Summary: It’s New Year’s Eve. Will Mulder watch the ball drop
alone?
Disclaimer: If I say they’re not mine, can I still make ‘em @$%
some more?
Archive: Yes, to any list it's posted to. Others just ask.
Date of First Posting: 12/31/03
Note: “Bozhe, ti menja
chortovo vozbuzdajesh.” means, roughly, “God, you get me so fucking
hot.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, Scully,” he answered with a raise to his eyebrows.
Nothing’s the matter, he thought. He dropped his gaze back to the casefile
in front of him, shuffling the papers in an effort to look busy.
He felt her shift her attention away, although reluctantly. He swallowed.
Nothing. At all. Is the matter.
I just want to scream, to float, to go exhaust myself at the gym on weights
that are way too heavy, to run for miles through the D.C. slush, sweating
and freezing.
What’s the matter? It’s December 31st. That’s all.
He smiled to himself.
“…like Kersh said. Right?”
Mulder blinked down at the file. The bullpen din droned on but there
was a conspicuous silence from his partner. He looked up suddenly.
“Uh, yes,” he tried.
Scully stared at him. “You’re not listening.”
“Sure I am.”
“What did I say?” she replied, hands on hips.
Mulder gulped. “Uh…”
She raised her eyebrows now, turning her head slightly, waiting.
“Uh…you said…”
Scully cut him off. “That we should keep our investigation to Peters
like Kersh said.”
“Right!” Mulder exclaimed, relieved.
“Wrong,” Scully shot back. “Mulder…have you even read that file?
Do you even know why Kersh gave it to us?”
“Does anyone ever know the reasons for what he does?” Mulder tried
philosophically.
“Mulder.”
It made him wince slightly. He leaned back in his chair then and chucked
the file onto the desktop. “Okay, fine, you’re right, I haven’t read
it. Sue me.”
“Mulder, I don’t like doing Kersh’s…busy work, either –“
“Shit work, Scully. Shit work.”
“Whatever, you know what I mean. But Mulder…we have to play along at
least somewhat.”
“What are you trying to say?”
She sighed. “I’m only suggesting you try to act as if you’re going
to do what he wants. We’re going in there in ten minutes and you haven’t
even read the file. I don’t want to see you get suspended. I
think that…”
Mulder’s ears stopped listening after the word suspended.
His face brightened.
He looked down at the file. Truth be told, there was only one thing
he’d read and he hadn’t gotten past it to the rest. The memo that had
been paper-clipped to the file, an Ebay sales of allegedly fraudulent stamp
collections case, had stated that he and Scully would be expected to get
a car and drive to Pennsylvania tonight.
Gone. Tonight. On New Year’s Eve.
Got any plans for New Year’s?
He could almost hear him saying it, Mulder had read the note so many times.
On his couch with a football game acting as soundtrack. It had held
a place in his kitchen for a day, stuck to the fridge with a Scooby Doo magnet.
It had traveled into the bathroom to sit on the sink edge while he showered.
And it had slept on the bedside table every night under the glow of the clock
radio.
Mulder was not going to be out on a case tonight.
Just in case.
Suspended, huh?
Interesting.
“Well?” Scully chided, standing too close and looking somehow menacing
in her burgundy Anne Taylor. “Are you coming?”
Mulder cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and stood. “Yep.”
He picked up the file and followed her into the elevator.
***
“So. Agent Scully.” Kersh’s voice was like a commercial for a funeral
home. “What do you think of this case?”
“Sir?” Scully intoned, politely stalling for more time to come up with a
good way to kiss his ass that didn’t sacrifice her integrity too much.
Mulder lolled in his chair.
“What is your opinion of this case, Agent?” Kersh elaborated without saying
anything new.
“Well, sir,” Scully started, shifting forward in her chair a little, legs
crossed. “I think Peters is a viable suspect and should be questioned.”
“But not by the FBI,” Kersh tacked on for her.
“That’s not what I was going to say, sir,” she corrected. “I was merely
going to suggest that the local field office look into it. I’m sure
the agents there are perfectly capable of…”
“But I want you there,” their A.D. interrupted unruffled. “I trust
that you’ll bring your formidable experience to bear on this investigation,
Agent. You don’t think it’s…beneath you…do you?” he baited.
Scully looked down. “No, sir.”
“That’s good, Agent Scully. I’d hate to have to stamp your personel
file with a reprimand before you’re even dispatched to the case.”
