last night. I know he got hard, and it wasn't easy, not sliding my hands under there and grabbing him. Just about two inches away from that ass... Yeah, I could have had him. But he wasn't ready for it. And he deserves to be seduced. He's worth a little extra time and effort.*
The more practical, less romantic, side of his nature told him that it would be good for the mission. Actual physical intimacy would give their interaction that extra air of credibility that might mean the difference between success, and disaster.
"Fox, we need to start relating to each other as Daniel and Connor, so it will seem natural by the time we get to Columbia. We can start gradually. From now on, when we're out in public, I'm Connor and you're Daniel. As you get more comfortable with it, we'll spend more time in character."
"Yes, dear."
"Smart ass."
"One of the many reasons you love me."
After a meal of sandwiches, they sat down to watch the video tape that had come with that morning's information. The scene this time was obviously in some sort of club. The lighting was dim, except for the colored flashes that swept by every few minutes, and heavy techno-dance music throbbed in the background.
The focus was on a small, circular booth. Connor and Daniel were already seated, Connor on the inside. Daniel seemed to be pouting about something. He kept pettishly brushing off Connor's attempts to jog him out of his funk. Then a handsome blonde man approached the table, and asked Daniel to dance.
Connor put a hand on Daniel's arm, but Daniel shook him off. With a cold glance at his lover, Ballard got up and moved out of frame, following the blonde. Connor stared after them, his expression dark. "Uh oh." Fox commented. "Looks like trouble in paradise."
"Danny's punishing him for something. But judging from the look on Galbraith's face, he isn't going to take it lying down."
Connor watched whatever action was going on off screen, his anger building. His dark brows drew down in a scowl, and his lips thinned. At last Daniel returned, followed by the blonde. He stood near the booth, back to Connor, speaking flirtatiously to his dance partner.
Finally Connor reached out, grabbed Daniel by the back of his belt, and jerked him down into the booth. Daniel gave a startled squawk as he landed, Connor's arm snaking around him to hold him fast. Connor's voice was very cool, and very plain. "My husband forgets himself sometimes. Go find someone else to talk to." The interloper backed off quickly.
Daniel squirmed. "Con, let go of me! How dare you embarrass me like that!"
"Oh, it's me embarrassing you, is it?" Connor dragged Daniel deeper into the booth. "Was it me out there acting the slut with a stranger?"
Daniel pulled at his hands, trying to get free. "Just stop it! You like to watch me dance, I know you do."
"But I wanted you to sit with me, and you knew that. You've been trying to punish me for missing the ski trip, and I won't have it. I've business to attend to right now, and you're not going alone. That's final."
"I don't WANT to go alone, Con! I want to go with YOU. Isn't that the whole fucking point of being in a relationship? I've hardly seen you at all this week, outside of business. I'm lonely."
"Jesus, and THIS is how you get attention? Idiot child!"
Daniel suddenly looked as if he might cry, and Connor's manner softened immediately. "Ah, don't take on so." His grip became an embrace, rather than a confinement. He kissed Daniel's temple. "I shouldn't complain. You are what you are. And I HAVE neglected you of late."
"Yes, you have." Daniel agreed.
"My poor pretty." Connor kissed him gently. Fox could see the soft flicker of tongue, and Daniel sighed, leaning against his lover. Connor's hand moved down under the table, and Ballard's eyes opened wide, then half closed. "You need to be petted a bit more, don't you, love?"
"Don't, Con." Daniel's voice was breathy, meek.
"Sh, pet." Connor's hand moved slowly. "Be still."
"Damn," Mulder whispered. "Tell me he's not giving him a hand job right out there in the club."
"Yes," Ethan was watching raptly. "That does appear to be what's happening."
The Irishman pressed against his lover, licking and kissing his throat. He fastened his mouth on a patch of skin and began to suck and bite, drawing the blood to the surface. Daniel clutched at his shoulders, biting his lip. He whined, and Connor's hand stopped moving. "Quiet, sweetheart. Quiet, or I won't let you finish."
Daniel moaned. "Please, Con. I want to cum."
"So you shall, pet. But you must be quiet about it." He took Ballard's chin in his hand, forcing him to look in his face. "I know how much you enjoy making your noises, Danny. This is your punishment. Be quiet, or I don't let you cum. Do you understand?"
Daniel gave a sobbing gasp. "Yes. But please..."
"Show me you can be quiet." Daniel closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. After a moment Connor murmured, "That's my good boy." and began to stroke again. In a few minutes, Connor grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins and drew them under the table. An instant later, Daniel stiffened, head tossing back, whimpering.
He went limp, collapsing in his lover's embrace, and whispered. "Sorry, Con. I...I couldn't..."
