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Extreme Measures (7/?)
by Sagittarius325
Title: Extreme Measures - Chapter Seven
Author: Sagittarius325
Email: Sagittarius325@hotmail.com
Part: 7 of ?
Season: Five - Post The End/Pre Fight the Future
Spoilers: Deep Throat, Tooms, Ascension, Apocrypha, Little Green Men, Memento Mori, Pine Bluff Variant, Folie a Deux, Patient X, The Red and The Black, The End, Fight the Future, any Alex Krycek episode
Rating: NC-17 most definitely
Pairing: Mulder/other, Mulder/Krycek
Warnings: This fic depicts extremely graphic m/m interaction, rape, non-consensual sex, violence and bad language. If any of these subjects offends you, if you are underage or the laws of your country prohibit you from reading such material, then go no further.
Summary: When interests converge, the Consortium goes to extreme and horrifying lengths to destroy Mulder.
Disclaimer: The characters Mulder, Krycek, Scully, Skinner, Cancer Man, Well Manicured Man etc are the properties of CC and other fortunate people. No infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: For all those of you who have been demanding more Alex, here he is, just in time to, ahem, 'save' Mulder...
CHAPTER SEVEN - Culmination...
Soft strains of music drifted on the air, yet much of the exquisite piece was lost amidst the chatter of voices. For the first time in as long as he could remember, which didn't exactly mean much, Fox found himself adrift in a sea of people. Bodies walked and talked around him, laughing, exchanging pleasantries.
It was disconcerting and exciting all at once. For so long now, Fox had only Brueller for company, and even without the sex he had spent most of his time in the older man's presence. The servant, Daniel, was unapproachable, and the small retinue of staff Brueller kept on his estate were under orders to avoid him.
Like a good little toy, Fox had allowed Brueller to dress him up for the occasion, in a tuxedo that the older man insisted had some special significance. Afterwards, Brueller had stood Fox before the floor-length mirror and rested his hands on the other's shoulders.
"You look...beautiful," he had said, with a sigh, before placing his lips on the side of Fox's neck.
Fox had grinned and shook his head. "Somebody has it bad," he had retorted, flippantly, fiddling with his tie.
His master had caught his hand and brought it to his lips, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "Yes. I believe they do," he had replied, softly, and before Fox could respond, the older man had turned away.
Now, standing in the crowd, Fox wondered at those words. As the guests had begun to arrive, his master had, as promised, introduced him by name, as Brueller's companion and paraded him as such. And finally, Fox had allowed himself to relax in such elite company, exchanging polite smiles and small talk, accepting courtesies on behalf of his master.
He was crossing over to Brueller when the light from an overhead chandelier glittered and reflected off the necklace by a coiffed woman, drawing his unwitting attention. As he glanced that way, a man crossed his vision. Dark hair, panther-like movement, and Fox halted in his tracks. A memory assailed him - *a too eager, fresh-faced kid, a hand held out to be taken, a hand that was ignored, refused...*
Fox frowned and shook his head to clear it, then glanced up, looking for the man amongst the mingling guests, not finding him.
"Ah, here he is." Brueller's accented voice cut easily through the dim clamour, a moment before his arm came up to slip round Fox's waist, fingers resting casually, proprietarily on Fox's hip.
And Fox found himself being steered towards Brueller's friend, Warren, almost expecting the words 'Shake, Fox, shake,' to come from his master. Warren's gaze was hot and frankly appraising, a connoisseur of the flesh, and Fox felt himself colour a little under the scrutiny.
"He looks classy tonight, Hans," Warren said, holding a flute of champagne in one hand as he smiled at Fox. "Most...enjoyable."
Fox felt his fists curl at the demeaning, humiliating tone. He had let down his defences too long to raise them quickly enough to deflect the other man's derision. Feeling a rising impulse to lash out, he stared straight over Warren's shoulder and refused to rise to the baiting.
Warren laughed, but it wasn't in good humour and he reached out to caress Fox's face. "But you haven't been broken to heel yet, have you pretty Fox? And I love a challenge."
Fox wrenched back from the other man's touch at the inflammatory words and felt Brueller's arm tighten in warning.
"Fox is not to be harmed," the Dutchman said, levelly.
Warren snorted, amused. "He needs some of that wild spirit ridden out of him, Hans. It would be a pleasure."
Fox choked back his disgust. *The pleasure would be all yours,* he thought, furiously. Entirely.
"Perhaps later," Brueller replied, with infuriating calm, and led a seething Fox away. "You seem tense, my pet. Pouting again?"
"I don't pout," Fox flared and heard his master sigh.