To Scully’s credit, she brought her unblinking gaze up to Kersh’s and ground
her teeth quietly.
Mulder inspected his nails.
“Agent Mulder,” Kersh barked, turning his meaty head.
“Unh,” Mulder replied without looking up.
“I trust you share Agent Scully’s newly found dedication to solving this
case?”
Mulder frowned at his nails and then directed a bored gaze at Kersh.
“Oh, hell no.”
Kersh actually blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused. Can we go now?”
“I’m afraid not, Agent Mulder.” Kersh bit out. “I’m afraid…I
need you to elaborate on your previous declaration. What, pray tell,
is your differing opinion regarding this case?”
“It’s nothing major,” Mulder announced amicably. “I just think
this case sucks llamas. Sir.”
Kersh leaned back in his chair. “Llamas.”
“Yeah, llamas.”
“Mulder,” Scully hissed under her breath.
“Is there anything else I should know about, Agent?” the A.D. inquired
with flat, cold eyes.
“Well, I think the last case you sent us on was a pretty goddamned lousy
waste of our time, too, but I wasn’t going to say anything. Now that
I see how open you are to criticism, though…well, I’ll go ahead and tell
you that that prairie-land, shit-pile investigation you assigned us to was
worse than getting a paper cut on my testicles. You ever get a paper
cut on your testicles, sir? No? Maybe I should use another analogy...”
“No, Agent Mulder, I’d say that’s more than enough,” Kersh stated, leaning
forward and pinning the agent with his stare. “You’re suspended.
For two weeks. Without pay. Now get out of my office.”
Mulder smiled, stood, nodded to the A.D. politely, and left.
***
Mulder turned the shower off, shaking the water out of his hair. He
grabbed a towel and started vigorously drying himself. He was attacking
his wet head when he heard a thump and froze. He peeked out from underneath
his towel, eyes wide, lips pursed. He listened.
There it was again. Down the hall.
Mulder wrapped the towel around his waist, stepped out of the shower, slipping
and almost falling before careening out the door and into his living room.
He listened and heard a dull rattle.
He tiptoed toward the door, avoiding every creaky board. He peered
out the peephole, unbreathing.
Across the hall and one door down, Mrs. Feldstein fumbled with her
keys in the deadbolt, balancing a bag of groceries on her hip.
Mulder sighed and walked back into his bathroom.
He decided he could air dry and left the towel around his waist while he
brushed his teeth, put on deoderant, shaved, ran a hand through his damp
hair…twice.
He went to his bedroom to get dressed. He threw open his closet doors.
He looked at his jeans.
Blue?
Or black?
He fingered his faded stone-washed looking ones, then rejected them, instead
favoring his one black pair. He pulled them off the rack and laid them
on the bed.
He went back into his closet and turned to his shirts. Too cold for
a t-shirt. He could turn up the heat, but he’d probably run up the
bill too much already this month. No, he’d have to go with something
nicer if he wanted to stay warm.
He frowned.
Dress shirt?
No, too weird. He’d feel like he was back at work.
Sweater?
Maybe.
He pulled out one that was black wool. No, black and black would make
him look like he was in mourning. Plus, the wool was a little scratchy.
Not pleasant against the skin.
He ran his fingers further down, encountering a soft, navy blue sweater he’d
gotten for his birthday from Scully. He’d worn it once, to show how
very much he liked it, then he’d hung it up and forgotten about it.
She’d been pretty happy with how he looked in it, he thought he remembered.
She’d mentioned that it turned his eyes blue. He bit his lip and tilted
his head. Then he pulled the sweater, exiting his closet and laying
it next to the jeans.
He stood back with his hand cradling his chin, frowning. Black and
blue. He’d look like a bruise. Not that it mattered, but still…
He picked up the black jeans and returned to the closet. He pulled
off a pair of blue jeans instead. Worn enough to be comfortable, but
new enough not to have holes in the ass.
When he was coming back out, he heard another noise, this one softer and
less identifiable. He snuck from the bedroom, back out into the living
room, into his foyer, and once again up to his peephole. He peeked
out. Nothing. He stood back and thought. Then he looked
through the peephole out into the well-lit hall again. Again, nothing.
He hesitated, then unlocked his door, opened it a fraction, and looked out.
His other neighbor down the hall whom he’d never really met was standing
at the elevator, waiting with a bottle of champagne in his hand.
Mulder sighed again and shut his door.
As he went back toward his bedroom to dress, he flicked off the light.
