Life from the Ashes Book 1
A New Beginning

by Jo B.
purplefox@usfamily.net

Rating: NC-17

Keywords: M/Sk M/K SLASH

Summary: This is an Alternative Universe Story. It takes place soon after an alien virus has killed off most of the world's females and caused mutations in forty-five percent of the remaining males.

WARNING: This story contains explicit Sex/Romance between two men. Turn back now if the subject matter offends you.

WARNING: Sexual Assault and Rape!

Disclaimer: The X-Files characters are the property Chris Carter, 1013 productions, and Fox.

I would like to thank my beta-readers Laurie, Kiyoko, BRS all their help, advice, and encouragement they've given me on this story.

Constructive feedback is always welcome!

***

Chapter 1
Unwelcome Changes

Washington DC
November 18
2:00 p.m.

A white mist rose above the surface of the reflecting pool on a chilly day in late autumn. There was a soft rustling noise as a gust of wind twirled dried leaves around on the sidewalk in front of a park bench where a lone man sat. He huddled deeper within his long, black, woolen coat; his hands kept warm within its deep pockets. He glanced up, suddenly disturbed from his train of thoughts by a large convoy of humvees that rattled noisily by. His eyes met the lust filled eyes of a soldier, leering wolfishly at him from the back of one of the humvees causing a shiver of fear to race down his spine.

He realized it was no longer safe to be out here alone, but it was still daylight and several hours before the nightly curfew began. He had often come to this place in the past to meditate, and he decided to chance his safety for the tranquillity this place afforded him.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets to study them. The scar he had received as a child was no longer there; the calluses on his index finger from many hours spent at target practice weren't there -- his hands were perfectly smooth; no scars, no calluses, no sign of age. They were like the rest of his body unblemished by age, injury, or disease. He sadly shook his head as tears glistened in his vivid hazel eyes at the cost of this unwanted immortality.

It still seemed hard for him to believe that it had been only ten months since the first deaths had rocked the world. Shortly there after, the mutations had begun. He should have been glad that the mutations the virus caused in him were not like the hideous physical abominations it created in so many of the other male victims . . .

He paused from his musing as the putrid smell of smoke caused him to gag. The wind must have shifted. The smoke was from the fires, to the North of DC, used to cremate the dead. The fires had burned on and off for the past eight months. They stopped burying the bodies after the first week once the numbers climbed past fifty thousand. Now the soldiers and the civilian volunteers spent their days going door-to-door searching for bodies of the female victims who died outright from the virus and for the bodies of male survivors who took their own lives unable to live without their wives, mothers, or daughters.

A shadow fell over him blocking the glare of the afternoon sun, causing him to tense and look up into the displeased face of Assistant Director Walter Skinner. Skinner wore a long, black, woolen coat identical to his own.

"Agent Mulder, where are Agents Pipino and Boutotte?" Skinner hissed his warm breath clearly visible in the chilly air.

Mulder nervously gazed into Skinner's angry brown eyes. He plunged his hands back into his pockets and huddled deeper in his coat. "I . . uh needed some time to myself, sir, so I . . . ditched them," Mulder stammered, realizing he was going to royally piss off Skinner with that response.

Skinner glared down at him, wondering how he could impress upon Mulder just how dangerous it was for him to wander around here by himself. "Damn it, Mulder, what do I have to do to keep you safe? Should I handcuff you to Agents Pipino and Boutotte? Is that what it would take? Tell me, please, I really would like to know!" Skinner admonished. Exasperated, he sat on the bench next to him, his long coat brushing against Mulder's.

Looking at Mulder, Skinner felt the anger drain out of him. The alien virus that had killed off most of the world's female population, and caused mutations in forty-five percent of the world's males, had also physically altered Mulder. The virus had enhanced Mulder's physical features giving him a surreal beauty. Mulder's hair was thicker and a richer shade of brown. His skin smooth and unblemished, he healed faster and without a scarring. His eye color was more vivid, changing from an emerald green to steely gray to sable brown under longer, lush eyelashes. However, it was the scent Mulder gave off that caused Skinner the most concerned, it was extremely sexually arousing.

Mulder had always been a beautiful and sensual man; now he was simply irresistible. Skinner had to make Mulder see how dangerous it was for him to be alone and unprotected, looking and smelling the way he did. Mulder was at risk in today's society where the men now out numbered women sixty-five thousand to one. The only females that had survived the virus were the abductees. Those of whom had been unwilling participants in consortium sponsored experiments.

