No Choice

by Nicholas


Title: No Choice
Author: Nicholas

E-Mail: nicholas@dreamscapeforums.zzn.com

Pairing: M/Sk
Rating: NC-17
Category: Relationship, Non-Con/Rape, Character Death

Disclaimer: 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.

Notes: Beta'd by Gaby.

Warning: This story deals with quite some violence and blood and some body modification. It is most definitely not pretty. Do not read this if you are easily squicked.

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So what if your being here annoys the living hell out of me? What if another second in the same room with you makes an aggressive burst of molten lightning flow from my fingers and crash into the next wall? So what if that smile on your face is like a white-glowing blade cutting through my heart and leaving it crippled? So what if I can't stand your presence, your laughter, your clothes next to mine anymore? So what if all of that is true and yes it is that...what choice do I have? Because it's all wrong. All wrong now. You are a man and then you are not.

You pick up the phone while I'm glowering at you from the dark corner. You chat jovially, unaware of daggers I glare at you. You gossip about the new neighbors with one of your female friends and ignore my presence altogether. You are one of them already, aren't you? A nice little housewife you make. Not even the limp thing between your legs when we are in bed together distracts from that impression any longer. It makes me sick. Because you are both. You don't decide for one or the other. You think you can be both. The man I wanted to be with and the woman you are playing now. But you can't, you can't. If you wore their clothes, what could I say? But you don't. You are a man. It's only your behavior that muddies the water.

You laugh about something she says. And who is it? Suzy? Yvonne? Sandra? Or lovely, lovely Betty? Who is it that you are sharing the latest jokes with, the latest recipes? And make me feel like the dumb-ass when I sit at our next neighbor-friendly dinner, staring into the faces of all the middle-class housewives swapping the latest adventures of domestic lives and husbands. And you are just like them. You look just like them. I couldn't even pick you out among them without looking. And I'm gaping open-mouthed at all the sordid details you girls giggle madly about until I see no choice but to leave and hear them whisper, "Brute!" and giggle some more.

Where is the man I fell in love with? Where is the opinionated, irritating and so frustrating lover that I once decided to spend the rest of my life with? Where is the man that used to make me crazy in the most positive way with his sheer presence? Where is the man I gave everything up for?


I leave the room as their discussion turns to the more entertaining details of the neighbor's wig, accompanied by Fox's girly giggles, echoed by his girlfriend's. I brush past him to sit on the patio, starting at the green yard stretched out before my eyes. Now, aren't we conventional? And this...it can't be like this anymore. We have to make a decision. Now.

I stare at Fox through the patio door, watch his girly hand movements as he cleans the kitchen while he's still talking to that female friend of his. The exclaimed Ohs and Ahs make their way even to my ears as he talks about whatever stupid tidbit news he needs to know on some Sunday morning. I pinch the bridge of my nose and his giggles penetrate my ears to the point of splitting my brain, and the most irritating and frustrating noise I have ever heard settles there.

"Yes, yes, I know, hehehe, yeah that's soo cool, Nikki. And you know what I used? Yes, red wine. It tastes wonderful, just wonderful. You've gotta try that. I promise you, it's the best you have ever tasted."

I push the chair back, storm inside, past my lover's gaping mouth into our bedroom and slam the door shut, hoping it will drown out his voice, make it disappear completely and leave me in silence. Leave me in peace with my fists slowly unclenching. It is his last chance. I am giving him that. A last one. It has to stop.

"I really don't know what's gotten into him Nikki, he's behaving sooo strange lately," I still hear his voice from outside the room.

"Goddammit," my voice explodes as my fist connects with the wooden door that creaks dangerously loudly in its hinges. Finally, finally it's silent outside. My god, he is silent. No more giggles, nothing else, pure and clear silence. No more nerve-wrecking sounds of appreciation, amazement, wonder, disgust and everything and nothing in-between. Pure silence.

I walk outside and he already has his mouth open to say something, another bitchy complaint about my insensitivity, I'm sure. So it's decided.

"Don't you dare say a word now," I cut him off with a low growl, moving closer to him. "Don't you dare start speaking again now. You know what you will do now? You will close the blinds and you will come back to this exact spot. And you won't say a damn word. You won't laugh or giggle or talk or scream. You will be silent. Do you get that now?" I punctuate my demands with a push against his terrified body. "I said, do you get that?!"

He nods frantically and I push him away. He stumbles at highspeed to do as I said, unable to keep his fear for himself. His eyes are darting around wildly, looking for an escape route. He has the patio door already half-opened as my hand slams it shut. His fingers smashed between door-frame and door make wild sounds of breaking. Pretty.

"Tsk, tsk," I comment as I allow him to pull his hand back from the door, blood running over it and dripping to the ground. I draw the blinds of the door shut and back him up against it. My hand closes around his throat, squeezing his windpipe shut as I am pressing him against the door. His eyes are bulging out at my innocent smile. I smell his fear. It's the odor of cold sweat and urine that emanates from him. A final hard push against the door and I loosen my grip. He falls to the floor choking desperately, but already clawing at the door again to get out.

