Title: Solitary Confinement
Author: Shera Crawler 007
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, swear! I just like playing
with them! Thanks to: Kat for the wonderful betaing and Raven for
betaing and beating me over the head a bit for this. Any mistakes
in here isn't their fault it's mine for last minute changes. Oh and
everyone for the feedback! I loved it, I wrote more!
Rating: Rish? Uh
... not really that bad I don't think
Summary: Bobby's boyfriend finally revealed while he thinks
about Bobby... a lot
Archive: Go for it just tell me if you do
Feedback: *insert much groveling here*
Previous parts found at (un)frozen
Order series should go in: Wave Goodbye
to Sanity / Still Waving Goodbye / Solitary
Confinement / And Time Marches On
Mulder shifted on the bed, tucking one arm beneath his head while
the other rested across his stomach. He studied the marbled watermarks
on the ceiling of his motel room quietly, eyes tracing the strange
dingy brown lines over and over. Boring, yes, but it didn't give him
a headache like staring at the red shag carpeting or the orange wallpaper
with huge floppy yellow flowers did.
Today was Friday, and the fact stood out that it was the second weekend
in a row that he wasn't going to see Bobby. Not that he had thought
about that at all during the case except for a few brief moments when
he had been in that bar. Otherwise his mind had been taken up with
the string of seemingly unexplainable murders that had centered on
the small town of Dayton, Tennessee.
He and his partner had flown down last week on Wednesday and the
case had just wrapped up yesterday, though he was still working on
how to fill out the expense report, which he didn't want to write.
There had to be a way to make the mass destruction of half a dozen
mobile homes, one rental car, and Scully's cell phone sound reasonable.
At any rate a freak snowstorm had ensured he was going to have plenty
of time to think it over while he was stuck until at the very least,
Monday, in this ugly little motel room, in this ugly little town,
with a TV that only showed the weather channel, and a clock radio
that would not stop blinking.
The weekend was going to be spent with no corny sitcoms, no porn,
a partner that was pissed at him for destroying things and leaving
her to explain what had happened to the angry owners of said things,
and above all no Bobby. Somewhere along the line a Bobby-less, work-free
weekend had become synonymous to hell.
When had that happened exactly? He tilted his head, staring at the
ceiling as if he'd find the answers in the cracked plaster if he just
stared hard enough. Bobby wasn't supposed to have become one of his
life's little requirements. He was supposed to be a fling, someone
that he used and was used by to remember what sex with someone other
than himself was about.
At least that was all he'd had in mind when depression or desperation,
take your pick, had driven him out of his apartment away from the
files he had brought home with him to work on, and out to the bar.
Not the usual one that was close to home, the bartender there knew
him now and had apparently hit her quota of alien stories. These days
she was seemed closer and closer to kicking him out on sight.
No, instead he'd driven around and ended up in a gay bar, not the
first he'd been in, but it had been years since the last time. Bobby
had caught his eye at the bar almost immediately. He smiled at the
memory of how the man had looked sitting at the bar.
He'd been wearing jeans just tight enough to hug the curves of his
gorgeous ass. And said gorgeous ass had been attached to an equally
gorgeous body, it'd been the first thing he'd noticed about him. Then
he had noticed how he was sitting, on the edge of one of the green
bar stools like he was going to bolt any second, all the while striving
to look relaxed and nonchalant at the same time. A nervous Bobby trying
to look casual, as he now knew, only ended up looking hyper-active,
neurotic, and more than slightly deranged. On reflection it was a
cute look on him.
His blond hair had been mussed as if he'd been running a hand through
it constantly, and his eyes had been fixed on the almost full beer
on the bar in front of him like it was the Holy Grail. Every once
in awhile his gaze would flicker curiously around the room, hands
tapping a nervous tattoo on the beer bottle, one foot kicking at the
rungs of his stool, entire body shifting and rocking just a little
in tune to the beat of his own anxiety.
Mulder had watched those blue eyes begin to kindle with lust every
time they snagged on one of the men around him, and he would still
for a few precious moments, hardly even breathing. Then the eyes would
turn guiltily back on his hands before any one noticed, and he'd be
tapping and kicking and moving again with a vengeance that seemed
to amuse the bartender almost as much as it annoyed him.
