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Summer Redundant

by Scribe

Wanting is--what?
By Robert Browning

Wanting is--what?
Summer redundant,
Blueness abundant,
Where is the blot?

The first indication that Mulder had that anything was wrong was the bang. It sounded like someone hiding under the car's hood had suddenly hit it with a baseball bat. The second indication was the cloud of steam that billowed from the edges to be blown back against his windshield. The third was the sudden, spectacular swoop of the needle on the temperature gage over into the danger zone, and the fourth, and final, was the car shuddering to a halt before he could pull it over onto the shoulder.

Mulder swore quietly to himself, got out and put his shoulder to the doorframe, trying to push the rental off the pavement. After a moment of heaving, he swore again, reached in, and jerked the transmission into neutral. then it rolled.

*They had a compact available, but did I take it? Nooo, didn't want to get my legs cramped, 'cause the front seats in those tin cans never seem to move far enough back. No, ol' long legged Fox just HAD to get a big ass sedan.* Grunting with the effort, he pushed till the car's front tires hit the slight drop off at the edge of the shoulder, and the car rolled with a bit less reluctance. He kept having to lean inside to struggle with the steering wheel, but he finally got the vehicle off the road.

He put it into park and sat back down for a minute, sideways in the driver's seat, legs angled out the door, and glared at the red light on the dash. HOT. "No shit."

With a sigh, he pulled his cell phone out of his jacket and flipped it open, hitting 911 on the speed dial...and got nothing. Fox stared at it for a moment, then shook it, and tried again. Still nothing. No dial tone, no buzz, no beep, no click. "No fucking way." The useless electronic gadget sailed through the air, rustling to the ground somewhere in the bushes.

Well, there was another phone gone, and wasn't it going to be fun explaining THIS one to Skinner. He could picture himself, sitting before the AD's desk, and almost heard Walter's growl as he said, "So what you're telling me is that you jettisoned a piece of Bureau issued electronics because you were PISSED OFF?!" Actually, he was almost looking forward to that encounter. Skinner's office was air conditioned.

He wiped his face, hands coming away filmed with sweat. He'd only been out of the air conditioning for about four, maybe five minutes, and there were already damp patches forming under his pits and around his collar. Belatedly, he thought to swing his legs back inside the car and shut the door to trap whatever chill remained while he tried to decide what to do.

He'd come out to this remote part of West Texas to investigate a rash of cattle mutilations. Every few years they seemed to crop up. There was usually some sort of prosaic explanation for them, but he had to keep checking. These had been the result of a grudge among ranchers. The trip had been a total waste of time, now this.

Mulder peered through the windshield at the seemingly endless stretch of blacktop before him. Then he turned around and looked out the back window. Pretty much the same view. Nothing in sight but scrub bushes and an occasional distant stand of scraggly looking trees. Not even any power or telephone poles. *Aside from the highway, I'm seeing this land the same way the first settlers saw it. That thought might inspire awe...if I didn't think I might just die of the heat.*

That was a real possibility. The temperature had been 89° at eight o' clock this morning. It had been climbing, and it was almost noon now. The heat index was probably over one hundred. And it was at least thirty miles in either direction to anything passing for civilization. Might as well be a thousand.

The interior of the car was starting to heat up, and Fox knew he should get out of it. The temperature outside was bad, but he'd read somewhere that the temperature inside a car on a hot summer day could reach 215° in ten minutes, and it only took 220° degrees to boil water. Reluctant to leave the shade, he got out. *Might as well check to see what happened. Like I don't already know.* He popped the hood, and went around the front to lift it. Sure enough, the underside was dripping with water. A quick inspection revealed a burst water hose.

*Damn. Even if I HAD a roll of duct tape that bastard is so shredded I probably couldn't get a seal.* He leaned in to get a closer look, bracing his hands...

...on the radiator.

Pain flared in his hands, and he jerked back with a hiss. His palms were beginning to redden. *Well, isn't that charming? Now I'll waste more of my precious body moisture forming fucking BLISTERS!* Petulantly he kicked the tire, then had a bruised toe to curse about.

Wearily he leaned against the side of the car, trying to decide what to do next. Although he had many things to be worried about at that time, Fox found himself noticing how profoundly STILL it was out here. Silent. No car engines, no electric hums, no dogs barking, no distant natter of voices. Not even wind. The air didn't move. As dry as it was, the air should feel thin, but it didn't. Instead it felt heavy. It was almost a solid weight pressing against his skin. But maybe that was the sun. It lay over everything, thick and achingly bright and hot.