"Sh, baby." Connor tossed the soiled napkins on the floor. He stroked Daniel's hair. "It's alright." He waved a waitress over, and ordered a fresh round of drinks. "I'll see about a trip next month. I promise."
There was only a few more minutes on the tape. The two men finished their drinks and left, Connor steering Daniel with a hand at the small of his back. Ethan hit rewind. "Do you need to see that again?"
"No. I'm fine."
"I think I need to see that again. It's a very clear example of their relationship dynamics."
Fox got up. "I'm taking a shower."
"Do that." Ethan watched Fox disappear into the bedroom. *And I'll just pretend that I didn't notice that you had a nice hard on pressed against the fly of those tight jeans, shall I?*
Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 8
The couch, Mulder decided, was not getting any more comfortable. *I need sheets. Leather looks great, but it's hell to sleep on bare legged. I keep sticking.*
He found himself half wishing that Ethan would come out and offer him another back rub. But he quashed that idea quickly. Ethan was asleep. He'd have to wake up, and be aware that Fox couldn't sleep. The last time that had been because Fox was watching the video. Well, he wasn't going to be re-watching THIS one. *Not any time while he's around, anyway. That was kinda...interesting, though.*
Almost surreal, actually. Almost like watching himself have a sexual experience that had never happened. He'd never even come CLOSE to anything like that. The funny thing was, he could almost imagine what it was like.
He went to clubs. That probably would have surprised most people who knew him. Or thought they knew him. A dim, quiet bar they would have expected. He knew they could easily picture him sitting at the end of a bar, nursing a drink, maybe getting drunk enough to totally freak out some bartender or half in the bag fellow drinker with X Files tales. But Fox at home in noise, bustle, synergy? Too far fetched.
No, he went to clubs. And he danced. There was usually someone to dance with, but it wasn't necessary. That was the good thing about the clubs. People who were alone could go there and be alone together.
And sometimes he wasn't alone the entire night. Sometimes there was a trip out to one car or another. Gropings, alcohol flavored kisses, a disarrangement of clothes, and a few moments of *aw, shit, yeah, might as well admit it* almost perfunctory sex. Sometimes he could even remember their name the next day, and it had always been women.
He frowned up at the ceiling. *Is my mind playing tricks on me, or has it always been them who made the actual suggestion? I MUST have put the moves on a few of them.* He kept thinking, racking his brain, and for the life of him couldn't come up with a single clear incident.
Well, shit, this was getting him nowhere. He got up and went to the kitchen to get a beer. Fox leaned back against the counter, twisting off the cap. When did they stop making the type you had to pry off? Mulder closed his eyes and took a long swallow.
Was it his imagination, or did the beer go flat faster these days? He missed the old caps. Flipping them off had been part of the mystique of beer drinking. The old church key opener was sort of a symbol of manhood. If you were a kid, you didn't have an excuse to carry one, because all the soda pop machines had openers attached to the side. So "What are you planning to use that thing on, son?" The cool guys would snap the caps off against a counter. The stupid ones would open them with their teeth. He wondered if dentists were sorry to see the invention of twist off caps.
"Can't sleep again?"
Fox almost jumped out of his skin. He opened his eyes to find Ethan standing about a foot away. Damn, the man was quiet. "Don't DO that!"
"You're safe enough here, but you're going to have to do better than that out in the field, Fox." He reached out and put his hand lightly against Fox's throat, and Mulder swallowed. "I could've had you twice by now."
"I'm not that easy to kill."
Ethan opened the refrigerator and got himself a beer. Cracking it open, he took a drink, then looked at Fox archly. "Who said anything about killing you?"
Fox was suddenly aware of exactly how little clothing they were both wearing. Tonight Ethan's briefs were black. Fox had on a T-shirt, and wished that he had his own boxers instead of the skimpy jockeys Ethan had bought him. There was something unsettling and intimate about this: standing in the darkened kitchen, wearing underwear provided by the barely clad man beside him.
Having absolutely no idea how to react to the last statement, Fox reacted by not reacting at all. He ignored it, but he drank about half of his brew in one gulp.
"You're gonna give yourself a headache, doing that," Ethan predicted.
As he finished speaking, a bolt of agony lanced across Fox's head. He squinted, wincing. "Ow! What did you do, curse me?"
"Shit, didn't your mama teach you not to take cold things too quick?" He set down his own beer and reached toward Fox, who pulled back. "Hold still, dammit. I'm trying to help."
Ethan's fingers, cool from holding the chilled bottle, settled on Mulder's temples, and began to massage. Slowly the easy pressure seemed to release the vice that had clamped down on his skull. The pain began to fade. Ethan was speaking. "The only thing that really helps a cold headache is when the temperature gets back to normal, but this is kind of soothing in the meantime."
