Spoilers: Skippy Rat era stuff as well as small references to Tunguska,
The Red and the Black, and more substantial spoilers for SR819.
Summary: If they were already sweaty and all over each other, and they
usually were, why not take it naked?
Disclaimer: Love ‘em…make him screw…they like it…still not mine.
Archive: Yes, to any list it's posted to. Others just ask.
Date of First Posting: 04/03/04
The hair fell over his face like a wedding veil. He was concealed.
And still Mulder found him.
‘YOUR TIME IS ALMOST UP.’
He penned the words onto the palm slowly and methodically. Sinisterly,
really, Krycek thought.
Close on that thought came a feeling. Like the tendrils of wig tickling
his neck as subtly as playful fingertips. But it wasn’t that…this sensation
at his nape, up his skull.
He glanced sideways, out from under his tangled locks, and for a moment…their
eyes locked. Mulder’s narrowed, and Krycek felt the spark of familiarity
flick between them in that infuriatingly signatured way it had.
With hate, Fox Mulder.
Traitorously Yours, Alex Krycek.
He looked away, turning and walking at an unhurried pace toward the exit.
“Federal Agent!” Mulder yelled as Krycek felt his survival instinct
kick in and he ran. “Stop right there!”
He ran faster, knowing Mulder had it all over him in speed, but Krycek had
his diversionary techniques. Unfortunately, once he hit the stairwell,
there were no innocent bystanders to take hostage and play human shield.
So he just gunned it down the concrete steps, breathing hard. He just
needed to make it to the car.
No such luck. Mulder’s body hit him hard at P1 and he was slammed against
the very door that would have been his salvation.
They both grunted, and then Mulder was pulling him away, turning him around,
slamming him back against the door back first this time so they were face
to face. Mulder held him by the sweatshirt and leaned his weight into
the forearm that was pressed into Krycek’s throat.
“Hey, it’s you,” Mulder greeted in a nearly amicable but out-of-breath
voice. “’More Human Than Human’ is one of my favorite songs.
But I thought your last album sucked.”
He let go of Krycek long enough to first rip his wig off and then tear the
beard and mustache from his face.
“Ahh!” Krycek shouted as the spirit gum, and a good deal of his skin,
gave reluctant way in Mulder’s grip. “Jesus, Mulder, how’d you know
it wasn’t real?” Krycek snarled, scowling.
Mulder cocked his head. “I didn’t.”
Krycek rolled his eyes and tried to get control of his breath. Mulder
pressed in tighter. Not so much with his arm, but with his whole body.
Krycek had just as much throat to breathe through, but it became more of
an effort to get enough air just the same.
Mulder’s eyes glinted. “What the hell are you pulling, Krycek? What
do you know about Skinner?”
Krycek held his eyes and almost smiled. He took labored breaths through
his parted lips. Might as well play it cool until Mulder actually found the
palm pilot on him and then had to rip it from his cold, dead fingers.
Krycek wondered what it would feel like to punch Mulder in the mouth.
It was a distinct pleasure he’d always denied himself.
“I know he’s got a wicked right hook and a handcuff fetish,” Krycek supplied
and watched Mulder’s eyes narrow a little. For whatever reason, he’d
scored a point with that one. Mulder reared back and clocked him in
the jaw.
Krycek’s head cracked to the side, and he came back with a definite smile
this time, licking at a cut on his lip from where he’d bitten down on his
own soft flesh.
Now they were getting somewhere.
Mulder was already unbuttoning Krycek’s cargo pants, fumbling roughly with
the zipper.
“You think I don’t have your number, Krycek? Huh?”
Krycek smirked crookedly at him, letting himself be jostled against the door
by Mulder’s hands.
Mulder spun him around and yanked his pants and underwear down, not quite
clearing his ass or his thickening erection on the first pull. Still,
Krycek heard Mulder getting his own belt loosened. Like some Pavlovian
dog, he salivated for that bell-like sound. The fingers that brushed
the bare skin of his butt while they worked were trembling a little.
Mulder held Krycek against the wall with his body unnecessarily. Krycek
wasn’t going anywhere just yet.
Mulder didn’t bother to take off any of his own clothes, just pulling his
dick out and getting Krycek’s pants down around his thighs. Mulder’s
coat billowed around them. Not that it felt anything like privacy.
Krycek realized suddenly what a huge risk Mulder was taking. He leaned
his forehead against the cold door and spread his legs a little.
“Spit in my hand,” Mulder breathed, holding it palm up under Krycek’s
maligned chin.
Krycek spat.
He heard Mulder groan a little as he slicked himself. And though Krycek
knew from their most recent history that Mulder tended to release a good
amount of pre-cum, he realized that without lubricant this was going to be
a rough one.
And then he felt the fat head of Mulder’s cock poking at his asshole.
Krycek’s whole body shuddered and the sweatshirt slid off his shoulders to
hang at his right elbow.
Mulder’s mouth opened against his now-exposed neck.
“You’re soft here. Like a girl,” Mulder mouthed into him, and
Krycek took it for the slick-handed insult it was as Mulder pressed hard
and was suddenly inside his body. Then farther, farther, farther, until
with a last, violent jab, he’d buried himself in Krycek’s ass, stretching
it harshly. It felt like a damned baseball bat, opening his hole into
a screaming ‘O.’ It almost had Krycek coming then and there.
Mulder started to whip his hips, breathing on Krycek’s neck. Krycek
stifled his moans and heard Mulder doing the same behind him, his breath
hitching in aborted grunts, a couple of the sweet sighs Krycek was always
surprised to hear loosing from his lips as they fucked wildly in the stairwell.
Mulder slid his hands under Krycek’s armpits to cup his shoulders from the
front, gripping tightly as he thundered away. Krycek squeezed
his ass tight around Mulder’s cock.
“Ooohyeah,” Mulder moaned.
Krycek started bucking his hips back against Mulder’s thrusts, hard.
Might as well show the guy a good time. He was going to have to do
the unthinkable to get out of there with the palm intact. Krycek felt
his own release building, though his cock had not been touched. And
wouldn’t be. Mulder could be such a dick sometimes.
“Ohhhh!” Mulder cried, remembering a little late to curb his deliciously
enthusiastic reactions. He attached his mouth to the back of Krycek’s
neck, as he seemed to like to do, and bit and sucked and growled lowly
in his throat as he began to come, shaking and erratically pounding into
Krycek.
It was that desperate, sucking growling that Mulder was doing in lieu of
screaming that ultimately brought Krycek off. He threw his head back
against Mulder’s shoulder and hyperventilated up to the ceiling as he shot
his cum onto the door and jerked against Mulder’s stilling body.
Mulder ripped out of him too soon and Krycek hissed at the abrupt departure.
Still, he pulled his pants up quickly and zipped them, leaving the button
for when he had more time to spare. He turned on Mulder, both of them
breathing harshly.
Mulder swallowed. “Give me the palm pilot, Krycek.”
Krycek licked his bottom lip once more, his gaze unflinching. Then
he threw a quick, brutally hard punch, knocking Mulder backward and to the
ground.
And he took off through the parking garage door at a run.
He locked the door, made sure his blinds were dropped, then flicked on the
light by the bed. He laid back on top of the covers with a heavy sigh.
Close one. He’d gotten cocky. But even if he hadn’t, there was
no way to make Baldy’s veins go sizzle and pop from a safe and sane distance.
Hell, it could have been a fuckload worse. He’d gotten the primary
goal taken care of, after all.
So Mulder was wise to it. He could still turn this one around.
Krycek massaged his left shoulder, feeling the fingerprints Mulder had burned
into him there and wishing he could soothe the other to some degree of satisfaction.
This excursion, strictly from a standpoint of having gotten some, had been
fantastic. A total winner from that skewed point of view. Bang
up job. So to speak. And he so hadn’t thought Mulder would be
up to it. Krycek had been oh-so-pleasantly surprised by Mulder’s sheer
horny gall. In the hospital stairwell for God’s sake.
“Agent Mulder,” Krycek breathed on a sigh, shaking his head.
“Naughty.”
But he couldn’t let himself get distracted with the memories. He had
a physicist to torture.
Krycek sat up, reached into his secret pocket for the palm pilot…and froze.
No palm pilot. There was no palm pilot. He must’ve put it in
another pocket in his haste. Mulder had caught him rather off-guard.
He checked the others, and with each empty return of his hand, began to seethe,
gritting his teeth.
No palm pilot. No fucking palm pilot. Fucking Mulder.
“FUCK!!!!”
Krycek leapt off the bed, fairly drooling as he looked from side to side,
one fist clenching. He wanted to hit him again. And harder.
He’d held BACK for fuck’s sake! That…that… “Son of a BITCH!”
Krycek hurriedly changed clothes, stripping off his cum-stained briefs in
new disgust and donning his preferred head-to-toe black. It was fitting
for the funeral he was going to. Fox Mulder was fucking dead.
“Asshole,” he hissed between his teeth as he pulled on his jacket.
As he grabbed up his keys, he realized he might need to have a plan.
What would Mulder do? Krycek paced as he thought.
Well, he’d take the palm back to Skinner’s room, to his doctors and Scully.
