"I know that," I snap back at him. "It was my goddamn idea to look for him here, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, and it was your goddamn idea to disobey every goddamn order I damn well gave you," he spits, balling his hands into fists.
"Yeah, well, when you start giving sensible orders, then I'll damn well start obeying them," I yell.
"You wouldn't obey any order, even if it was to keep breathing, which, incidentally, I'm trying to damn well keep you doing," he snarls back.
"I don't need your help staying alive; I've managed it myself for well over thirty years." I can feel my voice breaking with the sexual tension, the arousal, the danger.
"Yourself? Yeah! Right! Like Scully and I didn't have something to do with that!" he throws back.
"I don't need you, or Scully or anyone else. I was doing just fine until you showed up."
"Nearly being raped by that broken-nosed bastard is what you call 'doing fine'?" His tone is low and savage.
"Oh, I'm used to being screwed over. Screwed by him, or you, or the FBI, or the Consortium. What fucking difference does it make to you?"
"I'll tell you what fucking difference it makes to me!" He strides over to me and slams me against the wall. "You—always trying to get my damn attention; that's the fucking difference it makes to me. You're always flicking, and flirting, and hissing like you're a cat that wants to be petted. Like a proverbial goddamn tease. I ignored it at first because it soon became as clear as hell to me that you flirt with everyone, but you couldn't leave it alone with me, could you? You're always showing off, always challenging me to do something, anything, to get hold of you and..."
"And?" I ask coolly, breathing too fast, looking into his dark, angry eyes, seeing the frustration in them and something uncontrolled—something sexual. Realization floods back in, and he lets me go, flings himself down on the armchair and takes a deep breath.
"Nothing. Forget I said all that. This place is getting to me, that's all. We're buying into the mentality of these people too much. I didn't mean anything. Ignore it."
"No. I want to know what you meant by all that." I come and stand in front of him, confronting him and he looks up, his eyes flashing behind his glasses.
"All right. I meant what I said. You wanted my attention and now you've got it, Mulder. Finally. After all this time. Question is, can you handle it?" He sits up in the chair and reaches out to grab me, pulling me over with one big hand around my waist, somehow forcing me down onto my knees, and then he wraps his hand in my hair, pulls my head back and kisses my throat. Hard. "Is this what you wanted, Mulder?" he murmurs, dipping my head back so that he can take more, biting my earlobe, my neck. I hang there for a moment, wanting to say "no". Wanting to tell him that he's wrong, to knock his hands away and act the affronted agent, but my body betrays me.
"Yes," I whisper.
"I know." His other hand is rough on my body, finding my nipples and caressing them with firm fingers. "I've always known," he says.
"How? I didn't. Not until Lenny."
"Yeah. I heard that tape," he growls, his hand still keeping my head forced back. "I guess you didn't know—that the behavior was subconscious. No wonder you were so mad with Lenny. That sort of knowledge must have come as a shock."
"It did. How did you know? How long have you known?" I ask, my hands flailing wildly as he pushes me further back, forcing me off balance.
"Years. Since the time you ran off to that goddamn observatory in Puerto Rico after I told you to stay put and work on those surveillance tapes. At first I thought you were just an insubordinate jerk, but it was the way you handled all those quests of yours. The way you'd flare up like a firework, making a loud noise and a pretty display. I couldn't figure out who it was you wanted to watch you for a while—I could hardly imagine that it was me. Not until you started talking about your ass the whole time."
"My ass?" His fingers are burning lines of fire down my chest, claiming me.
"Yeah. Every time we had a conversation, you managed to get some mention of your ass in somewhere. We had asses being kicked, asses being hauled off, asses in slings, asses all over the goddamn place. Either you were trying to draw my attention to your ass, or you had an unhealthy obsession with your own butt. So, yeah, I started to notice your ass, which was presumably what you wanted."
"I thought you were straight," I whisper.
"You thought you were as well." He sucks on my neck, drawing up the blood like a vampire.
"I don't know what I am, anymore." I can feel myself drowning under his teeth.
"Yes, you do, Fox." He draws back and grins at me, a feral grin. "You're what you always have been. What you've always wanted to be."
