**

The three of them finally woke up, or at least abandoned attempts to sleep, around eleven on Sunday morning. No one had done much unpacking, so heading out was quick. Byers checked them out, and came back to the parking lot to discover Jimmy and Langly standing speechless at the back of the bus. He wandered over and stood between them. Then he looked down.

"That's… interesting," he finally said.

Jimmy and Langly nodded like twin drinking birds.

Byers sighed. "There's a pond right over by the office. It's coincidence, that's all."

They nodded again.

Aligned on the bumper—big, middle, and small—were three frogs. Gazing up at them with what Byers had to think of as amphibian smugness. He leaned down to see if he could shoo them away, feeling a little foolish, and the middle one made a noise. Byers pulled his hand back fast.

Langly made a noise of his own.

Jimmy blinked at them all without bias. "I thought frogs said 'ribbit'."

"I thought frogs said 'Budweiser'," Langly muttered. "I could use one."

Byers leaned forward again, and this time the smallest one crawled onto his hand. He held it up to his face, slowly. It made the same noise, and man and phib blinked at each other for several moments. "Jimmy," he said calmly, still looking at the frog, "get the other two, and we'll put them back by the pond."

Feeling even more foolish, he started walking towards the pond. The frog didn't move, not seeming put out at the unusual mode of transport. He heard Jimmy, behind him, say "C'mon, guys. I bet there's big juicy flies over there."

He waited until Jimmy put his passengers down, and then crouched down to put his on the grass. The frog made the noise again.

Jimmy handed him something. "I guess they want this."

Feeling exceptionally foolish, Byers set the dollar bill on the grass next to the frog. It hopped across and sat on it.

Jimmy laughed. "I wish I had some flies for them or something."

Byers stood, feeling about as foolish as he ever had. "Langly?" he asked, not turning around to see how big his audience actually was.

"He's still over there," Jimmy said.

"Thank God for that," Byers sighed. "We're not going to tell him about this, right? It's our little secret."

Jimmy laughed again. "Okay, Byers. Whatever you say."

"Thank you."

"I think it was nice," Jimmy continued, not seeming to notice Byers' thorough humiliation. "I wonder what they're gonna do with it? Do you think they'll give it to the other ones? The big ones?"

"I don't want to know," Byers said resolutely. "Let's just go wash our hands and get out of here."

**

"Johnny?"

"Yes, Ringo."

"I didn't hear that, did I?"

"No. You were hallucinating it. Lack of sleep or something."

"Oh. Good."

"Low blood sugar, maybe. We'll have breakfast, and you can take a nap, and it'll be okay."

"Okay."

"Well, I heard it. Those frogs said 'Change'! I've never heard frogs talk before!"

"Shut up, Jimmy."

"And keep your eyes on the road."

"Except on TV. Kermit talks."

"Jimmy?"

"And those beer frogs. What?"

"Shut up."

**

They were most of the way through breakfast when Langly couldn't stand it anymore. "What the hell is so funny, Jimmy?" Families enjoying post-church pancakes looked up disapprovingly. Langly lowered his voice, but his attitude would require three or four more hours of sleep. "Are you going to giggle all damned day?"

"IHOP," Jimmy said, and then giggled. "IHOP. Get it?"

Byers sighed.

"I've been waiting for one of you guys to get it!"

Byers summoned the waitress and asked for more coffee.

"IHOP," Jimmy said again. "I'm a frog and IHOP. I-HOP."

"Yes, we get it, Jimmy."

Langly turned to Byers. "Experience Music Project."

Byers nodded and poured him another cup of coffee. "I'll go with you. We'll get you a shirt. I'll pay."

Langly slugged it back. "You bet your ass you will." Which was the last thing he said for several hours.

**

They stopped briefly for lunch and more coffee, lots of it, in one of the larger towns, and Byers selected a deli next to a music store. He handed Langly some money and watched him disappear into it without a word. Jimmy had finally stopped making frog jokes, after Byers threatened to tell Yves about the picture of her he kept under his pillow. Langly hadn't so much as smiled.

Langly turned up twenty minutes later with a small bag and something approaching life in his expression, and silently tore into the sandwich Byers had ordered for him.

They (Jimmy and Byers, anyway) agreed to get off the road before dark tonight and try to catch up on some sleep. In separate rooms. Langly signaled his acceptance of the decision, Byers figured, by not throwing anything at anybody.

