"Going Places" A highly twisted round-robin/patchwork farce by The Slash Double Date Club: Griffin Grimes, Sasha Miller, and "foxboy" Mulder. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Please send to: here for griffin, zasjah@hotmail.com for Sasha, and/or fwmulder@bigfoot.com for foxboy. Or send general comments to any one of us, and we'll pass it on if appropriate. Final note: I (griffin) ended up filling in some missing gaps in this patchwork quilt of a story and writing all of the final two chapters. I also occasionally made significant changes/additions to sections attributed to other authors for the sake of continuity and the story, as well as doing the final editing. Any errors are my responsibility alone. ********************************************** "Going Places", Part 1 griff begins the tale... *************************** Woods above Dover, England Dusk *************************** The creature was hungry. The Equinox was nearing, and every day it became more aware of the approaching Time of Gluttony. But game was scarce, and it had only managed to gather into one corner of its cave a small feast of small animals - certainly not enough to keep it alive for another year. Its feathers shuddered with distaste as it remembered the disappointing Human it had caught earlier that day: a youngish but plump woman out "jogging" on a path through the woods. It had left the body on the path, as the meat was useless to the creature. Usually the ones caught "jogging" were safe to eat, but this one's breath carried the strong scent of bovine flesh. What was worse, the woman had not been terrified when her throat was ripped out. Scared, yes, but a jaded kind of scared. Like the victim had seen such horrors committed on others countless times before, and as a result was somewhat bored when it happened to her. The woman was not terrified in the ultimate terror sense. Perhaps it was time to move on, to find another incarnation, something that People would believe in. Because People had to believe in the creature's embodiments to truly fear it. Fear was what it really feasted on: Fear had always been there to keep the creature alive. It had been many other beasts through the ages, but it had always liked being a gryphon before the Equinox arrived. It was exhilarating to soar through the countryside, swoop down on an unsuspecting peasant out herding cows or baling hay, and terrify. Oh, how wonderful! To taste the overwhelming fear in the blood as it tore into a throat. To feel the power of its wings as they beat at the air currents. To know the strength in its talons as it carried its burden home to store away for the Feast. The gryphon was a magnificent creature, and nothing knew that better than the gryphon itself. *************************** Hoover Building Office of Assistant Director Skinner *************************** One hand reached for the phone while the other slid open the wide desk drawer. The phone connected and Walter Skinner's right hand paused in its search through the drawer, so that its owner could concentrate on what he said into the receiver he held in his left. "I want you in my office. With your laptop. Now." The A.D. placed the receiver back in its cradle. His right hand finally closed around what it had been looking for - far in the back of the drawer. He pulled it out, and sat looking at it thoughtfully while he waited. *************************** Hoover Building Basement Office of Fox Mulder *************************** Mulder put down the phone and sighed. The laptop. Skinner wanted him in his office "with his laptop". A sparkle entered his eyes, and he tried valiantly to fight off the smile threatening to attack his lips. After all, Scully was staring at him. "Who was that, Mulder?" Mulder swiveled to look at his partner, then rose to make a hasty exit. He tossed the words back over his shoulder as he approached the door. "Skinner. Wants to see me in his office. Sounds pissed, Scully. You'd better stay clear of the fourth floor today...I think he wants my ass." The senior partner didn't wait for a reply as he shut the door behind him. A great mustering of self control made it possible for him to reach the elevator without breaking into a run. But once the doors shut behind him, he couldn't contain his apprehension - and his eagerness - any more. He turned their brand-new code word into a chant, repeated under his breath to the empty box that brought him slowly up through each level to his ultimate destination. Savoring the delicious sounds of each syllable. "Lap - top; lap - TOP; LAP - top," he repeated, experimenting with various stresses to see which he preferred. The game kept his mind busy as he waited for the goddamn indicator lights illuminating the elevator buttons to go from "B" to "L" to "1" to... A gasp as the cubicle shuddered to a stop at the second floor, chanting lips silenced as the elevator took on two more passengers. One of them pushed the button marked "3". /Lazy old farts/, Mulder thought in disgust and annoyance as the crate rattled, pulling up the weight of three bodies now. He imagined his burning glare on the backs of the middle-aged men's necks could brand each of them with big "LOF"s - standing, of course, for "Lazy Old Fart". /One lousy floor/, Mulder thought as the pair got off on three, and his mission continued to the next level. His mood immediately picked up, but he resisted picking up the "laptop" chant again. Instead, he opted for humming a tune that likely would have earned him strange stares from the stiff-shirted duo that had just left his presence. Mulder was tempted to begin to whistle the tune. Even to sing aloud it with all his heart. "There's a place for us....Somewhere a place for us..." But he didn't. *************************** Back at the White Cliffs on the eastern edge of Jolly Old England *************************** The gryphon perched on the chalky, grassy soil, spreading its wings to their full and glorious span. It would leave tonight for better hunting grounds. This place had gone touristy, and nothing tasted worse than tourist meat. Especially American tourist meat. People raised on McDonald's hamburgers and French fries covered with - /yeech/, the gryphon gagged at the thought - gobs of ketchup. Whatever happened to all the nice, sweet-tasting, superstitious, potato-nurtured British peasants? They (or their descendants, it knew), were all running Bed and Breakfasts or selling Kodak film to the bloody Yanks. And eating their bloody hamburgers, tainted with that bloody Mad Cow Disease. Even their children were watching Saturday morning cartoons featuring the gryphon's kissing cousins, "The Gargoyles" - another import from McDonaldland. They wouldn't fear him here any more. The gryphon had had enough of it all, really. It had once seen a travel brochure, discarded by one of those bloody tasteless Yank tourists who had been snapping his Kodak like a Mad Cow Disease victim, advertising a destination named Norway. It looked nice, with squiggly little fjords all along the coastline. /Nice job, God...or whomever is responsible/, the gryphon thought appreciatively. It did like interesting coastlines. Which is one reason why it had chosen this place to live for the last few centuries. "Well, time to move on...after all, it *has* been several hundred years here", the gryphon muttered with a sigh. Maybe there were some juicy, potato-raised peasants left across the waters. The gryphon's stomach growled at the prospect. Using its powerful legs in combination with its even more powerful wings, the creature shoved off from the cursed soil and headed for the long journey across the water. And contemplated its next incarnation. Unfortunately - or fortunately, from the Norwegians' perspective, if they had known what might have befallen them - the gryphon had always been weak in geography, and it ended up in the Netherlands instead. [Griff asks foxboy to lend a hand...or a paddle...or a...] *************************** Washington, D.C. Hoover Building Skinner's office *************************** Agent Mulder stood in front of the door and blinked at the signboard: 'Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner.' Busy people were passing by in the hallway and Mulder tried to look very formal, like some agent zealous to pass on his last solved case report to his superior. The sparkle in his eyes went unnoticed. He entered the office and shut the door behind him. At first he was puzzled; Walt wasn't at his place, at his desk, where he expected him to be. Jitters settled in his stomach. "You brought the laptop, Agent Mulder?" Skinner emerged from a dark corner in the other room, burly and somehow threatening. His stern question cut through the room and caught Mulder off balance. "Uh, Sir, eh, Walt...I must have forgotten it," he smirked. "After your phone call I was confronted with a major problem regarding the witchcraft case Scully and I had been..." "Cut that out, Agent Mulder!" Skinner snarled. He stepped around behind his desk. "You know what happens to disobedient subordinates, Agent Mulder?" With these words, he reached for the long and heavy ruler placed on his desk and held it up. Mulder swallowed with anticipation. /It's going to happen, it's going to happen.../ A long-time fantasy was coming true, at last, there and then. Mulder cherished the thought. He played his repentant part with bravura, bowing his head and stammering: "Yes, S-Sir." Skinner swiftly moved around the desk, flapping the ruler constantly into the flat of his left hand. "Well, then, you are aware what is to happen next, Agent Mulder, aren't you?" Mulder nodded. " Yes, S-S-Sir." "Good." Skinner leaned against the edge of the desk and eyed the younger man in front of him. "Strip!" The ruler resting in his hand now, the promising sound diminished. "Make it worthwhile, Agent." Mulder looked up again, gaining back his fake composure. /Oh, yeah, I'll make it worthwhile./ He felt a tingling in his groin; his cock jumped at the mere prospect of a slow and seductive strip in front of his lover. /I'll have him shivering with lust when I'm done. Watch me, Walter Skinner!