Manuel and Olivero stood outside the hotel room, and Olivero gave a brisk, but polite rap. When there was no answer, he knocked again. They could hear a voice inside call out, "Jesus, Danny, will ya get that?"

"Why can't you?"

"Because I'm peeing, and it isn't polite to answer the door with your dick in your hand, ya idjet."

They heard someone moving closer. "Maybe not, but more people would feel truly welcome if it were." The door opened. Daniel, fully dressed but with his hair still sleep-tousled, leaned against the frame. "Well, hello. Aren't you two the early birds? It's...," he consulted a handsome watch. "Good God, it's not even eight yet."

"I should have warned you that we would need to leave early, but we must if we are to arrive at my compound before lunch."

Mulder didn't seem inclined to move. "Couldn't we eat on the way?"

"This is not America, Daniel. We do not have a McDonald's every few miles."

Mulder made a face. "It's just as well. I outgrew those places about the time Daddy upped my allowance." At Olivero's questioning look he smiled and added, "My biological daddy."

Ethan came out of the bathroom. "Who was...? Oh, for heaven's sake! Danny, move your ass and let them come in."

"Whatever you say, Con." Said ass was given an extra sway as he moved back into the room, allowing the visitors to enter.

As he moved close to his lover, Ethan swatted his butt. "Go comb your hair. You look like a slut."

The older man gasped in feigned shock. "No! Really?"

As Fox went in the bedroom, Ethan shook his head. "I love him, but he's such a brat sometimes."

Olivero's eyes followed Mulder. Through the open doorway he could be seen standing at the dresser mirror, carefully arranging his hair. "Yes, but the spoiled little boys can be very appealing, can't they?"

Twenty years earlier.

That next morning Olivero bought his lunch from the rickity panel van that stopped at the spot where the men gathered each morning. It was loaded with simple, cheap food to sell to the men who had no woman to prepare their meals, and it did a brisk business. Olivero bought his usual fare, but more of it. And, in celebration, he spluged on one of the packaged commercially prepared snack cakes instead of the usual banana for dessert. There were mutters about what was viewed as his extravagance, but he ignored them grandly. He was master of his own finances now, and no one could tell him how to spend them. There would be time enough for frugality later: Today he wanted to indulge himself.

Diaz found Olivero waiting outside the greenhouse when he arrived the next day, just after dawn. The young man stood up as the old gardener approached, and Diaz reflected with satisfaction that he would not have to do all the heavy work himself any more. The boy was an ox. In body, Diaz thought, watching Olivero's eyes. He's sharp, though, even if he doesn't show it. And that's clever, too. The bosses don't trust a peon who's too smart.

Olivero spent the morning moving wheelbarrows full of soil from a churned-up patch at the edge of the forest into the greenhouse and packing it into seeding trays. At noon Diaz called him to the front. "Lunch time. Did you bring food?" Olivero nodded, getting a small cloth bag off a shelf by the door. "From now on you do not need to bring it. They will provide a meal, and we can eat in the kitchen. It is air-conditioned." He grinned as Olivero tried not to look interested. Living in this area it was doubtful the boy had ever actually felt air conditioning unless he had made a trip to a city.

They went to the back of the house and entered the kitchen. Olivero gasped as the chilled air struck him. After the heat outside the sweat cooling on his skin made it seem almost frigid. The cook, a fat mestizo woman, greeted Diaz warmly and gave Olivero a speculative look as she was introduced. She provided them with glasses of iced tea, and they sat at the table while she fixed a sandwich for Diaz.

"So, Luisa, how do you like your new mistress?" Diaz asked.

Luisa snorted. "She makes me tired. My cooking has been fine for the senor for more than ten years. Now this milk face comes and nothing is right. I use too much spice, I use too much grease. Must we have beans so often?" She sighed heavily, setting the plate before Diaz. "I think she will try to have him fire me so she can bring in one who is as pale as herself."

