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Heart's Desire - round 2 part 4 by Tarlan

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Sheriff McCallister cast looks as dark as the cloud-filled sky above him as they slowly made their way along the almost invisible road through the forest. Wind-driven snow beat against the windscreen obscuring their view, making it near impossible to see more than a few feet in front of them but they had travelled this road a thousand times; knew every twist, every tree. The man in the driver's seat was one of his deputies... and a long-time friend. As the snow-mobile ploughed its way through the thick layer of ice and snow, he glanced sideways once more.

"This is a dang waste of time. You know it... and *I* know it. If those men are out here then they're most likely dead. Frozen solid like popsicles in a freezer." He gazed out of the side window unable to see even the trees lining the edge of the road through the thick curtain of snow. The rant continued unabated. "Damn stupid fuck city-boy. What the hell made him take a drive out here with this weather front closing in? And if it weren't for him... and that Assistant Director asshole I'd be safe and warm in my own office rather than freezing my butt off..."

Josh Markham took his eyes off the road for a second to sympathise but quickly put them back, not bothering to add his own piece of mind to the monologue occurring next to him. In weather like this you had to keep your wits about you even if you were only doing 10 miles and hour in an antiquated snow-mobile. Instead, his thoughts travelled back a few hours to the call that had started this search.

Jenny had taken the call and had passed it over almost immediately with eyes as wide as saucers. It wasn't every day you got a call from an Assistant Director of the FBI. Within minutes he had the full story. An FBI special agent escorting a dangerous prisoner back to DC had disappeared on route. They knew his itinerary and they knew, through sheer luck, that the car had been spotted on the turnpike about 20 miles south-east of Caplan... mainly because it was the only car heading in that direction. No-one else was foolish enough to drive into a storm. The agent had not reported in... and the car had not reached the next town. Patrols had swept along the interstate in case the car had gone off the road but there was no sign of it or its passengers. That left only one possibility; they had turned off the interstate onto the Logging Road.

McCallister patted his gun for the nth time. If this prisoner was as dangerous as they said then maybe he had overpowered the Fibbie and forced them off the road. Whatever the case, he was not going to be unprepared.

Another hour passed by slowly and then there was a sudden lull in the storm. The wind dropped leaving them gazing at a gloomy world full of snow-laden trees whose bare branches stretched outwards like the gnarled fingers of an old man.

"Over there."

McCallister squinted through the windscreen until he spotted the burnt out wreck of a car.

"Jesus H Christ. Of all the trees to hit. Those damn redskins'll come down on us like we *ordered* them to crash into their sacred tree. Damn heathens... damn stupid Fibbie."

They stopped the snow-mobile and climbed out, pulling on thick weather-proof Gore-Tex jackets. Markham was first on the scene. He'd seen the burnt remains of fire victims many times and even the *thought* of what he might find inside the car turned his stomach so he took a deep breath before glancing inside the wreck. He exhaled slowly; his warm breath visible as it hit the cold air outside his body.

"Well, they weren't in it when it exploded."

Markham glanced around but no tell-tale mounds were visible. Both men slowly turned in a full circle, gazing outward, trying to gain some idea of what happened to the occupants of the car but the heavy snowfall during the night had obscured any tracks.

"I reckon we'll be digging out two stiffs come the thaw. We'd best head back."

"Frank, the Johnson's cabin is only a mile or so ahead. Perhaps we oughta check it out?"

"You're clutching at straws, Josh. The chances of them heading in *that* direction are... are... well, they're a darn sight less than me winning the state lottery."

"Nevertheless..." Markham paused to think. "...or we could drive on to the old Shaman's place. Didn't Longfort say he'd be staying with his grandfather for a day or two? If anyone could track these men through this it's..."

"You're mighty eager to find these men?"

"Not the men... the Agent. That AD seemed pretty concerned about his man. He's on his way to Caplan right now."

"Why the fuck didn't you say so earlier? Shit. That's all we need... some city asshole sticking his nose in where it's not wanted."

"What was that?"

"What?"

"I thought I heard a noise...."