"Why, Fox? Why can't you realize how important your safety is to us, to me," Skinner toned softly, letting his fingers brush Mulder's face gently caressing his cold, smooth cheek.

Mulder felt the heat rise to his face, he never realized Skinner felt that way about him. "Sorry, sir, I didn't think, I mean . . . I guess . . . I'm not used to having my safety matter to anyone," he offered.

Mulder was suddenly uncomfortable by the attention being directed at him, he had started to view Skinner as a friend again over the past few weeks after Skinner had treated him poorly in August Mulder had given up expecting anything more. Now it looked like his boss wanted something more, but he was worried about being hurt again.

"It's okay, Mulder, let's head back to the Hoover." Skinner reluctantly pulled his hand away and got up off the bench.

Just as Mulder was rising to follow Skinner, a humvee pulled to a stop in front of them. Three armed soldiers jumped out pointing their weapons at Mulder and Skinner. "You, get into the truck," ordered one of the soldiers and motioned at Mulder with his weapon.

Mulder recognized him as the soldier who had leered at him earlier. //This is not good,// Mulder thought, feeling the same prickle of fear flutter in his stomach. He glanced at the other two soldiers whose eyes left no doubt what they wanted. //Definitely, not good, not good at all.//

"What is the meaning of this?" Skinner growled.

"This man is wanted for questioning," the soldier glibly replied, glaring at Skinner for having the nerve to question him.

"Get into the truck now!" The soldier snapped at Mulder while moving menacingly toward him.

Skinner immediately placed himself between the soldier and Mulder, barking, "I'm A.D. Walter Skinner of the FBI. This man is one of my agents and he is not getting into the back of your *fucking* truck! Who is your CO, Sergeant?" Skinner seethed with anger at the real motive behind their attempt to arrest Mulder. He hadn't missed the lustful looks they directed at his agent.

A car screeched to a sudden stop. Agents Pipino, Boutotte, and Sullivan quickly emerged with their weapons drawn. "Drop your weapons," Agent Boutotte ordered, leveling his weapon at one of the three soldiers.

Taken by surprise, the soldiers reluctantly complied and slowly lowered their guns to the ground. A second humvee pulled up, and out climbed what Skinner thought looked like a throw-back from the Stone Age, but it was wearing a U.S. Army Colonel's uniform.

//A Neanderthal.// Skinner determined, staring contemptuously at the colonel. He had noticed that two of the other soldiers had similar mutations, but to a lesser extent than the colonel.

There were five documented types of mutations brought on by the alien virus. Type One, the Neanderthal's syndrome, was the most prevalent and the colonel and his men obviously suffered from it.

The Neanderthal's syndrome had affected twenty-five percent of the male population. The main symptoms were: an enlarged frontal lobe, a sudden spurt of growth that resulted in massive size and enlarged bone structure, unnatural amounts of body hair, heightened physical strength, an elevated sense of smell, and an increased sex drive. The Neanderthal's increased sex drive caused Skinner the most concern over Mulder's safety. His agent had already been attacked twice before by n'thrals.

"You better have a very good reason for holding my men at gun point," the colonel snarled at the FBI men, his nostrils flaring in anger.

"I'm Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and these are my agents. Your soldiers attempted to detain one of my agents without a valid reason for doing so," Skinner growled, looking up at the massive colonel's deformed face. "AND NO ONE FUCKING MESSES WITH ONE OF MY MEN!" Skinner snapped.

Skinner quickly took an involuntary step backwards after catching a whiff of the colonel. //He smells like a wet dog in heat.// Skinner thought, noticing the long hair shooting out from the cuffs of the colonel's shirt.

The colonel's eyes hardened and he clenched his teeth, no one spoke to him that way. He took a few moments to rein in his temper. He knew that he had to tread lightly with the FBI. Since the failed alien invasion, which had resulted in the deaths of over half the world's population, the FBI had established jurisdiction over all the U.S. they now oversaw both civilian and military personnel. He still didn't understand how a civilian agency gained so much power over the largest military in the world.

"I'm sure my men had a rational reason to detain one of your men. Sergeant Babcock, that's right isn't it?" As the Colonel talked, his enhanced sense of smell had picked up a distinctly pleasant and very arousing scent that caused him to become instantly erect. He sniffed the air as his eyes traveled over the agents by the car until they came to rest on . . . Fox Mulder . . . damn he was looking lovelier than the last time the colonel saw him.

"Well if it isn't Special Agent *Fox* Mulder, it's certainly a pleasure to see you again, Fox. Sergeant, was it the lovely Agent Mulder that you and your men attempted to detain?" The colonel questioned, while wolfishly ogling Mulder.