"I like your cookin', Luisa." They looked up to find Duncan Broussard in the doorway, smiling at them. He came over and planted a kiss on the now giggling woman's brow, having to lean down to do it. "An' you're right, she IS lookin' for a reason to dismiss you. Too much spice an' grease an' beans my butt. We come from N' Orleans, an' she's eaten plenty of all three, I can tell you. You got somethin' for me to eat, pretty lady?"

"You shouldn't talk about your Mama that way, Senor Duncan." The words were a reprimand, but the tone was amused. "Of course I have food for you. Go to the dining room and I will bring it."

"I don't wanna eat in there all by myself." Diaz and Luisa looked mildly scandalized as Duncan dragged out the chair next to Olivero and dropped down into it.

Luisa said hesitantly, "Senor, your Mama said..."

"She's not here, Luisa. She's off shoppin'. Again." Duncan turned to Olivero and said conversationally. "That's somethin' my Mama is REAL good at: spendin' someone else's money. Ask any one of my former daddies." He gave Luisa another charming smile. "How about that grub, Luisa? I'm tryin' to be polite, here, but my belly is about to make some real rude noises." Luisa started fixing a sandwich, and Duncan turned his attention back to Olivero. "Hi."

Montana nodded. "Good day, Senor."

"Oh, please, don't go callin' me that. I'm not old enough for a title yet. Call me Duncan." He flicked a glance at the two adults, who were watching this exchange. "You, too. Please. At least when Mom and the step aren't around." He looked back at the young man beside him. "Olivero, right?" Olivero nodded again. "De la Montana. The Spanish grandee. What you been up to this mornin', Olivero?"

"I have been bringing soil to the greenhouse."

"Hard work?"

"Not as hard as some I have done." Olivero cut a chunk off the sausage he was eating.

Daniel eyed it curiously. "What's that?"

"Just a local sausage. Cow and pig."

"Beef and pork," Duncan corrected.

"As you say. Many peppers. It is very spicy."

"Can I try some?"

Olivero said softly, "It is peasant food, Duncan. Very strong, very simple. I do not think it would suit you."

Duncan gave him a crooked smile. "You goin' to presume you know my tastes? I happen to like things a little crude. So, can I have some?"

Olivero sliced a bit off the sausage and offered it to Duncan, holding it on the blade. Instead of taking it in his fingers, Duncan leaned over and delicately lifted it from the blade with his teeth.

He started to chew. Olivero had to force down a smile when the boy's eyes flew wide open in surprise. He finished chewing quickly, swallowed, and grabbed Montana's glass of tea, hastily gulping down half of it. There was laughter in Montana's voice. "I warned you it was too hot for you."

Duncan fanned himself with his hand. "Oh, no, you don't understand. That's just how I like it: hot and not too refined." His golden eyes were fixed on Olivero's face as he said this.

Diaz sighed to himself as he ate. He wondered how long he was going to be able to keep his new helper. Not long if the boy's mother found out the game he was playing. Surely she must know by now? It wasn't as if the boy was making a great effort to disguise his interest.

Diaz finished his meal quickly, and arose. "I want to finish looking at that catalogue that came in yesterday. Olivero, when you are done, spread fertilizer on the vegetables. Evenly, mind you, but not enough to smother the plants."

He left, and Luisa took a sheet of paper from a cork board on the wall. "I must have one of the men take me to town for supplies. Will you be all right, Senor Duncan?"

Duncan cast a despairing glance at Olivero, but did not call her on the title. "Just show me where the cookies are before you go."

"Senor Duncan, there are no cookies. Your Mama has said you eat too many sweets."

"What?" He was outraged. "That is utter nonsense, Luisa!" His voice was wheedling. "You must have SOME sort of dessert around here."

She pointed to a fruit bowl on the table. "Apples, bananas, pears..."

"Luisa, I said DESSERT, not roughage." She shrugged, confused. "Oh, all right! Go on." His voice was pettish. Duncan slumped in his chair, arms crossed, scowling. She left, shaking her head.

Olivero casually picked up his lunch sack and emptied it. A slightly squashed package of chocolate cupcakes fell out onto the table. Duncan's eyes zeroed in on them as Olivero dropped the sack and began eating a small piece of cheese.