Byers checked in early with Frohike, keeping one eye on Langly.

"See any cows yet?"

"Uh… No. Not really. Not that we noticed."

Frohike paused, hearing the strain in Byers' voice. "What happened?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"You're all okay?"

Byers exhaled and tried to relax a little. "Yeah. It's been a long day, and nobody got much sleep last night, but we're all fine. We're going to find a hotel after dinner."

"How's the kid holding up?"

Byers gave him a sideways glance. "We're all fine, Fro. I'll tell you more about it in person. If you need to get us tonight, I'll have my cell phone on, okay? If I, uh, don't answer, try Jimmy, or just call back."

Frohike laughed. "Gotcha. I'm dropping the paper off at the printers in about an hour, and then heading over to Mulder's, so if you need me, I'll leave mine on, okay?"

Byers half-chuckled. "We should get Mulder a better tap jammer for Christmas."

Frohike snorted. "We should get Mulder some better locks for Christmas.

"Is J. Wayne going with you?"

"Assume so. Haven't asked him yet. He disappeared into the morgue this morning and hasn't made a peep in hours."

"There seems to be some of that going around. Enjoy your evening, Mel. All of you."

Frohike sighed. "That kid's—"

"—a bad influence on me. I know." Byers smiled. "Keep in touch."

"You too. Be careful."

**

J. Wayne begged off, looking faintly furtive, but Frohike dismissed it and went alone for beer, pizza, a couple of movies, and the easy companionship of his favorite (male, anyhow) FBI agent.

With the green peppers/anchovies issue thoroughly hashed out, they settled together on the couch in casual bare feet and awaited the arrival of dinner. Mulder'd already changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants, which was sort of a disappointment for Frohike, who did enjoy a nice bit of blue-jeaned scenery.

Mulder'd gotten released, Saturday afternoon, from four days in biohazard quarantine, and spent all day writing a report that wasn't going to be well-received by Skinner. It'd be at least midnight before he'd relax much, Frohike knew. But after four days in quarantine, nobody was expecting him in on the dot Monday morning. Frohike had plenty of time to see what he could do about the fact that the agent was almost vibrating with stress. He slung an arm around Mulder's neck and leaned against him.

"Four days. You should've called me," he scolded mildly. "I'd have fed your fish and watered that fern you keep trying to kill."

"I called you as soon as they turned me loose yesterday. Anyway, it wasn't necessary."

"You killed the fern? And the fish?"

"Fishes. Fish is plural for one species. Fishes is plural for several species. I have three angels and a bunch of different tetras. I have fishes. If I had four guppies, I'd have fish."

"If you had four guppies, you'd have schools of fish before too long. And I believe the question was, do you now have floaters?"

"I didn't kill them. I left a note on the tank before I headed out of town."

Frohike looked over. "Can't read it. What's it say?"

Mulder snickered. "It just asks whoever breaks in to feed the fish and water the fern."

Frohike sighed. "You're nuts."

"Yeah, but they did."

Frohike pulled away slightly. "Who did?"

Mulder shrugged. "Krycek, maybe."

Frohike covered his eyes with his hand. "Don't tell me anything else. I'm going to assume it was actually Scully."

"Assume away. But whoever it was also brought up my mail and swiped my copy of Celebrity Skin."

"You're right. That doesn't sound much like Scully."

Mulder shook his head. "Not really, no. She'd have replaced it with 'National Geographic', and turned my fishes over to the SPCA."

"I don't want to know. You never did tell me what the case was. And why the hell were you in quarantine this time?"

Mulder sighed. "You want the highlights, or the whole story."

"Start with the highlights."

"The highlights. Killer orchids do it for you?"

Frohike raised eyebrows. "Killer orchids?"

"Sort of. This stupid blue orchid releases pollen that makes guys nuts—"

"You must've gotten a snoot-full," Frohike grinned.

"You wish. It's like super-Viagra or something."

"I do wish. So who's dying?"

Mulder sighed again. "Okay. Last month, we had guys turning up dead in South Carolina, I think I mentioned that at least. And they're blue, and naked, and appear to have died from anaphylactic shock."

"Naked blue corpses. It's like snuff flicks for Smurfs. I can see why you were called in, Spooky."

"Fuck you."

"We'll get to that. Finish your story, Mulder."

Mulder snickered and shifted so that his back was to the older man. Frohike dug in and started to work at the knots in his shoulders. "Oh, God, that feels good."