They probably already had the thing figured out.
“Fuck!!!” he cursed again, punching his thigh.
So even if by some miracle he got back near Skinner’s room, maybe caught
Mulder unawares in the bathroom or something…even if by some miracle of God
he got his palm pilot back…there wasn’t a goddamned thing he could do with
it.
“Ahhhhhh!!!” he yelled throatily, dropping to a crouch and holding
his head in his hand. He was hyperventilating once again. Still
because of Mulder, but for totally different reasons. That prick probably
thought he’d won. Fucked Alex Krycek not once but twice.
Well, Krycek planned to get his palm pilot back. No matter that his
plans were shot all to hell. There was a new plan. Get the device
back, hold Mulder down, and inject his smug, thieving ass with the nanos
while fucking him raw and bloody. And when he was done… Turn
that fucker up on high and watch him scream.
Oh, and punch him again.
Krycek didn’t know what he wanted to do worse: inject him, fuck him,
or hit him.
Now all he needed was to get Mulder alone and vulnerable.
No fucking problem.
Krycek stood, wiped his spittle-moist mouth, and started waiting.
He’d ended up waiting two nights. He was nothing if not persistent.
He and Mulder had that in common. Maybe that’s why they’d ended up
fucking when they met. That kind of passionate dedication to saving
the world couldn’t all be siphoned off into work. And Mulder couldn’t
exhaust all his frustrations into fighting. That still left all this
pent-up, persistent energy to take care of. And they both flatly refused
to just go away, much to the other’s dismay. They were stuck with each
other. If they were already sweaty and all over each other, and they
usually were, why not take it naked?
At least that’s how Krycek thought of it. He had no idea how Mulder
rationalized putting his dick up his worst enemy’s ass. Or in his mouth
for that matter. Or his hand. Or wherever it happened to end
up.
Maybe, thought Krycek, I’m not his worst enemy anymore.
As he sat in his car and waited for the late hour to give him a nice window
of inactivity inside Mulder’s building, he decided it was bad timing on Mulder’s
part to feel that way, if indeed he did.
Krycek was just about to reclaim his status as Mulder’s worst nightmare.
He got out of the car, crept up to Mulder’s building, and let himself in
the basement laundry room. From there it was a quick and easy jaunt
up to Mulder’s apartment.
He silently trekked down the hall, sticking to the wall when he got to Mulder’s
door. He knelt, taking out his lock pick. It was well-oiled and
he was smooth as a baby’s butt as he unfastened Mulder’s door. He smirked
as he did so, picturing flipping the button on Mulder’s jeans loose.
Or maybe he’d even have already dropped trou and he was sitting there in his beloved
boxer-briefs or those pajama pants he sometimes wore when he wanted to be
all L.L. Beanish.
Krycek stood, pushing thoughts of Mulder’s delectable appearance out of his
head. This wasn’t about how pretty he was, or how hot the bod.
This was revenge and reconnaissance, pure and simple. Well, maybe not
pure. But it was relatively simple.
Krycek knocked and made sure to stay out of sight.
He listened to Mulder’s nearing footfalls. He was barefoot, definitely.
That was good. Krycek focused all his energy on feeling Mulder on the
other side of the door when the footsteps stopped. Mulder stood, now
looking out the peephole…now staying there and thinking about calling, ‘Who’s
there?’ Thinking about opening the door. Looking down…and seeing
it unlocked.
Krycek waited a breath and then kicked the door in, smacking Mulder in the
face and causing him to stumble backward. Krycek kicked the door shut,
and before Mulder could right himself, Krycek had taken his gun wrist, wrenching
it up behind him, spinning him around, and giving a malicious squeeze that had Mulder dropping
the gun to the floor. Krycek kicked it away and walked Mulder into
the living room, wrestling him to the ground. He stood over him, looming,
and kept Mulder’s arm pulled tightly into the middle of his back.
“Where is it?” he spat.
Mulder planted his free hand on the ground and turned his head slightly.
His nose was bleeding a little.
“Well, not under the couch,” Mulder panted. Then he announced calmly,
“But I think I just found my ‘Girls of the Southwest Conference’ issue of
Playboy if you’re interested.”
Krycek jerked him back upright, coming down to his own knees at the same
time. Mulder’s back was against his chest. Krycek snarled in
his ear, “My palm pilot, Fox. Where is it?”
He’d briefly thought of calling him a prick or a bastard or something.
But this was much better. It’d have him spitting mad in a second.
Mulder only smiled. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I’m not,” Krycek informed him. “I know you have it.”
“Do you think I’m stupid or just crazy?” Mulder countered.
“Give me a break, Mulder, you’re not gonna let that thing into anybody’s
hands but your own.” Krycek’s voice was calmer, though his anger was
far from tapped, so now his voice held the edge of menace that made most
cower. “It’s here. You have it. And I’m not leaving here
without it.”
Mulder laughed. “Give it up, Krycek,” he said. “You’re not getting
anything from me.”
Smug asshole, thought Krycek. And he was in the damnable jammie pants.
Thin and soft and riding low.
Oh, Mulder. Too fucking sweet. Krycek licked his lips.
“No?” Krycek asked in his ear, letting his lips brush the sensitive
shell.
Krycek watched Mulder’s lips part, and just like that Krycek was hard as
hell against his former senior partner’s ass. Mulder’s mouth…
The thing wet dreams are made of. Just watching that mouth open a fraction,
the lips separating on a wet, short exhale, Krycek could nearly feel Mulder’s
tongue slipping between his own lips for a deep kiss. His cock remembered
the feel of that mouth, the couple of lucky times it had been invited inside,
and it wept. Mulder’s mouth could have become legendary if Agent Krycek
had been the type to kiss (and fuck) and tell.
That first night way back when…when they’d been new partners, drunk after
a case, on the road, horny and hot, Mulder had used his mouth on Krycek.
He’d sucked him so hard and so hungrily, like he’d been just starving to
give a blowjob or something. He’d blown Krycek’s mind. Well,
he’d slurped off and called him Alex back then, actually. So weird.
Krycek found himself just throbbing to have that feeling back again.
The only other time Mulder had done it was in that airport bathroom before
they’d hitched their ride to Russia.
Mulder had hastily recuffed Krycek’s hands behind his back. Krycek
had thought he’d be thrown up against the stall door and fucked within an
inch of his life. Instead, Mulder had gone down on his knees for him,
and a gun had been shoved in his balls. He’d felt anything but in control.
It had been Mulder’s game all the way. And GOD, it had been good.
He’d shot so hard he’d almost blacked out. And then they’d sat quietly
on those long flights as if nothing had happened.
Yeah. Mulder’s mouth. Definitely the way he wanted to go.
Krycek let go of Mulder, standing and pulling his gun from behind his back,
slick as shit.
“Turn around, Mulder.”
Mulder turned, staying on his knees. Darkened trying-to-look-at-least-a-little-uninterested
eyes peered up at him defiantly. Krycek tilted his head and dropped
his gaze to Mulder’s major tent. Nah, he wasn’t into this. Krycek
smiled darkly and let his gaze slither up Mulder’s bare torso until he found
those dilated eyes again.
“Take me out,” he told him. Mulder blinked. Then he dropped his
own gaze to Krycek’s crotch, which stiffened more with the attention.
Mulder moved in and Krycek readjusted the angle of his gun. Mulder
reached out, but before his fingers could alight and get to work, Krycek
warned him, “You bite me, Fox? I shoot you.”
Mulder’s lips quirked up in a lopsided smile and he tilted his chin to peer
up at Krycek. “Deal,” he announced. Krycek’s arousal ratcheted
up a notch with the glint of danger in Mulder’s eyes. Krycek’s lashes
fluttered and he bit back a moan.
He was not at all convinced that Mulder wouldn’t bite him. Mulder knew
it, too. Knew Krycek half-expected the cruel sink of teeth into his
vulnerable flesh. And Krycek could tell from the gleam in Mulder’s
eye that he was as turned on by it as Krycek was.
Mulder went to work getting Krycek’s cock out and once it was freed, Krycek
watched Mulder’s long, deft fingers slide up the swollen length of the cock
in front of his face. Krycek’s gun was at his temple, but Mulder didn’t
seem to care. He blinked those eyes at Krycek’s cock and moved in a
little closer.
“Suck my cock, Mulder,” Krycek said. It was completely unnecessary.
He just liked saying it. ‘Suck my cock, Mulder.’ It made him
flush with heat, swell with power. He felt it to his bones.
Mulder met his eyes, gripped Krycek’s cock around the base, and closed his
mouth around the head.
Krycek’s mouth fell open on a gasping groan of, “Awwnnn…” and his fingers
itched on the gun. Not because he suddenly felt like shooting Mulder.
He’d really rather not. But because he didn’t want the fucking gun
in his hand anymore. He wanted Mulder’s soft hair, or the nape of his
neck…something to grab…something to hold. “Fuck,” he breathed, watching
Mulder start to work him in and out of his mouth. “Mulder…” he
sighed, his own hips rocking of their own accord, the two of them finding
their rhythm early on and moving in concert.