"Such a wild fox cub. I will have to find a way to curb that unbecoming temperament of yours. But," Brueller lowered his voice to a hard murmur, "I will not tolerate any of your tantrums tonight, Fox. Distracting as they are, you are here to augment my reputation, not broadcast the leniency I have allowed you. Do you understand?"
And Fox did. His purpose was to look good, smile and be happy, and fawn over his master where required. The contented little fuck toy. He was fooling himself, he realised, if he thought Brueller would ever see him as anything else.
"Then come. There are other guest eager to meet you."
As he was steered away, Fox felt a hot gaze boring into him, but when he glanced back over his shoulder, he saw no one there.
Jade eyes narrowed watchfully as the Dutchman put the target through his paces, displaying the man like some fucking pet. For his part, Mulder seemed oblivious to it, regarding everything and everyone with characteristic hungry interest, happy to lose himself in the crowd if given a chance to slip the leash. Even with his memories gone, Fox Mulder would easily own the room if the Dutchman permitted, moving with that graceful stride of his through the guests. Every eye had at one time or another lingered upon his elegant figure.
Including Alex Krycek's.
He was intrigued, for Mulder didn't appear resentful towards the man who surely must have raped him by now. In fact, Mulder seemed almost soothed by the Dutchman's presence, unconsciously leaning into the man whenever they were close. Of course, the man at Hans Brueller's side wasn't exactly the same highly-strung FBI agent he had once been. More like some blank slate on which the Dutchman had written himself the perfect little slave.
Still, Alex felt disappointment. How could a fuck up the ass so easily tame someone as furiously independent as Mulder? If he had known it was all that easy, he would have jumped the uptight bastard years ago.
He felt eyes on him, scrutinising, as the Dutchman finally spied his uninvited guest. That it had taken as long as it had for Brueller to catch sight of Alex was a sign the older man was distracted, perhaps a little too caught up in his new toy than was prudent.
Brueller approached, looking curious rather than pissed, which Alex thought was a pleasant change, wondering if Mulder, of all people, had managed somehow to exorcise the streak of viciousness Alex still bore the scars from.
The assassin flicked an indolent eye over the other man, noting Brueller was still keeping himself in shape, hard muscles evident beneath the smooth lines of the suit. That could become a problem, later on. Nothing Alex couldn't handle, just another irritation that would need to be dealt with. He was no longer the green kid who would lie down and take it at Spender's say so, and if Brueller thought otherwise, the fucker was in for an interesting re-education.
"Alex Krycek," Brueller greeted him, still exuding that charismatic charm Alex remembered all too well. "I did not expect to see you here."
"Hans." Alex folded his arms casually to preclude a handshake and caught the Dutchman studying his left sleeve, the sheen of the visible hand a little too shiny for real skin. He swore silently. Someone from the Consortium had been telling tales.
"And where have you been keeping yourself, little katteken?"
Alex forced himself not to flinch at the warm hand that touched his face, cupped his jaw, had to keep from instinctively lashing out as his hackles rose at the threat, the endearment.
"I've been around," he replied, subtly leaning away from the caress.
Brueller allowed his hand to fall, cocking his head in question. "And now you are here, uninvited, though not unwelcome. Never that, my Alex."
*So, still a possessive bastard, aren't you, asshole.* "I'm just here to check up on the merchandise," he said, jerking his head in Mulder's direction.
The lanky agent was conversing with two stunning socialites now, yet despite their not so subtle flirting, his gaze kept drifting away. Mulder looked happy, smiling contentedly, but Alex knew, and was well aware of the irony, just how deceiving appearances could be.
Looking closer, he could see something lacking in this Mulder shadow, the hell-bent exuberance dimmed, the searing fire which threatened to burn anyone who got too close all but ashes. There was something indefinably sad about him, that made Alex suddenly sad to watch.
"I was not made aware that any checks were to be performed," Brueller was saying, annoyed now.
*That's my boy, Hans,* Alex thought. *If I can't get to you through your dick, then there's always that temper of yours to fall back on.* But alienating the man wouldn't help further his goals. If he played his cards right, maybe the Dutchman would let Alex stick around, hoping for a revisit to memory lane. And then the Consortium agent would have the opportunity to show Brueller exactly what he'd learned in the years since they'd parted ways.
"Well, it's important that our boy is kept in good working order," Alex drawled, with a one-shouldered shrug. "Never know when we might need him back."
Was Alex imagining it, or did Brueller suddenly look like he wanted to murder someone. Hell, Mulder couldn't be that good a lay, could he?
"I was given to understand by your smoking employer that Fox was mine," the Dutchman retorted, tightly.