/ With these thoughts, he moved into the center of the room, eyes locked with Skinner's, as if he intended to win a staring competition. Skinner's glance didn't leave the young man's eyes, his iris moving slightly to take in his complete form. Mulder raised his right hand to his tie, loosening it indolently between thumb and forefinger, while his left hand reached down to his left leg and started rubbing the fabric of his slacks. He slowly pulled the tie off his neck and let it carelessly drop to the ground. His left hand, circling along the slacks, moved up to his belly and slipped through the button line of his light blue shirt, disconnecting them one by one. With one swift movement he freed himself from his jacket, which slid to the ground, burying the tie underneath. Skinner's face was expressionless, his mouth slightly open, air hissing out of his lungs. Mulder continued with his seductive dance, determined and eager to please. His hips started to move to a silent tune; long fingers tugging the shirt out of his pants, letting the tails hang loose as the last of the buttons came undone. Walter arched an eyebrow. The younger man's hands moved up to his chest, circling first one and then the other nipple, twitching them between fingers until they were erect. Soft moans escaped his lips, his climbing arousal no longer invisible. His eyes now closed in self trance, Mulder took off his shirt and sent it to the pile of clothing on the floor. His right hand went to the belt and opened it, pulling the zipper... "Hold it right there, Agent Mulder!" Mulder's movement abruptly froze with Skinner's demanding voice. "Come here. Bend over!" He motioned Mulder to lay over the front of his desk, while he hurriedly removed objects from the edge, holding the tool of punishment firmly in his left hand. Mulder took his place. The cold wood of the desk made his belly skin cringe, sending shivers along his spine. His hardon pressed hard against the edge of the desk, only increasing the tension; his arousal tried to break free of its tight prison. As if Skinner knew about its suppressed condition, he suddenly pulled at Mulder's slacks and grey cotton boxers, lowering them halfway, depriving bare cheeks of any protection. <S M A C K !!!> "This, Agent Mulder, is for your disobedience." The ruler hit harshly across Agent Mulder's butt, leaving a bright pink reminder behind. "Uhhh..." A sting was sent through his body, sweet and sharp, but unbelievably sweet. <S M A C K!!!> "What do you think that was for, Agent Mulder? Well...??" Skinner stroke over the two red outlines on Mulder's cheeks, caressing them, distributing the pain to the whole area. Mulder started perspiring, cold sweat covered his whole body. His cock poked at the desk, pressed hard against solid material. "Don't know, Sir!" His voice was husky and shaken. "That, Agent Mulder, is for making up such a terrible excuse." Skinner enjoyed this discipline. He and Mulder had been playing Master and Servant games at length in the privacy of their homes, but this little briefing was a nice change in the office routine. "As a matter of fact, you deserve another couple for that!!" <S M A C K -- S M A C K!!!> Mulder jerked forward, arms sprawled across the desk, and sent the few items on the wooden surface to the floor with a violent noise. His breath more like panting, Mulder tried to grab some of the items in avail. In order to top this acrobatic stunt he also knocked the sideboard lamp over... <Knock, knock> The door flung open and both men stared into the wide- eyed and outraged red face of Director Foster of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. [will be going back to griff...] [Back to griff...] *************************** That night Skinner's apartment Crystal City, VA *************************** <BANG!> The bedroom door slammed open and two weaving figures entered, arms slung over each other's shoulders, as if one of them could be possibly capable of holding the other up. Walter put the now nearly empty bottle of Scotch they had bought on top of the dresser, and swung his more inebriated partner away from him, spinning the lanky man into the side of the bed. The backs of Mulder's knees hit the side of the mattress, and the force of his propulsion toppled the rest of him onto the bed, sprawled diagonally across it. "Oh, Walt, you shouldn't have done that," Mulder groaned as he waited for the room to stop spinning. Skinner ignored the complaint and quickly stripped down to his birthday suit. Mulder managed to weakly lift his head up a few times to watch the progress as his former boss removed each item of clothing. Once completely bared, Skinner leaned over Mulder, undoing his lover's belt buckle and tugging at the tops of his trousers. Mulder lay as limply as a dead trout while he let the other man de-pants him. Glazed, unfocused eyes looked up at Walter over a faint smile, as if the former agent was watching the whole scene on video. Finally, Skinner gave up on getting the pants off by pushing down and grabbed the cuffs of Mulder's pants legs, deciding that pulling them off would be a more effective plan. On the third tug, the pants cleared the other man's feet - still shod with black socks and laced dress shoes - and Skinner's backward motion sent him flying into the closet doors across the room. "Mulder! I'm wounded!" Skinner cried out weakly from the carpet. All he got in reply was a sleepy groan. Moments later, a snore. Seeing his lover sound asleep where he had deposited him, the unemployed A.D. decided it best to call it a night. Things would look better in the morning. Walter wobbly got back on his feet and went to the bed, where he laid down next to Mulder, wrapping his arms around his lover, and immediately joined him in sleep. *************************** The morning after *************************** "Wakey, wakey," the annoyingly chipper voice beckoned as Skinner rose out of unconsciousness. Feeling a weight push the mattress down on one side of the bed, he cautiously opened his eyes to see what was causing it. It was Mulder, kneeling on the bed with a devilish smirk, stark naked and bearing a tray of bagels and cream cheese. Folded newspapers sat on the side of the tray. "Oh, God, Mulder, get that stuff away from me," Walter said, laying an arm across his eyes, not wanting to look at the cream cheese. Not even to get more than a glimpse of Mulder's state of undress. The hangover really wasn't bad, Skinner realized, but the thought of eating anything, let alone what was in front of him, didn't make it any better. "Fine; I'll eat 'em," Mulder said as Skinner got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. 'Shit, I shouldn't have done that last night,' Skinner thought as he relieved himself. He came out of the bathroom to see Mulder cheerfully perched on the bed, legs tucked under him and knees spread wide, gnawing at a soft bagel covered in thick, white gop. Walter didn't fail to notice that the tempting man in front of him had also placed two of the larger bagels on his erect and reddened member, coating the bronzed dough and warm flesh lightly with cream cheese. "Sure you don't want just a taste?" Mulder asked, eyes shining as he looked down with pride at his personal ring-toss game. He had called ahead to the bakery to have them made large enough to fit him - short of getting a tailor to take his measurements, the baker had done quite well. 'Oh, God, help me!' Skinner pleaded silently, unable to hide his longsuffering grin. He closed the gap between them and leaned down for a kiss. Then he went in for a morning snack, kneeling down to lick a bit of the soft white spread that had found a home on the hardened head. Mulder's head dropped back as he gasped for air, his lover's gentle tongue washing waves of sensation throughout his body. Still kneeling at the side of the bed, Walter continued to clean the white cream that clung all around the bulbous tip peeking above the impaled bagels. Without diverting his attention for a moment, he slowly slid his arms under Mulder's knees, pushing forward to cause the shallow-breathing man before him to lie back flat on the bed's thick comforter. Mulder lifted his head off the mattress to watch Walter have his 'breakfast cum Mulder'. Finally, he raised up on his elbows to gaze in amazement at what his lover was doing. "Found your appetite, huh?" he managed to breathlessly get out. Skinner had lapped up most of the cream cheese, and had nibbled away the outer edges of the first bagel. He looked up at Mulder and wiped the dots of cheese from his own chin. "Cinnamon raisin," he said with half a mouthful still to be swallowed. "I forgot how much I liked cinnamon raisin." Possessively stroking Mulder's belly with one hand, he went in for more. His hangover miraculously relieved, Walter sucked and gobbled and licked until half the soft, fresh-baked bread had disappeared. He looked into the face of his lover to find him in his own world - panting and moaning, eyes still intent on what Skinner was doing. Skinner removed the remaining chewed-edged rings and tossed them over his shoulder, then gently but thoroughly licked the mixture of white foamy pre-cum and soft cheese that still covered Mulder's warm and throbbing prick. "Walt, if you don't go in for dessert, I think it's going to go flambe," Mulder managed to choke out, his elbows barely finding the strength to keep him aloft on the bed. With that, Skinner's eyes locked on Mulder's as he took in the other man's shaft. The bagel ring toss became a large Astro Pop as the older man engulfed his deep mouth around the rigid member. "Oh, Jeezus, Walt, you're getting good at that," Mulder exclaimed breathlessly, feeling each molecule in his groin become enervated with his lover's attention. Mulder closed his eyes as his body tensed, shaking and tight on the brink of release. Enjoying watching the play of emotions he brought onto the other man's face, Skinner reached one hand down to minister to his own erection. He stroked in rhythm with his mouth's caresses over Mulder's hard rod. Mulder's breathing became even more erratic as he felt the tension build. This was like sprinting out after a long run, he thought, except he had absolutely no control over the sensations he was bathed in. All release depended upon the man he had put all his trust into over the past few months. Moments like this were when Mulder realized how totally he had come to need the man in front of him. The moment came, and Mulder spasmed deep into Walter's throat, screaming unintelligibly as his body's entire focus went to his tight, spasming genitals. Skinner barely managed to avoid choking on the endless stream flowing hard into his throat. He reached his own climax moments after Mulder's began. The reality of taking in Mulder's powerful ejaculation while experiencing his own was almost too much for him to handle. Finally, their mutual release eased. Skinner brought his mouth away from Mulder's groin to watch his lover collapse back on the bed. Both sweating and fighting to catch their breaths, Walter nuzzled at Mulder's hip and gradually found the strength to join his lover on the bed, stretching out beside him and glancing over to admire the beauty of Mulder's relaxed visage. At last, Skinner wordlessly reached out to pull the exhausted man to his chest. Again, they slept. ******************** Later Still in bed ******************** They had woken up still in each