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Project 4: Skinner's Torment by UnChuck

He hadn't heard those things.

That's what Skinner was telling himself. He hadn't received a phonecall late that night. He hadn't been bombarded with the juices of anotherman, like rain from the heavens. He hadn't heard the moans, those pleadings,those words of passion.

"Fuck me."

Those words weren't echoing in his head.

"Deeper."

Those words didn't haunt him at night.

"Don't stop."

No.

"YES!"

Those words didn't echo in his head. And they weren't spoken by Mulder.

"Oh, God. Yes. Oh. Yes."

No.

Skinner was exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Exhausted.

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The phone rang.

Skinner attempted to focus his eyes on the clock beside his bed, butcouldn't quite manage it. He reached for the phone. Whoever this was, itbetter be good.

"Skinner," he said succinctly.

At first he didn't hear anything. Then the fear and dread came overhim. It was happening again.

Slowly, muffled sounds echoed from the receiver. Skinner recognizedthe moans of passion. And another sound, getting louder. Slurping. Thesound made by one man orally satisfying another. With gusto.

Skinner dropped the phone. He looked at the clock on his night stand.His focus returned. It was 1:11.

One word passed across Skinner's lips and hung heavy in the darknessof his bedroom. One word that encapsulated all his pain, all his emotional suffering. One word echoed in his brain.

"Why?"

It was going to be a long night. A very long night. Just like allthe others.

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It was the start of another day and another work-week as Skinner enteredhis office early on a Monday morning. He wasn't getting any sleep, so he had decided to get it over with and go to work.

Skinner looked like hell. His clothes not in their usual crisp, trimform. Though his shirt was fresh from the cleaners, it seemed somehow disheveled, as if he'd slept in it. What little hair he had on his head seemed amiss,as if he'd run his fingers through it one too many times.

Skinner examined the pile of paperwork on his desk. There was morethan enough there to keep him busy for the next month of Sundays. He wasglad for the work, glad to be mindlessly turning the gears of bureaucracy.He could shut his brain down, plow through the papers, and never once fire a single synapse. He'd be safe, far from the thoughts that caused so muchpain. Far from the questions with no answers.

He'd do his paperwork, and then go to his Senate committee hearingon FBI field practices. And that would end his work day. Then he'd go homeand rip the damn phone out of the wall. He'd be safe, surrounded by silence.

But, first things first. Time to start in on that paperwork. Skinnerlifted the first folder from the pile and opened it.

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Skinner looked up from his paperwork and checked the time on his computerscreen. It was nearly 10 a.m. Had he really been working for almost three hours straight? Had he managed to escape his thoughts? Had he not thoughtof Mulder all morning?

Mulder.

With that one word, that one thought, the echoes returned. Echoesof passion. Images of pleasure. A sickness grew in his belly and sweptover him. When was he ever going to give this up?

What was this connection with Mulder? There had never been any exchangebetween the two men. No overt signals. And yet Skinner couldn't get him out of his mind.

And why was this happening? If there was nothing between the two,why was he receiving these phone calls? Why was he the victim of this torment?

Why?

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Skinner couldn't take it any longer.

He walked down to Mulder's cubicle.

Skinner had felt sorry for Mulder when he had shut down the X Files.Skinner was forced to move Mulder into a bullpen area with the other agents. It had been difficult for Mulder to work there; he stuck out like a sorethumb. A brilliant, if eccentric, agent amongst a bunch of FBI hacks and greenhorns like Krycek.

Skinner had wondered about Krycek. Such an odd choice on Mulder'spart for a new partner. Krycek was nothing like Scully, and certainly nomatch for Mulder's intellect. And Mulder certainly didn't seem like thetype to take on mentoring a junior officer, especially not a dope likeKrycek. Where *did* he get those god-awful clothes?

Skinner approached Mulder's cubicle, but did not find him there. Heasked around, only to discover that no one had seen him yet that morning.

Damn it, Skinner thought to himself, where are you, Mulder? And whoare you with? And why do you torment me so?

