Yeti

by Sebastian

Warning: Bestiality, and assorted squickiness.

Disclaimer:The human characters belong to various lucky people, I just played with them.

Pairing: M/O, M/K, M/Yarma

Rated: Very strong A

Author's Notes: This story requires a major suspension of belief about the effects of altitude on humans

Beta: To Dr. Ruthless, my gratitude for beta, and patience

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Spending his holiday chasing yetis was just what might be expected of Fox Mulder, and he didn't like to disappoint his associates and friends. The Gunmen had waved him off with warnings and a floppy containing a heap of URL's for yeti-sites to check out on his lap-top by way of in-flight entertainment. Scully had presented him with a scarf which she had knitted herself. Both lay long forgotten in his apartment as Mulder traipsed across the pristine snowfield towards the hidden valley.

Glancing back, he could see the bright splatter of low tents in the distance and was reassured that, no matter what the opinion of the rest of his party might be, he was not being foolhardy, irresponsible, or selfish. The trip so far had been, not a disaster... it had never really got off the ground enough to be called that. It was a disappointment, a washout, a tepid TV dinner when it should have been a blackened cooking pot full of steaming and seething vindaloo. He hoisted the backpack into a more comfortable position on his shoulders, and quickened his pace a little, panting in the rarefied air. He had nearly left the bag behind. After all, he was only planning a little stroll while the rest of the party enjoyed their bingo, or karaoke, or whatever it was this afternoon.

They had had drummed into them the dangers lurking for the inexperienced in these mountains. The weather, the avalanches, the hidden holes and crevasses, the risks to health, the perils of carelessness; all had been reiterated so many times that Mulder was sure the most scatterbrained of their party could now recite them by heart. He had made a concession to their concern, embodied by the backpack.

But now he was free; he was happy; he was on an adventure at last. If he could have spared the breath, he would have whistled. The clear deep blue of the sky was a physical manifestation of how thin was the Earth's atmosphere, and how close he was to the vacuum of space. The glistening mountains reared all round him, making him conscious of the long ages that even his home planet had seen, and if he could have scrambled to the top of one of the peaks in the two hours of daylight left on that magnificent day, he would have stood on that summit, peering to see if the stars were visible through the film of air remaining and shouted a message into the void, to the countless other beings that inhabited the Milky Way and all the galaxies beyond.

He had been tempted to sneak away from the over-organised party before but until today had resisted. Before it would have been cussedness, bravado, perhaps almost adolescent rebellion against the concept of authority. Today he had a reason. The Sherpas had been on edge for the last two days, and there had been whispered conversations between the two guides, and the small, rugged, hillmen. Ostensibly the group were together to look for yetis, but it had turned out to be a leisurely tour of places where yetis had been 'sighted' and a series of incredible yarns, presented as lectures, interspersed with chances to photograph what was, admittedly, gorgeous and unusual scenery and wildlife. Mulder had been bored, verging on hysterically bored.

And they can't fail to find me if anything goes wrong, he thought, regretting that he had been the one to sully the smooth glory of the glittering whiteness behind him with an ugly trail of footprints. I might as well be tied to the campsite by a piece of rope. He had a slight twinge of conscience as he crested a small ridge, and dropped out of sight of his companions, but the excitement of nearing his goal ensured it was momentary.

He'd persuaded one of the guides to explain what was concerning the Sherpas, and, reluctantly the man had blurted that the local people wanted to stay holed up in the tents for at least twenty-four hours. The big ones were roaming, they were warning, the white giants of the mountains were nearby. Rather than search for yetis, the tribesmen were determined to avoid them. Mulder asked how they knew, and the guide gave a sneering laugh. "They can smell them, sir. Close by." He jerked his head at a thin line of pointed rocks, which swept up a rise in the land to join a sheer wall that soared into a stray cloud. "Over there. Not more than a couple of kilometres."

It was a temptation to end all temptations. So easy with the fine weather, the short distance, and a line of footprints to guide him home. Mulder almost jogged off there and then. However prudence suggested that he wait if he wanted really to succeed. Either he would have been prevented from going, or there would have been a scramble to join him, a scramble of shrill voices and humming video cameras, sneezes and wheezes, guaranteed to scare away the mythical beasts.

He trudged along with some care, testing ahead for crevasses and deep drifts. How ignominious to be rescued and scolded like a delinquent child! But, as he left the ridge in his wake, and passed over a hillock, he forgot caution and discipline and floundered full tilt towards a patch of churned snow not a hundred yard ahead. A stick poked from the ground, bright, a climber's accoutrement, and all around the snow was packed and dirty surrounding a dark slit, like a tear in the fabric of the world, gashing the snow. More footprints made a wide path leading away from his position.

Cautious now, mindful of the noise he had made, he stepped forward slowly. Belatedly he wished he'd brought a rifle with him; several were kept at the camp; it was said they were protection against snow leopards, but rumoured to be part of the local economy - smuggler's goods.

He edged to the lip of the cleft and looked down. It was deep, and beyond the first dozen feet appeared inky black to eyes dazzled by unrelenting whiteness for days on end. He studied the footprints. Further from the hole a few single ones dotted the snow. They were roughly oval, with ill-defined edges, large, but no larger than those of a big man in snow boots. They revealed little.

He knew it was beyond reason, but Mulder had to see what was in the crevasse. Following the pounded trail that arrowed into the distance would take too long, but this, which was of such interest to the yetis, if indeed he had found yetis, had to be investigated. Tomorrow might be too late. Fresh snow could obliterate, the weather could change and trap his party for days. It had to be now.

He dumped his backpack on the ground and detached coils of rope, his ice-axe, and a couple of spikes... or were they pitons? Whatever they were, he knew how to use them. Wedging them against the force of his descent, he fixed and dropped a rope down the crevasse as a backup, then tied another around himself, hoisted his pack onto his shoulders and lowered himself into the hole.

As he paid out his line and braced himself against the icy walls, his flashlight beamed crazy sparkles off the crystal spears and ledges, like a silvery laser insanely matched to a wild dance rhythm. He was careful, logical, checking every move and fixing three times over as he had been taught. He hadn't been taught to explore alone however, and to leave without warning or giving his destination. Nevertheless, his boots eventually, after about twenty feet, connected with the ground. He looked around to check his footing, and satisfied that he wouldn't fall deeper if he took care, detached himself from the line.

Out of the sun, his eyes slowly accommodated to the dimmer light in the ice cavern. It was a long slit, about ten feet wide, seeming to be blocked to his right and extending, disappearing into the murky darkness, to his left. In that direction, too, the floor was incomplete where the crevasse plunged still deeper into the mountain's flank. Underfoot the snow was hard-packed and dirty. There were just a few scattered heaps of clean material that must have dropped recently from above. He looked up at the entrance above him, the sky holding a promise of indigo now as the scattered light was restricted as if through a pin-hole camera. A swirl of glitter, snow-dust lifted by the wind, drifted down from above and anointed his face, now almost obscured by an incipient beard. Fuck, what a dumb thing to do, thought Mulder, determining to finish his exploration quickly and regain the comparative safety of the surface.

He placed his pack on the ground, near the wall. It contained safety equipment; water, rations, a walkie-talkie, medical kit... a list long enough to require a half hour to check off all the items, Mulder suspected. Carrying only his flashlight, he turned to his right and walked carefully towards the blocked end of the ice-cave. Humans had been here. There was rubbish and abandoned clothing, a bag and signs of discolouration... possibly urine, he thought; but the faint scent of man was overlain by a musky stench as of animals, close-confined in a zoo.

There was a shallow curve to the space, and as he rounded the bend to look at the end of this branch of the crevasse he could see that dark stains were trampled into the floor, and the walls were striped pink... with blood. Blood from a torn body, slumped pitifully against the shallow, sloping base of the end wall. He ran up to it, crunching and slithering across the frozen, bloody slush, to prop himself, faint, against the wall beside it. The lean air did not permit emotion or exertion without a toll.

It was a man, a climber, clothed in a modern parka and hat... the logos were familiar and recent, but his body had been sliced open across his stomach, and both arms were missing, the flesh ragged and chewed at the shoulder with splintered bone showing through the meat. Mulder knew that the belly wound had occurred before, or soon after the man had died; there was blood around it, and a frozen rivulet down his salopettes, forming a pool on the ground. The arms, however, had gone after the body was long dead, possibly even frozen. There was no sign at all of blood running from the amputations. He wondered if the man had been murdered, and leaned in with his flashlight, dusting the sprinkled snow from the corpse's skin, to study his face. Though the skin was yellow-white, and the cheeks and chin masked by beard, Mulder had no doubt who lay dead before him. It was Alex Krycek.