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Adam Longfort strode into the kitchen with the two men following, a small smile playing about his lips as he listened to continous stream of questions and suppositions spouted from the luscious lips of the hazel-eyed man. He turned and, with gentle pressure on one silken shoulder, pushed Mulder into a seat at the large table. Most of the questions seemed to be aimed internally, as if he were using the Indian as a sounding board but every now and then Adam found something he *could* answer. The questions continued unabated while he reheated a thick vegetable broth. Eventually, he turned and held up a hand to forestall the next question. His dark eyes alighted once more upon the intelligent, inquisitive eyes, momentarily mesmerised by the play of light that turned them from green to gold then to blue. He dropped his gaze, his breath hitching as his own eyes raked across the exposed hairless chest with its long, toned muscles and small brown discs. He ached to reach out and run his hand across the plane of pectoral; to pinch one nipple between his fingers and watch the skin pucker. That full bottom lip took on a pout and Adam wished he could lean forward and suck it into his own mouth, nip it gently between his teeth before claiming the rest. With great difficulty he turned back to the stove and measured the broth out in to three bowls. He placed a bowl before each man and indicated the pile of freshly cut and buttered bread.

"Help yourselves. Once we've finished eating I'll tell you all I know."

A quick glance at the beautiful green-eyed man made him pause. If he didn't know any better then he might have sworn he saw anger in those forest-green depths. He thought back but could see nothing in his actions that might have angered the other except for the attention he had been paying his friend. Not wanting to believe the obvious, Adam decided that this 'friend' was probably homophobic... and in light of the way he had been treated by Osebo, perhaps there was some justification but, whatever his feelings might be, Adam was not going to pass up the opportunity to get to know this *Mulder* better. He knew his feelings were recipocated. He had seen the way the other reacted to him; had felt the same jolt of electricity leaping through his own body whenever their skin touched. He paused. He had introduced himself. It was time he got a formal introduction in return.

Mulder looked up from the seemingly innocuous question. The temptation to reply 'FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder and this is my prisoner, Alex Krycek' was almost overpowering because it was the truth and yet, since the start of this horror story, he had felt an overwhelming desire to protect Alex. Revealing his status to a Deputy Sheriff was not going to do that.

"Fox Mulder... and this is Alex Krycek."

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I looked across the table in barely concealed astonishment. This was not the first time Mulder had said something that hid the true nature of our involvement. It was almost as if...Nah!! Why would he want to protect me? //Guilt// The tiny whisper was like a devil with a pitchfork sitting on my shoulder, prodding me with a reason that was far more likely than the one I wished for.

//Whoah! Hold off on that thought.//

Why would I wish for any other reason? Why would I wish that he witheld the truth because he actually cared for me? It *had* to be guilt... and yet he had already absolved himself from the rape. Was he feeling guilty about driving us into this predicament? Was he blaming himself for the danger he had placed us both in? Or was I still trying, desperately, to avoid the fact that he might have stronger feelings for me than the hate that had always seemed so apparent. I knew he wanted me. If he had not come outright and admitted it then the tell-tale bulge in his trousers as I pressed against him earlier, lips locked together left no doubt. And me? Hell, I *know* I want him. He's a sexy man... and, having sat through a dozen video tapes of him masturbating to some nameless porno flick, I knew he would be an enlightened lover. Yes. That was it. It was pure sex. That's what I felt for him... and that's all that he felt for me. That's what I *wanted* from him. Nothing more...

//So why does the thought of him and that Indian locked together in a passionate embrace twist my heart into knots.//

I glared at the Indian... Adam Longfort... our saviour. The man, who even now, was filling us with warm food and providing us with a safe haven. That was another thought that had come outta left field. Safe. Was it safe here?

I noticed him look at me funny and then make some internal rationalisation based on my reaction to him. My thoughts turned to his earlier words and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. He said I was beautiful... he said Mulder was too... and he said Osebo liked pretty things. Was that how Longfort saw us, as beautiful, pretty things for Osebo to play with. Were we actually safe... or had we walked into the lion's den?

