Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar

mission8

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar Chapter EightAwarnessThe couch, Mulder decided, was not getting any more comfortable. I need sheets. Leather looks great, but it's hell to sleep on bare legged. I keep sticking.

He found himself half wishing that Ethan would come out and offer him another back rub. But he quashed that idea quickly. Ethan was asleep. He'd have to wake up, and be aware that Fox couldn't sleep. The last time that had been because Fox was watching the video. Well, he wasn't going to be re-watching this one. Not any time while he's around, anyway. That was kinda... interesting, though.

Almost surreal, actually. Almost like watching himself have a sexual experience that had never happened. He'd never even come CLOSE to anything like that. The funny thing was, he could almost imagine what it was like.

He went to clubs. That probably would have surprised most people who knew him. Or thought they knew him. A dim, quiet bar they would have expected. He knew they could easily picture him sitting at the end of a bar, nursing a drink, maybe getting drunk enough to totally freak out some bartender or half in the bag fellow drinker with X Files tales. But Fox at home in noise, bustle, synergy? Too far fetched.

No, he went to clubs. And he danced. There was usually someone to dance with, but it wasn't necessary. That was the good thing about the clubs. People who were alone could go there and be alone together. And sometimes he wasn't alone the entire night. Sometimes there was a trip out to one car or another. Gropings, alcohol flavored kisses, a disarrangement of clothes, and a few moments of aw, shit, yeah, might as well admit it almost perfunctory sex. Sometimes he could even remember their name the next day, and it had always been women.

He frowned up at the ceiling. Is my mind playing tricks on me, or has it always been them who made the actual suggestion? I MUST have put the moves on a few of them. He kept thinking, racking his brain, and for the life of him couldn't come up with a single clear incident.

Well, shit, this was getting him nowhere. He got up and went to the kitchen to get a beer. Fox leaned back against the counter, twisting off the cap. When did they stop making the type you had to pry off? Mulder closed his eyes and took a long swallow. Was it his imagination, or did the beer go flat faster these days? He missed the old caps. Flipping them off had been part of the mystique of beer drinking. The old church key opener was sort of a symbol of manhood. If you were a kid, you didn't have an excuse to carry one, because all the soda pop machines had openers attached to the side. So "What are you planning to use that thing on, son?" The cool guys would snap the caps off against a counter. The stupid ones would open them with their teeth. He wondered if dentists were sorry to see the invention of twist off caps.
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"Can't sleep again?" Fox almost jumped out of his skin. He opened his eyes to find Ethan standing about a foot away. Damn, the man was quiet.

"Don't do that!"

"You're safe enough here, but you're going to have to do better than that out in the field, Fox." He reached out and put his hand lightly against Fox's throat, and Mulder swallowed. "I could've had you twice by now."

"I'm not that easy to kill."

Ethan opened the refrigerator and got himself a beer. Cracking it open, he took a drink, then looked at Fox archly. "Who said anything about killing you?"

Fox was suddenly aware of exactly how little clothing they were both wearing. Tonight Ethan's briefs were black. Fox had on a T-shirt, and wished that he had his own boxers instead of the skimpy jockeys Ethan had bought him. There was something unsettling and intimate about this: standing in the darkened kitchen, wearing underwear provided by the barely clad man beside him.

Having absolutely no idea how to react to the last statement, Fox reacted by not reacting at all. He ignored it, but he drank about half of his brew in one gulp. "You're gonna give yourself a headache, doing that," Ethan predicted.

As he finished speaking, a bolt of agony lanced across Fox's head. He squinted, wincing. "Ow! What did you do, curse me?"

"Shit, didn't your mama teach you not to take cold things too quick?" He set down his own beer and reached toward Fox, who pulled back. "Hold still, dammit. I'm trying to help." Ethan's fingers, cool from holding the chilled bottle, settled on Muldetemptemples, and began to massage. Slowly the easy pressure seemed to release the vice that had clamped down on his skull. The pain began to fade.

Ethan was speaking. "The only thing that really helps a cold headache is when the temperature gets back to normal, but this is kind of soothing in the meantime."

"Thanks." Fox murmured, eyes still closed. He sighed. Ethan's fingers, strong and gentle, continued rubbing in circles. "That feels good." The fingers slid back into his hair, massaging his scalp, then moved down to work on the back of his neck.