other's arms an hour later, and basked in the leisurely, unfamiliar knowledge that they had nowhere in particular they needed to be. Finally, Skinner looked over and broke the silence. "How do you do that, Fox?" Skinner commented, honestly perplexed at his lover's behavior and fortitude. "I've rarely seen you drunk - *never* that drunk - and now you're...you're..." "Happy? Hungry? Horny?" Mulder suggested, voice scratchy from sleep and eyes still misty. Skinner nodded once, tiredly affirming all three. "What's going on?" He was beginning to suspect Mulder had finally lost it. That the loss of his position at the FBI had sent him over the edge overnight. "Aren't you worried about what you're going to do now? Now that you don't have the X-Files?" Reaching over to the tray that still lay on one corner of the bed, Mulder silently took the two folded newspapers and opened one: that morning's copy of the Post. He turned it around for Walter to see, pointing at an article in the back of the news section. "Read that," was all he said. Skinner had to sit up to retrieve his glasses from the dresser. Putting them on, he read the article, wondering how it could possibly relate to their mutual ousting from the F.B.I. The article was a report of two similar murders - one in Dover, England, and the other outside Amsterdam. Halfway through reading, Walter looked quizzically up at the eager man in front of him. "And?" Mulder was ready with the second article, and put that one in front of Skinner, beside the Post. This one was in a fresh copy of "The National Enquirer"; Mulder's finger pointed to a bright red headline beside a muddy picture of something that looked like a large bat in flight. Accompanying the bold type and photograph was an "artist's rendition" - a drawing of a strange bird-like, beast-like animal, talons menacingly seeming to reach out to grab the hapless reader. "Fishermen fear for their lives as monster attacks from the skies," Skinner read aloud before tossing the paper back at Mulder. "Okay, tell me - what the hell is this about?" Mulder wasn't surprised at the reaction. "These two guys saw this thing flying over the English Channel - in a direct route between Dover and Amsterdam. It apparently came within a few feet of their fishing boat, and scared the hell out of them. They argued about what exactly it looked like - one swore it was a large bird, but the other compared it to more of a land animal. A lion possibly, he said." Skinner sighed in exasperation. "Fox, this is The National Enquirer we're talking about..." "I know. Some of my best X-Files leads have come from articles like this. Sometimes, in the midst of lies, you can find a kernel of truth." Walter couldn't help but be curious about where this was leading. "So what does this 'monster spotting' have to do with two murders on two different continents? And what does it have to do with you being so horny?" Skinner wondered if he really wanted to know the answer to that last question. He answered the first himself. "You think this...creature...murdered those two people." Mulder nodded. "The description fits that of a gryphon perfectly - a mythological creature that is half eagle, half lion. A myth that has cropped up, in slight variations, in cultures all over the world. Some say it feeds once a year, in a huge ravenous feast, at the Vernal Equinox." "Which is soon," Skinner said, shaking his head in disbelief that he was still listening to this fairy tale. He was beginning to appreciate more fully what Scully had been through over the last few years as Mulder's partner. "I know this sounds crazy," Mulder admitted, not for the first time in his life by far. "But, Walter, I've thought about this for a long time. Well, not this exactly, but the idea of investigating my own X-Files. I knew we were likely to get caught, sooner or later, and I guess it was sooner." Mulder looked up at Skinner, trying not to show how much he hoped this idea would work out. "I think this is the perfect opportunity, Walt, to try it on my own. For us to try it on our own, I mean." Walter had never thought much about what he would do if he had to leave the F.B.I. He had always planned on retiring with distinction - not leaving like this. He was too young for even an early retirement. He would find someway back, he knew. In the meantime, he thought, he could use some time away, to put things in perspective and plan for how he was going to salvage his career. Skinner picked up the newspapers and tossed them on the bedside dresser. "So if you think this thing is on a murder spree, why are you sitting here buck naked, eating bagels and tempting me like some slutty bakery delivery boy? Why aren't you running off after this gryphon?" "Well, I would be, but I wanted to be sure you were coming with me," Mulder answered, heading to the closet to pull out suitcases. "Are you?" Skinner thought a moment of how to reply. "I guess I could use a vacation. Am I the only reason you're not half way across the Atlantic already?" Walter was moved - in more ways than one - that his lover cared enough to be willing to give up this lead for him. Mulder plopped the suitcases on the bed and grinned. "You're the sexiest reason, but not the only reason. I called the airlines as soon as I saw the connection about the killings and the sighting of the creature. The first flight to Amsterdam I could get leaves this afternoon." He shoved one suitcase closer to Walter. "We'd better get packing, partner!" Walter shook his head, amused at the thought of being Mulder's "partner" in more than the carnal sense. Opening drawers and randomly filling the empty space of his large suitcase, he wondered if he was being foolhardy by going along with this scheme. He did not want to start trading war stories with Scully. Having nearly finished with his own packing, Mulder came back from the closet with a few final necessities and pulled the lid shut. He stood behind Skinner, busy placing socks and underwear in as neatly as he could, and gave the larger man a bear hug. "We'll be great together, Walter," he assured, resting his cheek on the other man's shoulder. "Don't you worry; we'll be much better without the FBI." Skinner had stopped his packing and raised up to his full height. He patted Mulder's arms, which were still wrapped tightly around his waist. "Just remember, 'partner', I'm still your supervisor. I'm not going to be asking Scully for fashion tips, or letting you saddle me with all the grunt work." Mulder plopped back on the bed to face Walter. Looking up, he took the other man's hand in his. "We'll save the saddle for after hours, if you want," he grinned. "I'll be happy to do the grunting, though, Sir." ************************** Griff tags...Sasha! [Sasha takes over, shyly, as she is about to lose her cyber virginity here as a smutwriter<G>.] *************************** Somewhere over the English Channel *************************** "Walter, have you read this?" Mulder whispered as he pushed a haphazardly folded copy of the National Enquirer under Skinner's nose. "No, I haven't. It's not my regular reading fodder. Mulder, I'm trying to get some sleep, so I can keep up with your pace of investigation; I've not been out in the field often the last few years, you know." "The fact that I kept you *up* all night has nothing to do with it, Walter?" Mulder practically oozed in Skinner's ear, grinning slyly at his own pun. "Mulder, you never cease to amaze me." "That's what I was hoping for." Sighing, Skinner grabbed the magazine from Mulder's hand and started to read the article his insistent lover had pointed out. -------------------------------------------- DANCES WITH WEREWOLVES? >From our European correspondent American tourist Lupe di Angelo joined in a "dance macabre" last week in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. 19-year-old Lupe, on an Interrail tour through Europe with her friends, went clubhopping in the Dutch capital on her last day on the Continent. In one of Amsterdam's numerous dance clubs she met a local, who called himself Wolf Mann, and they immediately "hit it off". "It struck me as being so funny that our first names were in essence the same, and he seemed such a nice guy," di Angelo observed. When Lupe accidentally was separated from her friends, Wolf turned out not to be such a nice guy after all. He grabbed her by her arms and dragged her into a backstreet alley. And there strange things happened, the young woman claimed. "He cornered me and then he started to change from a man into a wolf; his teeth got large and hair started to grow all over his face and hands. Then he howled like a wolf and wanted to rip my throat out," Lupe stated, still badly shaken by her experience. Fortunately, her friends found her just before Wolf could attack her in earnest, and they managed to chase him away. Di Angelo and her friends flew back to their hometown of Sunnydale, CA, where they will try to forget this weird and terrible experience. -------------------------------------------- "So? What does this have to do with our search for a gryphon, Mulder? This girl probably had a hallucination, induced by lack of sleep, travelling stress and uncontrolled use of controlled substances," Skinner said as he handed back the magazine to Mulder. "I think it has everything to do with the gryphon. Look at the date," Mulder said, holding the article in front of Skinner. "Don't you find it odd that at the same day that reports of the mutilations by what we assume to be a gryphon ceased, this girl gets attacked by a werewolf?" Mulder's theory was met with a doubtful stare, making Mulder even more insistent in explaining his case. "Come on, Walt, just hear me out," he said firmly. "The pattern of attacks moves from England to the Netherlands. I think that our UNSUB is able to change his appearance at will, to adapt himself to the environment. In an urbanized country, such as Holland, a gryphon would very easily be spotted. A werewolf has much more possibilities to hide. In fact, he can hide in plain sight as no one will guess he's changing into a man-eating monster at night, when he's just taking a stroll in the city in his human form." Whatever retort Skinner was going to give on Mulder's musings was interrupted by the announcement that the plane was going to land at Schiphol Airport. *************************** the Vondelpark, Amsterdam Dusk *************************** The grass couldn't help it. He kicked it anyway. Great big heaps of freshly mown grass flew in the air as he furiously stomped across the lawn that lay in the center of the park. He was disgusted with himself. Getting chased off by some pimply-faced teenagers! This had never happened when he was a gryphon! People around him regarded him oddly, but he didn't care about