Classification: TA, Slash (M/Sk)
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Grotesque, Redux
Keywords: M/Sk slash, BDSM, m/m rape
*** Warnings: This story deals with various adult and/or disturbing themes, including m/m sex, BDSM, torture, and rape. If you are underage or if you find such themes offensive, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS! ****
Distribution: I will send to MSSS, MulderTorture, XSlash and SlashX. Any other public uses with my permission only. Please do not send to ATXC.
Disclaimers: The characters of Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Bill Patterson, and Dana Scully are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen, and Fox Broadcasting. All other characters are mine. No gain will be made from this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: While Mulder and Skinner's relationship is being tested, Patterson seeks to make his fantasies about Mulder a reality.
This is an expansion of a story I posted January 2, 1998, and a lead-in to a continuation of the story in Puppeteer II. Many thoughtful readers, several of whom are Beta readers on this version, convinced me to improve on and continue the story I started, ultimately turning it into a novel. "Puppeteer I/II" is a followup to my vignette, "Marionette", which was inspired by the XF episode "Grotesque". You don't have to read/have seen those to understand this. It is advisable, though!
If you want to know how Mulder and Skinner got together, read my first story, "Healed with a Kiss", which may seem like a trip to DisneyWorld compared to this; however, I consider it in the same universe as "Marionette" and "Puppeteer".
Thanks to various slashy folks for corrupting and enlightening me, as well as to all who sent me such encouraging feedback on "Marionette" and the original version of "Puppeteer"; this novel version is dedicated to them. Endless appreciation and love go to my special pals and Beta readers: Mulder, Monica, zasjah, and Gray Shadows. They each provided all the help and encouragement I could possibly have needed, short of plotting a mutiny and taking over my computer so they could write it themselves.
Please send any and all comments to Griffin.
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Chapter 1
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Excerpt from a report submitted by Walter S. Skinner, Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations:
"William Patterson, the perpetrator of these crimes, escaped from St. Elizabeth Hospital's psychiatric ward sometime between 6:28 and 6:37 p.m. on Jan. 16, 1998, apparently having premeditatedly fashioned a weapon that he used to cut the throat of a psychiatric technician. The hospital employee, 24-year-old Joseph Tremano, died within five minutes of his assault (see attached Medical Examiner's report).
"Immediately upon discovery of Tremano's body, a complete lockdown was ordered and a search of the premises initiated. Patterson left the grounds through unknown means, evidently for the purpose of kidnapping, sexually assaulting and threatening the life of Special Agent Fox Mulder, whom Patterson had fixated on during, and very likely before, Patterson's incarceration (reference attached psychiatric evaluation reports)."
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Arlington, VA
Friday, Jan. 16, 1998
9:52 p.m.
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Mike Delaney was surprised to see his old friend from the ISU show up on his doorstep. Especially since, last thing he had heard, Patterson had been committed to St. Elizabeth's psych ward.
They had known each other since the Academy. They had even remained best friends throughout those years, as their careers paralleled each other. Actually, Delaney had tended to follow just one rung behind Patterson most of the way up the ladder. Delaney now held Patterson's old job, leading the ISU as diligently as Patterson had.
When the surprising news came of the followup to the Mostow case, Mike had never believed that his friend Bill had committed the crimes with which he was charged. Patterson had been under a great deal of stress at the time, Mike knew, but he could never perform such atrocities. Like Mike, Patterson had always kept law and order and decency as his standards. When Delaney took over Patterson's position at the ISU, he determined to run it just like his friend had for all those years.
Standing on Mike's brick front doorstep, Patterson was wearing an ankle-length, loose-fitting overcoat, buttoned from top to bottom. He still looked cold, yet he was sweaty and out of breath. Mike wondered how his friend could be so exhausted.
Delaney figured the psychiatric profession must have finally seen some sense and released Patterson. Maybe some nut case confessed to the crimes, and Delaney hadn't yet been informed. Some incompetent asshole slipped up, Mike thought, annoyed. Well, he'd deal with that later. He just hoped it hadn't been one of his people who had screwed up.
"Bill, you've been released. That's fantastic! No one told me anyth..."