"Finish your story or I'll stop."

"You're always ordering me around."

"Hey, I'm the top, remember?"

"How could I forget."

"Finish your story, Mulder," Frohike said again, a little less patiently.

"Ahh…" He stretched into the strong hands. "Okay. The weird thing is, all these guys died on the same day, though of course we didn't find a couple of the bodies until a few days after."

"Oh, goody. I bet they were ripe by then."

Mulder grimaced. "Ripe is not the word for it. It's fucking hot down there."

"And humid."

"Believe me, I know. So maybe we have some kind of spree-poisoner, they think, which is where I come in."

"Scully go with you?"

"Yes. She was giving me 'Well, it could be an infestation of a new species of spider, or possibly it's a new strain of hantavirus, and of course you know Mulder there have been reports of mildew'—"

"Mildew? In South Carolina? In July?"

"June. And it's the humidity, remember, not the heat. And it turns out she was about half-right. Are you going to let me tell this?"

Frohike moved one hand up to the agent's neck. "You're bitchy tonight."

Mulder sighed and deflated. "Sorry. It's been a really shitty week."

"You're forgiven, I suppose. Go on."

"Thank you. So the connection is, these guys, their wives are all members of the garden club, a garden club they've got down there."

"Let me guess. Orchids."

"Yeah."

"Cult?"

"Not quite. The orchids in question were owned by a woman who decided to share them around."

"That's friendly."

"Well, it wasn't deliberate. The sharing was, but basically these men all died by accident. She kept the orchids in her greenhouse." Mulder stopped, and shifted towards Frohike a little more. "What do you know about cultivating orchids, Fro?"

"Assume I'm ignorant of the subject."

"So was I. It seems that orchid seeds are really tiny little things—"

"Is that scientific terminology?"

"Yeah. 'Tiny' is bigger than 'itty-bitty' but smaller than 'teensy'."

Frohike snickered. "I'll keep that in mind." One hand started to work its way under Mulder's shirt, which audibly met with approval.

"Mm. Okay. The seeds are really small, and in order to germinate, they have to form a symbiotic relationship, apparently, with a fungus, which starts growing roots, sort of, that absorb water, which I'm told the seed can't do by itself."

"I can see why Skinner's gonna freak."

"Which part?"

"Your fine grasp of the scientific details involved. Why didn't Scully write the report? She knows more biology than you do."

"It was my turn."

"Ah. Lost another bet?"

Mulder sighed again. "No. But she wasn't going to touch the bodies otherwise. She's a brilliant woman, and a doctor of enormous skill, and I respect her talent greatly, but she has this thing, apparently, about blue snot."

Frohike snorted. "I can't begin to imagine how often that comes up."

"We had it in some quantity in this case. Anyway—keep doing that, okay?—it seems that different species of orchids need different types of fungi."

"Okay. And you got some kind of mutant strain from all the varieties?"

"No, it was a normal fungus, but from a different species of orchid. Which created, essentially, a mutant hybrid of the orchid. Making it much stronger than it originally was, and leading to the allergic reactions and the deaths. The worst part was the fight between the orchid-pusher and one of the forensic techs, who turns out to be an orchid buff himself, for the opportunity to name the thing. While they were going at it, one of the wives, excuse me, widows, sneaked off and had it registered as a Cattleya bowringiana 'Trixsemptia' with something called 'Sander's List'. Evidently blue orchids are a rare and much sought-after variety."

"Who're you quoting?"

"Gary Sabro, the tech."

Frohike pondered it for a moment. "So why's Skinner going to be mad?"

"Because nine of our fourteen dead men, naked and blue dead men, remember, are very prominent men in South Carolina. Very prominent corpses, at any rate. A little to the left? Including the father of a state senator."

"And the FBI gets to explain that it was Smurf-death-by-mutant-orchid."

"Mutant aphrodisiac orchid."

"He was hoping for a spree-poisoner, was he?"

"Yes. It didn't help that the orchid-pusher was the granddaughter of a federal judge."

"I suppose it wouldn't, no. I gather you were not directly exposed?"

"No. But you know how Scully is."

"Haven't had the pleasure. Was she quarantined too?"

"Twenty-four hours. The allergy is a sex-linked trait, apparently."

Frohike kissed the nearest shoulder. "I'm glad you weren't exposed."