that. He was mad at himself and with these stupid humans that refused to be driven into mortal fear so he could feast upon it. A silence descended on the darkening park and adjoining playground as the last of the parents took their children home, easily cajoling them with promises of French fries and Sesame Street. Their clear voices resounded in his ears, driving him even angrier. Too perfect. No fear of fates worse than death; the only thing these people feared here was whether they would make it home in time to watch their bloody favorite television program! And the country was so damned flat! He really missed the chalky hills of England where he could hide in the brush and soar over fields of corn without much chance of being spotted unless he wanted to be. Unfortunately, he was getting really hungry now. The time of the Equinox was getting closer and closer and his hunger was getting bigger and bigger. And he couldn't change into another, more fear-inspiring form before he had feasted on the fear he inspired in the dying moments of unsuspecting humans. It had turned completely dark now, and the park, eerily lit by lanterns whose light was partly obscured by the trees, was virtually deserted. Only a few joggers were to be seen, running like mad to burn off the enormous quantities of hamburgers they had obviously been ingesting for a prolonged period of time. Sighing, he committed himself to the inevitable. He pulled the laces of his running shoes a bit tighter and went for the chase. *************************** Amsterdam Hotel De Jantjes *************************** "Mulder, I still think it's gross." Walter's voice was muffled as he started to wriggle his head under his lover's T-shirt, adorned by the picture of Skinner's jeans-clad ass, accompanied by the words: "Been there, done that, got the shirt to prove it." The front of the shirt bobbed and heaved as Skinner moved his attentive mouth from one expectant nipple to another. "What, exactly, is gross, Walter? The T-shirt or your ass? I for one don't think your ass is gross, it's just...aaaah!" Mulder practically died of sensory overload as Skinner bit him on his left nipple, letting it follow by a long suckle before he moved over to its twin to perform the same, pleasure-giving action. "No, Mulder, the fact that you had a T-shirt made with a picture of my ass on it and that you are insane enough to walk around in it. And that I am walking beside you when you do that. *That's* what I call gross." [Griff steps in "a bit" later to pinch-hit on the sex scene<g>] "Walt, I've never claimed to be sane...when did you ever think I was?" Mulder asked between two gasps and three or four pants as the big man buffed Mulder's chest hairs with his scalp while continuing to tease his nipples mercilessly. Mulder was getting more enthusiastic with every nip on a nipple. He clutched onto the sides of Skinner's "tighty whitey" waistband while drawing his own growing erection, tented under thin grey boxers and threatening to peek through the slit, closer to Skinner's left thigh. He knew rubbing his prick there slowly and seductively always drove his lover over the edge of foreplay and into the wild abyss of passion. "Walt, you know if we were back in Washington, we'd both be stuck behind our desks right now reading case files or preparing expense reports?" Mulder said dreamily, relaxed and happy where he was at that very moment. "Isn't this a *big* improvement?" His lover stopped - /dammit, I shoulda just kept panting and shut up for once/, Mulder thought - and drew his head out from the warm cave of Mulder's certainly non-FBI regulation T-shirt. Walter met Mulder's eyes with his own, resting his elbows on Mulder's knees bent and spread on either side of Skinner's hips. "You're right, Mulder. You're one helluva lunatic. And you're a sex maniac, as well. I should have known you would get me addicted to your tight ass, get us fired, and then bring me all the way to Amsterdam just to seduce me all over again." Walter delivered the words with such mock seriousness that Mulder almost read it as real frustration with leaving the F.B.I. behind, thousands of miles away. Then he recognized the subtle glint in Walter's eyes. "Sex maniac, huh?" Mulder tossed back loudly, grinning as he scooted from his prone position to crouch back against the pillows. "Lunatic, huh?" he added even louder, leaning forward to brace both arms in front of him in support on the mattress. With Walter still in a similar crouch near the foot of the bed, the two lovers looked more like two football linesmen facing off before the snap. 'Inside linebacker' Skinner sensed something was up, and tensed his body like he'd been trained to back in his high school gridiron days. However, when 'tight end' Mulder made a sudden glance over his shoulder, Walter followed the look with his own eyes to the uncovered window that displayed the night skyline of the city. "It's a full moon, Walt, and I'm a lunatic!" Mulder cried out before he lunged forward, taking advantage of the distraction. The tight end managed to knock the linebacker off balance, making both topple off the end of the bed and onto the thankfully soft hotel room carpet. Both were more than a bit surprised that Mulder had managed to literally floor his former boss. The pair froze in position for a moment, Skinner flat on his back and Mulder above him, straddling his hips. Finally, Mulder smirked. That was it. Just smirked. Skinner looked almost hypnotized by Mulder's victorious smile. "You're a lunatic, Mulder," he said, quietly, fascinated with Mulder's joyful face. "And it's a full moon, Walt...a full moon." With that, Mulder sat up straight, threw his head back, and howled with the best of them. ****************** Much later...having crawled back onto the bed... ****************** [Back to Sasha...] "Mulder, don't you ever not read after you have sex?" Skinner folded his strong legs around those of his lover, who lay on the bed, perusing a Dutch English-language paper, seemingly completely absorbed in it. "Did you know, Walter, that gay people can get officially married here? Says here in the newspaper." A noncommittal shrug. "So?" "What if we'd get married here?" Mulder said as he dropped the newspaper on the floor. "Wouldn't that be nice?" The two had often talked wistfully of what it might be like to be married, to ba able to have a more normal life together, but the laws against gay marriages, and of course their positions in the FBI, precluded this from becoming anything more than an occasional fantasy for them. Now that they were out of the country and out of work, they had both begun to wonder if they might actually have their dream realized. Skinner looked closely at Mulder. "Is that what you really want? Do you want to defy everything around you just to show the world that we belong together?" Not a cringe. Mulder was serious. And suddenly, so was Walter. "All right, let's see if we can arrange this. Get dressed; we're going to City Hall. But first I have to do something." He dropped on his knees before the bed and took Mulder's hands solemnly in his. "My dearest Fox, will you please, please marry me?" At first Mulder smiled in amusement at Walter's chivalric act of proposal; then he saw how seriously the other man looked at him. Still, he couldn't help but throw in his own spin on the moment. "The answer is yes, as long as it's a white wedding." They burst out laughing and Mulder pulled up Skinner on the bed with him, happy in the knowledge that they loved each other. [Sasha tags...griffin! Phew, glad I made it so far!] Date sent: Sun, 21 Mar 1999 05:00:39 -0800 From: Griffin <mfluder@spiralcomm.net> To: mace_@geocities.com Subject: Places 4/6 [griffin figures Walt and Fox deserve one helluva nuptuals, but no wedding goes off perfectly smoothly...] **************************** The next morning **************************** Walter Skinner hated waiting. The governmental bureaucracy almost made him think he was back home in D.C. as he and Mulder stood in the snakingly long line at Amsterdam's City Hall. They had already been redirected to three different lines and filled out four different versions of apparently the same form. For that added sparkle of waiting-in-line entertainment, they were all written in Dutch. All they wanted to do was get a marriage license. Skinner half expected to have to take an eye test and pose for an awful "made-me-look-like-an-owl-on-crack" head shot when they finally reached the front of the line. If they ever got there, that is. The new freedom in this country for homosexual marriages was apparently very popular. Harried clerks looked dead on their feet taking in one application after another for marriage licenses - all from the long stream of same-sex couples standing in the same line Skinner and Mulder were only barely two-thirds of the way through. While Skinner gritted his teeth with impatience, wishing he had some of his Assistant Director clout in the joint, Mulder stood next to him amusing himself with people-watching. Despite the waiting required, most looked quite happy to be there. The twosome of men stationed directly in front of Mulder and Skinner looked particularly cheerful. Exceedingly amorous, in fact. Mulder nudged Skinner in the ribs, nodded toward the younger couple who were finding new places to caress and rub together, and snuck a quick but warm peck on his handsome fiancee's cheek. "You just looked so tasty, Walt," Mulder said with a grin. "I'll want an appetizer before getting you alone in bed tonight, though - how about that Italian place we passed down the street?" Skinner nodded, feeling a stirring in his groin and a heat flow out from his cheeks. He just knew that the color had spread across his face from ear to ear. This was something they hadn't been able to do while working for Uncle Sam - to express their love for each other in public. At least, not as publicly as this was, in a crowded line at a major metropolitan city hall. The idea of ever being able to do anything like this with Mulder in their own environment - for example, Skinner imagined, to make out in the middle of the Hoover building's lobby - excited Skinner in many ways. Just before Walter's blush had faded, the shorter of the two men in front of them turned back and caught a glimpse of the otherwise self-controlled-looking Skinner's mild embarrassment. The man could tell the handsome couple were Americans, a culture whose members he had judged tended to be either a bit stick-up-your- assish with conservativism or the fun but somewhat inanely annoying type who, long after age 30, still wore high top basketball sneakers and neckties that featured cartoon characters. Yes, these two were definitely Americans. "Tying the knot, are you, boys?" the stranger asked