Encounter, by Brenda Antrim. (NC 17) No copyright infringement meant to either Chris Carter & Company or Paramount -- I just thought the boys could use an outing. Literally.
He didn't remember the shock wave. Didn't feel the earth wrench under his feet. Didn't hear the frantic scream torn from his partner. Just felt his body tremble, then his mind toss itself in all directions at once before the blissful darkness covered his vision and the world slipped away.
"Mulder!" Scully scrambled to her feet, instinctively brushing at the soft red soil clinging to her pants, trying to find her footing in the aftershocks still rocking the ground. He'd been there, just a moment ago. In the middle of the huge depression in the side of the hill, where the UFO had supposedly landed then disappeared the night before. Damn these wild goose chases of his! It could have been anything. She shuddered with what felt like a cold chill, startled to realize the wind wasn't blowing. But if it was nothing, if this sighting was just another fake, then ... where the hell was Fox Mulder?
"Captain! From the planet's surface! There's another dispersion wave heading this way-" Harry Kim never got the chance to finish the sentence. The odd wave of purplish motes swept the nose of the ship, turning the field of view strange shades of fuschia. Instruments went crazy, the ship lurched, and all sense of balance was lost as bodies went flying until the artificial gravity field kicked in and the bridge crew was able to climb back to their respective positions. Harry looked at the screen with ill-concealed horror.
"Tom?" His whispered question spurred Tuvok into action. Hands racing over the keyboard, he looked into his Captain's eyes with somber resignation.
"There is no indication of Lieutenant Paris' shuttlecraft, Captain. It has disappeared."
Her eyes met his in dismayed disbelief, and she turned to stare at the star field, deceptively calm now, awaiting the next wave of whatever the hell was pounding their ship ... and now, kidnapping their crewmembers right along with their shuttle craft. Silence settled on the bridge for a bare moment, before instincts kicked in.
"Mr. Kim, Mr. Tuvok, I want to know what *exactly* is causing those wave patterns. Lieutenant Torres, give me a broad spectrum analysis of the matter left by that last wave. Commander Chakotay..." Her voice rang out commands and the crew jumped to follow them. Whatever it was, they trusted her to get them out of it ... and to get Tom Paris back.
"Whew. That was one *hell* of a ride!"
Paris jumped and turned swiftly in his seat, startled to find a tall, dark-haired man sitting loose-limbed in the copilot's seat. The seat that had been empty moments before, when the purple cloud from Hades had eaten his shuttlecraft and propelled him who knows where. The stranger was dressed oddly, in some sort of long, dark coat, over a loose jacket, pleated trousers, a soft white shirt and some sort of yellow and green piece of material looped tightly around his throat and lying along his chest. The pattern made his eyes hurt, so he concentrated on the face.
Not that *that* was a hard task. Strong features stared back at him, broad forehead under loose dark bangs leading to angled cheekbones, a slightly dimpled chin, strong nose, deep, intense, somehow sad hazel eyes, now widened slightly, staring back at him. Teasing little mole at the corner of his ... mouth. And that mouth. Good Lord. He hadn't had that strong a reaction to a mouth, a full pouty lower lip, since he was ... well, never, with a guy. There was that one time, with the med student at the academy, and his mouth had done the same thing to him. Turned him instantly hard and turned his brain to mush in his head. He realized he was staring at the stranger with his mouth hanging open, shifted to hide the unmistakable bulge in his pants, and cleared his throat.
Mulder waited for the blonde stranger to finish his appraisal, taking an inventory of his own during the other man's preoccupation. He had to admit, he hadn't had a onceover like that in ... well, ever, really, especially not from another man. Not even any of the admittedly few women he had known intimately had ever looked at him with so much hunger. His thoughts drifted as he studied his unwitting companion.
