DARK SUNSET by Mort

 Book Two: Part Two

It was the heat that woke him. A heavy, uncomfortable, humid heat. His limbs were so sticky and wet that the sensation of sweat pooling in his groin and armpits was even more uncomfortable than the feel of the ground biting against his flesh through the rough Hessian sacking.

And Mulder was no longer in his arms.

He jerked upright, his eyes wild and panicked, convinced that Zack had stolen his lover as he slept.

Only to relax, slightly, as he saw the big blond still sleeping a couple of feet to his left and Mulder sitting several meters away, by the edge of the river, staring out over the steaming water with his back to them both.

To their right, the barn was nothing more than a charred, smoldering carcass. Wisps of black smoke were still rising lazily, here and there, from the burnt ruin, but the remains of the fire he'd set wasn't the source of the pervading heat. 

"It's like being back in the fucking jungle," Zack muttered, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he rolled over and sat up to meet Skinner's troubled gaze. "These climate changes are fucking weird."

"By lunchtime it will probably be snowing," Skinner grunted.

"It's a fucked-up world," Zack agreed. His eyes shifted towards Mulder. "He okay?"

Skinner's face twisted into fury. "He doesn't need a fuck yet, if that's what you're hoping."

Zack raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Whoa, big guy. I was just wondering why he'd wandered off."

Skinner rubbed his face wearily. "Sorry. It's just…hell, I don't know *what* it is…"

"You love him," Zack replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "And you hate me for touching him last night. I understand that."

Skinner nodded.

"But understand *this*, Skinner. If I stay with you, I *will* be touching him. I won't be able to help myself. If you can't deal with that, tell me now. I'm not gonna spend my life looking over my shoulder, wondering when you're gonna decide to kill *me*. If you want me to walk away now, I will. You and Mulder can take your chances together."

Skinner glared at the other man, judging his sincerity, and Zack met his look without flinching. Skinner decided Zack's honesty deserved his own.

"I don't think I can look after him alone," he said, his cheeks flushing with angry shame at the admission. "In either respect."

It hurt, but it was the truth. Mulder had already suffered enough without Skinner letting his own jealousy put Mulder at risk.

"He'll be safer with two of us looking after him and…and…"

But he couldn't actually say it out loud. Couldn't admit that Mulder probably needed more sexual attention than he was physically capable of providing. It was too painful. Even in his own head, the admission made him feel inadequate.

Which was patently ridiculous, given that Mulder's needs had been artificially created by the Albrecx. There was nothing *natural* about the situation at all.

Zack shrugged slightly, his expression oddly sympathetic. "Maybe we should ask *him* how he feels about me staying," he suggested quietly. "If he doesn't want me 'that' way, I'll leave. But, if he agrees, you stop giving me shit about it."

Heat rose in Skinner's face. He scrambled to his feet and turned to face the river, needing to hide his blush from Zack's eyes. Zack's words had been like a slap in his face. He hadn't even *considered* asking Mulder's opinion.

What did that mean? Was his automatic assumption that he had the right to make the decision because he'd gotten so used to Mulder being defenseless in the Albrecx ship or merely a throwback to his years of being Mulder's superior? What did *either* say about him? 

He felt sickened and ashamed of himself. Yes, Mulder was undoubtedly fragile. His torture and abuse at the hands of the aliens (and 'studs' like himself, he reminded himself bitterly) wasn't something he was going to recover from easily. And how could any man come to terms with the idea he'd been physiologically altered to need regular 'servicing' for the rest of his life?

The Albrecx had stolen one of Mulder's fundamental rights. His body was no longer his own. Regardless of how well he recovered mentally, he could never return to being the man he was before. He could no longer 'choose' whether he wanted another person touching his body sexually.

He'd lost the ability to say 'no'.

But Skinner was no better than the aliens if he didn't allow Mulder the choice of when to say 'yes'.

"Fox?"

A fine tremor ran down Mulder's spine at his soft whisper, but he continued to stare blindly over the misty water of the river. Skinner sat down next to him, not touching but close enough that he could feel the heat of Mulder's body against his flesh. 

"We need to find food and shelter. The weather could change any minute."

