Bryce
Pairing: M/K
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Spell checkers can be a bitch.
Archive: Yes, to any list it's posted to. Others just ask.
Date of First Posting: 08/17/04
Note: This story was inspired when someone on a list said they'd like to see Bryce and Mulder play gay chicken, and everyone on the list asked, "Who the hell is Bryce?" Turns out the poster's spell checker had automatically changed 'Krycek' to 'Bryce'. That post inspired this story from me, and another one called Gay Chicken from Satina.
Alex Krycek sat in front of the computer screen, stunned. His fingers slid off the mouse, a feeling of utter dejection suffusing his body.
His naked body.
Suddenly, he felt self-conscious. Not to mention foolish, humiliated, and…hurt.
No. Not hurt. Just angry. Very, very angry.
He closed the email with a sharp left click. He leaned back in the chair and firmed his jaw. His breathing got faster. His nostrils flared. He stood up. He sat back down. He brought up Mulder’s sent email again.
Maybe he had misread. He'd try again.
Hey Scully.
I’m sorry I skipped out on you Thursday night. I had to wax. No, actually I kind of got tied up at that interview. And no, it wasn't the son of Flukeman. It was a kid in a rubber suit and his mother grounded him for staying out past one AM to terrorize his best friend, Kyle, outside the boy’s bedroom window.
So yeah, I suck.
Anyway. That’s not really why I’m emailing you. I'd just call but I think I need not to be looking at you when I say this. It’s about Bryce. I think I’m falling in love with him. Or really what I mean to say is, I know that I have. Fallen, that is. I’m already there is the point. And I know it’s crazy. You don’t have to tell me. It’s just been eating me up inside and I had to tell someone. I know I can trust you. Even if you give me shit about it, I know it’s because you adore me. Right? You do adore me, right?
Anyway. That’s the skinny. I love him. I love him a lot. I’m fucked up, Scully. He fucks me up. What the hell am I going to do?
Well. I guess I'll see you bright and early Monday morning for my chastisement.
Your friendly neighborhood love-lorn lunatic,
Mulder
Krycek closed his eyes and sighed. There was no misreading that. Mulder was in love. With some fuckface named Bryce of all people. What did Mulder do, court a fraternity?
Krycek stood up again, raking his hand through his hair. He looked down at the disks he'd brought with him. Information on the abductions in Wyoming. He wasn't so sure he wanted to go through with the original plan to present them to Mulder between the cheeks of his ass.
Which brought his attention back to the state of his undress.
It wasn't generally how he passed off intel to a buyer. In fact, it was a courtesy only extended to Mulder. It had just kind of worked itself out that way. It was a seemingly natural progression, Krycek had thought. That steady progression from getting his face rearranged by Mulder’s fists, to getting his guts rearranged by Mulder’s huge cock. It was nothing if not organic.
And the little variations that happened along the way after that first time when Mulder seemed to find himself with his dick working its way up Krycek’s butt quite by accident…the addition of things like lube so Krycek would bleed less, then the quick finger-fuck so Krycek would quit bleeding all together, then the slow finger-fuck that wasn't about anybody not bleeding at all, to finally the two-hour-nipple-licking-ball-sucking-rolling-around-on-the-bed-finger-fucking-for-days routine they'd struck up nowadays…it all seemed perfectly natural, too, until Krycek had to wonder how they'd gone from Mulder nearly killing him before he could hand over the data, to Mulder seeing how many times Krycek could come in one night and nearly forgetting to ask for the intel at all.
Mulder even let Krycek fuck him now from time to time. If the intel was really hot.
And he liked to shower afterwards with Krycek. And then, if they weren't sleepy, catch a game on TV with a beer. And if they were sleepy, if he deemed Krycek too sleepy to drive, which Mulder seemed to think he often was, even though Krycek always felt perfectly fit for operation of a vehicle, then they would bed down together. And sometimes they'd wake up and fuck again. And sometimes they'd just lie there, bodies flush against one another because for some reason Mulder’s apartment was as cold as a fucking meat locker.
Sometimes Mulder wanted him to stay for several days. Because there was a lot of information and Mulder always liked Krycek to stick around until he'd gone over it all to make sure it was legit. Mulder didn't trust Krycek, after all. And when there were massive amounts of intel, he'd make Krycek hang around while Mulder sniffed it out for obfuscation, inveigling, and downright lies.