cheerfully to neither of them in particular. He kept the wide grin, obviously just as happy about his own impending marriage as he was about seeing two Clinton- and-Lewinskyland refugees sharing a special moment together. "Yes, we are," Mulder volunteered, tucking his arm around Skinner's. "You, too?" The man nodded and tugged at his huge, bear-like, tattooed and hirsute boyfriend's chain link belt to get him to turn around. The bear, not saying a word, pulled a folded piece of paper out of what appeared to be a partial ream of similarly folded papers stuffed rather interestingly into the front of his tight black leather pants. Skinner tried not to stare at the folded fan of fliers as he was handed one to read. With some translation help from the short man, Walter could understand basically what it said. It announced a large multi- couple pre-wedding celebration to be hosted enthusiastically by "Mikki and Willi" (the couple in front of him, Skinner presumed, and thought he could guess which one was Willi...the name reminding him of "Free Willy" quite appropriately). The mass bachelor party, the flier read, was planned to be held at a trendy club in the heart of the city. The bear spoke at last, obviously not having spent as much time wearing earphones in the University's language lab as his mate. He had a thicker Dutch brogue than his boyfriend's faintly British English. "Come. Tonight. Will be en-joy-a-ble." He added a smile at Mulder, showing the gap where a front incisor had been knocked out. He then turned to Skinner. "Bring much beer, I make you tattoo with his name." A little ear-nod in the direction of Mulder. Mulder couldn't manage to stifle his chuckle. "Oh, Walt, we'll have to go!" *********** The end of the line... *********** Willi and Mikki had gone through their application process and left the office still buzzing about seeing Mulder and Skinner and a few others they'd invited in line at their big bachelor party that night. As the couple walked past them toward the door, Skinner caught their names amidst their whispering. Mikki only winked at Skinner when he noticed the older man had heard them. Then it was Mulder and Skinner's turn at the application window, where they soon found out what apparently all the other native applicants already knew: getting the final papers to marry would take close to a month. After some loud bellowing about administrative ineptitude, the former A.D. shoved their application across the counter at the clerk and stormed out, with Mulder close behind. Three hours of cutting through red tape and going through a queue that rivaled that of Captain Eo's in its heyday, and Mulder and Skinner finally pushed through the doors of the city hall and into fresh air again. "We're not staying here for three weeks, Fox," Walter said as they began heading down the steps. "We can still have a ceremony. Remember, a license is just a piece of paper." Mulder nodded. He understood - what was important was that they both had readily agreed to take the plunge when they thought they could make it official. Still, he had been so excited about being legally bound to Walt in some way. He so enjoyed dreaming of being bound to him in other ways; an officially recognized marriage would have been extra special. Mulder hailed them a cab. In the two days they'd been in the city, he had done as much searching as he could for the creature they'd pursued here. Considering the only people who had even seen the killer had gone back to the States before he and Skinner had even arrived, there wasn't a whole lot he could do. He was suddenly faced with the frustration of not having the Bureau resources at his disposal: in a similar case, if he'd still been in the FBI, he'd be able to have a field agent contact the young Di Angelo woman who'd been attacked. Any field agent Mulder knew would not be able to, or want to, listen to an ousted agent's theories based on nothing but the National Enquirer. A cab pulled up, and the two slid into the back seat. Skinner directed their hairy-knuckled driver to their hotel. "We should be pursuing this shapeshifting creature, anyhow, not spending all our time screwing like bunnies," Mulder said resignedly. Skinner looked long at Mulder's disappointed face, and took his lover's hand in his. "Maybe I should go home, and leave you to the investigation," he suggested. It did seem the logical decision to Skinner, as he couldn't do much more than distract Mulder from the case while he was here. Maybe back in D.C., Skinner could manage to find some resources to help Mulder catch the beast. Mulder looked at Skinner, surprise and a touch of fear in his face. "NO! Walt, no! I need you here with me," he said. "And you need me, you know that." It was a frustrating dilemma, Skinner thought. Although being on this "vacation" with Mulder had been among the best few days of his life, he knew he would go stir crazy if he couldn't get back to something like his former position at the F.B.I. Finally, swayed by Mulder's plea, Skinner decided to give them some time to get over this disappointment before he made any important decisions. "Okay, you get some legwork done on this case, go back and talk to anyone you can around the last sighting of the Mann suspect, and I'll make some more calls. I still have some clout with some people back in Washington, and I think I can influence getting someone assigned to talk to the Di Angelo girl." Mulder looked at Skinner, relieved and grateful. "Let's meet tonight at that Italian restaurant of yours," Skinner suggested. He then decided to put on his gruff A.D. act. "6 p.m. sharp, Agent! I'll be expecting a report of your findings on the case so far." They ordered the cab driver to drop Mulder off down where the werewolf attack had occurred, hoping some new witness would be discovered. Mulder had already roamed the area and talked with everyone he could find, and no one knew anything. Although, for all he knew, the monster could have changed shape and left for other hunting grounds, Mulder's instinct told him that the creature was very close and still in the embodiment of a werewolf. The killer's attempt to find a victim at the beginning of this last full moon had been thwarted, and Mulder strongly suspected that it needed fresh blood to change. Skinner couldn't resist slapping Mulder's butt hard as he left the cab to go on foot through the area. Before Mulder got a chance to do more than yell "Hey!" back at Skinner and shake a fist teasingly, the cab had sped off to take Skinner to the hotel and some phone calls. *********** The big man paid the driver and got out, never having taken a good look at the man behind the wheel. Even if he had, he wouldn't have noticed anything unusual...just a typical grubby, uncommunicative, and hairy cab driver in a big city. But the cabby wasn't a man. It had watched these two asking questions all over the city, and would keep an even closer eye on them now. They were the only ones who had an idea of exactly what the baffled Amsterdam police were dealing with. It had seen the look of fear in the slim man's eyes when their togetherness had been threatened, and it now knew what it's greatest weapon was. And how it might feed next. *********** 6 p.m. Il Italiano Restaurant *********** Skinner looked at his watch and then out the large window that looked onto the street from the table where he'd been seated. 6 p.m. exactly - and where the hell was Mulder? He was determined not to put up with Mulder's tardiness and absences and running off on wild goose chases. Skinner was getting ready to fume, but then saw the familiar form running down the sidewalk. Walt caught Mulder's eye when he got in front of the restaurant, and Mulder broke his run and waved, a little out of breath. Skinner's lips curled into a smile as he waved back, and Mulder turned toward the door to the restaurant. Skinner saw the car pull up and four men get out before Mulder did. Through the glass window, he heard one of the men call Mulder's name, making Mulder turn toward them reflexively. Both Skinner and Mulder were surprised - how would anyone around here know his name? Skinner could only watch in shock, standing up and pressing his face into the glass to see, as three of the men converged on Mulder in a tackle. The third opened the back seat door to let his mates lift Mulder off the ground and shove him onto the seat. A fifth man - and this was a tiny economy-sized European car - kept the motor running and sped the vehicle away as soon as everyone was back inside. It had all happened so fast, by the time Skinner had run out onto the street, the car was more than a block away. He ran after it as fast as he could, shouting Mulder's name repeatedly. The distance between him and the car increased with each moment; Skinner couldn't help but wonder if the Consortium was behind this. What else could it be? [Griff hands it very sneakily back to Sasha...] *********** "Gimme that bike!" Skinner threw the bleach-haired boy 100 guilders and yanked the rental mountainbike away from him. "But you gotta fill in some forms!" the boy shouted, trying in vain to stop Skinner from taking the bike. Somewhere deep within Skinner cringed at his own actions, but the thought that Mulder was being taken away from him superseded any moral impediment he might have at not filling in the paperwork. He would come back later and make it up to the guy; when - not if - he had found his lover. As he jumped on the saddle he saw through the rear window Mulder's head surface, which was roughly pulled down again by one of his captors. