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The Cat Burglar by Mort M/K NC-17 Part Seven ~#~#~#~
SCULLY'S APARTMENT. He wasn’t sure how long he’d cried after Scully had left him alone. He didn’t even remember eventually falling into an exhausted sleep. But it was dark when he was woken by the sensation of soft lips nuzzling his right ear, followed swiftly by sharp teeth teasing the back of his neck. “Alex?” he gasped into his tear-sodden pillow. The only answer was a low growl as his assailant responded to his wakening state by increasing the savagery of the bites and lowering his full body weight onto Mulder’s back. “Alex, “ Mulder groaned, automatically relaxing under the assault as a knee pressed insistently between his thighs, nudging his legs apart. As Alex’s breathing deepened into hot, heavy pants of obvious arousal, Mulder felt his own cock harden in response and he reached blindly towards the bedside cabinet for lube. Only to freeze in horror as his fingers connected with an unfamiliar surface. It wasn’t *his* bedside cabinet. It wasn’t *his* bed. Oh god. He remembered now. He was in Scully’s apartment! “Wait. Stop. Alex. Please. We can’t do this here.” Alex’s teeth detached themselves from his neck and Mulder sighed a breath that was as much bitter disappointment as relief as Alex’s weight shifted downwards, so that Mulder was no longer pinned facedown on the bed. “As soon as we get home,” he began apologetically, using his arms to raise his body enough to relieve the pressure against his engorged cock. He took several steadying breaths. He wasn’t ready to turn over and face Alex yet. He had the feeling that it would take only one look into those magnificent, preternatural eyes and he’d forget all of the damned good reasons why he shouldn’t let Alex fuck him in Scully’s bed. “I’ll just get dressed, and we’ll go back to my place, and then…FUCK!” he squealed, as his ass was breached by a hot, wet and inhumanly long tongue. “Stop it,” he pleaded weakly, as the invader began to thrust lazily in and out between his automatically loosening ass, sweeping over his prostate, its rough surface burning against his sensitive nerve endings and sending tiny jolts of pleasure directly through to his cock. “I mean it, Alex,” he groaned, as the tongue continued its assault until his whole ass was on fire. Alex ignored his protests, which wasn’t surprising considering the way Mulder was instinctively thrusting his buttocks eagerly upwards to encourage the assault and grunting with obvious pleasure with each plunge of Alex’s tongue. “ALEX,” Mulder wailed, as the tongue withdrew from his anus and began sweeping up and down his crack in long, lazy licks that ignited his pucker and perineum and made his rock-hard balls feel as though they were being bathed in acid. It was too dark to see, but he didn’t need eyes to know he was dripping a constant flow of pre-cum onto Scully’s comforter. "What about Scully?” he gasped. Alex ceased his attack just long enough to purr, “She’s gone. We’re alone.” Mulder groaned with relief, wiggled his hips encouragingly and thrust his ass back into Alex’s face. Then froze. "Gone? Gone where?” he demanded. “Hotel,” Alex snapped impatiently. Having perfect night vision, he had no problem lining himself up to assault Mulder’s glistening hole but it was hard to concentrate on conversation *and* reach into the nothing to choose a suitable implement for the fucking. It had been four days since he’d last fucked his pet, so he was torn between the desire to show Fox *exactly* what he’d been missing and the worry he might do him some serious damage with his preferred instrument of ass torture. He decided to compromise and choose something large enough to make Fox squeal but to forgo the barbs until he’d broken Fox’s ass into submission again. Oh yes. That would do it, he decided, as he hefted the substantial girth of his chosen cock in his hands and pressed its bulbous head against Mulder’s pucker. Ready or not, here I come, he snickered silently, and shoved his hips forward, impaling his pet with a swift, brutal thrust that ripped a scream out of Mulder’s throat. “FUCK!” Mulder howled, his fingers clawing for purchase on the mattress as Alex slammed what felt like a torpedo up his ass. “Good?” Alex purred, pulling back until only the head of his cock was lodged inside Mulder’s hole then taking a deep breath and ramming home again with enough force to drive all the breath out of Mulder’s body in a ragged