Mulder stared up at the sky, twisting his head to give the horizon a 360° scan, searching for some sign of clouds. Nothing, not even a wisp. It sure would be nice to have a cloud shadow roll over him right about now. But the sky was a clear blue expanse. It was sapphire right over his head, fading out to almost white at the edge of his vision.

This reminded him of something, the sky and the heat. What was it? A poem, maybe. Why the hell was he thinking of a poem right now, when he should be mentally reviewing desert survival tactics? *Because my mind works in weird and wonderful ways. Like a few months ago down at the docks. A fog thick as wool, and I was thinking of Carl Sandburg.*

Mulder shuddered suddenly, despite the heat. He didn't want to think about that night, not even if the reflection on mist and water and night would have been mentally cooling. Something else had happened in that cool, damp fog that had been anything BUT cool. He closed his eyes briefly, remembering the jab of steel under his chin, and the hot mouth on his cock.

Alex Krycek had knelt before him on the scummy alleyway pavement and sucked him off, fog swirling around them both in phantasmagorical patterns. It was Mulder's first, and only, homosexual experience.

*No, it wasn't really a gay experience. It was an assault*he told himself firmly. "It's not like it was anything I had a choice in," he muttered. A tiny, traitorous voice occasionally whispered *Yeah, but it's not like you never THOUGHT of it, either.* Fox had quashed that little voice without much trouble. It had too much competition from his other obsessions, and he wasn't going to give it a chance to grow.

Krycek had left Fox with a promise that had cost the FBI agent a lot of rest in the past few weeks. And the scary thing was, Fox didn't know WHY he was losing sleep. He wanted to believe it was from apprehension, and delayed trauma. But he wasn't sure.

Mulder shook his head quickly, dispelling the thought. What was that poem? Another one that he'd memorized in high school, but this one wasn't coming back to him as easily as Cat Feet had. "Summer redundant, Blueness abundant." Yep, that fit. As long as you considered that in this case 'redundant' didn't mean repetition, but instead meant more than is needed, desired, or required. And there was sure as hell an abundance of blue.

He heaved a sigh. Well, standing here moping wouldn't get him anything but a sunburn. He was going to have to start walking. Fox opened the trunk and retrieved the pair of old, battered athletic shoes he'd brought along specifically for exploring cattle pastures. And a good thing it had been, too. He'd saved his new pair of Belvedere Adamos. Suckers had cost him over $185, and he wasn't about to risk them on cow patties.

His wisdom was proved by the rather fragrant state of the battered Pumas. Well, ripe they might be, but they were much better suited to the walk ahead of him than the Italian lace ups. Patrician nose wrinkled in disgust, Mulder changed shoes, locking his prized footwear in the trunk for safekeeping. He wasn't about to haul them along on his trek, but he didn't want to just leave them laying around for anyone who happened by to snatch. As he started trudging up the road, he thought *Yeah, like I really need to worry about that. I didn't see a single car on the way out here, or back. These people must not go into town more than once a week.*

Mulder didn't hurry. Hurrying in this heat could be killing, he knew that. Of course, lingeringin this heat couldn't possibly be much healthier, but those were the only two available choices.

After a few dozen yards, Mulder took off his jacket, draping it over his arm, and loosened his tie as he walked. He mentally cursed the Bureau dress code. Of course, he supposed that even the most lenient code wouldn't have allowed nothing but swim trunks, which right now seemed like the only even marginally comfortable choice.

Another few yards, and the tie was jerked off and stuffed in his back pocket. The top of his head felt like he was standing under a broiler, and he decided that he' better get something between it and the sun pronto. The only thing available was his jacket, so he reluctantly draped it over his head. It was almost like wearing a blanket, but if he wanted to avoid heat stroke for any length of time, that was what he had to do.

He walked. And walked. And wondered why the hell they had even bothered to lay a road out here in the wilderness when it seemed that he was the only one who was going to USE the fucker. He quickly got off the pavement. Not because he was worried about being run over, fuck no. He probably could have left the rental parked astraddle the white line without worrying unduly about someone plowing into it. But it was like walking on a griddle. Heat just baked up off it. The air up ahead seemed to shimmer with the rising thermal waves. And in the distance, the blacktop looked wet, and shiny.

*Well, it might be SOFT from the heat, but not wet. No such luck.* Mulder knew this from road trips he'd taken with his parents when he was a child. He used to love the way water would fountain up on either side when they drove quickly through a puddle. He'd spotted what looked like lovely, great washes of water stretching all the way across the road ahead of them, and had eagerly awaited the moment they would reach them. But that moment never came. As they approached, the shining silver would seem to simply melt away. When he'd finally remarked on this, his father had explained reflection, and optical illusions. It was fascinating, but it wasn't as good as a puddle.