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Somehow he had thought they were safe here. That they would, for a small period of time, be free from threats from black-lunged bastards or men who had a weekly appointment with their manicurists. That they were no longer considered dangerous now that they were expelled from the FBI; reduced to a harmless position, as far as the Consortium was concerned. And therefore to be left alone, the Consortium's energy rerouted to more threatening forces than themselves. Apparently this was not the case. A sinking feeling manifested itself in his gut as he saw the car draw away from him. He would *not* let this happen; Mulder would not be taken away from him. They deserved some happiness together, dammit! His legs pumped harder and harder as he tried to keep up with the Chevaux as it swerved through the busy streets of Amsterdam. Cursing loudly, Skinner managed to evade bewildered pedestrians and angry bikers in his pursuit of the garishly yellow car that was taking his lover away from him. Skinner tried to put aside any thought of how undignified he must look riding the too-small-for-him ladies' style bike, ringing the metallic bell frantically to warn off anyone and anything in his way. He couldn't think of his image now - Mulder was being kidnapped! Somehow he hadn't thought that Mulder's propensity to ditch his colleagues would apply to him too; and in retrospect he felt even more sorry for Scully for all the times she had to experience similar events. They approached the Leidscheplein outdoor mall. It was filled with people enjoying cool drinks and hot company on one of the first lovely nights of the year. And there he lost him. A young couple, apparently more interested in their newfound love than their surroundings, crossed the street without looking, just in front of Skinner. There was no way he could swerve around them without getting crushed by a passing tram, and the only way to avoid an accident was to brake and come to a complete standstill. Meanwhile, the car rounded a corner and, when Skinner finally was able to extricate himself from the situation, it was completely gone. He sagged against a wall, closing his eyes in the vain hope that when he opened them, it would all be a dream and Mulder would be lying next to him, his body warm and inviting. But it was true. Mulder was gone. In a strange country, in which he had no jurisdiction, or the power to pull some strings, he had lost the man that meant everything to him. What should he do? Going to the police was not really an option. Not yet anyhow. He couldn't prove it was a kidnapping; they might say he got in the car willingly. Luckily he had been able to take a good look at the men who took Mulder, and he was sure he would recognize them anywhere. Oddly though, he thought he had seen a guy who looked a lot like Mikki from the line at City Hall. A conspiracy after all? He straightened himself up and made a decision. He was going to find Mulder, even if it took his whole life. Because his whole life depended on it. ********** 1 a.m. ********** Skinner was starting to get desperate. He had been looking for over three hours now, and not yet a trace of Mulder or his captors. Methodically, he had searched the streets of the inner city, somehow feeling that Mulder had not yet been taken far away. But if he didn't get a lead soon, he really had to go to the police, and report Mulder missing. Gods, the Consortium would have a field day if they read about *that* in the papers... He had reached the part of the city where nightlife was at its most intense; he was surrounded by people, dressed to go out and have a good time. He scanned their faces as they weaved their ways in and out of discos and nightclubs, looking for the best place to be. Then he saw Mikki, and he was now sure he had seen him in the car with Mulder. He entered a door, passing under a flickering neon sign. "The IT", where the bachelor party had been planned. Slow relief, mixed with a rising anger, passed through Skinner as he waved the flier he had been given as admission, and made his way through the happy crowd towards the entrance of the club. This was apparently the place to be, because he was surrounded by good- looking men and women, dressed in the most outrageous clothes. Inside it was hot; and not in just the thermal sense. Barely-clothed bodies undulated around him to hypnotizing music, inadvertently, and sometimes overtly, making contact with his own body. Apparently this was a great place to find company. He sighed inwardly, glad those days would be behind him. This was no time to be considering these things. He had to find his lover. Soon. He made his way through the crowds, searching for the man that had led him here, and then he saw him. On the dancefloor, clad only in low-slung black leather trousers, Mulder was going crazy on Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive". ****************** [Sasha pushes griff out onto the dance floor...] Continued in part 5. Note for this chapter: the bureaucratic incompetence described here is for humor purposes only - for all I know, Amsterdam's City Hall runs like melted wax, even with the (yes, this much is true) relatively new legal acceptance of same-sex marriages there. Anyhow, it can't be worse than the California DMV<g>. ****************** [Griffin hops out from behind the bushes, keeping a nervous eye out for that gryphon/werewolf/whatever else the monster might be these days...] Walt was filled with relief seeing Mulder unharmed and obviously enjoying himself on the dance floor. He silently smiled as he watched his half-naked, gyrating lover move to the music. Skinner's love for him was more powerful than ever seeing him like this, so beautiful and full of life, after worrying for hours that he might never see him again. He got himself into Mulder's line of sight and easily caught his attention. The DJ smoothly changed the music from the frenetic Franklin song to one of the more sensual offerings from the Pointer Sisters - "Slow Hand". Mulder's dance became even more erotic, hips and torso fluid and perfectly in tune with the music. He kept his gaze glued on Skinner's appreciative and loving face as he gave a personal demonstration of how he wanted the lyrics of the song to be lived out on his body by Walt alone...one hand going down to caress his groin and thigh, the other playing at his bare chest in extreme self-indulgence. Eye contact broke only as Mulder closed his eyes in arousal at his own inspired stimulation. Skinner was in the thrall of Mulder's siren dance, vicariously feeling every touch and stroke and tease that Mulder inflicted upon himself. His fingertips began tingling, as if they had personally followed each trail along Mulder's skin, as if they themselves had grasped Mulder's crotch as he had, feeling the smoothness of the leather covering the hard warmth it concealed. He could take it no more. In half a daze, Skinner came to stand within arm's length of his lover. He reached a hand out to grasp Mulder's waistband and pulled him to him possessively, encircling him into a slow dance embrace and beginning to move with the man he loved. Walter's mouth hovered near Mulder's ear and asked the question at last. "What the hell happened to you tonight?" *********** Outside the club *********** It had to taste fresh, fear-sweetened blood soon or all would be lost. The full moon was waning, and the power of its metamorphosis ebbed with the tide. If it didn't change to another embodiment soon, the creature would be stuck like this for another month before it could go on the hunt again. And it was created to hunt and destroy. Being a werewolf was really the pits. Its recent efforts to terrify satisfactorily had left it weakened. It had followed the bald man here, intending to claim one of the pair of lovers as its next victim - after all, they were the only People it had seen in years that truly believed in what it was. The belief, mixed with powerful fear, is what gave Human blood that special quality that had sustained the creature for centuries. Modern Man's blood had far too much skepticism in it, and was too hardened against brutal violence, to provide the more than a meager feeding of the beast's hunger. Yes, it would feed on one of the lovers, or both, but what it really needed was a large Human to terrify and consume. One with plenty of fear-filled blood to make up for lost time, so the creature would have the strength to find another more effective form to take with these two, who knew the monster's secrets. Crossing the street from the alley where it had lurked and watched the bald man enter, it went to stand in the line to the club. It listened with its attuned werewolf ears to the activity at the door. Apparently, this was some kind of private party, and only those who had been given fliers or who knew the bouncer or the hosts personally could enter. Well, the creature didn't have a goddam flier, and it didn't socialize with the right crowd to get in the door, but it would find another way in. It turned to seek another entrance to the club, brushing by other hopeful revelers who had joined the line behind it. One man grabbed the creature's sleeve. "Hey, great costume," he said in Dutch, eyeing the werewolf from head to toe with admiration. The creature growled gruffly and tore away from the man, running around the side of the building that housed the club. Although they sometimes tasted very good, he really hated Humans. *********** Back inside *********** Finally, the music stopped. Mulder placed a hand on Skinner's shoulder and guided him toward the bar. "It was a prank, Walt...a pre-wedding prank that our friends from the line at City Hall thought we would appreciate once it was all over," Mulder explain, ordering himself a Stoli and Walter a scotch. Walt didn't look any happier hearing the explanation. "It's a custom here, I guess," Mulder continued. "To kidnap the 'bride' before the wedding day and make the 'groom' search until he finds where the party is. They thought we'd know what was happening, and that you'd find the party a lot quicker than you did - after all, you were the one with the flyer." Skinner had been deeply glad he had pocketed the flyer Willi had given them that morning, because he doubted gaining entrance to the club where Mulder was held "captive" would have been possible with the foreboding bouncer at the door. Before Skinner could begin to complain of the fright he'd been given from this "prank", the instigators joined them at the bar. The short, slim, bright-eyed redhead known by all as Mikki greeted both of them with a wave and then went straight to order drinks...Zombies for four, ignoring the fact that their new friends already had full tumblers. "You bring beer, Walter?" Willi asked without even a hello. He had a more festive version of the "many cows gave their lives to wardrobe me" leather outfit he had on that morning, and his near-shoulder-length, wavy black mop was put under control in a small pony tail. "I make good tattoos, you see, you like." Considering Willi was far beyond even Skinner's size, more than a foot taller and weighing nearly 350 pounds of pure muscle, Walter decided to show his displeasure at the scare more diplomatically than he would have otherwise. "You scared the *shit* out of me with this so-called 'prank' of yours!" he said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the music that had resumed, looking sternly up into Willi's incongruously gentle-looking blue eyes. "I had no idea what was going on - I thought Fox was in real danger..." Willi looked so heartbroken that Skinner lost all desire to continue with his rant. Walter couldn't believe it, but it looked like Willi's baby blues were welling up with tears. Mikki joined his boyfriend in looking extremely apologetic about the whole misjudged incident. "I sorry, Walter, I think everybody know about custom," Willi explained in a voice shaky with emotion and regret. "I