For a long moment, he didn't think Mulder had heard him. But then Mulder sighed heavily and, when he answered, his tone was bitter and broken. 

"Why?"

Skinner shuddered, but pretended he didn't understand. "Why what?"

"Why bother?" 

Part of Skinner agreed. It was the part of him that knew that life as they'd known it was forever over. That the barren, scarred surface of the planet was now a place of immeasurable danger. That trying to survive in such a world would be almost impossible for *any* man, let alone one with Mulder's physical alterations.

But he was damned if he was going to admit it.

"Because you didn't survive all that shit just to give up now," he snarled, knowing instinctively that any show of sympathy would only validate Mulder's obvious self-pity. "I didn't get your ass off that ship just so you could sit here feeling sorry for yourself. I never figured you for a quitter, Mulder. So you can damned well pull yourself together." 

Mulder's whole body began to shake, and Skinner thought he was struggling not to cry. But then Mulder's head snapped around to face him, and there was no mistaking the fury in the flashing hazel eyes.

"Pull myself together?" Mulder demanded, his face twisted with outrage. "Fuck you, Skinner. Don't you fucking *dare* try and tell me how I should feel."

"I can't even *imagine* how you feel," Skinner admitted, his tone softening. "But I know *you*, Fox. I know you can find a way to deal with…"

"With *what*? With the fact I'm your bitch?" Mulder snarled.

Skinner jerked as though Mulder had slapped him. "You're not…" he began furiously, 

"No," Mulder snapped. "I'm not *your* Bitch. Every twelve hours for the rest of my life I'm *anyone's* bitch! How do I 'deal' with that, Skinner? How would *you* deal with that?" he challenged. "What if it was *you* who had to face the idea of turning into some sex-craved slut twice a day? How would *you* cope with the idea of having to beg any available cock to fuck your ass twice every fucking DAY?"

Skinner swallowed heavily at the anguish in Mulder's voice and wished he could say he was wrong. But it would be a lie because he knew he *couldn't* face being in Mulder's shoes.

"You're not me, Mulder. You're *stronger* than me. You always have been. You'll find a way to survive this. And you're *not* my bitch. I love you." 

Mulder's mouth twisted into a sneer, but the flashing anger in his eyes faded to wounded shadows. "It's already started. It woke me up, Walter. It's like a throbbing itch that I can't scratch and it just keeps getting stronger. How long's it been? Six hours? Seven maybe? And you want me to think about trying to survive? You want me to worry about food and shelter? All I can think about is the ache in my balls. And it's just going to get worse. The pressure is just going to keep building until I can't think about *anything* except getting fucked. I'll be on my hands and knees fucking BEGGING you to fuck me. And then, it'll start all over again. I can't live like this. I don't *want* to live like this."

"You'll never have to *beg* me to make love to you," Skinner growled harshly, his heart thumping wildly at the idea that Mulder might seriously attempt suicide. "I *love* you. I'll take care of you, I promise. I swear I'll make it okay."

"What about *him*?" Mulder demanded, his head jerking towards where Zack was standing. 

"Zack?" Skinner asked.

Mulder coughed a bark of bitter laughter. "Zack? Well, at least I know his name now rather than just the size of his cock."

Both Skinner and Zack flinched.

Mulder rose and turned towards the muscular blond. "What about it, Zack? Do you *love* me, too?" he mocked.

"I don't know you well enough to answer that," Zack replied quietly, with surprising composure. "But I sure as hell *respect* you."

"Respect me?" Mulder demanded incredulously.

"I was on the Albrecx ship too," Zack replied.

Mulder paled and winced at the reminder.

"I know what you went through, what you survived," Zack continued. "And *no*, I don't think I could face what you're facing. But then, I couldn't have survived what you've already survived. So I respect you. And I'll protect you, if you let me, and I'll help Skinner take care of you, if you let me, and we'll both, sure as hell, do everything we can to keep your dignity intact."

"In other words, I won't have to 'beg you' either?" Mulder snarled.

Zack shrugged. "You're not the only one here who got fucked-over by the Albrecx," he pointed out. "You think I *like* finding another man irresistible?"