It had been painfully obvious that he didn't know what to do with
himself, and the sight of the blush creeping over that fair skin ...
well he couldn't resist hitting on him just to see what he'd do. It
had more than paid off, both for the relationship that had come of
it ... and the entertainment value. Even now it brought a smile to
his face, along with a soft chuckle, remembering how Bobby had looked
when he had fallen off his stool, face bright red with embarrassment
that battled interest in his eyes.
And that was all it was supposed to be. Entertainment. But somehow
the man had wormed his way in to being more, so much more, faster
than Mulder had ever imagined possible. It was hard to believe that
it was more than two month's worth of weekends, each one more addictive
than the last.
It hadn't been part of the plan to give him his phone number that
first time ... it definitely hadn't been part of the plan to spend
a jittery Friday at work wondering if he would call. Of course he
tried to pretend he hadn't been nervous; but if he was truthful with
himself for once, he had been tied up in knots by the time he had
let himself into his apartment. Pitiful of him to be that wound up
over someone he hadn't even planned to see again originally, but how
much more proof did you need that Bobby had gotten to him from the
There was something about him, something about the innocence in his
eyes. The innocence of someone that wasn't disillusioned with life,
that didn't wonder if he was going crazy time after time when things,
evidence, people disappeared without a trace. His lover didn't know
what it was like to go through life watching people's eyes slowly
glaze over with boredom or derision when he talked about what he really
thought, he hadn't had to live with being immediately filed away as
crazy as soon as he introduced himself by name.
In other words, Bobby wasn't mixed up in the bad sci-fi plot that
was his life, he was the little bit of sanity that was his reward
after a week of what passed for normal. So maybe that was why Bobby
was now a requirement in his life. Bobby was so wonderfully ordinary;
for god's sake he was a Certified Public Accountant living in one
of those private schools for the rich. He'd even had the Gunmen check
to make sure for him after the second weekend they spent together
so he could stop having nightmares of another Krycek come to betray
Every weekend B.B. (Before Bobby) he would come home late, go jogging,
shower, and spend a long restless, sleepless night on the couch with
either his videos and his hand or a stack of case files that he brought
home with him. Both more often than not. And maybe for variety he'd
get a visit from whatever local consortium spy felt like dropping
in, or call Scully in the middle of the night just to hear someone
else's voice so he'd know he wasn't completely alone. So he'd know
that he wasn't living in an endless nightmare any more than usual,
that if something happened to him ... someone would care.
Now instead of feeling as if he was slowly going mad waiting for
Monday, he had something to look forward to. He was able to pretend
at some semblance of normality if only for a couple days. Alright,
so maybe coming home to spend a weekend in and out of bed with another
man wasn't society's idea of normal, but compared to the rest of his
life it was probably the most ordinary thing he had been a part of
in years. He hadn't woken Scully up at two in the morning since.
And the benefits he got from it were worth it, with Bobby the awkwardness
and pain he had felt with the women that had been in his life was
absent and he doubted that would change. The man seemed incapable
of purposely doing anything that would upset him and that made all
the difference. He was too sweet to do something like that, sweet
and open, with his emotions and insecurities written plainly in his
eyes, on his face, in the way he walked the way, and held himself.
Absently stroking his stomach he considered his subject, sweet yes,
innocent yes, but every once in awhile of late he had caught something
more. Every once in awhile he'd wake up in the early hours while Bobby
was getting ready to leave, during that long stretch of time that
was always the worst to stay awake through because everything seemed
thick ... still and oppressive. The time when all the old myths and
horrors seemed closer, when even the innocents of the world could
feel the brush of the eerie things he dealt with day to day.
It was then that he'd see The Look.
He hadn't before realized how heavily even Bobby's best 'serious'
expressions were laced with that edge of humor that kept conversation
light. How could you get too serious with someone that seemed to want
to laugh at everything, and hoped you would join in with him? There
was no trace of anything even vaguely resembling laughter in those
few early morning looks. He would wake up feeling that uncomfortable
itch of being watched, and slit his eyes open slowly, just enough
to catch sight of Bobby kneeling naked at his bedside, arms wrapped
loosely around himself. Just staring.
Bobby's eyes would be dark and serious in the dim light that shone
through the bedroom window, watching him sleep with an intense stare
that seemed unfocused, as if his thoughts were turned inward on himself.
Straight white teeth invariably worried at his bottom lip hard enough
that when Bobby shook himself out of whatever he had lost himself
in, teeth marks would gleam wetly on reddened skin.