"Yes, sir," the sergeant replied, feeling relieved that the colonel had redirected his attention toward Agent Mulder.

Mulder glared angrily back at the colonel, because of his deformities; Mulder didn't recognize him at first. It finally hit Mulder who he was. "Colonel Henderson, I see you've taken being a macho man to a whole new level," Mulder mocked, feeling only repugnance for Henderson.

The colonel favored Mulder with very lecherous look. "Fox, I would personally love to show you just how macho I am," he leered, grasping his own heavy erection through his pants and stroking himself.

The other agents took in the lecherous behavior by Colonel Henderson and formed a protective circle around Agent Mulder.

"Into the car, agents, we're leaving," Skinner ordered. "Henderson, I don't want to see you or your men within a hundred feet of Agent Mulder!" Skinner barked, backing angrily toward the car.

Henderson totally ignored Skinner; he never took his lust filled eyes off Mulder not even for a second. "See you around, Fox," Henderson promised, puckering his lips he made a kissing sound.

Mulder felt naked under the colonel's stare and shakily climbed into the back seat of the car between Agents Boutotte and Pipino. Agent Sullivan got behind the wheel and waited for AD Skinner to get in the passenger side. Agent Pipino felt a nervous quiver emanating from Mulder. He realized despite all of Mulder's bravado that the confrontation had physically shaken the man.

After the FBI agents departure, Henderson turned to the sergeant and growled, "Sergeant Babcock, I want the address of where Fox Mulder lives. You have exactly four hours to provide me with that information or you will be taking his place in my bed tonight."

"Yes, sir," the sergeant gulped. He did not intend to become the colonel's fuck-toy for this evening, or any evening, if he could help it. Babcock didn't mind fucking other men, whether it was voluntary or by raping them, but he was never the one being fucked and he wanted to keep it that way. He definitely didn't want the colonel's oversized prick anywhere near him.

***

"Mulder, where and when did you meet Colonel Henderson?" Skinner asked, turning around in his seat so he could look directly at Mulder.

"I had a run in with him at a site of a crashed UFO in Wisconsin about six years ago." Mulder shrugged. He didn't want to talk about his dealings with Henderson and he hoped Skinner wouldn't push it. He felt unnerved by the recent incident and his own stupidity for getting himself and his fellow agents into a possibly deadly situation. Skinner was right; it was no longer safe for him to go anywhere alone. He was grateful that Skinner showed up when he did.

"Was he one of those military assholes that was covering up the existence of extraterrestrials?" Boutotte questioned angrily. There was no longer any doubt in the remaining population as to the existence of EBEs. An ongoing investigation into the cover-up that had spanned over fifty years was currently underway.

"Yes, he was one of them," Mulder answered tiredly.

There was a new deep-seated anger within the FBI over the lies and the conspiracy; Mulder had gone from being the FBI's most mocked agent, to the most respected agent. There was a long list of agents requesting reassignment to the X-Files section, and the section had expanded to over twenty-five agents.

"Agent Mulder, give Agent Pipino the keys to your apartment," Skinner ordered. Mulder looked puzzled as he handed over his keys to Pipino.

"Agent Pipino, I want you, Sullivan, and Boutotte to go to Mulder's apartment and pack up all of his clothing and personal items. You can leave the furnishings, we'll arrange for its disposal later. When you finish, bring his possessions to my condo at Viva Tower. Agent Mulder will be moving into my guestroom until further notice." Skinner watched Mulder throughout his instructions, waiting for him to object, but Mulder just sat there and gazed sadly down at his hands, defeated.

There was no way in hell Skinner would allow Mulder to live alone any longer with Colonel Henderson and others like him out there. Skinner cared too deeply for Mulder to let him continue to risk his own safety.

"Agent Sullivan, drop Agent Mulder and myself off at the Hoover Building, then you, Pipino, and Boutotte can use one of the Bureau's vans to move Agent Mulder's possessions. I want him moved before nightfall, I don't trust Colonel Henderson, and I don't want to give him the opportunity to track Agent Mulder's whereabouts.

***

The Pentagon
November 19th - 10:00 a.m.

Sergeant Babcock entered Colonel Henderson's office, the bleeding had finally stopped, but he still was finding it painful to sit. The sergeant glared angrily at the colonel. Colonel Henderson glanced up and met Babcock's hate filled eyes and grinned smugly. "Sit down, Sergeant," the colonel smirked, knowing how painful it would be for him.

