Day One

Michael looked down at the man strapped down on the operating table and sighed. Of all his duties at the hospital, he most hated having to fill in for the technician who normally installed the slave locator chips. He hated it with a passion, but there was no way that a resident could pick and choose his assignments. Unfortunately.

Glancing over at the guard standing by the door, he questioned, “What’d he do?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

Which made perfect sense for someone in the guard’s position, dealing with slaves on a daily basis. At least Michael didn’t have to worry about that. He only had to fill in when the regular tech was sick, or on leave. Sighing, he touched the button that would turn the table over and angle it up so that the slave was in easy reach for the procedure.

Michael didn’t take a good look at the slave, not really wanting to have his memory haunted by another person without freedom. It was days like this that he seriously considered becoming an abolitionist. Still, he couldn’t help but notice the man’s striking features and slender body. The brown hair was thick, even in a buzz cut, and he wondered what color eyes were hidden beneath the lids. There was bruising evident on the face and chest and Michael looked back to the guard, demanding, “You beat him?”

“Well we can’t use the stunners when the chip’s going to be implanted.”

“True. It interferes with the body’s electromagnetic field, which ruins the chip,” Michael confirmed with a sigh. “But he looks…harmless enough.”

The guard snorted. “Say that to the guard with a broken nose. No, this one’s ex-law enforcement, the worst kind of scum. We’ve had him in isolation for the entire length of his trial and three other guards beside myself watched him to get him over here. Even so, he nearly escaped before I knocked him out.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Michael turned back to the table and picked up the scalpel. He cut neatly into the fleshy area just beneath the left shoulder blade. The blood ran free, but he was quick enough with the chip that not too much escaped before he stanched the wound. Michael picked up the activator from the instrument tray and pushed it into the wound, connecting it to, and activating, the chip. It not only started the small computerized device, but fused it to the surrounding muscle. There would be discomfort and mild pain for the slave until the muscles healed, but nothing too extreme.

A few moments later, he picked up the needle with its dissolving thread and began to stitch up the cut in tiny, precise stitches. The whole procedure, something that branded a man for life, took less than ten minutes.

Michael taped a bandage in place and started to press the button that returned the table to normal, but stopped. Something looked odd to him about the back of the slave’s neck and he took a closer look. Strangely, there was a bump under the skin behind the ear that didn’t at all resemble a mole or normal skin lesion. Frowning, Michael leaned in and carefully pressed down on it, finding it to have a distinct edge, reminding him of a locator chip.

Great, someone’s gone and put some kind of chip in him already and I’ll get in trouble because my work will be interfered with or ruined later! he thought in irritation.

“What’s the holdup?” the guard snapped.

Michael ignored the man and picked up a different scalpel, cutting the chip out with precision. It was small, quite a bit smaller than a regular locator chip, but looked of a similar variety and would no doubt have interfered with the new one. Stanching the blood flow from the small cut, he decided on skin adhesive instead of stitches. Not only was it small enough to warrant it, he figured that there would be enough scarring in the slave’s future and this would prevent another.

He took another look at the handsome face, slack in unconsciousness, then sighed and motioned to the guard. “He’s all set. You can take him back now.”

The guard rolled the slave onto the gurney and Michael bit back a retort to be careful. The slave was, in all likelihood, about to get far worse treatment than that. He watched them leave, then set about cleaning his instruments, waiting for the next one.

* * * *

Mulder woke in the transfer cell naked and in pain, but alone, which was good, but not much of a change. Aside from the dull throbbing of the bruises on his face and ribs, there was a sharper pain in his back, just below the shoulder. His mouth dried up as he realized that it was a locator chip. Panic swamped him and it was all Mulder could do not to hyperventilate into passing out. He was a slave now. He was property. Something that another person could own, abuse, even kill, without anyone else allowed to stop it.

The door down the hall opened and his wild gaze landed on the guard who’d beaten him senseless before the procedure, a large, impassive man with dead eyes. But just beside him was the most welcome sight of Mulder’s life: Assistant Director Walter Skinner, his boss and friend. Well, mostly friend. Temporary ally, anyhow?

Shaking the thought from his mind, Mulder rushed to the bars and exclaimed, “It’s great to see you, Sir!”

“Shut up, Mulder,” Skinner snarled.

Seeing how livid Skinner was, and Mulder had no doubt as to the reason why, he shut his mouth and stepped back from the bars.

The guard looked at Skinner and asked mildly, “You sure you want him?”

Skinner glared at Mulder, answering, “Not really, but he’s mine now.”

The moment the door opened and Mulder was on the outside of it, Skinner shoved him against the bars, leaning in close, right in his face. Mulder swallowed nervously, never having seen the older man lose control and, though Skinner hadn’t yet, there was a definite shade of mayhem in the dark eyes staring back at him.

“Listen carefully. You will walk two paces behind me. You will not say a word. You will do exactly what I say, when I say it, or I leave you here to rot. Am I clear?” Skinner hissed.

Nervousness transformed into outright fear and Mulder opened his mouth only to shut it again, swallowing the words, protest and pleading, at once.

Skinner nodded slowly. “Good. You understand. Let’s go.”

Scrambling after Skinner, not even caring that he was naked so long as he wasn’t left behind, Mulder kept carefully to the two pace limitation. Outside the hospital, the cool DC air sent shivers through him, but Mulder didn’t dare huddle into himself for warmth, not wanting to break some unknown slave rule.

They reached Skinner’s car where the AD snapped, “Get in!” and Mulder hastily obeyed, climbing into the back seat. He squawked in surprise when Skinner slapped him sharply on the ass on the way in, but didn’t protest. Pulling the seatbelt on, Mulder maintained the silence dictated to him.

It didn’t take long to reach Skinner’s home, and for some reason it felt even colder, being naked there in the middle-class neighborhood. He hurriedly climbed out of the car when Skinner held the seat forward, and got another sharp slap on the way. Wincing, though he knew there couldn’t have been too much force given the angle, Mulder waited until Skinner again preceded him.

Mulder followed the other man inside to the living room where he stopped. Mulder almost ran into him, Skinner stopped so fast, but managed not to just in time. The bigger man pointed to the floor and ordered, “On your knees. You need to hear some things about your future and what led up to it even being possible.”

Not even considering disobedience, Mulder knelt exactly where Skinner pointed. His heart thudded heavy against his ribcage and fear induced adrenaline was giving him the shakes. Skinner owned him. Skinner could do anything he wanted to Mulder, including killing him, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

If it had been a role-playing game, Mulder would’ve been hard in an instant despite the fact that he’d never had a male lover, but it wasn’t. This was life and death for real and he needed to know what was going on. For a few minutes, he just knelt on the floor while Skinner took off his coat, hung it up and poured himself a stiff drink. He returned to stand before Mulder, staring down at him, impassive and impossible to read, just holding the glass in his hand.

“Life as you know it, is over. It’s gone. Forget that it ever happened, because it’s never happening again,” Skinner stated bluntly. “I called in every single favor I had, used up every good grace left to me, to get permission to buy you. I am now destitute in this town and my powers are limited solely to what lies in my purview at the Bureau. Period. End of story. I’m also at the height of what that purview will be, never to get another promotion. Think about that while I make some calls, and then I’ll tell you what your future holds.”

Mulder was reeling, emotionally, as Skinner left the room. He was completely overwhelmed by what Skinner had done to buy him, to make sure that he remained alive, and sane, and with someone who wouldn’t abuse or kill him. No one had ever come close to doing for him, what Skinner just had. Scully risked her life, and professional reputation on occasion, but it was in pursuit of the job. It wasn’t really about protecting him, but protecting her partner, even though it was one and the same.

But Skinner…

The drive of AD Walter Skinner’s ambitions were well known. He was one of the youngest AD’s in the Bureau’s history and there had been no limit to where he might have gone. Might have. All of that was over because of whatever obligation he felt towards Mulder. A sacrifice that Mulder himself probably wouldn’t have made, if forced to choose between the X-Files and Skinner.

Shame flooded him at the realization, but honesty forced him to acknowledge it. He was the lesser man by far, and it humbled him.

“I can see you’ve had sufficient time to reflect on our current circumstances,” Skinner announced, startling Mulder out of his thoughts.

Mulder nodded, shame-faced, and opened his mouth, but closed it again, remembering the order not to speak.

“Go ahead.”

“Sir, I’m…” Mulder’s voice trailed off, unsure what he wanted to say. “Thankful, but you shouldn’t have done it. I’m not worth…”

“I’ll tell you what you’re worth,” Skinner interrupted harshly.

Mulder’s head lowered, not out of any subservient impulse, but to avoid the dark fire in Skinner’s eyes.

Skinner walked over to stand in front of him again and strong, blunt fingers grabbed his chin, forcing it up. “Your life is worth my career. Any life is worth that, but especially yours. And your life is exactly what it would have been. Gods, Mulder, how could you have been so stupid? They’ve been waiting for you to fuck up, and you handed your freedom to them on a silver platter! What were you thinking?”

That he was immune to the law? That his quest was more important than anything? That the Truth was worth the sacrifice of his life? That he’d never imagined this could happen to him? All of that and more ran through his mind, but he could give voice to none of it, held mute by fear and shame.

Sighing, Skinner released him and said, “You no longer have a name and will respond to ‘slave’ instead. If you need to speak to me, you will address me as ‘Master.’ You will accompany me everywhere. You will not speak, unless spoken to. You will remain naked within walls. You will not be out of my sight, except to use the bathroom and will return to my side the moment you’re finished. And most importantly, you are forbidden to go anywhere near the X-Files.”

Mulder opened his mouth to protest, but Skinner grabbed his chin again in a hard, punishing grip.

“If you go below the lobby level of the Hoover Building or have any contact with anyone involved with the X-Files, aside from Scully, her life is forfeit.”

The simple announcement was devastatingly effective. Mulder gaped in shock at the man looming over him, again unable to find words.

Nodding soberly, Skinner informed him, “It was the only way I could get them to agree to your continued existence. If you make any attempt to resume your work, Scully dies. And if that doesn’t curb you, I’m next.”

And with that matter-of-fact statement, Mulder knew he was undone. His life’s work was finished, because he would never risk either of them like that. Samantha was gone and now he was being forced to relinquish even the hope that he could find her. He sagged down, huddling in on himself, not knowing what purpose he could have, now that the only thing he’d lived for was denied him.

Skinner crouched down beside him, and gripped him firmly, but not painfully, by the back of the neck. “You’re alive and that’s more than a lot of souls can claim about dealing with these people. It’s a kind of victory, Mulder, take it and accept it. Even just being alive is an affront to them, to what their black hearts hold dear. And others will follow your work, complete your quest for you. Hell, they’ve probably gone and made you a martyr.”

But Mulder couldn’t summon even the hint of a smile, even though he appreciated what Skinner was trying to do, glancing away from the other man.

“Look at me.”

Mulder did so and found only kindness staring back at him.

“I will never mistreat you and I will never abandon you. If you run away, I’ll hunt you down and bring you back. If you misbehave, I will punish you fairly and without anger, giving you only what you deserve for that transgression. I will care and protect you for the rest of your life, even if I’m no longer able to physically do so. The only thing I ask of you, is your obedience. I won’t make you jump through hoops, but I do expect you to contribute in a variety of ways; here at the house, and at the office. Now, can you do that?”

For someone who’d never obeyed a single order in his life if it didn’t agree with his own agenda? It was like asking for the moon. But after everything Skinner had done for him, for what he and Scully were both risking to keep him alive… “I’ll try.”

A half-smile lifted the corner of Skinner’s mouth and he nodded. “I can’t expect better than that. Not right now, at least. Okay. You’ve had a very long month and it’s time for bed. Come with me.”

Mulder fell into step with Skinner only to have the other man stop and give him a pointed look. For a few seconds, he couldn’t figure out what the problem was, then flushed and took a deliberate step behind Skinner.