Golden hair, not the wishy washy blonde he'd seen on a lot of people but a true guinea gold. Classically beautiful features, reminded him of some of the Greek sculptures he'd seen at the British Museum as a student at Oxford. Stunning blue eyes, with tiny sapphire lines radiating out from the pupil to the edges of the iris, and a mouth ... he realized he was staring at that sculpted mouth only when a tongue came out to dampen the suddenly dry lips. The breath caught in his throat, and he dropped his gaze in embarrassment. Bad move. Down across a broad chest covered in some sort of woolen jumpsuit, to a lap holding an appreciable (and appreciative) erection. Woah. Seems he wasn't the only one affected by whatever the hell was going on here. He shifted to accommodate his own significant hard-on, and the stranger's clear blue eyes followed his movements. One side of that sculpted mouth quirked up in a smirk, and he felt himself begin to blush.
Tom watched the color rise in the other man's face, secure in the knowledge that wherever this weird ride took them, they would both enjoy it. His face took on a slightly flirtatious look, without his conscious control, and he finally addressed the other man.
"Tom Paris. Pilot." He paused, and grinned, a triumphant expression the other man didn't, couldn't understand. "Star Fleet."
Mulder looked at him for a long moment. Starfleet? Whatthefuck was Starfleet? He took a deep breath, and Tom watched his chest expand appreciatively.
"Special Agent Fox Mulder, Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Special agent? Of a what? Bureau of some sort? Tom looked at him for a long moment, and Mulder stared back. The cabin temperature rose, or at least that's what each man told himself.
"So," Fox continued conversationally, "where are we?"
"Damned if I know," Paris responded honestly.
"Aren't you the ... um, pilot of this ... craft?" It was slowly impinging on Mulder's mind that this was unlike any aircraft he had ever been in, and the viewscreen was showing ... stars ...
"Wherethehellarewe?!" exploded in a rush, and he gripped the arms of his chair, suddenly terrified.
Paris looked at him, wide-eyed with concern at the unexpected outburst. "I told you, I'm not sure. The shuttlecraft was hit with some sort of displacement wave, and all the instrumentation went on the fritz." He turned back to the useless instrument panel, noting that, yes, the universal electronic failure was still in effect. Like it would miraculously patch itself up when he wasn't looking. He sighed. "I don't suppose you know anything about electronics, do ya?"
Mulder regarded him as if he'd lost his mind. "Not for shuttlecraft," he responded drily.
"Yeah. That about covers it."
Both men sat in silence, then Fox turned back to his companion.
"So, since we're lost in space anyway, what say we swap life stories? I have ... a LOT of questions to ask you."
Paris regarded the sparkle of anticipation in the other man's bright eyes with deep suspicion. "And just what type of investigation did you say you did for a living?"
Mulder grinned at him, and Tom felt another jolt of arousal hit him at the curve of that full lower lip. "You're out of my jurisdiction." This time it was Paris who didn't get the joke.
According to the ancient chronograph on Mulder's wrist (Tom was having a lot of trouble with the timelines involved ... he'd always hated physics) nearly ten hours had passed. They'd talked until their throats were sore, each fascinated with the other's tale. Paris really liked the sound of Dana Scully, and sort of wished that both partners had been caught up in the space time shift that had tossed Fox Mulder into his life.
Mulder wished there was some sort of proof that he could take back home with him so they would *have* to believe him, if he ever *got* back home. Unfortunately, none of the equipment was working, and all the computer chips had been fried, so all he had was Tom Paris' word. And short of dragging Tom home with him ... he let his gaze drift along the length of the lithe body sprawled out opposite himself, and gulped. This was not his usual. He wondered for a moment about his intense attraction to the other man, and his eidetic memory supplied the answer. March video from Selective SkinFlicks -- he'd gotten the order number mixed up. The tape that arrived was a series of vignettes, men on men, and he'd popped it in the vcr before checking the label. Next thing he knew, he heard the most delicious moaning, and had looked up to see a tall brunet man sinking into a smaller, beautifully gilded young man ... who looked one hell of a lot like Tom Paris. He hadn't been able to stop watching then. And he couldn't seem to stop staring now.
