Novice, part 2/?

by Nicholas

Title: Novice - part two
Author: Nicholas
E-Mail: Status: WIP

Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek, Walter Skinner and all the other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.

Classification Specifics:
Eventually this will be M/Sk/K, BDSM, NC-17 with nice, nice details and action and all that very cool stuff. For "part two": Sk/K implied, M/O, angst, R.

Author's Notes:
Thanks to Raven for the encouragement.


After having done nothing more than to sit in silence and the TV flickering I went out some night in that week, just needed to feel people around me, real people, not those actors in sitcoms. It was a warm night and due to that, I wore light clothes. I didn't take much time for preparing myself, not more than a shower and into the clothes and into the night. I was back to my usual club hopping, with one significant difference. I wanted to feel. I wanted to live. I wanted to be. I said before I had men and women coming on to me, offers I usually declined. Not so that night. No, I didn't have sex, I didn't get laid although, it could have happened. Let's just say that at the point where my inhibitions were loosened far enough to get more physical, the alcohol level in my blood had risen too high as that my brain could make certain body parts understand that sex should be on the schedule. And before I embarrassed myself with not getting it up I stuck to hot tongue action and thrusting on the dancefloor. I managed to keep the number of females and males just about even, at least I think I did. My memory of that night is still only hazy in me. The last thing I remember is being dragged out of a club after having vomited freely across the dancefloor and a youngish guy who had just had his tongue in my mouth. He didn't look too happy. The rest of the dancers didn't either, so I ended up on the street.

The next thing I remember is someone's hand on my shoulder, asking me whether he could drive me somewhere. One look across the street confirmed that he was indeed a cab driver and not someone looking for some piece of ass. I mumbled Skinner's and Alex's address, knowing they would probably be less than happy if I showed up there in the middle of the night, stone-drunk. The night Skinner had bailed me out of jail was nothing in comparison to that night regarding my blood's acolohol levels. But I knew that I'd have been less than happy spending that night in my dark, crappy, tiny apartment. Their house was a so much nicer option. So the guy drove me there and told me to keep my money, that the ride was on the house and that he was merely helping some guy out. I managed a weak 'thanks' and made my way up to the house. Right, I did not want to ring and see myself looking into the eyes of my very mad ex-boss but I did not want to know what problems their neighbours would have with a drunk man camping on the doorstep either. So I had to ring. I visibly cringed upon hearing the footsteps down the stairs, my eyes were fixed on my shoes when the door opened and I only slowly trailed them up the body of the person in front of me...

"Oh, Alex." My slurred words didn't exactly impress him, he only rolled his eyes and pulled me inside. I looked him up and down, taking in his boxershorts and shirt. "You're pretty," left my mouth before my brain had time to filter it.

"And you are drunk. Come on, up to the bathroom. Cold shower." With that he grabbed my left arm and dragged me up the stairs. Everything blurred around me, I felt sea sick. And nothing really made sense anymore. I stopped dead on the stairs leaning against Alex's pull with all my strength.

"Quite pushy, aren't you?", I slurred at him, which only made him use a little more strength, mumbling away under his breath as he dragged me behind him. "You don't want to find out just how pushy, believe me, Mulder."

He opened the bathroom door, the showerdoor, thrust me inside and turned the shower on dead cold, slapping away my hand as I, again coherent, tried to turn up the warm water just a a tiny notch after a few minutes.

"Jeez Alex, I'm freezing in here. Come on man, that's got to be enough."

After the longest minutes of my life he turned off the water and took in my apperance, sodden clothes, dripping wet, me shivering, my teeth clattering and still not quite clear-minded.

"So, can you take off your clothes on your own or do you need help with that?"

"I can. On my own."

He looked seriously concerned when I twisted and turned to get the skin tight and then wet shirt to come up over my head, even more concerned when my hands tangled in it and I almost toppled over, only his strong - did I really think that? - hands keeping me from falling over in the shower stall. He then did help me to undress until I stood buck-naked before him. To stay with the truth, my more interesting parts had shrivelled up so much during the arctic shower that there really was nothing to see, nothing to impress with. Alex handed me a towel, but I obviously did a poor job of taking care of myself, so he ended up drying me off until my skin had a pink glow to it. Once more his eyes raked over my naked body, making me flush slightly.

"Is it okay for you to sleep bare or do you need some shorts?"

"Nah it's okay, you don't need to get anything." I stumbled in front of him into my room and feel onto the bed like a dead weight. He came over and pulled the blanket over me which made me grin.

"Good night, Mommy. Don't I get a kiss?"

He snorted. "Good night, Mulder. Maybe someday, if you ask nicely." Then he put out the light and I heard his steps disappearing down the hallway. Right, I did only imagine that comment, at least I tried to believe that when I snuggled into the bed, falling into a deep sleep and praying that I wouldn't be hungover the next day.

It was a dreamless sleep but sure felt like a nightmare when I opened my eyes, only to shut them tightly again upon encountering the first harsh sunbeams shining through the window. Alright, I was hungover. Badly. It took me several minutes to be able to pry my eyes open and will them to stay open long enough to take a look at the time. Afternoon. Someone had kindly placed a glass of water and an aspirin on the bedside table. That made me grin to myself, Alex must have thought of everything. I swallowed the pill with some difficulty then sank back into the softness of the bed, enjoying it to lie in bed and wake up slowly. There were no sounds to be heard from inside the house, only the birds chirping outside. The past evening was merely a bubble in my mind, although I did remember the rough outline, and grinned sheepishly to myself upon remembering the look of that young man most of my stomach's contents ended up on. Priceless, I chuckled to myself. My arrival here wasn't that clear anymore, but I did remember getting into bed naked. Check, I still was. A cursory glance around the room made me notice the clothes on the chair that clearly were not mine. Probably like the shirt they were Alex's, we were build sort of alike, with him being by far more muscled, but sheesh, no nit-picking that morning.