*Huh. High school poetry, sexual ambiguity, and now heat mirages. Keep your mind on the situation at hand, Fox, and maybe you'll make it through.* He glanced back at his car, and blinked. Damn, it didn't look like he'd gone very far, and he felt like he'd been walking for an hour. This was going to be very, very bad.

He kept walking. His shirt was plastered to him, as wet now with sweat as if someone had hit him with a Super Soaker. It DID help, a little. It would have been better if there was some sort of breeze to cool the moisture. He could feel sweat running in rivulets down his legs, and his underwear was feeling swampy. He wished he dared to take off his shirt, but not under this sun. No point in getting second degree sunburn on any more of his body than he absolutely had to. He expected that his hands were going to end up reddened on the backs as well as the palms, but the suit jacket was sheltering his face.

How far had he gone now? He looked back at the car, and was surprised to see it reduced to not much more than a speck beside the road. So he had been making progress. He glanced back in the direction he was heading, and sighed. Yeah, but not nearly enough progress.

His legs were feeling heavy now. He scuffled occasionally, raising dry puffs of dust. Those tiny, gritty clouds were the only thing that moved in the air, besides himself. There weren't even any birds passing overhead. *For which I should be grateful, I suppose. At least that means there are no buzzards circling. Yet.*

The car was completely out of sight the next time he looked, and Mulder felt a stab of unease. Now there were no visible signs of man other than the road that ran beside him. And THAT might just have well been some hideously ancient artifact of a long dead civilization for all the good it did him.

One mile, two, three...

Mulder staggered, a sudden wave of light headedness sweeping over him, but he recovered before he could lose his balance. Not good, not good at all. He jerked his shirt open, not removing it, but needing even the faint breeze that would be caused by his forward motion, and continued. *Okay, I'm still sweating. That's good. If I STOP sweating, then I REALLY worry. Then I could be going into heat stroke.* The body couldn't regulate it's temperature without sweat. A heat stroke victim's temp could rise to as much as 106°, and brain damage could result if it stayed that high for long. Brain damage, and death.

Mulder was tempted to go into the bushes for the little shade they might afford, but he knew that was a lethally stupid idea. By the side of the road, he at least had a chance of being found. If he went off into the scrub, he would most likely die there, and they'd have to bring out the corpse sniffing dogs to locate his body, which would most likely have been visited by coyotes or weasels or gerbils, or whatever the hell else they had out here.

Nausea hit Mulder, and he added vomit to the cow shit streaking his shoes when he didn't quite lean far enough over. Damn. That pie and coffee had tasted a lot better this morning when he first encountered them. He wiped his face with his shirt tale, and wished desperately for water, now as much to rinse the taste from his mouth as to hydrate himself. He spat, before deciding that he'd better hang on to even that much moisture. Once his belly had settled, he resumed his walk. There was no point in just standing there. He could die as easily down the road as he could next to a puddle of puke.

he dizziness hit him again, and this time he DID fall. He would have yelled at the pain when the gravel dug into his already tender palms, but he just didn't have the energy. He stayed on hands and knees for a moment, breathing heavily. It took him two tries to push up to his feet, but he did it.

Now he was weaving a little. The sun was no longer straight overhead, but it wasn't any weaker. How long had he been walking? Why hadn't he checked his watch when the water hose blew? Why was he worrying about this shit when he was probably going to die?

*Oh, this is sweet. This is SO fucking ironic. I survive extraterrestrial, alien bounty hunters, clones, vampires, werewolves, demons, nameless monsters, international conspiracies, every type of psychopath known to man, and some that are UNKNOWN, and I'm going to be killed by a piece of rubber tubing that wouldn't cost more than ten dollars in any Auto Zone in America.* He glanced up at the searing, empty sky. "You got a weird sense of humor, God. At least make the ground stay fucking STILL, huh? How'm I supposed to walk if it keeps heaving up and down?" Apparently he wasn't supposed to keep walking, because he fell again. It took him longer to get up this time. He was tempted to just lie there. Things were seeming pretty purposeless, but that was what finally persuaded him to try again. Half way up, and he fell again, knees buckling. But the third try, he managed to struggle upright, and keep walking. He'd almost forgotten why by now. His skin was starting to dry out again, and he wondered vaguely if that should bother him. It seemed like it should. "Blue in abundance," he sing-songed. "Summer redundant, redundant, redundant."

He heard something.

He thought that maybe he had actually been hearing it for a minute or so, but he really couldn't be sure, and didn't know if it mattered.