So it had been Spender behind Mulder's abduction, Alex realised, with a surge of cold fury. How many months had it been since he'd left the slippery bastard for dead? And it hadn't been that long ago that he'd once again had the cancerous sonofabitch in his sights, twice in as many days, and both times he'd been forced to hold off by his current patron. *You may need him in the future,* was the bizarre excuse.
"Things change," Alex replied, thinking how true that was.
"I will not permit anyone to take Fox," the Dutchman said, his voice low and calm, and all the more menacing for it. "Not now, not ever. You would do well to impress that upon your employer, Alex, unless he would like a demonstration of what I will do to those that try..."
"Hans."
The sound of Mulder's voice made them both turn, Brueller instantly smoothing his features to impassivity. "Fox," he said, quickly placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder in a clumsy attempt to manoeuvre Mulder away from Alex.
But Mulder gracefully side-stepped, his stare wide and curious and focused intently on Krycek. So, not quite tamed yet, Foxy. Alex had to force himself not to twitch under Mulder's intense gaze. Usually that look preceded a violent attack of some kind, though this Mulder seemed to be struggling for once against the natural inclination to do bodily harm to his enemy.
Taking the initiative, Alex held out his right hand and gave Mulder a charming smile, ignoring the Dutchman's sudden glare. "Alex Krycek."
Mulder started, then seemed to shake himself from whatever memories had fought and failed to emerge. He smiled back, accepting Alex's hand. "Fox."
Fox? There would have been a time when Mulder would have chewed off his own tongue rather than admit to his first name. Now he was offering it to Krycek?
Their hands met, grasped firmly, and Alex couldn't resist the jolt of pleasure at that touch, at the feel of Mulder's warm fingers curling loosely around his own callused ones. He suddenly recalled his first day on the FBI job, the first moment he had laid eyes on Mulder, working on some jerk-off assignment. He'd offered his hand then, but Mulder had regarded it with such disdain that Alex had promptly withdrawn it.
Now it felt like a continuation of that day, the way things might have been had Mulder been a little wary, a little less neurotic...a little less hung up on Saint Scully. Though Alex could have hardly blamed him for the former, for they were the by-product of fifty years of secrecy and murder and betrayals. And as for the latter, well maybe Red was the sister Mulder never had because Alex knew they sure as hell hadn't fucked each other.
To Alex's surprise, Mulder didn't withdraw his hand right away. The FBI Agent's face was a study of concentration, of puzzlement, as he regarded Alex across the distance that separated them, those incredible hazel eyes sharp and penetrating. He was looking at Alex as if the assassin held some vast and important secret, a key to unlocking all the mysteries imprisoned within that perceptive brain of his.
And Alex didn't mind the contact, not at all. The air between them was fair crackling with electricity now, that crazy, searing atmosphere they seemed to generate every time they ran into each other; Mulder's apartment block, Hong Kong, North Dakota - a fight or fuck adrenaline rush. Too bad for Alex that it had always been the former, but now - thanks to the Consortium or fate or whatever malignant force that always seemed intent on dispensing torment upon Mulder - it seemed there might be the possibility of the latter.
Testing the waters, Alex allowed his thumb to stroke lightly across the back of Mulder's hand, over fine hairs and smooth tendons, watching Mulder's face for a reaction. Mulder didn't disappoint, his eyes growing wider, his breathing quickening as he cast a cautious glance at the Dutchman. Alex judged the moment ripe and turned a lazy eye upon his host, wetting his lower lip with just the promise of tongue.
Brueller had seen their exchange, no doubt sensed the charged air between the two men and Alex could almost see him thinking of the possibilities; Mulder and Alex in one room, one bed...together. Perhaps even with the Dutchman in between. Hell, if it suited his purposes, Alex would gladly let him have his fantasies.
Alex felt Mulder disengage his hand from his suddenly too-warm grip and there was a faint flush of red tracking up each of the Agent's fine cheekbones. Embarrassment? Excitement? Alex was longing to find out. With another glance at Brueller, so, it appeared, was the Dutchman. Kinky bastard.
"Perhaps you will stay a while, little katteken." Brueller was saying. "After the party is over. It will give us a chance to...talk. And for you to come to know Fox here a little better, ja?"
"Sure," Alex replied, then looked directly at Mulder. "I think I'd enjoy getting to know Fox a whole lot better."
Now Mulder did blush. It was a good look on him, shy and awkward and oh-so responsive. Alex wondered what else would make the Agent blush. Salacious images passed through his mind as he gave Mulder a slow, deliberate once over with his eyes, wondering if the body was still as good as he remembered from that day in the Hoover pool. Spending a night with Mulder would be no chore...no chore at all. Mulder's blush deepened and Alex fought to keep from grinning, knowing it wouldn't do to scare him off, skittish as he was...