"This is good." Mulder mumbled around a spoonful of broth.

I watched him reach for another slice of bread. My eyes dropped back to the bowl of broth. It *was* good but then anything was better than that cold oatmeal Mulder had dished up.. what, five hours ago?

Once the plates had been cleared, Longfort started to tell us the tale of this Osebo and if I hadn't seen and felt some of the strangest, most terrifying things then his story would have come across like some corny tale dreamt up by a bunch of kids around a late-night camp fire. He mentioned that this evil spirit had been trapped inside an old gnarled tree and I closed my eyes briefly in a mixture of despair and resignation as I remembered my last sight before the crash. It was just *so* typical of my luck... and Mulder's. Of all the trees in a massive damn forest he *had* to choose *that* particular one to slam into releasing the lust demon of hell whose only goal in life seemed to be to find a way to get into *my* pants... permanently.

"This Running Deer could only trap Osebo? So... nothing can kill it."

Longfort looked at me as if he had temporarily forgotten I even existed. His whole attention had been focused on Mulder... and who could blame him. There was something about Mulder on a quest, some inner light that shone, radiating outwards through the very pores of his skin. It's light pierced you, stabbed into the dark places of your soul stirring up that 'Crusader fanaticism' that lies dormant in the best... and the worst of us. It was that same passion that had ensnared me so quickly during those few months when we were partners and it was the remembrance of that blinding light that kept me sane in the dark places I found myself in the years that followed. Not that I would ever admit such a thing to him. The man was infuriating enough without me handing him extra ammo to use against me.

"You both need to rest now. I'll show you to your rooms."

I noticed he didn't bother to refute my statement about destroying Osebo and I sat at the table a moment longer as he and Mulder went through the doorway together. I gritted my teeth hard when Longfort reached out... oh so casually... to clasp Mulder's naked arm, directing him down a short corridor. I'm certain that if looks could kill the man would have been incinerated on the spot but I couldn't help it. I couldn't help feeling insanely jealous of the attention he was giving Mulder. Mulder was *mine*, goddammit. No-one else had the right to touch him like that. I pinched the bridge of my nose, eyes squeezed tightly shut, as I tried to get a grip on my temper, confused by the powerful emotions overwhelming me. What right did I have to be jealous? Why should seeing Mulder respond to Longfort's advances drive me crazy?

I took a deep breath and rose to follow them, my anger flaring again when I saw them talking, bodies standing too close together for my liking. So what if the corridor was narrow...they didn't have to stand like that, in each other's personal space, almost inhaling each other's breath. Close enough almost to kiss.

"I thought you said we needed to rest?"

Both men jumped back a pace, obviously shocked by the venom in my voice but I couldn't seem to control the jealousy that slithered through me. What was it about Mulder that seemed to bring out the worst in me? And if it was just about sex then why did I keep pushing him away?

That devil was prodding me again, whispering words that were more frightening than Osebo himself.

//It isn't just sex. You care for *him*... you want him and not just for his body. You want it all... the matching china, the perfect house with the white-picket fence... the whole shebang.//

I pulled away from those almost alien thoughts, pushing them aside as brutally as possible.

"You can sleep here." Longfort pushed open a plain wooden door and indicated inside.

As I stepped into the small bedroom, the blanket still wrapped around me like a toga, a feeling of dread uncurled itself in the pit of my stomach, coiling gradually upwards until it had a stranglehold on my throat. I turned back and watched them move on to the next room, part of me still frightened to be alone after what had happened in the forest. I chided myself for being a coward. Anyway... hadn't Mulder already been taken over once? What if it happened again? That frightened part of me weaved it's own fear into my tired brain... what if Osebo came back for me while I was alone? Would they hear my cries for help? It was only sheer luck that Mulder had decided to follow me into the forest that time... and yet I had spent last night alone. The fact that I had slept very little... and had spent most of that night huddled in the corner of the room as far from the bed as possible was immaterial. I *had* been alone and yet now...

I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose once more to forestall the headache that was fast approaching as I realised that, despite what happened the last time we shared a bed, I would feel infinitely safer having him beside me than spending another night alone while that sex-mad, soul-sucking demon was on the loose.