He turned to look for the sound with vague curiosity. There was movement in the distance. A speck on the black top was gradually growing larger. Losing interest, he turned and began to stagger on again. He didn't see the speck turn into a dark, late model van. He didn't pay it any more attention till it pulled up beside him, slowing. In fact, he didn't really notice it then. He kept shambling onward. Conscious thought was scrambled, and he was acting on animal survival instinct now. The primitive part of his brain didn't want to die, and was going to keep his body in motion till it was stopped, or collapsed. It didn't get to the collapse stage.

The van pulled over ahead of Mulder, gritting to a stop well off on the shoulder. Motor still running, the driver's side door opened, and a man got out and approached him. He halted right in front of Fox and stood observing the approaching FBI agent, hands on hips. When Fox started to go around him, he caught his arm. "What the hell are you doing to yourself now?"

Mulder regarded him with dull eyes. "Summer redundant," and tried to pull away.

"What?" A cool hand reached under the suit jacket and pressed to Mulder's forehead. Mulder closed his eyes, making a mewling sound, and leaned into the touch, falling against the man. He was caught and held in strong arms. "Oh, fuck. You're burning up."

Mulder was dragged over to the van. The side panel was slid open, and he was heaved halfway inside, unable to mount the steps. The inside was blessedly cool, the air conditioner humming efficiently in the front. Mulder rolled on his belly and crawled the rest of the way into the van. He heard someone follow him, and the van shook lightly on it's shocks as their weight settled in. Then the panel slid closed, and the interior was dim. The windows must have been tinted as dark as the law allowed.

The jacket was removed from his head, and his open shirt was stripped away. He heard a rattling, and rolled his head to see a bright orange plastic cooler being dragged closer. The lid was opened, but he closed his eyes, too tired to be very interested. There was a swishing sound.

The water that hit his back was so cold that it hurt. When the icy wet towel landed on him, he cried out and struggled weakly. Someone cuffed him lightly on the head. "Stop it! I have to get your body temperature down fast. It's only heat exhaustion right now, but it's close to heat stroke."

The frigid wetness moved over his back, his neck, his shoulders. "You're so hot those first drops almost sizzled on your skin." There were more swishing noises, and he was rolled over. He closed his eyes to avoid the water he knew was coming.

This time the chill assaulted his chest, face, throat, and belly. He started to shiver. "Summer redundant," he gasped.

His pants were pulled off, and the towel stroked his legs, wiping away the salt that had begun to crust from his drying sweat. The voice said, "Summer redundant, huh? Blueness abundant. Robert Browning. I like your taste in poetry."

Again and again the towel swabbed his torso. Fox squirmed, his nipples puckering with the cold, whimpering, and whoever it was tsked, straddling his legs to hold him still. "Quit trying to get away from the cold. This is necessary."

"It's enough!" Fox reached out blindly, trying to push them away. His hands were gripped, and something smooth and silky was wrapped around his wrists, binding them together. "If you won't stay still..." It was jerked tight, and he winced at the pressure on the reddened skin. "And it's enough when I SAY it's enough."

The wash continued for a few more minutes, and Fox's agitation slowly faded. His mind was starting to clear a little. Yes, this was necessary. Perhaps his rescuer's tactics were a little aggressive, but they were effective.

Again the cool hand pressed to his forehead, stroking back damp hair. "Okay, your temp is going down. I think you're going to be alright."


"You're welcome, Fox."

*Fox? He knows my name?* It was the first coherent thought he'd had in a while. Had he been missed? Had someone been sent out to find him? It hardly seemed likely, but what else could it be? In any case, he was grateful. He opened his eyes, and gasped. "Alex!" Krycek looked down at him, with almost gentle amusement in his eyes. "Well, who did you THINK it was? A fucking St. Bernard? Man, you WERE out of it. And you're still not entirely out of the woods. You need a little re-hydration." He moved off of Mulder, and Fox immediately tried to kick him.

Krycek dodged the blow easily, catching Mulder's ankle. Mulder noticed, in a peripheral manner, that his shoes and socks had been removed somewhere along the line. That didn't concern him. What DID concern him was the big ass knife that had appeared in Krycek's hand, and was even now hovering over his crotch. Fox got very still.

"That's better. It's terribly bad manners to attack someone who's trying to help you, Fox."

Fox didn't move, but he snarled, "You never did anything in your life that wasn't for your own sake."

Alex shrugged. "I won't deny that. But in this case, you benefit, too. So just stay calm, hm? And I'll put this away." Fox glowered at him. Alex shook his leg. "Well?"

Grudgingly, "Alright."

"Fine." Alex dropped Mulder's foot and slid the knife into a scabbard that was hung on his belt. "Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. Re-hydration."

He moved into the front of the van and started rummaging in the glove compartment. Fox reached stealthily for the door handle. He should be able to open it, even with his hands bound (*with my own tie* he thought sourly).

