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Heart's Desire - round 1 part 4 by Tarlan

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The wrathful spirit that was once Osebo cursed anew, his attempt to reach the town had left him even weaker. The stag, a once proud beast, lay dead nearby, it's magnificent body already stiffening with cold as a thick blanket of snow fell upon it. If he had a voice he would have screamed out his rage, recognising that his decision to head for the town had been foolish. Yes, the town *would* offer far more opportunity to capture the soul of a human. Yes, the town would have sweet, innocent children, their souls untainted through youthful ignorance... their bodies too fragile to fight off his attack and he *needed* an easy target especially in his weakened state.

His thoughts returned to the two men who had unwittingly released him from his centuries long imprisonment; the beautiful but dangerous green-eyed man and the other, so pretty... so innocent. He smiled. The pretty one had been injured. He had sensed the man's disorientation and weakness as he chased them through the forest. He could easily have overpowered this one. Osebo let his thoughts slither and coil around those two beautiful creatures. He could almost taste the succulent innocence of the pretty man sliding into his dark spirit. He could visualise his darkness folding over the fragile man, feeding off the bright soul until only madness remained. He snarled in anger. He should not have given up on this quarry.

But what of the green-eyed beauty? Despite his imperfection this was a body that would be worth claiming; a body that he could use to walk the Earth. He had seen both grace and beauty in the fluid movements as he gave chase; had sensed the quicksilver mind that, like his own, seemed perfectly tuned to self-preservation. A survivor. Osebo knew his green-eyed prize would fight any possession. He laughed. Once he had drained all the goodness from the innocent one then he would have the strength to take the other. Already he could taste victory like sweet nectar flowing into his blackened soul.

Osebo reached into the tree trying to use what strength remained to feed off its lifeforce but there was barely enough to sustain his existence. His spirit coiled upwards through the thick trunk as it sensed a sronger lifeforce above him.

The small bird had fluffed up its feathers to protect itself from the biting wind that drove the thick flakes of snow, its tiny brain too preoccupied with keeping warm to sense the malevolence that crept through the branch beneath it. Osebo glided along until it was within striking distance and then, like a snake, he struck, sinking his venomous spirit deep into the bird's breast, coiling himself around it's small heart... and began to feed off it's frail spirit. He sent the bird flying headlong into the driving snow, seeking ever-larger prey to feed him as he made his way back towards the small cabin in the forest.

***

I rubbed at a sore spot near my left shoulder where the strap from the prosthetic had cut into my skin. I should have removed the damn thing before getting into the bed but, at the time, I'd felt too exhausted to bother. A mistake. I had never been able to get comfortable sleeping with that piece of shitty plastic strapped to me... so here we are at... My wristwatch told me it was only a little after midnight. We'd only slept about four hours before the discomfort brought me out of sleep and it was inevitable that my movements would awaken Mulder. I sighed softly, rubbing my eyes with the palm of my hand. Only four hours. It was nowhere near enough. I could really do with a few more hours and, as Mulder sat back from the table, I could tell from the way his eyelids drooped that he would not be staying awake much longer either.

The jagged cut above his left eyebrow had long since stopped bleeding but still it needed seeing to if only to bathe away the dried blood. Not that I was going to offer any time soon. I grimaced. I could see the mottled bruising forming around the wound. Perhaps I ought to make that offer even though I could already predict the response. Mulder still looked a little dazed and, from a quick glance before the heavy lids closed, I was sure that the dilation of his eyes was just a little uneven. He probably had a mild concussion but, knowing Mulder, he would never admit any weakness. Not to me anyway but was I in any better shape?

Looking back down at my own bowl of half-eaten stew I wondered at my loss of appetite. Was it due to the terror-filled rush through the darkening forest as my sixth sense screamed out 'danger'?

I had learnt never to question or ignore that inner call; my missing left arm a constant reminder of what happened the last time I *had* ignored that sense of foreboding. I feel the loss as keenly today as I had that first morning after... it happened. Every morning I curse my own stupidity. All the signs had been there; the group of one-armed peasants, the whispers... the promise to save me from the tests. Looking back I cannot believe I could have been so careless and for a long time I blamed Fox Mulder for making it out of there in one piece while I... To be honest, I still feel some resentment festering under the surface despite all my attempts to cleanse that particular wound. I cut short this train of thought. It gains me nothing and distracts me from the true question. Why *had* my sixth sense kicked in? Why had the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end? What sense of peril had sent me running and screaming into the forest like a small, frightened child?

I glance back up at my *companion* for a moment before dropping my eyes to avoid any confrontation. Mulder had sensed something too but, unlike me, he was not willing to put it down to delirium. What's more I knew he was right. *Something* had chased us. Something *had* nearly caught us. Now, as I sit here in this cabin with a few spoonfuls of stew warming my insides I can finally admit he has a point. If there is something out there... then it might come back.