I snarled at myself. Berating myself for being so pathetic...and anyway, I doubt 'Adam Longfort, Deputy Sheriff of a little town called Caplan' would be too pleased to see Mulder in *my* bed especially after all the body language he had thrown in Mulder's direction. Again that black feeling rose from deep inside me and I felt bile at the back of my throat as I thought of my Mulder writhing in ecstasy beneath that Indian. Saviour or not I would kill him if he so much as laid one finger on....

*My* Mulder? Where had that come from? This was the second time my mind had laid claim to him. What the fuck was wrong with me?

I threw the blanket over the bed and quickly jumped in before I froze. The cold sheets felt rough against my naked skin but I'd slept in far worse places. I lay huddled beneath the covers, staring up at yet another strange ceiling as the thoughts chased themselves around my head until I felt physically sick. Eventually I must have slept.

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Markham sobbed hoarsely as the knife descended once more, slicing a path through his flesh, creating a new river of blood to join the many flowing across a chest criss-crossed with cuts. He was naked, lying spread-eagled on the cold floor of the Johnson cabin, wrists and ankles tied securely to pegs driven into the wooden planking. Kneeling above him, his 'friend' grinned, the meagre light reflecting off the blood-covered blade of the knife held in one hand while the other hand caressed Markham's flank, running up the inner thigh to rub against his groin. Whenever blessed darkness tried to descend upon him McCallister would stop, waiting patiently for the darkness to recede.

Osebo looked out of the Sheriff's eyes, reveling in the dual emotions of feeding on the horror of his victim as he fed on the fear and pain of the one he tortured physically. He pressed the flat of the blade against the bloodied flesh, slicing through as if paring an apple. The cry of pain that filled the air was as erotic as the mental scream of agony that assailed his senses. He laughed, feeling the power flow into him. Too late he registered the attack as McCallister made one last ditch attempt to fight back and the knife sliced through one of his own fingers, severing it completely. Osebo snarled and stabbed down into his victim's mind, forcing McCallister back, bringing a terrified mental shriek from the Sheriff.

Osebo held up the hand and studied the damage, turning the hand from side to side as he watched the blood drip steadily onto the man below. The seamed lips curled back from the teeth in another snarl as he focused on the stump. Tapping into newfound knowledge and strength, he watched as the flesh pushed outwards, a gelatinous mass that quickly transformed itself into flesh and bone. Osebo wiggled the newly created finger before his eyes, luxuriating in the new sensations of shock coming from both of his victim. It was delicious; the raw energy; the power that sent electric thrills through him... and through the body he possessed. With glee he forced McCallister's repaired hand down his own body, the large fist enclosing the rock-hard erection, pumping the solid flesh until a stream of come splattered across the bloodied, sobbing body below him. He laughed as McCallister reeled in shock, this final act of debasement tearing away the last of the man's sanity leaving only a shell of a mind behind.

The man beneath him was praying for an end to it. His lips, bitten in reflex, softly chanting. Slivers of skin hung from his frame where the sharp blade had done its work. The knife descended again but his screams had long since faded into hoarse moans, his mind too shocked to register much more pain as he was slowly skinned alive. Osebo's thoughts turned inward. He had spent many hours feeding off these humans and they had nothing more to give him. He raised the blade and stared at it as if mesmerised by the play of the lamplight upon its blood-dulled surface. Osebo smiled maliciously as he drove the blade into the praying man's heart, feeling magnaminous as he granted the dying man his wish for a quicker death.

Osebo stood up. Raising his arms high in the air, he threw back his head and laughed, slowly turning in a full circle as he surveyed the blood splattered walls, feeling more powerful than he had in centuries. Silence descended except for the heavy pants from his exhilerated body. He could not consider this wasted time and yet still it played on him that hours had passed since he last held the delicious form of the green-eyed man. His thoughts travelled back, relishing every touch, every caress of that writhing form. Sucking on those small nipples, his cotton fingers caressing the firm ass, forcing entry through the tight ring of muscle. He had tried to subdue the frantically flailing man by using the prosthesis to cut off his air supply, wanting to leave the oxygen deprived man vulnerable but had not bargained on his former victim coming to the rescue. At the time he had not possessed enough power to overcome both men working together... now... now he was unstoppable.