"Meneer Brueller, the others are ready for you now."
"Thank you Daniel. Inform them I will be with them in a moment."
Damn! Alex felt himself tense, lowered his gaze and tipped his head slowly to one side, seeing the Dutchman's manservant and body guard, Daniel Pierce, walking away. Despite the dark man's deference to Brueller, Alex knew exactly who held the purse strings to the South African's not inconsiderable fee.
Brueller turned a cool smile on Alex, a man utterly confident in his latest conquest. "A troubling matter of business, you understand Alex."
"Of course." Alex watched as the Dutchman placed a guiding hand over Mulder's wrist and led him away, then turned his attention to the buffet cart. Champagne and caviar. *Piss water and peasant food,* he thought, snidely. He hated these places, ill at ease in a suit, wishing for his jeans and leather. In those he could relax.
Without...well, he felt like that twenty something kid again, dazzled and deluded by the promise of power. For someone who had prided himself in his intelligence, he had been such a stupid bastard.
A presence at his shoulder made him stiffen slightly, a cool, feminine hand on his arm. Turning, he was greeted with the sight of a chic blonde, her smile and raised eyebrow a little more than provocative. Bored wife, he judged, whose husband can't get it up anymore for her. Knowing the type, he was probably too busy fucking some sixteen year old kid.
"I've been watching you," she said, her voice low and throaty, seductive.
Her predatory once over had Alex tensing again. Bitter experience had taught him never to underestimate a woman...especially those cyanide blondes.
He smiled, and not nicely, enjoying the flicker of uncertainty that elicited. "Why don't you fuck off?" he suggested pleasantly, smile turning into a full-fledged smirk as she gasped and stepped back, releasing his arm in shock.
He grinned and turned back to the cart. Now why couldn't he have said those words to that traitorous bitch Marita?
Alex. Alex Krycek. The name reverberated around Fox's mind, bouncing off walls, coming up against closed doors. He knew the man, he was certain of it. And hard on the heels of that thought came visions of violence. Images of beatings of such mindless savagery, fists being thrown with impunity, the sudden crack of a gunshot, pain in his shoulder...
Fox felt the jolt as the bullet struck his body and he stumbled slightly, feeling Brueller's hand on his arm.
"Fox?" his master queried, concerned.
"It's nothing," he lied, quickly. "I'm fine."
*I'm fine, Mulder. Quite staring at me, I'm fine.*
His head snapped up and Brueller's hand dug deep, almost painfully so. "If there is something distressing you, liefhebben..."
Fox blinked, shaking himself out of his momentary discomposure.
"No. No...I just...I tripped." He gave his master the approximation of a reassuring smile, and was relieved when the iron grip loosened.
"I want you here, at my side," Brueller said, the demand softened by a warmth of affection. "To show the others you are mine. They must need to see my strengths and that is what you are, my Fox."
Fox nodded and allowed Brueller to lead him away from the clamour of the ballroom, towards the quiet, fire-lit study across the hall. He knew Brueller was employing an old tactic in presenting to his business associates his...what? Lover? Slave? Pampered pet?
Inside the study, a group of men sat around the room in various fashions, chatting quietly, smoking, drinking. Fox saw Warren across the room, slouched in a chair, legs crossed at the ankle. Everything about the room spoke of a casual atmosphere, a group of gentlemen relaxing from a day's business. Brueller took his seat by the fire, turning his chair inwards to face his guests and gestured for Fox to stand at his side, a little behind, waiting until his services were required.
After Brueller was seated, the chatter turned as if on cue from light banter to more serious topics. Fox saw to it that his master's glass was kept filled, while the Dutchman sat with both hands clasped around the arms of his chair with the air of a monarch observing his subjects from upon his throne.
As the business matters at hand twisted and turned, parroted back and forth in differing forms, Fox found his mind straying back to the disconcerting, green-eyed stranger with the sardonic smile. He glanced out of the half-open doorway, hoping for a glimpse, and saw Alex leaning in the doorway to the ballroom, a glass of champagne held stiffly in his left hand as those wolverine eyes watched the study.
*I know you know me,* Fox thought, wistfully. What is it about you that makes me want to make you bleed? He found his hand reaching up of its own accord to touch his right cheek and he closed his eyes, feeling a cool, invisible mouth, a butterfly kiss given in a heated, impassioned moment.
When he looked again, he realised with a start that Alex was watching him now with undisguised interest. The younger man smiled, and his look was anything but innocent. Never taking his gaze from Fox, Alex dipped his right index finger into his drink, then slowly parted his lips to reveal perfect white teeth. The wet finger disappeared into that pretty mouth and Alex closed his own eyes in rapt, mischievous arousal.