Then he'd shake himself, stand, and maybe bestow a feather soft touch,
barely perceptible, on his face. Once Bobby had leaned down and brushed
his lips against his forehead in a silken caress before walking out
of the room to dress and leave.
Bobby was thinking about them and no doubt all the little problems
their relationship entailed. He knew he was. Now that he could admit
it to himself it worried him ... he didn't want to lose Bobby and
he had a feeling that he might. It'd be so easy for the man to get
scared and run.
Hiding a relationship that took up most of your days on the weekend
couldn't be easy living in a school full of nosy students and teachers.
At least not when you were friendly with half of them. And that's
what he assumed from the two times he had called him. There was always
some sort of low-grade buzz of conversation, most of the time from
people trying to talk to Bobby even though he was on the phone. One
of the reasons he didn't call often.
Which was why Bobby never spent the night. They hadn't discussed
it but it wasn't something that really needed to be. They both knew.
He knew Bobby wanted to stay the night. Bobby knew he would be welcome
if he ever could. That was the problem, he wouldn't ever be able to,
not until he was willing to come out. It probably wasn't even a possibility,
or at least it wasn't yet.
He could live with it, he wanted more, but what they had would satisfy
him if it had to. After everything he had gone through on his search
for the Truth, taking what he could get in his love life was simple.
The problem was that he didn't think Bobby could be satisfied for
Bobby was a romantic. It hadn't been too obvious yet, but it was
there. He was looking for Mr. Right even if he couldn't admit that
particular fact to himself yet. He was looking for permanency; looking
for something that was a hell of a lot more than just weekends.
There wasn't much he could do about it either. At least nothing he
was really willing to do. He liked having his workdays to himself,
without having to trip over someone else's feelings because of his
obsessions. It was hard enough sometimes to shelve work for the weekends,
no matter how much he enjoyed them. So this was going to have an ending.
Suddenly he wished Scully wasn't still fuming over her phone, so
he could talk to her. Not about this exactly but he knew just talking
to her would help him think clearer. Maybe he could figure out if
he was overreacting.
If she still had her phone he would risk calling her rather than
face her wrath head on ... but her phone was in little pieces in a
cow field across town buried in snow by now. He wasn't stupid enough
to knock on her door before they could leave, dying didn't hold any
He closed his eyes, liking the view behind his eyelids better than
the ceiling. Maybe he should risk death anyway, he could always stun
her before she went for his throat and tell her he needed relationship
advice about his boyfriend. He could most picture the expression she'd
have, probably stunned disbelief.
Although it'd be up for grabs whether she'd be more stunned about
the relationship part than the boyfriend part. Spooky Mulder sleeping
with anyone other than his right hand and the videos she found
in his desk sometimes was no doubt more unbelievable than the fact
it was a man he was boffing. Or hell maybe she wouldn't find it shocking
in the least, and just tell him to go back to bed and leave her alone
unless he had a new cell phone for her. Sometimes Scully knew him
better than he did.
The thought made him grin, and in the nature of all good obsessions
his thoughts turned back to Bobby again. If he were here right now
without a doubt he'd be making fun of the room décor, or lack thereof.
And he'd laugh whether it was funny or not just to be rewarded with
watching those baby blue eyes light up and dance.
Forget all the depressing thoughts of when and how they would end,
and all the things that weren't working like he wanted. Right now
all he wanted to concentrate on was the things that were great between
them. Like finally having someone that listened to his theories and
stories of aliens, liver eating mutants, even the Flukeman, and anything
else he could think of without batting an eye. Half the time Bobby
even joined in, actually had his own ideas, his own input ... and
it was like heaven.
Even if the sex had been horrible, he would have been tempted to
keep seeing him just for that. For the rush that came from discussing
aliens and conspiracies with someone from the real world that treated
it like a perfectly reasonable subject instead of grounds to start
calling mental hospitals. Yes, his ego liked being stroked, it didn't
happen often and he was going to suck the life out of the opportunity
while he had the chance.
Thankfully, the sex was anything but horrible. For someone that had
almost hyperventilated over being picked up on by a guy in a gay bar,
Bobby didn't hold anything back when it came to getting down and dirty.
Mulder let his hand smooth down his stomach to rub lightly over the
erection beginning to tent his suit pants, silently thanking god for
an eidetic memory. He might not have porn, but he didn't need it anymore
with the memories he'd been making lately with Bobby.
Maybe the weekend wouldn't be a complete bust after all.
continued in "and
time marches on" >>
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