Mulder’s hand released the base of his erection and Krycek felt both of his
hands travel up his belly under his shirt. And Mulder sucked him, milked
him, making obscene noises around the dick in his mouth.
And then he moaned. Mulder that is. And Krycek’s knees nearly
buckled.
“Ohgod,” he moaned back, eyes closing, gun almost forgotten.
His eyes snapped open when Mulder’s mouth sucked sloppily off of him.
“Wha…?” he began.
Mulder’s hand returned to Krycek’s dick and started smoothly jacking him.
“Still wanna know,” Mulder purred. “Where your precious palm pilot
is…Alex?” He licked at Krycek’s slit, coaxing out some pre-cum and
then drinking it down.
“Unnn… Fucking tell me,” Krycek groaned.
Mulder nearly whispered. “I gave it to Skinner. And he smashed
it.”
Krycek’s eyes widened and then he almost choked when Mulder turned his head
slightly, still looking at him, and ran his tongue along the side of Krycek’s
gun barrel.
“AAHHHHHH!” Krycek yelled, starting to come.
Mulder hurriedly moved his mouth back to Krycek’s cock, the jets of cum stroking
his face first before he fit his lips around the head, sucking greedily,
eyes closing.
“Shhhhhhhhhit!!!!” Krycek yelled, his own eyes squeezing shut on it,
hips pulsing into Mulder’s face. “Ffffffffuh…”
And it wasn’t fuck he’d almost said. It was Fox.
He’d licked. His fucking. Gun.
The mere thought and accompanying memory made him come a little more.
Then he stepped back, pulling from Mulder’s mouth, panting. His eyes
opened to slits and he took in the sight of Mulder’s face practically dripping
with his semen. Too much.
Too hot, too pretty, too fucked up, too dangerous.
Too perfect.
Krycek zipped up and then leveled his gun at Mulder again. “Get up.”
Mulder slowly got to his feet. Krycek watched, still panting a little.
“Don’t you dare fucking touch yourself,” Krycek warned. It wasn’t really
even a power thing. Krycek just didn’t think he could take seeing it.
Mulder lifted his hand to his face, thumbing off a little of Krycek’s cum.
He sucked it off, holding Krycek’s gaze with an innocent, wide-eyed look.
He smiled…and then, with the same damp hand, cupped his balls.
Krycek tightened his jaw, though he was perilously close to both smiling,
maybe even laughing, and dropping to the floor in front of Mulder and taking
his cock down his throat and making him come screaming.
He backed away as Mulder began to stroke himself through those…fucking adorable
pajama pants, shit!
The last thing he saw was Mulder’s widening smile as Krycek turned on his
heel and left.
There was no way. He’d never believe Mulder would let new, dangerous,
illegal technology out of his greedy hands. It was genetically impossible
for Mulder to let go of such a thing. His curiosity was pathological.
Krycek tipped up Mulder’s trashcan, dumping the contents all over his floor.
He checked the underside, then threw it across the room in agitation.
He’d already searched both Mulder’s and Scully’s desks at the Bureau and
done a thorough job with Mulder’s car, and he’d turned up nothing.
Now, he was at the apartment again while Mulder was at work, and he was doing
his best to ransack the place. And unless you counted a half-used bottle
of peach-vanilla scented body lotion and a framed picture of Tony Randal,
Krycek had found absolutely nothing of interest.
No. Goddamned. Palm pilot.
That sneaky, pig-headed, arrogant fucker.
That beautiful, sexy, brilliant, sneaky, pig-headed, arrogant fucker.
Krycek looked around the living room. Overturned couch cushions, a
broken lamp, papers scattered everywhere… Krycek had left no stone
or porn tape unturned. He’d even felt around in the slimy fish tank.
Nothing.
No, Mulder wasn’t stupid. And he was only a little crazy. And
in the best possible way, in that his slight insanity allowed him to have
a secret affair with a known assassin.
Krycek knew Mulder wouldn’t voluntarily let the palm pilot be destroyed.
But maybe Krycek had been wrong about him not letting anybody else hold it
for him. He had to expect Krycek would do everything in his power to
get it back. Maybe somebody had it for safe keeping.
Scully? No way. He wouldn’t endanger her like that.
So who, theoretically, wouldn’t be in much danger with the palm? Somebody
with protection of some sort. Somebody he wouldn’t automatically jump
to.
And somebody who might know how to learn how to reprogram it for further
use…
“Shit, Mulder,” Krycek whispered under his breath, having already left
his redecorated apartment. “Sly bastard.”
He’d taken the thing to the Gunmen’s. It was one place even Krycek
would have major trouble breaking into, and his friends probably did have
the expertise to learn the damned thing.
Krycek couldn’t get down to his car fast enough.
With every step, every covert look around the corners, he was formulating.
He couldn’t break into the Gunman’s. Their security was state-of-the-art,
but that wasn’t even the truly tricky part. The thing that made it
impossible was that they were always, always home. None of them had
anything resembling a life. Even if he could hack their alarms and
disable their cameras, once he was inside, he’d have three of Mulder’s friends
to kill. Or at least badly maim. Then bye-bye sex.
Krycek got in his car and headed back home first for some hardware pick up.
He couldn’t kill Mulder’s nerds. And not just because it would mean
a cessation to their little unspoken agreement to boink whenever they got
within a half mile radius of one another. Krycek had to admit, scowling
with every word that formed the thought…he didn’t want to hurt Mulder.
The thought of those big, puppy dog eyes just put him in a foul mood.
And Krycek had gotten kind of used to the change in Mulder’s attitude toward
him. Even when there was anger now…even when Mulder was hitting him
and accusing him and calling him names…Krycek felt it; there was no
hate anymore. He sighed and packed up his snooping bag.
No hate. It was a scary thing. Krycek didn’t even really know
what to do with it. He’d been letting Mulder call the shots for the
most part, and it had first been a confusion, and then a kind of stunned
caution, and finally now a tentative ease…dealing with his ever-changing,
less hateful Mulder.
His Mulder?
Yeah right. That was screwed up. Krycek put his thoughts of the
man aside in favor of concentrating on getting that palm pilot back.
He had his priorities still. He hoped.
He made the turn onto their dingy, dark street, flipping off his headlights.
He parked and got out his gear. And soon he had the listening device
pointed at their one, small, barred window, headphones covering his ears.
He stayed there all night. He’d brought a huge thermos of organic Blue
Mountain Sumatra, (black, though he preferred it with a little half and half),
a bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans, and a tuna on Russian rye from
Orlando’s minus the red onions.
The conversation he heard was not what he would call scintillating.
It ranged from D and D, to whose kung fu was the best (an argument Byers
stayed out of religiously), to what was on TV, to what was on the police
scanner, to what was for dinner (Sloppy Joes), and finally a bet on whether
Agent Scully would choose to sleep with Frohike if it was a choice between
him and Jimmy off of ‘Good Times.’
Langly had ten bucks on Jimmy. Krycek wasn’t sure how anyone was going
to actually win.
Around two in the morning, the three went to sleep. Krycek took the
time to go get something at an all-night diner around the corner and take
a much needed piss.
He was back on the clock at two forty-five and listened diligently into mid-morning.
Things didn’t get interesting until around 11. And they didn’t just
get interesting. They got horribly, wretchedly bad.
Not at first, though. At first, Krycek was sure he’d hit the jackpot.
Scully showed up.
“To what do we owe this…” Frohike began.
“Mulder’s missing,” Scully answered, cutting him off.
Krycek sat up straighter, eyes going wide. She had to be mistaken.
“What?” asked Byers.
“Since when?” added Langly.
“I don’t know,” Scully sighed, though she was obviously trying to hold it
together. “Sometime between leaving work last night and nine or ten
this morning.”
“That isn’t very much time,” Byers said, sounding confused. “No
offense, but how do you know he’s not just playing hookey?”
“We had a meeting with Assistant Director Skinner this morning. He
never showed. He would have told me if he wasn’t coming.”
“Maybe he had a flat tire,” Langly supplied.
“No,” Scully stated. “He’d have his cell. He would have
called me. I’ve been trying him, but I keep getting his voice mail.
I went by his place and… It’s been trashed. There was no physical
evidence to suggest he was injured if he was indeed there when it happened,
but…” There was a silence in which Krycek barely breathed before Scully
spoke again. “Listen, we just finished up with a case about two weeks
ago involving an investigation into an illegal arms deal in Baltimore.
The case isn’t important really, except that… Well, Mulder had been
receiving emails from a source of his with information about the case.
Insider details.”
“High profile,” Langly interrupted cryptically.
“Yeah, well at first we thought it was someone Mulder had had contact with
in the past. Maybe Alex Krycek.”
Krycek jolted upright even further, his eyes darting around the dash as if
it could tell him something.
“Krycek?” Byers asked sounding a little revolted.
“I thought it might be, even though Mulder insisted that it wasn’t.
He’d sign his correspondences, ‘Your Ace in the Hole.’ And the information
he was floating seemed legitimate, though his motivations were always a little
shady. He claimed to be an admirer of Mulder’s but kept stressing the
need for Mulder to go at this case by the book.”