If anyone had been outside his door, he would have given himself away with
the darkening of the peephole. Couldn’t have that.
Mulder dressed matter-of-factly, taking a quick look in the mirror to check
his appearance. He ran his hand through his hair once more, then went
back into his living room, plopping down on the couch and flicking on the
TV. Dick Clark was there waiting along with thousands of cold, drunk
people in Times Square.
Mulder sighed, stretched his legs out, and waited. For 1999, that is.
Soon, his leg was bouncing and he was checking his watch even though they
flashed the time on the show constantly. They could be wrong after all.
He got up and pissed. He washed his hands. He threw on
some after-shave for fun.
He came back out and looked at his TV, pulling on his bottom lip compulsively.
He thought he might be hungry, so he padded to his kitchen and held the fridge
door open, looking inside. He bit his lip. He backed up and leaned
over, getting a look at the bottom shelf and three mysterious styrofoam containers.
He frowned.
He stood up and shut the door.
He checked his watch. 11:45.
Shit.
He walked back to his living room, sitting down with a heavy sigh.
He leaned his head against the back of the couch and watched the stupid TV.
The people yelled and danced. They blew into party favors and jumped
up and down, hugging each other. Bands he didn’t recognize played loudly.
He checked his watch. 11:56.
He sighed. He watched Dick Clark work the crowd up into a frenzy.
He was having to yell into his microphone to be heard over them. At
three minutes till, Mulder got up to go piss again.
Halfway to the bathroom, he heard a noise. Extremely faint. Almost
not a noise at all. He almost disregarded it as his imagination but
decided he’d check out the peephole one more time.
He snuck up on it, leaned in, and looked.
He stifled his gasp.
There stood Krycek. Right in front of his door. He was shifting
his weight from foot to foot. He looked down the hallway one way, then
the other. He looked at the door. He looked down. Mulder
wondered why he wasn’t knocking. Maybe because he’d never knocked on
Mulder’s door before. Mulder smiled. And continued to watch him.
Krycek shoved his hand in his pocket, clenching his jaw, looking back in
the direction of the elevator. Then his lips parted. And he licked
them. Mulder licked his own.
Mulder watched Krycek run a hand back through his hair and take a step back.
With a start, Mulder realized he might have decided to leave. He had
to act fast. Mulder took a breath and wrenched open the door.
Krycek’s eyes snapped to his. He looked out of breath. Mulder
stared at him for a moment. Krycek looked so…so clean.
He was in black, from head to toe. Tight, black jeans. Leather
jacket over black cotton. No cap this time. His hair was spiky
and shined in the lights from the hall.
“Get in here, the ball’s about to drop,” Mulder demanded a little loudly.
Then he stepped back for Krycek to enter.
The other man dropped his head rather shyly and came in past Mulder who shut
the door in his wake. Krycek looked up at him with wide eyes in the
darkness. Mulder just looked at him for a second. Then he dropped
his gaze and walked into the living room, flicking on the small light by
the couch. He turned to face the TV. For lack of anything better
to do, he shoved his hands in his pockets and stood there. Krycek could
just hang out in his foyer for all he cared.
Mulder glued his eyes to the screen, concentrating intensely.
But he still felt it when Krycek began to move.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven…!”
Mulder swallowed, feeling a little sick. Must have been that mushu
pork he had for lunch.
“Four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!!!!!”
His floor creaked as the people cheered. He watched with a small frown,
seriously taking in the revelry.
Suddenly, Krycek was in front of him, too close. Mulder made a small
exasperated sound at his view being so abruptly disturbed, but it died in
his throat as Krycek tilted his head, eyelashes fluttering closed, and kissed
him.
Mulder froze, his eyes open and wide. Krycek was kissing him.
On the mouth. Krycek’s lips were on his, soft and sweet. Mulder
didn’t breathe. But he could hear Krycek breathing. Shaky and
through his nose. Like he was cold. Or scared.
Krycek’s lips moved ever-so-slightly on top of his own. Just a small
mouthing motion, and before Mulder knew it, his eyes were closing and he
was sighing.
Krycek’s velvety lips moved against his again, tender and shy. Mulder
felt a tentative touch at his left elbow. He flinched violently.
Krycek’s mouth was torn from his and the hand was gone. Mulder forced
his eyes open, though they wanted to stay closed. He looked at the
man in front of him, flushed and panting. Mulder blinked and watched
Krycek take a frightened step back, accompanied by a small gasp. Mulder’s
gaze dropped to Krycek’s mouth. It was dark pink now…wet. Mulder
lifted his eyes and found Krycek’s again.