Mulder laughed. "I knew you cared."

"Of course I care. What the hell else would I do with my Saturday nights?"

Mulder would probably have lapsed into a pout if the pizza hadn't come.

As they settled in with bottles and slices, Frohike commented idly, "Actually, you may be the one who has to worry about Saturday nights, at least for a while."

"Why's that?"

"The boys and I are headed to Washington State again."

This time Mulder did pout, and Frohike managed to not throw down his beer and fuck the agent on his coffee table. It was a struggle, but the coffee table was probably sticky enough as it was. Mulder wasn't much of a housekeeper. "More bear poachers?"

Frohike shrugged and swallowed as the pout melted like a retreating Ice Age. "Nothing so conventional."

"Bigfoot?"

"Bigfoot is a hoax, Mulder, you know that. No. UFOs and Men In Black."

Mulder gave him a look over his bottle. "Maury Island?"

Frohike nodded, catching strings of cheese. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Four days in quarantine. I caught up on my mail."

They chewed and drank with a vicious nonchalance for several minutes, until Frohike gave in. "What's your mail say?"

"Nothing much." The smirk was a long way from the pout, but it wasn't bad, as scenery went.

Frohike sighed. "Smugness does not become you, Mulder."

Mulder grinned. "The hell you say. I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"That's probably not the lamest line you use on me, but I think it makes the list."

"It always works, though."

"I'm a romantic."

"And a sucker for a nice ass."

"True. Tell me what you know, and give me a chance to eat some more of the pizza before you devour the rest of it."

Mulder laughed and stood up, heading for the kitchen and more beer. He came back and handed one to Mel. "I'm a selfish bastard."

"Also true. Spill, buddy."

"UFOs and light shows, mutes and ghosts and missing time…" Mulder chanted in a sing-song as he sprawled against Frohike again. Frohike moved his arm and Mulder slid his head into Frohike's lap, gazing up at the Gunman.

"Ghosts?" Frohike asked. A slice of olive fell and Mulder caught it. Frohike admired the reflexes and the glimpse of tongue.

"Apparently. Residual effect, I suspect."

"No Bigfoot?"

"Bigfoot is a hoax, Mel, you know that."

Frohike played with the thick dark hair with his free hand. "Just because I'm not gonna go hunting him, doesn't mean people don't report him."

"True. But as far as I know, no. Though there was a sighting of 'Colossal Claude'."

"Colossal Claude?"

Mulder shrugged, making Frohike twitch. "Sea monster." Mulder thought about it. "Sound monster, anyway."

"I should've guessed. What kind of UFOs?"

Mulder grinned. "You tell me."

"Deltas."

Mulder nodded, getting another twitch out of Frohike. "Deltas and wedges. Boomerangs."

"Hudson Valley stuff."

Mulder nodded again. "How's the story coming?"

Frohike shook his head. "Still chasing rumors."

"After almost a year? I still think it's bullshit, Fro. Nobody's screwing with Invisibility anymore. Not after Eldridge."

"I'm starting to think you're right. But Byers isn't gonna let this one go."

"No, I suppose not."

Frohike grabbed a napkin and wiped sauce off his fingers before twining them back into Mulder's hair. "I'd have thought quarantine would at least be restful."

Mulder snorted. "You've never been, obviously. People in spacesuits come in every half hour to draw blood and take your temperature and blood pressure and mutter over you like you were the guest of honor at a wake. Restful it is not."

"And Scully set you up for this?"

"Yep. She's an evil woman."

"Tell me more," Frohike leered.

"She's vowed to shoot me again if I tell you her new phone number, you know."

"We don't want that." Frohike traced the scar under Mulder's shirt with delicate fingers. "How does she know I didn't find it myself?"

"Feminine intuition, I suppose." He pushed the hand aside and stretched his arms over his head, casually settling them around Frohike's waist.

"She hasn't got much respect for my kung-fu."

Mulder grinned up at him. "Oh, but I do."

"Hey, once you've gotten a taste of Frohike…"

Mulder wriggled against him. "I could go for another bite."

Frohike pulled back. "No way, buster. Last time, you left a mark that had the boys smirking at me for a week."

Mulder laughed and let go long enough to take his shirt off. "They're just jealous."

Frohike's hands followed it up, tracing along the soft skin. "Mm. What could they possibly have to be jealous of?"