Fox suddenly realized that, like this, Ethan was almost embracing him. He opened his eyes. Ethan was very close. There was only a few inches of space between them. He was looking into Fox's face, his expression unreadable. But even in the dim light that glowed over the stove, Fox could see how green Bridger's eyes were.

Fox cleared his throat, and pulled back fractionally. Ethan's hands dropped. "Headache gone?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Da nada." He stepped away and picked up his beer. "If you're really having THAT hard a time sleeping, you ought to come in the bedroom. You need to be well rested. That bed's plenty big enough for two people without being crowded."

Fox shifted uncomfortably. "I'm okay."

"Fox, you're being silly. You're depriving yourself of rest just because you're afraid to be alone in the dark with another man?"

Fox bristled, as Ethan knew he would. "Don't be ridiculous." He started to walk out. Behind him, he heard a very creditable clucking sound, and whirled around. "Are you calling me chicken?"

Ethan's eyes were wide and innocent. He spread his fingers on his chest in a `who, me?' gesture. Fox glared, and left the room, stomping as best he could with bare feet. Ethan chuckled, and lifted the last of his beer in a toast to that spectacular ass. He whispered, "But you ARE chicken, Fox. Pure white meat."

When Ethan went out into the living room, there was no pillow, no comforter, and no Mulder. Ethan pumped his fist in the air, silently mouthing, "Yes!" Then he composed his expression into blandness and went into the bedroom.

Fox was on the near side of the bed, stretched out on his stomach, head resting on folded arms, face turned away. The only thing wrong with this picture is that he's not naked. That will change.

Ethan walked around to his side of the bed, and slid under the sheet. Fox's eyes were closed. He wasn't asleep, though. Ethan knew damn good and well that he was awake. But Fox's body was not tensed, he seemed to rest easy. Hunt studied his face. Thick lashes, almost reaching to sculpted cheekbones. Straight, strong nose, full mouth. Mouth, mouth, MOUTH! Damn, that is a sexy mouth. Pretty soon I'm going to have to just kiss him stupid, then see what else we can figure out for him to do with that mouth. Thinking about the possibilities, Ethan went to sleep with a smile on his face.

Fox awoke with a pleasant, but unfamiliar, scent teasing him. What was it? He sorted through his olfactory memory, searching for it. There was soap, he recognized that. Some other spicy smell, and just a hint of clean sweat. Fox opened his eyes to find that his face was pressed against Ethan Bridger'se she shoulder. So, that's what it was. Ethansmell.

Moving very slowly and carefully, Fox pulled away, thankful that Bridger was still asleep. How had Mulder wandered all the way over to this side of the bed? Once he managed to fall asleep, he wasn't really a restless sleeper, not a whole lot of thrashing around. Well, he didn't think there was, anyway. Actually, he hadn't slept with enough people in his life to get an informed opinion of his own sleep habits.

Ethan yawned, and shifted onto his side. Fox slipped out of bed and eased to the bathroom. He needed to pee. He had a morning erection, and that was not something he cared to have the man he'd been sharing a bed with know.

He peed copiously, sighing in relief. The hard on didn't go away. "Oh shit." Fox muttered. He stared at his rebellious member, willing it to subside. "Come on, already. I peed. What else do you want?" He paused. "Don't answer that."

Fox stripped quickly, stepped into the shower, and turned the cold water on full blast. A yelp escaped him before he could bite it back. "

"Fox? You okay?" He heard padding footsteps over the hissing of the water.

Damn. "Yeah, I'm fine. Water's just a little cold, that's all." Ethan was in the bathroom. Fox could see his wavering outline through the frosted glass of the showoor.oor.

"What, is the hot water out?" Fox stood dumbfound as the door slid open a couple of inches, and Ethan's hand poked in, under the spray. "Damn! No wonder you yelled. Are you trying to get hypothermia or something?" He reached down and turned on the hot, testing the water till it ran just past lukewarm. "There." The hand was withdrawn, and the door slid shut. "I thought you took a shower last night, anyway?"

"I just felt like another one."

"Good way to start the morning."

Oh, Christ. Fox watched as Ethan's blurred figure moved to the toilet, fumbled with his shorts, and peed. Look away, Fox. Look away. He didn't.

Ethan finished, shook, and tucked himself away. "Hurry up. You need to get shots, and we have to have new passport photos taken today." He strolled out.

Fox sighed, and looked down at his once again engorged cock. He reached for the hot water, twisting it off as he called, "It may be a few minutes."