Then he growled a little, took a step forward, wrapping his hand around the
back of Krycek’s head, and he pulled the other man into another kiss.
Mulder forced the lips under his open, unthinking, and delved his tongue
into Krycek’s mouth.
“Nnnmmmm,” he moaned, gripping Krycek’s hair and pulling the body in front
of him up against his roughly with his other hand on the man’s back.
That was better. So much better. Oh God.
Mulder realized he was becoming very erect very fast. Kissing a man.
Well, devouring a man was more like it. Devouring Alex Krycek.
Mulder ripped his mouth away, breathing heavily, though his arm stayed around
Krycek’s back and his hand in his hair. He stared at the mouth he’d
just kissed. They’d been kissing. Krycek had kissed him.
He’d kissed Krycek. And it was fucking amazing.
He lifted drowsy eyes up to meet Krycek’s. Huge, dilated, dark and
gorgeous. The man had gorgeous eyes. And an unbelievable mouth.
And a body that was warm and tight and…just felt really fucking good against
his own.
Wow.
Mulder smiled, a short, low, disbelieving laugh rumbling through his throat.
Krycek gasped.
Mulder’s attention was once again drawn to his lips, the moist sheen of his
own saliva. It made him want to growl again. Mulder leaned in,
took Krycek’s bottom lip between his teeth, and bit.
Krycek gasped again. Mulder liked that. He tugged. Then
he kissed it and licked it and bit it again. He growled against Krycek’s
swelling lip. Then the lip moved against his, and sound came out.
“Muh-“ it said.
“Unnnn!” Mulder groaned, pressing his mouth down hard on the other
man’s. Then he shoved his tongue between the pliant lips and fucked
the throat that had uttered that syllable. He twisted the hair, slid
his other hand down and gripped…oh God, the ass.
Krycek’s ass. Alex’s ass. In his hand. Filling his hand
as he felt himself squeeze. Mulder kissed him hard. He squeezed
his tight, round ass…hard. He pressed his aching cock in against Krycek’s
body. And found that he, too, was hard.
This couldn’t be happening. And if it was happening, it couldn’t actually
feel this good. Could it? Making out with Krycek? Mulder
wanted to laugh, but he was too busy rubbing himself against the man.
He licked inside Krycek’s mouth…tasted the fading bite of a cinnamon candy.
He sucked Krycek’s tongue into his mouth and laved it as he ground their
bodies together.
And then…Alex Krycek groaned.
Mulder was so surprised he reared back a little. He looked at the man
in front of him, a man who he’d made groan. A gay man? Mulder
wasn’t gay. He wanted to laugh again. Instead he tentatively
slid his hand around so that his thumb could stroke across Krycek’s cheek.
He tilted his head and let his eyes roam over the face so close to his.
Pretty.
Mulder moved his hands so that they were on Krycek’s shoulders. His
shoulder. Mulder tilted his head and saw the clean, perfectly round
hole in the jacket. He let his finger brush over it curiously. He looked
at Krycek again.
He waited a beat, fascinated that Krycek was standing still for this, even
though, technically, he’d started it. As a test, he pushed Krycek’s
jacket off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Krycek’s lashes
fluttered madly and he sighed, his breath still coming out shaky. He
was nervous. It was sexy as hell. Mulder’s dick jumped in his
jeans.
He took a step forward, making Krycek take a step back. He watched
Krycek’s lips, and then his eyes, as he slowly walked him backward without
a touch until his back was pressed against the wall. Mulder put a hand
next to Krycek’s head…reached out with the other and touched Krycek’s belt
loop…just the fingertip. He moved it in, toward the button on his fly,
tracing the worn denim. Krycek’s breath shuddered out of him and bathed
Mulder’s face in moist heat.
Mulder moved his face in closer, their mouths an inch from touching, pressing
together, kissing some more, but he held back, keeping his eyes on his finger
as he moved it along Krycek’s body and watched the other man try not to squirm.
It was like nothing he’d ever experienced.
He moved quickly, wrenching the button free in one smooth movement.
But then he stopped, hand holding the one flap of denim. He was now
the one breathing hard. Well, they both were. Mulder cast his
eyes up…caught Krycek’s…searched them.
“Unn,” Krycek groaned, looking away. “Mulder…just touch me…”
Then Krycek met his eyes once more.