“Good. You’re learning,” Skinner observed, starting to walk again.

Mulder sighed and fell into step behind him, following the other man to a bedroom that was clearly not the master bedroom. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved, or insulted. He did give Skinner a questioning look.

Grinning outright, Skinner said, “I have no intention of taking you sexually, slave. Right now, all you exist to do, is make my life easier. We’ll go over your duties tomorrow, when you’re not ready to drop from exhaustion.”

As if summoned by the words, a wave of exhaustion rolled over Mulder. All the events of the past month hit him hard and he rolled into the bed with very little prompting from…his new master. Even thinking those words sent a shiver through Mulder, but he was too tired to figure out what kind.

Gentle fingers scratched through his shorn hair and he sighed into the comforting caress, whispering, “Thank you.”

A warm chuckle echoed above him as Skinner replied, “You’re welcome, slave. And I hope you remember that gratitude in a few days.”

* * * *

Walter gazed down at the sleeping man and sighed, keeping his fingers moving in that same, comforting motion. What a mess. He’d never been an active abolitionist, but he had been one. Still was, except in this case, where slavery was infinitely preferable to him, than that the man in question was put to death. A life without Fox Mulder in it, in any capacity, didn’t bear thinking about.

The toll of the last month showed clearly on Mulder in the bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep, and elsewhere from someone else’s fist or boot. The close-cropped hair had been more of a shock than anything, even seeing Mulder naked. The younger man was much thinner now, too, losing his body’s definition to a lack of sustenance or bad nutrition, or both, and no exercise. There was no way Mulder would’ve been released from isolation except to show up at his trial, there were just too many ways for a man like him to escape.

Shaking his head, Walter whispered, “What am I going to do with you?”

He knew what he wanted to do to Mulder. He wanted to Claim the other man as hard and long as he could, burying himself in this incredible body and pump his seed over and over into his slave until one day, it took root. He wanted to put his Chain around the slave’s neck, to be worn with pride. All of that, however, would be a long time coming.

The first thing he had to do was acclimatize Mulder to his new status, and that alone would be more than a job in itself. He’d taken off work for Thursday and Friday to make a long weekend, knowing that just getting Mulder settled in the house and fixated on his new duties would take at least that long. He was going to make sure that Mulder rested tomorrow to regain some of the strength that he’d lost while locked up.

On top of being fed decently, Mulder needed to be bathed, too, Walter noted, his nose wrinkling. The smell of fear was very distinctive, and he had an active dislike for the stench. Some people found that a turn-on, but not Walter. That particular smell had been too often followed by death, in his experience.

Standing reluctantly, Walter left the room to make the phone calls he’d alluded to Mulder about earlier. He’d only been gone a couple of minutes, just long enough for his new slave to realize the severity of the situation. Padding silently down to the study, he picked up the phone and dialed Scully’s number.

“How is he?” she demanded breathlessly.

“Fine. Exhausted and scared, but fine,” Walter assured her. “I just put him to bed and from his condition, I expect him to sleep through the night.”

There was a long, shaky sigh from the other end before Scully asked, “Thank God. May I see him tomorrow?”

“I think it’s better that you wait. Seeing you right now wouldn’t be comforting,” Walter pointed out gently.

She gave another sigh and agreed, “I know, I just want to see for myself that he’s all right. Are you bringing him to work on Monday?”

“I have to.”

“Right. Skinner, how are you going to handle him when it really hits him?”

Walter didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. He answered, “I’ll deal with it when it happens.”

“I wish I could help.”

“I know, but you can’t. Not with this. If he’s going to be kept alive, then he needs to know his place and you’d be too soft on him.”

“Can you handle it?”

The shrewd question was answered in the only way possible. “I can and I will.”

“If you need to talk…”

“I know,” he agreed. “And thank you, Scully. Your help so far has been…invaluable.”

“If I’d been on top of things before, none of this would’ve happened.”

Sharply, he reminded, “You didn’t cause any of this, Scully.”

“If I’d been able to rein Mulder in…”

“No one could before, but I can now,” he interrupted. “Scully, he walked into a trap. A perfect trap. There was no way we could have prevented it, because he didn’t let us in, he didn’t tell us what was going on, just like they knew he wouldn’t. That’s why it was so perfect. The only people to blame for this are the ones who put those events in motion.”

She sighed once more and said reluctantly, “I know that, I do, I just…Mulder, as a slave. It’s too difficult to imagine.”

Wry, he pointed out, “Come Monday, imagination will have nothing to do with it.”

“True. All right, I’ll let you go. And Sir, remember, if you need anything, just call me.”

“I will.”

They hung up without further good-byes and Walter just sat at his desk, staring into space. It had been a long time since he’d been active on the Scene, and this had far more reaching consequences than a ‘simple’ D/s relationship. There was no contract, and Mulder had no safe-words. This was permanent. If Walter couldn’t make Mulder obey him from the start, then he might as well put a bullet in the other man’s brain to save him the pain that was sure to come later.

On that depressing thought, Walter made the rounds to lock up the house and go to bed.

* * * *

Mulder woke confused, sore, and hungry. It took him several long moments to remember where he was and why his back hurt. The small, twin bed he occupied was far more comfortable than his cell, but not nearly as comfortable as he was used to. Something that he’d have to get accustomed to, obviously, since Skinner wasn’t planning to let him into the…the Master’s bed. Bedroom. Bedroom, not bed.

Mulder groaned, hating his subconscious.

“Hungry?”

Startled by the question, Mulder opened his eyes to see Skinner standing over in the door. “Starving.”

“Come with me,” Skinner ordered.

Mulder winced as he stood up, muscles protesting, and followed Skinner into the bathroom instead of the kitchen. “What are we…”

“Silence.”

The order was quiet, but firm, and Mulder shut up. He wasn’t certain of anything right then, and didn’t want to tick Skinner off unnecessarily.

“Sit.”

Mulder sat on the toilet and waited in silence as the other man applied a plastic covering to his bandage. The dull throb of pain flared at the contact, but Mulder ignored it.

“All right. Take a shower and when you’re done, come downstairs. Be thorough, but not more than fifteen minutes, or I’ll come up to see what’s taking so long.”

Mulder nodded his understanding, and Skinner left the relatively small room. It was clearly a guest bathroom, decorated in neutral tones with small splashes of darker colors here and there. Looking at himself in the mirror for the first time since the whole thing had started, Mulder was shocked by the changes in himself.

It wasn’t the bruises, though those altered his appearance somewhat, but the confused and lost look in his eyes that sent a flare of despair through him. If he was this weak in the home of his own…Master…then how would he be with the outside world? He had no rights, couldn’t fight back against a freeman even if his life depended on it. How could he possibly survive in that kind of circumstance?

A tap on the door, followed by, “I don’t hear any water,” from Skinner, jolted through his thoughts.

Mulder instantly turned on the shower, dragging himself away from the mirror, and fiddled with the temperature to get it right. Figuring that he only had about ten minutes left, Mulder nonetheless lingered. It wasn’t like he had to get clothes to change into. The hot water helped soothe him a bit, relaxing tension from muscles too-long cramped up with fear. Getting his hair clean, what was left of it, was a definite relief.

Stepping out of the shower, Mulder grabbed a towel and dried off, tossing it over the shower rod to dry when he was done. Self-conscious about his nudity, now that he was clean and mostly clear-headed, Mulder’s steps dragged as he made his way downstairs.

Skinner was seated at the table, reading the paper when he arrived. Mulder looked around the kitchen, but didn’t see any sign that breakfast was on the way.

Glancing over at him, Skinner folded away the paper and informed him, “When you come into my presence, you are to kneel beside me, wherever that is, and wait for instruction.”

“But…”

“Now, slave.”

It was a tone that he’d never disobeyed as a freeman and Mulder wasn’t about to start now. He scurried over and knelt beside Skinner, waiting.

“I won’t insist that you keep your eyes down unless someone important is in the room. I know that curiosity of yours is insatiable, and won’t restrict you like that unless you’re in trouble,” Skinner began. “But you will remain in this position, unless actively working on something that I’ve assigned to you.”

Mulder wanted to protest, but the implacable look in Skinner’s eyes wouldn’t be denied, so he just nodded.

“Can you cook?”

The direct question startled him and Mulder took a second to answer, “Passably, I guess. I’m pretty good at pancakes, though.”

“Well, you’ll need to be more than passable for when I entertain, so I’ll have you tutored on the weekends. For now, pancakes sound good. Glasses and dishes are there, dry goods over there, pots and pans under the stove, and the rest of the food, of course, is in the fridge. Grapefruit juice and coffee to start, then you can begin making the pancakes. You can serve yourself once I’ve been served.”

Mulder got awkwardly to his feet and started the coffee maker. It actually ran on a timer, but Skinner probably wanted to see him in action, so to speak. A flash of irritation ran through him at noticing that, but Mulder poured the juice and set it in front of Skinner. The other man continued to read his paper, ignoring Mulder. He turned back around to look for the ingredients to make the pancakes.

It was absolutely absurd that this was his life now. Making breakfast for someone else, naked, while his own stomach rumbled unpleasantly. He stirred the batter with more force than was necessary, putting it down when the coffee timer rang. Pouring the mug full, he realized that he didn’t know how the other man drank it. But getting Skinner’s attention would require calling him ‘Master,’ and Mulder wasn’t yet ready to do that.

Hoping that Skinner took it black, Mulder sat it beside the juice glass and moved back to the counter.

“I think you forgot to ask me something.”

Turning back to find those steady dark eyes on him, Mulder asked, “Um, how do you take your coffee?”

“I think you forgot to address me properly, slave.”

It took almost a physical toll for Mulder to ask, “How do you take your coffee…Master?”

“Black.”

Mulder’s mouth opened to issue a complaint but a single look from Skinner quelled the rebellion in its tracks. Sullen, Mulder turned back to making the breakfast. It didn’t take long, thankfully, and he had a plateful to set before Skinner.

“Butter and syrup.”

The absent command, as if Skinner’s paper was more interesting than a live person making him food, brought Mulder’s hackles back up. He obeyed, getting the items from the fridge, but set them on the table with a thump.

Skinner pinned him with a glance and warned, “You’re excused of that disrespect because of probable low blood sugar, but be careful, slave.”

Sullen again, Mulder began making himself breakfast. His arms shook from hunger as he flipped the pancakes and his mouth watered. His stomach was obnoxiously loud by the time he put the plate on the table.

“On the floor.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You are to kneel on the floor and eat there. You may ask me for the butter and syrup as you need them,” Skinner clarified, gazing at him calmly.

That was the last straw. Flinging down the plate, which instantly shattered, Mulder launched himself at Skinner with a roar of fury. The attack seemed anticipated, though, because Skinner grabbed him by the waist and propelled him towards the wall. Mulder was so angry that he couldn’t see straight and certainly couldn’t respond fast enough to prevent the headlock Skinner put him in, when the big man pinned him to the wall.

Mulder struggled violently, panting and screaming insults at the man who held him down, but nothing made a dent. He wasn’t hurt, but he sure as hell wasn’t released. He didn’t know how much longer it was that he finally just collapsed in Skinner’s arms, shaking.

Picking him up as if he weighed nothing, Skinner returned to the table and settled Mulder on his lap. Unable to look at him, Mulder just pressed his face into Skinner’s throat and held on. A strong hand rubbed up and down his back, while an arm cradled Mulder close.

“I thought that would happen tomorrow or Saturday, but then, you’re always blown the curve,” Skinner teased lightly. “Come on now, slave, look at me.”

Encouraged by the soft tone, Mulder did so and again found nothing but kindness staring back at him.

“It’s not the life you’re used to, but it can be a good one, if you let it,” Skinner murmured, wiping his hand over Mulder’s face, cleaning it of sweat and tears.

Shaking his head, Mulder whispered brokenly, “I can’t, I can’t do this! I can’t go out there, as this, when I was so much more!”