And, as he waited for the intel to check out, he'd take Krycek to bed for lack of anything better to do. Sometimes they'd do it twelve times in a three night weekend. (Krycek had taken to showing up Friday evening.) Mulder always sent the intel off to his Gunmen friends and they could be quite lackadaisical in their initiative to get to Mulder’s requests. It always seemed to irk Mulder to no end, and he'd curse his friends even as he'd shove Krycek down on the bed for another go.
And now this.
Krycek swallowed and blinked rapidly. Staring at the computer screen had hurt his eyes, and they stung now. He wiped at the tears that kept filling his eyes, nearly dropping over the ledge of his lashes.
He heard footsteps in the hall and inhaled sharply. He grabbed for his jeans and yanked them up his legs. He had them almost all the way zipped (which isn't easy to accomplish without bodily harm when you aren't wearing any underwear) when he realized the email was still up and there was a key scrabbling in the lock. He left off the jeans and hurriedly minimized the window, then realized the screen would have gone to the screen saver or to black while Mulder had been at work and punched the power button on the monitor just as the door flew open and Mulder burst through.
Krycek turned, still shirtless, jeans hanging off his hips rather luridly, exposing a good amount of pubic hair. Oh well. It wasn't as if that hadn't been his plan. He supposed he could still go through with it. What was it, after all, but his payment for services rendered? Although, it always felt like he was the one paying up. Like it was something he owed Mulder even above and beyond the intel. And so it made even more sense to keep going through with it. It wasn't as if there was suddenly a problem now. It was Mulder who'd gone and fallen in love with some unfortunate bastard. If Mulder still wanted a little on the side with Krycek, who was Krycek to turn him down? Krycek didn't have any moral imperative to break it off. If Mulder wanted to have his cake and eat it, too, so be it. No skin off Krycek’s nose. A fuck was a fuck.
He had to wipe at his eyes when Mulder’s back was turned, hanging his suit jacket up on his coat tree.
“Krycek,” Mulder whispered as he turned back around and saw him standing in front of his computer chair. The other man’s eyes immediately dropped, unabashedly taking in Krycek’s appearance, lingering over all the bare skin, almost getting stuck completely in the dark thatch of hair sprouting in the open V the fly of his old 501s made before climbing back up over belly, chest, and neck to find his eyes.
Mulder swallowed, and Krycek noticed the beginnings of a thickening erection inside his designer slacks as he walked forward slowly. He threw his keys onto the table and slid his tie over his head, tossing that aside as well. He paused in the doorway to the living room, and suddenly his gaze dropped to the floor.
Something was wrong. Krycek frowned at the other man’s bowed head. He was stalling. And with Krycek half-naked none-the-less. For all intents and purposes, Krycek should have his jeans around his ankles right now, being bent over the nearest piece of furniture.
It was Bryce. Krycek knew it. Already, Mulder had changed. He was different. Things weren't going to stay the same between them. Maybe Mulder would even decline to fuck him at all. Krycek cleared his throat, and Mulder’s eyes rose to meet his gaze.
“I have information on the Seward Experiment and the returned abductees in Wyoming,” Krycek told him, flashing the disks at Mulder and waiting for his reaction.
Mulder stepped into the room. He walked over to Krycek whose breath became shallow and nervous. He could smell Mulder: number two pencil shavings and seed-salt. Newsprint and sweet sweat. That honeyed sweat he dripped when he got horny and hot.
“How much info, Krycek?” Mulder asked, stepping in closer.
Krycek worked not to lose his breath all together. “Wiped their hard drive,” Krycek murmured. “Everything they got.”
Mulder turned a crooked smile Krycek’s way, and Krycek’s skin itched with heat. His own cock stirred and pushed at the fly of his jeans, nuzzling the zipper open an inch more as it strove for release, sniffing out the cause for its arousal and yearning toward the source, hungry.
“Hand it over,” Mulder murmured back, reaching out a hand. The fingertips almost grazed the heavy hang of Krycek’s balls, and the palm of Mulder’s hand hovered so close to grabbing Krycek’s thick penis and engorged testicles that Krycek could feel it if he devoted enough attention to the sight of it there, seeming to gesture between his legs.