Mulder winced and wrapped his arms around himself, his eyes darting nervously between the two other men. He felt like a rabbit trapped between two slavering hounds. "I don't…" he started, then swallowed heavily. "I don't want to talk about it any more."

"Okay," Skinner agreed gently, rising to his feet. "We're all hungry and uncomfortable. Let's see if we can find some food and proper clothes. Let's deal with this one step at a time. Just try and give it a little time, Fox. Don't make any decisions now."

He reached out to put his arm around Mulder's shoulders, but the younger man shied away from him.

"Don't touch me," Mulder spat. "Don't *either* of you touch me."

He turned his back on both of them and began to walk away, following the path of the river past the charred remains of the barn.

Skinner and Zack exchanged puzzled, concerned looks.

"Is he saying he doesn't want me to stay with you?" Zack asked uncertainly.

Skinner was tempted to agree. He was reasonably certain that Zack had been honest in his offer to leave with no bad feelings if Mulder rejected him and the jealous, selfish part of him wanted nothing more than to see the back of the big, handsome blond.

But Mulder would be safer with both of them. It wasn't only Mulder's physical needs that were the issue. Not only were there other 'studs' roaming loose in the vicinity, who might not hesitate to try and steal Mulder for themselves, they were inevitably going to stumble across survivors of the cull. Survivors who might recognize Mulder from the vid-casts that had portrayed him as a willing collaborator. 

Skinner didn't even want to *imagine* what one of those shell-shocked survivors might do to Mulder in a crazed desire for 'revenge'.

"No," he admitted. "He's angry and scared. Mulder was always an independent man. It's killing him to face the idea of *needing* someone else. He hates needing us so, at the moment, he probably hates *us*."

"Makes sense," Zack agreed, with a sad nod. "'Sides, he's better off angry than depressed. I meant what I said about respecting him. I can't believe he's the same guy as you were carrying yesterday. He's one resilient son-of-a-bitch."

A reluctant smile spread over Skinner's face. "Yeah, he is," he agreed proudly. "I've known Mulder a long time, Zack. He's faced and survived things you can't begin to imagine. I wish I'd believed in him."

"What do you mean?" 

"He knew the invasion was coming. He tried to warn people in our Government about it but they dismissed him as a flake. No one listened to him. Not even me. That's why he *has* to survive, Zack. If for no other reason that of all the people on the whole damn planet he's the one who least deserved what happened to him. Most people were guilty of ignorance. Some people were guilty of collaboration. But Mulder was guilty of *nothing*. He didn't care how many people laughed at him when he ranted about an alien invasion. He did everything he could to try and save us. But we didn't listen. So the least we owe him is to save *him* from our own folly."

"Maybe that's why the Imperator singled him out," Zack suggested cautiously. "I mean, who better to display as a supposed-collaborator than the man who had tried so hard to stop the invasion in the first place?"

Skinner nodded. "The thing is, the reason Mulder *seemed* to co-operate with the Albrecx is that even when he was in the ship he was working for the resistance down here. If it wasn't for what he did up there *no one* would have survived the culls. Even in that fucking ship, he kept trying to save the lives of people who will most probably want to kill him on sight for being a 'collaborator'."

"Then I reckon we'd better get his ass to the Resistance," Zack suggested. "If they owe him, they'll protect him."

"I hope so," Skinner agreed, though something in his gut told him it wasn't going to be that easy.

Despite the ever-growing ache in his groin, sheer-cussedness enabled Mulder to keep ahead of his companions as they followed the winding path of the river in hope of finding another habitation.

He knew it was a pointless act of defiance, given that it was only a matter of hours before he'd be desperately attempting to get at least one of them inside his ass, but his pride demanded that he at least made them both wait as long as possible before getting their hands on him.

It was easier to blame them for wanting him, than face his own self-hatred at needing them.

And, if he was still capable of reason at the time his need overwhelmed him, he was going to throw himself at Zack rather than Skinner. It was easier to face the idea of being a stranger's slut than that of the man he loved.

Maybe it was crazy, but he couldn't bear the idea of writhing mindlessly on Skinner's cock. He didn't care if Skinner *said* it was making love. The plain truth was that it was an act of rape. Not of himself, but of Skinner.