Colonel Henderson had gone ballistic when he arrived at Fox Mulder's apartment and found that the agent no longer lived there. Henderson had kept the promise he made to his sergeant, but he found the sex not very satisfying. Henderson wanted Fox Mulder, he needed the beautiful man beneath him, to feel his engorged organ pounding into him again, and again, only Mulder's exquisite body could provide the type of sexual release he desired.

"Any luck locating Mulder's new residence?" Henderson questioned, leaning back in his plush leather chair, he set down the rag he was using to clean his gun.

"Yes, sir. He's been moved into A.D. Skinner's condominium," the sergeant answered. He sat stiffly in the hard wooden chair in front of the colonel's mahogany desk.

The colonel felt a rage building within him. "Skinner! Is he having sex with Mulder?" he snarled. He would carve Skinner into small pieces if he found out that man had touched Mulder. The agent was going to be his and no one would be allowed to touch Mulder, but him!

"No, sir. Mulder has been put up in Skinner's guest room," the sergeant hastened, not wanting the colonel to lose his temper again. "There is a problem, sir," the sergeant reluctantly ventured.

"What is it?" A much calmer colonel asked.

"The building that Skinner's condo is in has the tightest security in all of Virginia. Many FBI agents and security personnel have taken up residence there and Skinner has hand picked a special security team to protect Mulder." The sergeant finished and waited nervously for the colonel's response.

"Sergeant, I want you to recon that apartment building. I want to know of any flaws in their security and their daily routine that I could use to achieve my goal. Do I make myself clear, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Dismissed!" The colonel lowered his head and went back to cleaning his weapon as the Sergeant got up painfully and left the office.

***

Walter Skinner's Condo
Viva Tower - Crystal City
November 19 - 6:00 a.m.

Mulder groggily stumbled toward the bathroom located across the hallway from the guest bedroom. The guest bedroom was on the bottom level of the condominium off a small hallway past the living room. The master bedroom was on the second level, along with a small study and a large elegant master bath. Mulder carried his shaving kit with him. He hadn't slept well last night; the events of the previous day weighed heavily on his mind. It didn't do his male ego any good knowing his mere presence caused men to go into a sexual frenzy. He also didn't feel comfortable staying here; he missed the privacy of his apartment.

Mulder wanted nothing more at the moment than to relax in a hot shower, but he bumped into Skinner before achieving his destination. For so early in the morning Skinner was already well groomed; he was wearing a dark suit, and was uncharacteristically cheerful.

"Good morning, Agent Mulder, there is a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen. Would you like me to bring you up a cup?" Skinner asked happily, on his way toward the kitchen.

"No, thank you, sir, I think I'll grab a shower first," Mulder answered wearily.

Skinner noticed that he looked deliciously rumpled, dressed only in sweat pants that hung low on his hips showing off his slim waist, flat stomach, and the graceful curve of his back. Mulder quickly entered the bathroom closing the door.

The agent leaned up against the closed door and chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. Sighing, he walked over, turned on the shower and stripped off his sweats stepping into the steaming water. He took immediate pleasure from the hot water massaging his body as his thoughts returned to Walter Skinner. Mulder didn't miss the desire in the larger man's dark brown eyes directed at him, although Skinner tried to conceal it from him.

Mulder had no sexual experience with men and wondered what it would be like. He wondered if Skinner had any experience with men. He allowed himself to fantasize what it would be like having Skinner touch him sexually -- having Skinner for a lover.

Walter Skinner smiled to himself, making Mulder move in here was possibly the best idea he had had in a long time. He planned to take advantage of the situation. There was no way he was going to be able to keep his hands off Mulder, even he didn't possess that kind of willpower. First, he planned to allow the young man a chance to become comfortable here. He didn't want to panic Mulder. A slow, subtle seduction would best permit him to get under Mulder's defenses.

Skinner kept a watch on the bathroom door from his position in the kitchen. He secretly hoped Mulder would leave his sweats off when he came out. Skinner frowned; realizing suddenly how sordid his behavior was becoming. Mulder had enough problems right now without him invading his privacy. Skinner wanted Mulder for a lover and more. However, Mulder deserved better from him; he was ashamed of his present behavior. Sighing, Skinner turned away from his vigil of the bathroom door and set about preparing them breakfast.

Mulder came into the kitchen twenty minutes later dressed in a stylish gray Armani suit. His hair was still damp from only being toweled dried. Mulder looked a little uncomfortable as he walked over to pour himself a cup of coffee. He wouldn't meet Skinner's eyes as he sat at the small breakfast table to drink his coffee.