He produced the set of zip disks, three in all, rubberbanded together, holding them out to Mulder with a shaking hand.
Mulder looked at them and then back up at Krycek. It seemed as if he had something to say. Maybe, “Thanks for the shit, now get out, I’ve got a hot date with someone infinitely better than you, you scum-sucking ratfink.” At least, that’s how it looked to Krycek. But Mulder said nothing, taking the offered disks and running his thumb over them, as if able to glean their secrets through some form of osmosis.
Krycek lowered his arm and stuck his hand in his pocket. Which had seemed like a good idea at the time but that, in actuality, just made it easier for him to stroke his own cock. He was both grateful and disgusted with himself that he could still be so turned on. He hadn't thought it would be possible. His chest hurt too much.
Mulder noticed the hand buried defiantly in his pocket. Krycek watched his eyes take it in and then blink over to the cock that was now starting to poke out of the slowly unzipping fly, already seeping and slick. The head swelled as it cleared the fly, and Krycek felt his slit drool even more in anticipation.
He was about to stuff his prick back into his pants and take his leave, when Mulder reached out and hooked a finger in a one of his beltloops. The gesture seemed oddly shy considering their recent routine. After all, sometimes it was just, “Get your mouth on this,” or “I’m out of condoms, you got one?” if there were words at all. Often it was just heavy panting breaths and monosyllabic commands from Mulder as they stripped off their clothes and Mulder got them into position.
Mulder tugged on the beltloop, eyes downcast. What was this? A delicate brush-off? Mulder trying to be polite about this?? Krycek was about to pull away when Mulder broke the quiet.
“You got anything else?”
Krycek frowned. Then Mulder’s hand slipped around Krycek’s cock and gave a measured squeeze. Krycek stifled a gasp, mouth opening on the pleasure. His cock-hole oozed more pre-cum, and he felt his flesh harden, thicken, throb in Mulder’s hand.
Bryce. He’s in love with a man named Bryce, Krycek’s brain wailed. He swallowed and closed his eyes on the feel of Mulder’s fist now pumping his cock slowly, working it to full erection expertly, moving the skin over the pulsing muscle, milking the head to spill more hot juice.
Then Mulder’s thumb started to play in it, swiping over the head, pushing up on the underside, thumbing his wet cock as he pulled on the shaft, straining it up toward Krycek’s belly.
Krycek’s hand still had not left his pocket.
“You playin’ hard to get, Krycek?” Mulder asked. “It’s not a good look on you,” he added. Then he slapped Krycek’s cock for punishment. Krycek grunted his appreciation. And Mulder took it into his warm hand once more, continuing to work him into an erection so big and hard Krycek could have used it as some kind of bludgeon. Even as his eyes welled with unwanted tears.
Was hard to get a good look on Bryce?
Even as he thought it, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and reached for Mulder with it, slipping the other man’s zipper down and pulling the long, hard cock free through the slit. He fell to his knees, groaning, and sacrificed Mulder’s touch on his own cock to take Mulder’s hot flesh in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the weeping head.
He loved Mulder’s taste. He loved having his face buried in the other man’s crotch. He grunted around the throbbing shaft, eating it down his throat. He pulled off long enough to work Mulder’s belt open, then pull his pants and underwear down, hearing the pile of clothing fall with a clink of the belt buckle on the floor.
Then he was working the cock down his throat once more as Mulder groaned. His hand was immediately around Mulder’s balls, pulling on them and then trying to stuff them inside his already stretched lips along with the massive cock, changing the angle of his head, opening his throat farther. They wouldn't fit, and Krycek sucked off Mulder’s cock to pump it in his hand while he licked at his balls frantically until they were dripping with his drool.
“Krycek,” Mulder whispered, and Krycek felt a surge of pride. His name. His goddamned name. And even as the relief swelled his chest, he felt the tears tightening his throat, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to fit Mulder’s bobbing shaft in there past the lump. He tried to will it down. He took the head between his lips and suckled hard, making Mulder moan loudly. He lapped around the leaking tip and then worked his face over the cock, swallowing the head eagerly. Mulder’s hand came down on top of Krycek’s head and Krycek growled, bobbing hard to force the blunt mushroom head past his seizing throat.