What else could you call it, when someone demanded sexual satisfaction regardless of the other party's feelings?

Mulder was limping and stumbling, walking almost doubled over, both his hands clutching his balls, groaning with each step he took, yet snarling savagely over his shoulder if either of them attempted to approach him.

So Skinner almost cried out in relief as they finally sighted the roof of a distant farmhouse.

"I'll go check it out," Zack offered. "You two stay here until I get back." His eyes flicked to Mulder. "I don't think he can wait any longer, anyway."

Without waiting for a reply, he began to jog towards the building.

Mulder gaped in disbelief and tried staggering after him, only to fall to his knees, clutching his groin in obvious agony.

"Fox? Let me help you," Skinner offered gently.

He was shocked at the wild-eyed panic in Mulder's eyes.

"No," Mulder moaned, shaking his head in denial, and batting Skinner's hand away. "Not you," he gasped. "Want *him*."

Skinner flinched as Mulder nodded towards Zack's disappearing back. Shock and intense hurt made his voice sharp. "Well, you'll just have to make do with me," he snarled.

Mulder whimpered, clutched his balls, and shook his head furiously. "No," he gasped. "Not you. Don't want you."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Skinner replied, trying to keep his tone calm despite the fact that Mulder's rejection had just ripped and shredded his heart in two. He tried to look anywhere except at Mulder. It was unbearable to hear his groans and see the way that Mulder was squirming in need and accept that Mulder didn't want *him*.

"I…I love you, Fox," he said, his voice tight with pain. "And I can't bear to see you suffer, but I won't force myself on you."

Tears began to trickle silvery paths down Mulder's dusty cheeks.

"Don't…want…force…you…" Mulder gasped.

Clarity struck Skinner so suddenly that he almost laughed his relief. Mulder *wasn't* rejecting him. 

"You stupid, fucked-up bastard," he said, shaking his head fondly. "I love you, you fool. Didn't I promise you'd never have to beg me?"

"Rape," Mulder choked, then whimpered as another jolt of pain coursed through his balls.

Skinner's face darkened with fury, before he realized that Mulder wasn't accusing *him*.

"I *want* to make love to you, Fox. How can that be rape?"

"No choice."

"You're right if you mean the alternative is watching another guy fuck you," Skinner agreed dryly. "I can't promise I'll always be able," he said, with a rueful smile at his own crotch. "But I'll sure as hell always be *willing*."

He wasn't sure if it was his words that convinced, or simply the fact that the ache in Mulder's balls had become so insistent that the argument had become moot, but Mulder stopped fighting his need, scrambled over onto his hands and knees and wriggled his ass enticingly in Skinner's face.

"Okay, babe," Skinner agreed, sinking to his knees and unstrapping the milking device from the rope around his waist. He tried reaching under Mulder's hips to slip the cup over the needy, dripping cock, but Mulder's writhing, greedy hips kept knocking his arm sideways.

"Please," Mulder sobbed. "Oh, please, please, please. It hurts, Walter. Stop it hurting. Please…"

Skinner choked back a sob. There was nothing erotic about Mulder's cries. They were wails of torment. Wails he'd previously been spared. He'd always *known* that Mulder was suffering intense pain while he was being 'milked' but hearing Mulder's sobbing cries for relief somehow made that knowledge more terrible.

"PLEASE!" Mulder screamed. 

Skinner winced and pressed a finger against Mulder's hole and began to push the tight flesh apart.

"JUST FUCK ME. PLEASE FUCK ME. PLEASE. PLEASE, WALTER. PLEASE!"

The increasing pitch and urgency of Mulder's screams tore through Skinner's head. He pulled his finger out, guided his cock to the still tight flesh and, gripping Mulder's hips hard enough to still the frantically bouncing buttocks, he drove himself inside with one powerful thrust and Mulder's screams transformed into a wail of shock at the abrupt invasion.

Using his cock and left hand to pin Mulder in place, Skinner reached to attach the milker and turned it on. Then he started to thrust with short, hard stabs until Mulder's wailing transformed into squeals and moans of relief.