Duncan reached out and touched the cellophane with one fingertip. It crinkled faintly. He noticed Olivero watching him, and withdrew his hand. "I didn't know they had these over here."

"I think they are like the Coca Cola: there are not many places on earth they have not reached." Olivero continued eating. Duncan was ignoring his half-finished sandwich, staring at the snack cakes as if mesmerized. Finally Olivero took the package and unwrapped it carefully, setting the cupcakes down in their little white cardboard tray. He peeled one up and ate it slowly, taking several more bites than he needed to. Ask me, Chico, he thought. Ask for what you want.

As he was reaching for the last cupcake Duncan said, "Can I have some of that?"

"It would be a sacrifice, Duncan." He gave the boy a level stare. "I like sweets."

"Please?" Duncan smiled. He'd gotten a lot out of life with that smile, and he saw no reason why it shouldn't get him that cupcake. He'd expected Olivero to cave in and push the little paper tray toward him. He was disappointed when instead he picked up the cake himself. I must be losin' my touch.

But then Olivero scooted his chair closer to Duncan and reached toward him with his free hand. Duncan stiffened as the warm, slightly rough palm closed over the back of his neck, holding him. Olivero leaned closer and brought the pastry to Duncan's lips. Duncan stared at him, surprised almost to the point of astonishment. People just didn't TOUCH each other like this in his circles.

Olivero's voice was like his touch: warm and rough. "Don't you want it, Duncan?"

"Yes." When he spoke, his lips brushed the cake, leaving a smear of chocolate on his mouth. Instinctively he licked it off.

Olivero grinned at him and pressed the cake more firmly against his lips. "Then take it."

Duncan took a bite. Sweetness flooded his mouth, making it fill quickly with saliva. He chewed, hardly aware of the contrasting textures of the pasty icing and crumbly cake. All he was really aware of was the touch on the back of his neck and the dark eyes of the man feeding him.

The interior of the now broken cake was filled with foamy white cream. Watching Olivero, Duncan flicked out his tongue, capturing a blob of the sugary white fluff. When he saw the heat in Olivero's eye he did it again. Soon he was slowly licking the cake, probing into the crevices in search of the last speck of cream. Then he finished the rest of the cake in dainty nibbles.

Olivero had begun to massage the back of his neck. Duncan's eyes half closed in pleasure. When the dark smeared fingers touched his lips, Duncan unhesitatingly licked them clean, removing every trace of chocolate.

He waited for Olivero to release him then, but he didn't. Instead his free hand, fingers still damp, touched Duncan's face, tracing his cheekbone. He leaned even closer, and kissed him.

The boy's lips parted easily under Olivero's own, and Montana sent his tongue questing into his hot, moist cavern. Olivero tasted spice and chocolate as he licked deep into Duncan's mouth. For a long moment he explored, finding the taste of Duncan's flesh behind the others.

Suddenly Duncan pulled his head back, pushing at Montana's shoulder, and said breathlessly, "You shouldn't do that."

Montana stared at his flushed face. Then he reached down suddenly, cupping his hand over the mound of Duncan's crotch, molding his fingers over the lump that was beginning to strain at the fly, and whispered, "Such a weak little protest, Duncan. How can I believe you mean it? But I must get back to work now. There will be time later."

He left the kitchen with his own erection pressing against the rough material of his pants. For once he was willing to forgo instant relief. He had decided yesterday that he would have Duncan Broussard, and he wanted to have him at his leisure, when he could take time to savor the experience.

Present Day

Fox came out of the bedroom, tucking his comb in his pocket, to find Olivero watching him with a curiously intense gaze. "What is it? Is my shirt untucked?"

"No. You look wonderful. I was just thinking..."

Fox arched an eyebrow. "Penny for them? Or should that be a peso?"

"It isn't much, and it's rather silly."

"Well, go on. I can usually use a bit of silliness in my life."

"I was remembering last night. Your dessert."

" I had some absolutely sinful chocolate thing."

"Yes. I was only thinking how fond you seem to be of chocolate." When Mulder looked baffled, Olivero shrugged. "Some things are too personal to be explained. I'll ring for the bell hop."