He looked at the man with disbelief. Of all the people to find in a hole, on K2... But he was dead, and Mulder was surprised to find, besides the relief, and a feeling of justice served, a little regret that he'd never be Krycek's lover, never see the rat redeemed and in his bed. Hate him as he did, he could never deny the attraction between them. A mutual attraction; he knew.

He'd have to report this when he returned... and try to discover why the rat bastard had been here at all. Wherever Krycek was, there was usually something of interest to discover, though he suspected, not in this hole. As far as Krycek was concerned this was probably just a grave.

He turned and headed in the opposite direction, passing his pack and the ropes, and approached the part of the crevasse where the floor dropped away into a deep, dark abyss. Scattered near the edge of the precipice were scraps of cloth and bones, some with shreds of flesh still hanging from them. Many were animal bones, but there was a good proportion that looked human, and the rags, some trodden and frozen into the floor, suggested that many more had been thrown into the pit. Across the void, the cavern continued around a ragged outcrop which blocked his view. He lay on his stomach and wriggled to the edge across the slippery floor. Shining his flashlight into the darkness, he peered around.

Engrossed, he didn't realise he had company until something huge grabbed a handful of cloth at the back of his parka and hauled him into the air. He squealed and flailed, his legs kicking wildly. Suddenly he realised he was being held over the drop. It seemed prudent not to struggle. He hung quietly, trembling slightly, and cursing himself for his foolhardiness. He looked back over his shoulder in trepidation. Behind him was a monstrous shaggy figure, easily eight feet tall, thickly pelted in silky white hair. Its dark face resembled an ape's; more like an orang-utan's than a chimpanzee or gorilla, though instead of their deep brown eyes, this creature's were a clear, dazzling blue.

Despite his terror and the sick knowledge that he would be dead within minutes, Mulder was elated. One more mystery solved, one more myth proven true, one more for Spooky to chalk up against the doubters. It was just a shame they'd never know.

The animal pulled him in for a closer look, wrapping an enormous hand around one shoulder and armpit and dangling Mulder painfully from it. Mulder considered hitting the yeti with the flashlight he still held in his other hand, but, held aloft, he had no leverage for a decent blow and he would probably end up down the hole if the yeti dropped him. If the yeti put him on the ground, however, there was a chance. Although the animal was rare to the point of fable, if it came to the crunch Mulder knew whose life was more important to him.

But he was out of luck. Rather than put him down, the animal pulled him in and sniffed at him, making soft hooting noises, nibbling his hair with its purple-black prehensile lips, and picking inquisitively at his clothes with its other hand, a hairy-palmed and wickedly clawed appendage. Its breath was ripe and noxious, and it appeared blessed with a set of excellent teeth whose long pointed canines betrayed too clearly to Mulder that its diet was carnivorous.

"Hello," said Mulder, softly, "Under other circumstances I'd be pleased to meet you, but if you'd just put me down, I'll get out of your way."

The yeti's head drew back in surprise. Thinning its lips into a grin, it bared its teeth and hissed at him. Fuck, thought Mulder, bad move. He held his breath and waited, trying to suppress a groan as his shoulder protested the unaccustomed strain it was under.

Apparently satisfied that the man was not really a danger, the yeti resumed its investigation, twisting him round to look at its captive from all sides. Then it started to tug at the neck of his parka, and, when it would not pull aside, raked its claws down the front of the garment, shredding it to ribbons. Mulder drew a shuddering breath and tried to keep from screaming. Ripping and tearing, it worked its way through the other layers of clothing covering Mulder's chest... the high waisted salopettes, the two thin undershirts and thermal vest, until his skin was exposed from neck to navel, bleeding slightly from scratches made by the yeti's claws. It stilled and stared at Mulder's chest, panting lightly, then leaned in and licked the blood off his skin with a wide soft tongue.

It was the last straw. It was be eaten, or fall to his death. Jesus Christ, thought Mulder, I haven't taken much notice of you before, but, please, if you can hear me now, kill me quickly. Swinging the flashlight round in a wild swipe, he smacked it against the yeti's head, hoping that the animal would drop him.

It didn't. It pulled its head back, shook it and gave a quiet, rumbling growl, then tucked Mulder under its arm so that the man's arms and legs were dangling downwards. Mulder could feel heat through the lush fur, the tensing of huge muscles, and then he noticed a hot clinging at his own groin. With a hysterical crow of laughter, he realised he had wet himself.

The yeti turned and padded away from the void for a couple of paces. Desperately, Mulder whacked at its legs with his fists and the flashlight. However, it must have made little impression through the thick padding of fur, because the animal simply hitched him more firmly under its arm, turned again, and taking a short run launched itself across the wide gap in the cavern floor. The world span dizzily as Mulder howled in panic, but they landed safely with just a slight jar on the far ledge, then the yeti trotted off into the gloom with its burden.

The light grew dimmer as the sides of the crevasse drew together overhead until finally, they closed. The space took a sharp turn just after the ledge as well, so direct light from further back reached this area only diffusely, scattered off the glinting ice walls. His flashlight tinkled as he was jounced about, the noise piercing the silent progress of the yeti. Mulder assumed, correctly, that it was broken. After about twenty yards the walls became darker, and finally jagged, with rock poking through the slick skin of ice which had been smoothed by the passage of the yetis. The air became warmer, the smell of animal stronger, until at last the creature stopped and dumped him on a floor that, though cool, was springy and dry.

He sat, unmoving, in glum resignation and waited for his eyes to adjust to the little light that penetrated this far from the entrance. Around him he could hear movement, soft chittering and hooting. Then the yeti's hands were on him again, pulling at his tattered parka. He leapt to his feet in fright and tried to make for the pale grey of the arched entrance, but it was too fast. Its paw shot out, gripped Mulder's ragged parka and threw him face down on the ground, pinning him there like a bug. The flashlight flew from his hand and rattled across the ground. All around burst a cacophony of startled hoots and hisses, and dimly, as he lay terrified and trembling, he began to pick out a host of white shadows in the gloom of the cave.

The animal went back to work slicing through Mulder's clothing with its sharp claws, until his coat and underclothes were separated into halves hanging from his shoulders and his lower garments were in tatters around his thighs and shins. Though paralysed by fright his brain was still churning hard, observing, analysing, and it occurred to him that the yetis must have understood clothing was inedible because climbers were a regular part of their diet. He was being peeled, unwrapped like a candy bar for the yeti to eat.

Desperately wishing he'd brought a gun - at least he could shoot himself, even if there was no escape - he helplessly awaited the first bite or gash from the yeti's claws. It took its time. Resting a paw in the centre of Mulder's back, it bent to sniff him once more, nuzzling and licking at the salty sweat in his armpits and between his buttocks, smelling the urine on his legs and sodden clothes. I must have had time for my life to flash before my eyes a hundred times, thought Mulder, with bleak amusement.

The yeti shifted, released him and squatted behind him, tilting its head to the side and clicking its tongue intermittently. Mulder lifted his shoulders from the ground to look round at it and his surroundings. Thankfully the atmosphere in the space was several degrees above freezing; the floor under his hands appeared to be padded with fur, shredded cloth and dried grass - or possibly heather - and his sharpening vision revealed that the walls and ceiling were similarly insulated.

Surrounding him were yetis of all sizes, from a couple of infants, rolling and tumbling in play, to juveniles only slightly smaller than himself, to fully grown adults. In all but one case, their deep fur made it impossible to sex them, but there was at least one female with a baby at her breast. Most were ignoring him now, grooming, or poking at the floor for scraps of food. The one that had captured him seemed to be the largest, but only marginally.

He slowly climbed to his hands and knees, trying not to make any quick threatening moves that would startle the animals. The yeti behind him hooted again then stroked his ass with its furry palm. Mulder looked at it, and essayed a hoot in return. It shifted slightly, revealing a pink, glistening strip poking through the hair at its groin. Mulder gulped. This one was definitely male, and that was an erection. And I wonder if I'm the object of its lust, he asked himself, faintly. Belatedly it occurred to him that crouching on his hands and knees, with his ass in the air was similar to the submissive posture used by chimps to the pack leader and adopted for copulation.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If the yeti... if all the yetis... regarded him as something to mate with, then hopefully he wouldn't be looked on as food. Maybe he could survive here long enough to be rescued. No-one need ever know, and it wasn't as if he was a stranger to buggery. All-in-all, being fucked by a yeti had a lot more going for it than being eaten by one. He decided to make the first move in case the animal had a change of heart, and gnawed on him instead. He had nothing at all to lose.

