借口（英文版）第 6 章

In an absurd sort of way, this is partly true. Maybe that's what's so weird about all this pretending.

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"How entertaining." Saunders is clearly taken with this whole idea. Maybe I have a flair for this as well. I almost wish Lenny were here to congratulate me.

Skinner takes his hand out of my hair and flattens it down again. I find myself leaning into him like a cat or something, wanting to be fondled. You could put it down to trying to keep our cover as convincing as possible, but I have to say that I don't do it consciously. Perhaps I'm starting to absorb the 'rules of this subculture' by some sort of osmosis.

"He's an amusing piece—classy, Mr. Skinner," Saunders muses. How flattering. "We don't see many like him. I'm sure a lot of our other members would be interested in him."

"He's not available," Skinner says warningly. "He belongs to me." Again, that strange flicker inside me. It unsettles me.

"And that isn't negotiable?" Saunders asks.

"No. Absolutely not," Skinner says firmly. Saunders's eyes light up. He looks satisfied by this information.

"And the submissive? What does he say? Is he happy in his current situation?" Saunders asks, looking at me. I open my mouth to speak, but Skinner knocks his knee against my shoulder and interrupts me.

"He's happy if I say he is," he replies.

Saunders raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yes." Skinner nods.

"And if another man were to take an interest in him—you'd fight for him?"

"Yes." Skinner nods again.

"Then I think you might find our organization to be just the sort of challenge you'd enjoy." Saunders smiles. He hands Skinner a business card. "Call me tomorrow to arrange the details—if you think you're up to the challenge, that is. It may be out of your league, Mr. Skinner, althoughI don't think this particular submissive would still be with you now if that were the case. I think you've got the potential to be a very interesting player, Mr. Skinner. I look forward to hearing from you."

And with that, Saunders gets up and leaves the room, his two flunkies following on behind.

"A hunt around bars and clubs?" Skinner mocks with a raised eyebrow when we are alone.

"I was improvising! You left me hanging out there."

"Well, it was inspired—Saunders really bought it."

"Good. Does that mean we can leave now?" I make a face.

"And there was I thinking you were having a good time."

I'm sure that's what he says, although he's walking out of the room as he talks, so it's possible he says something else. I'm seeing a whole new, disturbing side of him this evening. Or is it a disturbing side of myself I'm seeing? He seems to be simply playing his role as well as he can—staying alert, making all the right moves to get the information we require. I, on the other hand, have been freaked out by my reactions to being in this whole role-play scenario with him. I've pouted, become—what? Jealous? —sulked, brooded, and felt some very strange sensations in my gut. I feel seriously worried about all this, and take it out on Lenny.

"We're leaving." I grab him and drag him off the dance floor where he has resumed diddling with his leather-clad friend.

"All done, then?" he asks, looking surprised by my manner.

"Yeah. Trap set."

"A trap for who? Them or you?" he pouts and that makes me even more bad tempered for some reason.

"Just get a move on, Lenny. Skinner's waiting for us."

"And we wouldn't want to keep our master waiting. Who knows how he'd punish us." Lenny begins flippantly.

Something inside me just goes ballistic. I reach out and grab Lenny's arm.

"Just shut up! Shut up about all this stuff. I don't care what sort of fantasy you're creating about Skinner, but none of it is true. He's not gay, he's not a dom, he most certainly is not into this whole alternative lifestyle stuff, and you stand no chance whatsoever of becoming his house-boy, or slave boy or whatever else you've gotten into your head. Understood, Lenny?"

Lenny is staring at me.

"I was just fooling around, Mulder," he says quietly. "I can tell the difference between real life and a sex game. I think you're the one who has trouble with it."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I turn on him angrily.

"Oh, Mulder, you're not that stupid." Lenny says with a shake of his head. "I've watched you with Skinner—you do your damnedest to draw attention to yourself. You behave badly, or brilliantly, or both, and you just push and push at that guy. He must have the patience of a saint to put up with you. He must be tempted to just throw you over his knee and spank you sometimes!" Lenny grins.

"Are you saying that I have some sort of sick fantasy about my boss?" I demand furiously.

"Who are you calling sick? I think you'd be sick not to have some sort of fantasy about that walking hunk of testosterone. He's got the soul of a top, even if he doesn't act it out—the fact that he isn't into this stuff is partly what makes him so attractive. The best tops are demanding and strict, but they're protective and caring as well. The divine Skinner just exudes these qualities and he's not even role-playing. Why wouldn't you respond to that?"

"Because I'm not fucking gay! I'm straight!" I explode, pushing Lenny against a wall, my fingers clenched tightly around his arms.

"Some things are just primeval. All that alpha male stuff. You're into all this clever psycho-crap, Mulder. You figure it out." Lenny is shivering. "Please, Mulder, you're hurting me," he whimpers.

"Well, why not? You like to be hurt, don't you?" I say nastily, slamming his head back into the wall.

"Not like this. Not by you. This isn't like you, Mulder."

"You don't know anything about me. You're wrong about me," I snarl, digging my fingers into his wrists even harder. Suddenly I feel two hands descend on my shoulders, and I'm propelled back forcibly away from Lenny.

"Gentlemen. Time to be going," Skinner says urbanely, ushering us both towards the exit, a hand on each of our shoulders.

I don't know what he overheard, or what the guys in the van have made of this exchange, and I don't much care at this point. All I want to do is get out, get away, run as fast as I can, find an X File, grab Scully, and put a lot of distance between me and this whole scenario. I can't do any of these things, so I sink into a grim sulk instead, just daring anybody to talk to me. They get the message and the ride back to the Hoover Building takes place in a tense silence.

Skinner decides to defuse the situation slightly by dropping Lenny off on the way, but there's no escape for me. We have to debrief—there's no getting out of it, so I struggle to push all this turmoil to the back of my mind and concentrate on what we have to do to catch the killer.

"Why don't we get changed and meet in my office in about half an hour?" Skinner suggests quietly, addressing me as we enter the building. I nod tersely and disappear to the basement, relieved to be alone.

Scully's left me a message:

Hope you and the boys had fun on your night out. Think of poor me, sitting at home writing a report on my laptop — next time make it a case a girl can join in on!

It should cheer me up, but it doesn't. I don't think anything would right now. I screw it up, and throw it at the wall, savagely. Attention-seeking behavior? Moi? I resist the implications of what Lenny said to me and pull that revolting vest over my head, then shoulder myself into my nice, normal shirt. Real Life settles back around me; familiar, comfortable, safe.

"I can tell the difference between real life and a sex game. I think you're the one who has trouble with it." Lenny's words echo endlessly in my head. Lifestyle doms, Saunders called the Mithras circle—with lifestyle subs in tow. "You're a sub even if you don't know it yet," that guy in the drunk tank said. I don't want this going on in my head, I don't want these feelings stirring inside me. Have I manipulated my relationship with Skinner to give me a rush without even knowing it? Have I really been pushing him all these years just to get some perverse sexual thrill?

* * *

"Mulder. It's been an hour. You didn't answer your phone."