wail. Time lost all meaning as he gained a rhythm in Mulder’s body, and he allowed himself to drift mentally through the nothing, following the threads of consciousness that were closely connected to his pet, dipping briefly into the dreamscapes of Dana and Doggett, and even paying a fleeting visit to Skinner (since it was *his* dick he was borrowing for the night). Twice he was vaguely aware of Mulder’s defeated ass attempting to clench tight around his assault and his nostrils flared with the scent of Mulder’s come, but those sensations were only secondary to his own pleasure. So he paid no heed to his pet’s whimpers for mercy after each of those orgasms as he continued to drive into the now exhausted and over-sensitized flesh he was fucking. By the time he finally returned to full consciousness with a final roar of completion, the dawn was rising and his pet had long since given up the attempt to remain conscious. Mulder’s body didn’t even twitch as he withdrew from the now raw and swollen hole and reluctantly allowed Skinner’s cock to fade back into the nothing. He smacked his Fox’s ass fondly as he climbed off and wandered in search of Scully’s bathroom to take a piss. Then he returned to the bedroom, rolled his fox over onto his back and gently slapped Mulder's face until he woke up. “I want coffee,” he announced, as Mulder’s eyelashes blinked open over exhausted, dark rimmed eyes. “Fuck off and die,” Mulder mumbled, grabbing a pillow and pulling it over his face to block off the sunlight streaming through the window. “I want coffee NOW!” Alex replied, snatching the pillow, throwing it across the room and glaring at his disobedient pet. “Okay, okay,” Mulder groaned, rolling over onto his side and wincing as the movement made his ass cheeks rub together over his abused pucker. “You’re such a selfish prick, Alex. I’m not sure I can even walk this morning and all you care about is your goddamned coffee.” “You want me to go get my coffee from someone else?” Alex asked, with a deceptively innocent smile. “No, I don’t want you getting fucking *anything* from anyone else,” Mulder snarled, dragging himself out of Scully’s bed and limping painfully across the room. “Asshole,” he added, over his shoulder, as he disappeared through the door. Alex just smirked and prowled into Scully’s sitting room, where he sprawled contentedly on the couch and listened to the sound of Mulder slamming items around in the kitchen. He waited until Mulder limped over to him with a steaming mug of coffee, then said, “Eggs, I think. I want eggs and….Canadian bacon.” “Right,” Mulder snapped, turning on his heel and making his painful way back to the kitchen. A moment later he poked his head out of the door. “She doesn’t have any bacon.” Alex shrugged, reached into the nothing and materialized a Rolex onto his left wrist in front of Mulder’s incredulous eyes. “It’s 6.30. By the time you stagger down there, the 7-11 will be open.” Mulder just blinked in disbelief for a moment, then a thunderous cloud settled over his features. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Alex. But you just created a wristwatch out of thin air.” “I didn’t create it,” Alex corrected smugly. “It’s a real watch. I just brought it here through the nothing.” Mulder resisted the urge to ask Alex about that spate of mysterious jewelry thefts and instead focused on the most burning question in his mind. “So, why the hell can’t you reach into the ‘nothing’ and fetch your own fucking bacon?” “I could,” Alex agreed. “But why should I, when I’ve got you to fetch it for me?” “WHAT?” Mulder howled, his face contorting with fury. Alex inspected his fingernails idly. “If you *loved* me, you’d go get me some bacon.” “Love you? If I didn’t fucking *love* you I wouldn’t be limping around with an ass that feels like raw hamburger this morning,” Mulder yelled. “If you *loved* me, you wouldn’t be complaining about it. I gave you the best fuck of your life, last night,” Alex smirked. Mulder opened his mouth to deny it, then blushed furiously and swallowed the denial unspoken. “I’ll…um…just go fetch your bacon,” he mumbled. Alex smiled approvingly at Mulder’s improved attitude. “Blow me, and I’ll fetch it myself,” he offered. “You’re still horny?” Mulder asked, his eyes glazing with disbelief. “You always make me horny, Fox,” Alex purred. “Oh god,” Mulder groaned, as Alex’s tone made his own cock snap to attention. “You’re turning me into a complete slut.” “I’m just encouraging your natural