"Thanks." Fox murmured, eyes still closed. He sighed. Ethan's fingers, strong and gentle, continued rubbing in circles. "That feels good." The fingers slid back into his hair, massaging his scalp, then moved down to work on the back of his neck. Fox suddenly realized that, like this, Ethan was almost embracing him.
He opened his eyes. Ethan was very close. There was only a few inches of space between them. He was looking into Fox's face, his expression unreadable. But even in the dim light that glowed over the stove, Fox could see how green Hunt's eyes were.
Fox cleared his throat, and pulled back fractionally. Ethan's hands dropped. "Headache gone?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Da nada." He stepped away and picked up his beer. "If you're really having THAT hard a time sleeping, you ought to come in the bedroom. You need to be well rested. That bed's plenty big enough for two people without being crowded."
Fox shifted uncomfortably. "I'm okay."
"Fox, you're being silly. You're depriving yourself of rest just because you're afraid to be alone in the dark with another man?"
Fox bristled, as Ethan knew he would. "Don't be ridiculous." He started to walk out. Behind him, he heard a very creditable clucking sound, and whirled around. "Are you calling me chicken?" Ethan's eyes were wide and innocent. He spread his fingers on his chest in a 'who, me?' gesture. Fox glared, and left the room, stomping as best he could with bare feet.
Ethan chuckled, and lifted the last of his beer in a toast to that spectacular ass. He whispered, "But you ARE chicken, Fox. Pure white meat."
When Ethan went out into the living room, there was no pillow, no comforter, and no Mulder. Ethan pumped his fist in the air, silently mouthing, "YES!" Then he composed his expression into blandness and went into the bedroom.
Fox was on the near side of the bed, stretched out on his stomach, head resting on folded arms, face turned away. *The only thing wrong with this picture is that he's not naked. That will change.*
Ethan walked around to his side of the bed, and slid under the sheet. Fox's eyes were closed. He wasn't asleep. Ethan knew damn good and well that he was awake. But Fox's body was not tensed, he seemed to rest easy. Hunt studied his face. Thick lashes, almost reaching to sculpted cheekbones. Straight, strong nose, full mouth. *Mouth, _Mouth_, MOUTH! Damn, that is a sexy mouth. Pretty soon I'm going to have to just kiss him stupid, then see what else we can figure out for him to do with that mouth.*
Thinking about the possibilities, Ethan went to sleep with a smile on his face.
Fox awoke with a pleasant, but unfamiliar, scent teasing him. What was it? He sorted through his olfactory memory, searching for it. There was soap, he recognized that. Some other spicy smell, and just a hint of clean sweat. Fox opened his eyes to find that his face was pressed against Ethan Hunt's bare shoulder. So, that's what it was. Ethansmell.
Moving very slowly and carefully, Fox pulled away, thankful that Hunt was still asleep. How had Mulder wandered all the way over to this side of the bed? Once he managed to fall asleep, he wasn't really a restless sleeper, not a whole lot of thrashing around. Well, he didn't THINK there was, anyway. Actually, he hadn't slept with enough people in his life to get an informed opinion of his own sleep habits.
Ethan yawned, and shifted onto his side. Fox slipped out of bed and eased to the bathroom. He needed to pee. He had a morning erection, and that was NOT something he cared to have the man he'd been sharing a bed with know. He peed copiously, sighing in relief.
The hard on didn't go away. "Oh shit." Fox muttered. He stared at his rebellious member, willing it to subside. "Come on, already. I peed. What else do you want?" He paused. "Don't answer that." Fox stripped quickly, stepped into the shower, and turned the cold water on full blast. A yelp escaped him before he could bite it back.
"Fox? You okay?" He heard padding footsteps over the hissing of the water.
*Damn.* "Yeah, I'm fine. Water's just a little cold, that's all."
Ethan was in the bathroom. Fox could see his wavering outline through the frosted glass of the shower door. "What, is the hot water out?"
Fox stood dumbfound as the door slid open a couple of inches, and Ethan's hand poked in, under the spray. "Damn! No wonder you yelled. Are you trying to get hypothermia or something?" He reached down and turned on the hot, testing the water till it ran just past lukewarm. "There." The hand was withdrawn, and the door slid shut. "I thought you took a shower last night, anyway?"
"I just felt like another one."
"Good way to start the morning."
*Oh, Christ.* Fox watched as Ethan's blurred figure moved to the toilet, fumbled with his shorts, and peed. *Look away, Fox. Look away.* He didn't. Ethan finished, shook, and tucked himself away.
"Hurry up. You need to get shots, and we have to have new passport photos taken today." He strolled out.
Fox sighed, and looked down at his once again engorged cock. He reached for the hot water, twisting it off as he called, "It may be a few minutes."
Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 9
When Fox came into the kitchen, Ethan asked him, "Do you still need coffee to wake up after that shower?"
"I need coffee to get my heart started." He poured himself a cup, and inhaled the rich aroma before taking the first sip. He sighed contentedly.
"Addict."
"Drug of choice." Fox sniffed, and peered into a sizzling pan on the stove. "Onions? At this time of the morning?"
Ethan was whisking eggs. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have crunch in my omelette."
Fox watched as Ethan poured the eggs into a hot, greased pan, tilting it so that they spread evenly. As they turned opaque on the bottom, he lifted the edges with a spatula, tilting the pan so that the uncooked mixture ran under. When the surface was only moist instead of wet, he sprinkled it with the onion, and grated cheese and cubed ham. Then he neatly folded it in half, lightly pressing the edges. He glanced at Fox, then, with a quick twist of his wrist, flipped the omelette in the air lightly, and slid it off onto a plate.
"Damn!" Fox muttered. "I tried to cook an omelette once. Once. It took me three hours to clean the kitchen. I threw it out, and the neighbor's dog got mysteriously ill the next day."
Ethan cut the omelette in half and slid part onto a second plate, handing it to Fox. "Yeah, well, don't sweat it. You don't have to cook. Someone will marry you just for your looks."
"I want to be loved for my mind."
"If it's dirty enough, you'll be loved for it. Sit down to eat that. You'll get indigestion." They went out into the dining area, and Ethan sat opposite him. Fox rapidly emptied his plate, then sat back with a replete sigh. "Well?"
"The plate is clean."
"I noticed that. I'm surprised you didn't scrape the pattern off it."
"Bitch, bitch, bitch. Thank you."
"You're welcome. Is that what you're planning on wearing?"
Fox looked down at the cranberry colored silk shirt and black pants. "No, I thought I'd wear the pink tutu. What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing. But we're having the passport photos taken. Wear your blazer."
"Yes, Dad."
"The correct term is 'daddy'."
"Um." Fox got up and went to get the blazer.
Ethan wondered if Fox was consciously flirting back at him, or if he thought he was just teasing Ethan. Probably wasn't sure where smart ass left off and flirting began.
He went and got his own jacket, joining Fox in the living room. Fox spread his arms. "Happy?"
"Almost." Ethan buttoned the jacket, then hooked his finger in the breast pocket. "Remind me to get you a show handkerchief to fold in here."
"Oh, for crying out loud!"
"Detail, Fox." He paused. "Details, Daniel."
"Yes, Con."
"Empty your wallet out." He handed Fox an envelope. "Put everything in here. We'll have it put somewhere safe till this is over."
Fox stripped his wallet of everything but cash, stuffing it in the envelope, then sealing it. He didn't like doing this. He was used to always having his ID with him, it was an integral part of being an FBI agent. You had to be ready to identify yourself at all times. This made him uncomfortable. It was like his identity was being stripped away. It made him feel...raw, somehow. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Hunt seemed to sense something of what he was feeling. "You're not losing yourself. You're...just taking a vacation from your life for awhile. It doesn't really matter what the pieces of paper say, does it?" He tapped Fox's chest. "You're still you, here."
Downstairs he exchanged the envelope containing Fox's papers for one that was already in the mailbox, handing it to Fox. Mulder ripped it open and found a driver's license, social security card, gym membership card, credit cards, even a partially filled video rental redemption card, all in the name of Daniel Ballard.
The photo on the license was the same that graced Fox's own. The physical information was the same, except for the weight. Daniel weighed about five pounds more than Fox. Good, everyone would think he'd been losing weight. Daniel wasn't a donor, though. Selfish bastard. Ethan waited while he stowed the items in his wallet.
The first stop was a small medical practice building. In an office waiting room, Ethan went directly to the check in counter. "Galbraith and Ballard. We're here for our travel immunizations."
"Certainly, sir. Just sign in, and have a seat." Ethan scratched 'Connor Galbraith' on the sheet, then handed it over to Fox. He looked at Ethan for a moment, then signed 'Daniel Ballard'.
When they sat, he murmured, "Shouldn't I practice 'my' signature?"
"Yes, you should. I was going to bring that up later. Good catch. I'm getting more and more confident in you, Danny."
There was a stack of magazines on the table before them, and Fox started to sort through them. His hand hovered over a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, then he bypassed it and picked up an International Male Catalogue. Ethan smiled in approval. The catalogue was notorious for the sensual pictures of male models in skimpy attire, and was exactly what Daniel would have zeroed in on.
Ethan casually threw an arm across the back of Fox's chair, and peered over at the catalogue. He tapped a page. "You'd look good in that."