“Doesn’t sound like Alex Krycek,” Frohike piped up. “From what
Mulder’s told us about him.”
“Well, you’re right,” Scully admitted. “Turned out not to be
him. Mulder said it was a totally different profile.”
If Krycek wasn’t so intent on hearing every little nuance of their voices
for clues, he’d be consumed with curiosity about just what was in Mulder’s
profile of him anyway.
Scully took a breath. “The emails got stranger, more threatening, more
psychotic. Alex Krycek may be a liar, a traitor, a murderer, and a
general piece of scum, but he doesn’t tend toward the psychotic.”
Krycek rolled his eyes at the lovely description of himself and continued
to listen raptly.
“Ultimately, we solved the case, but not without skirting a directive from
A.D. Skinner to do it.” Scully sighed, “For some reason, that
seemed to really upset this guy. He sent one last email, this one more
aggressive and less coherent than the last. He said Mulder would fall
from grace. That he had a reckoning and would be up for re-education
soon.”
“And you think he intended to carry out this…re-education himself?”
Byers asked.
“Well, it didn’t seem like a viable threat at the time…” Scully answered,
the guilt heavy in her voice.
“What can we do?” Langly asked next.
Scully sighed. “I brought printed copies of the emails with me.
I thought maybe we could get somewhere by tracing the address, or…”
Scully’s voice died down in defeat.
Krycek’s mind was already buzzing. Ace in the hole. He’d said
he was Mulder’s ace in the hole. Ace…
He made himself sit and listen for a few more minutes although all he wanted
to do was get on the road, on the phone, find this guy.
It was Ace Greer. It had to be. Ex-CIA operative. Fired
for insubordination about three years ago, and since then he’d gone rogue.
Most who ran in Krycek’s circles knew of him. He was unpredictable,
self-righteous, and had a temper. If this guy had Mulder…
Scully and the Gunmen weren’t getting anywhere and Krycek just couldn’t sit
there any longer. With a curse, he ripped the headphones off, started
the engine, and roared away.
“So where is he now, Larson?”
Krycek held the phone between shoulder and cheek as he slammed a new clip
into his gun using right hand and thigh. He added it to the holster
inside his jacket. He’d already reloaded his Glock, and it rested at
his back.
“Been a couple weeks,” Larson warned. “There’s no guarantee
he’s gonna stick around there.”
“I don’t care. Give it to me anyway. If he’s not there, he’ll
have left clues behind about his next stop.”
“All right,” sighed Larson. “It’s a house about twenty minutes
west of D.C. Off the Beech Grove exit. 652 Florida
Street. He’ll be armed to the teeth, Arntzen.”
“Yeah, well so will I,” Krycek whispered roughly, jamming a switchblade
into his right pocket.
“What’d Ace do to you?” Larson asked. There was a reason Krycek
had called this guy: his big mouth. But right now, even though
it had yielded the information he wanted, it was starting to get inconvenient.
He thought about it only a moment, taking the phone in his hand now.
“He stole something of mine,” he nearly growled.
“Well, power to ya, Arntzen,” Larson said. “Always kinda hated that
fucker.”
“Yeah,” Krycek agreed. “Thanks. You gotta job, Lars, you
call me,” he offered.
“Will do,” Larson agreed.
Krycek hung up and was out the door.
He did a cursory drive-by, taking in the details. Two-story.
Lights out. Quiet. In need of new paint. It looked pretty
deserted.
The garage door was shut. No windows to let him see in for a parked
car. The grass grew high in the vast, fenced yard, brown and dry.
It grew higher up near the house itself.
He was in there. Krycek knew it. He didn’t know how. He
rarely did. But he felt it. Like the temperature had dropped
suddenly right here. He felt it in a fluttering at the pulse in his
throat. His whole world zeroed in to his breathing.
The place looked harmless enough. A little run down. Defenseless.
Krycek knew it wasn’t.
He’d done as much research on Greer as he felt he could, given that this
guy had Mulder and would have begun the ‘re-education’ process. Krycek
gritted his teeth.
Greer was paranoid. And he was brilliant. He was purported by
Larson to have some pretty interesting home security. He’d been rogue
for three years, but all he’d learned about keeping secrets had stayed with
him, all up there in his crazy mind. He was a regular MacGyver, having
home-made an invisible electro-magnetic fence and rigged motion detecting
cameras inside the house.
Krycek finished his assessment and made the call.
“It’s Alex. You ready?”
It was full night now. Krycek adjusted his night vision goggles and
jumped out of the plane.
The air rushed against his face and made him feel like he couldn’t take a
breath. It was ironic…all that air and he felt like he might suffocate.
But he’d done this before. He pulled the cord and felt the pull against
gravity as the black chute opened and he took hold of the cords that would
allow him to control his descent.
He silently thanked an entity he was pretty sure didn’t exist that he had
some favors ready to call in. Josh had saved his ass. There weren’t
many people who would drop everything to help him. Fewer still with
pilot’s licenses and planes at their disposal. Old flames weren’t always
nut-job vengeance whores. This one still liked him. This one
was still ready to fall to his knees for him.
“Maybe some other time,” Krycek had said.
Josh had smiled and shaken his head. “You’re full of shit,” he’d answered.
But he’d taken him up anyway.
And now he was floating. Down into hell if Larson’s accounts of Greer
could be believed.
The house showed up glowing florescent green from the lone street light.
There were no other houses for a couple miles. This guy had the perfect
set up for his purposes. Krycek tried not to think about what he might
find in there.
He re-angled and landed near the chimney. He took off his goggles,
unstrapped his chute, and got out his heat sensor, pointing it down at the
roof. He panned it over the wood shingles until… Two warm bodies
on the far side of the house. Greer…and Mulder.
He put his equipment away and got out the saw. He began to cut away
a circle in the roof. He sighed, trying to be quick but also quiet,
even though the guy probably had a sound insulated basement.
He cursed having to go in this way, but it wasn’t to be helped. If
he tripped any of the numerous alarms he might as well have shot Mulder dead
himself. Nope. This was the only way in. Even a paranoid
psychotic wasn’t going to build an alarm dome for crying out loud.
The money it would take to build something that massive and technologically
complex wasn’t money Greer had anymore. He was living close to the
bone and whatever security he had had been hard to come by.
When he was finished, he laid himself flat on his stomach along the slanted
eave and peered cautiously inside. Two cameras flanked the room, still
as dead things. He rolled over onto his back.
“Shit.”
He’d hoped that part of Larson’s eagerly told tale had been somewhat fabricated.
He was going to have to move at a glacial rate from here, the roof, down
into this room, out of it, down to the first floor, and then down into the
basement, not even taking into account whatever hallways he might encounter
on the way. He didn’t have the time. Or rather, Mulder didn’t.
But he would have to make it. He had no choice.
He took a breath, rolled over again, and took hold of the hole on either
side, inching one leg through.
Krycek had a whole new appreciation of gymnasts.
That iron cross he’d slowly lowered himself down from had the muscles in
his arms, chest and back screaming.
It took him about five minutes to leave the room only to find a steep set
of stairs once he got out. He’d begun to sweat and longed to wipe the
moisture off his forehead and out of his eyes but didn’t dare.
Half an hour later, he was at the door that led down into the basement.
He put his hand on the knob.
He began to twist, wishing he could turn his head and scope out the camera
on the wall, but that would mean taking his eyes off the door for the several
long seconds it would take to make the small movement, and he couldn’t take
the chance. The camera’s motionless eye made the back of his neck itch,
and just then a drop of perspiration drizzled down into his collar.
The latch clicked.
Krycek began to push the door open, revealing inch by inch a walled-in stairway
leading down into darkness.
He heard it. Crying. Mulder crying. A muffled voice.
And then Mulder screamed.
Krycek’s breath caught.
He began to take one step down, a full two seconds ticking by before he could
start to put weight on that foot. At the same time, as he made his
way down the steps, he reached into his coat and put his hand on his gun.
Three steps down. And now the voice drifted up to him clearly.
“That was good, Fox. Was that so hard?” Greer’s voice shook with insanity
barely held in check.
Mulder whimpered.
“But,” Greer began again. “I don’t think you really believe it.
Do you, Fox? Do you want to know what I think?”
One more step. Hand pulling the gun out.
Mulder whined.
“I think you just said that because I wanted you to,” Greer stated
calmly. “I think…we should do that again. Hmm?”
Krycek’s jaw clenched.
“You’re better than this, Fox. You’ve always been better. You
just need to get back on track. Am I right?”
Mulder gurgled a little.
Sixth step down. Almost halfway.
“It’s okay. I know I am. And hey. If you’re good, this
may only take another hour or so.”
“Nnnnoooooo!” Mulder yelled through a torn throat.
Krycek’s finger slid around to the trigger and he cut his eyes to the camera
now coming into focus at the bottom of the stairs.
“Now repeat after me, Fox. ‘I will obey my superiors at all times.’”
Krycek heard the unmistakable sound of an electric current. And Mulder
screamed.
Greer yelled to be heard over the twin razor sounds of the electricity and
Mulder’s tortured voice. “I need to hear you say it, Fox. You’ll
never get better. You need to get better.”