Fox's mouth went dessert dry and he had to take a lungful of air, uncomfortably aware of the tightness in his groin.
What are you doing to me? he implored silently, when the gaze returned to his own once more, hungrily seeking the destruction it had wrought.
*Anything I want to,* came the equally silent, self-assured answer.
A hand closed over his and Fox started, glanced down to see Brueller watching him, head tilted curiously.
"You seem disturbed, my pet," his master said, softly.
"Just distracted," Fox replied, quietly, closing his eyes to see flashes of green behind his eyelids.
"A little while longer," Brueller was saying, "then we can return to the party."
Fox nodded, took a fortifying breath and glanced back through the open doorway, but this time, there was no one there.
For Hans Brueller, the rest of the evening passed in an interminable haze. After the impromptu gathering in the study, he had once again taken Fox into the ballroom, hoping to lure Alex Krycek back into the fold, all the better to keep an eye on the young man. But his little katteken, so like Brueller's diminutive, had vanished already.
Brueller hoped for a reappearance and as he looked on, so did his precious Fox. It was unsurprising, really, for there had been something almost tangible between the two young men, an atmosphere akin to dry tinder, awaiting just the right moment for a spark. And since Fox appeared amenable, the Dutchman was hoping he would be the one to ignite their passions, the catalyst to reap the benefits of having two lovers in his house and in his bed.
Drawing on close to midnight, the reception concluded and thoughts of a pleasure-filled night ahead took second place to the courtesies the Dutchman was forced to perform as his guests gradually began to depart. One, however, showed no such inclination and Brueller cursed when he saw it was Warren, no doubt expecting Fox to be gifted to him for the night. Fox's recalcitrance aside, there was still the matter of Alex's presence. And while Brueller could see the advantages of having his little katteken in his bed as he sent Fox off to another's, he was disinclined to deny himself the pleasure of witnessing what those two would be like together.
Crossing to Warren, he glanced pointedly at his watch. "It is late, my friend," he told his undesired guest eventually.
"Indeed," Warren replied, reaching for the jacket that was slung loosely over the back of a chair. "Far too late to be attempting to leave for my house in Hanover."
"Of course," Brueller was forced to respond, after a moment's hesitation. "You are always welcome at my home."
"And you are always so generous with your hospitality," Warren said, with a meaningful glance towards Fox, in conversation with another guest.
"As you have said, Warren, it is late," Brueller said, firmly. "The pursuits at my home are best enjoyed when one is fresh...rested."
Warren inclined his head and rose. "Perhaps you are right, Hans." He gave the Dutchman a shrewd look. "I only hope you are just as rested for when we begin our negotiations. And be careful that green-eyed stray you had in earlier doesn't damage your reputation. Or the pretty Fox's, for that matter."
Brueller nodded sharply at that, warning heeded, and bade his guest a good night. Verdomb, he cursed silently, when the other was gone, damning the man's perceptiveness. If he could somehow interest Warren in Alex's more able attributes, perhaps Fox could be spared the ordeal. But there was something about Fox that was beguiling, an innocence even after all of Brueller's games. It was a heady quality, addictive, and no doubt precisely what Warren was panting after.
Sensing he was being watched, Fox looked up and gave Brueller one of those rare smiles and Brueller decided enough was enough. It was time for them all to enjoy a little guiltless pleasure and let the worries of the morning come when they did.
He went to Fox, taking his hand and bringing it up to his mouth, pressing his lips against the younger man's palm in an intimate gesture he had not permitted himself to display earlier.
"Time for us to retire, liefhebben," he murmured.
He gestured for Daniel to see the last of the lingering guests out and led Fox towards the stairs, wondering when his little katteken would re-emerge from whatever mischief he had been up to.
Fox followed his master into their bedroom, tiredly fumbling with his tie, to be greeted with the sight of his green-eyed tormentor, slouched casually against the dresser across the room. Alex's gaze flittered briefly over Brueller, then arrogantly dismissed him out of hand, before settling that unnerving gaze upon Fox. Without either words or warning, he prowled across the room, took Fox's chin in a gentle grip and placed a hot, forthright, almost challenging kiss on his lips.
For a moment, Fox could do nothing, uncertain, unsure, feeling for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Brueller, perhaps unwilling to disturb the display, had removed his jacket and took a seat beside the bed, giving Fox no indication of either his assent or his displeasure. Looking back into Alex's eyes, Fox took a breath, then surrendered himself to the inevitable and before rational thought could counter instinct, he was upon Alex, their mouths meeting and feeding in a voracious, almost furious hunger.
