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Summary: An obsessed Krycek stalks Mulder and gets a shock.
Notes: This is the first of three stories in a series.
My lungs burn, my legs are melting, and the only thing keeping me going
is the sight of his sweet little ass bouncing on ahead.
He's not wearing a shirt today, and I agree, it's too hot. But I keep
my black T on and the bill of my army-green cap pulled low
over my brow. Sweat's running down my legs into my
socks.
I'm stalking him. God knows how it came to this.
Maybe it was the fact that he let me kiss him and didn't kill me for it
at our last encounter. I'm not an optimistic man.
The physical sensation of hope has been absent from my body
for years. I think I left it in North Dakota, buried deep in
a cement grave, five hundred feet under. I know it abstractly
now, as something outside of me, something other people get teary-eyed
over. Hope and I parted ways bitterly. We've only
very recently hooked back up. Hope's a slut and I'm horny, I guess you
could say.
But I really only meant the kiss as an insult. I've got the
gun, Foxy, and I can do whatever the fuck I want to you. That kind of
thing. I hadn't meant to give over the gun. But the
high I got from brushing my lips over that soft skin, so close to his
shiny, wet lips that I could feel his panicked breath, was so collosal,
it swept me up into insanity. I got cocky. I had to
risk it all and see where he'd go with it. And when he didn't
shoot me...I nearly came in my pants.
And now here I am, three months later, stalking the man.
At first it didn't feel like stalking. It was
surveillance. It was reconn. It was
business. I could write it off on my taxes. I felt
good about it. One needs to keep an eye on Mulder,
afterall. He's a key player. He can make or break
either side, invasion or resistance. It's only smart to have someone on
him, watching his every move.
So I hired the best man for the job. The pay ain't good, but
the benefits package is outstanding. I tilt my head, panting,
and watch his slippery back and tight butt as he runs.
Yeah. Great perks.
Anyway.
It wasn't stalking. It wasn't. Mulder was back in
the game. He'd rocked the Gibson Praise case, displaying
cognitive leaps that had him in a class just shy of the
wonder kid himself and getting everybody's attention. And I mean
everybody's. I got Spender down from Canada just to watch the
show. Mulder was It-Boy. He was on fire.
And then so was his office.
It knocked him out for a day or two, but he got back on the horse and
hung on like a rodeo champ. All the shit they slung at him
just slid right off. I take some props for that. I reinvested
him with Wiekamp, afterall. He's my pet project. I
should be the one to keep an eye on him...make sure he doesn't get
himself killed, get himself in too deep, get a hang nail...
Who better to take up being obsessed with Fox Mulder than the man who
first got his trust, then screwed up his life, then
screwed some more (On top of the clothes, of course, and nobody came,
though there was a little blood every time. I'm talking about
Hong Kong and Tunguska, mind you.), and then after some questionable
activity on my part in Russia and then my descent into mayhem (Don't
try it at home; it hurts.) actually came back in the bottom of the
ninth and re-won his trust on his own living room floor? I
tell you, sex isn't better than that shit.
So who better to be Fox Mulder's shadow? Huh?
Nobody. I was made for this job.
But of course, it's not a job. Is it? As we've
established, I'm stalking him. I'm a stalker. I
stalk. I mean, nobody's paying me for this, I have to take
time out from my actual work to do it, and it's becoming increasingly
clear that it really should be filed in the Pleasure rather than
Business category on my tax return. No refund for
Alexei. In essence, I dig this gig too much for
words. I'd probably pay to do it! And I'm not
stopping. No way. I'm addicted.
As he flashes into a copse of trees, I pick up my pace, realizing I've
fallen back a little too far.
That's always a rush. Getting as close as I can without him
spotting me. Feeling the spark of fear when he turns his head
at sidwalk intersections, checking for on-coming strollers and out of
control labradors. His profile, sweat- enhanced, casual, and
me too close behind, no cover in diving distance. What a
mental orgasm.
I blow air out through pursed lips, pushing my muscles to sprint me
forward and back into view of him. But when I round
the corner and get a clear shot a full two hundred yards
ahead, he's nowhere to be seen.
Shit.
"Shit..."
I slow to a jog and then pound to a stop all together, peering around
myself. Is there some trail shooting off this one back into
the trees? He never takes it if there is. He does vary his
route, and it's never quite the same, but he's never diverted off
course here. The trees are too thick off the path. He'd have
to slow his run to a fast walk in order not to hit anything.
I frown and pant, turning around myself. Maybe he's faster
than I thought, or he took off at a dead run for the fun of it and he's
halfway home by now. Whatever it is, I've lost him.