think you see we both in car, too - I the driver, and Mikki," he said hugging his lover's shoulder, "he be in back seat with your Foxy." Willi's chin trembled slightly at the end of the longest English sentence he had ever attempted. How could he continue to be angry at such a sweet bear of a man, Walter thought, especially since there was no harm meant. "Okay, Willi, you didn't mean for it to turn out the way it did," Skinner said calmly, trying to reassure him. "Yeah, Walt, and maybe they did us some good - maybe you'll appreciate what you have in me a bit more!" Mulder added with a wink. "I make tattoo for you now - it be very good, you see, make you feel better!" Willi said, cheering up a bit and offering the only way he knew how to make amends. Skinner shook his head, smiling a bit at the thought of some heart-shaped tattoo gracing his shoulder with a ribbon reading "Fox 4 Ever" running across it. Maybe an arrow piercing the heart to make it really look classy. "No, Willi...thank you, but no. Maybe another time." The huge man wouldn't give in so easily. "You wait, I go piss, I show you tattoos," he demanded excitedly, shoving Walter gently but firmly onto a bar stool. Without waiting for an answer, Willi hurried off to the men's room to get ready to display his artistry. The threesome left behind at the bar watched Willi virtually scamper to the restrooms, as much as it is possible for a behemoth like him to scamper. "I'll go join him," Mikki announced after an awkward moment of silence, an evil grin gracing his face. "You two need to have your reunion made official...I think a really great kiss will suffice." Alone again, Walter and Fox exchanged long looks that hid not one iota of their feelings before following Mikki's advice. They simultaneously drew close, Mulder turning his back to the bar and resting his elbows on the padded side. Walter pressed into him, grabbing the far side of the bar with both hands so his arms kept Mulder corralled in front of him. Mulder slowly slid his palms across Walter's stomach, over his sides, and finally rested them at the small of his lover's back, using his hands to pull them even closer together. The two drew lips together and kissed as if they had been separated for months, not just hours. Finally they parted but still stood pressed against each other, arms wrapped tightly in possession. "You're not getting away from me again, Fox," Walter growled low and almost menacingly, but with a playful grin. "No, Sir, I don't intend to let you out of my sight ever again," Mulder replied, enjoying the opportunity to use the "Sir" title so affectionately. Although the question of whether or not Willi was in the habit of washing his hands after peeing came into mind, Skinner actually began to consider what kind of tattoo he'd possibly be willing to get to commemorate their love...and where. *********** Willi sighed when he opened the men's room door and saw the crowd, some taking care of business, some apparently just milling about, and quite a few engaged in human relations negotiations with a fervor that would put the U.N.'s best ambassadors to shame. Being a huge man, he hated moving around in crowded, confined places. It was hard enough for him to navigate through a club like this one, although he loved clubbing so much he managed to brave the tight moments while plowing across a dancefloor to assume his throne for the evening - the reinforced barstool his regular haunts kept reserved for him. Of course, a man of his size and bearing and appearance could easily part a sea of dancers like Moses did with the Red, and could intimidate men out of a bathroom quick enough to cause a half-dozen urinary tract injuries, but that was not in Willi's nature. He never even considered using his physical qualities to gain power over anyone...although usually he didn't need to try to intimidate; all he had to do was show up someplace where people didn't know him well, and a nervous tension would spread to grab every man in the room. Not wanting to give anyone presently standing at the urinals an incontinence problem before their time, Willi quietly shut the door again and decided to head out to the alley behind the club. *********** The creature kicked a trash can in frustration hard enough to set it flying a few feet, landing with a crash and toppling its full contents out to litter the alley. Even the back door was impassible, locked from the inside. If it had still been a gryphon, it could have pried the door off its hinges with its sharp talons and sinewy forelegs. Its biggest mistake, it thought, was in making the change to a werewolf. A weak werewolf, at that, with no freshly terrified blood basting Human meat to sweet tenderness to strengthen it. It roared at the sealed door and wondered what to do. How to get in to that pair of Believers that it now hungered for with an obsessive passion. /I can wait. They'll come out eventually/ it thought, although its craving was so intense it wanted any opportunity to get into the club immediately and ravage the pair, as well as a few others who might make a good meal...as long as they didn't think he had come to the party expecting it to be a costume ball. The creature looked at the small stretch of sidewalk visible from its current vantage point, and decided it should go back to waiting across the street, where it could keep an eye on the front entrance as well as this one exit. However, just as it began to turn to head toward the light of the city street, it heard the door begin to open. It quickly hid in a shadow to wait and see who it might be. /It might be them/, it thought, fangs dripping drool now on its slightly hairy chin. It licked its lips clean and waited patiently, intent on the hunt once again. *********** *********** Leaving Mulder and Skinner to make out at the bar in peace, Mikki saw Willi opting for the alley over the crowded restroom. He caught up to him just as he was opening the heavy side exit door. "Hi, Hon," Mikki said and kissed him on the jaw, having to stand on tiptoes to reach even there. "I thought I'd keep you company; those two Yanks needed some time alone after what we put them through." Willi's communication skills were much better in his native Dutch. "Yeah, they're cute together, aren't they?" the big man said. "Uh huh," Mikki nodded, "but we're cuter!" WIlli led them through the door to the outside cement landing, propping the door open with a large foundation brick left there for that purpose. The couple went down to the alley cobblestone pavement. "You're the cute one, sweetie," Willi smiled, playfully slapping his fiancee's behind before unzipping and finding an overturned garbage can to pee into. Mid- stream, he heard a "thud" sound behind him, where Mikki was standing. The big, leather-clad man turned around just in time to see a werewolf - something he'd had nightmares about since childhood - hovering over Mikki's fallen, lifeless body. Willi screamed loud enough to shake the windows of the neighboring building. Then he went into shock, his stare locked on Mikki's dead eyes. The monster gazed at him, as well, enjoying the look of fear and panic and horror in such a huge Human. It took Willi's life quickly, not wanting a single hint of the flavor and power in the man's blood to fade. ****** Later, inside "The IT" ****** The creature entered the main room of the club. At nearly two a.m., the place was still jam-packed with partyers celebrating love and the new law. No longer a werewolf, it found a remote place in the throng to survey its hunting grounds. A long scan of the area found its targets over at the bar, looking happy and in love. /Bloody Humans, I hate it when they get so cheerful/ it thought. It took a really good scare to get someone to go from Robert Burns-ish bliss to truly terrified enough to make the creature's efforts worthwhile. It had managed that with the big man, though, and his blood had tasted delicious. The creature now felt centuries younger and more powerful than it could remember. It would scare these two with no problem, it knew. ****** "So, when are we going to have a ceremony, Walter old boy?" Mulder asked, slapping his lover on the shoulder, feeling relaxed on his third Stoli. Skinner put down his glass and looked pensively at it. "Mulder, I know how important this is to you, but even if we got married, soon we'll have to go back home. We'll have to get our lives back to a semblance of normal." Skinner didn't take his eyes off the melting ice in his glass. Mulder sobered up a bit. "*If* we got married?" he finally replied. "Walt, we said we'd do this - we promised each other. Even without some stupid legal papers, gay couples get married all the time." Skinner wished things were different, but he had to face reality. Both of their careers would be over if they came back to the States calling themselves "Mr. and Mr. Skinner-Mulder", moving into a suburban tract home together, and adopting a dog named Junior, or whatever it is gay married couples were doing these days. Their families and many of their friends didn't even know either of them was gay! This was all moving too fast. Walter continued to examine his glass with a frown, thinking of all the implications, while Mulder's stare burned into him. Moments of silence passed. Mulder finally got off his barstool hurriedly. "I'm going out for some fresh air," he said, controlled anger in his voice. Before Walter had even looked up, Mulder was around the corner of the bar, heading toward the front door, still wearing only those leather pants. "Mulder, wait!" Walter shouted, but Mulder ignored him and left the club. /He needs some time alone right now...and so do I/ he thought. He motioned to the bartender for a refill, and his mind turned to wishing he'd offered his coat for Mulder to wear in the cool, spring night air. But he knew Mulder wouldn't have taken it. *********** Later *********** Walter finished his drink in one quick swallow and got up to search for Mulder. /Dammit, I'm not going to let this happen/ he thought. He was determined to never lose Mulder again. He didn't care if that meant never working for the FBI again, or having to face Mrs. Mulder's extreme disapproval, or even having to tell his own elderly parents that he'd kept this secret from them all his life. He suspected they'd known since his days of youthful indiscretion that he had a preference for men, but his marriage to Sharon had been a way for them to avoid the issue. Following the path Mulder had taken to leave the club, he stopped suddenly at the turn of the bar, seeing something out of the corner of an eye that made his heart jump. He turned for a better look, and saw that it wasn't just his on-edge imagination playing tricks with him: Mulder was in the center of the dance floor