"Yes," Patterson interrupted, looking anxiously over Mike's shoulder and into the house. "It's good to be out. If you don't mind, I'll tell you all about it inside. It's cold out here, and none of my old clothes fit me anymore. I hoped you could loan me something." Patterson gave an embarrassed smile and patted his thickened waistline. "This was all they could give me."
Patterson's smile actually was brought on with the memory of his greatest fortune - finding this overcoat draped over an unattended chair at one of the nurses' stations on his way out. Patterson tried to look even colder than he was, hoping his friendship still meant something with Mike. It did.
"Of course," Mike replied, immensely curious about the whole situation, but trusting his old buddy. He moved to one side to let Patterson pass. "Come on in, Bill, and I'll find you something that will fit. Let's get you warmed up!"
Patterson grinned widely as he stepped over the threshold.
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Excerpt from A.D. Skinner's report:
"Patterson, who had served honorably for several years as head of the Investigative Support Unit at Quantico until his arrest on Jan. 17, 1996, recruited Agent Mulder into the FBI in 1988. According to his psychiatrist, Dr. Christina Bower, Patterson's hostility towards Mulder stemmed from Patterson's paranoid interpretation that Mulder had betrayed him by leaving the ISU and, later, by arresting Patterson for murders Patterson continually denied committing."
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Mulder's apartment
Alexandria, VA
Friday, Jan. 16
10:03 p.m.
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Mulder was already completely naked when he sat down on the side of the bed, fresh and still damp-haired from the thorough shower and cleansing enema he had just been given, watching with anticipation as his lover approached.
One dim bedside lamp illuminated the spartan bedroom - a place that had seldom been used for more than storage space until two months earlier, when Walter first agreed to start coming here on alternate weekends.
Walter's shirtless body looked even more wonderful in the soft light. Not that the sight of him didn't still stop Mulder's breath under any illumination, but something about the interplay of shadows and warmth across his chest made Walter especially handsome. Mulder absently drew his tongue across his lower lip as Walter came to stand bare inches in front of him.
"Have I ever told you how..." Mulder began. He was abruptly silenced by a raised palm: Walter's signal to stop.
"I don't want to talk tonight, Mulder," he explained. "I've had enough talk this week. All I want to do right now is make love to you."
Walter had never acted quite like this with him before, Mulder thought; he must have had a particularly bad week. Since the discovery of Section Chief Blevins' covert dealings, there were rumors that the private lives of higher ups in the FBI were being secretly investigated, to protect against further potential scandal. Mulder had sensed that Skinner was more concerned than usual that their own relationship might be uncovered.
Mulder was happy to oblige in helping Walter leave the troubles of the office behind him. He silently nodded his response, reaching out to undo Walter's pants and then slide them and his white cotton Jockeys down. Mulder looked up at the man standing in front of him through the entire process, not wanting to take his eyes from Skinner's face.
Walter was grateful that Mulder wasn't going to put up an argument, or begin interrogating him about why he didn't feel like their usual playful banter. Over the last year and a half together, they had learned a lot about how to read each other's moods. Showing his unspoken appreciation, the older man leaned down and nuzzled at Mulder's ear, stroking the opposite cheek lightly with his other hand.
Mulder had never voiced the fact that this was his favorite part of their regular foreplay. Simply having his ear and neck lovingly kissed and nibbled by Walter's attentive mouth, the other man's warm breath caressing his sensitized skin, invariably set Mulder's prick to twitching in moments. Perhaps that was why Skinner always included this activity in the initial stages of all their lovemaking, Mulder considered. He would never complain about this small bit of predictability with Walter. Sometimes predictability could be quite nice.
Mulder's body didn't vary in its response to it, either, and he was well on his the way to a respectable hard-on by the time Walter had joined him on the bed.
Walter sat beside Mulder, facing him as he gave his undivided attention to the younger man's left shoulder. Soon, Walter was at the nape of Mulder's neck. Then, trailing his tongue and lips down his front, Walter's strong arms simultaneously reached out to stroke Mulder's chest...to play with his lover's hard and pebbled nipples. Enjoying the feel of the light covering of fuzz he found between them, Walter found even more satisfaction listening to the moans he elicited from the man in front of him. Moving even closer, he went in to lick his way from the soft hair over Mulder's sternum to the coarser patch at his groin.