He lowered his shoulders and wriggled his butt, inching back toward the yeti. It shuffled closer and wrapped its huge hands round his hips, brushing its groin against Mulder's skin. Experiences don't come more extreme than this, he mused, wryly, pushing back at the furry genitals and opening his thighs to try to locate the yeti's penis at his asshole. He had read the signals exactly right, for it thrust at him, nudging a stiff organ at his sphincter. Mulder tried to relax. He knew this would hurt; he wasn't aroused; he was far too tense to get the slightest enjoyment from it, and he had no idea of how well the yeti's penis was naturally lubricated, or indeed how large it was. The all-enveloping hair had prevented close inspection.

With a series of sharp jabs, the yeti pushed its cock into his anus. Mulder dug his clawed hands into the floor, breathed deeply and evenly, and tried his best not to resist or cry out. It was, under the circumstances, impossible not to clench his muscles against the intrusion; the animal's irresistible lunges caused him to ache and burn, but he was committed. The yeti's hands held his pelvis in a grip of steel, and its heavy, hot body felt like a wall at his back. As far as he could tell, had it been a human, he could have accommodated the organ without a problem. Once breached, he felt it slide in and out with ease. He supposed that, since it was normally enclosed in a furry sheath, it was slicked well with mucus. He was just unlucky that it wasn't as tiny as a gorilla's cock.

Having penetrated, the mating was over within minutes. The yeti fucked in a flurry of quick jerking plunges, grunting deep in its chest and coming with a noise like a bark. It produced a flood of ejaculate; Mulder had never noticed the feel of come in his ass before, but this seemed more like a small enema and squirted from his anus as the animal withdrew. Completely losing interest in the human, it wandered off and sat at the edge of the room, scratching. Mulder felt drained. Coming down from the adrenaline, from the tension, left him weak and shaking. "Wham, bam, thank you Ma'am," he whispered, rolled onto his back and lay spread-eagled, with his eyes closed.

For a few minutes he allowed himself to drift, weak with relief. For now, he had survived.

And having survived this, Mulder, there are other things to think of, a little voice prompted at length. Like, you're thirsty. You're nearly naked and will soon get cold. When they come to get you, you're going to have to attract attention, which means getting out of this cave as far as the crevasse, and the yeti may have other ideas, assuming he doesn't get peckish in the night.

Carefully, he sat up. His ass felt a little sore, but not excessively so, though sitting in a pool of cooling yeti come was not pleasant. He shuffled to a dry spot of floor and attempted to pull what was left of his clothing around himself, knotting the pieces together. All but the two little yetis ignored him. They crept close, but out of reach, and sat blinking at him with huge blue eyes set in serious wrinkled faces. Their fur was a cloud of curly white fluff rather than the silky mane that the adults boasted; they were far too cute to seem real. Mulder smiled at them and they scooted back, alarmed. He snorted, and murmured, "Wrong signal, I guess."

By now his eyes had grown used to the dim light and he could see clearly, though colours were muted. He had come in through the only entrance to the den. The cavern was oval in shape, about thirty feet across, ten feet high at the centre, with a smooth, slightly sloping floor. It was like being inside a ball of fluff from a tumble dryer, he decided. The whole space was felted with a multicoloured coating of hard-packed thread and wool, with thin brown twigs poking through here and there. He knew he was going to have to spend the night here. His party wouldn't miss him until the morning. Provided he had some water - he was already thirsty - he wouldn't be too uncomfortable. He had to get something to drink.

There was a plastic bag in his pocket. That, together with the casing from the broken flashlight, would provide receptacles for snow. Brought into the warmth of this room it should melt within an hour or two. He knew darkness would fall soon so he had to move promptly. With infinite care he got to his feet and crept over towards the flashlight. 'His' yeti still ignored him, though a couple of the others hissed and drew back as he approached. He picked up the light, emptied the broken contents and the batteries into a pocket, then headed for the entrance.

As he reached the opening there was a snarl. He looked back over his shoulder to see the big yeti on its feet, staring at him. The others were cringing away. He was beginning to suspect that this fellow was the chief... the big boss guy, and what he wanted was the law. He froze. The yeti sat back down but continued to watch him. He squatted down as well and waited for the yeti to look away, then reached out to scrape up handfuls of snow to fill his containers. There was not much that looked clean enough to use, but there would be enough for tonight and in the morning he would be out of here - rescued.

The dim light in the cavern was fading fast. The two infants had curled up next to one of the adults and the nursing mother joined them. Mulder came back into the room and sat against a wall, propping his water containers beside him. He was starting to feel chilled; he wondered if he should strip off the remains of his clothing to fashion something that would cover him more effectively. One by one the yetis huddled together in a tight group and darkness fell, the silence punctuated only by soft snuffles and snores. Mulder was getting colder and colder, shivering now, and he knew that if he fell asleep he would probably become hypothermic, never to reawaken. He stuffed the snow-filled flashlight in his pocket, and with his heart in his mouth, approached the animals. There was no warning growl, no chitter of alarm. He snuggled alongside them, their huge warmth soaking into his white goosebumped skin, and a hairy arm flopped over him, drawing him into the pile. Physically and emotionally exhausted, Mulder fell into a deep sound sleep.

Sometime in the night he woke, hot, itching and with a raging thirst. For a couple of minutes he couldn't think where he might be, then a sick coldness made his guts feel as if they had dropped right out of his body. Panicked and trembling he eased his way out from the tangle of furry bodies to sit beside it, and slowly sipped at his water... tepid now from its immersion in the yeti-heap. Slowly the terror subsided. He was still alive, and having survived thus far it wasn't unreasonable to hope he'd safely rescued in a few hours. It was inky black all around. He wondered how near dawn it was, how soon they'd be looking for him. As he slipped the empty flashlight back into his pocket it occurred to him that he could find out, the dial of his watch would illuminate. The soft green glow revealed it was nearly six am. Mulder looked at it ruefully, shaking his head. Here he was, in rags, reduced to living like a caveman... worse than a caveman... and he had this miracle of technology strapped to his arm. Not only that, but it was fucking useless to help him. With a soft laugh he burrowed his way back in amongst the animals and dozed as the dawn slowly created reality once more.

Mulder greeted the day with a bump. By the time he came to his senses Boss-yeti's cock was already up his ass and he was being humped spiritedly and roughly against the coarse floor. He hadn't had time to worry or come down from his relaxed state, the animal had simply dragged him into position, slipped inside him and helped itself to what it wanted. No opposition was possible, and Mulder, sporting a morning erection and needing to pee, did not feel a need to try. He cushioned his chest and head with his arms and attempted, as far as his urge to urinate allowed, to enjoy the sensation. Once again it was over swiftly, but this time he was abandoned feeling vaguely horny and very used. Bleary-eyed, he watched the creature lumber across the still-dim room and disappear through the entrance, shortly followed by the juveniles and another of the adults.

Most of the animals had gone, he discovered. Just the nursing female was left with her baby, the two infants, and one of the other adults... huge, glowering, and distinguished by a v-shaped notch in its left ear. He supposed it must be another male; it was noticeably larger than the mother yeti and it, and the one that had captured him, had a distinct ruff of thicker fur around their necks. He crawled over to his bag of water, feeling the Boss-yeti's ejaculate slide down his thighs and into the remains of his leggings. They were already stiff and dirty... soaked in urine, last night's libation of come and smothered with muck from the floor. He felt filthy; stinking, sweaty, and he was itching like fury - probably the animals had fleas or ticks. Cut-ear's startling blue eyes followed him across the room and bored into him as he undid his water-bag and drank the contents. He stared back, and it gave a slow, purring growl, hitching its bottom a yard or so in Mulder's direction. Despite the unpleasant pain in his bladder, Mulder froze to the spot. He swallowed nervously, lowered his eyes, and tried to think placating thoughts. He was damn sure now that he wasn't strong enough to overpower one of these animals, unless through some lucky fluke. Cut-ear got up on its knuckles and feet, a gorilla's stance, and strutted towards him.

Mulder didn't know whether to turn to crouch submissively in front of it or to keep still. Moving could be risky, but... It stopped again, and squatted. Mulder let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, and pretended to be a lump of rock. He could see every wrinkle and whisker on its face, see its nostrils flare as it tested his scent, see a drip of moisture trickle from its nose. He swallowed convulsively once more.