Mulder’s breath left him in a rush, and he kissed Krycek again, deep and
hard and bruising and tender, and his hands were shaking as he unzipped Krycek’s
fly, reached into his underwear, and found his thick, ready erection.
Krycek gasped into Mulder’s mouth and Mulder stilled, fingers grazing the
too-hot flesh, their lips touching, breath kissing.
Then he wrapped his fingers around the pulsing cock and squeezed. It
was like he was squeezing Krycek’s throat. A choked sound came out
of him…strangled, cut-off. And Mulder realized he could be almost dying
or almost coming; they sounded the same.
Mulder licked Krycek’s lips once as he tightened his fist around his cock
and stroked. Krycek panted loudly. Mulder moved his hand back
down Krycek’s swollen length and Krycek’s hips bucked. Mulder smiled
against his mouth. Amazing. He had no idea what he was doing,
but Krycek liked it. He wanted it. Mulder kept moving his fist
up and down Krycek’s dick, and when he thought he had the hang of it from
this angle, when Krycek didn’t yawn or check his watch, did nothing but cry
out like Mulder was God’s gift to handjobs, gyrating his hips and panting…then
Mulder kissed him again.
Mulder liked the kissing.
He liked touching Krycek’s cock, too, but there was something about kissing
him… Something heady and strong like good coffee, something that made
him feel so good it was like pain. Something right and wrong and so
powerful it could make him forget his own name, where he lived, why
he shouldn’t want to kiss this man.
Mulder stroked his tongue through Krycek’s mouth slowly, rhythmically, and
pulled on his cock gently. Krycek made a sound and pre-cum leaked out
of his cock, wetting Mulder’s fist on the next downstroke.
Mulder worked faster, breaking the kiss to watch Krycek’s face, to look down
at where his hand disappeared into Krycek’s jeans.
He was doing this. He was going to make him come. He really was.
Mulder’s hips had begun to pulse sympathetically with Krycek’s as he continued
to jack him, rougher now, probably getting carried away, but he couldn’t
help it. Krycek’s cries were getting louder. His head was thrashing
against the wall.
“Come on,” Mulder heard himself grate out. He wanted to see it.
Wanted to feel it. “Come on, Krycek,” he urged.
And then Krycek came. His cock pulsed and Mulder felt the warm spill
of cum down the backs of his fingers, his hand, his wrist.
Mulder attacked his mouth, swallowing the sounds of Krycek’s orgasm down
his throat, working the dick in his shaking hand until he felt Krycek sag
against the wall. Their lips panted apart and Mulder slowly withdrew
his hand, holding it out to the side, unsure what to do now. Before
he could think to do anything, Krycek took it, raised it to his lips, and
sucked his fingers into his mouth hungrily, moaning and licking and sucking
Mulder’s digits clean.
Mulder just stared at him, slack-jawed, as Krycek lapped up his own cum.
He’d…done this before.
Just then, Krycek’s blissfully closed eyes opened, his mouth still fervently
attached to Mulder’s fingers. He watched Mulder looking at him.
And around Mulder’s spit-wet fingers, he smiled.
Fuck.
Mulder swallowed before he drooled on himself.
Krycek let his fingers go, lowering the clean hand back to Mulder’s side.
He looked at Mulder from underneath his lashes.
“You’re…gay?” Mulder asked stupidly.
Krycek grinned, almost impishly. Mulder just stared at him.
“Yeah,” came the familiar deep voice.
“But I’m…”
“I know you’re not,” Krycek interrupted, calmly, but still a little
breathlessly. He reached out to Mulder, stroking his cheek with his
thumb as Mulder had done to him. Then he leaned in and kissed Mulder.
A long, tonguing, slow-motion kiss. Infinitely knowledgeable.
Undeniably breath-taking. Mulder realized he was holding his breath
and let it out in a rush through his nose. At the same time, his knees
threatened to give out.
Krycek quickly wrapped a strong arm around his lower back and broke the kiss.
He spoke looking at Mulder’s kiss-stung lips.
“Can I…touch you?” It was breathless and rough and hopeful.
Mulder almost laughed. His dick had never been harder. But his
heart was fluttering like a girl’s. Krycek wanted to touch him.
He swallowed, unable to look the other man in the eye as he nodded, sobering.
He watched Krycek’s tongue dart out to wet his lips.
“Kruh-“ Mulder started.
“Call me Alex,” Krycek rumbled. “Please.”