"What's that?" I ask.
"Mine," he replies.
I hang there for a while, staring at him, knowing inside my soul that this is the truth I've denied for so long, wanting to fight it, struggling to comprehend it, and failing to do both. It's a fact of my life and it has always been with me. I just never knew it before.
"What are you saying? Real life has been our subterfuge and finally, here, we are who we really are?" My mind tries to wrap itself around this concept and fails. The way his hands and lips are roving all over my body isn't helping matters.
"Don't mistake me for one of these sick bastards," he growls. "I'm nothing like them. And they're right—you're way too disobedient to make a good goddamn sub. Now you've started something here, Fox. Do you want me to finish it?"
He stands up, powers me over to the bed and pushes me onto it, one big hand on my chest, holding me down as he leans over me. "I can still stop. We can pretend this never happened. Is that what you want?" His eyes are darker than ever, burning with a kind of weird energy, as if he's holding on with the last ounce of his will power, and I know that if I say "no," he'll pull himself back from the brink and collect himself. He'll be true to his word and not speak about this again.
"Yes." I pull his head down and kiss him hard.
He growls again and straddles my body, holding my arms down on the bed. "You've never done this before," he says. It's not a question. He just knows.
"No."
"I'm rough." He slams my hands down again as if to illustrate that point. "When I'm like this—I'm rough. Can you handle that?"
"Yes." I nod, trying to move my arms, to put them around his neck, but his grip is like a vice.
"Don't move," he warns. I can't believe he's the same Skinner. He seems transformed, trembling with sexual desire, lost in it in a way I'd never have believed. It's frightening. "I've had to keep myself under control for a long time with you. I knew I couldn't exactly just throw you over my desk and show you what you didn't even realize you wanted," he hisses. "I had to rein myself in. When I lose control, I'm different. It might be more than you bargained for. Do you trust me?"
I can feel my cock hardening in my jeans. Him, pinning me here like this, is the biggest turn-on I've ever had. And his cock is stiff against my abdomen, I can feel it digging into me.
"Yeah, I trust you. I trust you with my goddamn life. Just fuck me," I plead.
"No," he says, his breathing shallow with desire.
"What?" I struggle in his arms again, but he's too strong for me and he thumps me back down onto the bed, squeezing my wrists too hard.
"Not when I'm like this. Not for your first time. I'm too damn big, and I'm going to be too out of control to go slowly. I'd hurt you."
"Then hurt me!" I moan with frustration. "Just fucking well fuck me!"
He stares down at me, still breathing heavily, struggling with himself. Then he gives in to it and becomes a frenzy of action. He grabs my head and kisses my lips, biting them. His head dips lower, his teeth find one of my nipples and he bites down hard, one hand holding me down as I moan and squirm under this savage caress. Another bite on the skin over my ribs hurts like hell. His mouth goes up to my shoulder and he bites again, harder than before, making me scream. He holds me down, his fingers rough.
"Don't move. Don't struggle. It makes me worse," he hisses, his hands slapping mine away as I try to roll to one side, to get out from under him. "Submit, Fox. Submit." He smells of something raw and primal, and the scent of his sweat overpowers me, making me feel dizzy. He grabs my jeans, pulls them open and disposes of them, tossing them onto the floor. His fingers run over my swollen cock and I moan and thrust into his hand. "Don't come," he hisses, squeezing, pumping me, making me gasp with pleasure. "Don't fucking come, or I swear I'll use one of those whips in that zhaiyuedu.com on your disobedient ass."
The way he's talking, the way he's touching me, reduces me to a quivering heap of Jell-O. I've never been turned on like this before. His strength, the animal quality in him, is making me crazy. And he's telling me not to come?
"You must be out of your fucking mind," I groan, thrusting up again and then I yowl in pain as he slaps my cock, hard.
"I'll tell you when." He gets hold of me by the waist and throws me bodily off the bed. "Get the condoms and lube. Quickly!" he barks and I'm into the bathroom and back out again in under four seconds. He's got his shirt off and is unbuttoning his pants.
"I'll do it."
