Part Twelve

 

"Urrrggghhhh," Walter groaned, as he peered through the black curtains and saw the room spinning around him. The upside-down room. His ears were full of the sound of rushing water, a pounding throbbing pressure in his head that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of his thundering heart. He closed his eyes, burrowed his face into the heavy feathery drapes and wondered whether dead people could puke.

"Ah ha. Thought this would wake you up again," a deep voice chuckled from several feet above his head. "Never fails."

The voice rumbled through the strange watery cacophony, cutting through his hazy confusion with sobering precision, and he became aware of an almost painful pressure biting into his ankles. With that awareness, he groaned again and the answering laugh of his tormentor sent his body into a wild, nauseating spin once more.

"Oops," the voice sniggered, and the black curtains flapped loudly around Walter's head until the sensation of churning water in his head slowed its violent rampage.

Walter's eyes flew open as reality, or at least what masqueraded as reality in the insane place named Purgatory, snapped back into place. He was upside down, suspended by the ankles by means of two inhumanly strong hands, and the feathery drapes that were beating a slow pulsing rhythm in front of his face were a pair of wings. Angel's wings.

So it wasn't water sloshing around his head, just blood. Which would have made sense under the circumstances if he hadn't been equally certain that his body's entire blood supply was in fact centered in his groin. 

Oh, god, not again, he whimpered silently as he felt Mordad shifting back into position above him and realized the downside of being dead was that no matter how much it felt like this was killing him, he was going to survive the experience. Again, and again and again.

"Mor…" he pleaded weakly.

"More? You're such a slut, Walter," Mordad chuckled happily.

"Shit," Walter gasped, as a strong beat of wings lifted him so swiftly that his aching cock was driven balls deep into the tight furnace of Mordad's ass while his own already raw passage was simultaneously impaled by the angel. He was still gasping with the shock of that invasion when the grip on his ankles tightened minutely and he groaned deep in his chest as Mordad began pumping him up and down with the same brutal rhythm that had already driven him to three prior shattering orgasms.

"You're killing me," he whimpered, as the tight sheath around his cock and the simultaneous pounding of his prostate sent bolts of unbearable pleasure that coursed through his groin, down his nerve endings and exploded into his brain like fireworks. 

He drowned in pleasure, as the steady beat of Mordad's wings kept them aloft while the motion of his body rising up and down against the angel's kept them both spinning wildly in the air so that the discomfort of the blood pounding in his head was countered by the exhilaration of the air slapping his face as he spun around and around, impaled and impaling, learning that mortal sex was nothing but a pale shadow of angelic passion but doubting even a dead soul could survive such a relentless assault of such mind-shattering ecstasy.

Walter threw his head back and howled, his arms outstretched towards the floor, his hands clawing the air and then freezing, as the rapture of his agonizing pleasure arched his spine into rigor. Then his balls emptied into his cock and he began to fire round after round of come into the vibrating heat that enfolded him, his hips jerking back and forth in a frantic confused dance as Mordad met each explosion of come with his own volley of bowel-deep return fire. Spent and exhausted, his cock shriveled and began to slip free of its prison, retreating in whimpering submission as its over-sensitive skin was now punished by the continuing assault of Mordad's own cock.

He spun, helpless and sated, his body jerking spasmodically as Mordad continued to draw his own orgasm out with almost agonizing leisure, as the hard relentless cock inside him insisted on drawing every last reaction out of Walter's body, before finally burrowing inside for one last explosive assault.

Mordad's howl of triumph rumbled through the room, as the human in his hands shook and quivered and wailed in ecstatic submission. Then, with a gentle flutter of wings, he descended enough to lower the now insensate Walter onto the fluffy down pillows that sprawled over the bed to form a nest.

Time passed, or perhaps not, since time in purgatory is a strange and undefined notion. Suffice it to say that Mordad's well used human slumbered a little and the sheen of perspiration dried on the exhausted flesh while the rosy blush of his cheeks faded back to a creamy color that complimented the soft pillows so much that Mordad's cock began to rise again in response to the pretty sight. There was nothing as relaxing, he decided, as a vacation with an all-you-can-eat banquet and it had been a long time since he'd had such a tasty morsel to nibble on. 

With a wide grin he grasped his pretty toy's ankles, flapped his wings and rose above the bed once more.

"Urrrggghhhh," Walter groaned, as he peered through the black curtains and saw the room spinning around him. The upside-down room.

Oh, god, Walter whimpered silently as he felt Mordad shifting back into position above him and realized the downside of being dead was that no matter how much it felt like this was killing him, he was going to survive the experience.