Lying in bed got boring after a while, just as I was short of playing out a scene with my left hand being Mickey Mouse and my right one being Donald Duck, I got up. My head and stomach protested as I slowly dragged myself into the vertical, and once more when I got up and made the first tentative steps towards the door, but it was nothing little breaks couldn't cure. I put on the shirt and the boxer shorts, leaving the jeans where they were for now, then opened the door a tiny bit, glanced through the gap and upon seeing no-one, opened it fully.

"Hello?" No reply. I made my way downstairs to check whether they might in the yard, but nope, there was no-one either. I looked around, a little lost. Me, all alone? A note taped to the fridge backed that up.

'Mulder, we are out shopping. Should be back by six. Help yourself to food and whatever else you need. If you want, you can stay for dinner. If not, leave the key in the mailbox. Alex & Walter'

All alone. All alone in a big house. Hmm...nice. I remained in the kitchen for a few moments indecisive of what to do. Then opted for a shower and whatever would come to my mind afterwards. I showered, dressed, noticed with surprise that my sodden clothes from the night before where gone and found myself in the kitchen again twenty minutes later. A look into the fridge revealed many nice things but I did, in the end, settle on muffins. I sat down at the table, read a few articles in the paper while I devoured two or three or four of the selected items, all the time thinking how it must be to have a home like that. How it must be to live there and get up and kiss your lover awake and venture into the kitchen and sit side by side drinking your coffee with the sun breaking through the glass and highlighting your lover's features, bathing his eyes or nose or mouth in warm, orange light. I missed company badly. I hated waking up on the couch in my apartment, the leftovers still on the table, the TV flickering and, if God was having a bad day, with rain against the windows. I hated the cold, empty, lonely feeling and as I found myself sitting in the kitchen of the two, I noticed just what I was missing indeed.

I gave myself up to the gloomy thoughts just a while longer, then padded over into the living room and stretched out on the long comfy couch, almost feeling Alex and Walter sitting their, picking up on their scent and I didn't feel so alone anymore. I must have fallen asleep because the text time I opened my eyes it was to see four people staring down at me. I grinned sheephisly and mouthed a 'hello'.

The other two men besides Skinner and Alex were roughly my age, roughly my heigth. And they were muscled, more than me. Otherwise they were not really outstanding regarding their looks, one blond and blue-eyed, the other one dark-haired and gray-eyed. They were dressed completely in black. The blond guy spoke first.

"Is he-?"

"No," came the immediate answer from Skinner and Alex.

"Does he-?"

"No, he doesn't," Walter said with a sigh. I felt like a toy being checked-out and discussed, was short of saying something silly like 'if you fill me with water I can pee', but I held back, only got up and offered my hand to the blonde guy.

"Hi, I'm Mulder."

"Unusual name, I'm Mark,", then he pointed to the man next to him. "That's Darren. We are friends of Walter and Alex. At least I think you could call it that." Then he turned to Skinner. "A word in the kitchen?" The two disappeared and I was left with two dark-haired men, but Alex was already taking charge pointing to seats where we could sit and I flopped down, while Darren remained standing near the door. Strange guy. Seeing that Alex poured himself Vodka, which really was such a clich, I did feel some sort of tiny craving for something liquid and burning, But I did not want to appear impolite. Alex sensed my look and obviously my thoughts though.

"No way, Mulder. I can get you some orange juice, but after last night I doubt you're in any condition to be drinking tonight again."

"Jeez, Alex, it's one tiny glass." I whined. And pouted. And pouted some more. But Alex wouldn't budge, went to the kitchen instead and came back with a glass of orange juice that he dumped in front of me with that grin of his. Skinner and, what was his name, Mark, followed in tow. Mark and Alex sat down on the couch, Skinner took place in the seat next to mine which left Darren standing as the couch was only meant for two people. He dropped to the floor by Mark's feet, kneeling in what appeared to be not too comfortable from the outside. So I filed that away under unusual but not an x-file. I felt like the odd one out, the kid who wasn't let in on a secret everyone else shared, which made me pout. Alex tried his best to keep the conversation going, but there was an obvious barrier, presumably due to the fact that they knew something I didn't or that they shared something I didn't which made everyone in the room uncomfortable, except for Darren, obviously. He seemed quite content and blissed-out with his head leaning on Mark's right knee.

Well, maybe my attitude towards the situation, didn't exactly improve the atmosphere. Whenever asked for an opinion I gave a curt answer, clearly displaying my dissatisfaction with not knowing whatever they were hiding. Pretty soon the evening was coming to an end, Mark and Darren said goodbye to the lovey-dovey couple by the door, while I had stayed in my seat.

The two reentered the living room, having what I can only describe as stern looks on their faces. Alex walked to where I sat until he was standing over me, leaning down slightly. Within inches of my face.

"What the hell is your problem, Mulder? Care to explain what this show was supposed to be? They are friends of ours and I did expect you to at least try to stay polite."

"I was fucking polite, Krycek.", I replied angrily, having jumped up and pushed Alex back.

Then Walter's voice, cold, almost freezing, from the door. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't show you the door now, Mulder. You call me out of the blue, ask me to bail you out. I do, offer you a room, albeit not with purely selfless intent because I was interested in you as a person. The next thing you are doing is screaming at both me and my lover in our house. I excuse that, seeing that you probably have been shocked to find us togeher. I visit you in your apartment, talk to you, invite you again. You come over, we share good conversation. That is fine. You are showing up again in the middle of the night, drunk of your ass, you look for a place to stay in our house. And we offer it to you freely. We show our trust by leaving you alone in this house. We have shown our good intentions our trust all the time, and what do you do? You insult our friends. Tell me why I shouldn't just throw you out?"