Mulder worked Frohike's shirt loose from his jeans and slipped a hand underneath, playing with the buttons. "There's always Colossal Claude."

Frohike snorted. "That's at the top of the lame list now."

"I didn't think it was that lame."

"Inexcusably lame, Mulder. Dog lame."

Mulder sighed and stretched one hand around to Frohike's back, expertly slipping the older man's belt loose.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

"What am I doing," Mulder mumbled against his chest.

"You're hoping to have your way with me."

"Why would you ever think that?"

Frohike laughed. "You paid for dinner."

"Good point. Are you gonna take your shirt off, or do I have to work around it?"

"Let's see you try to work around it."

"I paid for dinner, remember."

"I paid last time."

"And, as I recall, you had your way with me."

"Yeah, but you're a slut, Mulder. I can't be had for the price of pizza and cheap beer."

"If I get Rolling Rock next week, can I have you now?"

Frohike thought about it. "Next week, I'll be enjoying microbrew."

"In the rain."

"It is July, Mulder."

"In Seattle."

"I suppose if I don't let you work your wiles on me, you'll spend the next week pouting."

"And with no one here to see it."

Frohike let out a resigned sigh. "Okay. Just don't go telling the boys in the locker room tomorrow that I let you feel me up."

"Deal." Mulder waited until he had Frohike making the noises that signaled an abrupt loss of IQ, and then pulled his hands away slightly. "So what are you hearing from Washington?"

"What?"

"Washington, Mel. Why're you going?"

Frohike did his best to remember without being distracted from the ear in front of him. "Ummm. J. Wayne asked for help."

"You what?" Mulder demanded.

Frohike shrugged but didn't bother to stop licking the skin below Mulder's ear. "J. Wayne. You remember."

"Do I," Mulder said with feeling. "What's J. Wayne doing in Washington?"

"He's not, yet. He's out here. Turned up on our doorstep Thursday night. Before I know it, we're planning the trip and trying to shut Langly up about how cold he was last time. We're flying out Tuesday."

"So how long will you be gone?"

"Long as it takes, G-Man," Frohike mumbled, nibbling at Mulder's neck. He wasn't entirely sure whether Mulder's moan represented arousal or depression. He tried it again, and got the same result. "Just checking."

"Checking?"

"Nothing. I don't know how long we'll be gone," he told Mulder's earlobe. "The boys and Jimmy are already headed out there in the van. It's not like me and J. Wayne will be alone."

Mulder sighed faintly. "It sounds like you already have been." He could feel the grin.

"Why, Mulder," Frohike said with mock surprise. "Are you jealous?"

"Shit yeah," he said as Frohike started to chuckle. "He's a hell of a cute kid."

Frohike bit his neck, not gently, and Mulder yelped. "Asshole."

Mulder laughed. "So is he any good?"

"Dunno," Frohike said, kissing the red mark he'd left. "Yet," he added.

Mulder pulled away as much as possible and went into Serious Pout mode. Frohike chuckled and yanked him back close. "Who knows, maybe you'll find out first. He sure hasn't forgotten you, either."

"Mmm," Mulder sighed. "Do that again, Fro. I always wanted to be a talent scout," he said absent-mindedly.

"I thought you always wanted to be a cabaret girl."

"I'm flexible," he said, squirming out of his sweats.

Frohike remembered to breathe. "Oh, believe me, Mulder, I do know."

"So he brought you this story?" Mulder had gone to work on his jeans. "Out of the blue?"

"Hmm?"

"J. Wayne. He brought you this story?"

Frohike tried to concentrate. "Yeah, um. He thought we could help. Maybe print it if it's any good."

"What do you know about hangingflies, Mel?" Mulder asked his collarbone.

"If this involves little nooses, Mulder—"

Mulder laughed, making Frohike shiver against him. "No… The Order Mecoptera. When it's mating season, the male hangingfly offers the female a dower, a courtship gift."

"Fascinating," Frohike breathed, with a certain amount of irony. He pushed the agent back and did his best to distract him.

"You have the most talented hands, Fro… The dower is an insect the male caught, and while the female is eating it, the male mates with her."

"You're saying the story is a tasty bug?"

"A tasty bug?"

"Something's pretty tasty."

"Dog lame, Frohike."

"I learned from the master."

Mulder put his hand on the back of Frohike's head. "Less banter."

"I'm just trying to take an interest. So this story's a bug? A dower?"