I glance up at him again, surreptiously, through the curtain of dark lashes that frame my eyes. His eyes are open but he is lost in thought, his teeth worrying his full lower lip in a way that sends a lick of energy dancing through my body. God! I thought I had outgrown this wanton desire for the unobtainable but... I take the opportunity to study his face, wondering what it is about him that draws me to him. My eyes alight on his most prominent feature. His nose is too big... I smile... but he has beautiful eyes that seem to change colour with every thought, every emotion and the cutest mouth, soft and sensual with full lips I could chew on...

I grimace. *Is* it fear that holds my appetite to ransom or is there a different hunger that gnaws at my belly.

"What are you staring at?"

I can feel the flush burn its way to the tips of my ears and find myself mumbling something about checking out the cut on his forehead. He raises a hand and gently touches the jagged line. He winces and I find myself wincing in sympathy. Once more I drop my eyes to avoid the glare he is directing my way.

"Are you finished?"

I look back up in bewilderment. Finished what? He gestures towards the half-eaten stew. I shrug and feel my eyebrows rise as he pulls the bowl across and starts to eat. A warm sensation creeps along my nerve endings as I watch him. Not quite as erotic as if I had spoon-fed him myself but there is something special about watching him eat from *my* bowl. A sense of sharing... of camaraderie. Eventually he drops the spoon in the empty bowl and pushes away from the table. He walks unsteadily so I follow his blanket-wrapped body, still holding the sheet tight around my own. I stop in the middle of the room watching him as he flops down onto a decrepit looking couch, his head falling back, those beautiful eyes closed. Several creases line his still bloodied and bruised forehead. It occurs to me that he may be in pain and I wonder if there is a medkit around here someplace. If only I had the energy to go look for it. I stand there for at least a minute, wondering what to do with him... and what to do with *myself*. There *is* room on the couch but for some weird reason, sharing the couch seems more of an invasion than sharing the bed. I look around but there is nowhere else to sit except on the floor and the fine layer of dust and dirt makes that an unpleasant prospect. Another minute passes and I am begining to suspect he has fallen asleep. As I move towards him he opens one eye. The look is meant to intimidate me... and it works. He sits

upright.

"We need a plan."

"A plan for what? Getting out of here? There is only one way out. We wait until morning and then, if the weather has improved, we walk out of here."

The silence stretches. I close my eyes. I've known him too long to misread that look on his face. He has the same gleam in his eye that he had when we were partners and he'd found some weird case to investigate.

"There's nothing out there, Mulder. Just your delusions."

"Still in denial, hey Krycek?"

I shake my head, exasperated but he is right. My sixth sense says there *is* something out there but there is no way on this Earth that I am going to go looking for it. A small inner voice cries out to me; But what if it *did* come back...?

"We need a plan in case it comes back."

I couldn't prevent the terse laugh of disbelief. Sometimes I could almost swear the man can read my mind.

"How in hell do you plan for the unknown, Mulder? I don't recall seeing any bibles or holy water or any other shit like that around here..."

"OK. Fine. If you want to sit around on your ass and wait for it to come and bite it then that's OK by me. However, I have no intention of doing the same."

Strangely enough, his voice is soft and even, as if he is too tired to argue with me. I glare at him as he rises from the couch, gathering his dignity around him along with the blanket.

"First though, I'm gonna get some more sleep. You can have the couch."

"No fucking way, Mulder. I'm not sleeping on no moth-eaten couch... that's your domain."

So here we are, standing barely three feet apart, eyes blazing, neither of us willing to back down. He turns abruptly, staggers as if a little drunk and then heads into the small bedroom. Clenching the sheet firmly in my one hand I follow, surprised when he makes no attempt to slam the door in my face. We stalk to opposite sides of the large bed then drop our respective coverings and clamber in together, turning until we are back-to-back. As the silence grows I notice that his harsh breathing has evened out. I turn onto my back and listen, feeling strangely comforted by his deep, even breaths and the warmth that radiates from his body. Eventually I must have fallen asleep as well.

***

The small chipmunk lay twitching in the snow beneath the hooves of his latest acquisition. It was not dead but there was little chance of it surviving much longer. The young doe watched it's tiny feet beat the air in its madness, enjoying the spectacle. Eventually Osebo grew bored and, with a swift downward stroke he crushed the small head with a hoof. He forced the doe out of the sheltering trees. The cabin was not much further on and, if he used her as wisely as he had used the other creatures then the lifeforce of this doe would bring him there just before daybreak when the night was at its coldest and darkest.