"I didn't damn well ask you to show me your trust."

Alex had gotten close to me again and I felt strangely intimdated by his calm, quiet voice. "No you didn't but you counted on it every time. You counted on it last night when I opened the door. You counted on us to let you stay here. The address you wanted to be brought to was ours. So tell me Mulder why, if it all just pisses you of so much?"

"I don't know," My voice got louder. "I don't fucking know."

"But I do, Mulder." Alex eyes were looking deep into mine, holding me concentrated on him. "You want our attention, Mulder. You want us to focus on you at least a little bit. You want to feel that someone is there for you, that someone cares. You want to know that whatever shit you are pulling there will always be someone to catch you. And so you have to test us, isn't it that? Pulling stunts, showing up here, every time in a worse mental or physical condition because you've got to see how far we would go, how far we could still accept that. That little stunt just now, what was it more than a show... but you know what Mulder, much more than this all is a test for us, it is a test for yourself, you wait for us to let you down, you wait for us to throw you out because then you have proven to yourself once more that you are not worthy of friends, of people who care. That you are too much of an ass for them too care, that you are not the relationship type. And then you go home, lick your wounds and congratulate yourself again for having proved once more that you aren't worth shit. Only to go out the next day to show the world your genius, your intellect, your knowledge. You are the psychologist, have been classfied and classified yourself as obsessive-complusive, well, I for my part would add narcissistic to the list. And you know it. You may have never spelled it out to yourself that way, but you are not dense. And you are not clueless especially when it comes to yourself. You could probably analyze your behaviour better than any of us. You are looking for that deep connection to someone. You want to feel that someone approves of you even when you aren't 'good' by your or their standards. And then you try to prove both, that you are worth something because you are inetlligent, because you are brilliant. And that you are worth nothing, constantly fucking up relationships. But what you truly want is someone who loves you not for your brilliance but for the person you are."

I felt deafeated, broken almost. "You don't know shit, Krycek. As you said I'm the psychologist, you are not. So don't give me that pop-psych crap and pretend that you know me. You never could. I don't know who has told you these things or just where you have read it, but thanks, I don't need a 'let's analyze Mulder'-session."

"Well believe it or not. I see people like you in action all the time. It is better to at least know some background before going in and making fatal mistakes with anyone subbing to me. It is better to know what motivates people, subs, slaves to seek me out for playing or maybe more than that before I just turn the wrong screw in their mind and have them broken, unable to function anymore. So believe it or not, I know that stuff, Mulder, because I experience it. Unlike some shrink in some big fat praxis, 100 dollars for fifty minutes, spending the time counting the money in his mind's eye. I'm no psychologist, God knows I would be a crappy one, but I am a dom, and I think it is one of my obligations to know stuff like that."

I stared at him. A breathless, wild look in my eyes, my arguments forgotten for a minute. Involuntarily, I stepped back a bit. Then caught myself, stared at Alex, spoke provocatively, "What makes you say that I am acting like a sub?"

He grinned first, then laughed. Skinner grinned, too. Well, I didn't think it was funny really. I glared at them, willing them to shut up and answer my question. Alex got a hold of himself and reverted to grinning.

"You sure go into it head-first, eh, Mulder? Other people would have at least feigned surprise or asked a question about the lifestyle. But you march in for the kill. To answer your question, you simply act like a sub, probably even are one although, as far as I know the files, you never acted on that. You, Mulder, are the textbook description for submissive and still looking."

"Bullshit," I replied tersely.

"Well if you don't want to believe, go ahead, I don't want to be the one to destroy your illusions of you being an alpha-male. As I said, you are the psychologist and I believe you do know that being submissive does not mean being a whimpering piece of flesh at someone's feet. Although I believe that it is right now the image you have in mind. And it disgusts you on so many levels, levels that I can't, would not want to spell out now because you aren't my sub, because I am not responsible for you. And I don't think it would do you a whole lot good if I started messing with your mind now."

"So that is the trust factor, eh? Fucking good way of trust to invite someone to have a new boytoy. And just what is your role in that Skinner?" I advanced on him slowly. "Just who are you? His boytoy?" Then I stopped dead, turning back to Alex. "So I had it all wrong, eh? Not you are Skinner's boytoy, but he is yours. Does that make you hard to have one of your enemies on your knees? Does it make you shoot your load to see him writhing under your whip? Isn't it the ultimate pleasure for someone like you to humiliate someone like him? That's what it is, Krycek. That's what it does for you."

Walter snorted dejectedly. "Don't be an idiot, Mulder. We are living together, yes. Alex is a Dom. And so am I. Usually we are switching in case you are interested in the details, one subbing for the other for a night or two, it is what we enjoy. But ultimately both of us enjoy dominating a lot more than submitting. No-one is anyone's 'boytoy' here although I am surprised by your excessive usage of that term. It is not what I think of you but maybe it is what you think of yourself."

I glared at Skinner. Then at Alex.

