From:             "Griffin Grimes" 
Subject:          "Marionette" (1/1) NC-17 slash
Date sent:        Sun, 30 Nov 1997 20:11:01 PST


"Marionette" (1/1) by Griffin Grimes

Category: V, Mulder/Patterson slash
Rating: NC-17
Distribution: MSSS/MKRA and Gossamer, yes; all other
lists or archives with author's permission only.  I will
post this to ATXC.
Spoilers: Grotesque
Keyword: Pre-XF
Warning: mild bondage.  It *is* consensual.  Really...
they told me so afterward!
Disclaimer:  The characters belong to CC, 10-13, and
Fox, but I take the blame for the whole perverted idea
of this story.  No financial gain will be made from
this, and no harm is meant.
Summary: Mulder's former mentor remembers his number
one student.

Each piece of feedback and constructive criticism is
greatly appreciated and gratefully answered.  Please
send any and all comments to: griffgrimes@hotmail.com.

         *************************************

     I didn't do it.  I keep telling them that, but no
one listens.  The only one who might believe me, who
*would* believe me, is the one who put me here.
Mulder.

    Mulder.  I thought I had made him, that I had
created him in my own image, but I was wrong.  Only God
could take credit for a creation like that, and God has
nothing to do with me.  Nothing at all; not anymore, at
least.

     But even if I can't claim the responsibility for
his making, I did mold him in his beginning.  Maybe,
maybe I could have molded him more gently than I had,
with more care and precision and caution, and he would
have stayed, under my tutelage, and been truly great.
I could have basked in his greatness.... No, we would
have shone together, learned mentor and his cultivated
protege.  Cultivated like a beautiful hothouse orchid,
rare and worth more than...more than anything. He could
have meant more than anything to me.  But such
treasures are more delicate than they look.  Oh, if
only...

     What am I thinking?  He was just a student to me.
A very special student, given, the most promising one
I'd ever had.  Mulder!  God, that boy...he *was* little
more than a boy then.  Like a parent who never truly
forgets the child their child once was, I will always
think of him that way, imagine him as he was under my
wing.  That *boy* will haunt me forever.

     I have to stay here forever; I can't escape the
memories.  The thoughts.  Not that I want to escape
them; they're all I have.  But the fact is, I *can't*
escape them, not even in my dreams.

     Especially in my dreams.

                      *************

     I watch him at work, profiling his first case.  A
case other more experienced men have struggled with for
months.  He's coming close; I can smell it.  He goes to
get more coffee, then brushes by me on his way back to
his desk, finally aware of my presence.  I can smell him,
too.  He greets me, calls me Bill.  I already feel excited,
simply from the sight and smell and acknowledgement
of Mulder.

     It's late, well past midnight, and he and I are
the only ones left in the building.  He sits down
again, gracefully, quietly.  As he was in daytime, he
is alone in a dark corner, now darker from the night.
He's even more handsome, tempting, in the dark.  Only
one small study lamp, focused on his pages of
handwritten notes, provides a glow that illuminates his
face.

     I find some excuse to go to him, like I have at
other opportune times in the past.  But this time, I will
have the nerve to pull the strings, and he will respond
the way I want him to.  Because I know that this is my
dream world, and in that world I am the puppeteer.
Mulder will be my marionette.

                      *************

     They wake me to give me more pills to make my mind
like one who sleeps, yet is awake.  The pills are to
dull my dreams, as well as to make me unfocused and
placid when I cannot dream.

     Why must they always wake me?  Why can't they just
let me be, and let me dream.  Dreams are all I have,
and daily they take them from me.  That's part of the
hell of this place.  The keepers are your clock, and
they control your dreaming and your waking. Even your
dreams do not stay your own.

   Now I've learned to hide the pills, so I can at
least dream and plan about what I will do with Mulder.
I *will* get out of here some day, one way or another,
and my first order of business will be him.  I tell no
one, and feign the drugged stupor they want for me.  So
I can plan for Mulder.

     Mulder.  He was incredible -- *is* incredible, I'm
sure. Although I no longer can watch him, not even like
I did, secretly and from afar, after he left me.  They
won't let me.  No news, no contact with the outside
world.  Special precautions, claimed to be
"therapeutic".  They just want to torture me, I know.

     For years I watched him, though.  Before I was put
here for crimes I didn't commit, crimes that *creature*
did...not me.  I secretly but avidly followed his
career, asking others about his latest exploits, paying
close yet carefully dispassionate attention when others
gossiped about the infamous "Spooky".  He *was* spooky
to me, too, but not because he believed in aliens and
auras.  He saw the art so well.  *That* was spooky.  He
saw things none of the other young men I recruited
could even touch mentally.