“AHHHH!” Mulder screamed still.
Seven steps down. Krycek looked wide-eyed at the camera…brought the
gun forward, straightening his arm. Could he storm the room?
Or would Greer be alerted and do something rash?
Mulder screamed again. Inarticulate…animal. Krycek gritted his
teeth again.
“I thought you were it, Fox. I thought…better of you,” Greer
stated in a voice that became even more unstable. “I thought…
But you’re not, are you?” His voice rose. “You’re an imposter.
You’re not Fox Mulder. You’re not him! You’re…you’re…”
“No!!!!” Mulder screamed, and now there was fear in his voice as well
as pain.
Fuck it, Krycek thought, as he ran down the last of the stairs, ramming his
whole body into the door at the bottom and crashing into the room.
It happened in an instant…seeing the room, the two men in it. Greer
standing over Mulder. Mulder restrained to a chair, naked, pale, and
screaming.
Greer turned to Krycek, gun already drawn, having been about to fire on Mulder.
His eyes were wide with indignant fire. Krycek’s arm jerked up and
he pulled the trigger.
Greer went down, the hole in his forehead flooding red, spilling.
Krycek’s eyes turned to Mulder.
God…
“Mulder,” Krycek started, but it was a whisper, a pitiful croak, not
his voice.
He found himself suddenly in front of Mulder’s chair, falling to his knees
in front of the other man. Mulder was tied tightly to a wooden chair,
and where he was tied he was bleeding. Multiple lacerations on his
blanched white body.
And he was shivering. Krycek realized for the first time how cold it
was in the room.
“Mulder?” Krycek tried again, more successfully this time.
Mulder’s eyes rolled a little and a tiny mewling sound came from his blood-caked
lips.
Krycek’s eyes dropped as he went to untie the bonds at Mulder’s ankles.
And he saw the source of Mulder’s pained cries. It wasn’t an elaborate
get-up. Just a couple of wires running back to a metal box behind the
chair. But the wires were attached to…God, they were wound around Mulder’s
testicles. That insane fuck had been sending electric shock through
Mulder’s goddamned balls!
Rage overtook Krycek then, and he stood, turning to the dead body of Ace
Greer.
“You fucking piece of SHIT!” he yelled, aiming at Greer’s own balls and firing
three times, making sure he left the area a horrible mass of indistinguishable
bloody tissue. “I should have done it while you were alive and conscious,
you sick asshole!”
Mulder whimpered behind him, and Krycek, still seething, put his gun away
and knelt in front of Mulder’s thin, vulnerable body.
“He’s not gonna hurt you again,” Krycek murmured to him, a hand resting
against Mulder’s forehead, checking for fever. He felt none but was
reasonably sure Mulder had been drugged. Maybe that was a good thing.
Maybe he wouldn’t remember the horrible abuse he’d suffered here.
Krycek sighed. “I’m gonna get this thing off of you,” he told Mulder,
his jaw setting in repressed anger. He wanted to shoot Greer again.
Instead, he bent his head in close to Mulder’s crotch, wishing he were doing
this for very different reasons. He frowned at how the wires cut into
his flesh, wrapped around and around between Mulder’s spread thighs.
“I’m sorry, Fox,” he whispered. And then he moved around behind him
to inspect the metal box the wires ran into. It looked like a goddamned
car battery. There was a red switch that was lit up. Krycek flicked
it down and the little light went out.
That done, he came back around between Mulder’s legs and went to work unraveling
the wires. He reached out, his fingers encountering the soft flesh
of Mulder’s balls, and Mulder jerked a little.
Krycek withdrew his hand and looked up at him. “It’s okay, Mulder.
I’m not here to hurt you.”
To his surprise, Mulder nodded a little in answer. Krycek smiled slightly,
knowing it probably looked like a sick and sour thing on his face.
He reached out again, careful now not to actually touch Mulder as he found
the place where two wires entwined and began to slowly unravel.
He remembered that first time with Mulder again. After they’d exhausted
themselves with fucking…fallen asleep across each other’s bodies. In
the middle of the night, Krycek had awakened to Mulder’s lips on his nipple,
stroking over the bud with his tongue languorously. Krycek had moaned.
He’d basked in the sensation for a long moment, stretching under the hot
mouth, but somehow he’d ended up on top of Mulder, sliding down his body,
kissing, Mulder moaning in the dark. He’d lifted Mulder’s legs…opened
them. And Krycek’s mouth had found Mulder’s balls…rolled them in his
mouth…licked back behind them at his perineum. Mulder had let Krycek
lick and suck his balls for what seemed like hours before Krycek finally
went down on his towering, weeping cock and made him come.
It was to be the last time in a long time.
Mulder moaned above him now. “Kkkk…unnn…”
“Yeah,” Krycek whispered, stroking Mulder’s thigh for a moment.
“It’s Krycek. I’m here.”
Mulder seemed to relax a little at the touch, and Krycek went back to releasing
his balls from the device.
For the first time, Krycek took a breath through his nose and was assaulted
with the salty-sweet tang of urine. Mulder had pissed himself.
Krycek resolved to clean him up after he’d gotten the wires untangled.
It took longer than it should have with just the one hand, but soon, Mulder
was free of the mechanism and Krycek whispered to him that he’d be right
back before he went in search of a bathroom and some washcloths.
He returned with two warm, wet towels, one dry one, and a blanket and quilt
he’d found in a hall closet. He wrapped the quilt around Mulder’s shoulders
and then knelt down again and began to gently wipe Mulder’s crotch and upper
thighs clean. He even chanced dabbing a little back at the round swells
of Mulder’s ass in case any had run underneath him.
Mulder moaned.
“It’s okay,” Krycek told him again, softly. He didn’t know what else
to say. He felt inadequate to the task.
He threw the soiled towel to the side, then, and looked at Mulder, still
shivering.
He had to call Scully. Krycek knew he couldn’t haul Mulder one-armed
up the basement stairs and all the way out to where Josh’s plane was to have
landed. Plus, Mulder needed medical attention Krycek simply couldn’t
give. Krycek sighed. He couldn’t hang around with him until the
cavalry came in, either. He’d have to leave Mulder here alone.
Krycek frowned. Mulder was drugged and out of it, and there was no
guarantee he would understand that he’d need to stay put. He might
try to get himself out of the house. He might wander away and become
lost.
He’d have to leave Mulder tied to the chair.
Shit.
Krycek wiped tenderly at Mulder’s face with a clean, dry towel…ran it gently
back over his hair, wet with a sheen of panic sweat.
“Mulder,” he started. “I have to leave.”
Mulder immediately protested, groaning and moving awkwardly in his ropes.
Krycek winced, placing a heavy, stilling hand on Mulder’s shoulder.
“It’s okay. I’m going to call Scully. They’ll be here soon.”
He waited to see a hint of recognition on Mulder’s face, but the scared frown
remained as hazel eyes pleaded with him.
“It’s okay,” Krycek tried again, now standing and bringing out his
cell phone. He realized, though, that he didn’t know Scully’s number.
He looked around the room in agitation. Mulder’s clothes lay in a heap
in a dark corner. Krycek walked briskly over to them and sifted through
his jacket, finding Mulder’s phone turned off there. He flipped it
open and hit the power button. It immediately beeped urgently with
its store of new messages. Mostly, and the first one, from Scully.
Krycek listened to it and then hit ‘call.’
“Mulder?!” she answered, her voice not even trying to conceal her worry.
Krycek whispered hoarsely. “Mulder is here. Beech Grove exit
off the 66. 652 Fir Street. Basement. He’s hurt.” Then
he added unnecessarily, “Hurry,” and hung up.
He turned to Mulder, looking at him across the room for a moment, and then
he returned, steps unhurried. He picked up the folded blanket and lay
it across Mulder’s lap, tucking it in around his hips and legs. Mulder
mewled at the back of his throat. Krycek swallowed.
“I’m sorry, Fox,” he husked. He ran his hand through the tousled hair.
He held the back of Mulder’s head tenderly in his hand. He leaned in
slowly, and slanted his lips across Mulder’s, barely touching.
Too soon, he pulled away. “Do svidanya, lisitsa,” he said, standing.
He spared the very dead and ghoulish Greer a look before he backed out of
the room. He hurried up the stairs, barging out the front door now,
uncaring if the alarm was tripped. All the better.
He found a rise a quarter mile away and crouched in the tall weeds to wait.
Fifteen minutes later, three cars pulled up, one a wine-red Taurus, out of
which came a gun-toting Scully. Krycek waited until she and the other
agents were inside, hearing sirens in the distance approaching, then he turned
and ran in the direction he knew Josh’s plane would be waiting.
So? He’d saved Mulder’s cute, little butt. So what? Didn’t
change anything. And Krycek didn’t want it to.
He’d fucked Josh’s ass brutally after the plane landed. Just threw
him over a seat and banged him good. But Krycek couldn’t come.
He fucked and fucked and fucked. Poor little Josh came twice.
But still, Krycek’s balls just ached, his cock stimulated past the point
of pleasure. And he just. Couldn’t. Do it.