potential,” Alex snickered, patting his lap encouragingly where his own, more-than-adequately-sized, cock was rearing in hungry anticipation. Mulder began to limp over, his lips already glistening with anticipation, then he dropped to his hands and knees, crawled eagerly between Alex’s open thighs and took Alex’s cock into his mouth. “Take your time,” Alex suggested. “I’ve still got half a mug of coffee to finish.” Mulder closed his eyes and preyed fervently that no one had Scully’s apartment under surveillance. If it wasn’t bad enough that he’d let Alex fuck him into unconsciousness the night before, now he was kneeling naked in front of Scully’s couch, deep-throating a lover who was clearly more interested in the coffee he was slurping down his throat than the mouth slurping desperately at his cock. It was impossible to maintain any illusion of dignity with a lover as supremely self-centered as Alex Krycek. But, god, Alex turned him on. Not in spite of his arrogant, selfish attitude but, somehow, because of it. Maybe it was just that in every other aspect of his life, Mulder was the self-centered one. In his job, in his quest for the ‘truth’, Mulder took no prisoners. He expected the whole world to fall in line and conform to *his* expectations. He rode rough-shod over everyone, even the people he most cared about, in his certainty that proving the validity of his beliefs was more important than anyone else’s ‘feelings’. In his relationship with Alex, the world was turned on its head. Alex called the shots. Alex drew the boundaries and lines. Alex willfully ignored the Mulder’s physical limitations and only showed interest in Mulder’s happiness if that coincided with his *own* desires. In short, Alex was a complete and utter shit. But a shit who time and again had saved Mulder’s life; who would literally rip anyone into pieces if they so much as gave Mulder a dirty look; who made a habit of offering some crucial piece of evidence when Mulder was stuck while investigating a case; who, in his own peculiar ways, proved beyond doubt that he *loved* Mulder, regardless of his pretended air of indifference. So when Alex’s hand tangled in his hair, ripped the cock out of his mouth, and he found himself thrown on his hands and knees in the middle of Scully’s prized Persian rug, he didn’t verbally protest. Well, except that he couldn’t prevent himself from squealing in genuine pain as Alex’s cock forced its way into his raw, swollen flesh and he sobbed unashamedly as Alex began to rock inside him with a brutal, punishing rhythm. “Why am I fucking you, Fox?” Alex snarled. It was hard to breathe, let alone speak, when his ass was burning like a furnace and Alex’s cock was punching mercilessly into his already agonized hole. But Mulder dragged the words out of his throat, knowing that nothing less than the truth would appease his suddenly demonic lover. “Because I’m yours. Because you can,” he gasped. “If you EVER,” Alex growled, reaching into the nothing and coating his cock with savage, though carefully retracted, barbs, “tell me to ‘fuck off and die’ again, it’s over. In fact if you ever say *no* to me, it’s over. Do you understand me?” “YES!” Mulder screamed, as the knobbed protrusions battered his raw passage. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Alex. Oh God, I’m so sorry!” “Come for me,” Alex growled, reaching down and lightly clawing Mulder’s balls. Mulder’s eyes rolled back in his head, as the sharp bite of Alex’s claws against his balls promised castration if he didn’t comply. “Scully’s rug,” he gasped. “COME,” Alex roared, exploding his own semen into Mulder’s ass so hard that he forgot the existence of the barbs until they locked him into Mulder’s flesh. Mulder screamed and came, his cock gushing a flood of semen , his heart hammering so hard he almost blacked out. His ass was such a raging torment of heat and pain that he didn’t even feel the barbs dissipating back to the nothing, or Alex’s cock sliding out of his pucker. He felt nothing but the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart and the deep satisfied ache in his depleted cock and the soft, gentle touch of Alex’s tongue as it laved at his pucker, bathing the hot flesh with cool saliva. “I love you,” he gasped, as Alex licked hungrily at the blood-tinged semen that was trickling out of his ass. “I love you so goddamned much, Alex.” He wasn't surprised that Alex didn't return the sentiment verbally, but he was satisfied that being rolled over onto