Without even looking back, Alex called, "Fox, if you open that door, I'll hamstring you and push you back outside. My patience is NOT infinite." Making a grumbling noise, Mulder settled back onto the floor.

He came back and sat beside Mulder, carrying a bottle of Evian, and several tiny white paper packets. "I don't know where the hell you thought you were going to go in this heat, barefoot and practically starkers."

Alex uncapped the bottle, tore open several of the packs, and poured white grains into the bottle, recapped it, and shook it vigorously. He grabbed Mulder's bound wrists, making the agent wince again as the tie chaffed the already irritated skin, and pulled him up into a sitting position. He uncapped the bottle, and held it toward Fox.

Fox leaned back, eyeing it suspiciously. "What did you put in it?"

Krycek snorted. "You think I'm trying to drug you? Fox, please! Give me more credit. I'd hardly spike it right in front of you." He showed one of the empty packs to Mulder. "It's just salt. You sweated too much out, and you need to replace it, to keep the fluids in. You know, they don't just GIVE you these at the fast food restaurants any more. You have to ASK for them."

"Fucking cost control."

Alex grinned. "Yeah. Fucking corporate America. Little sips, you don't want to bloat."

Fox couldn't hold the bottle with his hands tied, so Alex tipped it up to his mouth. Suddenly realizing how parched he felt, Alex's admonition flew from his mind, and he tried to gulp. Krycek pulled the bottle away. "I said sip!" When Fox tried to do the same thing the next time the bottle was offered, Alex took a firm grip on his hair and held his head still.

Fox quickly stopped trying to pull away when he twisted the handful of hair painfully, and he quietly allowed the other agent to feed him the water at a leisurely pace. When it was empty, Krycek tossed the plastic bottle into the back of the van. "I had no idea you were so greedy, Fox." The grip loosened, Alex's fingers sliding through the thick brown hair.

Fox jerked back, glaring. "How did you find me?"

"It didn't take a master tracker, once I passed your car. I mean, it was pretty much a straight shot..." Mulder was giving him a disgusted look, and Krycek snickered. "Oh, alright. I've been shadowing you for days. I'm rather proud of myself that you didn't notice. It isn't easy tailing someone in all this emptiness."


Alex shrugged. "You have your obsessions. I have mine." Alex took hold of Fox's bound wrists and peered at his palms. "What did you do THIS on?"


Alex shook his head. "Oh, Mulder. For an intelligent man, you sometimes pull the stupidest stunts. Does it hurt?"

"What the fuck do you think?"

"Rude." Alex went to the glove compartment again, and returned carrying a small plastic bottle. "I guess I shouldn't fuss at you about being unprepared. I didn't bring a first aid kit. This hand lotion will have to do, but it has aloe vera in it." He slathered the pale green, medicinal smelling liquid on Mulder's hands, back and palms, rubbing it in gently. It felt incredibly soothing, but Fox wasn't about to tell HIM that. Alex seemed to know, though, because he said, "You're welcome. Feeling better now?"


"Good." Alex sat back on his heels, regarding Fox with a bright, green gaze. "Fox...that poem? Do you recall all of it?"

Mulder frowned. What significance was there to the poem? "No, just Summer redundant, Blueness abundant."

"It's from a very short poem by Robert Browning. It goes `Wanting is- what? Summer redundant, Blueness abundant. Where is the blot?'" He reached out, and put his hands on Fox's chest. Mulder's skin, which had tightened with the cold, had relaxed. But now Krycek's fingers settled on Fox's nipples, stroking, and they began to stiffen again. "Wanting is-what?" he murmured.

"No." Fox tried to scoot out of reach, but Krycek moved over him, straddling his thighs and pushing him back down. "Alex, goddammit, NO!"

"You owe me, Mulder." He tweaked the firm, fleshy buds, and Mulder groaned. "After all, since I saved your ass, it's only fair that I get a turn at it. And besides..." He leaned down and licked Fox's throat. "I promised. Remember?"

Fox trembled. Oh, God, he remembered.

He remembered the hot breath in his ear, the feel of sticky cum starting to dry on his softening cock, and the dull ache in his ass from where Alex had finger fucked him during the blow job. And the words. "Next time, I'll fuck you. You'll like that. Next time, Mulder."

"It's next time."

Mulder thrashed wildly, unable to get enough leverage to throw him off, and suddenly the shiny blade of the knife was lying against his face, and again he went still. "Fox, baby," Alex purred. "Please. I really don't want to have to mark up that pretty face. Though..." The blade turned slightly, just enough for the edge to scrape the faint stubble on Mulder's cheek. "...a tiny scar right about here would be trés sexy. Will you be still?" No reply. Mulder just stared at him, wide eyed and silent. "I'll take that as a yes. Now..."