“Hush now, it’s okay, let it out,” Skinner ordered.

Mulder held tight to the bigger man, not really crying, but not feeling anywhere close to steady. Skinner’s hand soothed over his back, his voice a comforting murmur. Cuddled there, surrounded by the other man’s strength, Mulder really leaned on someone else for the first time since his sister’s kidnapping.

* * * *

Walter was again watching Mulder sleep, but this time it was on the living room sofa with the slave’s head pillowed by his thigh. After the breakdown in the kitchen, he had fed Mulder the pancakes left on his own plate, knowing just how hungry the other man had to be. His slave had eaten without a single complaint as to the manner, but a dark flush had told Walter just how embarrassing the young man had found it.

Even though he knew it would take time, Walter could accept no less than total submission and obedience. Not this time, there was too much at stake. And he had to win that, he couldn’t just demand it and expect it to stick. Oh, it was easy enough to break a slave, Walter knew that, through physical beatings and emotional torture, but he didn’t want to ‘break’ Fox. Walter wanted to own him, body, heart, mind and soul. He wanted Fox to look at him with adoration, willing to do anything that Walter wanted him to do, even on a whim.

To get that kind of submission from such a fiercely independent man would easily be the most difficult challenge of his life. It helped that Mulder was, at least nominally, used to obeying him. It helped a lot that he already held the younger man’s respect and trust, as well as a certain desire to please him. That went along with being a good boss. He’d laid the groundwork from the start, thinking about possible liaisons in the future, but had never anticipated taking it to this extreme.

He should have remembered who he was dealing with, who Mulder had been playing fire with, and kept a much, much tighter rein on the ex-agent. He remembered the hoops he’d had to jump through just to get the okay to buy Mulder, to save him from a quick but agonizing death in the work camps. Anger flushed through him, at how easily the conspiracists had manipulated the system, and Mulder, into making such a good man into a convict-slave.

None of which was helping him to figure out what to do next.

Mentally putting the past where it belonged, Walter settled one hand on Mulder’s hip and continued massaging the other through the short, thick hair. He essentially had three days to make Mulder understand his place. Three days to bring Mulder down enough into a sub headspace that would at least allow him not to flip out at a simple, uncomplicated order delivered from him or anyone else.

Bondage? It might help drive home the fact that Mulder had no choice, but not everyone responded well to it and he wasn’t yet sure which way Mulder would go.

Punishment was going to be a fact of life, knowing the younger man as he did, so maybe it was better to start with that. It was entirely possible that Mulder was scared of what that involved and that had partially been behind the outburst.

Mulder stirred and finally woke, blinking blearily up at him before offering an embarrassed smile and saying sincerely, “I’m sorry…Master.”

Well. That’s definitely a step in the right direction, Walter thought with relief. Keeping his expression neutral, though, he questioned, “Will you tell me what brought that on?”

“I think…” Mulder’s voice trailed off, his eyes flickering to a distant point on the wall.

Walter stayed silent, patient enough to let Mulder go at his own pace. This was going to be difficult enough without putting time pressure on him.

Sighing, Mulder continued, “Fear. And anger. I was stupid, so fucking stupid, for walking into that trap, just like you said. No, I was arrogant. I didn’t think anything could touch me, and I paid the pride. The Gods do say that pride goes before a fall.”

“I shouldn’t have called you stupid, and it won’t happen again,” Walter apologized firmly. “You are one of the smartest men I’ve ever known. You just get…”

“Blinded?” Mulder suggested wryly.

Walter smiled and corrected, “Focused. It was my job to keep your eye on the bigger picture, at which I failed, and I’m sorry. I hope one day you can forgive me for that, but that’s not on issue right now.”

Hesitant, Mulder asked, “What is, um, Master?”

“Your behavior and the steps I need to correct it.”

Mulder tried to get up at that, but Walter held him in place. It was a struggle, but he managed it through superior strength and position, and the latent exhaustion still dogging Mulder. The slave glared at him and exclaimed, “You’re going to punish me for being angry with what’s happened to me?”

Shaking his head, Walter countered, “I’m punishing you for disobeying me and disrespecting me in the kitchen. I told you before that I would punish you fairly, and I would never do so because of how you feel about something. But even before you lost it, you were sullen and disrespectful, which I won’t tolerate.”

“I was hungry,” Mulder griped.

Walter slapped him sharply on the ass, eliciting a hiss of surprise from Mulder. “For every lie you tell, to yourself or anyone else, you get punished. Don’t forget that I know you, slave, I’ve worked with you for a long time and I know exactly what you try to get away with. I let the behavior slide in the past, but now I won’t.”

Wide-eyed and clearly struggling not to show his fear, Mulder questioned, “Wh-what does punishment involve?”

Thinking it over, Walter replied, “It will depend on the severity of the circumstance. I think this time, it was pretty minor stuff, so a regular spanking will suffice. In the future, however, take note that I own paddles and crops, among other disciplinary tools, and am pretty creative in their application.”

Mulder swallowed nervously and nodded.

“Turn over onto my lap.”

Mulder squirmed into position and waited. Walter saw the shivers that ran through the younger man and spent a few minutes soothing him. He ran his hands up and down Mulder’s back, over his ass and down along his thighs. It wasn’t a massage, more like getting Mulder used to his touch. When he felt Mulder was ready, Walter announced, “There are three transgressions this morning, and there will be five marks for each transgression. Being late from your shower, mouthing off to me in the kitchen, and disobeying a direct order. Do you have anything to say about any of that?”

“Um, which order? Oh, uh, Master,” Mulder added hastily.

“To call me ‘Master,’” Walter replied wryly. “I’m not counting the tantrum, since you were already gone at that point.”

“But, well, mouthing off to you was just a form of showing my already very upset feelings at the situation in general,” Mulder countered hopefully.

Walter hid a grin at the negotiating tactic, and decided to indulge him a little. “Very well, I’ll reduce the five marks to three, for that incident.”

“Three?”

“I can bring it back to five.”

“No! Ah, three is good, thank you, M-master.”

Bringing his hand down hard on Mulder’s ass, without warning, caused the slave to yelp in surprise and pain. “That’s one.”

Two through five weren’t bad for Mulder, but he started squirming on number six, and actively trying to get away on seven. Walter kept a firm grip on Mulder’s shoulder as he heavily administered the last six blows, bringing the pale skin up to a nice, rosy pink. When he was done, Mulder collapsed against the cushions, drawing in shuddering breaths.

Rubbing his hands over Mulder’s back, Walter praised, “You did very good, slave, for a first time. Now. I want you to clean up the mess in the kitchen and make a couple of sandwiches for lunch. We’ll eat in a half-hour.”

Slowly climbing off Water’s lap, Mulder winced as he peered back at his red ass.

“Time’s wasting, slave.”

Walter grinned when Mulder bolted for the kitchen.

* * * *

Sighing in discontent, Mulder shifted on the narrow bed, trying to find a comfortable position. After his first full day as Skinner’s slave, his ass was burning and he’d never felt so humiliated in his life. To be fair, he’d brought the last two spankings on himself, but he wasn’t feeling fair and made a face in the direction of Skinner’s bedroom.

The first spanking had hurt like hell and he’d wondered briefly if Skinner was part mutant, where his hand changed to steel on command. Lunch was good, though, and Mulder managed to get through it without incident. He’d knelt in front of the couch, where Skinner sat, and eaten his sandwich, thankful it wasn’t going to be fed to him like breakfast.

It was after lunch that things had again plowed in on him and he’d mouthed off to Skinner without even thinking, venting his frustration on the other man. When nothing had happened, he’d been surprised, but pleased. Skinner had continued to show him the household chores he expected Mulder to perform, without comment.

But then, about an hour later, Skinner had again taken him over his knee and dealt ten ‘marks’ as the man liked to call them, for his behavior. When Mulder had protested, Skinner had reminded him about the rule where the punishment would never be dealt when he was angry.

And then he’d sat Mulder in the corner for an hour like a child.

Groaning in embarrassment as he remembered the additional humiliation, Mulder punched his pillow and flopped onto his stomach. It wouldn’t have been that bad, except that a mere two hours ago, shortly after a nice dinner, his ass had been well and truly blistered when he’d outright refused to obey Skinner. Twenty marks for that one. It had been stupid, he’d known that even then, but he couldn’t help himself. He hated cleaning things and it wasn’t like Skinner’s shoes weren’t already shiny enough. He’d never shined a shoe in his life and hadn’t wanted to start.

Mulder had found out fast enough that it didn’t matter what he wanted anymore. He knew, logically and in his head, that he had to obey Skinner. He did. It was just…if Skinner was really his friend, he wouldn’t be imposing this kind of behavior on him. Everyone knew he was a free spirit and didn’t do well with rules. Everyone including Skinner. Yet for whatever reason, the other man was determined to push and push him until he obeyed.

And it was only Day Two.

Rolling over provoked a hiss of pain as his ass came into contact with the mattress, but he just could not sleep on his stomach. Trying to ignore the throb in his backside, Mulder thought about why Skinner was behaving this way. His Boss, something he could call Skinner without breaking into a cold sweat, had never been someone to get off on power, even as he sought more of it. Skinner had never abused anyone in his employ and was one of the fairest men in the building, that was common knowledge.

So why would he try to bend Mulder to his will? It wouldn’t be just for arbitrary…

Mulder sat up straight as the knowledge hit him like a ton of bricks. Skinner was trying to keep him alive. The additional pressure on his ass caused a grimace and he lay back down, rolling onto his side. Staring at the crack of hallway light under the door, Mulder thought, He said straight out in the beginning that he was going to protect you even after he died. That’s why he’s doing this! To make sure everyone else thinks that you’re under control so all of us are out of danger, at least as much as possible. Good God, you’re an idiot!

But it wasn’t a game or a pretense, Mulder knew that instinctively. Skinner had decided that the best way for Mulder to be safe was to really and truly transform him into a slave. The only problem being that Mulder knew he’d never be able to do something like that. It would kill him to be reduced to someone without a will, someone who couldn’t make decisions for themselves.

Skinner might as well just put a bullet in his brain and save them all the pain and suffering sure to come, down the road.

On that depressing thought, Mulder sighed and did his best to sleep.

When Mulder obeyed him without question the next morning, not saying a word unless directly asked something, Walter knew that he’d gone from anger to depression. When the realization hit him around mid-morning, he sighed to himself and thought wryly, You really are ahead of the Bell Curve, aren’t you Mulder?

On the plus side, if he kept going this fast, he’d be trained in no time flat.

Setting aside the somewhat bitter thought, Walter thought about what to do to bring Mulder out of it. Was the depression because it had been brought home to him that he was a slave by his sore butt? Was it because he was thinking about all the things he’d never be able to do again? Or was he just uncertain about what Walter wanted of him, despite the list of chores? Maybe he was even feeling insecure about not being taken to Walter’s bed.

“Slave,” he called quietly.

Mulder looked up from where he was polishing shoes on the floor and replied, “Yes, M-master?”

The stammer over the title was barely audible, but still present. Walter, however, would take any and all improvements. “You’re awfully quiet this morning.”

“I’d rather not get my ass whipped,” Mulder muttered, hastily adding, “Master.”

Walter hid a grin and replied, “Well, obeying standing orders is a good step in the right direction. Leave the shoes and come here. No, wash your hands first.”

Changing directions mid-stride, Mulder did as ordered and knelt before him only a couple of minutes later.

“Sit down and turn around.”

Mulder did so, suspicion clear on his face until it was no longer visible.

Resting his hands on Mulder’s shoulders caused the slave to jump in surprise. “Easy, slave, I’m not going to beat your backside this time. I want you to relax and listen to me, all right?”

Mulder nodded slowly, but the tension in his body didn’t ease, even when Walter began to massage the shoulders. He remained silent for a few minutes, concentrating only on the warm skin beneath his hands, familiarizing himself with the area. If anything, Mulder grew more tense as the silent massage went on.