But he gagged and had to withdraw. He licked his lips and tried again. His tongue followed the thick blue vein down Mulder’s prick. He was about to bury his nose in the fragrant curls framing the base of Mulder’s cock when he gagged again.
This time he felt Mulder's fingers wrap in his hair and pull up, hard.
“Relax,” Mulder demanded. “Jesus.” The eyes that looked down at him were thunder-dark. Mulder licked his lips, and Krycek felt Mulder’s cock kiss his chin, leaving a smear of honey. “C'mon,” Mulder said, dragging him up by the arm. He shed his clothes quickly, leaving them on the living room floor as he led Krycek into his bedroom.
“Lie back,” he ordered, pushing until Krycek fell, sitting on the edge of the bed and then lying back on the sheets, legs dangling over the side.
Mulder pulled hard on his jeans and they slid down his thighs and calves. The other man tore them off his feet. And then Mulder was on his knees, pushing Krycek’s wide apart, and sucking Krycek’s half-soft dick into his mouth. He nursed it, pulling the reawakening erection deeper and deeper into his mouth.
But when Krycek was fully hard, Mulder sucked loudly off of him, dragging his bottom lip up the underside of the shaft in a deliberate caress. Krycek moaned.
Then Mulder proceeded to lick him. Krycek’s balls got tongued, his shaft bathed in warm, wet drool, the underside of the cockhead battered with the warm cup of Mulder’s lapping tongue, and his slit opened up almost painfully with the squirming, persistent tip. Everything but a typical blow-job. Everything but the slow, hot glide of Mulder’s mouth and throat taking him.
And it was fucking exquisite. Mulder had him on the edge of coming for easily half an hour. He made Krycek whine and thrash and grab for his head. He was crying, and it had nothing to do with anyone named Bryce.
It’s about Bryce. I think I’m falling in love with him.
Krycek winced and pushed Mulder’s head off his cock.. He sat up and rested his head in his hand, forcing Mulder to back up. He could feel Mulder frowning at him, still on his knees on the floor.
“What the hell’s wrong, Krycek?” Mulder asked.
He didn't answer, and Mulder stood, hard dick pointing at Krycek’s face accusatorially. His hands went on his hips. Krycek couldn't help but peek a look. His long, lean body was slick with sweat, his long cock red and inviting, begging for Krycek’s mouth or ass around it, his stance so unselfconscious as to be a thing of abject beauty. Nothing but achingly gorgeous, nude Mulder, angry at him, in lust with him… Just not…
“I’m…not in the mood,” Krycek explained lamely, but with enough heat to hopefully convince Mulder to back off.
Mulder just made a noise that indicated his utter disbelief, how very much he was not buying it. “So not in the mood I almost made you come about four different times,” he answered. Then he stared at Krycek until he finally raised his gaze. Krycek made sure it was hard and as cold as he could manage, and he met Mulder’s intense golden eyes with stubborn defiance.
“Get dressed, then,” Mulder spat and walked out of the room.
It hurt. It wanted to cave Krycek’s heart in with how much. His cock deflated without Mulder in the room to encourage its lust. He ran his hand through his hair and heard the bathroom sink come on. He stood up, beginning to pace. His whole body wanted to stay. He didn't want to leave. Hell, Mulder was into it. He obviously had no problem seeing them both, screwing Krycek every chance he got and loving…
Shit.
He heard Mulder meandering around his living room and took a deep breath. He had to go out there and get dressed. He'd blown it. He could have just had sex with him, could have had what he'd always had and been grateful. But he'd fucking blown his wad. If not to Mulder, to himself. He couldn't do it. And it was becoming horribly apparent as to why.
He was turning to the doorway to leave when Mulder’s still-naked body filled it. He gasped and looked up.
“Been reading some email lately?” Mulder asked.
Krycek gasped again and backed up a step. Fuck! He'd turned on the goddamned computer…seen the open mail… Fuck!
Mulder’s eyebrows went up. Then he pursed his lips and dropped his gaze, coming back into the room slowly, stalking Krycek casually as he backed away.
“Funny thing,” Mulder went on. His eyes came up to find Krycek’s. They were lit with an unfamiliar glow, something unreadable to Krycek, something that made him deeply uneasy. “See, I haven't really figured out this new email program yet. You know, the account you were spying on? Krycek?”