The tip of the blade traced a path down Fox's torso, not quite pressing hard enough to break the skin. It lingered on his flat abdomen, stroking back and forth almost idly. Fox lay back, staring up into Alex eyes. Alex shifted his grip on the knife, holding it gripped in his fist, as if prepared to stab.

Then he slid the blade under the waistband of Fox's boxers. Fox stopped breathing as the tip moved lower. He felt the dull back of the blade sliding through his pubic hair, beside his prick. His prick, which, to his horror, was beginning to harden.

Fox cried out as Alex suddenly jerked his hand. "Shh." The knife split the cotton of the boxers, parting the cloth cleanly, and Alex ripped the slit down the last couple of inches, through that leg's hem. Then he repeated the process on the other side, and removed the ruined garment, leaving Fox naked and shaking on the van floor. Fox was almost absurdly grateful when the weapon was returned to it's sheath.

Hating the pleading tone in his voice, Fox said, "Krycek, don't do this."

"Why not?" Alex glided his hands over the smooth skin of Fox's chest, down his belly. His lips grazed first one straining nipple, then the other. His tongue dabbed at the hardened flesh delicately.

"I don't want it."

Alex chuckled against Mulder's chest, and Fox felt a large, warm hand enclose his semi erect cock and begin stroking. "The hell you say. Then I suppose you're getting hard because you hate this."

"I do!"

Alex nibbled and sucked at the tiny brown peaks, his hand moving lazily. "Mmm, yeah, it sure seems like it. If this is what hate does to you, Fox, I just gotta make you hate me some more."

Alex knelt back up, and pulled his T-shirt off, then unsnapped and opened his jeans. He pulled them down a little on his hips, exposing the top of a tangle of dark pubic hair, and the base of a thick cock. For a moment he just knelt there, fingers combing through the curls and teasingly grazing his own swelling flesh. Mulder, trapped between his legs, couldn't help but watch.

Alex licked his lips, and slowly pushed the jeans farther down his hips, revealing more of the pale column. Fox's eyes grew round. It was...big. Finally it sprang free, wavering before him, and Alex pushed his pants the rest of the way down, rocking on first one knee, then the other to remove them, leaving himself as naked as Mulder.

Krycek gripped Mulder's cock with his right hand, and his own with his left, and slowly began to squeeze and stroke. "Mm, you have a beautiful dick, Fox. I'm glad I can finally get a good look at it." He grinned seductively, his thumb spreading clear pre-cum over Mulder's rosy cock head. "I already know how good it tastes."

"You son of a bitch," Fox whispered helplessly.

"Sticks and stones. I've been cursed more creatively, but never more sincerely." He moved off to kneel beside Fox. "Bend your knees, put your feet flat on the floor, and spread your legs." No response. Krycek pinched the tender skin on the inside of his thigh sharply, wringing a yelp from him. "C'mon, Fox. I want to prepare you. You don't WANT to get ripped up, do you? I'm assuming that this is your first time?" He watched the crimson tide sweep up Mulder's face. "Thought so. Losing your anal cherry can be uncomfortable to start with. If you make me mount you dry, it'll hurt like a bastard, but if you let me get you greased and opened, you might even enjoy it."

The gritting sound of Mulder grinding his teeth was audible even over the engine and air conditioner. Alex sighed. "Don't think of it as co-operating, Fox. Look on it as a survival tactic."

Slowly Fox assumed the ordered position. "Good boy."

Alex moved to kneel between his wide open knees, and Fox felt horribly exposed. The other man took the bottle of aloe vera lotion again, and squeezed some into his hand. Then he reached down and smoothed the liquid into the crack of Mulder's ass. Fox shuddered, both from the coolness, and from the intimacy of the touch.

"Lift your ass a little."

Again Fox obeyed the direction, miserable. He felt his cheeks spread, and more lotion was worked into the crease of his ass. Alex's fingers rubbed around the ring of Mulder's anus, massaging the tight flesh.

"Gotta get you nice and open." Alex spoke softly. "Otherwise it would be like trying to fuck my way through a brick wall." He pressed lightly, and Fox stiffened, his spine going rigid. "No! Don't do that. Relax, Fox. It you just relax, it will hardly hurt at all. You may not believe this, but I CAN make it good for you."

"You're a damn liar."

But Fox made a conscious effort to relax, making himself go as limp as possible. "We'll see if you still feel that way when I get to your prostate."

Alex pushed, and slid one greased finger into Fox's tight anal passage. Fox whined quietly, "Sh, baby. I'll give you a minute to get used to it." Alex waited, with what Fox had no way of knowing was amazing patience. When he felt the muscles begin to unclench, he began to work the digit in and out slowly. Fox stared up at the ceiling blankly, his breath coming more rapidly.

