"I can walk," I mutter as Skinner carries me out into the corridor, swaying slightly under my weight. I remember all those punches he took last night, and struggle to get down.
"No, you can't. Shut up," he snarls. I don't protest again.
He kicks our door open, and places me gently face down on the bed. He goes to the bathroom to find a washcloth and the increasingly invaluable first aid kit. The coolness of the water on my back and buttocks is enough to make me scream again.
"Shh,” he whispers soothingly.
He presses the cloth firmly against my fevered flesh, kissing me the whole time in a way I start to find arousing. I'm surprised to find that, although my body is a mass of raw, tingling pain, it has coalesced into something warm and not altogether unpleasant.
I roll over carefully and press myself against him, kissing his lips urgently, pushing my tongue inside him. He submits to this, letting me explore him, and then allows me to push him down on the bed and begin to undress him. I feel light-headed, strangely divorced from reality, my burning body just making me even more eager for sexual release, flooding me with an erotic urgency that I would never have anticipated.
"What you said earlier...can I...? Now?" I lick his nipples, nibbling them, my tongue moving faster, my teeth biting him. There's a ferocious energy building inside me.
"Yes. If you want. Do anything you want. Fox…." He takes my head between his hands, "Take it back," he whispers, and I know what he means. I can feel my cock hardening, and I wonder if I've been possessed by demons as I slam him down on the bed and kiss him roughly, desperate to be inside him.
He lies still, letting me do anything I want. I bite his nipples again, keeping one eye on his face to see if he will stop me in this savage caress, but he doesn't. He just lies there, accepting. I turn him face down and throw myself on top of him, ignoring the pounding blood in my brain as my body protests my fast movements.
I pause to try to put on a condom, but my shaking fingers can barely manage it. I do manage to lubricate my dick, though, before pressing myself inside him. Shit! This is a new, totally mind-blowing sensation. I've lost track of what I'm doing as, once again, I'm pleasure and pain all rolled up into one. My body is on fire, my cock is on fire, and he's gone quite still beneath me, letting me sink myself into his waiting ass. The sensation of his tightness is milking me, making me come, before I've barely started thrusting. As my dick softens, so does my whole body. I roll off and lie beside him on the bed, both of us face down, side by side.
"That was quick," he mutters, with a sideways glance at me. "Wham, bam, thank you, man?"
"Shit," is all I can say, giving him a tired grin. "Shit, shit, shit."
"I hope you enjoyed it," he kisses me softly on the lips, "because that is not going to happen very often. Believe me!"
"Doesn't matter," I pant wearily. "I think I prefer the other, anyway, but that was good. It felt right for now."
"It was right for now," he smiles. "Now, hold still while I rub something into your back."
I can barely feel the cold gel he smoothes onto my skin. When he's through, he lies down on his back and I snake over to him, and lay my head on his chest with a contented sigh.
"It's been one hell of a morning," he murmurs.
"It's been one hell of a few days," I smile, tiredly. "I...I know I'm not very good at saying thank you, but what you did today...shit." I stare at him. "Shit, I'm the one with the degree in psychology, but you out- psyched me. You figured this whole thing, didn't you, from beginning to end, while I slept last night?"
He gives a wry smile. "You were so scared," he murmurs.
"Fuck." It dawns on me what it was about his behavior that seemed so strangely familiar. "Nick said that Saunders takes him to a place in his head where he enjoys being whipped. That's what you were trying to do, wasn't it?"
"Not really. I just needed to make the whole thing less traumatic for you." He strokes my arm. "Did I do that?"
"Yeah. I'm not saying I ever want to go through something like that again, but when you do all that masterful shit, and speak in that tone of voice, I'm gone."
"I had sort of noticed that," he grins.
"So you'd better watch what you say to me in the office from now on, if you don't want me melting at your feet every time we have an argument over my expense account."
"Oh, I don't know. It could be a useful weapon in my on-going battle to keep the Bureau from sinking into bankruptcy as a result of the X Files," he muses thoughtfully. "But first we have to get home."
He lies back wearily and I notice again how hot he is. His face is flushed.
"Are you all right?" I put my hand against his forehead, but he brushes it away before I can touch him.
"I'm fine," he states firmly. "Just tired. Let's get some sleep."
* * *
It's late afternoon when I wake up, and he's still sleeping. My body pounds with a dull, throbbing ache that sends shooting licks of flame through me when I move. I sit up and stare down at him. There are several red bruises on his body and along his jaw, but I'm more worried about the flush on his skin. I take advantage of the fact that he's sleeping to place my hand against his face, and find that he's burning up. There's a faint sheen of sweat all over him. Of course it's hardly surprising that the events of the past 24 hours would have taken their toll on him, but even so, I'm worried about him. I get a cup of water, and shake him awake.
"What's the matter?" He squints at me blearily, but I can see the wince that passes across his features as he moves.
"You. There's something wrong with you. Sit up." He does so cautiously and I notice the guarded look in his eyes. "What is it? You know what it is—what is it?" I demand, handing him the water. He drinks it down in one gulp.
"I didn't want to freak you out." He sits back against the headboard cautiously. "And I wasn't sure how bad it was—it was hard to tell while all that adrenaline was flowing. One of my kidneys was damaged in Vietnam. Occasionally, I get some pain from it. Last night someone got a punch in there. It's hurting me."
"Shit." I pull him forward and see the dark bruise on his back.
"I don't think it's serious. I just need to rest and drink fluids. It'll pass."
"But tonight, the Arena…." I stare at him wordlessly.
"Yes, I know." His eyes are uncompromisingly dark. "I think we have to face up to the fact that you might have a change of ownership."
I fight down a feeling of panic. "What can we do?" I ask.
"Hope for rescue?" He shakes his head. "I'll still fight the best I can, and I promise I'll kill Matt before I let him get his hands on you—but one of the other tops might not be so bad. You could charm them." He manages a weak grin. "I'm sorry. I've let you down."
"No. No, this is my fault. Treasure this moment," I grin at him. "You won't hear me say those words very often!"
We stare at each other glumly. This is the worst moment of this whole nightmare so far.
"You did appoint the best guys you had to the team, didn't you?"
"Yeah. Kendall's sharp. They'll be looking for us."
"What about another escape attempt?" I suggest.
"Over my dead body." He shakes his head. "I mean that literally. If something happens to me, then you're better off running again than waiting to see what happens next. But after last night, escape seems to be a poor option."
"Never mind," I snap. "It's probably for the best. I mean, you and me—back in DC, what the fuck sort of a relationship could we hope to have there?"
"I don't know," he says. "I can't even think beyond the here and now. I don't suppose we can go back to how things were before, though."
"No." I kneel back on the bed, staring at him. "Look at us. We're fucking wrecks."
"No wonder only the strongest are allowed into this crazy hell-hole." He shakes his head grimly.
"Shouldn't we try to bring your temperature down? A cool bath might work."
