For Peja’s "I saw what you did last night" challenge
X-Files M/?
Rated NC-17 for m/m sexual situations
May 2004
"Ah, shhhhhhit."
Mulder blinked and squinted, trying to turn the multiple images dancing in front of his eyes back into single ones. As he sat up, the rooms began to spin, and he groaned and lowered himself slowly back to the sofa.
"Bad. Oh, bad, bad."
Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, he attempted to quell the rush of nausea that accompanied the dizziness.
"What the hell..."
As he lay panting softly, his grizzled brain tried to sort out the riot of images crashing around in his head.
Wildly flashing light. A tangle of sweaty bodies, thrashing against each other. A hulking figure in a black mask...
Christ. Okay, think. Think.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember exactly what the hell had happened last night, but as the friggin’ dots kept moving around, there was no way he could connect them.
Sliding an arm over his eyes to blot out the brightness of the morning, he lay motionless, barely breathing until he drifted back into sleep.
Mulder rubbed at his eyes, loosening the crust, and his lashes lifted. He looked around the room, which was now in shadow, and he breathed a cautious sigh of relief. He had one TV again. One coffee table, and one dining room. Grunting, he lifted himself into a sitting position then moaned at the terrible discomfort as he settled his weight fully on his ass.
"Shit."
Shifting to his hip, he frowned.
Damn, that hurt. Why did...
That same masked figure. A heavy belt. Shackles...
He opened his eyes wide and pressed the heels of his hands to his temples.
What the fuck?
He shifted again and winced. That ache was no hallucination.
He drew himself up carefully, taking several seconds to get his balance, then he tottered into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
Think hard, Mulder. What’d you do last night? Okay. You went out. Downtown...for a drink...
And he’d wandered into a bar he’d never been in before. He hadn’t known why, but the thump of the music and the crowds of people...men...going in, had just drawn him to the place. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that he’d walked into an S&M club.
Why he hadn’t turned around and left immediately was a mystery. Instead, he’d wandered deeper into the club, squeezing past leather-clad, muscle-bound men, who looked at him as though he were a steak dinner. He’d made his way to the bar and got out a drink order just before two men had approached him.
"Hey, pretty," one had said, daring to reach out and stroke his hair. The other had crossed over to his left side and crowded in next to him. He should have high-tailed it out of there then, but something had made him stay.
"Hey," he’d said, glancing at the silent man before turning his gaze to the touchy-feely one on his right.
"You’re new."
"Yeah, I...I uh...just came in for a drink."
"There are lots of places to just go in for a drink. Why here?"
"Don’t know."
The man shrugged. "What’re you drinking?"
"Nothing yet. I just ordered."
The other flashed him a grin. "You’re a bit overdressed for this place."
Mulder had looked from the two men in their scanty leather accoutrements then down at his jeans and button down shirt.
"Well, like I said, I just came in for a drink."
"So, you haven’t really noticed what’s going on around here?"
"Haven’t had time. As soon as I stopped, you two showed up."
Another smirk. "Have a look around."
Mulder had looked, and what he’d seen had made his jaw drop.
Nearly naked men being led around on leashes. Some in restraints, being flogged by men in masks and hoods. Others still, on their hands and knees, servicing several men at once.
The man had slithered closer and whispered in his ear.
"You like?"
Mulder swallowed hard, shocked by the scene and by the rush of heat he felt.
"I sh... I should go. This isn’t..."
"Isn’t what?" the man purred. "Stay, pretty. Watch a while. You might find that you like it."
Mulder finally got his drink, and he slammed it back to the other’s delight.
"A man after my own heart. Hey. Look over there."
Mulder had followed the man’s direction and found a beautiful, dark-haired man on his knees with four men around him. One man had stood behind him, hand in his hair, holding his head still while the three others stood close, stroking their cocks, pointing them at his face.
The man had seen Mulder’s shocked expression, and he’d moved closer still, murmuring in his ear.
"He’s loving it, don’t worry. He’s a willing slave. They all are."
Mulder’s eyes had closed, and he’d inhaled slowly. It had been appalling, and it had been perverse, and damn, it’d made him hard as a rock.
The man had noticed the bulge forming at the front of Mulder’s jeans, and he’d blatantly brushed his fingers over it. Mulder jerked away, and his eyes had flown open, gaping at the other.
"Don’t... I... don’t."
"You look like you could use a little relief."
"No. No, I..."
"Maybe another drink."
Before Mulder could protest, the man waved the bartender over and ordered another.
"And keep ‘em coming," he’d said softly then smiled at Mulder.
"Want to sit down?"
"No, I don’t think so."
"C’mon," the man coaxed. "Enjoy the show."
He should have walked out. Had every intention to do just that, but the man had taken his drink from the bartender, pushed it into his hand, and then he’d found himself following the man to an open table. The silent third had walked behind him, and they’d all sat down at a small table.
"Does your friend here talk?"
"Not here," the man had answered. "Everyone who walks through that door assumes a different persona than the one they have on the outside. This is his."
"Does he have a name?" Mulder had asked. "Do you?"
"Yes, we do," the man had replied and had said no more.
"Okay," Mulder had muttered, starting on his drink. Soon, it had disappeared only to be replaced by another, and then another. Sometime after his fifth drink, his memory had faded out all together.
"What did I do?" he asked himself, raking his fingers through sticky hair then stripped and stepped gingerly into the tub.
"Oww. God... oww."
Everything hurt, he discovered as he washed, and still he couldn’t remember how the bloody hell he got into this condition.
Done washing, he rinsed off and stepped out of the tub then grabbed a towel and shuffled over to the mirror to look himself over. He gasped, taking notice of the light bruising around his neck and red welts on his ass. Upon further inspection, he found bruises also on his wrists and ankles.
"Ohhh, my God," he moaned, still unable to remember but beginning to piece the evidence together. "Oh, my God."
He wrapped the towel around himself and stumbled out of the bathroom.
Okay. Calm down. Just calm down. Whatever it was, it was just a one time thing. The bruises aren’t anyplace where anyone will really notice, and they’ll be gone in a few days. Nobody has to know.
Repeating the mantra to himself, he walked toward the kitchen for some water. On the way back out, he noticed an envelope on the dining room table.
Picking the envelope up, he turned it over in his hands. It was blank. Frowning, he tore it open and pulled out a small slip of paper out. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart began to pound as he read the simple message.
"I saw what you did last night."
Somebody saw. Oh shit, somebody saw.
"Saw what?" he asked out loud. One hand clenching in his hair, he made his way over to the sofa and sank down onto the leather cushions.
"Ah." He shifted to take the pressure off of his ass then studied the handwritten note.
"Saw what?" he whispered again, his voice filled with anxiety. "Dammit, who saw what?"
END
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