God, it felt so weird. It had hurt, at first. But now the pain had faded to a dull ache, and was gradually being replaced by warmth, and a sense of fullness that was not entirely unpleasant. Still, he again made protesting noises when Alex eased a second finger in beside the first and began scissoring them apart.

"Just stop it, you big baby." The words were chiding, but the tone was oddly tender. "Be good, and I'll make you feel nice." He pushed more deeply, crooking his fingers.

Suddenly Krycek's fingers glided over a sensitive spot, a little bump of flesh deep inside, and Fox felt an explosion of pleasure. He jerked, crying out. "Ah." Krycek's tone was triumphant. "There we are." He rubbed again, sending another spasm of almost unbearable ecstacy through Mulder's body.

"Stop it, Alex!" Fox gasped. "Please! I can't stand it."

His legs collapsed, and Alex's probing digits were pushed out. "Oh, no you don't! Not now that I've got you going." Alex moved in closer, hefting Fox's legs up and draping his knees over his shoulders. He reached back down and found the loosened ass hole, and pushed his fingers back inside, three of them now, tightly bunched. He continued to massage Mulder's prostate till the FBI agent was reduced to a quivering, whimpering mass. Mulder's swollen cock was twitching against his own belly, leaking a generous puddle of pre-seminal fluid.

Alex finally paused, withdrawing his fingers from the clasp of Fox's body. He dragged his jeans closer, and dug in the pocket till he extracted a small foil pack. Ripping it open with his teeth, he got out the condom and rolled it down over his own massive erection. Then he ran is hand through the clear pool on Mulder's belly and smeared the slick liquid generously over his latex sheathed cock.

"You know, I wasn't planning on this, Fox. Oh, I WAS planning on this, but not here and now. I thought I'd probably snatch you out of the parking lot in a day or two. But, well, this was just too good an opportunity to pass up, wasn't it? You wandering along in the hot, hot sun, shirt open, a little dazed, helpless..."

He moved suddenly, ramming full length into Fox's ass. Mulder stiffened in shock, shrieking. Alex fucked him with short, hard stabs, "JUST...SO...FUCKING...GORGEOUS!"

After the initial, violent lunge, Alex settled in for a slow, hard, serious fuck. He stared down, watching his prick slide in and out of the tight, puckered opening, relishing the little moans and whimpers that his reluctant lover made.

Fox's erection had flagged a little with the sudden pain, and Alex wasn't going to have that. Making sure his victim's legs were seated firmly, Alex reached down and started stroking Mulder again, working his prick gently. "You're gonna enjoy this, too, Fox. I'm going to make you cum like you never have before."

Fox turned his head away, closing his eyes. He could feel tears of humiliation and pain squeezing out through his lashes. "No." It sounded pathetic.

Alex ignored the denial, continuing his manipulations. "You're so tight, baby. I knew you would be, but, Christ, THIS! And hot...oh, you're better than anything I've ever had. I can hardly wait till you're WILLING. THAT will be a mind numbing experience."

Fox's breath caught on a sob. "Bastard! Never..." Alex grinned, changing the angle of Mulder's hips so that his cock head caressed Mulder's prostate on each stroke, forcing out tiny, reluctant gasps. "No...never will...never..."

Mulder stiffened suddenly, legs hooking strongly on Krycek's shoulders, and he came with a hot gush. "Oh, yeah, baby," Alex crooned, his thrusts speeding up. "Yeah, yeah, YEAH!" With a grunt, he buried himself full length in Mulder's bowel, forcing Fox's knees back almost to his shoulders, and went still except for a massive, full body shudder.

The condom caught and held Krycek's sperm, but Fox felt him ejaculate, the solid cock that was splitting him pulsing like a separate, living thing. Alex threw back his head, eyes rolling upward, his handsome face locked in a grimace of fulfilled lust.

Finally he sighed, and moved Mulder's legs down off his shoulders, pulling his softening cock free.

Mulder cried out in sudden pain, leg jerking as a massive cramp struck his left thigh. Alex understood, and immediately began to massage and pummel the knotted flesh till it relaxed again, leaving Fox even more breathless. "Sorry. Though some of that was probably due to the heat exhaustion, too."

Fox stared at him, and said weakly, "'re apologizing `cause I got a CRAMP? Kinda got your order of significance screwed, don't you?"

Krycek took the still damp towel and began to clean Fox. "Yeah." He cocked his head. "You don't think I'm sorry I fucked you, do you?"

"RAPED me."