Again, and again and again.


~#~#~#~


"Don't fucking start," Mulder snarled. "I've heard it all before. You didn't want to kill him, but it was him or me. You're misunderstood. You're not a lying, murdering scumbag *demon*. You're one of the good guys. Oh, and let's not forget he was part of the conspiracy. He was an evil man. He gave up Samantha and let me live with the guilt of it. He was directly or indirectly responsible for research that left dozens, maybe hundreds, of innocent people dead or maimed. He was a conscienceless bastard and you killed him to do me a favor. The fact that he was an old man isn't relevant, is it? The fact you shot him down in fucking cold blood on the day he finally was prepared to tell me the truth was just, let's see, bad timing? He was my father. So don't fucking start, Alex. Just shut the fuck up before I remember all the other reasons I have to hate you."

"Fox…" Alex murmured patiently.

"I said shut up! He was my FATHER, you bastard!"

"No he wasn't." Gentle voice, full of sorrow and understanding. 

Mulder's lips drew back to expose his teeth in a bitter snarl. "Don't fuck with me. Do you think I give a shit whether it's his DNA in my veins? Do you think I don't know about my mother's affair with that cigarette-smoking bastard? I know, Alex. As much as the idea makes me want to puke, I accept the fact that I'm probably the product of that affair, that Jeffrey Spender is my brother, but it doesn't make any difference. Bill Mulder was my father. He was the guy who put a roof over my head and gave me his name and picked me up when I fell down. He was the guy who I thought walked on water until I was twelve years old and irrelevant of what happened after that, he never stopped being my 'dad'. I loved him. Sometimes I hated him, but I never stopped loving him and he never stopped being my father. So I don't give a shit what spin you put on it, or even whether you did it to save me. You killed my dad, Alex."

"Fox…"

"I said I don't want to discuss it. Don't you think it's hard enough facing the fact I just let a demon fuck my ass without dealing with *that* shit as well?"

"I'm not a fucking 'demon' and I don't want to talk about Bill fucking Mulder," Alex snarled, as his temper finally snapped. "I want to talk about *Spender*."

"Then why didn't you say so?"

"I did."

"You said 'my dad'."

"He *is* your dad."

Mulder growled, clenched his fists and launched himself at Alex. Only to find himself back-flipped by invisible hands so that he sprawled back on the mattress, wrists and ankles tied once more. "Let me go, you bastard," he howled.

"Not until we talk," Alex replied, crossing his arms and relaxing against the wall.

"I'll rip your fuc…uggghh." He choked against the silk gag that had just wrapped itself around his mouth and glowered daggers at Alex's smirking face.

"Let's amend that to not until you listen," Alex sighed. "Really, lover, you make everything a battle, don't you? The only way to get information into your thick skull is to tie you down and gag you. You look delectable like that, by the way."

"…cknn..kl..ooh…thr…kerr…" Mulder promised.

"Whatever," Alex agreed with a sad shrug. "Anyway. Here's the important bit. Spender's your father."

"…es..nugh…"

"Your biological father," Alex clarified.

Mulder glowered but accepted the point.

"Which is both better and worse than you think."

Mulder frowned.

"It's better than you think, because I know it fucks you up to think that Spender's blood runs in your veins since he's such a murdering, psychotic, bastard. You hate him so you loathe the idea of him being related to you. It probably doesn't help that he's such an ugly fucker. Kind of embarrassing to think of *that* as being your father, I guess. Though I think most of the wrinkles are supposed to be the effects of chain-smoking. Gabriel loves authentic touches like that. He's a bit of a perfectionist."

"..at…uggh…ck…"

"Look, I'll remove the gag if you're going to be civilized about this, but just *one* curse, insult or raised decibel and it goes back in and stays. Understand?"

Mulder nodded, his eyes furious but his lower lip quivering in a pout of defeat. Alex snapped his fingers and the silk evaporated.

"Who the hell is Gabriel?" Mulder snarled.

"Hell…. let's see…is that a curse?" Alex asked, with a wicked grin.

Mulder sighed heavily. "Will you stop jerking my chain and answer the damned question?"

"That's *definitely* a curse," Alex replied, raising his hand as though he was going to snap his fingers once more. Then he sniggered at the look of outrage in Mulder's eyes and lowered his hand again. "You're so easy to tease, Fox. I think it's part of your charm."

"Gabriel," Mulder grated warningly. "Who…is…Gabriel?"

"And you're supposed to be an educated man," Alex sighed. "Who the hell hasn't heard of Gabriel?"