The yeti reached out a tentative hand and nudged him with a knuckle. Mulder flinched. He looked over at the other yetis, hoping they would distract this one, but they were quietly grooming and he didn't think it safe to call to attract their attention. It opened its hand and stroked it over Mulder's head, plucked at the tatters of cloth on his shoulders and poked gently at his chest and stomach. Mulder's cock, for some inexplicable reason, was still hard. He supposed it was because of his full bladder, but he was so scared he thought that would have compensated. The huge paw tore a strip of bright cloth from his parka, the yeti smelled it and dropped it at its side, then edged still closer and began to sniff at him, as had the other yeti when it first encountered Mulder.

Having exhausted the possibilities of his upper torso, Cut-ear's massive head dropped into his lap. Mulder's chest was pushed aside by the animal's shoulder, the silky hair slithering across his skin and tickling his exposed nipples into nervous taut buds. The ache in his groin was almost unbearable; he had never been so desperate to empty his bladder in his life. Terror was making it worse, he realised, and in addition he was becoming ever more fearful that he would involuntarily let fly as he had the previous day, but this time right into an animal's face. It was a vicious circle. He squirmed, and edged his buttocks backwards. The yeti grunted and looked up, putting its face only inches from Mulder's own, and bared its teeth. It was the final straw. With a sigh, and a feeling of fatality, Mulder realised his muscles had loosened, and a hot puddle was forming under his thighs. You need diapers, he told himself. He couldn't recall when he'd last lost it like this - maybe when Sam had disappeared? - and he wondered why his fear was affecting him so this time. Perhaps it was his childlike weakness, helplessness, in the face of the yeti's monstrous size and strength?

The acrid smell of urine wafted up to his nose. Cut-ear obviously smelt it too... he snuffled, blew a raspberry through his thin, flexible lips, then backed away from Mulder to turn and depart through the archway after the others. Mulder slumped and let it all go... the piss, the tension, and any remaining desire to pretend that he needed to be brave.

It occurred to him after a few seconds that to sit still was foolish. Liquid was soaking into his rags of clothing and cooling fast. It was chill in the den, he would be cold anyway soon, and could do without being wet as well. In addition, the yetis could return. Smoothly, he got to his feet, watching the mother for signs of aggression, but, though she looked incuriously at him, she seemed calm. The infants huddled behind her and stared.

Picking up his water bag, he walked cautiously to the arched doorway and looked out. The tunnel was empty; dull light brightened the end where he knew the split ceiling, the crevasse, ended. Slowly, listening hard, he ventured along it and peeped around the sharp corner to see the wide crack in the floor, and beyond. There were no animals in sight. The quiet was accented by an almost sub-audible moaning and fat flakes of snow drifted down in front of him. The cold was gnawing at his exposed skin already. He looked up reluctantly, not wishing to admit his plight. Above, instead of the deep endless blue of the past week, the sky was a dingy yellow grey, while white tenuous veils danced and swirled in the air above the crevasse. It was still early, but Mulder knew if the snow had been falling for more than half-an-hour his footprints would already have been obliterated. With a deep breath he suppressed a sob, for knew also that probably he had not yet been missed.

Despite the futility of the gesture, he yelled anyway. He didn't bother to form words, his only concern was that he should be heard. His pleading voice was stifled by the cushions of snow. Across the void, not twenty yards away, a vivid strap was visible. His knapsack, his salvation. It might as well have been on the moon.

With hopeless care, he inspected the chasm at his feet. Far too wide to leap, apparently bottomless; even if he could have scaled the sheer sides it was an impassable barrier. He studied the walls to either side of it and the incomplete ceiling, minutely. If he had had pitons... rope... though he was an amateur, given plenty of time, he might have risked it. But he had nothing. His only option was a rescue. He was perfectly sure that, without some distress signal to guide them, and possibly not then, no-one would risk hunting for him in a white-out. It would be not only fruitless but suicidal.

There was no point in lingering in the cold. He was shivering hard enough to rattle his bones. He glanced at his watch and with shock realised he had been standing there for half-an-hour, risking frostbite, losing valuable energy, achieving nothing but his own deathly disappointment. With shaking hands he scooped snow into his water containers, relieved himself into the void... the bars of his prison... and retreated back to the warmth of the yeti's home.

He was past worry by then. The cold was overwhelming, his stomach was growling with hunger and he knew that for the next few hours, at least, there was no hope anyone would be looking for him. Back in the bleak cosiness of the den he ignored the remaining animals and jumped up and down to warm himself, rubbing his pasty skin, and then stripped off to rearrange his rags to cover as much flesh as possible. Fatalistically, he left his ass exposed. If he had to whore himself to a pack of yetis to survive, he would; there was no point in losing more of his remaining clothing to their ruthless undressing methods.

The shivers eased, and he looked over at his companions. All but the tiny baby were goggling at him with fright. He sighed deeply and sat down, leaning against the wall opposite, wishing with all his heart that he were part of the tight huddle they had formed. Slowly the infants detached themselves from the female's sheltering bulk and they began to tumble and play once more. He threw the strip of blue cloth torn from his parka earlier at them and, after a few minutes, they retrieved it and began to shred it into a pile of thread. Over the next hour they worked closer and closer to him. He hooted gently at them; eventually they answered and ventured to touch him briefly. He noticed too that the female was no longer eyeing him, but was dozing quietly as her baby climbed over her stocky body.

He waited a couple of hours, wracking his brain for ideas to escape, then went back to the edge of the hole to look at the sky once more. It looked still darker above, but he called anyway for a while, and listened intently through the growing whistle and roar of the wind for voices. He heard nothing.

By lunchtime the mother of the two infants had returned, bearing a bloody and unrecognisable hunk of meat. The babies hooted excitedly and jumped all over her and she nibbled gently at them as she tore strips of meat from the carcass, chewed them and passed them mouth to mouth to each child in turn. Occasionally the little yetis would pull a piece off for themselves and sit chewing doggedly until they had masticated it to their satisfaction.

Mulder found that his mouth was watering at the smell, high and pungent as it was. The meat was brown in places... not a fresh kill... and this added to the belief he was already forming that the yeti were scavengers, rather than killers.

Once the infants had lost interest their mother departed again briefly, to return with a long icicle which she broke in half and handed to her babies to lick like a lollipop. Meanwhile, the nursing mother had moved in on the remaining meat and was eating her fill. Mulder found himself also wondering about their intelligence. Their behaviour seemed increasingly sophisticated, but was it due to cleverness or learned reactions acquired over many years in response to the rigors of this environment?

The nursing mother left the den next, first passing her tiny infant to the other female to mind. Nobody seemed interested in the bone with its tatters of flesh; despite his repugnance, Mulder felt himself drawn to it, thinking he might risk just a little. He wasn't starving yet, but the bad weather might have set in, and it was possible that he'd have to endure a day or two in this cave. If it was edible, he should take any opportunity that presented itself. However, though logically he knew he could digest the rotting meat, he found that he was not yet desperate enough to sample it.

Bored and frustrated, Mulder spent the next couple of hours checking the weather, yelling, and returning to the den to warm up. Without the crowd of animals the temperature was slowly dropping in the cavern and he surprised himself by being thankful as, in ones and twos, they returned.

He'd counted a total of fourteen animals altogether. The original yeti, the Boss, and Cut-ear were the largest. There were the two mothers and their three children. Five juveniles of various sizes and two more adults, noticeably smaller than the two males he'd identified. Of course, the two small adults could also have been adolescent youngsters, their long, thick hair made it impossible to tell their sex.

At about three in the afternoon, when around half the tribe was present but before the Boss had appeared, Cut-ear returned. He swaggered in, the fur on his chin and neck dark-stained with blood, hissing and growling at the other yetis. All but the youngest hunkered down submissively as he lumbered to and fro looking as if, with little provocation, he would start beating his chest. His eye swept over Mulder and the man shivered at the feral expression on the animal's face. With a prayer to every god he'd ever heard of, Mulder crouched too and presented his ass to the pretender to the throne.

This time he wasn't bursting to pee, but he was as tense as the previous day. Not like that morning when he'd been caught unawares, half asleep, and was full of yeti dick before he knew what was happening to him. This guy appeared younger and more aggressive than the Boss. Mulder hoped he didn't have anything too radical to prove.