"Those sleeves? I'd look like Errol Flynn getting ready to swash some buckle."
"You can swash my buckle any time." Ethan saw the color sweep up Mulder's cheeks. *Oh, I have GOT to make a play for you soon, Foxy.*
A middle aged nurse came to the counter. "Mr. Ballard, Mr. Galbraith? Follow me, please." They followed her back into a surprisingly twisty maze of corridors and exam rooms. Finally they were ushered into a typical looking exam room. "The doctor will we with you momentarily."
As she left, Ethan took the one chair. Fox looked around a moment, then perched on the exam table, long legs dangling. "Most doctors need appointments and medical records and insurance information before you get past the dragons at the front desk." It wasn't stated as a question, but that's what it was.
Ethan nodded. "Most doctors."
"Yeah, I guess you would have to have some discrete medical help in your line of work."
"Our line of work."
A small Asian man in a white lab coat bustled into the room. He offered them a blinding smile, and shook hands. "Mr. Bridger, wonderful to see you again. Mr. Ballard. Going abroad, are we?"
"A little jaunt to Columbia, Doctor Ling. No more than a week or so. But Daniel isn't up on his vaccinations, and I can't risk having him get sick."
"Well, that's easily taken care of." Fox felt vaguely like he had as a child at the pediatrician's, listening to his father and the doctor discuss his medical care.
The doctor removed a capped, disposable syringe from his jacket pocket. "We'll give you the gamma gobulin first. I assume that this trip will be soon?"
"In a little more than a week and a half."
"Hm. Well, you won't want the typhoid injection, then. That might make him ill, and it's very uncomfortable. We have a new oral medication he can take over a weeks time. Four capsules, one every other day." Fox was removing his blazer. "No, no, Mr. Ballard. You really don't want to take this in the arm. Haven't you ever had a gamma gobulin shot before?"
"No."
"They're very strong. They need to be injected into a much larger muscle mass."
Fox looked pained. "Not in the butt?"
The doctor smiled. "No, no, not the buttock. Just the hip. We wouldn't want you to have a bruise on your sit-down. Very uncomfortable. Now, lower your pants, please."
Grumbling, Fox reached for his belt. He hesitated, looking at Ethan. Ethan just folded his hands and returned his look. Mulder undid his belt and opened his pant, then lowered them halfway down his thighs. Ethan wished that he HAD removed his jacket. The hem obscured his view of Fox's ass.
The doctor uncapped the syringe and pushed the plunger till a bead of liquid oozed from the needle. Fox hooked a thumb in the waistband of his briefs and dragged it down a few inches. The rather elegant curve of his hip was exposed, with a small expanse of pale buttock. Ethan wet his lips, thinking about running his hand along that curve, gripping it and pulling Fox close... He looked up to find Fox watching him. Ethan didn't try to disguise the interest in his eyes, and Fox looked away quickly.
The doctor swabbed Mulder's skin with alcohol, chilling it. Then he framed a section of skin at Fox's hip and said, "Alright, Mr. Ballard. I won't lie to you, this will hurt. But I need you to stand very still. I have to give you this injection slowly. Are you ready?"
"Just a second." Fox took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. "Okay." The bite of the needle was like a hornet sting, hot and sharp. "Jesus." His hands gripped the side of the table."
"Hang on, Danny." Ethan's voice was encouraging.
"Half way done." the doctor murmured.
*He wasn't fucking kidding, it would hurt.* The pain radiated, making the entire area covered by the doctor's hand ache. Finally the sting lessened a little, and he felt the doctor swabbing him again with alcohol.
"There. Done."
Fox gingerly rubbed the throbbing spot. "Damn, you'd think that with all the medical research, they'd come up with something a little less painful." He pulled up his pants and refastened them.
"You took that very well." The doctor solemnly pulled a purple sucker out of his jacket pocket and offered it to Fox. "For bravery."
Fox frowned. "Don't you have any red?" Just as solemnly, the doctor produced a red one, and handed it to Fox.
"What about cholera?" Ethan asked, standing up.
"Well, you generally don't have to worry about that, if you're careful about your water and your food. But since that isn't always possible...What we have available isn't really that reliable. There's an oral medication available in Canada or Europe that's much more effective." He cocked his head and said brightly. "Pity the FDA hasn't approved it yet."
"Yes, isn't it."
"You can go on out to the front. I'll send the medicines up with the nurse." He bustled out.
"Hey, wait a minute," Fox protested. "What about you? Don't you have to get a shot?"
"Danny, I STAY current on mine."
They went up to the front, and Ethan paid the desk clerk. As he was finishing, the nurse came out and handed him a small paper bag. "Now, be sure that he takes those as scheduled."
"I will."