Leaving the blood-soaked corpse behind, Osebo manoeuvred McCallister's naked body into the shower to sluice off the gore that coated his flesh. Once done, he went into the bedroom to recover McCallister's clothes, pulled them on and then looked at himself in the tall mirror. When he had carried the unconscious Josh Markham to this cabin he had expected to find it still occupied by the beautiful Alex and Fox. He had planned to lull them into believing he *was* Sheriff McCallister, hoping to throw them off their guard... hoping to use the knowledge he had gained to drive a wedge between them. Instead he had found the place empty. He cursed, having misjudged them so completely. He was certain the raven-haired one would refuse to leave the cabin after what happened during his previous attempt to walk out. It was obvious to him now that, despite indications to the contrary, his Alex trusted Fox Mulder. Trusted him enough to place his life in the other man's hands.

Osebo stretched McCallister's body, relishing the feel of human flesh and bone surrounding him. It had been so very long since he last felt this good, this powerful. A malevolent gleam shone from the blue eyes as he surveyed his new form. It was not beautiful... was not even slightly pretty but it would serve a purpose. It would bring him close to the one he wanted. It would house him until he could reach out and take that coveted flesh for his own and once there, the other... Fox William Mulder... would discover ultimate pleasure and exquisite pain as *he* fed Osebo his life-force. And with careful attention Alex Krycek's dark emotions would feed Osebo for a long, long time.

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The Old Shaman looked away from the flickering flames as he saw two men's tortured souls wither and die. Osebo had claimed their life forces and, in doing so, had become more powerful than previously imagined. His thoughts turned to the knowledge that lay within him. A knowledge handed down from one generation to the next.

Running Deer had managed to overpower Osebo using the hatred she felt for the callous way he had murdered her beloved newly-wed husband, Walks With Bear. That mixture of hate and love had been enough to trap the evil spirit within the tree but the Shaman knew that a far stronger emotion was needed to destroy it. Pure love. Not the love of blood-brothers. Not even the love of a mother for her child. No. The love needed was the deepest and strongest kind. The kind of love that would bind two souls together. The Old Ones had shown him that the two strangers possessed such a love... if only they could admit it both to themselves and to each other. He knew the ancient ones moved in mysterious ways so it could be no accident that had brought those two men to this place at this time. Already the visions had revealed their ever-crossing paths. Their lives had become entwined through adversity and, unknowingly, through a common goal and he hoped that just a single push would be enough to hold them together, giving them the strength needed to defeat Osebo.

The old man thought of his grandson, the unknowing catalyst, and he prayed Little Cloud would be strong enough to survive the cruelty fate had in store for him.

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It was a muffled cry that brought Mulder out of a deep sleep. His eyes snapped open as a single word fell from his lips.

"Alex."

He jumped out of the bed and rushed into the next room with no thought to his state of dress to be greeted by the sight of Alex thrashing around beneath the covers, head buried in the pillow. With fear that Osebo had found them again and was inhabiting the very sheets twisting about the writhing form, Mulder leapt forward and started to tear frantically at the cloth. His heart was beating like a trip-hammer but he stilled suddenly, sucking in a deep breath when he realised the covers were not fighting back. His eyes closed briefly in relief and he moved to grab hold of the panicking man.

"Alex! Alex! Wake up. Cummon, Alex. It's just a dream. Just a dream."

Gradually his words filtered through and the thrashing ceased.

"You're all tangled up in the sheets. Stay still and I'll get you free."