"Fuck you." I stormed out, slammed the door with a loud crash behind me, left them in their house and headed off into the next-best direction, following the street. I heavily disliked being played. Alex said he wouldn't want to mess with my mind full well knowing that he had been doing exactly that. I hated them for telling me. Then I hated them for not having me told earlier. And all that hate was transmitted into energy and I started running which must have looked ridiculous in the middle of the night, but it helped me to focus or in that case to focus on something else besides their revelation. Unlucky me, that my mind decided to focus away from the words and created images, colorful, vivid images. At first harmless scenes such as Skinner sitting on the couch and Alex kneeling next to him, not unlike the way Mark and Darren had been seated that night and then I understood just what sort of friends the two must have been. The image changed to Alex sitting and Skinner kneeling which was not less erotic, not less appealing. Then my mind decided to erase the clothes away, them naked on the couch, then them kissing, fondling each other, sucking, fucking each other. Then Skinner at the wall, spread-eagled, Alex with a whip, behind him, the red streaks on Skinner's back tell-tale signs. Next scene: Alex cuffed to a bed frame, adorned with nipple clamps and cockring while Skinner was moving a dildo in and out of his ass. The images started blending into one another, making a collage of frenzy, lust, sex, eroticism, and then the final picture that seemed to be created by the swirls and that I saw for not even a second, only to have it etched into my mind: me, kneeling, naked, submissive, in front of both Alex and Skinner. Me, looking down, obviously focussed on the inside while I feel their approval radiating, their love shining on me. Me, content.

And then my world goes almost black and I collapse onto my knees on the barely lit street, breathing heavily, trying to ban the swirl of images from my mind, trying to regain my breath, feeling tears drop onto the jeans. I didn't know when I had started crying. But I stayed there for a long time. My knees on the asphalt, tears falling freely with images peeking around the corners of my mind every now and then. Images that disturbed me, but also caused arousal. The images were not new, only the people in them had changed. Before Alex had told me about the lifestyle he and Skinner were involved in, these images had contained faceless, nameless bodies, mere schemes, now these bodies had faces, our faces. I was disgusted by the image of me on my knees serving one of them, serving anyone for that matter, but at the same time my cock was hard. And it was not only the sexual arousal, it was in many ways so much more profound. It felt right. And I hated myself for that feeling, for the need to feel weak, for the need to be, well, dominated.

The fantasies were old, as old as I can remember, but they had never been spelled out like that, the way Alex had done. I had never been exposed by that, I had never exposed myself to myself in such ways before. And it was a shock, a revelation, an utterly confusing situation. My body and part of my mind reacted to something that the great, rational part of me said was never to happen. That that part of me called perverted. And I was torn, that night on the street, between arousal and disgust, fascination and rejection, fantasy and reality.

I was still disgusted when I made my way to my apartment by foot, soon having people rushing by me on the way to work. I was disgusted when I arrived there and fell onto the couch and had my jeans open and my cock outside before I had done anything else. I was disgusted when I produced the images in my mind, me on my knees, me serving, me being fucked, while my hand, slickened with lotion, made rough up and down movements on my cock. I was disgusted when I came with me in my mind's eye while I was whipped, flying on an endorphin high. I cried myself to sleep after that with the drying cum pooled on my chest, my hand on my then flaccid cock.

When I awoke later that day, the evidence of the early morning's jerk-off session still as visible as ever, I was not only disgusted anymore, but angry, furious. I hated myself for the fantasies. I hated myself for being able to jerk off to that and coming harder than in a long time. I hated myself. And I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to erase the pictures again, how to turn time backwards, how to make myself believe that that evening had never happened, that my mind was still free of such knowledge.

So I looked at myself in the mirror, looked at the eyes I had seen in the images, looked at the mouth I had seen begging, whimpering in need to be used, tortured. I looked at the hair that had been sticky with someone else's cum, the nipples with clamps screwed so tight as to draw blood, the neck with a collar or as a variation a belt wrapped tight to control the breathing. My eyes narrowed to slits while I was telling myself what sort of loser I was, what sort of freak to even desire these things.

And then I slapped myself. Hard. Once. Twice. Three times. From then on I lost count.When my eyes focussed clearly again my cheeks were an inflamed, dark red. The wetness of my tears had only enhanced the sting of my hands. I continued looking at myself, taking in the eyes, the mouth, the face as a whole, my body, at least the part of it I was able to see. With one last snort I slammed my right fist into the wall next to the mirror then left the bathroom. My knuckels were bleeding but I didn't care. I sat down on the couch, the TV stayed off and I stared into the emptiness with the same words, the same images swirling in my mind. I only got up when my body functions were calling. I barely ate, drank some water every now and then. Four days long. For four days I didn't do anything but that, my stoic silence and staring into emptiness only interrupted by sleep or other bouts of auto-agression. You can't call it living anymore what I did to myself those few days. It was worse much worse than simply 'living'. That wasn't life.

Five days after that revelation my self-hate had reached its peak, my rational part, the one inflicting the punishment on myself, told me it was time to get the real thing if I wanted it so badly, told me to go out and get whipped and get fucked raw. Told me to get it up the ass real good by some tough, manly guy if I was such a wimp that I could only get it up when thinking of these sort of images. That part told me to do so and I did.

I knew where the leather bars were of course. I didn't know safer ways for acting out those fantasies or maybe I did and that part of my subconsciousness that wanted to see me punished for them wanted to it to be as unsafe as possible. That's how I ended up in a seedy bar, with leather-clad men, all looking as if they needed a piece of ass to get off on that night. I knew I looked innocent, like a newcomer as soon as I entered the bar. I didn't know what sort if clothes would have been appropriate for these sort of occassions. I wore merely black jeans, a dark shirt...nothing else and I was eyed as soon as I closed the door behind me. I proceeded to a table, watching everyone carefully. It was dark in there and I mean really dark. The lamps were barely illumianating a few inches around themselves, the air was thick with sexual tension, the looks of the people spoke of quick and rough sex.. I felt uncomfortable in that place but there were those two voices nagging away inside of me. One saying that I should just go ahead and get my ass kicked, while the other was merely curious and content that some fantasies were about to be explored.

I didn't have to wait too long for someone to approach me at that little table where I had taken a seat, sipping at a glass of water. He was a good fifteen to twenty years older than me, graying, short hair, piercing blue eyes. A look along his body revealed undershirt and leatherjacket as well as leather trousers. His eyes were on me, hard.