Maybe there was more here than met the eye. Tom grinned softly to himself as Fox sank back into staring at him again. If he read the older man correctly (and he was amazingly good at that), Mulder hadn't had any male lovers. Hadn't had sex at all for quite awhile. He was in love with his partner, but too insecure to do anything about it. He, on the other hand, had been stuck in a prison with a bunch of unattractive neanderthals, then stuck on the Voyager, where the only ones who turned his crank were a stoic Indian who hated his guts and would probably freak out completely if he knew how much Paris wanted him, a Klingon fusion who could rip his lungs out without breaking a sweat and who thought he was a pig besides, and a fresh faced kid whose friendship he didn't want to chance losing. The thought made him pause. Perhaps he and Mulder weren't so different after all. An embarrassed sniff broke into his reverie.
"Um, where's the john?" Mulder didn't want to meet his eyes. Maybe he could pretend this monster rock he was carrying in his pants was because he had to pee, not because Paris' lazy stare at his groin had been getting him amazingly horny.
Tom stared at him uncomprehendingly. "The who?"
"The head. The restroom. The watercloset?" Fox looked at him a little desperately. "I have to go..."
Paris nearly choked on his laughter. Yeah. Right. He managed to stifle the grin threatening to ruin his composure and got up to show him the way.
One of the wonders of 24th century engineering. And Mulder didn't know how to use it. He stared at the featureless wall in front of him and nearly cried. How the hell did you work something with no goddamned handles?
"Tom," god, this was embarrassing, "uh, how do you use this thing?"
Paris paused outside the hatch. Was this a come on? Or was Mulder looking for a face saving way to let him know that he was interested? Intriguing. He turned and squeezed himself into the narrow space next to Mulder. It was a one- man head. The musky scent of the other man surrounded him, and went straight to his groin. He took a deep breath, almost dizzy with arousal, and forced himself to concentrate.
"Here's the seat control, and the waste goes in here," his eyes dropped of their own accord to Mulder's stiff penis, and he lost track of his thoughts completely. This guy was even bigger than he was. He sighed and found himself swaying toward Mulder. Looking back up, he caught Fox's eyes with his, the smoldering lust practically sizzling in the air between them. Mulder swayed forward as well, then jerked upright with an almost frightened look on his vulnerable face.
"Uhm, thanks, I can, uh, handle it from here."
Paris looked at him with regret. Yeah, Mulder could, but he wanted to... He grinned at the lascivious thought, and slid past the taller man, back out into the corridor. He hadn't made any attempt to avoid contact with the other man's body as he went past him, and the electric touch of his erect penis rubbing against Mulder's had definitely run shivers through both of them.
This was gonna be fun.
Mulder looked around somewhat desperately for toilet paper, then pushed the other button. What felt like a million tiny air hands reached out and began to caress his flesh, whisking away the fluid and leaving him with an even more painful erection than he'd had going in. Fuck it. Let Paris think what he wanted. He couldn't stay in the bathroom all night.
He managed to extricate himself from the tiny room with only one painful crack of his head against the frame, and looked around the small cockpit to find Paris. When he saw him, his jaw dropped slightly and his mouth dried. Tom had removed his uniform and was lounging in the side chair wearing nothing but a pair of what looked like black silk briefs, cut to fit his body and hiding nothing. A very impressive erection was lovingly outlined by the form- fitting material, barely contained by the bands. He almost smiled. Whatever it was, it wasn't silk. Silk didn't stretch that much.
"Took ya long enough, Mulder. I figured since we were gonna be here awhile, we might as well get comfortable."
His seemingly sincere smile reassured Fox somewhat, but he made no move to shift his position, so he had to climb over those long, muscled legs in order to get back to his own chair. He sighed, and shrugged out of his suit jacket, the trenchcoat having been discarded hours before.
"Guess you're right. Might as well." He casually untied his tie and draped it over a convenient handle. As he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, Tom tore his eyes away from the light dusting of hair showing at the top of Mulder's undershirt and fastened them on the hideous strip of material.
"What the hell is this thing, anyway?"
Mulder looked up from pulling his slacks off to see Paris staring at his tie in repulsion. The expression was so much like one of Scully's that he almost laughed.