He powered into Mulder's ass, abandoning any finesse for simple repetitive thrusts until he felt the convulsive tightening that confirmed the milker was doing its job. Then he dared to slow his own movements to long, luxurious glides that were hard enough to keep Mulder ejaculating in a steady stream without him losing control of his own balls. 

When even that started to push him over the edge, he changed rhythm again.

Without the Albrecx drugs, he knew he would struggle to maintain his erection for as long as Mulder needed to come, so he ignored the sweat dripping down his forehead and Mulder's gasps of "Harder, please, harder," and instead reached between his legs, formed his fingers in a tight ring around the top of his cock, and used short, sharp jabs to keep Mulder's ass dancing in ecstasy.

He used his other hand to keep a grip of Mulder's balls, squeezing and kneading them to encourage them to spill their seed, using his touch to judge their size and fullness, and trying not to think about the tight pressure building in his own balls.

Only when Mulder's scrotum had shrunk to almost normal proportions did he release both it and his own cock so that he could grab Mulder firmly by the waist.

He slid deep inside his lover, until their balls were pressed together. Then he pulled out until only his crown was lodged inside the tight muscle and used his whole body weight to drive inside once more.

Mulder threw back his head and howled encouragement, so he did it again, and again, until his own balls drew taut and exploded their contents into Mulder's hot depths. Skinner continued to thrust, riding his own orgasm through the twisting bucks of Mulder's writhing ass, until his cock was limp and spent, incapable of even twitching under its own volition.

Then he pulled out and dropped heavily to one elbow, panting with exhaustion, only to sigh in tired disappointment to see that despite the hard fucking, Mulder's hips were still twitching as he continued to hump desperately against the milker.

Skinner slipped two fingers inside the loose ass and began lazily stroking Mulder's prostate, coaxing every last drop out of Mulder's balls until, with a final cry, Mulder collapsed into a boneless heap. Skinner rolled him over, smiled ruefully at the glazed, insensate eyes, then pressed a kiss against his slack lips and detached the milker. 

"It's a work-out and a half," Zack commented dryly.

Skinner jumped, sat up abruptly, and glared at the younger man. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to worry I was going to have to help you out," Zack chuckled. "And I don't think I've recovered from my own work-out yet."

Skinner bristled with jealousy and wounded pride, but then, somehow, he saw the sad humor in the situation and smiled wryly. "I feel like I just ran a marathon," he admitted.

"Farmhouse is deserted," Zack announced. "Which is just as well considering the noise he was making. It's clear the occupants left in a hurry. There's…well there's some dead cows in the barn. Someone forgot to let them out. But there's chickens running loose in the yard and I saw a couple of goats out back so, despite the lack of wildlife, it's clear that *some* animals survived the pulse. Maybe their owners went to one of the internment camps before the attack. There's no running water or electric, but there's tinned food in the cupboards including," he paused dramatically, "jars of baby food."

Skinner blinked at him in incomprehension for a moment, then his brow cleared. "You think he'll be able to eat it?"

"Don't see why not. And there's a blender in the kitchen. If we can figure out a way to get some power, we'll be able to fix some 'real' food for him. Here…I had to guess your size but…" he shrugged and threw a pair of sneakers in Skinner's direction.

Skinner grabbed them eagerly. They were a little tight, but a hell of a lot better than bare feet.

"There's clothes too. Nothing fancy, but good enough. I was gonna try some on but, well I wanted to get back to you just in case."

Skinner looked down at Mulder, who was still out for the count. His stubborn pride insisted that *he* should carry Mulder to the house. His common sense won out.

"Can you?" he asked, gesturing at the sleeping man.

"Sure," Zack agreed, reaching down and picking Mulder up like he weighed nothing. "Sooner we get him cleaned up, fed and in a proper bed, the better he'll feel."

Skinner swallowed heavily, nodded, and forced himself to say it. "I'm glad you're with us, Zack."

Zack stared at him; his eyes narrow, as though contemplating how much the admission had cost Skinner. Then he nodded.

"I won't make you regret it," he said gruffly, then he turned and led the way to the farmhouse.

Go to Part Three