"You looking for something, boy?" he asked, with a deep bass voice, almost reverberating in me.

"Yes," My voice sounded tiny and thin against his. I averted my eyes, looked at the glass in my hands.

"Yes, what?" I cursed myself for not having thought of it. It wasn't as if I didn't know what he wanted to hear, what was expected of me.

"Yes, sir." When I kept on looking down he grabbed my chin rather forcefully, turning my head to face him. My eyes were staring at him, fearfully. And him screaming at me hurt my ears. I felt his spittle on my face, smelled his breath that spoke of beers and more. Honestly, I was terrified, paralyzed, couldn't speak, couldn't move.

"Listen to me, boy, I don't give a fuck about you. Have all the atitude you like but your ass is going to be mine tonight, so you better fucking know that, too. So what's it to be?"

"I'd rather not..." I mumbled barely audible. "I'd rather not have sex with you...sir." I added as an afterthought. Forced to look into his eyes due to the grip he still had, seeing my own reflection in his pupils, his eyes firing away when his yelling continued.

"You are a fucking pricktease. First yes, then no, for that alone you should have my big dick stuffed up your ass but good. You hear me boy?"

I felt my eyes tearing up slightly. I would not cry. I would not cry in front of that bimbo. "Yeah...yes, sir, I hear you."

Just then a voice appeared from next to me. "Jim man, the kid is terrified. Look at him, he'd never be able to ride your ass the way you like it. Do you see his eyes. He would rather leave running right now, if you'd let him go."

"Fuck off, he's mine for the night." Just what I needed, two of these toughies fighting over me.

"No-one said anything else. But do you really want this newbie to bite off your cock while sucking you?" The grip on my chin eased slightly, then disappeared. I tentatively worked my jaw a little, exploring whether all bones were still in their normal positions. Whoever that guy next to me was, I was damn grateful he was there. Obviously he had convinced Jimbo that it would be better if it wasn't my ass he'd be fucking that night.

"But next time I see you, boy, it's your ass my cock's buried in, no matter if you want it or not." With that last threat Jim left the table and I gasped loudly, letting the tension flow away, then took some hasty gulps of water before slowly turning to the man standing next to me. Obviously my ass would be his then. After all he had won that alphamale fight. He looked at me sternly.

"You know, boy, you should have considered if this is what you really want before coming here as fresh meat."

"I do want it," I glared at him. Jeez, it wasn't that I had ended up there by chance looking for a cozy place to have a beer.

"Sir," he looked at me expectantly, until I understood what he wanted to hear.

"I do want it...sir." My voice had gotten tiny and quiet and hollow again, my eyes once more not on him but on the few light beams causing strange patterns to merge in my water. He chose to sit down in frontof me. He was dressed much the same way the other man had been, was also one of the rough, bulkier types.

"You know you are mine for the night? Look at me boy."

"Yes, sir. I...I know." I made my eyes glide up his body to settle on his face, dark brown eyes basically looking down on me as he had a few inches on me. Had I met him somewhere else I'd have said that he looked nice, but under that circumstances I wasn't quite sure what to think.

"Well, let's go then, boy." He got up, waited for me to follow him.

"Go where...sir?" I asked, fear creeping into my voice. I did not really want to go anywhere with that man, although he didn't appear to be as vicious as that Jim-guy. But still...

"My home, boy. Or would you prefer playing in one of the backrooms here, kiddo? I mean if so, come on, let's take a look if something's free. We can even invite Jimbo over there and some of his friends to watch. Would you like that, boy? We could always do that." He turned already knowing what my answer was. Then left the bar while I scrambled out of my chair to follow him. The cool night air sharpened some of my senses somewhat and I asked myself what the hell I was doing there. But before I could clearly finish that thought we had ended up at his car, he motioned for me to get in and I did. I mentally slapped myself, an ex-FBI agent being picked up by a man for rough sex. And he even comes willingly.

The man didn't say much while driving, only glimpsing at me every now and then, while I fought the sudden urges to open the door and let myself slide onto the asphalt. I was still rational enough to realize the foolishness of that idea, so I resolved to staring out of the window, trying hard not to think about what lay ahead of me, trying hard not to think of the situation I had gotten myself into.

We stopped in one of DC's suburbs, a small house, obviously well-cared for, as much as I could make it out in the dark. And I felt like a rentboy stepping out of the car following a man I had never seen before into a house in an area of DC that was foreign to me.

He switched on the light inside and closed the door behind him. His house looked, normal and I felt like a trapped animal in a cage, wanting nothing more than to leave. On the other hand I couldn't deny that it was what I wanted, that I had been curious about that sort of things. When the man advanced on me I involuntarily took a few steps back and until I was pressed against a wall. He was leaning into me, his hands stetching my arms over my head and his lips on my own, his tongue demanding entrance. My lips were pressed together tightly, my eyes darting around wildly. He let up for a moment, glared at me.

"Boy," his quiet, almost menacing voice made me shiver. I knew what he wanted. And I wanted it too, somehow, so why couldn't I bring my body to obey me and -. His lips on mine cut my thoughts short and I consciously, with much will power, relaxed my lips long enough for him to push his tongue inside and explore the cavern of my mouth throroughly. And that he did. There was not a cell left untouched by the moist organ of his. With a loud smack his mouth left mine and his eyes had a fiery, glazed over look to them. The hard cock, straining against his jeans, was further evidence for his obvious arousal. Mine, on the other hand, remained resolutely limp. A fact that did not go by him when he checked with a firm grip and only commented on with an raised eyebrow.