On the way out to the car, Ethan said, "Something's bothering you. What is it?"
"Why does everyone keep talking around me? The medicine is for ME, but they gave it to you, and gave you instruction on making me take it. I'm starting to feel like I'm about twelve years old."
"This is how the Galbraith-Ballard relationship works. You need to get used to it...Danny."
Fox opened the bag and peered at it's contents. "There's two bottles in here, both of them with handwritten labels."
"Typhoid and cholera medicine."
"I thought he said that the cholera medicine wasn't available in the US?"
"It isn't."
"Oh."
The next stop was a small photography studio. "We could have just done this in one of those quarter photo booths, couldn't we?" Fox asked.
"We could. But you insist on the best, and I indulge you."
"I'm high maintenance, aren't I?"
"But you're worth it."
In the studio, Fox was positioned in front of a plain white backdrop. Ethan said, "Hang on." Taking a comb from his pocket, he arranged Fox's hair more to his satisfaction, giving it a final smooth with his palm. "Okay, NOW you're ready."
As the photographer snapped the picture, Fox wondered at himself. *I must be better at this assuming another person's identity than I thought I was. Having him touch me is starting to feel almost *good* normal.*
Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 10
"Okay, Danny. Time for the first real test."
"Already? Is it essay, or multiple choice."
Ethan ignored the question. They were pulling into a parking lot before a substantial building. The sign at the door said 'Elysium Gym'. " This is your gym. We're going to go in and work out a little."
They got out of the car, and Ethan started for the door, but Fox hung back. Hunt paused, turning back to him. "What's wrong? Stage fright?"
"What if...if someone who looks like me shows up?"
"Not likely. He and someone who looks like me are in Ireland right now." Ethan smiled. "He's visiting the in laws. Or, in this case, outlaws."
Fox groaned. "That joke was old when they used it in the Disney version of 'Robin Hood'. What about work out clothes?"
"Thanks for reminding me." He opened the trunk and pulled the new small case he'd bought for Fox. "I put some in the trunk while you were showering."
Every objection was met. Fox followed Ethan into the building. Fox looked around the entrance area. Nice. Plush carpets, rich paneling , subdued lighting. He had a feeling that the equipment room was going to be spectacularly stocked. Daniel DID believe that he deserved the best.
The counter was manned by a muscular man in a tank top with the gym's logo on it. It strained over a sculpted physique. It wasn't until Fox noticed that his inch long buzz cut was steel grey that he realized that the man must be in his mid fifties. He greeted Fox with a warm smile. "Mr. Ballard, always a pleasure to see you, sir. I thought you were in Ireland this week."
"Change of plans." Fox modulated his voice a little, making it softer and adding a tinge of southern accent to it. He pulled out his wallet, and handed over his membership card. The man took it without question, and pushed a registry book toward him.
"Mr. Galbraith, will you be joining Mr. Ballard, or would you prefer to wait in the lounge?"
"Oh, I'll come along." He ran a hand teasingly across Fox's shoulder. "Can't let this one get too much stronger than me, can I now?" There was the faint hint of Ireland in Ethan's voice. Fox doubted that anyone could tell the difference between his voice and Connor's without a voice print.
They received a key, and went into the locker room. Daniel had locker 36, and Fox located it. It was a full sized one, with plenty of room to hang up both his and Ethan's clothes neatly. Hangers were provided. "Class operation, all the way."
Ethan was stripping out of his clothes. "They'll steam press your stuff for you while you work out, if you ask. Come on, Daniel. Before the lunch hour crowd takes up all the good equipment." Bare chested, he was hanging up his jacket. As he finished speaking, he started to unbuckle his pants.
Fox turned away and began undressing himself. *Daniel's an exhibitionist. Don't act shy, don't hesitate. Just be casual.* When he turned back to get his own set of workout clothes out of the bag, Ethan was just pulling a T-shirt over his head. Fox watched as his head popped through, and he gave it a quick shake, tossing the shaggy black hair out of his eyes. Sitting down on a bench, Hunt began to pull on a pair of athletic shoes. "Danny, as luscious as you look in your briefs, I don't think they'll let you in the weight room like that." Fox scrambled into the shorts and T-shirt, put away his own clothes, locked the locker, and followed Ethan out into the gym.
Fox looked around. There seemed to be every expensive, state-of-the-art exercise machine in existence. Ethan went to one immediately and began doing leg lifts. After a moment's thought, Fox chose a treadmill. He wasn't much for pumping iron, but he jogged on a regular basis. He started off slowly, then set a good, steady medium pace, and settled in for his run.