Krycek swallowed painfully. Mulder backed him around the room.
“In fact, that email to Scully that you read,” he enunciated pointedly, “was one of the first I’ve sent out. Took probably ten minutes for me to just figure out where the damned send button was,” he said, smirking slightly as his own ineptitude, shaking his head.
Krycek waited for the other shoe to drop. Waited for the cut to come.
But Mulder just sighed. “What did you think of that email, Krycek?”
Krycek felt his back hit the wall. He grunted, eyes wide on Mulder. He took great, swallowing breaths, panicked.
“I thought it was rather well composed, really,” Mulder went on, one hand splaying on the wall over Krycek’s head as he cocked his hip and leaned in. “I think she'll laugh at me thinking that kid was a flukeman.” He looked down, seeming lost in amused thought. He bit his lip. Then he stepped in closer, attention fully on Krycek. “What did you think, Krycek? Just generally.”
“I…” Krycek began, squinting past the tears. Mulder was going to use it against him. He was having fun, the bastard.
“I thought,” Mulder interrupted, “that I was particularly charming when I asked if Scully adored me. Didn't you?” He tilted his head and Krycek felt his warm, moist breath on his pulse point. Right at the base of his neck, steaming his skin. “Of course, it really kind of sucks that I haven't learned the spell checker yet,” Mulder went on. His hand took Krycek behind the head, hot fingers curling in his hair. “You see, it hasn't had time to learn your name yet, Krycek.” His fingers embedded in the sweat-damp spikes. “What did it call you? Oh yeah. Bryce.” He laughed once, low and sweet. Then his voice dropped, becoming serious. “Isn't that funny?”
Krycek frowned at Mulder’s plump lips. He…was Bryce? He Krycek actually was Bryce?
Mulder was in love with him?
He shot ever-widening eyes up to meet Mulder’s own calm gaze. Mulder smirked and backed away, his half-hard cock bouncing a little between his thighs. “Still not in the mood?” he asked.
Krycek gasped. And then Mulder reached out his hand. Krycek hesitated just for a moment, the realization still sweeping through his mind and body like wildfire catching on his dry bones. It ate him up, consuming doubt and fear and leaving the ache of realization in its wake. His cock became swollen with it, hot and heavy.
Mulder was in love with him.
Krycek took his hand. Mulder jerked him in. Their bodies struck, hard, driving a grunt from Krycek’s throat.
“Get in my bed, Krycek,” Mulder growled, open, panting mouth so close to his own. Mulder’s lips opened his, and, for a brief moment, ate his mouth. Mulder’s tongue fucked between the slit of Krycek’s wet lips until Krycek opened them wider and gave Mulder a pliant hole to fill.
Just when Krycek was getting dizzy from the assault of mouth and tongue, Mulder released him, taking him by the back of the head and shoving him roughly toward the bed.
“On your knees. And bend over,” he instructed.
Shaking, Krycek crawled up onto the bed, facing away from Mulder, bending at the waist and laying his chest on the bed, baring his ass, and then his hole as he spread his knees. His dick hung down, thick and drooling, and his balls felt heavy and vulnerable.
Then Mulder was kneeling behind him on the floor, spreading his asscheeks apart, one firm, fat globe in each hand.
Krycek was ready to cry before he felt that hot breath against his already sweat-greased asshole. Then he felt the flat of Mulder’s tongue bathing him from his aching ball sac to the base of his spine, filling the cleft with slick spit. He made that same lapping pass over and over, teasing Krycek with long licks, coating his pucker wet.
Krycek began to tremble. As much from that impactful phrase repeating in his head – “It hasn't learned your name yet, Krycek.” – as from the liquid friction of Mulder’s tongue. Mulder’s fingers gripped the flesh of his ass. Krycek whimpered as the licks became more centered on his gripping hole. He tried to open it, tried to suck at Mulder’s tongue as it battered the hot, willing slit.
No resistance remained in him. He had burned to the ground under his own fear. But Mulder had saved him, remade him from ash, put him back together, more whole than before.
“Please…” Krycek moaned, hand seeking the edge of the mattress and clamping down on it hard. And then Mulder’s tongue slipped inside him. Krycek’s ass spasmed closed around the tongue, not to push it out, but to draw it further in. He suddenly wanted to draw Mulder inside of himself, seal the deal and fuse them into one.