Shaking his head in dark amusement, Walter pulled his hands away and observed, “You’re the only one I know who gets more tense with a massage. All right. Let me put at least some of your fears to rest. I have no intention of bringing you into my bed for sex. You don’t need to worry that I’m going to rape you in the middle of the night or pass you around to my friends. When I touch you, it’s only meant to comfort. I realize I don’t give off the impression at work, but I’ve very…tactile.

“I may want simple companionship, as happened yesterday on the sofa. Or I may wish to give you assurances the best way I know how, through touch. If that’s something that you absolutely can’t stand, then tell me now and I won’t touch you again, except to correct or punish you.”

Mulder was silent for a long time, as Walter had expected. It was important that Mulder choose to accept his touch so that the slave could grow accustomed to being with him in circumstances that didn’t dictate pain, such as punishment. But in this, he did want to give Mulder a choice, as so few were left to him.

Finally, Mulder whispered, “No, it’s not that, it’s…I’m just not used to it. No one ever really, um, does that with me, Master.”

“Outside of sex, no one ever just hugs, or holds you?” Walter questioned, neutral.

Shaking his head, Mulder confirmed, “A lot of times, not even in sex. Scully’s really the only one who, you know, does stuff like that with me.”

Also something that Walter had expected. Mulder gave off very strong, ‘don’t touch me!’ vibes that everyone picked up on. Add to that his reputation for weirdness and lack of commitment and it was no wonder that he led such a lonely life.

“Well that’s going to stop, right now,” Walter informed him, resuming the massage. “You can expect a lot of this kind of thing in the future, and when we’re in private, feel free to reciprocate. You don’t have to, but the option’s there.”

Mulder nodded again, but didn’t respond.

For the next half hour or so, Walter just focused on relaxing Mulder and bit by bit, managed to do so. When Mulder’s head dropped forward and he sighed deeply, it was very difficult not to plant a kiss right on the back of that bare, exposed neck. To keep temptation away, he shifted into massaging the neck and base of the skull for a few minutes. His sharp ears picked up the stifled moan of pleasure that wasn’t quite stifled enough, and a fierce grin spread across his face.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was late enough for lunch, though earlier than he liked to eat. It would be a good segue, though, so he ordered softly, “Time for lunch. Make us sandwiches again and you can watch television while I get some work done.”

Mulder nodded and slowly got to his feet, clearly in a confused daze of pleasure and comfort. Walter watched him go and smiled, pleased that he’d been able to make such a breakthrough. He didn’t fool himself that it was more than that, though. There was still the root problem of the depression to deal with, and he hadn’t yet found out what that was.

* * * *

It was extremely difficult to reconcile that the same hands which had beaten his ass red could be so gentle, but they were. Mulder’s shoulders, neck and skull still tingled from the massage, even two hours later as he watched a baseball game. Skinner worked on a laptop, typing away at something like he had been since after lunch.

When they’d settled in like this, even though he hadn’t technically needed the support, Mulder had leaned against Skinner’s leg, resting his head against the lower thigh, just to see what would happen. He’d gotten an odd little pat of approval, but nothing further. Still, it was approval, and that was hopefully a step in the right direction.

He knew that Skinner wouldn’t sell him capriciously, but the option was there. And besides wanting not to be sold to some unknown, Mulder liked him and owed him for what he’d already done. If he could somehow make up for the whirlwind of trouble heaped down on the AD for saving his life, then he’d do his best. And if that meant that he’d be polishing shoes and doing laundry for the next forty years, well, there were worse ways to live.

He could, after all, have been sold to that cancerous old man for things he didn’t even want to imagine.

Shaking a little at how close he’d come to just such a fate, or one similar, Mulder’s arm wrapped around Skinner’s leg, holding on to the one constant in his life. No matter what, Skinner was always there for him, just as he was now. Maybe there were ulterior motives, maybe not, but it didn’t matter.

Skinner’s hand descended again in a comforting gesture, this time the fingers combing through his hair, and Mulder slowly relaxed. He did feel a little better than before, but that sizzle of restlessness was still present. The restlessness that he could no longer indulge with a run, or a swim, or a long drive to the middle of nowhere. He wanted to leave, wanted to go see Scully or the Lone Gunmen or disappear for a few days while investigating an X-File all on his own, without backup.

Fingers tightened painfully in his hair and Mulder gasped, his eyes flickering up to Skinner’s face. The older man was frowning and said, “I don’t like the way your thoughts are going, slave.”

Gaping at Skinner, wondering how he could possibly have guessed, Mulder bluffed, “How is that, M-master?”

“You’re been thinking of escape.”

“No, I…”

“Silence.”

Mulder shut up and breathed a little sigh of relief when the fingers released his hair.

“I think you need something to do to occupy that mind of yours,” Skinner resumed. He held out the laptop and said, “Proofread that report. I want it done in fifteen minutes.”

Taking the computer from him, Mulder secured it on his lap and instantly set to work, but his thoughts kept wandering. If he were going to escape, how could he get around the locator chip? It was fused to his muscles, so trying to cut it out wouldn’t work unless he took the entire chunk of flesh with it. Not something that he really wanted to do.

“Time’s up.”

Startled, Mulder realized that he hadn’t gotten more than halfway through the report and sighed, handing the laptop back to Skinner.

“Doesn’t look like you got very far,” Skinner observed.

Mulder shook his head and admitted, “I can’t turn off my head, I’m sorry.”

After a long moment of just looking at him, Skinner said, “All right, let’s do something different. Get up.”

Scrambling to his feet, Mulder waited while Skinner left the room and returned a few minutes later holding a medium sized wooden box.

He held it out to Mulder and ordered, “I want you to organize this. You can do it however you like. You have an hour. If you aren’t finished in that time, for a legitimate reason, you’ll receive ten marks. And your mind wandering is not a legitimate reason. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Sir. Ah, Master,” Mulder amended quickly.

Skinner ordered, “Get to it.”

Sitting back on the floor at Skinner’s feet, Mulder opened the box to find a massive tangle of chains and other masculine jewelry that he’d never have suspected Skinner to own. He looked up at the other man, but Skinner was engrossed in his report. The inside of the box was a soft velvet and the whole thing looked very old and worn, but well cared for. Mulder picked up the largest tangle and started the unraveling process.

It was a challenge, no doubt about that, but fifty-three minutes later, the jewelry box was organized into coils of chains, rings were put in their proper slots, and bracelets were tucked into their own corner. The only thing that really said the box belonged to Skinner were the dog-tags Mulder had found, not tangled with the rest of the stuff, towards the beginning. He’d looked them over, and touched them carefully, wondering at the power of small bits of simple metal to convey so much pain.

“Done?” Skinner questioned.

Mulder nodded and held the box out, waiting anxiously for the results.

Skinner looked it over for a few moments, then reached in and took the dog-tags from their place of honor, decorating the top row of velvet. He replaced them, expression inscrutable, and nodded, saying, “Good job. Place it on my dresser, in my bedroom.”

Standing, Mulder closed the box and walked swiftly to the stairs. He hadn’t yet been in Skinner’s bedroom, and was curious as to what he would find. It was a large room with wooden floors, like the rest of the house, a large bed, matching furniture and decorated in darker tans and blues. There was something about the room that exuded comfort and for a few moments, he just stood there soaking it up.

Realizing that it wouldn’t be long before Skinner came to see where he was, Mulder set the box on the dresser and went back downstairs.

Skinner looked up at his approach and announced, “Time to start making dinner. You can boil water without burning it, right?”

Grinning a bit, Mulder nodded, confirming, “Yes, Master.”

“Good. Heat up some pasta, but cut up some of the peppers in the fridge and add them to the sauce.”

Mulder nodded and headed for the kitchen. For a good twenty minutes, he was involved in cooking and making sure not to burn anything. About to set the table, he hesitated, not sure where he was going to eat. He wasn’t sure if Skinner had told him to eat on the floor last night to set him off, or if that was the rule. Even though he’d never really been exposed to slaves, having one eat at the table with their Master didn’t seem like the ‘proper’ thing.

Sighing, he poked his head into the living room and asked, “Master?”

“Yes, slave?” Skinner replied, glancing over at him.

“Um, where will I eat?”

“On the floor.”

Mulder sighed again, but nodded, returning to the kitchen. Resentment cluttered his thoughts, but he knew better now than to throw a tantrum. Last night had been honest emotional distress and he hadn’t been punished for it. Tonight would just be because he was ticked at Skinner making him eat on the floor and he had a strong feeling that throwing another tantrum would make him want to divorce his ass later.

Hunting around the cabinets, Mulder discovered a bottle of red wine and he pulled it out, pouring it and setting it on the table. Walking back into the living room, he knelt on the floor beside Skinner, as expected, and said, “Dinner’s ready.”

Skinner smiled at him briefly and nodded with, “It smells good, slave. I think you’ll take to cooking without a problem.”

Mulder more than had his doubts about that, but stayed silent. He stood after Skinner did and trailed behind him into the kitchen. Kneeling on the cool tile beside Skinner, Mulder waited until…his Master…began eating, and then did the same.

“Where did you find the wine?” Skinner questioned, breathing in the bouquet.

Mulder pointed to one of the upper cabinets and answered, “I did some exploring while the sauce was cooking.”

“I’d forgotten that I’d even bought this,” Skinner said. “Thank you, slave.”

Surprised, Mulder replied, “You’re welcome, Master.”

Skinner looked at him, then said, “Politeness on both sides is required, slave. I still respect you and will treat you in accordance with your behavior. If you behave well, I will treat you well. If you behave badly, I will punish you. But I will always respect you.”

That soothed something deep inside Mulder and he relaxed a little more, attacking his food with more enthusiasm.

* * * *

The rest of the night was spent washing and folding laundry. He sat on the floor in the living room, again at Skinner’s feet, as he folded t-shirt after t-shirt after boxer shorts after jeans. Skinner’s collection of casual clothing wasn’t all that big, as Mulder had suspected all along. Once that was done, he had to iron an insane amount of white dress shirts mixed in with the occasional gray and navy blue.

Just when he thought he was going to go nuts and knock everything over just to do something different, Skinner announced, “That’s enough for tonight. Put everything away, I’m sure you can find where things go.”

Relieved, Mulder nodded and took the hanging shirts upstairs, setting them in the closet. It took a few trips to get everything upstairs and put away. When he was finished, he knelt at Skinner’s feet and asked, “Is there anything else, Master?”

“Time for bed, slave,” Skinner answered, standing.

Surprise lit through him as Mulder looked over at the clock and found it was after ten at night. He snorted. “Time flies when you’re ironing.”

Skinner chuckled and agreed, “It does. Go clean up for the night and wait for me by my bed.”

The good humor vanished as Mulder stayed frozen where he was. Did this mean Skinner had changed his mind? Were they going to have sex?

Crouching in front of him, Skinner took his chin in hand and stated, “You’re sleeping in my bed, slave, nothing else. I’ve decided that I want a bed-warmer tonight.”

Mulder breathed freely again and nodded, standing to hurry upstairs to get ready for bed. It didn’t take long, of course, just brushing his teeth and washing his face, and in a few short minutes, he was kneeling by the large bed, waiting.

Skinner took longer and emerged from the attached bathroom Mulder hadn’t noticed a few minutes later. He was wearing sweats, but no shirt, and Mulder’s throat dried as he stared at the sculptured chest and defined abs. He’d known that Skinner was built, had always been attracted to him, but this…it went way beyond that and for the first time in a month, Mulder’s cock stirred.

Climbing into bed, Skinner held the covers up, ordering, “In you go.”

Awkwardly, Mulder got under the covers and soon found himself swept into Skinner’s arms and pulled flush against that amazing chest.

“Relax, slave, nothing more than this is going to happen,” Skinner murmured, one of his hands rubbing gently over Mulder’s back.