his back and pounced on was probably Alex's attempt to show affection. Alex landed on top of him hard enough to knock the little remaining breath out of Mulder’s lungs, and then he thrust his tongue into Mulder’s gasping mouth and flooded it with the taste of come. “Oh, God. Scully’s gonna kill me,” Mulder choked, as Alex’s insistent kisses ground his back into the sticky mess he’d left on the rug. “Probably,” Alex agreed cheerfully. “But not before you’ve made me my breakfast.” “I’m not sure I can walk,” Mulder muttered. Alex raised an eyebrow. “Is that a complaint, Fox?” Mulder shook his head frantically at the warning rumble. “A compliment,” he gulped, with a sheepish grin. Alex smirked, rose to his feet, reached into the nothing and proudly produced a pack of Canadian Bacon. “I always keep my promises, Fox.” “Thanks,” Mulder gasped, as he dragged himself to his feet. He really *didn’t* think he was capable of doing much more than limping to the kitchen like a geriatric cowboy, though he *would* have staggered to the 7-11 if Alex had insisted. Which, come to think of it, was probably the only reason Alex was prepared to let him off the hook. Unless Alex *was* genuinely concerned about the agony he’d just re-ignited in Mulder’s ass. “Get me another cup of coffee while you're at it, would you?” Alex drawled. Or maybe not. Mulder shook his head in disbelief, cast a fondly irritated glare in Alex’s direction, and hobbled off to the kitchen clutching the bacon in one hand and rubbing his sore ass with the other. “So why’s Scully at a hotel?” he asked half-an-hour later, as he knelt on the floor and scrubbed frantically at the stain on the rug while Alex placidly ate his breakfast. “Because she didn’t want to listen to me playing with my pet,” Alex smirked, around a mouthful of scrambled eggs and bacon. “I told her you were a screamer.” Mulder’s face burned scarlet. “Great,” he snarled. “She’s going to laugh her ass off if she sees the way I’m walking this morning. That’s it, I’m *definitely* calling in sick.” “You’re on medical leave for the rest of the week,” Alex informed him. “Apparently the FBI takes a dim view of Agents turning up for work high on illegal substances.” “Scully said the LSD was out of my system.” “If it wasn’t, it sure as hell is now,” Alex agreed, with a smirk. “Turns out the only reason you’re still in the land of the living is the fact I'm fucking your ass.” “Extracting my seratonin,” Mulder agreed thoughtfully, and then he smirked. “So is that why you spent the whole night fucking me blind?” “Nope,” Alex snorted. “I fucked your ass ’cos it’s mine to fuck. But you can tell Scully you can’t sit down for medicinal reasons if it makes you feel better. We’re picking her up on the way to the airport.” “The airport?” “Of course, you’re going to *have* to sit down on the plane. Maybe you could buy yourself one of those inflatable hemorrhoid pillows in the airport.” “Ha fucking ha. Where are we flying to?” “Farmington, New Mexico.” “What the hell’s in Farmington, New Mexico?” “Albert Hosteen.” Mulder rolled his eyes in irritation. “Who the hell’s Albert Hosteen?” “Apparently, he can translate your files. He was a Navajo code talker during world war two. He helped encode the original government documents.” “Great!” Mulder announced enthusiastically, only to immediately frown in confusion. “I don’t understand. How do you know all this?” “I just do,” Alex snapped impatiently, rising to his feet and stalking over to where Mulder was kneeling. “Now shut up, stick your face down, your ass up and open your legs, Fox.” “I don’t fucking *believe* you,” Mulder gasped, glaring at Alex with an expression of sheer horror. “What did I say about you ever refusing me?” Alex asked, with a growl of irritation. “Please, Alex,” Mulder whimpered. “I…I…can’t. I’m too fucking sore.” “I said I want you, Fox,” Alex repeated, his tone dangerous. “Please…” “NOW!” Mulder shuddered, sobbed in defeat, dropped his head to the damp rug and opened his legs to reveal his bruised and swollen hole. “Good boy,” Alex purred happily, smacking Mulder’s ass approvingly. “You can get up now.” “Huh?” Mulder asked, looking over his shoulder and blinking stupidly. “Just testing,” Alex snickered, moving back to the couch and sitting down with a smug grin on his face. “Bastard,” Mulder growled, hauling himself to his feet and glaring at Alex with undisguised anger. “That’s me,” Alex agreed. Mulder clenched and unclenched his fists several times, uncertain whether