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So this is what turns him on, is it? A live action peep show with Nick and me as stars of the show? There's a certain irony to this, considering the amount of times I've jerked off in front of my extensive video collection, but you'll forgive me for not appreciating that right now. My public awaits me.
Nick is lying on the bed, a sultry, indolent expression on his face. He puts an arm out, and draws me down into his embrace. He's a good-looking guy—all that dark hair, those green eyes, the sharp cheekbones. He has a nice, toned body, young and beautiful, but I don't want him any more than I wanted Saunders. Nick's fingers find my nipples and he plays with them, gently, then his tongue takes the place of his hands as he explores me. His thumb rubs my butt, then pushes inside me, and I move, disengaging myself from him.
"Hush, baby." He draws me close, and I can feel the warmth of his breath, the slight wetness of the tip of his erect cock as it brushes against me. "Come on, sweet Fox." He kisses my lips gently, then again, with more passion. "You're so sexy. You make me so hard. I'm not the only one in the room who feels that way. Just look at our master; look at how hard his cock is... We're doing that to him. We're making him so fucking horny, he'd like to ram that big dick of his right up your gorgeous ass while you ball my brains out," he murmurs, obviously trying to psyche me into the right mood. His hand is on my cock, moving furiously, and I try to relax and go with it, but all I can see is Skinner, lying in the sand, bleeding. Because of me. All because I disobeyed his goddamn orders, and because he wouldn't just leave me here to rot, which is exactly what he should have done.
"Fox, please," Nick is moaning, his lips roving over my shoulders and neck, down onto my collarbone, my nipples. He's thrusting against me, his hard cock digging into my thigh. This isn't as bad as Saunders. I should be grateful. I should remember my promise.
With a jolt, I'm back in high school, getting changed for a track session. I can recall the slamming of my locker door, and a bigger, older boy holding me against the wall.
"Crazy Fox Mulder. Where's your sister, sissy?" He's pinning me down, his big arms too strong for me. I can hear myself yelling, screaming at him as he pulls my shorts down and takes me in his mouth, his hands keeping me still, pressed hard against the wall. Then my hormones betray me, the sensation of his warm mouth is too much for me and I come, feeling desperately ashamed. I can still remember his laugh as he drew back from me. "Had you," he said with a leering grin. "Had you, Mulder." And then he left. He never touched me again, and I never admitted to myself that I wanted him to. In later years, I rationalized it better. People often have homosexual experiences in their youth. It's completely normal. It doesn't mean anything. I believed that right up until a few days ago. Now I'm questioning everything. Maybe, since I've been with Skinner, I should be able to go with anyone. I should be able to just switch off my intellect, enjoy.
"Fox, oh, that's good, Fox." Nick is working hard, his hand rubbing my cock, but there's still barely any response. "Please," he whispers in a tone too low for Saunders to hear. "He'll punish you. Try, Fox. For me. I don't want you hurt."
I roll over, push him beneath me, and kiss him with as much passion as I can simulate, licking at his earlobes and pumping his dick with my hand and the same time.
"Good." Saunders's voice jolts me back to the peep show. "You fuck him, Fox. Do it."
I glance over to him, bile rising in my throat to see him jerking off as he watches us. His cock is large, swollen and purple, straining against his hand, and I feel like puking again. My own cock remains resolutely limp. I don't want Nick; I don't want Saunders. Every time I try to get aroused, all I can think of is Skinner. Is he badly injured? Has he regained consciousness? Will he regain consciousness?
I've stopped moving, and Nick is doing all the work again, tugging at me, trying to make me join in. I'm doing what I can, my hands moving as if I'm a puppet, but I'm not here, I'm not really here at all. My mind is crying out, my body is numb. It's dark, I can hear Nick sucking, feel him nibbling, but nothing is happening. There are all these sounds of sex, but they're jumbled up with images of pain, of Skinner, bleeding. I can't function, I can't think or feel. I'm adrift in a void.
"Stop!" Saunders comes over to the bed and sits down. He lifts up my head and gazes at me searchingly. "Fox?" His fingers wipe something warm from my face. My tears. "Fox. Who are these for?"
"For him." I look Saunders squarely in the eye. "I'm sorry. I'm not doing it on purpose, but I can't." I gesture to my limp penis.
His fingers travel down to my throat and linger there, then his hands effortlessly circle my neck, crushing my windpipe in a firm embrace.
"Not even if your life depends on it?" he asks softly, increasing the pressure slightly. "Hmm, Fox?" I manage to shake my head, and he loosens his grasp, allowing me to speak.
"You don't understand," I tell him. "Skinner was...that is...I'd never been with another man before him. There's only been him. I've never...with another... I just can't," I shrug helplessly, and Saunders looks at me for an eon.