Didn’t mean anything.
He went home, then, and stripped out of all of his clothes, throwing the
prosthetic across the room and hearing it clatter against his entertainment
center, CDs falling to the ground in plastic chaos.
What was this guilt shit? He felt it settling in-between his ribs,
patient, waiting for him to acknowledge its sadistic presence.
Well, fuck you! Krycek thought bitterly.
“I can fuck who I want, Mulder,” he snarled to the empty room as he turned
the shower on full force. He got under it, hot and stinging his back.
He wrapped his hand around his cock and jerked it mercilessly.
Mulder on his back, legs wrenched up, heels digging into Krycek’s back as
he drove forward, inexorably into him, so deep he almost felt like his balls
were in there, too, stuffed inside…
Krycek leaned his forehead against the shower wall and groaned.
“Doesn’t have to be you,” he growled.
But it was Mulder’s ass that sucked at his cock, Mulder’s body he was on
top of, conquering, staking claim to…like he’d never done.
“Awfuck!”
And then coming into…coming hard, finally. So fucking hard as he sobbed
into the dripping tile and Mulder’s body opened for him, legs spreading to
receive the stab of Krycek’s thrusts as he shot every drop deep within.
“Christ…” Krycek gasped.
It had been two weeks. Two fucking weeks. Not that Krycek expected
to hear anything. Maybe he’d never even see Mulder again after what
had happened.
Didn’t matter.
Krycek got up on a brisk Sunday morning, set some green tea to steeping,
turned his stereo up loud on some Hole, and did some sit-ups, some push-ups,
forgoing the yoga that he usually woke up with.
He turned the music down after two songs, not wanting the cops called on
his ass. He picked up the remote and changed discs, switching to a
little moody jazz. He ate a pear staring out his kitchen window at
the park across the street. People and their kids and their dogs under
the wind in the trees.
He turned his back on it and went to take a shower. He closed his eyes
underneath the spray, wishing the vision of Mulder’s pale, abused body strapped
to that chair would just leave him alone. The eyes, dark with the seduction
of drugs, seeking him out. The skin pebbled cold…so bare.
“Fuck you,” Krycek cursed under his breath. His cock was soft between
his legs, but he thought about handling it hard and coaxing a new vision
of Mulder to the forefront. He swallowed and opened his eyes and just
cleaned himself off instead.
He took his time, feeling like the dirt was thicker on him than usual.
He was restless. He was too hot and then too cold. Maybe he was
coming down with something. Krycek reached out and found the cup of
tea steaming on the back of the toilet. He sipped it and then turned
the hot water higher, letting it steam the room and fill his lungs.
Maybe he’d go get into some trouble. Rake the underground for a job
going down and cut a deal with somebody. He needed the instability
of life and death…needed to feel his body choose life without his consent
just to get to make some kind of choice.
Yeah. He’d go get himself almost killed. That oughta get him
thinking about something besides Mulder…about if he was okay.
He turned off the water and grabbed a towel. He scrubbed his head dry
and then worked on the rest, pulling the bathroom door open with the towel
tucked under his stump.
He came out into his living room scrubbing at the back of his neck, head
bent down. So he saw the shoes first.
Krycek inhaled sharply and lifted his head to find Mulder’s calm face.
“Shit,” Krycek shivered out, trying to slow his heart back down and having
no success.
Mulder was in his goddamned apartment.
“What are you doing here?” Krycek asked, towel gripped tightly inside his
choking fist.
Mulder just looked at him. Fucking bastard. His soulful, chameleon
eyes flitted over Krycek’s face, then stroked his throat, his chest, belly,
heavy cock, legs, all of him still slightly wet.
Krycek narrowed his eyes as he watched Mulder looking at him. “Get
a good look, Mulder,” Krycek said sarcastically, but his chest was
tight with Mulder’s silence and his unnerving study.
When Mulder’s eyes met his again, Krycek threw the towel at him and held
his arm out. “Well?” he asked mockingly. “Just gonna stare
all day or do you wanna fuck me?”
“Why?” Mulder whispered, then. It was so soft, almost lost beneath
the pounding of Krycek’s heart.
Mulder looked into Krycek’s eyes with such naked honesty that it hurt.
Like a sunny day.
“What?” Krycek asked, but his own voice had lost its hard edge.
Mulder took a step forward, and Krycek sipped his breath in.
“You saved my life,” Mulder said. He took another step.
Krycek’s lashes fluttered and he actually took a step back. But Mulder
pursued, slowly stalking Krycek until there was nowhere left to go and Krycek’s
bare back was against his wall.
Still Mulder didn’t touch him. He walked in so close…their body heat
colliding, their breaths juxtaposed, Mulder’s deep inhalations with Alex’s
shallow pants.
“I know…who you are,” Mulder whispered to him. “I know why even
if you don’t.” His voice was like a Chet Baker song, silk over thorns
and hard with truth though it never got above its sensuous, gentle quiet.
It pinned Krycek against the wall.
“You don’t know me,” Krycek hissed, his convictions leaking, body suffused
warm with his nearness.
Mulder tilted his head, dropping his eyes, his lips nearly touching Krycek’s.
But they weren’t… He didn’t…
Krycek was paralyzed under the caress of breath, held still in the hypnotic
amber gaze that had settled on his lips. Krycek wanted to lick his
own dry lips but knew he’d only end up licking Mulder’s, they were so damned
close. The thought drove a strained whimper past his tight throat.
“I know…everything…about you,” Mulder insisted lowly. He tilted
his head the other direction and a small gasp escaped Krycek’s throat.
Mulder brought his hands up, then, and slowly began undressing himself, freeing
buttons and shrugging off garments, toeing off his boots and ripping off
his socks, kicking it all away until he, too, was nude and standing once
more…too close, aroused as Krycek now was. Krycek’s cock bobbed, kissing
Mulder’s, and the other man’s pre-cum licked him like a hot tongue.
Krycek moaned and Mulder sighed. It was the only touch, completely
involuntary, a catalyst, like a shot accidentally fired across enemy lines,
the impetus for a once-silent stand-off to explode into all out war.
Mulder leaned in the rest of the way and pressed his mouth onto Krycek’s.
He breathed into Krycek’s mouth and Krycek moaned around the wet tongue pushing
in and filling his mouth.
Mulder’s hands came up and settled on Krycek’s hips. Krycek jerked
violently, and Mulder’s thumbs soothed across his belly even as his narrow
hips pressed in, as tender and demanding as his mouth, and Mulder forced
their cocks into an intimate crush.
Krycek grunted deep in his throat and stroked Mulder’s tongue with his own,
licking at him and taking him by the back of the neck, holding him there
as he finally kissed back, pushing off the wall and pressing into Mulder,
going on the attack, the relief flooding him. Mulder here. Mulder
safe. Mulder wanting him. Mulder setting him free.
But Mulder was breaking away, drowsy eyes drilling him as Mulder pushed Krycek
back against the wall again.
“I’m gonna give you what you want,” Mulder panted, moving in again.
Krycek’s lips parted, expecting the feel of the other man’s mouth once again,
but to his surprise, Mulder pressed in, breathing hard and not meeting Krycek’s
eyes, and then he turned himself, slowly, so that his back pressed to Krycek’s
front. And he started…
“Oh God,” Krycek groaned, as Mulder began to undulate on him, rubbing up
against him. Krycek’s cock was stroked even harder against the caress
of Mulder’s ass. Mulder leaned back into Krycek completely, his head
rolling back on Krycek’s shoulder. Mulder moved against him, asscheeks
parting…giving way to Krycek’s colossal erection.
Mulder grabbed at Krycek’s flanks, stroking Krycek’s hard length across his
asshole and closing his eyes.
“Mulder…” Krycek gritted out.
Mulder reached between them, behind himself, and took Krycek’s cock in hand,
aiming it and pushing his ass back onto it, not quite breaching.
“Mulder,” Krycek growled more urgently.
“What?” Mulder sighed, pushing back rhythmically. “This is your
reward.”
Krycek stilled, taking Mulder by the hair and squeezing. “My what?”
Mulder stopped, head wrenched back. “For…saving me,” he sighed.
Krycek’s eyes closed as his throat filled with tears. “Fuck…” he breathed.
Then he shoved Mulder away from him. He took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Get out.”
Mulder turned, frown half-curtained behind the lock of hair that fell over
his brow. Krycek swallowed at his oblivious beauty and looked away.
“I said leave,” Krycek snarled.
“Alex…” Mulder murmured.
“Get dressed,” Krycek said again with false patience. “Get the fuck
out, Mulder.”
He pushed off the wall, turning and stalking into his bedroom, cock hurting
between his legs. Silence greeted him as he put his hand over his eyes
and waited, naked back turned toward his living room. He felt the cool
air molest his skin, making him feel sick.
Soon, he heard the door close and a harsh, choked breath left him.
Cruel bastard.
Alex seethed, alone and lonely, wishing Mulder had never come to his apartment
at all. Worrying about him had been easier than this shit.
His reward? Mulder was going to whore his ass out as Krycek’s reward?
I’m gonna give you what you want.