“I uh, I drool you know. And I snore really loud,” Mulder said, a little desperate to get away. “You really don’t want to sleep with me.”

Skinner chuckled and said, “I’ll live. Just close your eyes and sleep. You’re safe here, cared for and protected. Nothing and no one can hurt you. You’re my slave and no one would dare.”

The words were comforting and disturbing all at once. Comforting because he knew the strength in the man holding him. Skinner would back up his words with his own body, stepping between Mulder and any kind of danger without hesitation. Disturbing because it reinforced that he belonged to this man, that nothing he did could change that.

He’d never been dependent on anyone, not from a very young age, not since Samantha had been taken from him. That had been his wake-up call that no one was completely protected and he had to take care of himself. But now, he had to ask for everything, including to go to the bathroom. He couldn’t even walk into another room without asking permission. He had to kneel and sit and eat on the floor. He was a bed-warmer, for Christ’s sake!

Skinner fell asleep, leaving Mulder alone with the thoughts that kept tumbling over and over in his mind. Not even the steady rhythm of the heart beneath his ear, or the heavy arm over his waist, gave him any comfort.

His thoughts again turned to escape and he brought up everything he knew. The locator chip was active, which meant that they could track him anywhere. But if he took Skinner’s cell phone with him and cut the phone lines to the house, that meant the other man would have to wake up a neighbor to use the phone. And if Mulder got away without Skinner even waking up, he’d be in the red light district in no time flat.

Once there, well, he’d have to steal whatever money Skinner had in his wallet before he left, take the whole thing and give it to the man who could get the fucking chip out of his body. He didn’t care anymore if it took the entire muscle group with it or not. And yeah, he’d be on the run the rest of his life, but Mulder knew enough to keep him alive and free.

Decision made, Mulder slowly and carefully withdrew from the circle of arms around him and slid out of bed. It took forever, but he finally stood looking down at Skinner. He could make sure he wasn’t followed right now, knock him out and tie him up, and then call Scully to come get Skinner free the next day, when he was safe.

Something stayed his hand, though, and he moved silently to the dresser where Skinner had left his wallet and keys. He pulled open a drawer and took out a pair of jeans, grimacing at the baggy fit, then picked up keys and wallet, and headed for the door, pausing at the door to look back. Skinner was still sound asleep, the moonlight shining down on troubled features that looked younger without the glasses to hide behind. With a start, Mulder remembered that Skinner was only in his early forties, but looked even younger than that, just then.

He made as little noise as possible, but one of the stairs creaked loudly on his way down. He flinched and stopped, but heard nothing from the man behind him. Relieved, Mulder continued on his way, reaching the door and unlocking it.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

The words cut into him and Mulder panicked, flinging the door open and running outside. Not five seconds later, he was tackled to the ground, the wind knocked out of him in a dizzying, painful rush. Even so, he thrashed around and yelled at the top of his lungs for help until a hand clamped over his mouth. Mulder was completely pinned to the ground and knew there was no way to get up, but kept fighting. He had to get free, had to escape, but everything was getting darker and it was difficult to even breathe with the hand over his mouth.

Finally, thankfully, he tumbled down into darkness.

* * * *

Walter didn’t move when Mulder passed out except to withdraw his hand. The breathing started up right away again, and his own heart slowly stopped pounding in his chest from the exertion. Swearing silently at the entire situation, Walter rolled off of Mulder and sat there for a long moment, thankful that none of the neighbors had woken up from the commotion. He pulled Mulder up and over his shoulder and walked back inside, kicking the door shut behind them. Continuing upstairs, Walter didn’t stop until they were in the bedroom and carefully placed the unconscious slave on the bed. He’d been hoping to avoid this, but there was no choice now.

Moving over to the closet, Walter took out the trunk of equipment that had lain unused for so long. It was still neatly organized and he pulled out the ankle and knee hobbles first, then the padded cuffs, and lastly the chain that would keep him in place on the bed. He had to undress Mulder first, but even so, it didn’t take long to secure the slave.

When he was done, he surveyed his handiwork with pride. Mulder looked incredible, splayed out and bound as he was, arms clasped behind his back and a gold chain attached between the leather cuffs and the headboard. As a final touch, knowing how loud Mulder could get, he buckled a small leather gag in place. Walter went into the bathroom and dampened a cloth, the best he could do to get that stink of fear off Mulder until another shower.

It was in the middle of wiping the other man down that Mulder came to, contorting into odd positions to get free. Walter simply stood beside the bed and waited patiently until the slave was too exhausted to move, let alone struggle. His eyes were still wild, though, as Walter sat on the bed and put his hand on the heaving chest, rubbing slowly over the clammy skin. It was several minutes before the heart beating rapidly under his hand slowed to a normal pace and Mulder’s breathing was calm again.

Shifting to sit beside Mulder’s head, Walter wiped the damp cloth over the sweating face and held it lastly over Mulder’s nose and ordered, “Blow.”

Mulder gave him a mutinous look, but his breathing was hampered by the flow of snot and so obeyed at the last.

When that was taken care of, Walter said conversationally, “I am never that asleep, slave. I probably won’t completely wake up if you’re just moving around and restless, but if you leave the bed altogether, there’s no way that I’ll sleep through it. Too many years where sleeping light saved my life.

“Where did you think you were going to go?” he continued gently, running his fingers through the sweaty hair. “There’s nowhere you can go, not with the locator chip inside you. And I can promise you that the money in my wallet isn’t enough to get that thing out of you. So think it through. Suppose you made it to the red light district, and found someone to take the chip out of you. I figure they would just turn around and enslave you with their own locator chip. It isn’t as though the people operating there are trustworthy. And suppose you didn’t even make it to the red light district? What if you’d been captured legitimately by a cop? You know the punishment for runaways and there’s nothing that I could have done to stop it.”

Mulder shuddered, clearly horrified at the thought of being hamstrung. It was an ancient but very effective deterrent, except for the most determined of runaways.

Leaning down, Walter cupped the side of Mulder’s face and said, “There is nothing you can do about your condition, slave. You can’t run away from it. You can’t change it. I can’t even free you because of the convict status. This is your life now. I don’t want to chain you, but I will. I refuse to let you hurt yourself and if this is the only way to get through to you, then this is exactly what I will do.

“Now. I’m going to clip these bells to your gag and if you’re in serious distress, or if you have to use the bathroom, you can shake your head to let me know. Otherwise, you’re going to stay like this the rest of the night and sleep. I’m going to be right here, slave, you’re not going to be alone. Close your eyes.”

Walter waited until Mulder’s eyes were closed, then said, “Just keep your eyes closed and listen to my voice. This is your home and I am your Master, that will never change. This is your refuge and your sanctuary. You will never be mistreated or abused, which is more than a lot of slaves can claim. You are respected and valued, very, very much. I prize you, slave, and will never give you up.

“Within and without these four walls, no one is going to do anything to harm you. I may not have a lot of say in the halls of power anymore, but I am a Master and I am an Assistant Director at the FBI, which carries its own power. Your life will be a good one if you just let it. It’s scary to go down such a different path, I understand that. It’s why I’m being so lenient with you.”

Mulder snorted, but didn’t open his eyes.

Grinning, Walter repeated, “I am being lenient with you. Consider how many other masters would have beaten their slaves half to death for an attempted runaway. I know this is hard for you because you’re used to freedom. But you have to get this through your head, slave, that you are no longer Special Agent Fox Mulder. You no longer have a family. You no longer have friends. You have only what I choose to give you and right now, the only thing you’re allowed is my affection and my respect. You have to earn everything else.”

Walter fell silent, but kept his hand moving in soothing motions through Mulder’s hair. He felt when Mulder finally and truly fell asleep, the head turning limply into his hand and features going slack around the gag. Sighing deeply, exhausted from the encounter, Walter nonetheless kept the caress going, wanting to soothe the other man as much as he possibly could.

Tomorrow was going to be a hard day for Mulder, there was no doubt about that.

* * * *

Mulder couldn’t remember the last time he woke up so sore, but it felt like every part of his body ached. His shoulders were cramped, his arms stretched, his knees were out of whack and his thighs felt really strained from being apart all night. And that was just from the bindings, not counting what had to be bruised ribs from when he’d been tackled the night before.

Shame flushed through his face as he remembered the events that had led up to his being chained up like this. He’d taken all of Skinner’s kindness and flushed it down the toilet. He’d risked his own safety on the thread of a chance he could get the chip out even knowing, logically, that it probably would have gone down just as Skinner had outlined. He either would have been caught and hamstrung, or bound into a much, much more unpleasant slavery than what he now had.

For the first time in a long time, tears rose in accompaniment to emotion and he had to struggle to make sure they didn’t fall. That, unfortunately, clogged his nose and made breathing difficult. Embarrassed though he was at having Skinner help him blow his nose, choking on his own snot was far more unpleasant. Mulder shook his head and tiny bells rang right beside his ear.

Instantly, Skinner came into his line of sight and asked, “Need to go to the bathroom?”

Mulder shook his head and breathed forcibly through his nose, dislodging some of the mucus. Skinner nodded his understanding and left, coming back with a tissue and holding it to his nose. Feeling like a child, Mulder blew his nose into the tissue, his face red. When that was done, Skinner tossed the tissue and unhooked the knee apparatus. Mulder was hopeful the rest would be undone as well, but disappointed when Skinner simply massaged his legs and returned the equipment into place. That was repeated with the ankle cuffs and the wrist cuffs, Skinner taking his time with the massage as he went, expanding it to the lower back and shoulders as well.

By the time he was done, Mulder felt like one big ball of mush and had no inclination to move ever again. He drifted for a long time, caught between dozing and true sleep. The feel of his Master’s hands moving over his body soothed him, keeping him relaxed and comfortable, even in his bondage.

“Wake up, slave, it’s time to shower and eat breakfast. We have things to do today,” Skinner said quietly, breaking through the pleasant fog.

A damp cloth wiped gently over his eyes before he could even open them, and he smiled gratefully, well, as best he could around the gag. Skinner helped him upright and then walked him to the bathroom. It was humiliating when the other man held his penis to urinate, but he didn’t protest. Clearly, his Master wasn’t taking any other chances that he’d give in to the urge to run away.

And damned if Mulder didn’t think that that was a good idea, at least for the time being.

They were in the shower next where Mulder was treated to the first nude sight of the rest of Skinner. It was just as solid and muscled as the upper body and he had to drag his eyes from the large, quiescent cock hanging between Skinner’s legs. He was given a very efficient washing, though of course Mulder expected nothing less. He waited while Skinner cleaned himself off even faster, then carefully got out of the tub with his Master’s help.

The drying off was just as quick, and it was only moments later that Skinner was dressed in clean boxers and jeans, not bothering with a shirt. Going downstairs was tricky, but he managed it with more of Skinner’s help, stopping in the kitchen where he was guided down into an uncomfortable kneeling position. The chain was attached to the kitchen table and Mulder suddenly wondered if it was metal for just such a possibility.

He watched as Skinner made breakfast, frozen waffles and eggs, his stomach rumbling now and again for attention. The silence weighed heavier on him than it had the day before, knowing that Skinner was purposefully ignoring him as part of his punishment for trying to run away. Bearing the other man’s displeasure and disappointment had always been difficult for Mulder. He wanted that look of pride he sometimes got on the job, not distrust and anger.

Skinner sat at the table and removed the gag from Mulder’s mouth, holding a glass of water up, which Mulder gratefully drank down and gasped, “Thank you, Master.”

“You’re welcome,” Skinner replied quietly.

Breakfast was silent after that and Mulder accepted every bit of food that was held out for him, not just because he was hungry, but because he didn’t want to cause any more trouble. He wasn’t reconciled to his slavery, that would probably be a long time coming, but he was done with rebellion. Anything he did to hurt Skinner when the man had only ever done his best and sacrificed for Mulder was just…dishonorable. Mulder had been called just about every name in the book, but this was the first time that particular epithet could be applied and he hated it.