Mulder blinked uncertainly. "You're talking about *the* Gabriel, as in the Archangel Gabriel?"

"Of course."

"What the hell's he got to do with Spender?"

"Hell's got nothing to do with it. Gabriel's one of *his*. He's one of the seven."

"What seven?"

"Lucifer, Michael, Gabriel, Jophiel, Raphael, Uriel and Zadiel. The big 'G's magnificent seven."

"The highest of the Angels."

Alex nodded.

"So what's he got to do with Spender?" Mulder demanded.

Alex flushed slightly and mentally checked Mulder's bondage before replying. "Well, like I said earlier. There's good news and bad. The bad news that Spender's your father. The good news is that Spender isn't really Spender. Spender is Gabriel."

After thirty seconds of wincing, he rematerialized the gag and waited until Mulder was red-faced but silent before removing it again.

"Bastard," Mulder hissed, then slammed his mouth shut quickly before Alex could gag him again.

Alex just smirked.

After a cautious silence, Mulder spoke again. "You're saying the Archangel Gabriel is my *father*."

"Yup."

"This is insane."

"Yup."

"And Gabriel IS Spender?"

"Yup."

"Bullshit. No way."

"Way."

"You're telling me my dad's a demon?"

"No, he's an angel, like me. Well, not like me actually, but that's just semantics. He's okay, to tell the truth. We go back a long way, Gabriel and me. He's a bit of a ruthless bastard overall but if you met him, you'd probably like him. Not much of a party animal, but then neither are you so you should get on fine if you ever bump into him at Luke's."

"There's no way Gabriel has 'fallen'."

"Did I say he had?"

"But he's Spender."

"So?"

"You're saying that Spender is one of the good guys?"

"Like I said before, it depends on your definition of Good. Spender aka Gabriel is definitely wearing a white hat, but he's one hell of a way from *my* definition of a good guy. I told you the situation's complicated and, besides, it's not the first time Gabriel's job has involved the slaughter of innocents. Who do you think destroyed Sodom? You want to ask Scully about Gabriel before you make any judgments about whether he's a nice guy or not."

"So Spender, or Gabriel, is just doing what God has told him to do?" Mulder demanded incredulously.

"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that. Gabriel has his own agenda. The thing is that he's been named as one of the nine."

"You said he was one of the seven."

"He is. He's also one of the nine."

"Don't make me beat this out of you, Alex. Just get to the fucking point, would you?"

"You're buck-naked, in four-point restraints and I'm a Seraphim. What are you planning to beat me with, Fox? Your tongue or your cock?"

"You wish," Mulder snarled.

Alex sniggered. "Shall I continue?"

Mulder just growled.

"Gabriel was named with Michael, Uriel, Raphael, Aker, Arphugitonos, Gabuthelon, Beburos and Zebuleon as being the nine angels who would govern at the end of the world. In other words, Armageddon was supposed to be the time they came into power. Both Luke and the big 'G' would step away from the game and in the last days the battle would be fought purely on the earth under the government of the nine. It was anticipated that it would take at least a millennia to sort things out so they were all looking forward to a nice long playtime. The aliens have changed all that. Colonization will turn three-quarters of Revelations into a crock of shit. Judgment Day becomes just that. A day."

"So Gabriel loses his chance to play God."

"Essentially."

"But you said he hasn't fallen. So he must have accepted the change of plans."

"You'd think so, but…"

"Don't tell me. It's more complicated than that."

"Obviously, he can't act against the aliens directly otherwise he'd be defying the big 'G's plan. So he's come up with his own solution."

"Human-alien hybrids."

Alex gave a low, appreciative whistle and then leered at his captive audience as he moved away from the wall and seated himself on the bed. "Did I ever tell you how much your brain turns me on?"

"My brain?"

"Well, amongst other things," Alex purred, trailing a finger suggestively down Mulder's thigh.

"Stop it, Alex. I'm trying to think. If the hybrids can contain a soul, the game can continue and the 'nine' get to have their fun. So that's why Gabriel was working with the consortium. To protect his own self-interests. Doesn't seem very angelic to me."

"Think about it, Fox. Angels and humans were both made in the image of the big 'G'. Bottom line is we share the same basic instincts. The only difference is we're the biological equivalent of Texas. We do everything bigger and better. When we're good, we're really good, but when we're bad we're your worst fucking nightmare."

"And what about me? What am I if I'm Gabriel's son? Am I human?"

Alex shrugged. "Nobody's quite sure *what* you are at the moment, though Luke has his suspicions. You're human, but you don't have a soul."

"What the hell do you mean, I don't have a soul?" Mulder demanded sulkily.