Son of a bitch. How fucking wrong he was. Krycek felt the tears
roll down his face, like lime juice, stinging his cheeks with their sweet
acid.
Krycek quickly threw on clothes, heading back out into the living room and
stomping over to lock the door behind the other man. He didn’t want
that mother fucker coming back and tilting his world upside down again.
He wanted to drown himself in a bottle. Wanted to choke on the vodka,
let it fill his stomach and throat and run down his chin. Wanted to
bathe in the stuff.
He was walking past the couch on his way to the front door when he saw the
empty space where he always threw his jacket when he got home. Not
completely empty. In its place was a sheet of paper. Krycek frowned
and reached down for it, turning it over.
In Mulder’s handwriting, barely legible:
You know where to find me.
Fucker had stolen his fucking jacket.
Krycek sniffed, staring at the note. Then he closed his eyes on a mirthless,
disbelieving laugh. Mulder stole his favorite, his lucky, leather jacket.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed.
Then he sat on his couch to think, clutching the note in his shaking fist.
Why did it hurt? He crumpled the paper. It had never felt like
this before. Not once in all the years they’d been doing each other.
Why this? And why now?
What the hell had he done, kicking Mulder out? And why? Because
Mulder had wanted an ass reaming? Finally! Krycek shut his eyes
tight and fairly howled with frustration. The pain was still fresh under
his skin, but the anger at himself was towering and cresting, taking him
under.
Krycek had never fucked Mulder. Not in all the time they’d been going
at it. Not once. And it was like the holy grail.
Today, Mulder had offered it. Just like they did everything else.
He hadn’t been cruel. He was just being…Mulder. Just expecting
Krycek to be Krycek. And he’d given himself as a gift. It was
exactly what Krycek wanted, even. Had been fantasizing about.
God, you stupid fucker! Krycek thought, standing and throwing the paper hard
across the room, hearing it land with an unsatisfactory whisper on his hardwood
floor.
He’d behaved like an idiot.
Mulder offers you his shiny, pink butt and you cry?!
Even now he could feel himself fighting to wrangle the tears down his throat.
Fucking Mulder was more than just reward. Wasn’t it? He deserved
a reward after he risked his own skin like that! After he untangled
the other man’s genitals, bathed him with a warm, wet cloth, covered his
naked, shivering body…kissed him…
Yeah. Mulder owed him.
Krycek dashed the last tears from his eyes, went to grab his jacket that
wasn’t there, cursed, and stormed out the door.
You wanna get fucked, Mulder?
Well, that’s just fine.
He felt weird without his jacket on. He stood in Mulder’s elevator
in a T-shirt and blue jeans, feeling naked.
It was sunset. He’d driven around first, wanting to make Mulder squirm
a little and wonder. He’d even thought of waiting a few days.
But his cock remembered the burning slide of Mulder’s ass against it, and
his Irish was up now so why torture himself?
He wiped his hand on his jeans, scowled, and walked out into the hall.
He went to work on the lock noiselessly and entered like the thief he was.
Once he was in, though, he slammed the door shut behind him and stalked into
Mulder’s living room.
The light was off and his blinds were closed, but the television was on and
it flickered over Mulder’s face as he sat, sprawled on his couch.
Wearing Krycek’s jacket.
Krycek was instantly hard inside the worn denim of his jeans. He’d
gone without underwear and his cock scraped the rough material as it stiffened
into full erection.
Mulder’s head slowly turned and their eyes met.
“Hey, Alex,” Mulder said, mouth forming his first name again with sensuous
grace.
Krycek snarled and stalked forward angrily. Mulder just stayed on the
couch, not even flinching as Krycek reached down and jerked him up by the
lapels of the jacket.
“You wear this all day?” Krycek asked, tamping down the ache of wanting that
to be true…wanting Mulder to confirm it. He didn’t let him. “Must
be hot,” he said, ripping the leather off his shoulders and down his arms.
Mulder just stood there, jostled by the push and pull and tug of Krycek’s
real and fake hands. The jacket dropped to the floor at their feet
and it felt like a great shield falling, a wall dissolving and baring them,
one to the other.
Krycek grabbed at Mulder, taking his hair roughly and jerking his head back.
He bit Mulder’s bottom lip, flicking it with his tongue, and then he kissed
the other man, nearly gagging him with the force of it. Krycek made
a move to step in closer and they both stumbled a little. Krycek’s
arm immediately dropped to Mulder’s waist, locking around and holding him
upright.
He growled into Mulder’s mouth, “Fuck…” and then kissed him harder, battering
at the pliant, full mouth, so wet and obedient for him, opening and accepting,
eagerly panting for more of Krycek’s tongue.
This was good. This was right. He was already fucking him.
Already taking. This is what he wanted so badly.
So badly.
His whole body tightened, his ass clenching and pushing his twitching hard-on
into Mulder’s thigh, his belly coiling in pain, his heart squeezing…
And before he knew it, his lips softened on Mulder’s, his tongue dipping
reverently into the sweet mouth on a high moan. His face was wet with
shame. He didn’t want to open his eyes and see Mulder knowing this
about him…knowing that the unaccountable hurt was back.
He broke the kiss and sank to his knees, burying his face in Mulder’s crotch,
wiping the tears away on the hard bulge under his pants.
Mulder smelled musky and hot, equal parts rough sugar and rock salt.
Krycek pulled open the button and zipper on his fly, reaching into his shorts
and enclosing the long, ready cock in his fist, pulling it gently free, toward
his already-open mouth.
Mulder whined above him, one hand threading into Krycek’s hair as Krycek
took Mulder’s erection down his throat smoothly. He squeezed his eyes
shut and suckled. Mulder’s fingers pulled his hair…moved over his head,
warm and aimless, and the man above him moaned loud into the silence.
The only other sound was Krycek’s mouth as the mute TV flickered light over
their bodies.
This… Was so not right. It felt too good to be. His throat
opened to take Mulder’s cock into it again and Krycek’s whole body trembled
with relief. That same feeling he’d had that morning. Mulder
here. Mulder safe. Mulder filling him and pushing at his boundaries.
Nothing but Mulder here in the dark. In the quiet. In-between
horrors and wars. Them…sliding together. Mulder’s cock in his
mouth. His hand in Krycek’s hair. Breath harsh and moans mingling,
announcing their joining to each other. They were mating.
Krycek sucked off, rising to his feet and gripping Mulder’s hand. He
couldn’t look into his eyes as he dragged him off to the bedroom. He
couldn’t stop. He couldn’t examine this any further. He didn’t
want to know why it hurt so much and yet he still wanted to do it.
Longed to do it.
Mulder followed rather docilely and Krycek was thankful. He swallowed
and turned, starting to strip his shirt over his head, eyes still shyly cast
down. Mulder began to undress as well and when they were naked once
more, Krycek finally glanced up quickly with a low, “Lie down.”
“How?” Mulder asked softly.
Krycek swallowed. “On your back.”
It felt like a marriage proposal for all its weight.
But Mulder took a deep breath and crawled up, lying down in the middle of
the bed on his back, cock beautiful against his hip.
Krycek joined him, careful, slipping the lube out of the bedside table.
He wet his cock with it and watched Mulder watch his hand move.
Then he positioned himself on top of Mulder, over him, and it was unbearably
different than his fantasy. Krycek was the one trembling now.
Krycek’s heart was in his throat.
He bent down and kissed Mulder again, lips working softly open and closed.
He lifted Mulder’s leg as he braced himself on his prosthetic and reached
down between his own legs to take himself around the base. He kissed
Mulder gently and found the tight opening as Mulder drew his own legs up.
Krycek broke the kiss as he prodded Mulder’s puckered hole tentatively.
Just push it in, he told himself. Drive it home. Fuck the bastard.
But his breath caught as he looked down into Mulder’s face and saw the apprehensive
question there…the mild curiosity. That, What are you doing? look.
He swallowed.
“Gonna fuck you,” Krycek whispered raggedly, not sure if he was telling Mulder
or himself.
Mulder blinked at him, the question disappearing, a resigned readiness taking
its place. Mulder closed his eyes. Krycek was glad. This
would be so much easier that way.
He pushed, breaching the muscle, and heard Mulder gasp.
He stopped.
“You okay?” he asked.
Mulder’s eyes popped open. He frowned a little. Then he nodded.
“Y-yeah… Keep going, Krycek.”
Krycek took a breath and pushed more, bracing his feet on the bed, stretching
the sheet as he carefully slid in the rest of the way.
Mulder inhaled again, his head thrashing.
“Mulder?”
“Gaahh… ‘sokay,” he replied.
Krycek leaned all his weight on the prosthetic and raised his hand to Mulder’s
hair. He smoothed it, staying still deep inside the hot tunnel clamping
down on his cock. Mulder opened his eyes and looked up at Krycek.
The question was back.
“Alex?” He swallowed. “Don’t you wanna fuck me?”
Krycek blinked rapidly, his cock thrumming inside the other man’s body.
He’d never felt more like fucking actually. But…
He found himself leaning down, tilting his head, and opening Mulder’s mouth
with his own. He kissed him for a long time, just remaining sheathed
and feeling Mulder’s muscles relax to accept him. He had to wonder
how long it had been for Mulder. He had to wonder why he cared.