He was full in short order and watched as Skinner finished his own breakfast. He stayed silent, not wanting to break that standing order of not speaking until spoken to, but was dying to apologize. Several times he almost burst out with it, but remembered himself just in time.

Skinner finished up several minutes later, not lingering, but not rushing, either. He appeared lost in thought and Mulder wondered what was going on behind that impassive façade. He squirmed a little, trying to relieve the pressure on his thighs, but that set off the bells still attached to the gag that hung around his neck.

“Are you all right?” Skinner questioned.

Mulder shrugged and answered, “A little sore. My thighs and my back are starting to hurt.”

Nodding, as if coming to a decision, Skinner stood and helped Mulder to his feet. “Time to get on with the day anyhow.”

Skinner undid the chain and led Mulder into the living room. He moved the coffee table aside to reveal two hooks in the floor. Glancing up, Mulder saw another discreetly embedded in the ceiling. Alarm rose as he realized that Skinner was going to chain him in place, probably to beat him for his runaway attempt, but he couldn’t even back up without risking falling over.

He was hooked up to the floor by the ankle cuffs through some kind of interlocking mechanism. Once that was secure, Skinner took off the knee apparatus altogether and tossed it onto the sofa. Mulder tried to pull free as Skinner moved to one of the cabinets and pulled out a sturdier chain than the one currently hooked to his wrist cuffs. It was attached to the ceiling, where Skinner tested the give.

From there, Mulder’s wrists were undone and he nearly groaned in relief as tired, sore muscles were allowed a few moments to get back to normal. Unfortunately, they were re-cuffed in front of him and brought above his head, the clatter seeming unnaturally loud in the silent room. And that was it. Mulder struggled, but couldn’t move an inch as Skinner returned to that cabinet and came back with a mid-sized wooden paddle.

Swallowing in fear, Mulder opened his mouth to speak, desperate to apologize before the spanking took place, but unable to because he hadn’t been addressed.

“Go ahead. Speak, slave.”

Relieved, Mulder exclaimed, “I’m sorry, Master! I’m so sorry about last night! I wasn’t thinking, well, I was thinking, but none of it was what I should have been thinking about! I shamed myself and you with my actions, I was dishonorable and it won’t happen again!”

Skinner considered him, then said, “This doesn’t excuse you from the beating.”

“I know, I just…I wanted to say it now, so you didn’t think it was because of the beating,” Mulder explained. “Um, may I ask how many marks I’ll be getting, Master?”

“Fifty.”

Fifty! Mulder wailed silently. He’d been a blubbering wreck after twenty marks with Skinner’s hand, there was no way he’d be able to make it through fifty coming from a paddle.

Stone-faced, Skinner questioned, “Are you ready?”

Shuddering in anticipated pain, Mulder took a deep breath and nodded, as ready as he’d ever be. The first crack of wood to ass took him by surprise and his mouth opened in silent pain.

But Skinner didn’t continue, instead putting the gag back into place and taking off the bells, explaining, “I don’t have this room sound-proofed and I don’t want you scaring the neighbors.”

Which was permission to howl as loud as he wanted, so far as Mulder was concerned. He managed to keep mostly silent through the first ten, even though his ass was on fire by number five. The second ten were brutal and he was screaming bloody murder by the time Skinner reached twenty-five. Into the thirties, and Mulder barely had a voice left, hanging limp in the chains while his ass continued to be whaled on with hard, steady smacks of wood to flesh. He utterly lost count by thirty eight, so when it stopped, he was surprised, feeling that it had become his whole life.

Skinner took Mulder’s face between his hands and whispered, “I don’t enjoy that, slave, don’t make me do it again.”

Whimpering and sniffling like a child, Mulder shook his head, absolutely miserable and in agony. Skinner used his fingertips to wipe away the tears and put an arm around him for support as he somehow released the overhead chain one-handed. Mulder collapsed in his arms and rested on Skinner’s back as his Master bent to release the foot clamps. Easily swung into Skinner’s arms, Mulder pressed his face to the hollow of Skinner’s throat and held as tight as his weakened body would allow.

Skinner carried him upstairs and carefully set Mulder on his side on the bed, where he rolled onto his stomach, his arms gathered up beneath him. A few moments later an icy cold liquid landed on his ass and he shrieked in pain against the gag, which of course muffled the sound adequately.

“Hush, it’s going to help with the pain a little,” Skinner ordered as he spread the lotion all over.

Mulder managed to just whimper and groan instead of scream out loud during the rest of the treatment. When it was over, Skinner wiped his face with a towel and again held a tissue to Mulder’s nose. Too tired and in pain to be embarrassed, Mulder blew without complaint or hesitation. Trying to breathe through a clogged nose was not fun.

To his great surprise, Skinner stretched out beside him, pulling Mulder to lie on his chest and cradling him in those strong arms. His ass throbbed with fire, his head pounded from emotion and crying, and his soul ached for freedom, but his heart was soothed by the comfort so sincerely offered.

“I know how much that hurt and I didn’t enjoy inflicting the pain,” Skinner began. “But that won’t stop me from administering whatever punishment I feel is necessary to get through to you. What did you come away with, from that beating? Take a minute to think about it and let me know when you have an answer, I’ll take the gag out.”

What did he learn? That Skinner had an arm like iron, but Mulder knew that wasn’t the answer the other man was looking for.

What did I learn? Mulder wondered. Nothing that he hadn’t already known before the beating. And then realized that that wasn’t entirely true. He awkwardly nuzzled Skinner and the gag was released a moment later. Clearing his throat, Mulder whispered, “To think before I act. Really think about it, or suffer the consequences.”

“That’s one thing,” Skinner agreed. “What else?”

And then it hit him, what Skinner was fishing for. Sighing deeply, Mulder rasped, “That the rules are there for a reason, and that I need to obey them.”

Unbelievably, Skinner’s lips pressed to his temple in a kiss and he congratulated, “Very good, slave. I don’t make arbitrary rules, so the ones I have need to be obeyed or it can hurt so many more people than you.”

Horror lit into Mulder as something occurred to him at Skinner’s words. “Would, would something have happened to you or Scully if I’d managed to run away? If I’d succeeded?”

Skinner shrugged and replied, “It’s entirely possible that you’d have read about my assassination and Scully’s suicide in today’s papers.”

Mulder felt like he was going to throw up and the only reason he didn’t was the soothing hand that rubbed up and down his back. Burying his face against Skinner’s throat, he groaned, “I’m so sorry, Master, so sorry. Please forgive me for being so thoughtless! I never wanted to hurt you, or Scully, I just wanted…”

“Your freedom, I know. But it’s never going to happen, slave,” Skinner whispered, holding on just as tight. “This is your life now, you have to accept it.”

And then the tears finally came.

* * * *

Completely rung out by the punishment session, Walter almost let the answering machine pick up when the phone rang. Deciding against it with a sigh, he carefully shifted out from under Mulder who didn’t even mumble a protest in his sleep, he was so far under. Crossing the room swiftly picked up the phone just before the machine could answer.

“I see you’re having some trouble hanging onto your slave, Mr. Skinner.”

Stiffening at the old man’s voice, Walter snapped quietly, “It’s only been four days. He’ll be fine.”

“Good, because I would hate to see something happen to Agent Scully, or yourself,” raspy voice replied. “Keep control of your slave, Mr. Skinner, or he’ll live to regret it.”

The line went dead and though tempted to throw the phone through the window, Skinner restrained himself. Of course they’d be watched, he should have known that. Just one more thing to keep them in line, or as close to it as Mulder ever ran.

Looking over at the bed with Mulder’s oblivious self in it, Walter smiled at the woebegone image he presented. His nose was red from repeated blowing, his hair was in complete disarray and he was curled up under the blankets on his side, hugging Walter’s pillow, now that Walter himself wasn’t there.

Tonight had been a big breakthrough, even before the beating. He didn’t fool himself that Mulder was going to be even close to the perfect slave, but this was a good start. Climbing back into bed, he disentangled Mulder from the pillow and got comfortable, pulling his slave into his arms.

Pressing his lips to the warm temple again, Walter closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

Mulder’s ass was one big bruise, or at least it felt like it, the next day. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out when Skinner applied the salve and inspected the damage.

“Not too bad,” Skinner observed at last. “It’ll hurt like hell to sit on for the next couple of days, but no permanent damage. Come on, time for a shower.”

Mulder groaned, but obeyed, slowly climbing out of the bed and hobbling to the bathroom. This shower was as different from the day before, as fire from water. The only thing similar was that his wrists were still chained, so Skinner washed him.

He went carefully over every part of Mulder’s body and if it had been anyone else, Mulder would have thought it was a prelude to something much more interesting than a shower. But Skinner remained unmoved, literally, his cock hanging soft between his legs as the other man shifted from front to back. His hair was washed and his scalp massaged until Mulder groaned in pleasure, unable to keep quiet. There was a strangely long examination of the skull behind the ear, but as Skinner didn’t comment, Mulder didn’t ask.

When he was done, Skinner helped him out of the shower and dried him off just as gently. The hated salve was applied yet again, but this time wasn’t nearly as bad. They went downstairs and Skinner allowed Mulder to go at his own pace, moving ahead and going to the front door where he snagged the Sunday paper. Seeing it recalled to Mulder that there was an entire world outside this house, going on without any care that he was now a slave and he instantly tensed up even further.

“Why don’t you lie down on the sofa and watch some television?” Skinner suggested in that tone that wasn’t a suggestion.

Mulder obediently lay down, getting comfortable with a sigh of relief. At least he didn’t have to sit on the floor or kneel, keeping his ass out of pain’s way. He drowsed, still wiped out from the night before, and was surprised when Skinner sat on the sofa in front of him, holding a plate of tantalizing food.

He started to sit up, but Skinner just motioned for him to stay put and picked up a fork. Sighing, he realized that Skinner was going to feed him again and obediently opened his mouth. With a smile, Skinner fed him scrambled eggs and bacon, along with a couple of slices of toast. He even held up a glass of milk to Mulder to drink from without spilling a drop.

“Did you get any head injuries while you were in prison?” Skinner asked.

Mulder shook his head. “Nope. Why?”

“There’s a cut behind your ear that caught my attention, someone used derma-adhesive so the area wouldn’t scar.”

Mulder’s hand went behind his head, feeling out the area in question, but nothing seemed out of place.

Changing the subject, Skinner announced, “Scully’s coming over to check you out and see for herself that you’re in one piece.”

Dread flooded through him and Mulder exclaimed, “No, please, I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“She’d see you tomorrow,” Skinner pointed out, reasonable.

“I don’t care! Just one more day, please Master?” Mulder pleaded.

But Skinner shook his head as he stood and replied, “I want her to look you over, make sure that you weren’t…altered…aside from the locator chip.”

Mulder got to his feet, grabbing Skinner’s arm only to stop him from heading for the kitchen, exclaiming, “You can’t do this!”

The bigger man froze and gave him a look that raised the hair on the back of his neck. Mulder immediately released him and dropped to his knees, knowing that he’d just messed up big time.

The plate was carefully set on the coffee table and Skinner loomed over him, literally a tower of menace as he hissed, “In the future, if you want my attention, ask for it politely. You do not lay hands on me, or anyone else, like that ever, or you don’t even want to know what the punishment will be. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Master,” Mulder whispered.

“I want you bend forward with your forehead on the floor. Arms above your head, yes, like that. You will remain like that until I tell you otherwise,” Skinner ordered. “I’m going to have to think up a…creative…punishment for this.”

He was extremely grateful that the other man wasn’t going to blister his ass any further, positive that he wouldn’t be able to take it, but the ‘creative’ part made him distinctly nervous. He was also glad that he couldn’t actually see Skinner’s face, knowing that it would be thunderous and impressively angry. He’d been on enough receiving ends of that controlled temper to fear it in this situation.