Mulder leaned backward, breathing shallowly, as both men's erections grew. Taking Skinner's hand in his, Mulder pulled up and hungrily tongued his lover's mouth. Breaking away, he still clasped the hand to his chest as he laid back on the bed, scooting up to rest his shoulder blades against the slatted wooden headboard.
Grabbing a condom and tube of lube from atop the bedside dresser, Walter moved on the bed to kneel between Mulder's legs and continue his attentions, now centered on the firm member there and the tightening, tender sac beneath. Lapping the pre-cum from Mulder's thickened shaft, Skinner moved on to lave and suck each ball in turn.
They had been together like this long enough to have no need for any communication or break in activities during the needed preparations. Gasping as Skinner found some of his more sensitive spots, Mulder managed to deftly get the packet open. Pulling Skinner forward to kiss his lips and all the way down to his groin, Mulder then milked Skinner's engorged penis with his mouth before rolling the condom in place.
Sitting back on his haunches, kissing the sensitive skin on Mulder's inner thighs, Skinner squeezed out a dollop of lube and applied it between Mulder's ass cheeks, shifting Mulder down a little to spread him further, then wiping any remaining grease on Skinner's own prick. Large fingers gently teased at the opening, then slid deep within, past the second knuckle, to find soft warmth inside.
Mulder's respiration increased as he tried to impale himself further on Walter's hand. Sweaty hands reached out to tightly grasp the bedcovers at his sides. He was all sensation now, reveling in what his lover did to him. Eyes softly glazed and pupils dilated, he gazed up at Skinner, reaching out and taking hold of the other man's broad shoulders in an effort to bring the object of his need closer still.
Moved by the same desire to become fully enjoined with his lover, Skinner took his hand from where it had nestled between Mulder's cheeks and lifted the lean, strong legs over his shoulders, raising the other man's tight hips off the bed so he could slip a pillow under them. He looked down at the contorted face as he resumed with an insistent massage and scraping of the gland inside Mulder, who had closed his eyes in aroused anticipation once again.
Skinner loved watching the pleasure he created in the face below him. He kept his gaze locked on it as he gradually fit two, then three, fingers into the passage, twisting them in to the second knuckles. Finally, no longer able or wanting to resist, Skinner withdrew his hand and positioned the head of his penis at Mulder's entrance, then slowly but firmly pushed his way in. Just the head at first, pausing to smile as Mulder gasped at his filling. Then another shove found him three inches inside, and with one last, hard thrust, all the way within. Met with the soft sound of balls slapping balls.
Mulder groaned at each step of Skinner's welcomed intrusion, finally opening his eyes in an expression close to surprise when Skinner had filled him completely. Mulder thought he'd be happy to stay like that forever, simply overwhelmed with the comforting feeling of completion in his lover's arms.
They remained locked together like that for a timeless moment, each brazenly drinking in the visage of the other. With no words needed between them, they both grasped the other tightly, each hand clinging to the opposite arm, just above the elbow, as if bracing themselves for what was to come.
Or, possibly, as an unspoken plea for the other to stay just where they were.
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12:36 a.m.
Saturday, Jan. 17
Arlington
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He knew he was wasting precious time, but he had to find something decent to listen to on the road. He'd been locked up a long time, and this was the first chance he had to play good music as loud as he wanted without getting relentlessly booed and hissed at by the other patients. And then to have it turned off by one of the bossy guards who claimed it was "disruptive to the therapeutic environment." Bullshit; his kind of music just wasn't appreciated by this generation of rap-deafened kids.
Looking through the collection of CDs Mike kept beside the expensive system in his living room, Patterson wondered how he could ever have had a friend with such an odd taste in music. He flipped past one case after another: Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler", Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons", The Beatles' white album.