For Fox, it was a release of a kind he didn't understand, yet he felt a thrill nonetheless at its liberation. Hands roaming with ravenous intent, he plucked at the buttons on Alex's shirt, moaning as the younger man moved to suck viciously on the spot above his collar bone, marking him in an ancient, primeval ritual of possession. Hands shaking, Fox managed to rid Alex's of his shirt, allowing his eyes to travel admiringly down the strong, tanned chest.
It was then he caught sight of the imperfection, the stilted movement of the rigid left arm, the criss-cross of straps that held the prosthesis to the shoulder, an unbelievably stark contrast to the perfection of the rest of the body. Tentatively, Fox touched the straps with his index finger, running lightly over the join where real flesh met fake, seeing muscles bunch as Alex fought to remain still under the questing, curious, albeit ultimately gentle touch.
Confusion warred with shame as Fox looked up into Alex's eyes, knowing somehow that he was responsible, that he had somehow caused such an terrible loss. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice ragged and edged with a guilt he couldn't even begin to fathom.
Alex grasped his finger tightly and pulled it firmly away from the disfigurement. "It wasn't your fault," he replied, his own voice husky with some undefined emotion.
When Fox made to pull away, arousal ebbing, Alex took the finger he still held and sucked it into his mouth, serpentine tongue flickering expertly. Fox shuddered, closed his eyes and drew in a sharp, almost painful breath, then groaned in frustration when Alex allowed the finger to slip out of the delicious warmth...a groan that was swallowed by the second press of Alex's hot mouth against his own.
The younger man pulled back, licking his lips slowly, sensuously, tasting their combined flavours. "Soon baby," Alex promised, softly, darkly.
He began to strip Fox's clothes from his body, using such care and finesse even with just one hand to aid him. He slid the silk length of the tie from around Fox's neck, discarding, before long fingers brushed aside the folds of Fox's shirt to stroke down the smooth, lean chest, expertly seeking out the already sensitive nipples. He plucked lightly, first one then the other and Fox arched helplessly into the touch. Grinning, Alex bent to Fox's trousers, popped the button and began inching the zipper down in a slow, teasing manner as Fox fumbled to remove the rest of his shirt. As he did so, Alex crouched to shimmy down the soft material of his pants, running his fingers down Fox's tensed flank and leaning forward to suck on the tented material of the silken briefs before him.
Fox whimpered and clutched one-handed at the sable head below him, then bit his lip as Alex withdrew, only to yank down the barrier of cotton and take Fox's length into his moist, heated mouth. Fox cried out this time, his grip threatening to rip a hank of hair from Alex's head. There was a long, long moment as Alex sought to explore every inch of his increasingly hardening erection, an exquisite moment that was brought to an abrupt halt when Alex finally drew back. The younger man rose with cat-like grace from his crouch, licking his lips a second time, and removed the rest of his clothing in rippling, fluid movements.
When he was naked, Alex moved back into Fox's embrace, almost tentatively this time and Fox found his sudden shyness oddly arousing. He took the younger man's face between his hands, bestowing a kiss on the curved mouth, and felt the lips part eagerly, easily at his touch. Fox couldn't refuse such an invitation and he plunged his tongue inside, tasting the sweetness of champagne and the dark flavour of cigarette smoke.
Then Alex bumped his hips playfully forward, grinding their hard lengths together, and Fox gasped, feeling Alex's own tongue entwine with his own, pushing it greedily aside to steal inside his mouth, thrusting in an out in a lewd parody of intercourse. Only when it became apparent air was needed was Fox forced to break away, chest heaving, stepping back to survey the firm figure before him, allowing his hand to skim possessively down Alex's body. Mine, he thought, his fingers hovering just a touch away from the proud erection quivering against the younger man's abdomen.
Alex took a quick, tensing breath, the only sign of the effect that touch was having on him and less demure now, reached between them, grasping Fox's erection in a tight, almost brutal grip. He jerked once through the pre-seminal fluid and Fox bucked, hissing. Slanting him a slut-eyed look, Alex maintained his grip and slowly led Fox backwards towards Brueller's bed.
*Talk about leading me around by my dick,* Fox had time to think, before Alex grabbed his shoulder and pulled, allowing Fox's weight to tumble them both down onto the sheets. Lying in a tangled, sprawling mess, the kiss picked up where it had left off, tongues entwining even as groins met in heated promise, their erections mating in a agonisingly slow, undulating tempo.
Beneath Fox, Alex let out a gasp, arching his body to seek more from the man above him and Fox instinctively raised himself up onto hands and elbows to give what was so wantonly asked for. Moving his length alongside Alex's hard and weeping one, he teased and tantalised, until Alex reached up and grabbed the back of his head, ignoring his surprised gasp, and yanked their faces close together.
