"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.
Last updated on 21st of December 2007.