Why?

Skinner decided it was time to take some action, any action to uncoverthe truth behind these events. He reached into his pocket and took out his master key. He was reluctant to use it, but decided he had no otherrecourse. He looked around to make sure that no one was observing him and then he unlocked Mulder's desk. Mulder, while being a bit of a pack-rat,was also extremely well-organized. All his pencils were neatly groupedin one slot and his pens were held in another. A place for everything,and everything - including the Big Foot collectors' cards - in it's place.As he reached the final bottom drawer he found a collection of videotapes.Skinner scanned the titles: 'Mysteries of the Deep,' 'Area 54: The UntoldTrue Story,' 'Deep Inside the UFO Coverup,' 'Deep Inside Debbie.'

Wait a minute, he thought to himself, what was that last title? 'DeepInside Debbie.' Skinner let out a little laugh and continued scanning the increasingly obscene titles. But then the last one drew his attention:'Deliverance.' He took out this last tape and examined it. He was expecting some porno parody of the edgy '70's Burt Reynolds movie, but no, it wasindeed the real thing. What would Mulder be doing with such a movie, andwhy would it be here, neatly categorized with titles such as,

'Star Tits: The Next Generation'?

It was a mystery he would have to consider at some other time. Clearly,there was nothing in Mulder's desk that would explain the events of thepast few days. But that tape - it had him puzzled.

Skinner returned to his office and collapsed into his chair. 'Deliverance.'Why would Mulder keep a tape like that with his "adult" material?He closed his eyes and tried to replay the movie in his mind as best ashe could remember it. Burt Reynolds and a group of men, rafting down ariver. Getting off-course...and then another scene exploded in his head.That scene!

It was going to be a long day, a very long day.

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And then the phone rang.

Skinner hesitated at first. Should he pick it up? Would it happenagain? No, he thought, this is crazy. It couldn't happen again, not here,not now. Skinner picked up the receiver.

"Ahhhhhhhh. Yessssss"

Skinner quickly hung up the phone. This was not happening. He wouldn'tlet it.

"Get your ass out of bed, Mulder. I want it here in my office."Skinner spit the words angrily in the direction of the phone. "I'mgoing to get my hands on you soon, Mulder. And this time I'm going tobe the one that makes you squeal. Is that what you like, Mulder?

Do you want me to make you squeal?"

Skinner contemplated slamming the phone down onto the floor and thenstomping it with one mighty blow from his foot, as if he were squashinga bug.

Skinner regained his composure and returned to his pile of paperwork.He stared at the mass of papers and slowly relaxed as, one by one, hisbrain cells calmed, returning to a steady, quiet state.

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It was now nearly noon. Skinner decided to get some lunch before headingover to Capitol Hill for the Senate committee hearing. He jumped in his sport utility vehicle and headed for his favorite cafe. It was just farenough from the office to be out of the way. A good place to avoid theothers from the bureau and escape the pressures of work.

Skinner drove his Ford Explorer out of the parking garage. As he exitedthe garage and prepared to turn right into the street, a woman suddenly walked in front of the vehicle. Skinner slammed on the break to avoidhitting the woman. He studied her as she blindly continued her path infront of his truck. She appeared to be carrying something. At first Skinnerfeared she was holding a child, but then he realized it was, of all things,a log. Skinner tried to shake off the strangeness of the event, and preparedto enter the noon-day traffic.

Without thinking, Skinner hit the speaker button.

"Skinn..."

Before he could get the words out, the sounds filled his car.

The moans echoed off the glass and filled his ears. It was as if hewere enveloped by the sounds. He was drowning in the passion of the two men, and yet was unable to join them in their passion. It was washingover him, surrounding him, and soon it would suffocate him.

Skinner quickly turned off the car phone, but was unable to stop thesounds from echoing in his mind. He pulled the truck over and parked against the curb. He collapsed onto the steering wheel and tried to shut out theechoes of passion. His hands firmly gripped the steering wheel, as if hislife depended on it.