he wanted to smack Alex in the face for looking so smug or *himself* in the face for having just proved how enslaved he was becoming to Alex's whims. At times like this it was hard to see himself as anything more than Alex’s toy, and it made him sick to his stomach to face that fact and know that he *still* couldn’t bear the idea that Alex might ever leave him. No matter what he did. Even if…even if he’d…. “Did you kill my father?” Mulder blurted. Having no experience of caring about another's feelings, Alex had never learned how to lie convincingly. His usual practice was to speak the truth and the consequences be damned. His conscience was clear over Bill Mulder’s death. Bill Mulder had intended to kill Fox, therefore Bill Mulder was dead. So there was no reason to lie. Yet Alex understood that for all Mulder’s avowals that nothing mattered to him except the ‘truth’, there was no gentle way to tell a man that his father had planned his execution. Though he didn’t recognize his own feelings of ambivalence as being compassion, Alex knew the unvarnished truth would *hurt* his Fox, and so decided it wasn’t an acceptable answer. “He killed himself, Fox." “But why?” “Because he couldn’t live with you knowing the truth about him,” Alex replied carefully, skating between two truths rather than speaking a lie. The fact that Bill Mulder would have happily solved that dilemma by shooting his son instead was a truth that Fox *didn't* need to hear. “The truth that’s on that tape?” “Yes," Alex agreed. “Do you know what that truth is?” Mulder begged. Alex shuddered internally at the look of vulnerability in Mulder’s eyes. It was okay for Mulder too look like that when he was on his hands and knees begging to be fucked, but it made Alex uncomfortable to see his fox in pain over something he couldn’t control. “I’m getting bored of this conversation, Fox. Go get yourself showered and dressed. We’re picking Scully up in an hour.” Mulder opened his mouth to object, but faltered in the face of Alex’s obvious irritation. If he continued to push the conversation, he had little doubt that Alex would either storm off in a temper or decide to bend him over and fuck him into compliance again and his ass couldn’t stand another reaming this side of the Millennium even if his dick *was* twitching at the prospect. “I’m turning into such a fucking slut,” he muttered to himself, and staggered towards the bathroom.
It was bad enough that Scully had spent the whole drive to the airport glaring at his reflection in the driver’s mirror and asking him whether he was coming down with something again. She’d expressed concern over his paleness, his tiredness and the fact that he was shuffling on his seat as though he was sitting on hot coals. But when they’d parked the car and taken the short walk to the terminal, Scully’s incessant queries into his health had abruptly lapsed into complete silence. She hadn’t said a word as he’d hobbled into the terminal. She hadn’t so much as raised an eyebrow at his involuntary groan as he’d lowered himself into his seat in the plane. But every time he’d sneaked a look in her direction he could tell she was desperately struggling to conceal a grin. Traitor. The smug, satisfied look on Alex’s face throughout hadn’t helped his temper. Neither had the fact that he and Scully were booked economy while Alex had upgraded himself to Club. “I like a bit of leg-room,” he’d said blithely. “And the food’s better.’ “Look at it this way,” Scully had soothed. “He doesn’t need to ‘fly’ at all, does he? As far as I understand it, he can travel through this ‘nothing’ to anywhere he likes. So traveling with us is already a huge concession, without him being uncomfortable.” “It’s not *his* ass that…” Mulder had blurted before he could silence his treacherous tongue. “Obviously,” Scully had replied succinctly, and the rest of the journey had been silent except for Mulder’s occasional moans and groans as the plane hit pockets of turbulence. Then, when the plane was about to land, there had been a mad flurry of panic amongst the stewardesses. The reason for their confusion had become clear when the plane eventually landed and no one was allowed to disembark. The entire 186 passengers had been kept on the plane for over two hours while the crew searched for a passenger who had apparently mysteriously vanished mid-flight. It was only when Mulder and Scully had managed to extricate themselves from the mystery by grace of their FBI badges, that they discovered