Cut-ear circled the room, touching and intimidating with snarls and bared teeth all the lesser yetis, until he reached Mulder. He seemed inordinately interested in Mulder's buttocks and he stroked and sniffed as Mulder grit his teeth and tried not to squirm away from the itching, tickling sensation the animal was causing. He wished he was capable of retracting his genitals inside his body; as the yeti's fingers prodded his balls his skin crawled as if it were puckering, folding in on itself, sucking his flesh inside his abdomen. Evidently Cut-ear must have decided that the posterior before him passed muster; hooting softly, it stroked something warm and slimy down his ass-crack, and with a little fumbling, breached the sphincter. Mulder took a shuddering breath, feeling a little relieved. Degrading as this was, at least the animal had placed him in its mind, given him a slot in its mental hierarchy. So long as the man behaved accordingly, he was probably safe.

He rested his forehead on the ground, and slumped his shoulders. All his muscles were cramped, knotted with terror, but now, knowing what was to come, he found he could relax them one by one. Just a few minutes more, and the animal would be done and happy to leave him be for a while.

Cut-ear passed an arm under his hips and drew him up as he slowly eased his penis into Mulder's ass. Squinting back through his legs, Mulder could see the yeti's member was a far more generous size than the Boss's; so much for reports of ape's penises being small. These guys must have as much variation as humans. Gulping at the thought of what he was going to have to take, Mulder conjured up visions of pictures he'd seen on internet porn sites of guys with bowling pins up their asses or stretched by specula and crossed his fingers staunchly. If they could do it, he could do it. He stamped manfully on the uneasy thought that photo-manipulation might have played a part in their apparent capacity.

The yeti, thankfully, seemed in no hurry, inching his way into the man, or rather inching Mulder's body over his dick, because Mulder was being pulled back onto the powerful animal rather than being pushed into by it. He took shallow breaths, thinking of the advice given to women giving birth, and tried to give in to his fate. The appendage was certainly slick; he was sure he could feel the yeti's heartbeat throbbing powerfully as it spread him open and filled his gut. At first he thought he would be split apart, but slowly the burning ache eased and minutes later, when he sensed soft fur against his buttocks, there was no more than a mild discomfort and no sharp sting of torn flesh.

Gently and unhurriedly, the yeti rocked Mulder in his lap, working the tight hole until it became lax and slippery. Unlike the frantic coupling the Boss enjoyed, Cut-ear seemed to want to take time to relish this mating and Mulder found he was being lulled, calmed into unworried submission. To his chagrin his own cock was filling but he supposed, given the stimulation that was increasingly noticeable, it was inevitable. He resolved not to feel guilty about it. There was no help to be had, no blame... even the animal was just following its instincts, it was not a rape. He began to wonder how it would feel to be this powerless in the hands of a lover and fell into a fantasy, a dream of the man that lay dead just yards away.

Letting the pleasure carry him, he put himself into Krycek's power. Bound, impotent, at the absolute mercy of the one-armed assassin, he saw the bewitching face hover before him, tantalisingly just out of reach. "I'm going to fuck you, Mulder," the husky voice promised. "You gave yourself to me and told me to take you any way I want." The man was fully clothed, Mulder humiliatingly naked, immobilised by ropes with which he had permitted the other to bind him, to render him helpless without a murmur of protest.

Krycek grinned close-mouthed, a shark's smirk, his eyes flat disks of evil. He stretched out his hand and splayed the fingers wide, twisting it from side to side sensuously, then clenched it into a taut, knotted fist. "I'm using this," he purred and let the sharp knuckles bump, one-by-one, over Mulder's lips. Mulder had never had that experience, never had been taken, invaded in such a bewilderingly strange way. He was rigid with shock, yet his heart fluttered with excitement and anticipation. His dream melted, reformed at a time with Krycek's hand buried inside his body, his distended sphincter circling the powerful forearm. The huge animal's shaft inside him was Krycek's limb; he was prostrate, dependent utterly on the killer's whim, on his dubious mercy.

Krycek was fucking him slowly, sending waves of pressure through his belly from his bloated rectum, kneading his prostate pitilessly. His cock and balls hung heavy, swinging slowly as the leisurely pace set with the monstrous limb tilted his hips to and fro. His hands were tightly bound, immovable, cinched behind his back. Wonderful, terrible, to know his completion was out of his power, that he could be left longing or forced to come but ignored as his tormentor worked him yet again to a quivering bundle of desire.

As the animal slowly gratified itself with Mulder's body, the man sank deeper into his vision. Tied, he couldn't touch himself. It had to be at Krycek's whim. His cock throbbed, begging to be held, to be rubbed by strong, knowing fingers. Drip by fat drip, the juice of his passion oozed from his body unheeded by the merciless man who held him captive.

The longing became unbearable. Unconsciously he reached down past the hairy arms wrapped around his belly and feathered his fingers over his hard, fevered cock. He had no purchase on the floor; almost suspended in the yeti's embrace, he was a helpless victim of the assassin's ingenuity and skill.

Alex was teasing him now, drifting the lightest touch along his silken, vein-marked skin. His sac was tight, puckered on itself, ready to explode and release him from his torture. The balled fist ground into his body. Solidly impaled, he bucked, lifted and dropped as it pistoned inside him. Krycek spoke, husky obscenities seeping like acrid smoke. "Do you like to be my bitch, Mulder? You need me for this... who else could you hate enough, that you'd give yourself like this? The grating words diffused into a chant, a beat that thrummed faster and faster as the fist rocked him higher, swinging him on a twisting rope of ecstasy. The yeti's arm clenched around him, and it stabbed, once, twice... Agony like molten rapture suffused his loins and with a shriek he was spurting, forcing his essence from his angry cock. A hot liquid tide of yeti jism welled in his gut, squeezed past his stoppered hole and seeped over his thighs, warm, viscous, condign.

Vanquished, owned, Mulder slumped and wept with shame.

At length Cut-ear withdrew. Mulder lay shivering, his ass smeared with loops of thick, shit-stained semen. He had come down fast, hard. He saw himself splayed, used, debased. He saw himself crawl from the den to end this pointless vigil by tipping himself into the abyss. He saw a soundless fall to a clean death.

The cavern filled, and twilight came. The trembling, half-conscious man was used again. He barely noticed. It was dark before he knew that there was still hope, that this episode, which seemed a lifetime, was as yet barely more than a day. Rescue would come. Soon, rescue would come. He crept to the huddle of animals and burrowed in. His hunger, driven out by misery, became a rat gnawing at his stomach. He sipped at the dregs of water he had left. He had forgotten to refill his containers. Surrender gave way to practicality once more - if he died, it shouldn't be from apathy or stupidity. They would be looking for him and it was up to him to justify their efforts and personal risk by keeping himself in as good a shape as possible.

From memory he navigated the tunnel, scooped snow from new pockets he had seen earlier, and tiptoed back into the den. Strangely, in his new mood, it was welcoming and womb-like; dark, warm, the soft silence breathing and snuffling. He ran his hands over a cushion of warm bodies. They parted and cocooned him. The self-disgust had faded and in its place was contentment, gratitude and belonging. He had been observing his treatment from the wrong point of view. He wasn't abused, he was accepted. In their wild, instinctive way they had made him part of their family. Lulled by the heartbeats in his fur-lined nest, Mulder slept once more.

The new safety and confidence he had amongst the yetis enabled him to endure philosophically another day of storms and driving snow. It was a bitter disappointment, and he feared that the search might be called off because he had been missing so long, but there was nothing to be done. He had no fear now of freezing to death, nor of dying of thirst, though his hunger was a demon raging in his gut.

He had awoken that morning unmolested, the two yeti infants snuggled either side of him, one under each arm. Only the mother and baby remained in the cave. Between visits to check on the weather and to further examine the crack in the floor for a means to traverse it, he pursued his friendship with his companions. By just past noon when the first of the juveniles returned, the female had let him stroke her baby and was making friendly hoots and grimaces. As he fraternised he was making wild plans for his escape, should he remain trapped. The prey that the yeti brought home - could he use the bones for pitons, or the skin and sinews to fashion a rope? Attach a message to a yeti, or find some means of causing it to leave a trail? He wished he had their muscle; even the youngsters shorter than himself could jump the crevasse with ease. He knew the span was totally beyond his power and as he weakened, as each day without food passed, it would become more impossible.