He looked over at Mike's still form slumped in the armchair next to him. "What is it with you, Mike? Multiple personality?" Mike apparently was embarrassed about the lack of conviction in his musical preferences; he said nothing. Patterson flipped past a few more. "Pearl Jam...Mike! I've heard of mid-life crises, but really!" No doubt ol' Mike has been throwing pajama parties with a few of those girls he was always so fond of, Bill mused. The Stones, Queen... "I'll bet Mulder listens to this crap," he said with a sour smile, glancing over at his friend again.
The red gash across Mike's throat and his glassy-eyed look of surprise suggested he had no idea what kind of music Mulder listened to, but that the agent he'd heard so much about would be welcome to stop by and look through his collection, even take some home with him. After all, Mike wouldn't be needing them anymore.
Oh, well, maybe better luck with the cassettes, Patterson hoped. He never had got the hang of CDs, anyhow. Sliding open the drawer that held them, his eyes quickly found one that was more than satisfactory. Patterson grabbed it, closed the drawer, and flashed the case cover at Mike. "Mind if I borrow this, pal?" he asked Mike. Mike apparently didn't mind. Guess you can always listen to some Pearl Jam while I'm gone, Patterson thought as he stood up and headed for the garage.
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1:23 a.m.
Alexandria
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Mulder had only drifted off to sleep for a couple of hours, then awoke to lay thinking private thoughts about the case he was on. That turned to pondering how his and Walter's relationship had changed over the past few months; about how his life had changed so much recently. Although he had tried to keep still so as not to disturb Walter, he heard the sheets softly rustle behind him - evidence that Skinner had just awakened and had rolled around to face Mulder's back.
Walt could tell Fox was awake, too, and reached out to wrap his left arm over him, trying to gently coax their bodies closer together.
Taking Skinner's arm off him, Mulder shifted around to lie on his other shoulder and face Walter, looking at him quietly. He was hesitant about saying what he truly wanted to say at the moment. After all, Skinner had said "no words", in no uncertain terms. /But that was then, and this is now/, Mulder thought, grinning in fond memory of their earlier activities. However much fun that had been, they had both had a real workout, and he doubted Skinner was in the mood for some very- early-morning play.
Walter, he had discovered, was not a very-early-morning person. Delaying what he was going to say, Mulder leaned over to kiss Skinner's closed eyelids. It still amazed Mulder how different, how much more vulnerable, Walter looked without his glasses to hide behind. When Mulder found a half dozen other places to kiss and struck out in quest of a few more under the covers, Skinner teasingly growled back - a short, low, guttural sound, like a bear coming out of hibernation, possibly a bit too early. Possibly a bit grouchy, too. /Well, maybe getting him a little pissed off will serve me well in this case/, Fox jokingly considered. Still, Mulder couldn't help but let some of his nervousness show in his voice.
Finally, Mulder poked his head out from beneath the bedclothes and looked down at Skinner's face. Sensing Mulder was staring at him, Skinner opened his eyes and returned the gaze. The younger man opened his mouth.
"Walter, I want you to..." was as far as he got before Skinner gently covered his lover's lips with one palm.
"Shh, Mulder. Go back to sleep." Skinner closed his eyes again, taking his hand away from Mulder's mouth and resting it on Mulder's hip, wanting only to snuggle a little and get a few more hours of sleep.
Mulder wasn't going to give in. "Walter," he said, more insistently.
Skinner couldn't help but be annoyed at his lover's perseverance. He often wondered how Mulder could survive on such little sleep. Skinner was an eight-hours-a-night kind of guy. He kept his voice low, but firm. "Fox, please, I said I didn't want to talk tonight. Not tonight."
Mulder grinned again and nodded toward the bedside electric clock. "It's not tonight any more, Walt. It's morning."
Skinner was wide awake now. He wasn't happy about it. "Okay. What is it?" he asked, resigned to defer the shut-eye he needed.
Mulder paused, looking at him more seriously. "Fuck me again, Walt. And I want you to...be rough this time."
Skinner had not been expecting this. It wasn't often that Mulder asked for one of their "games" - Mulder's word for it, and now his. But when he did ask, the sessions were intense, often taking several hours to complete.
Mulder had gradually introduced him to this special play once they had gotten over the newness of their relationship. Skinner had eventually taken to it, had actually found them quite fun after the first few awkward times, but it was not his preferred form of lovemaking. It was becoming obvious that it was Mulder's, though.