It suddenly occurred to Mulder that Skinner was taking the time to get that temper under control when he had no obligation to do so. That the other man really was putting his welfare into serious consideration of all events, especially punishment. Uncertain, he said, “Thank you, Master.”

“Why?”

Honest, Mulder answered, “Um, because I don’t think I could take it, but also, because you promised you wouldn’t punish me in anger, and you’re not.”

He heard a sigh above him before Skinner said, “You know that I’m a man of my word.”

“I do, Master, but this isn’t exactly a normal situation.”

“It’s my word, normal situation or not. Now be silent until I come for you again.”

Mulder nodded, shutting up and closing his eyes, since looking at the floor this close up was crossing them. He sighed. It was going to be a long day, what with the upcoming punishment and Scully’s visit. And going to work tomorrow was only going to be worse.

* * * *

Walter wasn’t angry, though he was sure Mulder would be surprised to learn that. He was upset, yes, but only because if the other man did that to someone else in public, there would be hell to pay. He knew how impetuous and unthinking Mulder could be and he didn’t want to change that, just temper it. And to counter such a basic character trait, the punishment would, indeed, have to be creative.

In the kitchen, he made breakfast, even though he wasn’t very hungry. It was something to do while he thought about what to do with Mulder. After eating pensively at the table, he brought food into the other room and ordered, “Kneel up, but keep your eyes to the floor.”

Mulder offered a stifled groan as he changed position.

For the next twenty minutes, Walter fed Mulder piece by piece, making sure to go slow, knowing how much the other hated this particular action. He had to get it through Mulder’s head that he was now dependent on Walter for everything, including sustenance, but that it didn’t have to be a bad thing. The torment of the entire situation was that if Mulder had been his slave through any other means, Walter would be beside himself with joy.

He knew Mulder wouldn’t ever be happy about being a slave, let alone his slave, but it remained a fantasy of his. The only one, these days. To have Mulder kneeling at his feet, eager and happy to serve him with his mind and heart, even more than his body, was something Walter longed for intensely.

“Back in that position,” he ordered, pleased when Mulder instantly obeyed. It wasn’t a difficult position, but it was guaranteed to make him think.

Taking the plate back into the kitchen, Walter cleaned up and then, punishment decided on, went upstairs to get the ankle cuffs. Confining Mulder would leave an impression, but that wasn’t the only thing he planned to do.

When he returned, he ordered, “Stand up.”

Mulder obeyed, automatically keeping his eyes on the floor, Walter was pleased to see. He cuffed the ankles, chained them to the wrist manacles and fed the chain to one of the hooks in the floor. After, he put the gag back in place, ignoring the pleading in Mulder’s eyes, he stated, “You’re going to be just like this the rest of the day. Scully is going to be here shortly and she’s going to examine you and you’re not going to be able to talk to her. The gag stays on until you learn how to address people with respect.”

A tortured moan was Mulder’s response to that, but Walter ignored it and continued, “As before, if you have to go to the bathroom, or are in serious distress, move your head to ring the bells. False ringing will blister your backside even further. You can stand or kneel, but no sitting.”

And with that, Walter left the room, certain that if he didn’t, he’d give in to the desperation in Mulder’s eyes. As it was, the next two hours waiting for Scully to arrive were a form of torture for himself. Doubts as to what he was doing, how he was doing it, and what the outcome would be tormented him.

When the doorbell rang, it was a relief to be taken from his thoughts, even though he wasn’t looking forward to Scully’s reaction to how Mulder was trussed up. All her protective instincts were already out in full force and this wasn’t going to soothe them one bit. Crossing the living room, he ignored Mulder on the way and opened the door.

Scully waited on the other side of it, casually dressed in jeans and sweater, a suede jacket covering her against the cool autumn afternoon. In her hands was a small, competent doctor’s bag. He forced a smile and stepped back with, “Come in, Scully.”

Scully’s eyes instantly locked onto Mulder in the middle of the room and for a very long moment, she didn’t move. There was no change in her cool expression; no sympathy, no outrage, no indignant huff, not even any gasp of surprise. Walter’s already very high respect for her increased in that moment, making a mental note never to play poker with her for high stakes.

Turning to look at him, blue eyes just as cool as her expression, Scully announced, “I see you’ve found a way to keep him quiet for a change.”

Walter snorted at that. “For the most part. Let’s talk in the study. Unless you want to examine him first?”

“No. I think a chat would be good right now,” Scully replied.

There was an edge to her voice that caused Walter to sigh to himself, but he nodded and motioned her to precede him. Mulder was staring at the floor, beet-red with embarrassment and shame, and Walter paused in front of him. Lifting the other man’s chin with a single finger, he said softly, “There is no shame in this for you. You are a slave with no control over anything. You did something wrong and are being punished for that. Scully understands this.”

His words seemed to give Mulder some comfort as the young man nodded and sniffled, straightening up a little.

“Do you need to blow your nose?” Walter questioned.

Mulder sighed, but nodded.

Hiding a grin, Walter pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to Mulder’s nose. That taken care of, he tweaked the nose and said, “If you’re on your best behavior for the rest of the day and take your punishment well, you’ll have a reward when we got to bed tonight.”

Mulder’s eyes lit up at that and he nodded again. Satisfied that he’d broken through some of the funk, Walter pocketed the handkerchief and headed for the study and a pissed-off Dana Scully. Closing the door firmly behind him so the yelling wouldn’t be heard, if it came to that, Walter turned to find Scully standing with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at him full-tilt.

“What the hell are you doing to him!?” she snapped. “I thought being owned by you would spare Mulder from shit like that!”

Keeping calm, knowing that she was reacting to the situation and not truly angry at him, or, not as much as it seemed at least, Walter replied, “If he doesn’t learn that there are consequences to all of his actions, especially to what his new limitations are, then there will be a lot worse in his future.”

“I can’t believe you!”

Walter shrugged and waited for the temper to pass, which he knew it would. Scully was far too practical not to see that he was right. To help her along though, he informed her, “When I told him you were coming, he didn’t just defy me, Scully, he grabbed me and told me no. That’s what the punishment is for.”

“And his ass is bruised almost to bleeding because…?”

“Because he tried to runaway.”

She paled at that, knowing as well as he did what would happen in that case. Finally, she heaved a sigh and nodded. “All right, you win. It’s just so hard, seeing him like that.”

Walter half-smiled, pointing out, “How do you think I feel being the one to do it?”

“Probably just as good as me seeing it,” Scully said wryly.

Serious, he replied, “The best thing you can do for him is to ignore the punishment and deal with the man. I don’t want to change your friendship and I won’t. The way you two interact is a big part of him, Scully, and that’s not something I treat lightly.”

Closing the distance between them, Scully gripped his arm and asked, “How are you?”

Walter shrugged. “I’ll be okay. One crisis at a time. Right now, Mulder needs you to reassure him that your feelings for him haven’t changed.”

Scully smiled, clearly hearing the slight question in that, and confirmed, “They haven’t.”

“Good. Why don’t you go on out? I’ll give you two some time alone,” Walter suggested.

“Thank you.”

He watched her leave the study, then sat heavily on the small sofa, groaning as he closed his eyes. It was definitely going to be a long day.

* * * *

When Scully came out of the study, alone, Mulder didn’t know whether to be relieved, or scared. He’d never seen her so pissed before, her face deceptively calm to hide the fury inside. He wanted to speak to her, longed to do so, but was held mute by the hated gag in his mouth. All he could do was stand there and wait as she walked towards him, praying that she didn’t reject him, now that he was a slave.

She stopped in front of him, a fond expression surfacing as she murmured, “Oh Mulder, what are we going to do with you?”

He had no answer to that, even if he’d been able to speak.

Shaking her head, smiling outright, she brushed his bangs from his forehead and said, “All right. I can see that you’re not in any physical distress, but let’s check you out anyhow. Skinner said there was something I should take a look at. Here, sit on the floor.”

Mulder hesitated, remembering that he wasn’t supposed to sit, and knelt instead.

Scully’s eyebrow rose, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she sat on the sofa behind him and tilted his head for a better look. He was dying to ask what she was looking at, since he didn’t remember receiving any head injuries, but couldn’t. The gag’s worse than getting my ass beat, he thought in irritation. At least then, I can still communicate.

Once she was satisfied with that, she took his pulse and listened to his breathing through a stethoscope. When she finished, she looked down at him and ran her fingers through his hair. “If you’d only trusted us, Mulder. If you’d called me, or Skinner, we would’ve backed you up and been able to alibi you. Instead, you took off on your own, without thinking, and were set up for murder. Now we’re all in this horrible mess and those bastards have you just where they want you. Relax, no, easy Mulder, I’m not blaming you. Some of it is your fault for not trusting us, but the lion’s share belongs to those bastards who set you up.”

Leaning into the small hand that cupped his cheek, Mulder sighed noisily and tried to tell her with his eyes just how sorry he was.

Scully smiled and kissed his forehead. “I know you’re sorry, Mulder, but you have to listen and take this to heart. Skinner is your Master now and forever more. If something happens to him, then you fall to me. You have to trust that we’ll take care of you, you have to let us in. Let him in, Fox, let him in and I know that Skinner will be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

It was easy to see how serious she was, but the words disturbed him. He nodded and sighed again, trying to show her that he’d really try in the future.

“I know, Mulder,” she agreed softly, kissing his forehead again.

Skinner chose that moment to rejoin them and Mulder shot him a miserable glance, hoping it would prompt his Master to undo the gag for the rest of Scully’s visit. It didn’t though. Skinner barely looked at him, instead asking Scully, “Everything okay?”

She nodded and replied, “I don’t know what that cut is from, but there’s no bruising and it’s very smooth. I can assume a scalpel or some sort of surgical implement, probably from when his chip was put in. There’s nothing there now, so I’d almost say that something was removed at that point.”

Thoughtful, Skinner questioned, “So the only thing artificial in him is the locator chip.”

“And a couple of fillings,” she agreed, grinning.

They both looked at him and Mulder heaved an aggrieved sigh at their teasing glances.

Skinner chuckled and said, “Thank you, Scully. That puts my mind to rest.”

“Oh, Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I would wait at least another twenty-four hours if you’re going to beat him again. It’s my professional opinion that any more will result in breaking the skin. You cut it very fine, Sir,” Scully informed him.

With a nod, Skinner confirmed, “I know.”

Even with the twenty-four reprieve, there was no way that Mulder was going to put himself through that kind of beating again. Aside from the physical pain, he had no intention of betraying his Master like that ever again. It did occur to him suddenly, though, to wonder just where Skinner had learned to cut things so fine, from Scully’s disapproving tone.

There was more small talk about things at the office, cases Mulder didn’t know since they’d come up after his imprisonment. And someone named Doggett had taken his place working on the X-Files, which grated on his nerves, even though there was nothing he could do about. What irritated him further was that Scully clearly liked this unknown man from the way she smiled when his name crossed her lips.

Realizing that he was working up a head of steam and likely to snap and snarl as soon as the gag came off, or worse, again disobey when given an order, Mulder shut himself off. He shifted position so that he was looking down and then closed his eyes. He couldn’t get defensive and angry every time he was reminded of his old life or his new one would be a living hell, no matter how nice a Master Skinner was to him.

Breathing slow and deep, Mulder brought himself down into a light meditation. He consciously let the anger and pain go, flowing out and up into the stratosphere. He let the words of the conversation go right over his head, listening, but not taking them to heart. He didn’t want Scully out there without a partner, obviously, and if Skinner approved of the man, than there was no reason for Mulder not to do the same. The important fact was that despite his screw-up, the X-Files were still up and running with one of the only people he trusted, in charge of them. And the only other person he trusted in the world was in charge of protecting her.