Skinner placed a plate of food in front of Mulder containing scrambled eggs, bacon, and English muffins. At Mulder's startled expression, Skinner remarked, "I cooked it so you get to do the dishes. Mulder, you can also start thinking about what you're going to be cooking for dinner tonight."

"I don't usually eat breakfast. If it's a requirement of living here to share the cooking duties then I think I'll cook Chinese takeout," Mulder muttered, picking up his fork he reluctantly started eating.

"Good luck, but just in case, the refrigerator and freezer are stock with meats and vegetables," Skinner chuckled to himself. He and Mulder both knew the chances of getting takeout were virtually nil. Sixty percent of all the restaurants had closed, unable to remain open due to lack of workers. The few that were open were in high demand.

"Oh, lucky me. Does that mean I don't have to stop at the grocery store on my way home, dear?" Mulder quipped.

"No, honey, but you can swing by the dry cleaners," Skinner quipped back. Becoming serious Skinner asked, "What time is your appointment at the hospital?"

"1:00 this afternoon," Mulder murmured. He knew the tests were necessary but he still didn't like being prick, probed, and sliced. Mulder only wished they would find a cure for the alien virus. He wanted to lose his very own set of armed chaperones. As if on cue, the doorbell rang and Skinner went to answer it, letting in Agents Pipino and Boutotte.

"Good morning, sir, is Agent Mulder ready?" Pipino asked.

"I'll be there in a minute!" Mulder called from the kitchen, putting the plates and cooking utensils into the sink to soak. He quickly dried his hands, rolled down his sleeves, and grabbed his suit jacket off the chair where he had draped it; he hurried out of the kitchen.

***

Saint Petersburg, Russia
November 19th - 7:00 p.m.

A handsome, dark haired man sat in a plush velvet chair in front of a blazing fire, unconsciously sipping from a glass of vodka, while his other hand held a photograph. He studied the beautiful man in the photo. His heart ached with an unfulfilled desire, wanting a love that had been forever out of his reach, until now.

He raised the glass to his lips to take another sip *empty* he realized, looking disdainfully at the glass in his hand. He glanced across the room to where the half-empty bottle of vodka sat. He concentrated on the bottle and watched as it slowly lifted up off the table and floated to him. Reaching out his hand he snatched it from the air and poured himself another couple of shots, letting go of the bottle, he mentally ordered it back to the table.

He turned his attention back to the photograph, letting his finger trace across the man's features, down the high cheek bones, around the full lower lip, and back up to the beautiful hazel eyes.

There was a loud knock on the outside door, disturbing him from his contemplation over the photo. He glared up with irritation, waving his hand at the bolts barring the door; they slid open, obeying his unspoken command. The door swung open by itself. A startled portly man stood there his hand held up about to knock again.

"Alexei, I have the information you requested," the portly man informed the younger man seated by the fire. The room was lit only by candlelight, causing shadows to dance around the walls. In another situation, this room would appear romantic; now it reeked of loneliness and alcohol. The portly man entered nervously with a large manila envelope in his hand, walking over; he handed the envelope to the Krycek.

Krycek weighed the bulky envelope in his hand. He didn't wish to open it, not yet, he was expecting the worse; he wanted to keep his fantasies a little bit longer. Sighing, Krycek decided he had to know one way or another, he couldn't put it off any longer. "What . . . have you learned?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder wasn't spared the effects of the alien virus," the portly man paused, taking in the unconcealed anguish expression on Krycek's face. "The mutation the virus caused in Agent Mulder is the rarest . . . only twenty-five other males have its symptoms."

Krycek was aware of only four specific mutations the virus caused: the Neanderthals, the Clairvoyants, the Ghouls, and the Sorcerers. He himself had picked up the Sorcerer strain of the mutation six months ago and was becoming quite competent in using his newfound abilities. Until now, he thought the Sorcerer syndrome was the rarest form of mutation, effecting only one percent of earth's male population.

"What is the symptoms' effect . . effecting . . ," Krycek's voice caught. He took a quick gulp of vodka from his glass, trying to steady his nerves. Krycek glanced down at the photo in his lap and steeled himself for the worse. "Tell me, Boris."

"Alexei, it isn't that bad. Agent Mulder may not appreciate the effects the virus had on him, but I know you will," Boris assured. "Agent Mulder has become a sensuous immortal, his body is unmarked by age, scars, or disease. There is a surveillance video in the envelope of him taken one month ago. They guard him too closely and we couldn't get closer than two hundred feet when we shot the video of him.