"It's not necessarily a bad thing," Alex assured him. "At least we don't think it is."

"Very reassuring," Mulder drawled.

"Let me put it another way. What you *should* be is an immortal soul inside a human body. Instead, you're just a human. Here at least. The closest comparison I can make is that you are essentially the same as an Angel who is masquerading as a real human. Like I was when I was last on Earth, which is why that body could be injured. Gabriel, on the other hand, never takes a real body. He just creates the illusion of one, like I'm doing now."

"So I'm an Angel?" Mulder laughed nervously.

"No," Alex denied quickly.

"But you said 'here at least' which suggests I would be something different in another place," Mulder accused.

Alex shuffled uncomfortably. "Well, I just meant that you'd…shit…you *look* like an Angel when you're in Purgatory, okay? But that doesn't mean you are one. No. Shit. That's not what I mean either. You're something different entirely. I don't know what, for sure. All I know is that on Earth you're human and in Purgatory you're an Angel."

"So are you. What's the difference?"

"The difference is that I am *always* an Angel. It's irrelevant what form I appear in and, anyway, I can appear in either form in both places. You can't. You're either one or the other. So, in real terms, you're neither. It's…well, it's never happened before. Which is why no-one's sure what to do with you. There could be something significant about the fact you're pure human here. The *only* pure human being. On the other hand, you might just be a mutant aberration and everyone's getting worked up for nothing."

"I can't be the first angel-human hybrid," Mulder argued. "It stands to reason that more angels than Gabriel have broken that rule over the millennia."

"They have. You aren't the first angelic bastard. You're the first that was born human without a soul though."

"Which means I'm outside of the game completely, doesn't it? If I don't have a soul, I can't be either damned or saved. Perhaps that's the point. Perhaps I can do something here that a soul in a human body can't."

"Maybe."

"But hang on. This is bullshit. I don't have a soul, why have you been trying so hard to make me 'fall'?"

"I haven't."

"Bull…shit. You told me you were worried I'd go to heaven. You even pointed out how 'boring' I'd find it. You told me you were supposed to kill me to ensure that I died 'in balance'. What are you keeping in balance, if it isn't a soul?"

"Your nature," Alex whispered.

"What 'nature'."

"Your angelic nature."

"My what?"

"Look, this isn't easy. It's a new situation. We're kind of making it up as we go along," Alex confessed. "When I was originally assigned to you, I knew you didn't have a soul and that Spender was your father, but I didn't know whether you were part of his experiments. For all I knew, you were the first step towards an alien hybrid. Then, Luke began to suspect you weren't Spender's son, but Gabriel's. It changed everything and nothing. It meant you were still a danger to the game but that you were more potentially dangerous than we'd first imagined. The problem then was what to do with you. 

"It was clear that Gabriel was protecting your life, but since he wouldn't want the big 'G' to find out he'd slept with a human woman in his real form, it was likely that all he wanted to do was protect himself. After all, the minute you turned up in heaven with a set of wings the cat would be out of the bag. Which would probably have ended up with you fried to a crisp anyway because the big 'G' doesn't like it when we reproduce ourselves. So Gabriel's best bet was to let you live long enough that you'd fall and end up in Purgatory instead. As much as Gabriel hates Luke, he knows Luke wouldn't let a fledgling take the rap for his father's mistake. Luke would have taken you in and protected you, and by extension protected Gabriel."

"So you're saying my life here as a human has affected where I stand as an Angel?"

"Well, no one knows for sure, but it seems the most likely outcome so that's the way everyone's playing it."

"But then I died and the cat was let out of the bag anyway?" Mulder demanded.

Alex shuffled awkwardly again, his eyes dropping to the floor. "Um…sort of."

"What do you mean 'sort of'? You said I turned up in purgatory with wings."

"Not then," Alex whispered, swallowing nervously. "When you died, you just…um…disappeared. No one's quite sure where to. Like I said. No one's quite sure what you are, Fox, and well…it's making people nervous. So I told Luke the best thing would be to just keep you alive in your mortal form. As long as you stay human, no one has to worry about what you're going to be if you stop being human. If you're going to be anything at all. I mean, what if you just disappear permanently?"

Mulder swallowed nervously as he digested that thought. Then something else occurred to him. "So when *did* I turn up in Purgatory?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Um…well…I…um…"

"Alex?" Mulder growled.

"Well, I've had a few things to do this week, so I've sort of dropped you off there a couple of times." He smiled nervously at Mulder's glower of outrage. "You were asleep at the time," he added apologetically. 