He closed his eyes and attempted to imagine what silence looked like.Beautiful, white silence. Cool, clear water rushing down a river. Two men, alone in a raft, bravely challenging the swift waters. Soon to bravelychallenge each other's bodies. Skinner. Mulder. Alone in the silence, looking for Deliverance.

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Skinner entered the Senate office building and navigated the mazeof offices and committee rooms until he approached the appointed locationfor his hearing. As he neared the hearing room, a Senate staffer approachedhim.

"Assistant Director Skinner, I have a phone message for you."

"No thank you, Miss Palmer." Skinner read the young girl'sname from her badge. "I won't be requiring the message."

"They wouldn't leave their name, sir, but they did say that itwas important."

"I'm sorry, Miss, but that won't be necessary. You can considerthe message delivered. Just find the nearest paper recycling bin and deliverit there."

With those words Skinner turned away from the young staffer and enteredthe hearing room. Skinner was through with phones and phone messages,for that matter. He had determined that they were an evil invention, andonly served to enslave people. It was time to unshackle himself and regainhis freedom. He sat down at the table facing the Senate committee and preparedto be grilled.

The questioning proceeded as was normal for these types of things.The senators asked mindless, politically self-serving questions, and Skinner gave equally banal answers. In another hour or two it would all be overand Skinner could go home.

And then it happened. Skinner had completely forgotten about the cellphone in his coat pocket. He carried it everywhere, and it had become just another piece of his wardrobe, along with his beeper, his wallet and hisdatebook. Just another *thing*.

But now this thing had new meaning. It represented a new evil in hislife. Like the cigarette smoking man or his ex-wife. Somehow he couldn'tescape any of them. But he could ignore them. He was good at that.

"Assistant Director, is there a problem?"

The senator's question snapped Skinner back to reality. "A problem,Senator? I'm not sure what you mean."

"Your cell phone. It's ringing. Aren't you going to answer it?"

"I apologize for the interruption, Senator."

With that, Skinner reached into his coat pocket and turned off theoffending cell phone. He felt a sense of power as he did so. It was hisfirst victory against his tormentor, and it wouldn't be the last.

Skinner's day was looking up.

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It was late in the evening as Skinner returned home. He entered theapartment and walked directly over to the answering machine. Without notingthe six messages it held, he jerked the power cord from the wall.

"One down."

Next, he proceeded to rip the cord out of the wall from the phonenext to the answering machine. Then, walking into the kitchen, he did thesame with the phone mounted next to the cabinet.

"Three down."

With every swift snap of his wrist Skinner regained more and moreof his self confidence. The color returned to his face, and a slight spring could be observed in his step as he bounded up the stairs to the bedroom.

Skinner stripped himself of his clothes, leaving them scattered onthe floor as he headed for the shower, for once not caring about the messhe made.

He let the warm water of the shower wash over him and cleanse thedirt and sweat from his body. Gradually, the muscles of his shoulders andback relaxed. He washed himself thoroughly and deliberately, running thebar of Ivory soap across his broad chest and down to his stomach. He continuedthe job of cleaning himself, paying close attention to each muscle andjoint.

The warmth of the shower penetrated deep into him as he continuedthe task at hand. He felt the tingle of each nerve ending, as the bar ofsoap ran across his body. He felt himself come alive again and sensedthe blood coursing through his body, filling up the empty spaces. Finally,the pain was gone, replaced by pleasure.

Skinner gripped himself firmly with his powerful hand. He strokedmethodically back and forth along his shaft. He was taking his time, andsavoring each moment.

Gradually, a plan formed in his mind. It was time to put a stop tothis torment. Time to turn the tables on his tormentor. Time to stop asking *why*.

As the pressure began to build, Skinner prepared himself for release.He held it back as long as he could, enjoying the pleasure and the anticipation.

With one giant spasm, Skinner's cum spattered across the shower wall.Waves of pleasure overtook him, and he screamed:

"Muuuulderrrrrrrr!"

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It had been a long day. A very long day. But tomorrow was going tobe different. Very different.