"Follow me, boy," With that he walked down the hallway and stopped in front of a door, clearly expecting me to follow his lead. And I did. Reluctantly. Always reminding myself that this was indeed what I wanted. The door opened to a bedroom that contained not much mroe than a bed with iron rails, a big bed. There were cuffs fastenend to the rails which made my eyes widen slightly. He made me step into the room before him then switched on the light, closed the door. Trapped. Once more.

The man leaned against the door, fixing me with his eyes, his lips forming one command.


I stared at him. My arms hanging stiffly by my side, not moving even the slightest inch. His gaze intensified, making me fear whatever repercussions might come up if I did not obey and so my hands moved, slowly, very slowly, to start stripping off the few clothes I was wearing. At first I drew my shirt over my head, panicking almost when I didn't see him for the short moment my vision was concealed by the material. I felt my muscles stretch when I worked the piece of clothing up, felt his eyes on me. My nipples stood erect as the rather cool air hit them. Then I stood with the garment in my hands, not knowing where to put it. Upon sensing my confusion his head indicated a chair a few feet from me. I walked there, and put the shirt down with great care, stalling for time more than anything else. An impatient clicking of his tongue encouraged me to go on. So I turned back to him, once more concentrating on his eyes rather than on his hand on his crotch.

My fingers moved to the zipper of my jeans, first opening the button, then drawing the zipper down while shaking visibily. I worked the jeans down my legs and stepped out of them, folding them carefully, to place them on top of my shirt on the chair.

I felt incredibly naked already then, only wearing my skin-tight boxershorts that left nothing to the imagination. My cock was still completely flaccid in them though. This scene did nothing to turn me on. The man at the door did nothing for me. Everything, the whole set up just felt wrong. But I stayed.

"All of it," the man nodded in direction of my still covered privates. With a deep sigh, shaking hands and tears pricking at the back my eyes I worked the shorts down, concealing my private parts for a moment with them before adding them to the pile. Involuntarily my hands moved to cover myself when I faced him again.

"Boy, I want to see everything." So I moved my arms to hang stiffly at my sides again. He came over to me, his arm going around my shoulder, drawing me to him, his mouth finding mine again while his other hand centred in on my cock and balls, fondling me roughly. I gasped for air and managed to press a few words out while taking a step or two back.

"Shouldn't we...shouldn't I have a safeword...sir?"

He looked at me, clearly amused. "Red, if you want to stop," he replied then taking a few steps towards me, me backing away until the back of my legs hit the bed and I fell down on it. He moved in closer, then lay down on top of me, almost crushing me with his weight, ravaging my mouth again, not caring much about my extreme passiveness. But then, it probably was what he wanted. He started touching my privates again and I closed my eyes imagining someone, anyone else to be doing that. My mind settled on the picture of Walter, Walter touching me down there while Alex was stroking softly my upper body. And I kept telling myself that it was Walter, only Walter whose hands moved further down to circle my anus, trying to pry open the muscle with blunt fingers. That it was Walter who slicked said fingers with lube to go about stretching me. That it was Walter's fingers in me.

My eyes were screwed tightly by that point. And when the man started to press his condom-clad cock against my asshole my mind couldn't keep up the fantasy of Walter any longer and I realized that I was about to be penetrated by someone I barely knew. And that I didn't want that penetration, period.

"Red," I gasped out. "Red, red, red, red," And I rolled into a tight ball on that stranger's bed, crying, sobbing, shaking badly. I was cursing myself for being such a wimp, full well knowing that this was, ultimately not even close to BDSM, not even close to some of the fantasies I was having. I hated myself for not having been able to go through with that, for not having been able to even let myself be penetrated by a man. And that one part of my mind starting calling me weakling and wimp and idiot and all those nasty words, making me feel like a loser for being unable to do anything right.

I didn't even fully notiec that the man had indeed reacted to the safe word, and had not simply gone on. Something which I would find out later was not as 'normal' as it should be. Not everyone plays safe and especially leather bars were nothing that I would call a safe playground. But he had stopped. Even though or maybe because I had shocked him with my outburst, with the tears flowing from my eyes.

He let me cry, not sure whether he could touch me or whether it would make me panic even more and so he sat on the bed and waited for me to calm down, to come back to reality so to speak and with a few last sobs I did manage that and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, feeling like a jerk for fucking up his night entertainment.

"I'm sorry, I...-"

"I knew there was something not quite right with you, boy." He said, shaking his head slowly. "I knew it when I saw you sitting at that table in the bar, the way you were truly frightened when Jim came up to you. It wasn't just an act for you. You really were scared. Why did you do that boy? Why go into the lion's den if it's not what you want? You know, most of these guys wouldn't have stopped."

I looked down, ashamed. "I know. I know...I just. I thought I wanted it. I thought it would be okay and that I could manage I wanted to try all that out."

"Well, obviously it is not what you get off on. Judged by that sort of reaction." He gestured to my still-wet cheeks.

"I do. I think. I mean, I would. But it shouldn't be you, I suppose. It...should be someone else."

He looked at me curiously. "I felt your cock getting hard at some point. You were thinking of him then, weren't you?"

"Them. Yes, I ...I was thinking of them. I'm so sorry. I could make it up to you, you know, suck your cock or jerk you off, really." I advanced on him, offering myself freely. "I know you are pissed off that I am not what you wanted tonight, so I could try to make it up to you really."

He stood up, abruptly, leaving me on the bed, looking at me with a soft expresson in his eyes. "Don't, boy. I may like rough sex but I do not get off on using kids like you. I don't get off on rape, you know. Dress boy, maybe you'd like to talk to me in the kitchen, tell me about these mysterious strangers who managed to steal my entertainment." He smiled and left me in the bedroom. I stared at the closed door, shaking my head slowly, then got dressed quietly and left the room.