"Fuck me, Fox," he demanded, teeth barred, jade eyes glittering in an ultimate challenge. "Make me hurt."
Fox balked for an instant at the harsh words, then felt his self-control collapse, coming undone in the wake of the younger man's heat, his need. He shoved Alex back down onto the pillows, pinning him aggressively, and manoeuvred himself on top. It felt right somehow and Alex, his face contorted in pleasure and pain, threw his head back into the pillows in silent submission, spreading his strong thighs wider to allow Fox's body between.
It was a blatant request, one that few would refuse. Both men's eyes met in silent communication, Fox hesitant, questioning, Alex begging with fever-bright eyes, and a consensus was quickly reached. There came a hasty moment of preparation, a fumbling of condoms and lubrication, then Fox positioned himself over the other, pressing his cock against Alex's tight entrance, waiting until Alex looked up at him, waiting for the other to relax, let him in...before heaving into the younger man in one hard, smooth stroke.
Both men cried out at that, Alex bucking upwards into the movement, Fox fighting to hold still. Even so, the inevitable penetration seemed to have come as a surprise to both of them as they stared with something akin to shock into each other's eyes.
Alex took a constricting breath, then arched a second time, encouraging. Despite the initial, hard thrust, Fox began to move tentatively within the younger man, unwilling to hurt or harm. It felt so good, so hot, the fierce grip of Alex's muscle around his cock as he thrust in and out almost agonising in its tightness. In Fox's mind, some remnant of rationale wondered if this was what Brueller felt when he took Fox, and suddenly he could understand the appeal, the attraction.
When Alex twisted suddenly, Fox knew he'd found the other's prostate, knew from experience the blinding heights of ecstasy the rake of his cock over the sensitive gland would take Alex to. He thrust again, enjoying Alex's soft moan, revelling in the ultimate power of he held over the younger man, the pleasure he was forcing the other to feel, to endure until he was ready to take them both over the edge.
Alex shuddered at the contact, and, with a surge of rippling muscle, he threw his legs around Fox's waist, grinning at the startled shout that elicited. Fox watched in rapt fascination as Alex reached up to hook his false left hand under the bottom of the headboard for better leverage, then thrust his body against the man's above, demanding a rougher pace, a fierce rhythm Fox was helpless to deny him. Fox gritted his teeth as he plunged into the younger man, fighting to hold off as Alex took exactly what he wanted, making him wonder, despite their positions, just who was fucking who.
"Fuck...harder...," Alex gasped out. "Harder..."
This time it was Fox who grasped Alex's hair, pulling his head back and up, exposing the long, tempting sweep of his neck. He moved down to the vulnerable sweat-slicked skin below, licking at the rapidly beating pulse point below Alex's jaw line and Alex twisted his head downwards and caught Fox's lower lip in his teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood and a cry from Fox. Fox jerked back from that, then, with a snarl, lunged forward, thrusting rampantly into Alex's body with his cock, while he plundered the younger man's mouth in a hard and bruising kiss. Bearing down onto Alex's chest, he reached between their joined bodies, finding the younger man's slick cock for the first time and squeezing, wringing a second, startled cry from Alex.
Hand pumping in counterpoint to his thrusts, Fox found and locked eyes with his lover, knowing the build-up had long gone past anything that could be retreated from. Imprisoned within Alex's muscled frame, blind to anything except his own pleasure and the vivid shades of green below him, Fox signalled his impending climax with effortful, frantic thrusts, desperately hanging on by a fingernail to what was left of his control, never wanting the sensation of being inside the incredible, beautiful man beneath him to ever end.
Alex bared small white teeth in a grimace of furious lust, writhing in a wildcat frenzy under the assault. His body abruptly locked into a tightly quivering mass and he gasped out, "Mulder!" once, before bucking a third time, eyes rolling wildly as he came within Fox's grasp. Fox thrust a final time, the muscles in his back bunching, his own features frozen in euphoria as he felt internal muscles constrict, ripple around his cock, and suddenly he was climaxing. He heard someone shout, a roaring in his ears as his pleasure spiralled up and upwards as he came again and again within the molten depths of Alex's body...
Brueller heard the shout, felt his own body tense, reaching a peak, and was momentarily consumed by his orgasm. When he came back to himself, he felt a dampness over his hand, across his shirt. Nuken! he swore silently, looking down to witness the evidence of his spilled seed, his turgid cock spent within his grasp. It had not been the manner in which he had hoped to relieve himself.