Boredom vexed him, too. He was no Jane Goodall, inspired to spend a lifetime studying the behaviour of a group of animals in minute detail. Towards the end of the third day he'd already seen enough and ruefully welcomed Cut-ear's return with interest - the Boss was no more than titillation. Mulder had made a truce with his predilections during the course of the long, disappointing morning, and now he was ready for diversion. He'd cleaned himself a little with handfuls of snow; the excrement and secretions on his buttocks and in his crack had been making him sore, and presented himself to the crown prince with, he told himself, unseemly eagerness. He was soon satisfied. Sinking again into his previous fantasy he embellished it, lengthened it. The powerful male took over an hour in mounting and coupling with Mulder; the man had time and more to bring himself to an orgasm that left him shaking and faint with gratification beneath the huge ape.

Now he knew that as each hour passed the chance that a search would be abandoned grew apace. As the hope of help diminished the need to fend for himself became more urgent. His stomach had rebelled once more at the meat the yetis had brought for the babies, but soon, tomorrow or the next day, he would have to risk it. That night he found himself beside the tiniest baby, which was clasped against its strong, caring mother. His mouth watered as a thick milky smell filled his nostrils. It was irresistible. Turning his head a little he ran his tongue over a ruddy puckered nipple, lifting a drop of the precious liquid. It was richness on his tongue, pleasure as powerful as life. Carefully he sucked the nub into his mouth, and massaged it gently, urging a slow stream of nourishment from the flat breast. It bathed his belly, just a tiny quantity filling his shrunken stomach. He drifted into his dreams, cradled, replete, against her generous body.

By the fifth day, when the sun finally shone once more, Mulder had established a routine and was at ease with his companions. If he had had suitable food he could have endured the wait and the tedium, and sustained hope that rescue would eventually, either by chance or through his own endeavours, arrive. It was, after all, the climbing season and he was near a route popular with climbers of average ability. So if he remained vigilant, there were several weeks during which it was likely that he could attract attention.

But he had virtually no nourishment. He had tried a little meat a couple of days back, and suffered an exhausting night of stomach cramps and diarrhoea. He couldn't afford to risk it again. He had drunk a little more milk the previous night and could expect that small source to continue to be available. However he required extra calories to defeat the bitter cold; as he started to lose weight, lose insulation, his need would be greater still.

The days passed; a week went by; Mulder was dizzy and faint with hunger. He seemed to have passed the point at which the pangs were all-absorbing; it had become an habitual ache, always present, yet un-noticed unless he asked himself what was wrong, was missing. Being fucked had become the only way to forget his plight. He almost drifted into hallucination now, rather than simple fantasy. He became obsessed by Krycek's fate, weaving ever wilder stories in his mind of how he had met his death, dreaming, now the man was safely dead, of the deadly delirium he could have found in the killer's embrace.

He abased himself without hesitation. The Boss did little more than prime him for the main event, leaving him titillated, twitchy, and he found himself asking Cut-ear for attention, hoping the ape would challenge the pack-leader and become supreme. Then he would use the man when he pleased, and shorten the long, lonely days for Mulder.

The rescuers never materialised. Each day he made himself call, bearing the cold for ten minutes - half an hour - until it drove him back to the den. Unless he rescued himself, he would slowly die of starvation. Help was so near, in his backpack just across the crevasse, within sight. He started to experiment with bone spikes to make hand-holds in the sheer ice walls. He tried to fashion a ladder by lashing together bones with bits of skin. It was promising, but the animals' curiosity and instinct to keep their den clean sabotaged his constructions. He awoke one morning to find his handiwork stolen.

The choice was stark. "Do you want to live or die?" he whispered. Odd to hear a voice. Words were alien, almost obscene, here.

He thought for the first time in days of his job. Of his friends and Scully, who had sent him off with jokes and admonishments. He looked at his dirty skin and the remaining tatters wrapped over it. The rags had not been removed since the Boss yeti had modified his clothing to its need. He stared sightlessly at the felted wall, daubed with its motley of twigs, grass and cloth scraps. It was not there; he saw himself smartly clad, cool, at ease, lounging in his familiar office. An hour passed. Mulder did not move. Now he was at home, now the apartment surrounded him, his womb, his habit. This was the prize. This was the prize in this battle for his life.

Was it beyond his power to endure? To regain this? Was his life indeed worth this suffering, the disappointment? Or would it be easier to admit defeat now and end his torment?

To survive, he must eat. To survive, he must escape. The first was an immediate imperative. He supposed that in a few more days he would be too debilitated to bear the cold.

That evening as he shivered limply beneath the boss, too weakened to brace himself, to protect his body as the animal pulled and thrust, scraping and chafing him against the floor, he realised how he could last a few more days. The warm douche jetted from the yeti's cock once more. Here was nourishment, a pint or more of protein rich liquor. As the ape shuffled away, Mulder drew his hand up his thigh and collected a globule of the glistening slime on his fingers. He hesitated for no more than an instant before licking it greedily from his skin. Almost tasteless, like warm, salty-sweet porridge, it slid easily down his throat. He looked with regret at the puddle draining into the floor. With an hysterical giggle, he acknowledged that his mouth was watering in anticipation of the feast to come that night.

Impatient, knowing his hunger once more, Mulder fretted as the yetis slowly fell asleep that evening. He positioned himself near Cut-ear. The animal usually kept a distance form Mulder in the boss's presence, but formality and hierarchy always dissipated with the fading light.

At last snores and sighs were all he could hear. He eased himself against Cut-ear's bulk and stroked his stomach softly, freezing when the animal stirred, then continuing until it became accustomed to the man's gentling. The penis was in a furry sheath concealed beneath a thick long pelt and he knew now that the yeti's testicles, though large, were carried very close to its body; tight hard balls, hot under the silky fur.

With smooth light touches he rubbed the sheath, daring to place his palm over its width to slide the furry skin over the hardening member that lay concealed within. Cut-ear lurched and relaxed again with a sigh, sprawled on the bodies beneath, legs splayed wide, unconsciously savouring Mulder's attention. The man grinned. No matter what the species, it seemed males were all the same. Finally, though in the inky darkness he did not see, he felt the sensitive organ emerge and he imagined the delicate pink dewy skin peeping, like a baby's tiny foot, from a nest of thick blankets. He bent and touched it with his tongue. Cut-ear flinched, and a shudder rippled over his enormous body. Petrified, Mulder held his breath, only to feel faint with relief as he realised that Cut-ear was purring with pleasure. The organ at his lips twitched and swelled. Crossing his fingers, he opened his mouth and drew in as much as possible between his lips. The flesh hardened against his tongue; his mouth bulged around the erect cock-head.

He supposed, had he been perverse enough or bold enough to have tried this when he had first become trapped, he would have been sickened by the gamy stench of the yeti's natural odour even if the act itself had not revolted him.

Now all he knew was excited anticipation and a powerful growling from his neglected stomach. Eagerly he massaged the member with his tongue, fondling and gently squeezing the yeti's scrotum and furry sheath until the animal's slick length was exposed to his carefully probing hands.

Cut-ear began to thrust under him, to push its haunches up against his face. Smothered in fur, Mulder found it hard to breathe, and forgetting his peril he leaned across the yeti's thighs to still it. It became yet more excited, finally clutching Mulder's hair with a grip that seemed to pull his scalp from his skull. At last, with a coughing snort it ejaculated. Mulder felt the semen coursing along the shaft to jet, like a powerful hose, against the back of his throat and into his nasal passages.

Choking, he desperately swallowed as much of the liquid as he could while the flood of come poured from his overfilled mouth and slid down his neck to soak his chest. Need to use that plastic bag as a condom he thought, with manic logic. I wouldn't waste as much. He gulped and sucked until, sated, the animal rolled away from him and began to snore once more.

Mulder drew himself back to sit upright, belching. His stomach felt tight... over-tight, stretched like a drum. Suddenly the thought of what he'd done struck him like a brick and his belly leaped with disgust. 'Fuck... no, I can't puke,' he ordered himself sternly. He clenched his muscles and by will alone fought down the dreadful urge to vomit. 'It's like gruel. Bland, nourishing gruel. Or chicken soup. Won't harm you. It's necessary. Good.'

Slowly, reluctantly, his stomach settled. He felt impossibly full, as if he had banqueted at a Roman feast. He sipped some water, washing the memory from his mouth, then lay back to sleep.

Satisfied for the first time in days, his mind drifted away from his hunger to think more carefully about his situation. He had no idea for how long a search would continue on the mountain but he knew that in his own case he must have long been given up for lost. Somehow he had to signal, or succeed in his impossible escape.