I found the kitchen and entred after knocking softly. He turned around from the counter, looked up to me, smiled.

"Come in. Do you want a tea, maybe? You look like you could need one right now."

I managed to nod gently at that, trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the image that not even half an hour ago he had been leaning over me, ready to penetrate me and now we were sitting in the kitchen drinking tea.

He studied me, without a doubt taking in my apperance, my looks, the expression on my face. "What's your name, kiddo?"

"Mulder. And I am hardly a kid." I managed to smile at him.

"Maybe not a kid, but you are obviously a novice, so grant me the privilege of seeing you as a kid still. Mulder, unusual name, but I guess you get that a lot. My name's Martin." He leaned forward a bit. "So Mulder, tell me, what is it that made you end up in my kitchen? You are a beautiful young man, surely you don't need to go to such bars to get picked-up by someone. And I wouldn't have thought you need a stranger to pick you up either."

"How much time do you have?" I grinned at him.

"All the time in the world. If you want to tell me that is. I am not forcing you. I could drive you home or call you a cab if you'd prefer that."

"No, no, it's okay. Maybe it helps clear my mind to talk about it. Maybe all I have in my mind, alle these thoughts, maybe they are so fucked-up they don't make sense, so..."

"Oh try me, I am known to make sense of the weirdest things." He still smiled and I started sipping the tea, not sure where to start, not sure what to tell him, which details to tell him without saying too much. But I was at a loss. I did not know how to make it all sound the way it made sense to me. How to make it sound normal.

"Well, Mulder. You said you were thinking about two people during our unfortunate encounter. Are they your lovers?"

I laughed out loud at that. "I wish." My voice turned serious. "Actually I really do. One of them is my ex-boss and the other my, well, call it ex-enemy. Walter and Alex. I hadn't seen them for a while and suddenly they popped up, turns out they are a couple now, have a house , are content. And I am staring at all this and think 'where have I taken the wrong turn?'"

"So you loved them?"

"I...I guess I did. I had never thought about it like that before. But when I saw them together there was this pang of jealousy and I tried to detect whom I was jealous of. But I couldn't pinpoint it because ultimately I wanted, want them both. I think."

"So how do you go from being in love with two people to ending in a leather bar, waiting to be picked up by strangers? "

"We got into that argument that one night and I think I pissed them off a little with my behaviour, so Alex came right out with it and said that he thinks I'm behaving like an attention-catching sub. I'm sure he slipped and didn't mean to say it, but still...He then went on and told me that they both are doms and active in this BDSM lifestyle and it all just really surprised me and I took off and well, that was few days ago," I bit my lower lip worriedly.

"Well, BDSM is a long way from what you would have found with anyone in that bar tonight. The closest would have been rough sex. You surely have seen my surprise when you asked for a safeword. The concept is completely different. BDSM is ultimately about power exchange and to a rather small extent about sex and whatever sex you may have found tonight would have been only about But well, that's only on a sidenote. You didn't like being called a sub, did you? Or did it surprise you more to find out that they are doms?" Martin asked, still interested in me.

"Honestly, it did not surprise me to find that out, or to be told that about them. After all Walter has been my boss for years, he's been the only authority figure in my life for a long time. And Alex, well, let's just say that I never found him to be not forceful or challenging. And in the talks before that one night, I noticed that they have this certain power, that certain authority in them that seemed so natural. didn't really surprise me, no. I still accused both of them of being each other's boytoy. They didn't take that well. That's when Alex compared me with a sub. And frankly, no, I didn't like it."

"But are you a sub?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I'm not exactly the most active guy when it comes to sex if you know what I mean and my relationships have never contained much of that sort of things. So I just don't know."

"Well, your fantasies then," he probed further, obviously knowing that he'd get the answer some way or another.

"Yeah...lately, a lot. And before that, I mean, he was my boss, you know...I can't believe I am telling you these things. But yes, there have been certain fantasies revolving around them, although...I don't like them. It makes me feel like a loser to be getting off on these things. It doesn't feel really right. It feels...bad, in some way."

He raised his eyebrows at that but seemed satisfied enough with that answer and switched the topic slightly, almost making me feel I was really analyzed. "Alex was it who called you a sub, right? What did he say you have in common with a sub or which features did he find in you he usually finds in a sub?"

I cringed at that, took another sip of the tea to win some time but altogether felt it was really good to be able to talk to someone about these sort of things.

"He said that I am constantly trying to catch their attention, that I am pulling stunts to sort of make them notice me, to see how far I could go and ultimately when they or rather other people simply drop me, to tell myself that I have won that battle with myself and proved to myself that I am worth nothing. That I am basically just looking for someone to love me for who I am and not for the things I am able to do, that I am just looking to be loved and accepted completely and well, in the end that I am looking for someone to take responsibility and to know that I am protected. Well, the last part came from me, he didn't say that."

"Do you feel you are worth nothing, Mulder?"

"Jeez, what are you? A shrink?"

I looked at him but he didn't answer me, only caught my look in his and gave it back indifferently. I went about answering his question.

"I often feel that way, yes. But...I know I am good. I know I was good at that job I had been doing. I know I am intelligent. But all that feels like nothing sometimes and obviously I only manage to fuck up all sorts of relationships I am starting, that I might be good at my job, but that I am a lousy person."

"What do you think would help you?"

"I don't know. Jeez, don't make me bawl again, I don't know. Someone who tells me that I am doing good, that they love me, that I am an okay person. Someone who would still love me no matter how much crap I might be pulling. Someone who would be there even if I think I just made the worst mistake in my life. Someone to hold me, love me, even when I feel only hate for myself. I'm sorry for the crying. I don't...ususally..."

