X-Plicit Fantasies 4

An all X-Files slash zine

"Blood of the Lamb" by Sue
Where the fuck was Krycek? Wasn't that always the question that lurked in the dark recesses of Mulder's overactive mind? Right now it was front and center, obliterating all other considerations. He laid aside the weapon he'd been cradling in his hands for the past few minutes and reached for another. The dealer scowled, Mulder's hand halted in mid-air, trembled a moment and then retreated to the relative safety of his jacket pocket. With an ironic grin, Mulder nodded his head and muttered, "Thanks for all your help." Uncomfortably aware of the man's glare tracking him, Mulder stepped with studied casualness to the next table. Knee-worn denims, a New York Knicks cap and a leather jacket, that had seen better days, clearly hadn't obscured the fact that he was some variety of Federal agent. Being suspected of heinous crimes against the Constitution for merely doing one's job was beginning to wear thin. He hoped he would not have to wait much longer.

"All My Sins Remembered" by Garnet
Abruptly, Mulder bent forward and kissed him, lightly at first and then increasingly demandingly. It was so sudden, so impossible, at first he could do nothing. Just sit there, just let the man--oh God, let Fox Mulder--kiss him. Then he surrendered and a long shudder of hunger and want and sheer release washed over and through him, turning him inside out. It made the rest of the world fade to insignificance, even the pain in his side, the bonds on his wrists. His uncertain and probably unpleasant future.

"Night Visitor" by Sue
Restraints held him securely on the metallic surgical table. A stinging white light hovered a few feet above him, blinding him to his surroundings. Splayed, X-like, and naked, he was exposed for them all to see. To touch. To use. As he struggled ineffectually against the manacles a human hand fleeting teased his left nipple before brushing down his flank, thigh and ankle. Feet shuffled, clothing rustled and then a sigh. The scent of musk washed over him, as though the anonymous collaborator was jerking off. Revulsion clashed with erotic fascination. He fought for calm, whilst beneath the surface terror roiled, straining to gain a hookhold. Focusing within, on each individual breath, slower, steadier, he centered his thoughts on one objective.

"Only Death..." by Garnet
I watch him sleeping sometimes. I sleep better than he does, you understand, which makes it a rare occurrence. A rare treat. You would think considering all we've done and all we've been through that I would be the one who'd have trouble sleeping. That I would be the one with the nightmares. But he's always had them and I...I don't. Maybe, I've just managed to bury it deep enough for it not to bother me. Or maybe I really am just a cold bastard at heart.

...And more stories and poetry by these eXcellent writers.

Back up to Maverick Press

Back up to Fanzines

Back up to B7 Top

Last updated on 21st of December 2007.