"It's a tie." He struggled with his socks for a moment, finally reaching down to steady himself against the back of Paris' chair in order to complete the job. He looked down at himself and snorted. The white tee shirt was okay, but the Tweetie Bird boxers probably hadn't been a good choice. He looked over at the soft sensation of silk being drawn across his wrist, and then glanced over at Tom's intent expression. Paris was staring at his Tweetie Birds. He swallowed, hard.
"A tie, hm?"
The soft tone in the other man's voice sent a chill down his back that transformed into an electrical jolt at his groin. He couldn't believe how incredibly aroused he was.
"I can think of a few other places I could put this to use, besides your neck." Tom widened his eyes at the man standing over his seat, and Fox was caught in the mesh of open lust that was his gaze. "Such a lovely throat, to keep it all covered up like that, should be a crime."
Mulder found himself leaning forward to hear the near- whisper, and was somehow expecting the hand that curved around his neck and pulled his head closer. Tom paused for a moment, giving Mulder the chance to back away if he chose, but Fox stayed where Tom had put him, holding his breath, waiting to see what came next. With a soft chuckle, Paris closed the gap between their faces, his firm lips closing around Mulder's full lower lip, his tongue flicking gently over it, slicking it, preparing the other man's mouth for his tongue's entry. A quiet moan broke from Mulder at the first contact, and Tom brought his other hand up to frame Mulder's face, tracing the angled jaw. Mulder slowly sank to his knees beside Tom's chair, angling his head to give Tom better access to his mouth. Paris took advantage of the change, opening his lips over Mulder's and delving deeply into the sweetness of his mouth. The deeper penetration of Tom's tongue, sweeping lazily over the roof of his mouth and exploring the tender inside of his upper lip, gave Mulder the impetus he had lacked, and he returned the kiss with fervor. Tom sighed in response when Mulder's tongue followed his own back into his mouth and began it's own exploration.
Paris maneuvered the larger man tenderly onto the floor, hands busily learning the lean contours of his chest, pulling the cotton undershirt off impatiently, running restlessly over the long muscles curving his ribcage, dipping into the hollows of his pelvis. When his touch finally outlined Mulder's straining erection through the loose cotton boxers, the other man jerked under his hand and moaned into his mouth. Yes. Definitely gonna be fun, he thought hazily, then jolted himself when Mulder returned the caresses.
Fox wasn't quite sure what was happening, but he sure as hell liked it. The unusual sensation of crisp curls covering a muscled chest didn't stop him from seeking out the nipples hidden in the fur, teasing the hard points with his fingertips and eliciting a gasp from the man draped over the top of him. Their legs tangled together and their groins thrust at one another in a primitive harmony, and the only sound filling the small cabin was the labored breathing torn from their chests and the small moans and gasps that were all they could manage. Tom managed to pull himself away from the delectable mouth under his and began a thorough investigation of the slender form sprawled so enticingly under his. Fox wanted to play, too, but Paris wanted to concentrate on his partner.
"The first time is all yours," he got out, and Mulder blushed again. Paris watched, fascinated, as the tide of warm rose spread across his chest and up into his throat before spreading across his face. He sighed, a sound that rapidly segued into a moan as Mulder thrust underneath him. "The tie. Where's the tie," Tom muttered, before finally locating it on the floor behind Fox's head. Mulder grinned.
"Oh, yeah. Do it," he whispered encouragingly. Tom shuddered and ground his erect cock hard into Mulder's pelvis, causing the other man to throw his head back and scream softly.
"Don't worry. I plan on it. Over. And over. And over," he rasped into Mulder's ear. A strangled gasp and a long groan were the only replies he got. He quickly and expertly tied Mulder's wrists to the base of the chair behind his head, then got down to some serious sex. Mulder writhed in satisfied lust. So few of the partners he had taken were able to get into the bondage that was his secret pleasure. Tom, it seemed, had few if any inhibitions. Perhaps there could be a way to get him back into the twentieth century...his musings were interrupted by a burst of sensation that nearly shortcircuited his mind, and he looked down to see that Paris had removed his boxers and taken him into his mouth. Seeing the intent look of bliss on Tom's face, knowing that it was mirrored on his own, he threw his head back and gave himself to the sensations coursing through his body.