I seize him by his hair and drag him into the middle of the room, not allowing his pitiful attempts of weasling his way out of my show. I pull him back by his hair, forcing his eyes to look at me, to see me and ackowledge that this is my part of the deal now.

"All those years I listened to you do your thing. I saw you become everything I didn't want to live with. I once had this lover, a strong man who knew his own way, now I have a weak cocksucking cunt who is chatting about recipes and boyfriends. I didn't want a housewife when we got together but see what I ended up with. And you know what, if this is what you so desperately wanted, you can have it. All of it."

He remains speechless as I open my pants and thrust my big cock into his helpless mouth, plunging in and out without a care in the world, caring only about hard, fast and deep. His gurgling sounds annoy me more than anything. Noises, always those noises coming from him. Why can't he just be silent for once? Why can't he just simply shut up? And so I shove deeper and deeper until I cum inside him, my seed spilling down his throat. He is mine again. Only mine.

I push him away. He falls back to the floor, a lifeless bundle and suddenly so nicely silent. But it isn't enough. Not now. He should have known. He should have known when he started doing it all wrong. He brought this on himself. He knew it would end like this. So now it's his to take. He has to take it. Because he is mine and he has to know, he has to feel that.

I drag the clothes from his body, ripping them to shreds as I don't care about them, until there's only his bare body left. His once so beautiful body but it's all useless now. Useless. He can't even get it up anymore. The housewife he is. He can't even be a man anymore. He is not a man anymore. A cheap slutty whore that spends his time chatting about cooking. Isn't that all? Already passed out from sucking some cock. And what's the big deal about this limp appendage hanging down between his thighs? What does he need it for anyway? A wife doesn't stand up to piss. A wife is sitting down to piss and a wife doesn't need a limp something down her front.

I grab the big knife from the kitchen. My little wife chooses to wake up just as I am standing over her and a girly scream leaves her throat, a high-pitched girly scream it is. Screaming 'Ahhhhh' and she isn't silent anymore. My ears hurt. Why can't she just be silent?

"Shut the fuck up, cunt," I yell back at her and her scream dies in her throat. And those eyes are open again and there's more piss dribbling from her appendage. That's all it is good for, urine dripping out of it. Well, not any longer. I kneel down. And she starts screaming again. She has to stop screaming. I can't concentrate when she is screaming. I can't concentrate.

I grab her clothes, her shirt, the finely tailored one, to shut up her body and I rip it to shreds and tie the shreds around her head so that she is finally silent. Finally she is silent except for those little gasps and groans and oomph-sounds but they don't bother me.

She looks at the knife and, I swear, her eyes are bulging out, as far as they can go. And she tries to move away, to crawl away but I grab her and bind her. Some more shreds to her wrists. And she tries to kick me and I sit on her legs so she can't kick me anymore. And there's more piss dribbling out of her and so now finally there won't be anymore. And she'll be the housewife she's always wanted to be.

She makes more sounds as the clear blade touches the base of the limp dick and with one flick of the wrist I hold it in my hand and look at it. I carefully lay it aside. "We'll keep that, so we can always look at it and think of how much we have overcome."

She barely breathes now, only gasps coming from her body but she is still with me and she looks so much better now without that lifeless thing. Two more flicks and the rest of the stuff is off, too. It's not like she has any more need for that either. And there I have it now, a beautiful, beautiful wife. Isn't she nice?

The blood pulses out of her wounds, red splashing onto me with every heartbeat of her body. She gets paler. My beautiful wife. I caress her face. So pretty she is now. Now everything will be good again. Because she couldn't be both. That was the problem. She couldn't be both man and woman. That just didn't work and now she is only a woman so everything will be fine now. And now she can make sounds again. Now it's okay. Now everything is right again.

I loosen the shreds and shake her softly, whisper into her ear, "It's okay, my beautiful wife, you can scream now. It's just fine." But she doesn't. I shake her. But she doesn't open her eyes.

"Baby, baby, what is it? What is it?" I ask her but she doesn't answer me, she just doesn't. And I don't know why. Why doesn't she answer me? Why doesn't she? I jump up and force the patio door open. "Help, help!" I scream before I am back with her, cradling her in my arms.

The neighbors come in and they all scream and I'm rocking her like the little wife she is. I want to protect, protect her but they want to drag her away from me. They aren't allowed to do that because she is mine. Mine.

"I don't know what happened," I tell them. "She doesn't talk anymore. What is wrong with her? What happened to her? Why doesn't she say something? Why doesn't she?" I tell them through bright eyes and they just drag her away from me and I want to be with her but they hold me back and throw me to the floor and then the doctors are there. And they pull a white sheet over her body. What has happened to my beautiful wife? What has happened?

Why does she leave now that things are right again? Why does she leave now that everything is okay again? She is my wife and I am her husband, so why does she leave now? Why does she? And they lead me away and put me in big empty cell, restrain me on the floor, my arms and legs bound. And I don't even know why. They stare at me with those growls and I can only try to crawl away, never more than an inch or two, and whimper for her and scream for her, always scream for her until I am too hoarse to utter another sound. Until I am too deaf to hear my own screams. Until I am too blind to see her redness on me.

~ The End ~
 

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