Krycek slumped back into his chair his sense of relief overwhelmed him. Mulder was alive and healthy there was still hope and he didn't want to waste another minute. "Boris, I need to get back into the U.S. immediately," Krycek pleaded.

"We have a plane taking off for Havana later tonight. The Americans still aren't allowing any aircraft within their airspace. Alexei, after you arrive in Cuba you can hire a boat from there to take you over to Miami." Boris was worried for his friend, "Alexei, be careful."

"Don't worry, Boris, would you hire a crew to fix up my family home? This apartment is too small and I won't be coming back alone." Krycek smiled, knowing he wouldn't be alone for much longer, Fox would have no say in the matter.

***

DC General Hospital
November 19th - 1:00 p.m.

Inside a small examination, room at DC General, Doctor George Conner was becoming mildly irritated with Fox Mulder. "Agent Mulder, please remove the rest of your clothing."

"Doctor, my appointment was to have a blood and tissue sample taken today, there was nothing in the appointment about having a rectal exam. Ask Doctor Harris, he'll tell you! I had a complete and thorough physical only two months ago," Mulder shot back.

"Agent Mulder, you are aware of the government's new regulations pertaining to the medical care of males suffering from mutations," the doctor stated smugly. "If you continue to refuse to follow my orders I will call in an orderly to have you physically restrained."

Mulder glared at the doctor. The government regulations had given the doctor permission to perform any tests he deemed necessary, giving Mulder no say in the matter. Very reluctantly, Mulder started removing his remaining clothing; he didn't see any other way out. It was only a rectal exam; he'd had them before. He would just have to grin and bear it.

The doctor watched with growing interest and wanton desire. Agent Mulder was Doctor Harris' patient, but Harris had been called away at the last moment leaving Doctor Conner to handle the rest of his caseload for the afternoon. Upon meeting Agent Mulder, Conner wanted him and he changed Mulder's appointment to include a rectal exam. Smiling smugly at his own ingenuity Doctor Conner snapped on a latex glove over his right hand.

Agent Mulder had finished undressing and Doctor Conner looked him over, walking slowly around Mulder studying his perfect body. Mulder felt humiliated and degraded under the doctor's intense scrutiny, an embarrassed flush heating up his face.

"Get up on the exam table, Agent Mulder, and lie down on your side," the doctor directed, waiting as Mulder complied. "Now bend this leg up," the doctor tapped on Mulder's leg and he pulled it up toward his chest, giving the doctor better access to his bottom.

"This may feel uncomfortable at first," Doctor Conner warned as he gently parted Mulder's smooth, firm butt cheeks with one hand and with his other hand, he inserted his lubricated finger into Mulder's tight anus. While pushing his finger into the agent's opening, Conner rubbed his own covered erection, against the side of the exam table.

"You've never had anal intercourse before have you? Fox, you're so wonderfully tight," the doctor murmured. Mulder stiffened at his question. "Fox, let me show you how pleasurable anal sex can be." He raked his finger over Mulder's prostate then slowly caressed it, causing waves of pleasure to course through Mulder's body while his mind screamed in outrage. Doctor Conner felt Mulder's sphincter muscle tighten around his finger.

"Please stop! Don't do this to me!" Mulder begged, moaning as another wave a pleasure washed through him. Sweat glistened on his body, pooling beneath him to dampen the white cloth covering the examination table.

Doctor Conner reached over and grabbed Mulder's stiffening erection as he roughly forced a second finger into Mulder's anus. "I want to make you feel so good, Fox, you are so beautiful," the doctor moaned and humped against the exam table, rubbing himself up and down on the soft leather cover.

Mulder attempted to pull away but the doctor tightened his grip on the agent's testicles keeping him still, "Don't! . . . Stop! . . . Let me go!" Mulder pleaded as tears of pain and shame ran down his cheeks.

"Fox, I want you for a lover, I can provide for all of your needs." The doctor breathed deeply getting even more excited as Mulder's aroused body, released pheromones into the air. The doctor started to hump harder against the table, while pumping and twisting his fingers in and out of Mulder's anus and stroking his erection. They both came at the same time. The doctor, without shame, shot his come into his pants causing a damp stain to appear, while Murder spurted onto the white cloth covering the exam table. After Mulder's sphincter muscle relax its grip, the doctor gently pulled his fingers out and peeled the latex glove off his hand.

After several minutes Mulder eased himself off the table. Tears of shame dampened his cheeks at being so grossly violated against his will and at his body's unwelcome response.

The doctor seeing Mulder's apparent distress tried to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" Mulder hissed angrily, swatting away the doctor's hand.