"Yeah, well, semantics. You say potato, I say po-tah-to." He wiped the puddle of cum off Mulder's belly, one eyebrow raised significantly. "Anyway, like the poem says, where's the blot? I wanted you, I took you, we both enjoyed it. You just don't want to admit it. Because if you DO..." He leaned back over Mulder, his sensuous mouth a scant half inch from the other man's lips. "If you DO, then you'll have to admit how much YOU wanted it, too. You shouldn't be ashamed of wanting me, Fox."

Fox opened his mouth to deny it, and found Alex's tongue sweeping in. Again there was the gentle, thorough exploration. This time, before it ended, Fox was sucking on the warm, wet bit of flesh.

Alex pulled away, chuckling. "That's my Fox. I'll get you trained yet." He rummaged in the plastic cooler and came up with another bottle of water. Helping Mulder sit up, he tipped it to his lips. "Drink, pretty man."

Thirsty, Fox swallowed greedily. He had drunk half of it before he noticed the taste. He jerked his head back, water dribbling down his chin, and gave Krycek and almost wounded look.

Alex smiled. "Yes, that one was drugged." It was fast acting, whatever it was. The darkness started to close in quickly. As it swept over him, Fox heard Alex say soothingly, "Now, don't be so outraged. I had to have SOME way to get you back to civilization without you kicking up a fuss..."


Fox drifted back to consciousness under smooth sheets, with cool air moving across his body. In fact, he felt a little chilled: something he had at one point during his ordeal given up hope of ever felling again. He drew the covers up higher on his body, and slitted his eyes open carefully.

It was a motel room, there was no mistaking the bland, generic furnishings and decoration. If nothing else, the chained down television would have alerted him to that fact. The room was dim, the only light coming from the half closed bathroom door. Fox lay motionless, listening, but he heard no other noise in the room but the hum of the air conditioner. No breathing, no movement. He was alone.

He sat up cautiously, and switched on the bedside lamp. This wasn't the room he'd rented, it was nicer. He moved out of the bed, and winced. His ass ached. It hadn't been a nightmare.

Fox examined himself in the lamp light. He felt refreshed, and there was no dust and crusted sweat or...or bodily fluids. Krycek must have sponged him off. His hands were bandaged, a faint medicinal smell drifting around the clean gauze pads taped to his palms. Iodine had been painted on the other scratches that decorated his knees and forearms from where he had fallen.

Mulder sat on the edge of the bed, surveying the room. His suit, which looked like it had been brushed, was hanging neatly on the clothing rod. A different pair of sneakers, a CLEAN pair, sat underneath it. There was even a pair of boxer shorts, still wrapped in plastic, on the dresser.

On the night stand next to Fox was a small insulated pitcher, a plastic cup, and two sealed envelopes, labeled 1 and 2. Fox was tempted, through sheer spite, to open them in the wrong order, but he didn't. He ripped open envelope 1, and shook out two aspirins and a piece of paper.

The note read, "Fox, thank you for a lovely time. These should help any residual aches. Please note the brand name stamped on them. You don't have to worry that they're anything hinky. Alex"

Fox grunted, poured a cup of water, then hesitated. He set the glass back down and dry swallowed the pills, then opened envelope 2. This one held only a postcard. It showed a stretch of roadway that looked eerily like the one Mulder had wandered beside. You could almost feel the heat baking up off the black top.

He turned it over and read, "...and you didn't have to take them dry, you sweet little paranoid. The water is clean." Mulder sighed, and sipped the water.

The note continued. "Call the desk. Just push the red button. Until next time, my poetic friend. Your lover, Alex." The piece of pasteboard trembled in Mulder's hand. He set it aside, and lifted the phone receiver to his ear, punching the red button.

"Desk." The voice was polite and cheerful.

"This is room..." Mulder looked at the number scrawled on the label on the phone's dial, "Room 116."

"Oh, yes sir! Triple A delivered your car about a half hour ago, Mr. Mulder. We have the keys at the desk, pick them up any time you like."

"Where am I?"

The voice sounded less sure. "'re in the Marfa Holiday Inn, sir. Are you alright? You're friend said you weren't feeling well."

"What did this friend look like?"

"Um," The clerk was clearly confused. "Well, he...he was a rather handsome man. Dark hair, big smile. Really, really green eyes."

"Okay, thanks."

"No problem." The voice was back to cheerful.

Mulder snorted softly as he hung up. "Easy for you to say."

He turned the postcard over in his hands several times, staring at it, then read it again, particularly the last few lines below the signature.

"Wanting is--what? Summer redundant, Blueness abundant, Where is the blot?"

He rubbed his face. Propping his elbows on his knees, he rested his chin in his hands, staring at nothing in particular, murmuring, "Where is the blot? Where is the blot?"