Tom started at the base of his penis and worked his way up, not missing a centimeter. Paying special attention to the sensitive skin at the base of his shaft, taking first one then another of his balls in his mouth, wishing Mulder wasn't *quite* so large, since he couldn't get the whole sac in and suck him like he wanted to -- he contented himself with manipulating Fox's testicles with one palm, running the tips of his fingers along the tender skin running to his anus, palming his shaft with the other hand and playing his tongue over the excruciatingly alive head, then closing his lips over the whole head and keeping a steady suction as he pumped Mulder's shaft with his hand... Mulder wasn't sure, but he thought perhaps he had died and gone to heaven. With the last coherent thought he had he tried to warn Tom that he was on the verge of climaxing, but all that he could squeeze past his tight throat were mangled pleas and the occasional deep moan. He tried to jerk his hips away, and Tom got the message. With a wicked grin, he gave one last solid pull to his shaft, and broke the suction of his lips with an audible popping sound. The sudden secession of suction combined with the cool air bathing the heated flesh and the rapid pumping motions of Tom's hands sent him over the edge. Tom gathered him as closely as he could during his climax, feeling the jerking muscles convulse all along his own frame, swallowing Mulder's scream in his kiss.
When Fox returned to himself, he smiled at the self-satisfied expression on Paris' face. Reaching up to lick at the evidence of Tom's recent activity still wetting his lips, he pushed tiredly at the erection poking him in the stomach and grinned.
"Somebody didn't get any," he teased in a raspy voice, hoarse from his recent cries.
"Yet," Paris smirked jauntily. "The night is young." He negligently flicked the knots holding Mulder's hands loose, and nibbled and massaged the skin on his arms until the sensation came back completely.
Mulder sobered and looked at him, not with fear, but with some trepidation. "Tom, I've never, um, that is, you're the first guy that I ever ... uh, I don't know how to say this, but ... I'm not sure what comes next."
Paris almost laughed, but the hesitancy in his new lover's eyes stopped him. He smiled back with surprising gentleness.
"It's easy. You tell me what makes you uncomfortable, and I do something else." He paused to appreciate Mulder's beautiful smile, then continued softly, "Will you let me fuck you?"
Mulder's eyes grew huge, swallowing up his face, then he nodded, still a little hesitant.
"I promise, if you don't like it, I'll stop. This is supposed to be fun," Tom grinned reassuringly at him. Mulder gulped softly, then pulled Tom's head down to his. Trailing his tongue along the sharp jaw to the tender skin behind Tom's ear, he whispered, "You only live once, right? And I've always prided myself on being open to ... extreme possibilities." Then he closed his teeth tenderly on Tom's earlobe, and chuffed softly in his ear. Tom's body stiffened, then moved sinuously across Mulder's.
"Then let me take you on the flight of your life, Agent Mulder," he rasped, and began to kiss him with a devouring hunger.