Mulder grabbed his clothes and started dressing, keeping a watchful eye on the doctor.

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it, Fox! We both know you did. My offer is still on I want you for my lover." Doctor Conner was a handsome man in his early forties; he had often used his looks and position to get what he wanted. He vainly assumed Mulder would accept his offer regardless of how shaken the agent appeared.

"No! No fucking way in *hell* would I ever consider becoming your lover!" Mulder spat at him, pulling on the last of his clothing. It was all that he could do to keep from hitting the smug doctor, but he knew how much trouble he would be in legally if he were to attack him.

"I'll give you a few days to think it over, I'm sure you'll see things my way eventually," the doctor stated with smug confidence.

"Fuck off!" Mulder snarled on his way out the door, heading down the hallway to the waiting room where Agents Vince Pipino and Phil Boutotte were waiting.

Agent Boutotte took in Mulder's distressed appearance, "Mulder, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine. Can we please leave now?" Mulder quickly replied, not waiting for them he headed for the exit. Pipino and Boutotte exchanged concern looks with each other before hurrying after Mulder.

"We need to swing by the dry cleaners, I promised Skinner that I would pick up his suits," Mulder said, trying to get them to drop the subject about his appearance.

Agent Boutotte glanced worriedly at him, noting Mulder's puffy eyes, slightly red nose, and pale completion. Something had happened in that examination room. He knew Mulder wasn't about to talk to him or Vinny so he decided to bring it to Skinner's attention. "Okay, Mulder, to the dry cleaners then back home."

***

Walter Skinner's Condo
Viva Tower - Crystal City
November 19 - 6:00 p.m.

Skinner hurried home after work. He was troubled by a phone call from Agent Boutotte about an unknown incident at the hospital that caused Mulder some emotional distress.

Letting himself quietly into the condo, Skinner paused and listened, trying to ascertain Mulder's location. Hearing noises coming from the kitchen, he headed that way. He stood in the kitchen doorway watching Mulder who stood with his back to him, stirring something in a large skillet on the stove. Whatever it was, it sure smelled delicious.

Skinner cleared his throat trying not to startle Mulder whom jumped anyway spinning around at the sound.

"Sorry," Skinner apologized. "What are you cooking?" he asked, nodding his head at the skillet while studying Mulder's appearance. He was dressed casually in jeans, a T-shirt, and running shoes. There was no outward sign of any trauma. If Agent Boutotte hadn't called him, he wouldn't have known that there was a problem.

"Beef Burgundy," Mulder answered, pouring a cup of liquid into the skillet and stirring it in, turning the heat on low, he covered the skillet. "It has to simmer for thirty minutes," he said. Opening the oven to check on its contents, he then went over to a cabinet and removed a box of rice then grabbed a pot from the overhead rack.

"Now what were those house rules again? Oh yes, whoever cooks doesn't have to do the dishes," Mulder smirked, filling the pan with water and placing it on the stove to heat. He took out a cookie sheet and started spooning large tablespoons of batter from a bowl onto it. "Baking Powder Biscuits," he replied, answering Skinner's questioning look.

Mulder slid the cookie sheet into the oven then turned to look at a very bewildered Walter Skinner. "If you need something to do you can set the table," he said, pouring the rice in the boiling water. He grabbed a breadbasket down from a cabinet, reaching into another cabinet he removed two serving bowls.

Skinner shook himself free from his wonderment over watching Mulder's synchronized movements. He retrieved the place settings and went into the dining room. As an afterthought, he added two candles to the table and lit them. Instead of going back into the kitchen Skinner headed upstairs to change. He quickly hung up his suit and pulled on a soft, gray Hensley shirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of comfortable sneakers. He went back downstairs to the kitchen to see if Mulder needed any more help.

Mulder had finished draining the rice, scooping it into one of the serving bowls. He had taken the biscuits out of the oven along with a small casserole dish of cinnamon baked apples. He poured the contents of the skillet into the other serving bowl and handed both steaming bowls to Skinner to take to the table.

Mulder carried the hot casserole dish to the table, setting it down on a trivet. He went back for the biscuits and retrieved the bottle of burgundy wine he used in the recipe.

They each served themselves. Skinner paused after taking a bite, amazed. "Mulder, this is delicious! Where did you learn to cook?"

"I've been cooking since I was ten years old. My mom was always a terrible cook. I never realized how bad until I went over to a friend's house for dinner and found out what a real meal tasted like. I taught myself how to cook from reading cookbooks then started cooking for Sam, mom, and myself whenever dad was out of town. Dad didn't approve, he always considered cooking women's work." Mulder looked uncomfortably down at his plate.