Mulder moaned and slumped back even farther against the couch. "He might be trying to lure you into sexual congress, yes."

"And why on earth," Frohike mused, "would anyone think I was at all susceptible to luring?" He squinted up at Mulder. "I wonder if he talks about bugs in bed. Or on the couch, for that matter."

"Good point. I'll stop being jealous. He hasn't got a chance with you."

Frohike heaved a martyred sigh. "You're a total fruitbat, Mulder."

"Mm. Say it like you mean it. What most people don't know about mecopterans is that while they currently are only about a hundredth of a percent of the extant species, in the past they were significantly more numerous…"

Frohike had been trying to concentrate, but he couldn't stop the sarcasm. "Most people don't know that? No kidding?"

"Jesus, don't stop—" Mulder's fingers dug into Frohike's back and shoulders. "Yeah—Oh yeah!—They're about forty percent of the discovered fossils in the Permian beds of Kansas."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Mulder's control was slipping. "Decorated crickets…" he panted. "Decorated crickets…"

"Crickets now?"

Mulder whimpered. "Please, please do that again."

"Are you gonna stop talking?"

"Whatever happened to 'smart is sexy'?"

"Smart may be sexy, Mulder, but weird is just weird." The lower lip started to creep forward, and Frohike took his glasses off.

"What are you doing?"

"Neutralizing your secret weapon." He leaned back down and tried nibbling for a change.

Mulder groaned softly. "Fuck. J. Wayne should be this lucky."

"Maybe he will be," Frohike mumbled around his mouthful.

"You think he'd mind sharing?" Mulder slid a leg up over Frohike's shoulder. "Decorated crickets make their own dowers."

Frohike moved off a bit. "They put together tiny quilts?"

"No… No—Oh, yes!—mmm. No. They secrete a gelatinous glob called a spermatophylax, for the female to eat."

"Mulder, for Chrissakes."

"The spermatophylax surrounds the ampulla that holds the spermatozoa…"

"You have to stop watching the Discovery Channel."

"…and the male glues the whole thing to her…"

"Congratulations."

"Hmm?"

"You've finally found a species with weirder mating habits than yours."

"Oh, fuck, Mel. I think—"

Frohike cut him off. "If you say it, I'm stopping right now."

Mulder laughed raggedly. "Anything. Please don't stop." His fingers moved restlessly on Frohike's scalp and when that willing mouth descended on him again, all he could do was buck into it and swear weakly as he came.

Much faster than Frohike would have thought him capable of it, Mulder did—something—and Frohike found himself tossed across the coffee table, "Victoria's Secret" digging into his back. It stopped mattering almost immediately, when Mulder spread himself across the smaller man and yanked his head up for a kiss that didn't stop until they had both run out of oxygen.

"Fuck," Frohike gasped. "You're trying to kill me."

Mulder laughed breathlessly and moved off Frohike's chest. "Then I can have J. Wayne all to myself. He's staying with you guys?"

Frohike ran a hand over his own scalp and licked his lips. "No… He's in a hotel…"

"Which one?"

"You do that again, and I'll never tell."

Mulder moved his hand down Frohike's belly. "What if I do this?"

Frohike managed to laugh. "Go ahead. I'm not grassing."

Mulder snickered and squeezed lightly. "We have ways of making you talk, you know."

"Name two."

"I'm gonna get out my Junior G-Man Fingerprint Kit and see just where the kid's been putting his hands."

"He's too smart to leave evidence, Mulder."

"Then you won't object to a search."

"You have a warrant?"

Mulder grinned. "I have a gun."

Frohike rolled off the table, landing mostly on top of Mulder. He tangled his hands back into the silky hair. "And I have Fourth Amendment rights."

Mulder reached up and grabbed a hand. "I don't think you have an expectation of privacy in my apartment."

Mel sighed and buried his face in Mulder's neck. "Mulder, nobody has an expectation of privacy in your fucking apartment. People line up just to break into this place."

Mulder laughed. "The rent isn't bad, anyway. And there's always someone to feed my fish."

"Fishes," Mel mumbled against his ear.

"Hmm?"

"Fishes. Not fish. I do listen to you, you know."

"Only while I'm fully clothed."

"You were barefoot."

"True. If the kids are gone, and J. Wayne's in town, why didn't you two invite me over? It's not like anyone ever breaks into your place," he snickered.

"I think we still have a better record than you do. I did invite him. He said no."