For the next couple of days, sustained by the yeti's bounty, he tried a few desperate schemes. He knotted scraps of bright cloth into the yetis' fur as they lay sleeping, hoping to destroy their camouflage. He fashioned a sling, then a catapult, to fling debris up over the lip of the crevasse, hoping to mark its position. He tried once more with bone pitons, first to descend into the abyss that trapped him, then to ascend the sheer canyon walls rather than trying to cross. He achieved nothing except but a fresh knowledge of his own inadequacy and present weakness.

Then, on the morning of the tenth day, things changed. The Boss had one of the smaller yetis, one of the juveniles Mulder supposed, trapped in a corner and Cut-ear was circling, snarling and hissing. Both animals turned on any other that approached too closely.

The smaller yeti got up and padded around trying to escape, only to be herded by the Boss who nipped at it when it attempted to pass him.

Finally, Mulder realised why he had been of such interest to the males. This was a female; she was in season. Her pudenda were grossly swollen, bulging blush-pink in rolls of juicy flesh. His own ass was a poor copy, but obviously sufficient to send the right signals.

The two big males were inflamed with mating lust. For hours, long after the other animals had left to forage, the Boss mounted her repeatedly, grumbling deep in his chest and snapping at the circling, frantic Cut-ear.

It was a restless night. The animals slept fitfully, their slumbers punctuated by confrontations between the two males. By the following day, Cut-ear had become a little discouraged though he remained on watch in the den. Mulder dared to approach him, wondering if he had now lost his position in the troupe. The ape, however, seemed to remember who he was, hissing at Mulder until he received the proper obeisance from the man, then stroking his flanks but not mounting him, though Mulder could see that he was fully erect. This seemed to constitute an act of defiance to the prime male, for the Boss glared at him fixedly and feinted a charge so that Cut-ear backed away hurriedly from Mulder. Evidently, though an inferior specimen for a female, Mulder was still part of his harem.

The loss of face rankled with the younger ape. As his bravado returned he taunted the Boss, trying to touch the female, even grabbing her and making for the entrance. The Boss pounced on the pretender, hitting and biting him cruelly.

It was too much for Cut-ear's savage brain. Provoked beyond caring he dodged the prime male and tried again, failing to carry off the female. Impulsively Mulder threw himself in Cut-ear's path as the ape was rebuffed, ass in air, signalling his readiness to the enraged ape. If he had stopped to think he wouldn't have risked it, but all he saw was an opportunity to make his escape. Cut-ear scooped him up, threw him over a brawny shoulder and raced down the tunnel towards the chasm with the Boss, bellowing, in hot pursuit.

Mulder clung on to the deep fur grimly, praying that the young ape would not lose his nerve and drop his prize. They flew over the barrier that had trapped him for so long and Cut-ear took a few paces into the space beyond, then turned and dropped Mulder to posture and hurl hissing defiance at the Boss, who was screaming his anger on the far side of the abyss.

Cold, cold enough to make his flesh ache and throb; teeth chattering, Mulder lurched towards the rucksack, pleading with fate to make the two animals fight and forget him. But the Boss, having displayed his ire, turned and walked slowly back to his ripe female and Cut-ear, snuffling and hooting, came searching for his trophy.

Hopeless with despair Mulder huddled into the wall, praying that the ape would remember the glories of the female back in the den, and spurn him. If he had to spend an hour motionless, impaled by Cut-ear, even with the warmth of the yeti's body to shield him, he was sure he would die of the cold. However, Cut-ear merely scooped him back onto his shoulder and approached the sheer wall of the crevasse, to climb it.

Mulder had watched the yetis do this. Their long claws and thickly furred paws enabled them to scamper up and down the slick walls as if up a ladder. He was to be taken out of this hole, out onto the snow to go God knew where. It was certain death. Half-naked, with only Cut-ear to warm him? Ironic, he thought. Escape - a pointless, fatal escape.

Luck was with Mulder this time. Burdened, the yeti could not gain purchase on the wall and slipped back, over and over, to the ground. His patience exhausted, he dropped the man and scrambled swiftly up the crevasse wall to disappear from Mulder's view.

For the first time in many days, he was alone. Stunned and shaking with relief, Mulder lay looking up as the yeti's silhouette vanished. He was paralysed, almost horrified now that the responsibility of escape was once more upon his shoulders. He was unable to put his thoughts in order, formulate a plan of action.

"Stupid fuck," he told himself. "You'll freeze to death before you even call for help at this rate." Slowly he crawled to his untouched rucksack and with trembling hands pulled out a foil blanket to wrap around himself. There was a spare hat amongst the clutter and then, with joy, he found his hand clutching his walkie-talkie. It crackled to life at a touch.

What should I say? he thought, looking at it in confusion. Anything, came the reply, and right now.

"Hello, this is Fox Mulder," he croaked. "Help me. Please. I'm alive."

Dummy... 'I'm alive'... what an inane thing to say... But it was the right thing, the only thing worth saying. He brought the speaker to his mouth again.

"Hear me!" he crowed. "I'm alive. Come and get me."

"Got it," crackled a tinny voice. "Who are you, and what is your position, please? This is Ed Wallis speaking, I'll alert the authorities... Are you injured?"

"Trapped," he said. "I'm not injured, but weak... I've been trapped in a crevasse for a while." He looked up at the sky, deep far blue, at his ropes still dangling where he had left them. He hadn't the strength to climb up he knew, and with his clothes in shreds it would be futile even if he made it. But now, here, life had been returned to him. The lump in his throat was gratitude, disbelief, ecstasy.

He described his position as thoroughly as he could, then shuffled back to the far end of the crevasse and rolled into a tight crouch to hide from the animals and to conserve heat. Chewing slowly on a cereal bar, he looked at Krycek and felt tears prick his eyes.

Fuck - I can't be crying for the bastard, he thought. But he wasn't. He was crying for himself and for escape from the grave he had nearly shared with his enemy.

Within the hour, voices echoed across the lip of the crevasse.

"Help!" he cried but overwhelmed, his voice was no more than a croak. He stood to take a deep breath and yelled again, "Help," over and over, his strained voice edging higher and higher, becoming an imperative scream.

Black figures cut through the azure ribbon of sky. Mulder stood open-mouthed, swaying with relief. Two figures rappelled down the ice-face to stand beside him. They seemed utterly strange in their bright clothes, with their chemical unnatural aroma. Thin - so slightly built, so straight, almost as alien now as the Greys. Belatedly he realised how he himself must look with his matted hair and thick beard speckled and glued with dirt and secretions. And the smell! He couldn't see their expressions for the balaclavas that protected them, but the round surprise in their eyes told its own tale. Embarrassed, he clutched his silver blanket tightly to hide his nakedness and searched his imagination for a story to explain his condition.

"Get me out of here," he urged, turning from one to the other as his voice faltered and the tears threatened anew. "I want to go home."

"Yeah," said one, soothingly, "It's OK buddy. We're here, you can go home."

"Micky," called the other, who had been looking around as the first arranged Mulder in a rope sling. "I've found that guy the boss is looking for... McLaren... "

"Hey, two birds, one stone," said Micky brightly to Mulder. "Doing you a favour sure brought us luck, friend."

"That's Krycek." Mulder shook his head as he gestured toward the body. "The dead man, he's Krycek."

The second man pulled his covering from his face and grinned at Mulder. "Nope. You think it's a friend of yours? You had someone with you?"

"No - I was alone," said Mulder. "But that's Krycek. I know him; a criminal."

"You must be in bad shape, man," laughed Micky as he checked Mulder's ropes. "That's no criminal. It's a mountain guide - Tom McLaren. One of the best, I've heard. Bought it a couple of years back; they left him where he died. It's tradition.

"But we've got a big-shot movie producer, wants to make a drama-documentary doofus about these mountains and the people who make a living here. He asked us to look out for the body." He gave a wide grin and chuckled. "'Spect you'll find out why. You look like you've got some tale to tell, too. He'll want to meet you."

Mulder quirked a smile. With every passing second he felt his personality filling him like water in a bucket. He had been holed - drained. Only his name and bare humanity had remained.

"I'll want to clean up first and get a meal. If your movie-mogul expects me to be the victim, cross-examined at their lowest ebb, he can find another subject. I'm grateful but I'm not a fairground sideshow."