"How very interesting," he says at last. "Well, I never thought you'd be so inhibited. Of course you made your devotion to Mr. Skinner clear from the moment you arrived here, but all the same—I didn't realize how ingrained it is. I could change that. In time." He smiles at me. "You can be broken, Fox. I can do it—but I'll make you ask for it. By the time I finish with you, you'll be hard on order. You'll open your mouth to anyone I tell you to, suck like an expert. You'll go down on your hands and knees when I gave the word, immediately, with absolute obedience—and you'll enjoy it. Even with Matt. I could get you to that stage, Fox. I could get you to the point where you'd approach Matt on your hands and knees, and beg him to fuck you. But your tears have moved me, so I'm going to give you something."
"What?" I ask, dreading his reply.
"Your freedom." He smiles and plays with my hair. "You can go back to Skinner. I'll take you there myself."
"What? No strings?" I stare at him in disbelief.
"None," he shrugs. "However—" He puts his head on one side, and looks at me for a long moment. "When you come back to me, and you will come back, you'll be prepared to give me everything I want. You'll ask me to break you. Do you understand?"
I nod, uncertain what he means. I'll never ask him for this. He smiles, and pulls me to my feet.
"Get dressed, then."
I don't need telling twice. I run to the bathroom, pull my jeans on, and allow him to wrap his arm around my shoulders as he escorts me up the corridor to Skinner's room. He unlocks the door and pushes me inside, locking it again after me.
Skinner is lying on the floor. The bastards just dumped him there—they didn't even bother to put him on the bed.
"Walter." I roll him over, my body shaking in case he's dead and I've lost him. "Walter."
His eyes roll open, trying to focus on me. "Fox?" he rasps.
"Yeah, it's me. You're going to be all right. I promise you'll be all right." I kiss his face, relieved to the point of tears to find that he's still alive. "Can you move? Can you get up?" I ask, but he doesn't seem to understand me.
I try to tug him into an upright position, but he's just too damn heavy, and I'm scared of hurting him. Giving up, I run over to the bed for pillows and a blanket. I roll him into the blanket, then place the pillow under his head. I'm not a doctor. I can't do anything for him, and I feel so helpless. He's cold to the touch where they left him here half-naked on the floor, and the fever has produced a sweat that has cooled his skin. I do the only thing I can; I get another blanket and pillow, settle down beside him and press my body against his, giving him all the warmth I can, holding his battered body against my own.
I lie awake all night, just listening to each breath that he takes, nudging him if it seems too long since his last breath, just to make sure that he's still alive. It's the longest night of my life. Each slow hour ticking past like an eternity.
* * *
Finally, he stirs.
"Fox," he mutters, his eyelids fluttering open. He seems to know who he is and who I am, and I'm grateful for that much. "Did he...?" It's his first thought.
"No." I try to sit him up. "I'm fine. So are you. Can you get onto the bed? You're too heavy to lift."
"I'll do my best. If you help me." Between us we manage to get him onto the bed, and I bring him a bowl of water and a washcloth. I take his pants off, then wash him down gently, removing sweat and blood, and I clean up wounds and bruises as best I can. When I've finished, I cover him with the blanket again.
"You're sure you're okay? He didn't...?" he rasps. His little finger moves in my direction, finds my hand and rests on it. It's the closest he can come to a caress.
"No. He didn't," I say firmly. "He let me go. Now, drink."
He takes a sip, and then falls asleep again.
* * *
Our door is unlocked at ten a.m. and Saunders appears.
"How is our invalid?" He glances over at Skinner.
"He's ill. He was ill before the fight. He fought in Vietnam—it left him with an injury. If he'd been well, he'd have mashed your face into the sand last night," I tell him coldly.
"Really? How unfortunate for poor Mr. Skinner," Saunders remarks with all of his usual insincere charm.
"He needs a doctor," I fume at him.
"Does he?" Saunders smiles and comes over to the bed. He pulls the sheets back, but Skinner doesn't stir. "He does look quite ill." Saunders places a hand on Skinner's forehead. "He has a fever. It could be quite serious." He glances at me. "You're right, Fox. He does need a doctor."
"You'll call one, then?" I ask hopefully.
He purses his lips and shakes his head. "No. I don't think I will." He smiles. "I do hope he's fit by tomorrow evening, though. That's when the really serious event will take place."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I demand angrily.
"His initiation fight. Didn't I mention it?" He leans languidly against the armchair. "We like Mr. Skinner. He's shown himself worthy of joining Mithras. Unfortunately, we're full. There's only one way in."
"And what's that?" I ask, not following any of this, and just thinking about how much Skinner needs a doctor.