"He said no?"

"He looked pretty nervous."

"I make him nervous?"

Frohike got to his feet and held his hand out. "Mulder, you make me nervous. Come on. Your couch is way too small if we're going to be wrestling."

Mulder took the hand, smiling. "I even shoveled all the paperwork off my bed for you. I know how picky you are about these things."

"I'll get you trained yet," Frohike said, making sure the door was locked, for all the good it would do, and turning off the light. He heard Mulder come up behind him.

"That sounds like fun," he said, running his hands across Frohike's back. "More fun than wrestling, anyway."

Frohike put his hand on Mulder's arm and spun him at the end of his reach toward the bedroom, pulling himself close. "Those aren't our only options."

Mulder moved with him. "I can't believe I had to find out from Langly that you dance."

Frohike tried to look innocent, not easy while sporting only fingerless gloves and a hard-on. "You never asked."

Mulder smiled. "Has J. Wayne asked?"

"Nope."

"He doesn't know what he's missing."

Frohike grinned. "Is that an endorsement?"

"Anytime you need a reference, Mel…"

"But not Scully," they said together.

Mel brushed soft fingers down Mulder's chest. "I'll change your mind someday," he laughed.

"I'm not sharing you with her. She can find her own dates."

"There's enough of me to go around."

Mulder leaned down and kissed his neck. "I'm insatiable, remember?"

Frohike chuckled. "I think I'm being reminded, yes. C'mon, Big Guy. Let's see what we can do about that."

Mulder practically dragged him into the bedroom and sprawled wantonly across the bed, watching him with lust-darkened eyes. Frohike took his time, kneeling next to Mulder and slowly, very slowly, working his fingers into him.

Between quiet noises of intense pleasure, Mulder managed to confine his conversation to the—alarmingly detailed—list of things he seemed to be hoping Frohike would do to him within the next several hours. At some point Mel found himself laughing softly against the younger man's chest.

"You're such a pervert, Mulder," he said fondly.

Mulder leaned back and exposed his neck to messy kisses. "One of my many charms."

Frohike laughed. "You have a great ass, you're a pervert, and you pay for dinner half the time. I only count three."

"What about my stimulating banter?"

"This is probably going to crush you, Mulder, but you're hot despite your tendency to lecture me about free radicals during sex, not because of it."

"You're right, I'm crushed."

"Sorry. Maybe I can make it up to you."

Mulder sighed contentedly. "You have anything in mind?"

Frohike reached down and stroked him casually. "In hand."

Mulder arched against him, whimpering. "Oh, God. God, you have great hands. Oh—" He lapsed into another elaborate fantasy, and Frohike half-listened, marveling at Mulder's inventiveness.

"Mulder," he said finally.

"Mmm—hm? Oh, fuck, don't stop, please."

Frohike rested his elbow on Mulder's chest and looked him in the eye. "Play-Doh, Mulder?" he asked incredulously.

Mulder laughed raggedly. "Or cookie dough. Do that again."

"That's unhygienic."

"So? Please do that again."

Frohike sighed. "How in the name of God did you ever get past the FBI's psych tests?"

"Memorized the answers. Please?"

"No, but I'll do something else if you promise to stop making obscene suggestions at me."

"The Mr. Bubble is obscene. Play-Doh is just… whimsical."

"One man's opinion."

"No, really. Think about it. If you—"

"Mulder," Frohike said, frustrated. "Do you want to have a debate on the Freudian nature of cultural icons, or do you want me to fuck you?"

Mulder laughed. "Fuck me, Mel."

"As long as you're sure." He arranged a pillow under the younger man's hips and leaned in to kiss him hard before moving into position.

"Oh, fuck yes," Mulder said as soon as he could talk again, "I'm sure. Yes."

Mel wrapped his gloved hand around Mulder's cock as he slid into him. Mulder shuddered and pushed himself against Mel as much as possible.

"Mel…" Mulder groaned. "I'll pay for dinner next time, too."

Frohike half-laughed, and concentrated on driving Mulder crazy. It was so easy it gave him time to think. "Mulder?" His only reply was a soft, heartfelt moan. He pulled out of the younger man and held himself there. "Mulder."

Mulder whimpered. "What?"

Frohike grinned in the soft light. "What kind of tasty bug?" He could feel Mulder's confusion.

"What?"

"What kind of tasty bug do you think the kid's brought us?"