again, but this time not just dancing alone, and not just putting on a show for Walter's entertainment alone. Skinner stood stock still as he watched Mulder dancing with even more suggestive motions than he had at the beginning of this strange night. Although Walter couldn't believe it, the only word he could think of for Mulder's appearance was "slutty". He knew immediately that this time, Mulder wasn't out to please him with his dancing skills: instead, all focus was on running his half-naked body up and down and all around another man, one Walter had almost mistaken for Willi at first glance. This guy wasn't as big as Willi, though, but he looked much rougher and meaner. Walter's shock didn't paralyze him for long. He strode through the crowd and grabbed Mulder by the arm, making Mulder stop his dance and turn to look at him. Mulder smiled victoriously at Skinner when their eyes met. "What the Hell are you doing?" Walter shouted, not only to be heard above the music. Mulder's burly dance partner puffed up even more, but Skinner shot a glance at him that made the bigger man freeze on the spot. "Back off, buddy, he's mine," Skinner spat as he dragged Mulder away from the dancers and towards the front door of the club. Mulder didn't follow him easily. He even dragged his heels enough that Skinner paused in their trek to the outside, facing Mulder again once they were clear of the densest part of the crowd. "Just because we have a fight, you go off and throw yourself at a stranger?" Skinner was beyond disbelief that Mulder would act this way, after all they'd been through together with their relationship. That smug smile stayed on Mulder's face, unnerving Skinner. "You said it yourself, Walter; this won't work. Why should I waste my time with you, when there are plenty of guys out there who would appreciate me more?" Walter didn't know what to say. He would never expect Mulder to play this kind of game, to be so casual about what they had together. They needed to get out of this place, he thought. "We're going back to the hotel, and we're going to talk about this," Skinner demanded, taking Mulder's arm again and leading him roughly out to the street. Mulder seemed to get nervous as they got into the open air, eyes darting about at first as if checking for bystanders on the empty street. Still, he kept the satisfied grin on his face. "Let's talk over here, big fella," Mulder said softly, yanking Skinner toward the alley between the club and the neighboring building. For a moment, Skinner almost thought this was some tasteless joke of Mulder's, something like the kidnapping was with Willi and Mikki. And whatever happened to their hosts, anyhow? Skinner wondered. Skinner cornered Mulder against one wall of the club so he could be sure his wayward lover wouldn't be running off to avoid any questions. "Okay, let's talk," he said, taking a deep breath to try to calm the anger and panic that was setting in. "Mulder, I don't understand why you're doing this - maybe you've had too much to drink, or someone slipped you something to make you act crazy, I don't know - but you can't let this tear us apart." Skinner's voice took on an almost imperceptible shake as he said the last few words. The infuriating grin stayed on Mulder's face. "No, Wally dear, you had your chance, and now I'm off to start having some fun for a change." The smile brought a twinkle to Mulder's eyes as he added, digging in the knife and twisting it, "You're not the best catch their is out there, you know." Skinner stepped back a pace, staring at Mulder in wordless disbelief. Then they both heard someone approaching from another accessway to the alley. Both heads turned to see Mulder - or Mulder's double, down to the bare torso and black leather pants - come into view. The Mulder twin saw them and began running toward them, yelling Walter's name. Skinner, the closer of the two to the new Mulder, noticed first that this one had a gun and was aiming it towards them. "Walt, get away! That's not me!" the double said. Skinner looked from one to the other, amazed at how perfectly alike they were. This was not something he saw every day; he was hit with a sense of unreality by the extremely odd turn of events. Mulder was the one who investigated X-Files cases...he was just the one to sign the expense reports. He never actually had to witness things like this. Skinner positioned himself between Mulder A and Mulder B, both keeping a few feet away from him. "So this is the...the monster?" Skinner asked Mulder B, who nodded. "Walter, he's lying," Mulder A charged. "How'd he get a gun? You know I didn't have a gun tonight." Walter looked to Mulder B for an explanation. "I got the gun," Mulder B said, "from the body - or what remains of the body - of our friend Willi. I found him and Mikki both dead and hidden behind a dumpster back there." He looked sad having to report this. "I only recognized them from the clothes they were wearing - there wasn't much of either of them left. This beast," he said, waving the gun toward his twin, "Must have killed them, and eaten them, to change shape...to change shape to look like me." "Walter, Walter," Mulder A piped in, sounding like his patience was being tried. "I'm your real Fox. I know all about you, about your out-of-body experience in Viet Nam, about the avatar woman's spirit that haunted you, about what happened with Sharon in the hospital..." "It's trying to get to you!" Mulder B interrupted. "It's trying to instill fear into you. Walter, that's what it needs to get its energy, it needs human fear to stay alive! Now, get out of the way, Walter, and I'll put an end to this!" Skinner stood frozen, not knowing what to do. A moment later, he backed out of the line of fire, turning towards the second Mulder and closing his eyes so he didn't have to see his lover, even a replica of him, being shot. The gun went off and hit its target - the creature pretending to be Mulder. Skinner was slow to turn around, still not wanting to see even the imitation body of Mulder hit by a lethal gunshot. Mulder, however, ran past him to the creature, which had crumpled to the ground. Mulder watched as his double, obviously in pain, gasped and clutched at its chest where it had been hit. Mulder began to reach out with his left hand, gun still pointed in his right. As he did this, the creature began to change. He saw it turn hairy, then slowly sprout feathered wings and the beginnings of a long tail. Lion's feet and talons made their appearance. Then, finally, the creature dissolved into a black liquid, puddling on the ground. It began seeping into the porous cobblestones of the alleyway, leaving behind only a dark stain on the ground. *********** The next day Hotel De Jantjes lobby *********** "So, what if you had guessed wrong, Walt?" Mulder asked, handing their bags one by one to a porter. Skinner smiled. "I didn't guess wrong, Mulder...I already told you last night, I knew it wasn't you because I never told you about what happened with Sharon at the hospital." Mulder didn't want to let it go. "Yeah, but what if..." "I would have lost the one person I wanted to share the rest of my life with, Mulder," Skinner answered with a sigh. "Now, shut up and go get our mail before we leave." Mulder grinned at Skinner's gruffness, and at the vocal commitment Walter had just given to anyone within hearing distance in the lobby. That included the porter, the desk clerk, and four other guests who were still lingering at the tables, finishing their Continental breakfasts. Both lovers paused to look around the large lobby, noticing that everyone present was smiling at them knowingly. /Ah, love in the springtime/, Mulder thought, recognizing all their witnesses enjoyed seeing it when it was obviously as deep as theirs. Mulder stopped before turning around to get the mail. "Uh, Walt, why would we get mail here? No one even knows we're here, right?" Skinner looked impatient. "Just go get it," he said, hands dramatically placed on hips but a hint of mischief showing in his eyes. Mulder sighed and turned to the desk. "Okay, you're the boss," he said, and stepped up to the long wooden counter where mail slots were housed. He gave their room number to the clerk, and was surprised to have an express delivery envelope handed over - apparently having arrived just that morning. "Open it," Walter said, controlling a grin. Inside Mulder found their cleared wedding permit - okayed by their host government more than three weeks earlier than expected. Mulder stared at it in disbelief, then looked up at Skinner, who was busy chuckling. "Did you know?" Mulder asked, seeing Walter nod. "But how...?" Walter quieted his laughter enough to explain the surprise. "I guess I've been hanging around you too much, Mulder...I went to your 'secret sources' to get some help." Mulder came to stand close to Walter, lowering his voice. "You mean...?" Walter nodded again, lowering his voice, as well. After all, the walls have ears. "You guessed it. The other day, while you were off looking for leads on the case, and I was back here making calls, I got in touch with a little fellow named Frohike," he said. "That's a good guy to have on your side, Mulder - he and his partners hacked into the Amsterdam City Hall records and got things...speeded up a bit." Mulder shook his head, grinning and staring down at the paper that said they could be married under the law. Too bad it was all written in Dutch, though - but he did recognize it as a wedding license. And it was theirs. "So we're going to do it - with the papers to back it up, right?" he asked, Skinner nodding as he said it. "We'll get the cab loaded up, and head straight for City Hall to have a standard ceremony before our flight home," Walter said. "Sorry we can't do it up big the first time, but I thought it would be best to save that for when we get back to D.C.. We'll have to do some explaining to a few people, too," he added. Mulder was the one to nod now. It wasn't going to be easy, and their lives probably would never be the same again, but he knew this was the right thing for them to do. They would no longer lie about their love to anyone. *********** Somewhere in the Amsterdam sewers *********** No Humans were there to witness the pool of black liquid flow out of the filthy water and collect out of nowhere on a patch of cement beside the underground river. The puddle came together, forming tighter, gathering all of its strength into a small area. Finally, it took shape, adopting the form of the most common sewer inhabitant. Its high-pitched squeaking echoed down the dark tunnels. *********** The end Thanks to all for coming along for the ride. Please send any feedback to Griffin, and I'll forward it to my co-writers! 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