Ethan chose machines where he could keep an eye on his partner. It was nice, having something to watch while he went through the mindless repititions. Fox ran with long legged grace, muscles flowing smoothly. He seemed to have good stamina, that could come in handy. Ethan grinned to himself. *Could come in handy in a LOT of situations.*
Fox jogged, never looking left or right. Well, never turning his head. If he cut his eyes sideways, he could still see Ethan. The dark haired spy went through a thorough set of exercises, working each portion of his body. Fox usually didn't think much about his own body, but Ethan made him feel very aware of himself for some reason. He found himself comparing his own lankiness to Ethan's compact, muscular frame. Usually he saw his height as an advantage, if he thought about it at all. But Ethan made him feel gawky.
Ethan paused in his exertions. Dark, damp patches had bloomed on his T-shirt: under arms, across the chest and back, around the neckline. His face was beaded with perspiration. He pulled off the shirt, and used it to wipe his face and throat. Fox felt a sudden surge of warmth, and reached out quickly to the treadmill's controls, raising the speed. He went from a trot to a run.
Ethan watched Fox, his face enigmatic. Then he called, "That's enough for now, Danny." Fox ignored him, and kept on pounding to nowhere on the treadmill. Frowning, Ethan got up and went to him. He dialed the speed down to medium, then low, then shut it off. Fox slowed with the treadmill, finally stopping and letting the moving belt carry him back off of the machine.
Ethan moved in close to the panting man, peering up into his face. "I said that was enough. Jesus, man, are you trying to kill yourself?" Fox didn't answer, just staring at him, breath still ragged. Ethan said softly, "Tell me, Danny boy. Were your running AWAY from something, or running TO it?"
Fox silently turned and went to the locker room. He was siiting on the bench when Ethan entered. Ethan stuffed his now damp and fragrant shirt into the bag, and pulled off his shorts. "Well?"
Fox cut his eyes at him. "I'll wait till I get home to shower."
Ethan put his hands on his hips. "The hell you say. You're not getting in my jag in the state you're in, Ballard. Now get your round little ass under the shower and clean up."
"Fine!" Fox stood, and angrily began to strip out of his clothes. Ethan watched as he slammed the athletic shoes into the bag, jerked off the T-shirt, and skinned his shorts down. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic. But we can't shower in our briefs either, can we?" Ethan stepped out of his briefs, dropping them in the bag, and headed toward the shower, calling over his shoulder. "Bring the shampoo out of the bag, would you?"
Fox stayed where he was for a moment, and found himself swaying slightly on his feet. *This is a public locker room, Mulder. Nothing is going to happen here.* He removed his own underpants and found the shampoo in the bag. He took a deep breath, cast his eyes toward the ceiling, and murmured, "Please, God, I'm begging you. Don't let me get a hard on."
A gym this fancy, and they didn't have private showers. Didn't it just figure? It was a typical communal shower; a large tiled area with a row of shower heads, and drains set at intervals in the floor. Ethan was under one of the sprays, in the process of scrubbing a bar of soap into a washcloth. His legs were already dripping with foam, which was washing away under the falling water. As Fox stepped into the tiled area, he began on his arms.
Glancing at Fox, he said, "You can put it on the shelf over here." Mulder placed the shampoo on the shelf that hung on the wall near Ethan. Then he turned on the showerhead next to him, adjusting the water to a cool spray. He was tempted to use ice cold water, but was afraid that would be just a bit too obvious.
There were wash cloths and fresh soap on the shelf also, and Fox helped himself and began to wash, working quickly. He had to get this over with, and get out of there, fast. He kept his eyes lowered so he wouldn't see Ethan gliding the cloth over his chest, down his torso. He closed his eyes completely when it reached Ethan's groin, putting his head back and letting the spray hit him full in the face.
His eyes flew open when someone nudged him. Ethan, a pool of clear gel in the palm of his hand, was offering the shampoo bottle to Fox. Mulder took it numbly as Hunt slicked the shampoo into his own hair and started to scrub, working up a lather. Fox followed suit, and had another excuse to close his eyes, so he wouldn't get soap in them.
He heard Ethan's shower cut off as he put his head back under his own spray to rinse. He was startled when Ethan spoke, very close to him. "You keep your eyes closed a lot, don't you, Danny boy?" Fox opened his eyes to find a naked Ethan Hunt, towel draped over his shoulders, standing beside him. Ethat reached over and shut off the taps, and the shower drizzled to a stop. He was studying Fox. Neither moved.
Ethan lifted the towel from his own neck, and draped it around Fox's. He took one end of it, and gently swabbed beads of water from Fox's face and throat. He said quietly, "Time to go home.", took another towel from the pile on the shelf, turned, and went out to the locker room.
Fox braced a hand against the wall and closed his eyes. *Oh, God. At least I waited till he left the room to start to get hard.* He quickly wrapped the towel around his waist, grabbed another one, and walked out, tousling his hair.