     But as much as I admire his abilities, I also am
fascinated by *him*.  His face, his body, his youth.
Yes, I think that most of all.  I would like to steal
that youth from him, that youth which is long gone in
me.  Now, as I saw when I brought him in to work one
last time with me in the Mostow case, the one that put
me here, it is about to leave him, as well.  It is
inevitable for all of us.

     But he was so young then...

                      *************

     The light illuminates his face, and I arrive to
stand close behind his seated form.  He looks up, over
his shoulder at me.  He smiles.  It's rare to see that
smile, even now when he is youthful and relatively
unburdened.  I feel honored to have it given to me
freely.  A smile just for me.

     He respects me now.  That will never change, and
he will respect me forever.  I will be more careful in
this world, and see that he stays with me.

     I say something to him.  What I say doesn't
matter; it's just my ruse to be there with him,
standing close.  He replies, and what he says doesn't
matter, either.  I press in even closer, my growing
crotch tight against the back of his light office
swivel chair, my hand placed firmly, reassuringly on
his right shoulder.  I praise him for his work.

     He is not used to praise, I can tell.  He is
silent for a moment, registering my words, then replies
in a quiet, hesitant voice: "Thanks, Bill."  His eyes
do not leave their focus on his notes.  He is
uncomfortable with my attention, but I sense he needs
it, too.  I don't want him to be uncomfortable; I want
to see his grateful face.  I know it's in there
somewhere, and I will be the one to bring it forth.

     Now I do what I had wanted to do back then, that
night on that first case.  My hand slowly slides down
from his shoulder, carefully, lightly trailing down his
chest.  His eyes shut tightly, head bent down; he does
not move, but I feel him tremble slightly at my touch.
His heart under my hand beats hard, his pulse races,
his breathing becomes shallow.  I am oh, so careful
this time.  "Is this what you want?" I ask, sure his
will is mine.  I am sure I hear a "yes" in his sigh.

     His tie already undone and draped around his neck,
my fingers deftly loosen a button on his shirt, and
enter. I feel the warmth underneath; lean forward,
bending over him so slightly.  His head slowly drops
back, soft brown hair resting on my stomach, there for
me to touch, to stroke.  His eyes still closed, now I
see the dampness on his cheek.

     I will be careful, as careful as a sculptor, and
he will be mine to control and mold.

                      *************

     I must get out of here.  This is driving me
further into insanity.  Yes, I've accepted that I'm
insane.  I still didn't do what they say I did -- it
wasn't me, I keep telling them -- but I'm still insane.
Because of Mulder.  Because of the constant longing
for the unattainable.

     Still, insanity does not mean stupidity.  I'm as
sharp as I ever was, now that I'm off the mind-numbing
medication.  I've hidden the drugs they keep giving me,
sticking them under my tongue so that, even though they
check, they know nothing of my deception.  Then, as I
pretend to sleep, the pills go into a hole in my pillow.
Which is where I will keep the medium of my
escape.  Until it's time.  Tomorrow night, the eve of
our anniversary.  Two years since he rejected me one
last time and sent me to this Hell.

                      *************

     His lips are parted; they look soft and inviting.
Still from behind, I am emboldened and bend down
further to test their softness.  They are even more so
than I imagined, and I hungrily press my tongue between
them, my hand leaving his soft hair to wrap under his
chin, forcing his head back further.  My right hand
ventures further, down his firm stomach, unbuckling his
belt and undoing his fly to get under his waistband.
Reaching further down to grasp his erection.  It is
nearly as eager as mine.

     He is laid out flat in the chair now, head back,
mouth pressed to mine, hips resting on the edge of his
seat, long legs stretched and splayed under the desk.
His arms hang limply behind him, nearly touching the
ground.  He is taking it all in, giving nothing back.
Selfish bastard.

     This enrages me, and I greedily take my hands from
my ministrations to grasp his upper arms, pinning them
back behind the chair.  All thought of caution is gone
from me now.  I don't know why I ever thought self-
control would be possible.

     He is surprised at my sudden change from gentle
initiator to rough aggressor.  Still saying nothing, he
begins to resist, breaking away from my kiss and
struggling to get up.  Loosening my grip, I bring my
hands to again rest lightly on his arms, and let him
arise from the chair, actually helping him up, as if to
let him go.  But I can't let him go.  Not again.

     Just as he is standing, still in front of me but
now no longer in the chair, I grab him again, his arms
pinned back by my stronger grasp, and push him down on
the desk in front of us.  The chair rolls back out of
the way, and notes flutter to the ground.

     He remains nonverbal; only grunts escape him
as he attempts to free his arms and to lift his torso
off the desk.  Somehow I know that this is the way he
wants it.  It is the way I want it.  I quietly whisper
into his ear: "Is this what you want?"  I'm sure I hear
"yes" in his struggling breath.