Mulder moaned and moved his face in Krycek’s crack, tongue-fucking his ass and holding the cheeks apart. He took turns plunging his tongue inside and then lapping over the empty little hole relentlessly until Krycek begged, then dropping his wet lips and mouth to Krycek’s balls, then driving his tongue inside the clenching anal ring once again until Krycek moaned with abandon and started pushing his ass back into Mulder’s face.
He slurped away, and Krycek whined into the bed. He didn't know if he wanted Mulder back or wanted him to stop. He didn't know if he could take any more of that soft, exploring tongue touching him and telling him things that were still so new and fresh and pain-red in his heart. Still so unbelievable. That hot, gentle tongue stroking him there and claiming all of him, including that small, licked-pink bud, as Mulder’s own. Krycek had never felt owned by anyone. Not while he worked for Spender, not while the old Brit held the vaccine over his head like he held that dripping cloth. Not even with the oil crawling under his skin. Not ever. Not till now.
Mulder stood, then. “Hold still,” he said. And Krycek heard the condom package tearing behind him. He waited, overwhelmed, and soon, he felt Mulder moving back in, a steadying hand on his low back as he slid the head of his cock against Krycek’s slick hole.
“Doesn't change anything,” Mulder said then, voice thick. “I’m gonna ride you so hard you'll wish I hated you.”
Then he snapped his hips and sank his cockhead into Krycek’s body. Krycek held his breath and felt Mulder’s cock drive into him then, thrusting an inch at a time, until it was in him up to the sturdy base.
Krycek embraced the pain of it. It was easier for both of them this way. Easier to heal when they made it hurt. Easier to make love when it felt like fucking.
Mulder’s hand slid up his back then, taking hold of Krycek’s shoulder in a painful grip. Krycek felt Mulder shift, still buried deep inside his throbbing asshole. He pulled back on Krycek’s hips, driving a grunting whine from him as he was impaled further. Mulder’s free hand then reached around his leg and took hold of Krycek’s cock firmly.
There was a moment of stillness. Of their connection burning them both. A moment of trembling breaths and the silent agreement of their bodies. Mulder’s promising pain and love and release. Krycek’s promising heat and surrender and home.
Then Mulder took a breath, and he withdrew slowly. Krycek felt the entire length slipping out of him, inch by inch. Like he was shitting Mulder’s cock. It made him grimace and moan. His instinct was to panic, but he breathed it down, hanging his head and just feeling the thick shaft manipulating his insides, letting his rectum close around its exodus.
Finally, even the fat head of the cock popped all the way out. Krycek whined, feeling empty and raw. Tears leaked from his eyes, and he trembled. He wanted Mulder to fill him again with something bordering on desperation. He wanted the pain of re-entry. He wanted to feel the depth of Mulder’s emotion in the depth of his fuck.
Mulder let him suffer for a moment, leaving his hole bereft. But his hand started to milk Krycek’s cock, pulling to the purpled crown, squeezing out an obscene glob of pre-cum, letting it dangle like drool from the fevered slit. Krycek saw it between his own legs, saw how Mulder’s hand shook as he squeezed and heard the other man’s breathing change with lust. Krycek closed his eyes, panting.
Then Mulder slammed home again inside Krycek’s ass, scorching it open and making Krycek cry out in distress and ecstasy. He wrenched back on Krycek’s cock at the same time, and this became the rhythm. His slow glide out, not quite all the way now, along with the hand pulling Krycek’s cock, then the thrust back inside and the slide of his fist.
Krycek cried out again and again. Every sensation was acute. His muscles protesting until they became too weak or too abused and he had no choice but to release himself to the experience completely, becoming something more and less than himself. A body for Mulder to fuck. A hole for Mulder to use.
A soul for Mulder to tentatively touch, sense the pain there, the scars, and then love back to wholeness.
And even on his knees, bent at the waist, taking Mulder’s long cock into his ass over and over until it felt like it might never end… Even now, each of Mulder’s hard thrusts felt like a vow. To name this thing they had, this thing they did, as nothing less than love. Each time that cock bore down on him and ripped him in two, each time it tore into his flesh, it carried the words Mulder hadn't yet uttered aloud.