Mulder felt his hands moving of their own accord, tracing the bunched muscles of Paris' chest, threading through the dense, tight golden curls to smooth around his sides along the muscles of his back, his skin like warm satin under his fingertips. Gradually, his explorations led him to Tom's rounded ass, muscles tense with restraint. He felt Tom gently, slowly part his thighs, reaching between their entwined bodies to caress his own spread buttocks. Concentrating on the unusual sensation, he felt unfamiliar thrills course up and down his spine as Tom worked first one, then two fingers deeply into his ass, using his own come as a lubricant. Now he knew just why Tom hadn't swallowed. Seems he'd done this before. His train of thought was once again derailed as Tom pushed slightly back from him, changing the angle between their bodies, pressing his pelvis up under Mulder's ass. He felt the blunt tip probing at his opening, and locked his hazel eyes firmly on the deep crystal blue of Tom's, relaxing as another wave of pure lust stiffened his cock and caused him to instinctively push down. Tom slipped gently into Mulder's anus, pushing very slowly past the ring of muscle, allowing his lover plenty of time to adjust to the unusual sensation of being filled. As he pushed, he angled himself expertly, until the most sensitive part of his penis was gently sliding into Mulder's prostate. At the first bumping caress Mulder gasped and cut loose with a startled, aroused scream, prompting a satisfied, "Yes, baby just like that!" from the man who was leading him into oblivion. The rhythm gradually escalated, the depth of Paris' entry restricted by their need to be facing one another, the novelty and incredible sensations radiating from his ass causing another nearly painful erection in Mulder. As Tom settled into a steady hard rocking, lubricated now with his own semen as well as Mulder's, he reached between the two of them and rocked the palm of his hand in counterpoint against Fox's penis, using his strong fingers to drive his lover out of his mind. Mulder responded by grasping Paris' buttocks in a deathgrip, slamming his pelvis into the other man's, moaning continuously as the sensations began to build again. Tom's own moans joined his in a repeated chorus, the sounds of their pleasure filling the cabin. As Tom neared his peak, he pumped furiously at Mulder's cock, determined to bring them to climax together. Mulder, unused to this much stimulation, even after already coming once, couldn't handle the sensory overload, and began to come in great spurts, coating their chests and abdomens. Tom felt the constrictions in the narrow channel he was plumbing, like a fist around his cock rhythmically squeezing him, and let out a scream of triumph as he came deep in Mulder. Collapsing in exhaustion across Mulder's chest, he barely had the energy to call "Lights down," before tucking his face into the scented curve of Fox's throat and drifting off to sleep.
Mulder felt Tom soften and slip out of him, feeling a final gasp escape him along with his lover's penis. He stared wide-eyed at the darkened ceiling above them, fascinated by the faint wash of starlight, still somewhat in shock over what had just happened but feeling more replete than he could remember feeling for a very long time. As he slipped into sleep, he thought with satisfaction that for once he was going to get a good night's sleep. Neither one of the sleeping men had any warning when the light purple cloud of particles rocked the small ship again.
The crackle of the comm system awakened Tom Paris before the Voyager was able to establish full contact, a warning he was profoundly thankful for, considering that it gave him time enough to get his uniform pulled back on and scrub most of the come out of his hair.
"Whatta way to start the day. Protein shake," he sang to himself as he manually navigated the little craft into the shuttle bay. No way was he going to tell *anybody* about this one. Maybe it was all an hallucination, although from the satisfied feeling he doubted that. Whatever it had been, Fox Mulder had been a once-in-a-lifetime experience. He'd take it for what it was worth. If nothing else, it had taken some of the edge off. Now maybe it would be a good several weeks before he was horny enough to put himself at risk of serious personal injury by asking B'Elanna out to a holodeck. Or Harry.
He didn't notice the suddenly intent look Commander Chakotay gave him as he passed him on the way to report to Captain Janeway. Or the way the tall, solid man's normally stoic face brightened, his nose twitched at Tom's musky scent and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. Perhaps it wouldn't be so long after all.
"I don't give a tinker's damn *what* they say, I know he'll come back, if there's any way he can, where are you, Mulder, oh, please come back-" Scully's muttering was taking on more of an aspect of prayer than she was used to hearing, when a flash of light appeared in the far corner of the depression she was searching for her partner. As she ran toward it, she thought at first it was a trick of the light. Then she realized that it was Mulder. Stark naked. Asleep. Stopping dead in her tracks, she studied the relaxed figure, taking in what appeared to be nail marks on his flanks, bite marks on his neck, a satiated smile on his face, and what looked suspiciously like seminal fluid of some sort (unable to tell if female or male, her rational mind cataloged, before her incredulity shut it down) on his abdomen, chest, and ... lips. No way that was female, too damned much of it. Slowly, she approached him and shook him awake. His sleepy hazel eyes smiled into hers, and she knew, somehow, in the middle of what was probably -- knowing Mulder -- an alien abduction, he had gotten pretty thoroughly laid. She shook her head, glad she was out here in the early dawn hours on her own.
"Let's find you some clothes, Mulder. Then, we need to talk."
He grinned at her lazily, and gingerly sat up. "It's one helluva story, Scully."
She grinned back at his shining eyes. "And you want to believe."
He sighed, and took her offered hand up. "You better believe I do!"