Ethan was half dressed by the time he got there. Fox made sure to keep his back to the other man while he got into his briefs, and tugged on his pants. He left them unfastened as he put on his shirt, wanting to be able to get the tail inside neatly. As he started to button the shirt, Ethan stepped over and pushed his hands away.
Silently, he buttoned Fox's shirt, concentrating on the motion of his hands, slipping the buttons into the holes. When it was done, he smoothed his hands down Fox's chest. Then holding the waist band of his pants in his left hand, he carefully tucked the shirt tail in at the back, then at the sides. Then down in front.
And his hand closed over Fox's semi-hard cock, gently but firmly. Fox gasped softly, looking into his face. Ethan returned his stare, expression calm, but green eyes almost glowing. Slowly and deliberately, he stroked. Fox shuddered. Ethan nodded, then released him. He zipped up Fox's pants, closed them, and buckled his belt, then handed him his blazer, all without saying a word. Fox just stood there as Ethan packed the rest of their things in the bag and closed it. Ethan lifted the bag in one hand, took Fox's arm with the other, and led him out of the locker room.
It stretched out to be one of the longest silences Fox had ever experienced with another person. Not a word was said the entire ride home, or during the walk upstairs to the apartment. As Ethan set down the bag and locked the door, Fox laid his jacket on the table and went directly into the kitchen.
He got a beer out of the refrigerator and opened it, leaning back against the cool metal. He drank half of it quickly, risking another cold headache, but not caring. He had to do something.
Ethan came into the kitchen, and walked over to him. He stood, almost toe to toe with Fox. Just stood. Watching. Nervously, Fox rubbed the glass of the bottle across his forehead, trying to cool what felt like a fever. Ethan took the bottle away from him, tipped it to his own lips, and drank off the rest, then set it aside on the counter. He reached up and stroked Fox's moist brow, pushing his hair up off his forehead. "Have you ever been with another man before?" Fox shook his head.
Ethan's hand moved lightly over Mulder's face, touching feather light on cheeks, jaw, chin, finally coming to rest against his mouth. With one fingertip Ethan traced the lines of the FBI agent's mouth. His hand cupped Fox's jaw, and his thumb teased at his full lower lip. "Are you alright with this?"
Fox's voice was low. "Who are you talking to, Ethan? Me? Or Daniel? Is this for the mission?"
There was an almost painfully naked look in Mulder's eyes, and Ethan knew exactly what he needed to hear. He was glad that it was also the truth of the situation. "This is for Ethan Hunt. And it's Fox Mulder I want to take to my bed. That's all. But I need you to tell me you're okay with this, Fox."
Fox closed his eyes briefly. "Fuck, Ethan. I don't even know what this is. But I do want it."
Ethan's hands slid up into Fox's soft, slightly damp hair. "Then all you have to do is relax, Fox. This time, just let me take care of you." He pulled Fox's face down, tilting his own up, and pressed their lips together.
The touch was different than a woman's. Hunt's lips were smooth, and firm, and they moved ever so slightly against Fox's own. Fox felt the warm, damp touch of a tongue, and he opened his mouth to allow Ethan access. Ethan made small, shallow licks into Fox's mouth, teasing him, then slid in and began a slow exploration.
Fox felt Ethan lean in against him, measuring his shorter body against Fox's tall frame. Fox put his arms around the other man, running his hands up and down Ethan's back as the kiss slowly deepened. Then Ethan pulled back a little, and began nipping lightly at Fox's lips, and chin.
Mulder groaned, and tried to reach up under Hunt's jacket. Ethan shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor, and began to unbutton Mulder's shirt. He spread the sides open and bent over, dropping a kiss precisely at the point where Fox's collar bones joined, flicking his tongue into the hollow of his throat.
Ethan licked at Fox's neck, moving up to nuzzle his ear. He moved his hands up to Fox's chest and pressed them flat, fingers spread, then scratched lightly. Fox gasped as nails grazed his nipples. Ethan took Fox's earlobe between his teeth as he toyed with the stiffening points, stroking and pinching. No one had ever played with him like this, and he was amazed at the sweep of carnal pleasure that was washing over him. He was beginning to feel drunk with it.
Ethan was loving this. *Damn, he's so sweet, and sensitive. He reacts to everything. Shit, Ethan, you're gonna be his first time. Make it good for him. Make him want more. Make him want YOU.*
Ethan rubbed his cheek against Fox's, and Fox turned his head blindly, seeking Ethan's mouth with his own. Again they kissed, and this time Fox was an active participant. His tongue met Ethan's, sliding and stoking, and he made tiny sounds in the back of his throat that sent a bolt of pure lust th