Mulder nodded numbly as he felt Krycek’s hand slip up under the back of his
sweater, fingers lightly scratching around his lower back, down into the
waistband of his jeans. He shivered.
“Alex…” he breathed, daring a look up into the other man’s eyes.
Alex’s smile was dampened slightly by the moisture sticking his long, black
lashes together. Mulder’s eyes closed on the vision as Krycek kissed
him again, all possessive, wet control. Krycek grunted into his mouth.
It was feral and sexy and Mulder felt it in his cock.
Krycek’s hand traveled up Mulder’s back under the sweater. He gripped
the back of Mulder’s neck, strong and gentle, as his mouth worked Mulder’s
expertly. Krycek’s body pressed to his, overly warm. His heat
enveloped Mulder, filled his nostrils, overwhelmed him. Mulder pulled
his mouth away, evading when Krycek sought his lips again.
Krycek’s hand slipped down Mulder’s back, waiting.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice deepened with arousal.
Mulder swallowed. “Nothing.” His own voice sounded small and
vulnerable in return. But he held Krycek’s worried eyes as he took
a small step back, took hold of the bottom of his sweater, and pulled it
off over his head.
He stood before Krycek, naked from the waist up, giving his silent message:
Keep going.
Krycek’s eyes roved over Mulder’s bare skin, and Mulder realized he’d had
no idea what heat was before this moment. Nobody had ever looked at
him like this. Hunger didn’t quite cover it. Lust was only one
component. He was being consumed, eaten. He was being claimed.
Krycek reached out and touched his fingertips to Mulder’s belly. Mulder
sucked in his breath at the hot, simple touch. Krycek’s eyes met his
and then dropped to Mulder’s stomach as his hand drifted up, caressing each
rib. His fingers tickled up, and he laid his hand flat over Mulder’s
chest. Their eyes caught again. Then Krycek stepped in, sweeping
his hand up into Mulder’s hair and tilting his head to fit his face into
the curve of Mulder’s neck. Mulder felt the wet stroke of his tongue
as he licked up the side of Mulder’s throat, up to his ear.
Mulder’s eyes rolled and his lashes fluttered closed. His mouth fell
open on a moan. Krycek licked at his earlobe, then bit it softly.
Mulder shivered again. His nipples hardened against the fabric of Krycek’s
shirt rubbing against them. Krycek was sucking on his earlobe, dipping
his tongue into Mulder’s ear, nibbling his neck, his hand stroking down his
back once more, coming around in front of him, finding Mulder’s fly.
Mulder felt his pants being undone, felt the maddening release of pressure
on his cock. He wanted to sigh with pleasure, no longer quite so tightly
confined but still not free. He wanted Krycek to touch him there.
He didn’t know what else he wanted. But he was sure of that.
He wanted to feel what that big, strong hand felt like guiding his cock to
orgasm.
“Mulder,” Krycek said…Alex said…against his neck. “Can you do
the rest?”
It took a moment to realize what was being asked of him, but then he understood.
Alex wanted Mulder to undress the rest of the way. Alex wanted to see
him naked. The thought made him blush. He could feel the spread
of blood just under the skin…under Alex’s lips. He nodded and Alex
stepped back a little.
Mulder was relieved when Alex didn’t just watch him strip but dropped to
take his own boots and socks off, then started taking his own clothes off.
Mulder concentrated on his own task, not daring to look at the body being
revealed to him.
But then he was naked. Absolutely, horribly naked. Mulder had
never been self-conscious about his body exactly. But this…to let Alex
Krycek see him, all of him, felt like the vulnerability to end all vulnerabilities.
He made himself look up.
And he forgot he was naked. Because there was Krycek. Nude, glorious…
He wasn’t perfect…well, not by industry standards anyway. He had more
scars than Mulder could count, some sexy, some too indicative of some bloody
horror he’d endured. Long and jagged scars from clumsy, cruel knives.
A couple puckered bullet wounds…
Mulder saw the smaller bandage over his shoulder injury now…the red, trying-to-heal
flesh not quite covered there. His gaze dropped lower still.
The arm.
Mulder wanted to look at it. He wanted to see him without the prosthetic.
There was something in him…some guilty thing. A thing that got turned
on looking at it. It was strangely arousing…this asymmetry, this glaring
flaw. It made him even more beautiful.
Krycek was frowning slightly. Mulder swallowed. He dropped his
gaze to Krycek’s cock, swollen again…from touching him. Unbelievable.
Mulder wondered if Krycek was going to want to fuck him…with that.
