Chapter 6: Zim Versus His Own Horniness

Zim stood near the riverside in the middle of a forest. A redheaded form swam in the water, her diaphanous gown flowing around her like the wings of an angel. Oh God, she was so fucking hot. He had to fuck her as soon as possible. He moaned, and she turned her head, looking into his eyes.

"Oh Cris," she said. "I didn't know you were there."

She swam to the bank and stepped out. Her gown clung tightly to her body, and holy shit! He could see through it! He could see her boobs! And the dark thatch between her legs! His boner strained at the front of his pants, and he thought if he touched it, it would explode.

Dana Scully approached and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, drawing his lips down toward hers. He leaned into her, rubbing his crotch against her lower belly. He didn't know if he'd be able to get his dick in her in time. He needed this so badly!

In the real world he stood in the hotel room, rubbing his dick through his jeans, staring at Agent Scully. Mulder looked at him. "Is this guy okay?"

Casey looked Zim over. "That's his natural state." He turned to Pete. "What does that thing do?" Pointing to the Tesla.

"Oh, it's really cool!" Pete said. "It acts like a taser! It's fun."

"May I?" Casey asked. He held out his hand.

Pete glanced at Mykes. "Uh . . ."

"Actually, I'd kind of like to see this," Mykes said.

"Me, too," Walker said.

Pete shrugged and handed over his Tesla. Casey whirled on Zim and shot him in the balls. He gasped as volts ran through his system. His eyes rolled back and he dropped to the floor, unconscious.

"Huh," Casey said. "That was really cool." He handed the Tesla back.

Zim returned to consciousness a few minutes later. Groggy, he tried to remember how he wound up down on the floor. He'd been in sexual bliss, and he was about to score with Scully, and . . . wait. No, that was a fantasy. Shit. He stood up and tried to keep to his feet while his head swam around, trying to get back into its usual shape.

The others were busy talking among themselves. Some of them spoke over each other. Others yelled. Sam Axe sat off to the side, observing the whole thing and sipping at yet another mojito.

"What's going on?" Zim asked.

"Oh, you missed out, buddy. The feds—Mulder and Scully—actually think this Widowmaker was created by an extraterrestrial life form. Can you believe that? I've heard some wacky shit, but that one?" He laughed.

For some reason Zim thought about Fitz's favorite show, Wormhole Xtreme. He shook the thought away. "Why would they think that?"

"They think the aliens want to invade us, and that they have a way of super-powering the Widowmaker so that we all drown together. At the very least the feds want to bring it back to their boss, a guy named Skinner. They think it's proof of some kind of goofy conspiracy. I'm more inclined to believe those Warehouse 13 agents. Artifacts are a very real thing. I've seen it myself. If they can snag, bag and tag this thing, maybe we can just forget the whole thing."

"But the general wants us to have the artifa . . . the Widowmaker," Zim said.

"Look buddy." Sam slid his sunglasses down his nose and peered at Zim over them. "Potato, po-tahto. Who cares if it's the Secret Service or the NSA or whoever? Just so long as we have it under lock and key, I think we're on easy street. For my money we should probably have Artie and his crew take care of it."

It seemed reasonable, but Zim wanted to get it for Walker. Imagine how grateful she might be if he managed to get the Widowmaker away from everyone else? She might even let him do her!

But then again if he let the Warehouse agents take it, he might have a better chance of catching a nap. He might even get to play Final Fantasy!

But what was better? Naps and Final Fantasy or having sex with Walker? He leaned toward the latter.

Artie was a fuzzy-headed middle-aged man on the round screen of the Farnsworth. He kept shouting whenever he spoke, and it reminded Zim of Doc Brown. "I assure you, Mulder and Scully, that there is nothing of extraterrestrial origin in the Widowmaker! It was forged by the anger of a young man who died trying to save the rest of his crew! He drowned!"

"Hear that, Mulder?" Scully asked. She gently tapped his shoulder with the backs of her fingers. "It's not alien."

Shit. Mulder was probably fucking her. Zim seethed and tried to refocus on either Walker or Myka.

"That's just a cover story, Scully," Mulder said. "This could be an important step in proving to the world that my sister really was abducted by aliens."

"I know you!" Artie shouted. "I know you, Fox Mulder! I have your files right here! Or should I call you Spooky Mulder?"

Mulder shrugged. "I got nothing."

Artie paused, and a bewildered look came over his face. "Okay, that's weird. I have to know. What could you possibly do with all of that porn? It's not even on a computer! You have it in stacks in your spare room!"

Mulder smiled, and he looked like an absolute creep. "Yeah, what would I do with all that porn?"

Zim couldn't help but think, yeah, he's spooky, all right.

"You know what?" Artie yelled. "Never mind! I don't want to know!"

Zim tuned out again. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the women in the room, hoping that someone somewhere had gotten nude videos of them, and that the Intersect would show them to him. Flashing did have more than one meaning, after all. But . . . no dice.

He wandered around the room and found a mini-fridge full of whiskey. He filled his pockets and popped one of them open. It had been a while, and the burn hurt worse than he remembered, but when he got it down he felt much better about this whole situation. He then wondered if the hotel room provided porn channels. He grabbed the remote and plopped down in the chair in front of it.

The argument continued, and the agents' superiors reached out to their superiors, and they to theirs until they finally reached someone who oversaw all of their different branches, both clandestine and not. Not that Zim paid attention. He found a porno with three girls and a guy. He mentally blocked him out and looked at the women. One looked like Walker. One like Mykes. One like Scully.

"Oh yeah," Zim said. He glanced over to the others, but they were too busy with each other that they'd never see him. He loosened his belt and reached down the front of his pants and—

"Yikes, kid." Sam Axe had materialized behind him. "Now's not a good time for that. Hey, those girls look kind of familiar." He glanced over to the others. "Oh, Zim. Come on, man. Keep it in your pants."

"Mind your own business!" Zim yelled.

"It's a good thing Fiona isn't here," Sam said. He shook his head and finished off his mojito, replacing it immediately with a new one.

Zim thought maybe he could bust a quick nut, so he unzipped his pants and took himself out. Just before he could begin, Sam Axe whistled. How the fuck did he know the Fitz Whistle?

"Hey Walker! Casey! Your boy's getting ready to rub one out over there." Sam pointed.

Everyone turned to look at Zim. He didn't have enough time to hide his nakedness, and when he tried to tuck himself away, he did it at a weird angle and accidentally came all over himself.

"That's so gross," Pete said.

No one could look away from the horror scene as Zim groaned and tried to act rationally despite being lost in the throes of orgasm.

"Wow," Mulder said. "That's disgusting, and I'm never disgusted."

Zim finally managed to cover himself up, and he staggered to the bathroom to clean himself up. Casey called after him, "Hey Private Parts! Don't forget to wash your hands!"

Michael Westen looked up to Sam. "I really wish I hadn't seen that."

"You and me both, brother," Sam said.

From the bathroom they heard Zim scream one word and one word only.

"FUCK!"

TO BE CONTINUED . . .