Mulder heard a sound over his shoulder and glanced back to see Adam Longfort in the doorway. He mouthed words of reassurance to the Indian and turned his attention back to Krycek. With gentle movements he eased the sheet away and watched Alex raise his head to suck in deep, shaky breaths as he tried to will down the panic. Finally he was free and he turned over. Mulder was sitting on the bed by his side and with one swift lunge Krycek wrapped his arm around the solid form, burying his head against Mulder's abdomen. Mulder reached down and dragged his fingers through the fear-soaked hair, softly petting Krycek, crooning words of comfort as if to a small child. After a few minutes the short, rapid breathing slowed but the clinging man made no attempt to pull out of the awkward embrace.

Mulder continued with the soft litany of soothing words, one hand travelling in long, gentle strokes from the nape of neck down the broad back to the exposed hip... over and over. He stopped when he felt Alex tense beneath him, feeling strangely saddened by this change. He started to pull away, expecting Alex to do the same but instead, the arm tightened around his waist.

"No. Please stay."

The softly spoken words were almost inaudible but Mulder could not help the surge of pleasure that rippled through him on hearing them. He resumed the long strokes, interspacing them with gentle caresses on the clammy skin.

It was the soft, tickling breath that first filtered through. Mulder paused momentarily, shaking his head in bewilderment and disappointment, deciding Alex was probably asleep. His head shot up. No. That was a kiss, the soft flutter of lips passing over him. He tried to relax, focusing totally on the mouth pressed, feather-light, against his stomach, his hands still almost absent-mindedly caressing Alex's warm flesh. Mulder's eyes fluttered closed as the head... and those soft lips... moved south, trailing lightly down his abdomen until he could feel Alex nuzzling through the short dark hairs curled around his now engorged flesh. A slightly stubbled cheek grazed the silken shaft and Mulder held his breath as that teasing mouth slid over the bulbous head, tongue dipping into the small slit. He exhaled shakily as Alex began to gently suck and lick, the heat of the mouth slowly encasing the full length of his erection. Frissons of energy danced along his nerve endings as a warm sensation slowly built in the pit of his stomach. The weight of Alex's body across his thighs prevented his hips from thrusting upwards, prevented him from demanding more from that teasing mouth.

"Alex?... Alex?... Alex... I can't..."

He gasped as his senses overloaded, his chest constricting, squeezing the air from his lungs and sending bright lights dancing through his oxygen-deprived brain until he thought he might pass out and then, suddenly, he could breathe again. He gulped in deep lungfuls of air and slowly relaxed the death-grip he had on the short, dark head still lying in his lap. He shuddered as he felt the roughness of Krycek's tongue lap up any spillage and with a violent jerk Mulder pushed Alex off his lap and claimed that insolent mouth, tasting himself as his tongue swept the hot interior. His hand flowed down the heated flesh until it found Alex's hard erection. With just a few strokes he sent Alex over the edge, his mouth consuming the soft cry of pleasure.

They shared a long, undemanding kiss before Mulder pulled away.

"Alex. I need to get more comfortable."

Reluctantly, Alex released him long enough for Mulder to clamber beneath the sheets. Once settled he pulled the still slightly shaking frame into his arms and sighed as a head nuzzled onto his shoulder. Mulder turned in time to see Longfort, head bowed in disappointment, turn away, softly closing the door behind him. Several minutes passed in silence before that familiar husky voice caught his attention.

"This doesn't mean a thing, Mulder."

Mulder smiled into the darkness at the denial in the softly spoken words, for once willing to go along with the charade.

"Yeah. I know."

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Osebo stood on the porch of the cabin gazing deeply into the closely packed trees as if he expected to find what he sought but it was no good. Any tracks had long since been covered by the fresh snowfall. In short, he had no idea in which direction his quarry had run. One of McCallister's thoughts came back to him. Deputy Adam Longfort. The Indian was staying nearby at his Grandfather's and the knowledge he had gained from the mind he had destroyed told him that Longfort would be able to track his green-eyed beauty and his pretty, pretty friend through this snow-covered forest.

With a malevolent smile curling the seamed lips, he headed back to the snow-mobile and several hours later, with the smile in place, Osebo, still in the form of Sheriff Frank McCallister, knocked on the door.

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Sorry folks... I just couldn't cope any longer without some SMUT!!!! but it doesn't mean a thing... or does it?

All yours now Megaera !!