They finished eating in a companionable silence. When done, they carried the empty plates back to the kitchen. Mulder poured himself a second glass of wine, sitting down at the small kitchen table to watch in amusement as Skinner did the dishes.

"How did your appointment at the hospital go today?" Skinner asked, putting the last of the plates into the dishwasher. He glanced over at Mulder after receiving no response to his question. Mulder was staring sadly at the contents of his wineglass and wouldn't look up at Skinner.

Skinner closed the dishwasher, turning it on. He went and poured himself a glass of wine. Bringing the bottle back with him, Skinner topped off the near-empty wineglass in Mulder's hand. He sat next to him at the table, and asked softly, "What happened at the hospital today, Mulder?"

"Nothing happened. Could we just drop it?" Mulder hastened, taking a gulp of wine.

"Something happened, I want to know what? Mulder, either you're going to tell me or I'm stopping by the hospital tomorrow and finding out for myself. What's it going to be?"

Mulder visibly grimaced, paling. "Doctor Harris wasn't there I had to see a Doctor Conner instead, he . . . " he swallowed, " . . . changed my appointment to include a rectal exam." Looking down uncomfortably, he went on. "I tried to refuse, but he sited the new government regulations, and threatened to have me physically restrained. I decided to just get it over with . . . it never occurred to me that he'd . . ." Mulder stopped, too embarrassed to go on.

"What did he do?" Skinner asked gently. Leaning over toward Mulder, he tried to place comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder, but the agent pulled away from his touch. Mulder was noticeably shaken; Skinner took in his pale complexion, and even his eyes were a washed-out gray color.

"He sexually assaulted me," Mulder admitted shamefully, a blush of embarrassment evident on his face.

"He raped you!" Skinner was livid, his face turning a lovely shade of red.

"No! It wasn't rape. Not exactly, he only used his fingers, and when I tried to get away he grabbed my balls." Mulder blushed; he wanted to assure Skinner it wasn't that bad.

Skinner was still livid with rage. That doctor was going to pay dearly, he would see to it personally. Seeing Mulder's look of embarrassment and distress he tried to comfort him. "You have nothing feel ashamed about, Mulder, this wasn't your fault."

"I . . . he made me come. I couldn't stop myself, that made me feel even dirtier . . . like I enjoyed it." Mulder shivered, grabbing the wine bottle he poured himself another glass.

"You've never had sex with a man before have you?" Skinner asked. He had asked Mulder this indirectly before, but he still wasn't certain of his past answer.

"No," Mulder replied weakly.

"Anal intercourse is very sexually stimulating, it isn't hard to force an unwanted reaction if the person knows what they're doing, but that doesn't mean you enjoyed it. In any sexual relationship you'd need the right partner to experience any real pleasure or enjoyment," Skinner spoke very softly, he wanted to assure Mulder that there was nothing wrong with two men having a sexual relationship. He didn't want Mulder's traumatic experience with Doctor Conner to color his views against all male relationships.

"Sir, do you have experience in this area?" Mulder asked, feeling nervous about asking such a personal question of Skinner.

"We're not in the office, Mulder, it's okay to call me Walter. I've had a few male lovers in my life, two when I was in the Marines and one other before I met Sharon. I hope you realize that there is nothing wrong with men having a sexual relationship together as long as they're both willing participants," Skinner said sincerely, watching as Mulder weighed his words carefully.

"Walter, I did go through the FBI's male relationship sessions. I've never thought homosexuality was wrong. In fact I often . . . aah . . . can we talk about something else, please, I can't deal with this just yet," Mulder pleaded, blushing bright red at what he almost revealed about himself, but was too frightened to admit. He knew deep down that there was no reason to be afraid of Skinner, but he just couldn't get the doctor's unwelcome touch off his mind, and he found himself shying away from Skinner.

"There's a football game on television. Do you want to watch it with me?" Mulder hastened, successfully changing the subject.

"Sure, Mulder, at least some things never change, and Monday night football is one of them," Skinner replied as he followed Mulder into the living room.

"Not true, sixty percent of the NFL players are Neanderthals. There is something awesome about watching a six hundred-pound linebacker sack a three hundred-pound quarterback. Have you seen the modification they've made to their helmets? It feels like watching a totally different species play . . . "Mulder rambled giddily, feeling the effects of the wine he drank; Skinner listened with amusement. Some men were sports junkies and Mulder was definitely one of them.

***

Continued in chapter 2