"You're telling me you've been knocking me out and checking me into Purgatory like a piece of lost luggage?" Mulder roared. 

"Not lost," Alex assured him. "Just slightly inconvenient."

Mulder opened his mouth, and then shut it abruptly as he remembered Alex's ability to instantaneously gag him. So he took several deep breaths and forced his voice to emerge calmly when he finally dared to reply. 

"You know what I think, Alex? I think your whole story is 'convenient'. I don't buy it. I don't buy *any* of it. As far as I can see, the only thing you've established beyond doubt is that you have supernatural powers and you're a good fuck. Where's your proof, Alex? You've given me a load of garbled, religious bullshit with not one shred of evidence to back it up."

"What happened to 'I want to believe'?" Alex asked, then frowned and pouted. "And what's with the 'good fuck' bullshit? I thought we'd gotten past that."

"Tell you what, Alex. Give me some proof. Take me there."

"Take you where?"

"Take me to Purgatory now. While I'm awake. Introduce me to your friend Luke. Let me see it for my own eyes."

"I can't. It's not allowed."

"Like I said, convenient," Mulder mocked. "Tell you what, then. Let me see your *real* body. You say you're an angel, show me."

"I can't," Alex replied miserably.

"Why? If 'Gabriel' could fuck my mother in his real body, why can't you fuck me in yours? Show me, Alex. Let me see. Prove it to me."

For a moment Alex looked trapped and helpless, misery chasing anger over his features as Mulder's mocking words filled the room, then his eyes blazed with sudden understanding and he threw back his head and laughed. 

"You're a piece of work, Fox. You nearly had me there. Good try, but I'm not playing. You're too smart not to know the truth when you hear it and you're not coward enough to turn your back on that truth just because it's not what you want to hear. Anyway, believe or don't believe. It doesn't matter. The only important truth is the need to keep you alive until we have a better understanding of what the alternative would mean. In the meantime, you can restrain your perverted fantasies to *this* body, because it's the only one you're going to be playing with."

"Why?" Mulder pouted.

"Because if I did it, Luke would pull me out of here so fast my wings wouldn't touch the ground and, believe me, babe, once you've sampled the real thing mortal sex will never be the same again. There's enough people out after your blood without me reducing your incentive to stay alive."

"Oh," Mulder sighed miserably.

"But since we're on the subject of sex, did I tell you how delectable you look in those restraints?" Alex leered.

"Talk's cheap, Alex."

"So are you, Fox, but do you hear me complaining?" Alex sniggered, then pounced to gag Mulder's screech of outrage with his tongue.


~#~#~#~



"It's all illusion, you know," Luke murmured, as he handed Walter a brimming glass of whiskey and added a couple of racks of ribs onto the bar-b-que.

"It is?" Walter asked vaguely, lifting a trembling hand and downing the entire glass in one desperate gulp. The liquid coursed down his throat like a lava flow, leaving it feeling as raw and burned as his ass. "What is?" he asked, when he'd finally stopped coughing.

"Pain," Luke replied kindly. "You're dead, Walter. You're a soul, a spirit. Your physical body is an illusion here. You can only 'feel' what you choose to feel. Pain, pleasure, hunger, tiredness, the taste of that whiskey, even the smell of those ribs that are making your nose twitch with excitement, they're just in your head. Well, not your head since that's an illusion too, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Walter agreed, glancing over the patio to where a gloriously naked Mordad had sprawled himself on a sun bed. He met the angel's eyes, then flushed as Mordad gave him a lewd wink and tapped his lap invitingly. "I know."

"You know," Luke repeated thoughtfully, absently refilling Walter's glass while he handed him a plate of ribs.

Walter nodded and the movement drew his attention to his own nakedness. He flushed with embarrassment. Since Luke was wearing nothing but a cooking apron, which was one item of clothing more than anyone else on the patio, Walter's discomfort wasn't the fact that he was in bare skin but the fact that little Wally had reared back to attention and was now dribbling with excitement at the prospect of returning to Mordad's close proximity. He closed his eyes, concentrated, and was relieved when he opened them again to find that he'd successfully imprisoned his cock inside a scarlet thong.

"See," he grinned triumphantly. "I 'know'. I'm starting to get the hang of this place."

"Then, if I can ask a personal question," Luke drawled. "Why are you 'choosing' to walk like John Wayne today?"

Walter gave the question due consideration, clenching his ass muscles experimentally and wincing as they violently protested the movement. Yes, his ass definitely felt like he'd been riding a horse. Without lube.

He just shrugged.

Then he limped back to Mordad with a broad smile on his face.



Go to Part Thirteen