He cast his eyes over the twinned, heaving, breathless bodies lying tangled and satiated on his rumpled bed. They had been beautiful together, so wild and uninhibited, like animals, mating in unrestrained passion. Later then, he promised himself, as he headed towards the bathroom. His first climax would simply allow him to take his second pleasure in a more leisurely manner in the morning.
What the fuck had he done? They were the first words that tumbled through the post-coitus haze clouding Alex's mind. Mulder's body, Mulder's weight was pinning him to the bed, the Agent's long limbs entangled within his own, Alex's own fluids spread and sticky between them. His ass hurt, in fact all of him felt sore, bruised, but it was a pleasant ache, a lazy lethargy that swept through his tired muscles. And the sweet sensation of Mulder's breath against his cheek was almost enough to permit him to relax, to sleep.
Almost, but not quite. For while he was happy to lay where he was, sprawled with an oblivious, naked Mulder in his arms, he had business to take care of. He had planned on it as soon as the Dutchman had entered the room, figuring he could put the older man down and snatch Mulder before anyone in the household was the wiser.
But seeing Mulder in his crumpled tux, looking gorgeous and vulnerable and so fucking edible, reason had fled in the wake of desire. And what did it matter if he fucked Mulder? Nothing would change and he was a fool if he denied himself the pleasure that was being so blatantly offered. That Mulder had wanted him, had been inside him, had fucked him raw, had made it all the better, all the more undeniable. And the sex had been fantastic, wild, a culmination of three years of pain and betrayal and lust. Fucking incredible.
Alex was just sorry it had to end. Ignoring Mulder's sleepy, half-hearted grousing, he rolled the other over onto his back. Grabbing a fistful of sheet, Alex scrubbed the semen from his body, then bent over Mulder and did likewise, removing the condom and tossing it aside. He then spent a long moment enjoying the blissed out look on Mulder's relaxed features, the lean, satiated body that was draped languorously over the rumpled sheets.
But will you still respect me in the morning? he thought, wryly. If he continued on his current plan of action, the definitive answer was no. But while a Mulder without his memories might provide Alex with an opportunistic fuck every now and then, a Mulder without his memories wasn't really Mulder at all. He was Fox. Brueller's pet, who'd take it up the ass on his master's say so. And other than a great body and those hot little noises he had made during sex, Fox had nothing of Mulder's verve or tenacity, lacking the brooding, relentless, infuriating nature that had so attracted Alex in the first place.
Shaking Mulder, Alex waited until the heavily lidded gaze had opened and focused, Mulder smiling in sleepy lassitude, stretching his arms cat-like above his head. Without taking his own gaze from the other man's, Alex reached for his prosthesis, removing the concealed panel above the elbow and took out a small ampoule. The needle-sharp end glinted dully as he held it up before Mulder's eyes.
Mulder saw it, smile fading, eyes widening to the size of quarters. He shifted, began to speak, but Alex shushed him with a finger to his kiss-swollen lips, wiping away a bead of blood that had welled from the bite mark he had unwittingly inflicted earlier.
"Ssh, Fox," he soothed, quietly, knowing he didn't have time for any hysterics. If Mulder chose to fight, then Alex would have to push down his inclination to let Mulder have his way and restrain him. Either way, accepting or fighting, Alex would see to it that Mulder got the drug. "Listen, baby." Baby again? Shit Alex. "Just relax and let me do this. It won't hurt much, I swear. Just a little sting."
"What it is?" Mulder whispered back, voice almost imperceptible, wary, waiting.
"A way to get your memories back. Just trust me. Can you trust me Fox?"
Mulder's eyes were huge and unblinking, his whole body rigid, but slowly, he began to uncoil a little. "I don't think I should," he admitted, and suddenly it wasn't Brueller's pet any more, but Mulder who stared up at Alex with so little trust, yet so much want, needing to believe.
Alex couldn't resist and he lunged forward, pressing onto the wet, hot mouth, tongue diving in for a final, lasting taste of the man before the shit hit the proverbial fan. As he did so, his right hand jabbed the tiny needle into Mulder's thigh, and he felt the Agent tense in discomfort, start to struggle. "Hush, baby, it's alright," he husked, pinning him until the struggles faded.
Mulder had a frown on his face now, mouth working to speak, but no words came out. Alex climbed off him, off the bed and stared impassively down at his naked, supine figure for a moment. What happened from hereon in was in the hands of fate now. The Brit would probably be pissed at Alex's initiative, but Alex didn't give a fuck anymore, especially considering what he was about to do.
Whoever had said revenge was a dish best served cold was a fool. It was better taken in the heat of the moment, while the blood was still thrumming and turning from Mulder's prone form, Alex stalked naked towards the bathroom, towards the sound of running water and the man who had corrupted him so many years before.
END OF CHAPTER SEVEN
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