He breathed down the fear at the thought and braved another look into the
man’s eyes.
He walked up to him, close, and put his hand on Alex’s chest as the other
man had done to him. They were nose to nose, twin flames of dark heat.
“Touch me, Alex,” Mulder whispered.
Krycek’s arm came around Mulder fast and pulled him in hard, forcing the
air out of his lungs.
Their cocks met, nudged and nuzzled; they got harder against each other.
“Bozhe, ti menja chortovo vozbuzdajesh,” Alex growled into his face, almost
mouth to mouth, and Mulder didn’t care what it meant. If it meant Alex
was going to fuck his brains out till morning, he wanted it. Whatever
it was, it was a very good thing. “Lyubimy…” The last was whispered,
almost sighed, just before Alex’s lips mashed against his again. The
kiss was fierce. It hurt. It felt perfect and real and like them.
Mulder submitted to it even as he kissed Alex back, each of them trying to
satisfy this craving for each other.
Alex bit him and snarled, “I want you down on the floor.”
Mulder let himself be tugged down, then laid out on his back underneath Alex’s
weight, exchanging fervent kisses all the way down.
Then Alex’s lips left his and trailed down his throat, his chest. His
head thudded back against the floor when he felt Alex’s mouth close around
his nipple and suckle hard. He groaned.
Alex leaned on his prosthesis and stroked Mulder’s belly sweetly even as
his lips pursued downward and teeth bit down underneath his pec and Mulder
was chewed on. He smiled. He’d never been chewed on before.
It made him feel dizzy and alive. He didn’t know he’d sifted his hand
into Alex’s soft hair until Alex moaned against him in approval.
“You’re so sweet,” Alex told him, licking between two ribs, making
Mulder squirm. Mulder didn’t know if he meant his taste or his demeanor.
The last was laughable considering their history, but… Mulder found
he wanted to be sweet for him. He didn’t want any of the sour, old
fear between them anymore. He wanted this. This sweet, agonizing,
magnetic lust. He wanted Alex to growl more Russian at him and stroke
his stomach again. He wanted to touch this body that was slithering
over his like a belly dancer.
Sex. He wanted sex with Alex Krycek now. Lots of it. All
the time.
Alex found his navel with his tongue and Mulder let out a deep sigh.
“Yeah… Oh yeah… Alex…”
Suddenly, his hip was gripped tightly and Alex was staring up at him looking
almost angry. Seething.
“Mulder, I want to…” He looked down at Mulder’s engorged cock.
“I want to suck you.”
Mulder was struck dumb by the simple words. He stared down at Alex,
mouth gaping. Then Alex looked back up at him with that same intense
look, breathing hard. He wasn’t going to do it if it wasn’t all right
with Mulder.
Mulder let his breath out in a rush.
“Yes,” he whispered harshly. “God yes. Pluh-“
The word wasn’t even out and Alex’s mouth was on him, warm and slick and
as tender as his expression had not been. Mulder’s cockhead was sucked
into his mouth.
“Naaah!” he yelped at the sensation.
He was licked, kissed, sucked again.
He banged his hand against the floor in his delirium.
“Unngod…”
Alex’s mouth slipped tightly down onto him further. Mulder let out
a long, loud groan that would have embarrassed him if he were capable of
giving a shit. He reached up and wrapped his fingers around a sweaty
lock of Alex’s hair, but then let go, feeling silly for the gesture.
Alex grunted around him, sucked off. “Do that again,” he demanded hoarsely.
So Mulder did, stroking and then gripping Alex’s hair. And Alex began
to move on him.
Jesus. Jesus! Mulder spread his legs wider as the hot liquid
sensation leaked though his body, emanating from his cock down through his
legs, up his chest, out through his fingers and toes. Not real.
Alex was not real. He was dreaming and he was going to wake up having
come all over himself in his sleep. Oh God, don’t let it be a dream,
he thought, taking hold of Alex’s hair with his other hand as well.
On one particularly ruthless suck, Mulder cried out and his hips thrust up
hard, forcing his dick to the back of Alex’s throat.
Mulder immediately lifted his head and looked down at Alex, afraid he’d fucked
up. The women he’d been with hadn’t very much liked it when he’d gagged
them like that. And it hadn’t taken much. He’d always been so
careful.
Alex slurped off of him again. “Do it,” he panted. “God, do it,
Mulder.”