Still kissing, Krycek drew back slightly and slipped fully back inside again,
nudging the swell of Mulder’s ass with his balls.
He moved like that for a long time, taking longer strokes when Mulder groaned
beneath him.
He worked gently up to a quicker pace, stroking fire up his cock with his
long, hard thrusts. He lifted up a little on his arms for leverage
and opened his eyes on the man beneath him.
“Mulder…” he panted, body tightening for release. “Oh God…love…”
He gasped and finished. “Fucking you…”
Mulder’s hands found his back and clawed. “Alex…” he whimpered, baring
down on the cock that was driving into him. “Unn…coming…”
And then he was, spurting between their bodies. The tightness suddenly
seizing Krycek’s cock brought him off, too. He shuddered and gasped,
grinding his climax deeply into the other man’s body, groaning his name over
and over until he wasn’t even moving anymore and still his lips formed the
name.
“Fox, Fox, oh Fox…”
He inhaled sharply on realization, his face in Mulder’s neck, hard cock still
warmly embraced in the slick orifice.
Krycek felt Mulder’s hands still on him, too, the body beneath his tense
with unease.
“Mulder…” Krycek breathed. “I’m sorry. I…”
Mulder stopped him. “’sall right.”
But that’s all he said, and soon Krycek’s cock softened and he rolled away,
staring up at the ceiling in mortification.
They were silent so long, Krycek thought maybe Mulder had passed out.
He could make a break for it. Go regroup. Think about why the
fuck he’d made the man lie on his back…why he’d taken three freaking years
just to get his cock inside…why he’d wanted to stroke the hole open and kiss
Mulder rather than screw him raw on filthy curses so that he couldn’t walk
for a week.
And why the hell he’d almost said…what he’d almost said.
Krycek peered over at Mulder whose eyes were closed, hand resting casually
atop his smeared belly. Krycek took a breath and sat up, turning away.
“Why’d you come for me?” Mulder asked suddenly, voice hushed.
“When I was taken…”
Krycek’s body stiffened and he didn’t turn. There was a long, grave
silence then. Mulder was waiting for an answer. Not hitting him,
not raising his voice…just waiting. Krycek slumped over his knees.
“I wasn’t gonna let you die,” Krycek said defensively. He felt Mulder
shift behind him, maybe sitting up. He had the unaccountable desire
to run.
To his surprise, the only thing Mulder said then was, “Thirsty?”
“Huh?” Krycek asked brilliantly.
Mulder scooted off the bed and stood. “Are you thirsty?”
Krycek turned his head and cast his eyes up warily. Mulder was looking
at him openly, standing there naked and fucked, so beautiful Krycek didn’t
know if he could stand it, and he was asking if Krycek was thirsty after
fucking him.
“Uh, yeah,” Krycek answered.
Mulder left and then returned with two glasses of ice water, handing one
to Krycek. Krycek mumbled his thanks and drank it down, the ice hurting
his teeth. He held onto the glass when it was empty.
“Do you want a shower?”
Once again, Krycek was caught off guard. “What? Uh, no.
Don’t you wanna take one first?”
Mulder came to stand right in front of him. He reached out and took
Krycek’s glass. He put it aside. Krycek felt his closeness and
his breath quickened.
“I don’t want to take one yet,” Mulder told him.
Krycek looked up, frowning, only to see that soft look in Mulder’s eyes.
“Lie down, Alex.”
Krycek’s lashes fluttered madly and he dropped his gaze.
Mulder’s hand touched his shoulder. “I said lie down.”
Krycek’s frown deepened, but he scooted back and stretched out with his head
on the pillow.
“Now close your eyes,” Mulder instructed.
Krycek’s lips parted on a protest that died in his throat. He couldn’t.
In front of Mulder? Anyone. It was an unthinkable request.
But as Mulder just stared at him, Krycek took a deep breath and forced his
lids closed, his heart panicking in his chest. The orbs still danced
back and forth under the lids, trying to see. He felt the mattress
dip. And then Mulder was laying himself out on top of Krycek.
“Keep ‘em closed,” he whispered.
Krycek found himself nodding, terrified, as Mulder shifted between Krycek’s
legs and pressed his lips to Krycek’s ear.
“I was a virgin, Alex,” he whispered.
“What?” Krycek almost shrieked, forcing his eyes to stay closed with inhuman
effort.
A what???
“You heard me,” Mulder murmured. Krycek’s cock had begun to swell between
his legs again, stroking Mulder’s inner thigh, the other man’s confession
and the forced blindness heightening his arousal astronomically.
“But…” Krycek stammered. “Mulder…” It couldn’t be true.
He sure fucked like a god…gave fantastic head… He just couldn’t be
a…
“Shut up, punk. We’re done talking about it,” Mulder replied.
But he was moving a little on Krycek, urging their cocks hard again slowly.
“What I really wanna know is… That how you fuck all the guys?”
Krycek gasped yet again, but now he was glad his eyes were closed.
“Let’s see those gorgeous eyes, now,” Mulder purred, smugly. Krycek
winced.
“Mulder,” he tried, but the other man just rubbed himself harder in-between
Krycek’s thighs.
“Come on, Alex,” Mulder said. “These are the rules.”
Krycek took a breath and then pried his eyes open and let Mulder see him.
“So…” Mulder went on, still riding Krycek’s crotch enthusiastically
without taking them so far that they’d both be incoherent. “You always
fuck so sweet…Krycek?”
Krycek growled menacingly.
“No…” Mulder continued thoughtfully. “You fuck like a freight train,
don’t you?”
Alex swallowed, hand clenching.
“You as rough as me?” Mulder panted. “I bet you are, Alex.
I bet you ride ‘em hard, so they…feel it…in their…throats.” he finished.
Then he stopped rocking, making Krycek nearly sob with frustration.
“So, Alex… What gives?” He put his mouth at Krycek’s ear and
whispered, “I’d almost think you were in love with me.”
Then he started thrusting again, smiling at Krycek’s ear.
“Are you?” Panting, “In love with me?”
Krycek groaned, his cock on fire to come again. He lifted his hand
and then let it drop to the bed. “Fuck you…” he sighed.
Mulder chuckled darkly. “But you didn’t…did you?” He licked Krycek’s
ear and then murmured into it, “You made love to me, you crazy faggot.”
He drove his cock down on Krycek’s ruthlessly and Krycek whined up to Mulder’s
ceiling. “Say it, lover… Say you love me…”
But even if Krycek had wanted to, Mulder didn’t let him, attaching his mouth
to Krycek’s and kissing him brutally, humping him and tongueing between his
teeth, wrenching a cry from Krycek’s throat.
“Say it when you come all over yourself,” Mulder growled into his mouth.
“I love you…” he breathed. “Say it… I love you. I love
you, Alex…”
“Ohfuck,” Krycek wailed, hips jerking as his orgasm hit. “I love you!
Oh God! I love you, Mulder!!” he sobbed.
Mulder grunted, hips whipping wildly on him, probably hurting himself as
he pushed himself over the edge after Krycek. “OhAlex…” he groaned,
releasing another load of cum between them on gasping, panting grunts of
extreme pleasure.
They both gasped and moved on each other even after they’d had their release.
Mulder smeared their combined cum on their bellies and breathed heavily in
Krycek’s ear.
Then, before Krycek could even catch his breath, Mulder pushed himself down
and buried his face in Krycek’s hard stomach, lapping at whatever cum he
wasn’t getting all over his face.
Jesus… Krycek’s muscles clenched under that eager tongue as Mulder’s
cheeks and chin became drenched with their combined spunk.
Mulder growled down into Krycek’s flesh, “You’re a sin…” Then he licked
his lips and wiped at his face, sucking his fingers when he was done.
“Can you move?” he asked.
Krycek was still panting quietly. “No,” he moaned.
“Good,” Mulder said, coming back up and lying down next to Krycek heavily.
“Then you’re not just gonna take off.”
They lay together, side by side for a time.
He’d said it.
Well, Mulder forced him to.
Right after he’d said it…maybe.
God, his brain hurt.
Mulder got up after a while and brought in wet washcloths and they both did
a separate, brief clean-up.
“I’m starving,” Mulder declared, and Krycek’s stomach promptly rumbled.
“You still like Vietnamese?” Mulder asked, now dropping his eyes in the guise
of finding new clothes to wear.
Krycek took a minute to find his voice. “Yeah,” he husked. “I
do.”
Mulder then looked up at him with a pair of underwear in his hands, and he
smiled. “You know we probably stink to high heaven,” he told
Krycek, slipping the boxer-briefs on.
Krycek got up and fumbled with his jeans. “Yeah, we’re gonna reek of
fucking,” he agreed, not meeting the other man’s eyes.
He felt Mulder walk up to him, though, his hands coming to the front of Krycek’s
jeans and helping to tuck Krycek’s cock inside before zipping the pants carefully.
Then he tipped Krycek’s chin up with a finger. “Making love,” he corrected.
And he leaned forward, kissing Krycek softly and murmuring against his lips,
“I’m buyin’.”