                      *************

     During the night, someone else's screams awake me.
At first I am annoyed at the distraction, but then I
remember my plan.  Night is when they rarely watch me,
so it is a good time to work on my means of escape.  My
dream only motivates me to continue crafting it.  I
take the piece of metal I have hidden and slowly,
lovingly, sharpen it against the bed frame.  After an
hour or so I tire, and go back to sleep; back to the dream.

                      *************

     I hold Mulder in front of me, bending him over the
desk.  My hips are pressed hard into his muscular
backside, keeping him steady.  With one hand I take my
belt off, sliding it free of the loops, and fasten it
tightly around his upper arms, making mine available
for other things.  Making sure he stays under my control.
He begins rutting rhythmically into the side of the desk,
so I use the belt to pull him further back, hips inches
away from the edge of the desk.  He will not find
relief without me.

     With one quick, smooth tug, I pull his dress pants
and grey boxers down around his ankles, then off
completely, taking his shoes with them.  His shirttail
covers his firm, round cheeks, but I can't resist
reaching under the fabric to stroke them once with both
hands, lovingly, anticipating what is to come, before
further preparing my prey.

     I easily find a roll of duct tape in a cabinet.
Dreams can be so convenient, can't they?  But I do know
that is where it is kept in that office, and that
detail becomes part of my plan.  I grab Mulder's legs,
pulling them up around my waist.  Then I busy myself
with taping each ankle securely to a leg on either side
of the desk, keeping his legs three feet apart and
preventing him from using the floor as leverage to
scoot his hips back up on the desk.  I don't want him
hurrying things along too much.

     Now I remember the tie hanging loose over his
shoulders, and bring the ends around, letting him see
the band of material and giving him a moment to consider
it.  He says nothing, only struggling more and grunting louder.
Much louder.  I employ it as a gag and fasten the ends
to the leather truss behind him, forcing his head back
and further disabling him.

     I step back for the first time since taking full
charge of Mulder, pausing to admire my handiwork.
Mulder fights in vain to look around at me, impatient
for me to begin, but his precarious position and the
gag that is doubling as a harness will not allow him to
turn around.

     He is incredibly beautiful like this: head and
arms twisted behind him, causing his back to arch and
his chest to pull slightly off the desk; legs spread
wide and helpless; ass totally at my mercy.  His futile
struggling and the muffled sounds coming through the
gag only intensify my erection, making it impossible to
contain any longer.  Finally, I pull my own pants down
below my hips, adding saliva to the milky pre-cum that
is covering the tip of my shaft to provide a bit more
lubrication.  I move forward, pressing my bare, urgent
groin against his now exposed buttocks; but I delay the
inevitable for one more moment so I can caress his
strong young back.  Then I enter him.

                      *************

     It is morning now, the guards going around on
their daily mission to wake everyone and remind us of
our imprisonment.  But today is the day, I remind
myself.  My last day to plan before I take action
tonight.  And I finally recognize that this dream has
been at the heart of my plan all along.

                      *************

     Although he is excruciatingly tight, it's not long
before I'm all the way inside, and his grunts join a
pace with mine.  I go at him like an animal, and I feel
his vitality gradually enter my body.  So young, he has
enough to share with me.

     My hands hold tightly onto the belt wrapped around
his arms and across his shoulder blades, the knuckles
white and the palms damp enough to make holding on
difficult. But I never let go, because I am in control
of him, and refuse to relinquish that power.  Not now,
not ever.

     His arms move with the pull of the leather strap,
his body following.  With each thrust, he gives an
immediate response; I know it is pleasure.  Pleasure at
the sensations I'm creating in him, and pleasure in the
total control he has given to me.  He is truly a puppet
in my hands.  Our syncopated movements, our
orchestrated sounds, finally crescendo in blinding
whiteness, total momentary silence.  Just this once,
though, he is the one to pull the strings, with me
responding immediately after.

     I know I can never let him leave me again.

                      *************

     I await the guard.  The one who takes me to the
showers every night; the one I've trained to see me as
a placid old man, no longer a threat.  I am ready as
I'll ever be, and my long days and nights of planning
have made me eager to see them unfold.  It must be done
tonight, because tomorrow is the anniversary.  Tomorrow
I'll have Mulder back under me, and he will not betray
me again.  He will stay with me until he dies.

     The guard unlocks the door.  I arise from my cot;
the implement so painstakingly honed on that cot is
hidden in one hand.  I keep my head cast down so he
cannot see the bright anticipation in my eyes.

     I have to be careful. Oh, so careful.


The end
***********************

Feed your starving slash-puppy today!  Send any
comments to: griffgrimes@hotmail.com.  Thanks!

    Source: geocities.com/area51/portal/1720/archive

               ( geocities.com/area51/portal/1720)                   ( geocities.com/area51/portal)                   ( geocities.com/area51)