***

The old man moved closer to the fire in the wood-burning stove, watching the dancing flames flicker and crackle like living beings. His vision quest had warned him of a great evil freed to roam the Earth. It had also shown him two strong spirits that would duel with this evil to the death. The images of snake and bird were still in his mind and he knew the hypnotic qualities of the living fire would bring greater clarity. As he gazed deeper into the flickering flames he saw again the beautiful falcon with its clipped wing and green eyes being pulled into the flames by the great black serpent. Could hear again its keening cry as it fought with beak and talon to free itself from the coils wrapped about its strong breast. As it was in the vision, he saw the golden-eyed eagle, its feathers battered and burnt, its heart full of innocence and love swoop down, its talons ripping into the serpent, pulling both falcon and snake from the burning abyss.

The old man closed his eyes to block out the sight of flame and vision. When he reopened them he knew one more thing. This was no longer a warning of a far future danger. This battle was about to commence.

***

The doe dropped to the ground outside the cabin, twitching in exhaustion from the hard journey through the driving snowstorm. She was too tired to move even though some small part of her remaining spirit realised she would freeze to death if she made no effort to stand. The creature that had devoured most of her fragile lifeforce slithered out.

Osebo reached out into the very structure of the building. He left the deer barely alive just in case he needed her again, not foolish enough to make the same mistake twice in a single night. Slowly and quietly he slithered through the floorboards towards the bed, coiling up one leg until he was within striking distance of the weakened man. This would be so easy. The weak one was deeply asleep and it took a matter of moments to slip into the quiet mind. Osebo started to drink the sweet innocence, relishing the softness of hazy thoughts until...

He smiled as he drank in the heady mixture of light and dark, love and hate where soft caresses became hard fists, gentle words were drowned out by harsh accusations. He opened the eyes and gazed at the beautiful man lying on his stomach by his side. The light from the small lamp picked out the curve of dark lashes, the tip of an elfin shaped ear and the deep cupid's bow of the slightly parted lips.

Alex.

This one he inhabited called himself Mulder. Osebo delved into the intelligent mind, bringing hidden desires to the surface of the sleeping man. He pushed the waking conscious deeper as he took control of the long limbs. It had been so long since he had felt the heady sensations of lust and desire fire through his soul. He reached out with one finger to stroke the length of the soft skin from shoulder to thigh, thrilled by the gentle moan. Osebo brough the finger to his lips then back down to the beautiful green-eyed man. His strokes became bolder, curving along the firm asscheek, sliding down the crevice to whisper across the small puckered muscle, feeling it contract beneath his questing finger as a whimper fell from those perfect lips. He pushed in one digit, his hunger growing exponentially as two fingers replaced the one. Osebo manoeuvred Mulder's body until he was straddling the slim hips, he spat into the palm of Mulder's hand and used the saliva to coat the throbbing erection.

***

I floated up through the most exquisite sensation of fingers caressing me both externally and internally. Mulder's fingers. Such a beautiful dream. As the final curtain of sleep parted I found myself lying on my stomach with Mulder poised above me, straddling my hips. Half-dazed I followed his silent command and raised myself, opening myself further to him, still convinced this was a wondrous dream that I would suddenly awaken from.

The first stab of his cock against my ass brought reality crashing down and I hissed in pain.

"Mulder?"

I reached back to try and slow him down but he pushed my hand aside then leant most of his weight onto my right shoulder, pinning me to the bed. He pushed against my ass once more and I gasped out in pain as the head was forced inside. This was crazy.

"So beautiful..." He murmured over and over.

I tried bucking against him, somehow managing to free my arm. He forced himself further inside and I could feel the tender inner flesh tear from the lack of lubrication.

"Mulder! You're hurting..."

His chest was close-pressed to my back, his teeth sank into the soft flesh between neck and shoulder. With one last shove I reared up and jacked my head back. He bellowed in anger and pain as the back of my head connected with his nose. I could feel warm fluid splatter across my back as he pulled away from me. I flipped him over and stared into demonic eyes full of lust and pain... and malevolence. The hairs on the back of my head stood on end once more and I scrabbled back in fear. A sudden sense of falling was replaced instantly by pain as I hit the floor, my head slamming into the floorboards. Mulder leaned over the edge of the bed, feral eyes stabbing into my own, blood dripping from his nose and from the reopened cut on his forehead. The eyes glassed over suddenly and lust was replaced by horror.

Mulder screamed and pulled away from me, clawing at his skin. He shuddered hard, his limbs twitching uncontrollably until...

The bed came alive, rocking and groaning and I watched in terror as a face pushed out from the wood of the headboard.

BACK TO MEGAERA, I BELIEVE !!