"Oh… I dunno. Fuck me, Frohike."

"In a minute. You've got me curious."

Mulder got himself together with a superhuman effort. "With hangingflies it's usually a plump, juicy fly. Please fuck me?"

"You started this." Mel considered it. "But I get to have the bug, right?"

"What? Yes. Yes, whatever you want. Jesus."

"I mean," Frohike was getting a perverse pleasure from this. "I'd get to eat the bug. It's not just a trick to get me to mate?"

"I hate you."

"Okay, but…?"

"Yes. Okay? Yes. The male lets the female eat most of the bug before he tries to mate. Okay?"

"That's all I wanted to know."

"Jesus," Mulder said again. "I swear I'll never talk in bed again."

"I'd love to believe that."

"Fuck me already," Mulder begged.

Frohike didn't move. "Are you sure?"

"What?"

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Frohike persisted, enjoying himself immensely. "There aren't any other fascinating facts about insects you'd like to offer? Because I was starting to get into it. I mean, if you wanted to explain to me why female black widows eat their mates or anything, this would be an ideal time."

Mulder suddenly pushed him off and rolled on top of him. "I don't know why female black widows eat their mates, Mel, but I'm starting to understand why male FBI agents shoot theirs," he said darkly.

Frohike started to laugh, and it was several minutes before Mulder could stop him, which he finally managed by shoving his tongue down Frohike's throat. When he came up for air, he glowered at the older man. "Don't make me get my gun."

Frohike, still chuckling softly, grabbed his hair and dragged him close again. "That's kinky even for you, Mulder. Do they teach you that at Quantico?"

Mulder shook his head against Mel's cheek. "Nobody ever planned for you, Fro."

Mel grinned. "Nobody ever has."

"I sure didn't," Mulder said softly.

"You're not gonna get sappy on me now, are you?" Frohike demanded suspiciously. Occasionally Mulder strayed too close to declarations of something other than affection. Mel was more-or-less fine with the sentiment, but could do without the vocalization of it.

Mulder turned his head and looked into his eyes. "Wouldn't dream of it," he smiled. "Now will you fuck me?"

"Hey, you're on top."

Mulder held his shoulders and flipped them back over. "I'm a bottom at heart."

Mel laughed a little breathlessly. "You're just lazy."

"Also naked, begging, and mere seconds away from pouting."

"Holy God."

"I don't need a gun."

"Considering how often you drop it, that's probably a good thing."

"Okay, that's it. I'm officially pouting." Which he did for about three seconds, before Mel thrust deeply into him. Mulder shook with it. "Holy God," he gasped.

Frohike grinned and drove himself deeper. "Yeah," he panted. "That pout is lethal."

Mulder moaned and tried to pull him as close as possible. "J. Wayne doesn't know what he's missing."

"Yet."

"You think…" Mulder arched against him, struggling for every breath, "…think he'd mind—oh, shit, Mel, harder—if I watched?"

The gloved hand slid across the other man's shoulder. "I'll be sure to ask." He felt Mulder's length thicken in his hand and opened his eyes to watch as he drove him to a frenzied orgasm. The younger man threw his head back and cried out harshly. The sight pushed Mel over the precipice as well, and he was groaning Mulder's name as he buried himself once more and shuddered violently.

Eventually he pulled himself up and off Mulder, sprawling next to him. "Holy God," he said again, kissing Mulder's chest. "J. Wayne should be this lucky."

Mulder laughed a little. "What'd you think I was going to say?"

"Hmm?" Frohike was drifting, warm and sated.

"When you told me not to say it."

Mel sighed, but there was less exasperation in it than usual. "Mulder, I know you don't pay that much attention, but I tell you not to say a lot of things while we're fucking."

"When you were going down on me, and threatened to stop."

Frohike thought back. "Oh, that."

"What'd you think I was going to say?"

"We both know exactly what you were going to say."

Mulder grinned lazily. "It would've been funny."

"Mulder, if you had said what you were going to say, I'd never have been able to swallow again."

**

*Next Up: Caffeine, Conspiracies, and the Fortean Nature of Fishes V: Mutes: It's What's For Dinner: In which our wayward boys make the dreaded and tense trip through Wisconsin, where they catch up with an old acquaintance, and on into Minnesota, where an old acquaintance catches up with them in a sinister encounter, as part of the larger conspiracy becomes revealed.*

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