And truly, Mulder was considering how he should explain his condition and his survival. He put no great value on dignity, but his actions had been beyond the pale of civilisation, or at least what civilisation would admit. In addition, having survived living with them, he found he felt affection and a certain protectiveness for the yetis. If he trumpeted their existence to the world (which is what telling a movie producer would amount to) their little community, despite faithful promises and good intentions, would disappear within the year.

One possibility would be to say he had been kidnapped by some militant rebel group; such bands were common and in constant flux in this country. However, that would probably trigger a search... an attempt by the authorities to flush out the men, lest tourism, a major money-spinner, should suffer.

With an inward smile, he knew what he could say... he'd heard it from others, so many times. Lights in the sky - blurred impressions - time lost. No speculation about what had occurred; let them draw their own conclusions; probably that he was raving, driven mad by privation, but the truth would stay hidden. As he looked down on the sharp chill wilderness passing below the helicopter, he mused on the irony. Reality was stranger to him than such a lie. Amused, he wondered if other purported abductees had used such a subterfuge to excuse still stranger truths.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

A day later a shaven, scrubbed Fox Mulder stretched luxuriously in a fleecy sleeping bag in the warmth and shelter of a modern mountain tent. He'd received hot water on his skin like a blessing and almost succumbed to the temptation to shave the hair from his whole body along with the encrusted dirt, to emerge, pink and new, back into his own world.

With the grime, the layers of humiliation had been sluiced away and he could start to look dispassionately at his experience. If he was prepared to accept that the creatures had welcomed him at their own level, treated him equally as a member of their tribe, he should be grateful and honoured. Indeed, it was himself in his human frailty and greed, who had exploited them. He owed them; he had to keep them safe.

A ripping, and the tent door peeled open. Mulder hadn't noticed the visitors' approach over the busy noises of the mountain base camp, but now Dr. Knole, who had examined and treated him, ushered a swaddled stranger into the tent. The well fitting mountain clothes almost flattered the man's tall figure. Mulder noted the understated designer labels and snorted. Here then was the movie mogul.

"Mr. Mulder, Dustin Yarma; his party rescued you yesterday," stated the doctor with a quick smile. "How are you? Mr. Yarma was keen to meet you, but I had him wait," he added, dryly.

The executive pulled off his beanie, and unzipped the parka that covered the lower half of his face. Shocked hazel eyes fixed on green. Mulder thought his guts had frozen. Krycek again - and - yet not.

"You look surprised, Mr. Mulder," drawled the man, in Krycek's self-same husky voice. "I'm not a corpse - that's poor Tom McLaren. Now you know why a simple movie hack, used to pumping out romances and thrillers, has been forced into a highbrow production about mountaineering. If you're shocked, think how I felt when I first saw a picture of the guy in National Geographic.

"They say somewhere in the world everyone has a double. I was too late to meet mine." Yarma sat easily on the bed, confident, loquacious. For once, Mulder was lost for words. "But I'm sure not too late to get to know him, and celebrate his life. And boy, is it worth the effort. Brave, responsible and such a stupid, useless death."

Neither noticed the doctor leave. He was satisfied that his patient, though bemused, wouldn't be distressed by the extrovert Yarma; maybe his company would even help centre the man, help him recall what had befallen him and see through the visions which he had sworn were his memories.

"Did your guys tell you I thought I knew the dead man, McLaren?" Mulder couldn't drag his eyes from the familiar face, alike yet different... different upbringing, different attitude, different body language, confident, used to command. Reflexively he responded, feeling a warm swelling in his groin at the sight of Krycek's face on this male whose attitude demanded obedience, agreement; expected his submission.

The soft sandpaper voice brushed over him unheard as Mulder studied the sturdy figure and sweet face of his nemesis. Short dark hair, neat ears and nose and those lips that needed to be touched, to be kissed. Here was a chance, perhaps, to bring his fantasies to life without risk or censure. Ridiculously, the urge to throw himself on the floor, ass on high, was near irresistible in the face of his dominant assurance. The yetis had conditioned him well.

He wondered how Yarma would take a little flirting. He seemed to have no problem with physical proximity to another man; he'd chosen to perch on the bed rather than a nearby stool and his weight was warm against Mulder's thigh. I bet he gets hit on all the time, thought Mulder cynically, girls, guys... the movie world's supposed to be full of gays - I wonder if the casting couch is a physical entity? He had a vision of a catalogue with a double page spread, extolling the virtues of various over-stuffed and elaborate sofas, and snorted with laughter.

"What?" asked Yarma, raising a brow.

"Oh... it's so odd, three of you," said Mulder hastily, trying to bury the thought of cheesy male models from the seventies in large underpants, lounging on his imaginary couches.

"This other guy - Crick? Crystal?"

"Krycek."

"Yeah... You were friends? Must have been quite a blow... "

"Not friends exactly... " Mulder left the sentence hanging, interested to hear how Yarma would interpret it.

"You were kin?"

In a way, thought Mulder, almost brothers, opposites, black and white. He smiled warmly, pulling a response from the other.

"No, not kin, either." Shifting his legs, he moved against Yarma's hip. "You look his twin. It's uncanny." ...What the fuck? Go for it, you wuss... "Maybe he's a little younger, but you look just as good... better." He let his voice drop to a purr, wincing at his blatancy; he'd never been good at seduction.

But Dustin, used to the flattery and the easy compliments of his world, didn't catch Mulder's unease; he was pleased. Though this man was drawn and pale, his lush lips called to him like an Oscar with his name engraved on the plinth. Yarma played both sides in a world where young, pretty flesh was a commodity; he was a connoisseur of all its forms, and the form in this bed was charming.

"More than a friend?" he said, his husky voice hinting wild intimacies.

Mulder thought of Krycek and himself grappling in the throes of passion and nearly laughed aloud despite his burgeoning hard-on. "Definitely more than a friend, Mr. Yarma," he managed to murmur, biting his lip.

The other man rested a hand on Mulder's thighs. "Dustin, please... I can understand that; you being more than friends" he said. The eyes, dark with interest, panned Mulder's body under its thick cover, to rest on his face. He smiled slowly, and white teeth flashed at the bewildered agent. Krycek never grinned like that. Mulder had never seen him truly confident or happy. With a pang, he wondered, why? He despised the guy but couldn't help asking himself, seeing this contrast, if there was some reason or excuse for Krycek's behaviour.

Still, Mulder thought, I must be sending out the right signals to Dustin. Jeez... maybe this habit has got ingrained; see an alpha male and throw myself at his feet. He imagined Skinner's face at that response to one of his reprimands and felt his face grow hot as he blushed, then began to laugh at the mortifying thought.

Dustin chuckled too as the man in the bed started to giggle and then laugh, helplessly. "I'm sorry," gasped Mulder, doubled over, looking up sideways at Yarma. He felt light-headed, carefree; at last the realisation that it was over, that he had his life and his freedom back, had hit him. "I think I'm still out of it after what's happened to me, and then to find myself on top of the damn Himalayas with two guys the spit of someone I know - it's fucking ridiculous."

Dustin sat, his face lit with a huge grin as he waited for Mulder to calm down. At last he composed himself and Dustin started to speak about his plans for his movie, hoping that Mulder would be drawn to talk about his own adventure on the mountain.

Mulder gazed at him helplessly, knowing if he had ever seen Krycek smile, laugh like that, he would have been lost. The little crinkles around his eyes made them sparkle and dance; his mouth invited... commanded him to smile back. How could Krycek make his smile so knowing; smarmy, sexy, secretive when all he needed to do to use it as a weapon was to look like this? Mulder could fall in love with that smile, would fall in love with it if Dustin himself matched up to it. Shuddering, he envisioned how Krycek could have enslaved him; his dark lust for the killer made a hellish adoration fuelled by the charm this man possessed.

"You're not hearing me, are you Mr. Mulder?" said the producer sharply, amused as Mulder jerked to attention.

"Fox," said Mulder, firmly. "Call me Fox. You know, Dustin, I am hearing... I want to hear. And I'm starving. Let me get dressed and we'll have breakfast together. These mountains are full of strangeness; adventure, heroism. You're going to make a great movie... " Deliberately, he put his hand over Dustin's where it still lay on his thigh. "And later... "

Dustin lifted his brows questioningly.

"You and I, and a bottle of champagne..." He looked sternly at Dustin. "You do have champagne I hope, Mr. Movie Magnate?"

"Oh, yeah... truckloads!" snorted Dustin.

"Good. We can party the night away." He sat back and gave a deep sigh. "Do you know just how great it is to be alive?"

The End

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

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