I sigh through my labored breath, turning to start back down the path,
when a hand goes around my mouth, my arm's wrenched up behind my back,
and I'm pulled roughly off the jogging path and into the trees.
Before I can get my footing, my back hits a tree, nearly knocking the
wind out of me, and his face is in mine.
"Daydream much?" he breathes, tugging on my aching arm.
"C'mon, Krycek, I almost lost you back on Myrtle. You feelin' all
right?" He tugs again, biting his lip. "Huh?"
I'm speechless, wind or no wind. My eyes are wide, my brain
working to process that he knew, that he knows, has
known... Fuck!
"Whassa matter?" he murmurs, face an inch from my own. The bark is
digging into my back and I gasp. "C'mon... What, I can't
count on you now to keep up with me? You gonna start falling
behind?"
His breath is like non-dairy creamer. Sweet with coffee and
synthetic sugar. I'm dizzy. He's hurting
me. I'm caught. I'm dead. Shit.
His grip loosens just the slightest bit, but he's still pressing in,
his body threatening mine, claiming Alpha-male status, trying to cower
me straight down to the ground. I almost fall. His
eyes on mine are holding me up.
"You get distracted? Huh?" He almost sounds
concerned. He's so wet. He's drenching my shirt with his sweat.
"Can't keep your mind on it? That it, Krycek?" Then
he butts his pelvis between my legs.
"'Zat because of this?" he asks, and I realize I've got a hard- on in
my shorts. "You need to take care of something,
Alex?" His voice has dipped down now, like molasses about to
drip off the rim of the bottle, hanging there heavy with
suggestion...the promise of eminent release.
"You got a problem there? It makin' it hard to think
straight?" Then he grins, flashing teeth, amused with
himself. It's unprecedented and therefore
terrifying. He grinds his own swelling cock into my eager
erection. I choke down a moan and end up whining instead.
"How you gonna keep up now?" he chides.
Then, keeping his eyes wide on mine, he slides to his knees in front of
me. My arm is free. I'm free.
But he's pulling my shorts down to my ankles. I look around
frantically. He chuckles, gaze now steady between my legs when I peer
back down. I should be rejoicing. It's what I wanted! He's
what I wanted! But I'm scared shitless. Mulder pulls my cock
out of the slit in my underwear, grasping the weighty shaft,
and then takes it in his mouth, closing his eyes.
"Fuuh!" I yell, banging my head back against the tree, which hurts like
hell but I could really not care less. Mulder's cheeks hollow out
around my cock he's sucking me so hard, and then his tongue dances
around the head, flicking me in his mouth and then licking into the
hole that's already oozing, whoring itself to him.
"God!" I choke, free hand wrapping around the tree behind me, legs
trembling. Then he's working my cock down his throat,
swallowing me and burying his nose in my bush. "FUCK!"
He slaps my haunches and I press my lips together, tears forming in my
eyes. He starts to bob his head, taking me down his throat
rhythmically. I look down in utter
amazement. My expression probably most closely resembles
horror. But it's just that I can't believe him.
Mulder's blowing me in a public park on his knees! But he
looks as calm as if he's just sitting down to go over his expense
reports.
I hit my head again but don't even feel it this time. "Ohshit," I
whisper. It's a miracle I'm not drawing an audience as it
is. He's fucking incredible!
He's...he's...oh God, he's gonna make me come!
He reaches up and takes my balls in the palm of his hand, squeezing his
fingers closed around them. I inhale to scream, but
all that comes out is a strangled cry as his tongue works at my
cockhead now while I start to shoot. His free hand grabs the base of my
cock and he releases me with his mouth to just lick the tip.
I watch, dumbstruck and still coming, as he lets it splash his lips and
chin, licking enthusiastically at the very tip of my cock, smearing the
hot jets of spunk around the head before finally lapping it
into his mouth and taking the next load on his tongue, swallowing.
I moan high in my throat, finally finished, and watch him take one last
lick before standing and wiping his mouth with the back of his
hand. I'm breathless, my cock dripping what he left onto the
ground between us.
"You gonna tail me, Krycek, get your goddamned dick under control."
Then he takes off at an easy jog away from me.
I stay leaned against the tree, cock hanging lewdly from the saliva-wet
slit in my briefs until it's put it away or risk getting
arrested. Then I walk dazedly back to where I
parked my car, wondering what the hell went wrong that things could go
so right. Wondering what just happened. Wondering what I could do to
make it happen again.