Then he was on him again, wet tongue searing Mulder’s flesh, sucking mouth
drawing another ecstatic groan from Mulder’s throat. Mulder’s hips
bucked again, unable not to seek out even more…more mouth…more flicking tongue…more
Alex…
“More,” he moaned, eyes closed as he thrust up into Alex’s mouth again.
Alex groaned and sucked him harder. So he did it again, this time holding
tightly to Alex’s head, holding him still, and he sank up into that hot throat.
And came.
It took him from some secret place inside, someplace where holding Alex Krycek
down and raping his lying mouth lay like a sleeping lion. Somewhere
he’d not wanted to acknowledge before but that boiled up in him now and shot
out his cock like a rain of bullets.
He kept himself lodged in Krycek’s throat, hips bucking up off the floor,
cock grinding into the tight passage as he emptied his sac, crying with long-denied
ecstasy.
“Ohhh, ohhh, ohhhyeahfffuuuhh, unnnfuuuhhh…”
His hands hurt with how hard he was holding Krycek’s head as he pumped his
semen down his throat, deep. Impossibly deep he was. He groaned
as the last of it left him and he collapsed back down to the floor, boneless
and exhausted, hands dropping to his sides.
He panted, head lolling on the ground.
Then he gasped and went very still. Alex had not moved except to let
Mulder’s spent cock slip from his mouth. He’d hurt him. Again.
Fuck. He summoned the strength to swallow past his raw, aching throat.
His raw, aching throat. Poor Alex.
“Alex,” he tried, lifting his heavy head and peering down his own sweaty
body to where Alex lay still beside him. “Alex?” he said again.
He watched Alex lift his head and look at him. His lip was bleeding.
“I hurt you,” Mulder said, sitting up and looking down at him now.
Alex just cocked an eyebrow. Mulder was still watching him worriedly.
Until Alex licked at the bloody corner of his mouth, and then he smiled a
small smug smile. Alex sat up slowly, leaned in, and pressed his abused
lips to Mulder’s gently, licking them open and then kissing him long and
deep.
Mulder tasted a slight copper tang of blood, and under that…his own cum.
And under that, Alex. Passion and cinnamon.
When their lips finally parted, both almost unwilling, Alex breathed against
his lips, “Happy New Year, Mulder.”
Mulder smiled slyly at him. “Back at ya.”
Alex smiled. Mulder hadn’t seen his teeth in so long.
Mulder reached out impulsively and flicked the tip of his index finger gently
against the tip of Alex’s nose. The other man’s eyes narrowed for a
moment. But it was just a moment, and it was less affronted than it
was unsure. Mulder shrugged in answer. Then he lay back down,
flinging his arms over his head and stretching luxuriously before putting
his hands behind his head and looking at Alex.
“So,” he said. “Valentine’s Day?”
Alex smiled, actually letting a small laugh escape. Then he seemed to sober,
blinking, the smile fading from his face. “Valentine’s, Mulder?”
Mulder realized the connotations a little late. Fuck it, he thought.
“Yeah. Whataya say?”
Alex licked his lips, dropped his eyes. Mulder knew what was next and
felt his cock actually twitch in anticipation. Alex looked up at him
from underneath his killer fucking lashes.
“C’mere,” Mulder instructed with a grin.
Alex slithered back between Mulder’s legs, so graceful even without the left
arm. He held himself over Mulder, looking down.
“Kiss me,” Mulder demanded, unmoving. And Alex lowered himself
down, tilting his head to fit his lips to Mulder’s, and he kissed him very
softly, holding back for a long moment before playing his tongue over Mulder’s
bottom lip and then slipping it inside his mouth.
Mulder kissed him back, moaning in satisfaction. Then he broke the
contact and rolled over on top of Alex.
Alex was looking serious all of a sudden.
“What?” Mulder asked.
Krycek’s voice was a low rumble. “Ground Hog Day.”
“Huh?”
“Ground Hog Day comes before Valentine’s,” he elaborated, still frowning
seriously.
Mulder smiled.
“My aunt’s birthday is January 16th. That’s a holiday, right?”
Krycek considered. “Definitely.”
Mulder rubbed his growing erection between Krycek’s legs and watched the
other man gasp.
“Kersh suspended me for the next two weeks,” he said, the smirk growing to
full-fledged Cheshire status in mere moments. “I’d call that a vacation
holiday. Wouldn’t you?”
Krycek smiled at him. Teeth again. “Oh yeah.”
Mulder leaned down and attacked the mouth beneath his.