Skinner knew that Mulder would not let him sleep. Skinner's "Dom" to Mulder's "sub" were roles they only took on during the games; a true, lifestyle Dom would be the one to order the activity, and his sub's wishes would be secondary. Skinner was not so initiated into the role of "top" that he'd deny Mulder what he truly wanted just because, at the moment at least, Skinner would rather sleep. Anyhow, he recalled with a slight smile, Mulder's games had a way of perking him up every time, no matter how late it was.
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From Skinner's report:
"Patterson also indirectly suggested in several sessions with Dr. Bower that he had felt a strong sexual attraction to Mulder since the first day they had worked together. It is not determinable at this time if Agent Mulder had been aware of Patterson's attraction to him, or if those feelings were ever reciprocated. It is my belief, having been Mulder's direct supervisor for five years, that Patterson mistook Mulder's respect for him for mutual attraction."
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The games had done little for Walter at first. He even had been quite concerned that he might accidentally hurt Mulder, or that something would go wrong. Eventually, Skinner had learned to appreciate the exotic and creative nature of the sessions. Things he didn't get to express in his everyday life. And, most of all, he loved to see the incomparably intense pleasure Mulder took in them; to be the one to evoke such feelings in the man he loved. And again, Skinner had come to enjoy their occasional games, once they were underway.
However, for Mulder they were a special release. Something he needed now and again, for whatever reason. Mulder didn't know why, and he didn't wish to think too much about possible reasons. As a psychologist, he did know that many men in his type of work, with his degree of success and intelligence, with similar personalities and temperaments, and with many of the same significant features in their backgrounds as he had, also were compelled to this type of sexual play. Mulder was satisfied to leave it at that, nost of the time.
Although not a psychologist, Skinner, too, knew that Mulder fit the basic profile. Maybe *he* did, as well, Skinner reflected, which might explain why he was finding a latent appreciation for their games. Or maybe it was simply because he loved Mulder so much, he wanted to enjoy the same things as much as possible, and to make Mulder as happy as he could. The worse Walter gave him, the happier Mulder seemed to become;
to see him in the Nirvana-like state Mulder sometimes reached when he was tested to the limit was enough motive for Skinner to acceed to a request for "some playtime".
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Southbound Interstate 95
Northeastern Virginia
1:34 a.m.
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Patterson tapped his fingers on the wheel as he led the BMW closer to Quantico. The rousing swing beat of Glenn Miller filled the car. Nothing like it, Patterson thought, smiling. /There will never be anything as good as Miller; this rap junk the kids listen to is nothing but noise./
Patterson remembered Miller's band from when he had been a young boy, and it remained his favorite kind of music. He had forgotten how much he liked the swingmaster until he had stuck the tape of Greatest Hits into the car stereo. He had played the best song of the collection, "In the Mood", repeatedly since it first played. He had it playing now.
A squealing, grinding sound suddenly replaced the blaring brass harmonies, and Patterson was momentarily confused. Then he realized what had happened. "Shit", he cursed under his breath, turning on the overhead light in the car, ready to rip the stereo out of the dashboard for eating the cassette. Ejecting didn't help; the thin band of shiny brown tape was tangled hopelessly in the teeth of the electronic monster.
Patterson reluctantly admitted defeat. Letting the destroyed tape hang pathetically out of the stereo, he turned off the light and turned on the radio, scanning quickly past the squawks and screeches of contemporary rock stations to find his old favorite FM number. He was relieved to find it hadn't changed hands since he had been away. A familiar tune was ending.
"That was Tommy Dorsey with 'I'm Getting Sentimental Over You' - and aren't we all feeling sentimental right about now? - here on D.C.'s only home for big band sound, W-O-L-D." Patterson scowled at the call letters of the station; he never did like the less-than-subtle reminder that, as one of their few annoyingly young DJs used to say when making the identification, "If you're listening to us, you're *waay old!*" That DJ hadn't lasted long at the station.
"Next up, one of my favorites," the mellow-voiced DJ teased, "Glen Miller's 'In the Mood.'"
Patterson smiled and turned up the volume.
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Continued in Chapter 2