Love you, love you, love you, I love you…
Krycek felt them all, each individual declaration, and he opened to it, giving over to it like he'd never done for anyone or anything in his life.
Mulder got faster and faster, until he was just bouncing in Krycek’s now completely relaxed hole and working Krycek’s weeping cock so fast it burned.
Krycek couldn't take it. The burn in his rectum, the fire scorching his dick. He felt his balls draw up tight to his cock. He felt his heart seize, and he held his breath, back arching as he came, loud and shuddering, shooting load after load of hot semen onto Mulder’s bed.
Mulder groaned behind him, his one hand gripping Krycek’s shoulder, the other thumbing out the last of Krycek’s cum from his naked cock.
Then he pulled out, leaving Krycek’s asshole feeling stretched and exposed.
“On your back,” Mulder gasped.
Krycek rolled over, shaking with the dual intensities of exertion and emotion. He lay on his back, trying to avoid the puddle of ejaculate he'd just shot.
Mulder climbed up between his legs, sheathed cock hard and red like a fire-poker. Mulder hooked Krycek’s legs over his shoulders, staring into Krycek’s eyes. After so long without that contact, Krycek gasped, seeing his own turbulent emotion flashing in Mulder’s eyes. Mulder blinked, mouth slack, and positioned his cock once again. Krycek inhaled sharply as Mulder closed his eyes and drove it forward deep into Krycek’s bowels with a groan.
Krycek whimpered, grimacing, as Mulder’s cock opened him up even farther. He lifted his hips to receive its long slide, and Mulder sank in even an inch more until Krycek could feel Mulder's soft balls nestling against his ass. Then Mulder opened his eyes again and found Krycek beneath him. Krycek saw a tremulous smile flit over Mulder’s generous mouth as they both readjusted to this new, extraordinary connection.
Krycek’s own cock was swollen again, a vivid scarlet lying in the crevice of his hip. Some change in Mulder’s eyes, a darkening storm brewing there, made Krycek grab for the headboard with his one hand and just in time.
Mulder started fucking him again, pumping his ass full of cock over and over. He was braced over Krycek, grunting and fucking and rocking their bodies together in the bed. Krycek saw tears leaking out of the corners of Mulder’s eyes, and they dripped down onto Krycek’s chest, sliding through his own sweat. Krycek had to close his eyes, Mulder was so beautiful.
And soon, Mulder was gasping, and Krycek felt his cock swell larger in the cave of his rectum. Mulder pulled back and withdrew, ripping off the condom, and then he held his cock, jacking it, and sprayed his cum over Krycek’s asshole, over his balls, his sensitive cock and his belly. Mulder let loose ropes of cum, marking Krycek’s body with its slick warmth. And as he did, he whined Krycek’s name. Over and over, Krycek’s name, dripping from his mouth like a prayer.
Mulder held his cock near the head as the last spurts made their way out onto Krycek’s fevered body, and he smoothed his semen over Krycek’s ass, making the hole spasm and Krycek groan.
Krycek watched then as Mulder sank between Krycek’s legs, face buried in the place he'd just so violently fucked, and began to lick him clean. Gently, lovingly stroking with his tongue, cleaning his ass slit, delving down to the sensitive cleft, tickling him there, making him shiver. Then he sucked each of Krycek’s balls into his mouth one at a time.
Krycek lifted his head and noticed that Mulder’s eyes were closed, lashes lying against his cheeks peacefully. He released the headboard and reached out to his lover, petting the wet strands of hair off his forehead. Mulder sighed. He licked his cum off Krycek’s stomach and cock, making Krycek whine in pain once. Mulder kissed his inner thigh and then crawled up Krycek’s body. His own arms were shaking as he held himself up off of Krycek and looked down into his face.
“Well, Bryce,” he said. “That’s the best I got.” He was still panting. “You with me?”
Krycek stared up into eyes so warm they were a caramel brown. He nodded, not trusting his own voice.
“Yeah?” Mulder asked, his own voice quiet now. Vulnerable.
Krycek tightened his hold in Mulder’s hair. “Yeah,” he whispered
Mulder’s eyes dropped to Krycek’s lips. “Good,” he said. “Let’s go add your name to the dictionary.”
END
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