To his great surprise, Scully was gone when he opened his eyes and it was full dark outside. Startled, he looked around the room for Skinner to find him on the sofa, asleep with a book on his chest and glasses still on his face. Looking at the clock, Mulder saw it was only eight o’clock, so his behavior must have exhausted the other man more than he’d been showing. Guilt flashed through him at that, but he set it aside. It was over and done with. He’d been punished for his misdeed and taken the lesson to heart. All of the many lessons that he’d been forced to learn over the last few days.

Getting slowly to his feet, Mulder winced and bit back a groan at the pins and needles of returning blood-flow, not wanting to wake his Master from a sleep he so obviously needed. If he was free, he’d make something for the other man to eat, but the chains definitely didn’t reach that far. His bladder made its too-full presence known and another grimace surfaced. Out of curiosity, Mulder shook his head to ring the bells and see what his Master’s reaction would be.

Skinner was instantly awake and on his feet, looking for him with such speed that Mulder stepped back in surprise. The worried look was replaced by relief when Skinner saw that he was all right. Mulder offered the best smile he could from behind the gag and made a little dance to show he had to relieve himself.

Grinning, Skinner said, “That bladder of yours finally kicked in, huh? I was starting to think that it was made of steel. All right, hold on.”

Mulder waited patiently as the chains were undone.

“Go on to the bathroom and come right back,” Skinner ordered, searching his face with a long look for some reason.

Nodding, Mulder hurried to the bathroom just down the hall. He didn’t bother with closing the door, it wasn’t like Skinner hadn’t seen and touched just about everything already anyhow. Groaning in relief as his bladder emptied, Mulder closed his eyes, glad to be up and mobile again. The spanking had definitely hurt more, but this had been so restrictive that he’d be seriously on guard with those rebellious tendencies he had.

Looking in the mirror as he washed his hands, Mulder saw what had caught Skinner’s attention in the living room. There was a peaceful look in his eyes that he hadn’t seen in…well…possibly not ever. The meditation had finished for him what the beating and confinement had started; reconciling him to his fate. Oh he knew there would be outbursts in the future, he hadn’t faced anyone but Scully yet, after all. But on the whole, really thinking about it, Mulder felt like this life might not be the worst thing to happen to him.

Especially not since Skinner was his Master.

Flushing at the thought, Mulder dried his hands and hurried back to the living room, not wanting Skinner to think that he was disobeying again. Coming to a stop in front of him, Mulder went to his knees without instruction.

There was a long pause before Skinner said, “I think I’m going to add at least an hour of meditation to your day if this is the result, slave. Look at me.”

Mulder did so and smiled at the pleased expression on his Master’s face, happy to be the cause of that.

“I ordered out for Chinese food while you were in the bathroom and it should be here in about twenty minutes. I’m going to take a shower, so use this to pay the man when he arrives and set up the food here in the living room,” Skinner ordered, holding out thirty dollars.

Taking the money, Mulder nodded and tried to tell his Master without words that he was grateful for the trust so soon after his mistake.

Skinner smiled again and his fingers combed through Mulder’s hair. “Good, very good, slave.”

Sighing in happiness, Mulder remained where he was even after Skinner left.

* * * *

Walter groaned as he stroked his cock hard and fast in the shower. To see that look on Mulder’s face, to know that he’d accepted Walter as his Master had gotten him so hard, so fast that it had been all he could do to restrain himself from Claiming Mulder there and then. Orgasm ripped through him and he spilled over his hands, moaning loudly at the release. Panting, Walter leaned shakily against the cool tile and regrouped. There was just the barest hint of worry that Mulder would be gone when he got downstairs, but that couldn’t be helped. It wouldn’t dissipate until he saw Mulder was still there.

Hearing the doorbell, Walter got out of the shower and dried off, putting on sweats and heading back downstairs for supper, suddenly starving. He had to take it slow, but the first major battle had been won. Mulder had, mostly, accepted his fate and would be amenable to his advances. Not that he was planning to make any on his own behalf, no, it was still too soon for that. Manipulation was a tool he’d learned well over the years and even though he despised himself for using it where Mulder was concerned, there really wasn’t any choice.

Keep telling yourself that, Walter thought derisively, hatefully.

Reaching the living room, Walter saw the food was dished out on the coffee table and Mulder knelt between the sofa and the table, waiting for him. His cock firmed up a little at the obedient sight, and he sighed softly in relief, pleasure flowing through him. Smiling, he sat on the sofa and carefully undid the gag over Mulder’s mouth. There were marks from having worn it all day, but nothing serious. The lips were swollen and oh-so-tempting, but Walter forced himself to ignore that.

“Drink all you want, I know you’re a little dehydrated,” Walter apologized. “That marathon meditation session of your took me by surprise. Next time, I’ll make sure you have plenty of water before you do that again.”

Mulder nodded, a look in his eyes like he wanted to say something, but didn’t open his mouth.

“Consider yourself off the silent rule for the duration of the meal,” Walter said.

Grateful, Mulder smiled full-out and said, “Thank you, Master. I just wanted to say that I don’t normally do that. Meditation doesn’t usually go longer than an hour, maybe two at most. I think…there was a lot to process this time and that’s what took so long.”

The husky, quiet voice sent a shiver through Walter. He smiled back, understanding, and said, “I know there was. You look a little more…at ease. Are you?”

Mulder nodded, confirming, “I am. I’m still not happy about this, of course, but I know that you’re in a bad position too. I don’t want to hurt you or disappoint you like I did with my behavior, today and last night. I’m so sorry, Master.”

“Hush now,” Walter ordered softly. “It’s over and done with. You accepted your punishment very well, slave. I’m proud of you.”

Visibly preening at those words, Mulder asked, “May I serve you, Master?”

“You may.”

Dinner passed in a blur of quiet conversation and good food. It was astonishing, the change in Mulder, and Walter steeled himself for the inevitable rebellion of tomorrow when Mulder was confronted with people he used to view as equals. But that was tomorrow and right then, Walter was happy.

Once Mulder had cleared up the leftovers, Walter turned on the television and watched the news for about an hour. Mulder knelt on the floor beside him, returning to that quiet, contemplative state, but not going into another meditation, thankfully. He’d been more than a little nervous at letting that go on for so long, but didn’t begrudge the other man any possible coping tools in the slim arsenal.

Finally, he got to his feet and said, “Time for bed. Let’s go.”

Mulder stood and followed him upstairs, hesitating by the bed, clearly unsure what was going to happen. Walter smiled and motioned for him to get into the bed. A grateful, relieved expression flashed over the slave’s quicksilver face as he climbed under the covers. Walter got in beside him and pulled Mulder into his arms, arranging them so the slave was on his back, resting on Walter’s chest.

Smiling to himself, Walter said, “You did so well today that I’m going to give you a reward, slave. You have a choice. You can either go through tomorrow blindfolded in the office, or I can bring you off tonight, here and now.”

Mulder went still in his arms and whispered, “Blindfolded is a reward?”

“Think about it. You wouldn’t have to see who is thinking what when they see you for the first time like you did with Scully today. Wouldn’t a blindfold have made it a little easier on you?”

There was a brief, reluctant nod of agreement.

“Or I can give you some relief here and you can face everyone without blinders on,” Walter offered again. “Take a few minutes to think about it.”

Walter honestly had no idea what Mulder would decide, but he knew what he was hoping for.

* * * *

The choice was both insane and insidious, Mulder knew that the moment it was offered. Insane because doing either scared the shit out of him and insidious because he wanted them both as much as they scared him, and Skinner had to know that. He was much too skillful at manipulation not to know that.

To be blindfolded, not to see the scorn and pity and sneering from people he’d pissed off or worked with would be a boon. But to be held and touched by his Master seemed a dream come true, as well. A way to deepen the intimacy that Skinner seemed to be encouraging with their sleeping arrangements and casual-but-not touches so far. Mulder honestly had no idea if Skinner was just trying to make things more palatable to him, or if he had something more…long-term in mind.

“What, ah, what would you like, Master?” Mulder asked finally.

“Oh no, slave, this is your choice,” Skinner stated firmly. “Or you don’t have to do either. It’s up to you.”

Sighing deeply, knowing that he’d have to face the scorn at some point, if not tomorrow, than Tuesday, Mulder put his hand over his Master’s, which lay on his chest, and whispered, “Could you…could you…”

The voice was gentle, but inexorable as Skinner prompted, “What? Say the words, slave.”

“Bring me off, Master, please, I want to feel your touch,” Mulder whispered, embarrassment heating him viciously.

Skinner kissed his temple and whispered back, “It would be my pleasure, slave.”

Mulder was surprised when his Master moved out from under him and straddled him, smiling down with tenderness. It took his breath away, that soft look in the other man’s eyes, and gave him sudden and true hope for the future. Then Skinner bent down and kissed him, long and slow and deep, and thought fled.

It was possessive and heady, how his mouth was owned by the man above him. He gasped and groaned into the never-ending kiss, his cock stiffening for the first time since before his imprisonment. Strong hands roamed over his chest, caressing him and teasing his nipples into hardness. When the kiss ended, Mulder protested wordlessly, trying to recapture it, but Skinner chuckled and simply covered one nipple with his mouth, sucking on it lightly.

Sensation jolted through Mulder, knocking him out of the pleasant daze the kiss had engendered. “Oh shit!”

Another chuckle echoed through the air and the attention was transferred to his other nipple with similar results. Mulder forgot himself and clutched at his Master’s head, but there was no reprimand so he relaxed. Skinner kissed his way down Mulder’s chest, nipping playfully as he went. When a tongue licked up the underside of his cock, tracing the vein there, Mulder shouted in pleasure. His hands tightened on his Master’s head, but they were gently removed and placed on the bed.

Taking the hint, Mulder gripped the blankets and shouted again as his shaft was sucked into his Master’s mouth. “Oh fuck! Master, oh God, Master, please more!”

The suction increased and Skinner moved up and down on the flesh in his mouth with skill. It was better than anything else he’d ever experienced and his hips thrust up, his body desperate to get more. When Skinner’s hand cupped and rolled his balls, going down completely to envelop his entire length in wet heat, white hot lightening sizzled through him, orgasm taking him completely by surprise. Utterly wiped out, Mulder couldn’t even twitch as his Master licked and sucked his cock clean, even though the skin was sensitive to each swath of the tongue.

Skinner kissed his way back up Mulder’s torso and ended where he began; in a mind-blowing kiss where Mulder could taste his own semen, something he barely noticed and certainly didn’t care about. He didn’t resist whatsoever when tugged into his Master’s arms, simply curling up to the strong, broad chest and trying to take a normal breath.

Gentle hands rubbed up and down his chest, soothing him through the myriad of emotions trying to escape. Tears pricked and fell, but he didn’t know why he was crying. It seemed like the emotions just stayed close to the surface these days, not a big surprise, really, considering everything he’d been through.

“You all right, my slave?” Skinner questioned softly, nuzzling at his ear.

Mulder nodded and breathed deeply, slowly letting it go. “I’m sorry, Master, that was wonderful. I don’t know why…”

“Hush, no apologies needed.”

Smiling, Mulder yawned, the boneless feeling permeating his entire being as he melted onto his Master’s body. His lids snapped open when he remembered that Skinner hadn’t come and he asked, “Master, would you like me to…”

“This was for you, slave, your reward. I’m fine,” Skinner assured him. Kissing his temple again, he continued, “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day and I want you well rested.”

Shivering a little at the promise of tomorrow’s taunting and humiliation, Mulder clung to his Master.

The strong arm around his back tightened a little and his Master whispered, “It’ll be all right, slave, I promise. I’ll protect you.”

From physical harassment and pain, sure, but no one could save him from the ill-will of others. Sighing a bit, Mulder consciously let it go, not wanting to ruin the sweetness of the moment. “I know, Master. Thank you.”

Skinner kissed him gently and yawned, his breathing relaxing into sleep. Even though it was a long time coming, when Mulder did finally follow his Master into sleep, it was with a smile on his lips.