a probable reason for Alex’s disappearance. They were met at the Arrivals Terminal by an ancient, white-haired Indian who had solemnly announced, “I’m Albert Hosteen. The Skinwalker told me you were coming.” So now they were sitting in a car so old that Mulder doubted suspension had even been invented at the time it had come off the production line, talking to a man who possibly was the key to the answer of every question Mulder had ever asked, and all he could think about was the fact his ass was fucking *killing* him. “Even before the Skinwalker arrived, I knew *you* would come, Fox Mulder,” Albert announced, as they pulled off a dirt-track onto an even more pot-holed road. It took all of Mulder’s willpower not to insist the old man pulled the car over and let him limp the rest of the way. “In the desert, things find a way to survive. Secrets are like this too. They push their way up through the sands of deception so that men can know them. Here, this is my house.” Mulder gave a deep sigh of relief as the car shuddered to a halt, and he gratefully climbed out. “But why me?” he demanded, as Albert emerged from the driver’s side. “You are a man of truth. And a man of hidden strength. You must be. You lie with the Skinwalker, yet you bear no taint of his evil." “I assume when you say 'Skinwalker', you’re referring to Alex?” “Yes. Your shapeshifter…lover.” Scully snorted under her breath, then avoided Mulder's eyes by pretending to be entranced by the arid scenery. “You’re saying Alex is evil?” Mulder demanded. “He’s a Skinwalker,” Albert replied and spat on the ground for emphasis. "Our legends speak of evil spirits that can wear any form. He wears the guise of a man, but in the noon sun he casts the shadow of a cat." "He does?" Mulder queried, his eyes bright with interest. "I've never noticed that. Then again, I tend to meet him at night more often than not." Scully choked audibly at the comment. "But you're wrong about him being evil," Mulder continued, glaring daggers into the back of Scully's head. “It’s the people who made him into a ‘skinwalker’ who are evil.” Albert narrowed his eyes in contemplation, then shrugged slightly. “Do you look into his spirit with your eyes or with your heart?” “My heart.” “Does your heart recognize truth when it sees it?” “All I ever care about is the truth.” “Then perhaps you see clearly,” Albert sighed, shrugging slightly as though willing to offer Alex the benefit of the doubt. “Perhaps it is your belief in truth that binds the intrinsic evil of the Skinwalker. Are you prepared to accept the truth? To sacrifice yourself to it?” “I don't understand what you’re asking,” Mulder admitted. “There was a tribe of Indians who lived here more than 600 years ago. Their name was Anasazi. It means ancient aliens. No evidence of their fate exists. Historians say they disappeared without a trace. They say that because they will not sacrifice themselves to the truth.” “And what is the truth?” Mulder demanded. “Nothing disappears without a trace.” Mulder frowned in confusion, but then his face cleared as he understood what the old man was implying. “You think they were abducted?” Albert nodded. “By visitors who come here still.” “And is the truth I’m looking for buried in those ruins?” “Lies are buried there. This is my youngest son, Eric,” he said, as a young man emerged from behind the house, wheeling a motorbike over in their direction. “He will take you to see for yourself.” “Oh god, my ass,” Mulder mumbled, glaring at the bike with horror-struck eyes. Scully stifled a snigger, then turned to the old man. “What about me?” “Your visit here is….unexpected,” Albert said, his eyes distant. “Perhaps your presence and that of the Skinwalker will change the path of the future that was written.” “I don’t believe in predestination,” she announced firmly, as Mulder climbed on the back of Eric’s bike and disappeared into a cloud of dust. “Then, if you’re lucky, perhaps you’ll find that predestination doesn’t believe in you either,” he chuckled. “Where’s Alex?” Albert shrugged. “Who knows? It’s easier to bridle the wind than to bind a creature like the Skinwalker. But the cunning fox has managed to snare him so I expect that where the fox goes, Alex is never far behind.” “I hope so,” Scully murmured, staring out towards the horizon. “Because suddenly I have a really bad feeling about all this.”
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Part Eight
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