He handed me a kleenex and ruffled through my hair, then pulled me close to him and let me cry on his shoulder. Not unlike Skinner that time in my apartment. And while my tears were flowing it sunk in how much I had actually told him, how much I had opened up myself to him and I blushed, embarrassed.

"You really love those two, don't you?" he asked, more rhetorically than anything, but nevertheless a whispered 'yes' escaped my lips. I felt him smiling in reaction to that. When my tears had quietened down he held me at arm's length, looking me square in the eye.

"What do you say? You sleep the rest of the night here, it's only a few hours until morning anyway and I drive you over to them tomorrow?"


He laughed out loud at that. "Yes, sleep, I do have a spare bedroom, you know, Mulder. Those two doms you're catching yourself will have a handful with you, I can already see that."

"I hope so, sir," I replied, smiling. He ruffled my hair once more, still laughing, and I followed him out of the kitchen, he showed me the room, then turned once more at the door.

"Oh and Mulder?"


"I am indeed a shrink."

I laughed at that, then sat on the bed for a while, the room bathed in darkness. It had most definitely been one of the weirder evenings in my life. More than weird as a matter of fact. And I already felt my stomach turning at the thought of seeing Alex and Walter, and yes, it was Walter by then, the next morning, was, in the end, good. Or at least I hoped so. And I hoped that all these fantasies would come true. That it all would work out. That they would want me. And love me. That they could take away the hate I felt for myself. With these thoughts in my mind I slept in that stranger's bedroom, Martin, it was.

When I woke up the sun was shining and I put on my clothes slowly, the memory of the evening coming back. The memory of the bar first and then that attempt at sex that I had managed to fuck up and then the long talk in the kitchen afterwards, all the things I told him. But it all seemed at least a bit clearer than it had before. I was scared though of facing Alex and Walter. And maybe even more so of telling them that I'd like them to be my doms. It made my stomach turn which forced me to pull open my door violently and find the next toilet in topspeed, only to heave up the one glass of tea from last night. Martin stood behind me, his worried voice talking.

"Mulder, do you need some sort of help?"

"No it's alright. I'm alright. No worries. This always happens to me when I am, well, nervous. And don't give me that psychosomatic psych crap, I do have a degree in psychology, too, you know."

He laughed at that. "Oh, a pushy sub indeed. You know other people would be cowering in front of me, kiddo."

I stood up to full height, still a few inches smaller than him. "But I am not other people."

"No, that you aren't indeed. Finish up here and find me in the kitchen then, breakfast's ready. If you feel up to it that is. Toothbrush and all that is on the sink."

He left the bathroom again and I went through my morning routine without the faces of Walter and Alex disappearing from my mind, without the possible outcomes of the day disappearing. And the big question 'what am I going to do if they say no?' was as present as ever. And the answer was, I didn't know.

With that realisation I ventured into the kitchen. Martin noticed the expression on my face but kept silent, put a glass of milk and a few slices of toast in front of me as I sat down and continued to watch me until I started talking on my own.

"What if they say 'no'?"

"Well then you stay friends and you look for someone else to be in a relationship with because I gathered that is what you want. You do not want to only play with them, right?"

I hadn't even considered before that that was an option, too, a scene with them every now and then, friends otherwise but I know I wouldn't be able to do that. After all I did really love them.

"No, right, I want a relationship. And I don't want to be with anyone else."

I noticed that I sounded like a five-year-old stomping his foot on the ground even before he got that twinkle in his eyes and said something similar. "You are such a brat, Mulder. Seriously though, what would you do if they said 'no'?"

"Camp in their yard?"

He snorted at that. I laughed a little then turned my concentration onto my toast slices and played with them a little, turning them, lifting them only to put them down again.

"I really don't know what I would do. They are the only people I can imagine ever being in a relationship with, they are the only ones who know me or are so close to really knowing me and accepting me that it could work. There are so many things in my life that neither you nor anyone else would believe but they have been there, they have seen the same thing. They, right now they are as close to real friends as I have. And if they say 'no' it's the ultimate rejection, the worst case scenario. I know that rationally it's bullshit, but it feels as if I really am not good enough for them then, that I am not worthy of their love. It would be bad. I don't think I'd be doing too good then."

"Well, Mulder, if that should happen although I hope it won't, before you pull any stunts, this is my phone number and this is the address of the house here." He handed me a slip of paper. "Shouldn't it work out or even later on when you feel you need a place to crash, someone to listen to you without judgement, feel free to drop by and I hope I'll be able to fulfill those roles. I mean it. Before you end up jumping from a bridge I want to you to come to me. Is that understood, boy?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, smiling.

Then we watched the seconds tick by on the clock, waiting for it to be late enough to show at Alex and Walter's. And finally it was. Martin got up and I followed his lead, my feelings changing from 'being led to the execution' to 'I'm getting a new toy', but when I sat in the car there was no turning back. I did try to get Martin to turn around several times or to drop me off, one time, during a red phase I tried to exit the car only to be pulled back by Martin's growl.

And then we pulled into the driveway belonging to the house of Walter and Alex. Both cars were parked there so they seemed to be at home. My hands got sweaty. I felt cold one minute, warm the other. One last attempt to escape.

"You know, I'll get out now and you can drive then and I'll walk up the door alone. I mean, really if you are with me, I mean..."

His look made me shut up and so I resigned myself to my fate and got out of the car with him to walk the long, long way to the door. I remembered walking exactly that way on that Saturday night everything started and all events since then appeared in my mind and blended into one another and I felt dizzy for a moment, would have probably fallen if not for Martin's hand on my arm.

And when we stood in front of the door. His hand went to the doorbell. And he rang it. The ring that would decide about my life.

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