The End by Satina

The End

Author: Satina

Date: March 18, 2003

Pairing: M/K with Sc/K UST, K/Self, Sk/K UST (lil' bit), and WMM/K (but only kinda). Trust me.

Rating: NC-17

Archive: Sure.

Feedback: Feed the hungry muses here, please!

Series/Sequel: This one stands alone. It's one of my only not-totally-happy endings. But there's hope for them.

Spoilers: This takes place after The Red and The Black and follows Alex up through The End.

My website: http://themkshrine.angelfire.com

Disclaimers: Who's your daddy? Okay, no, I'm not. Chris Carter is. Ew.

Summary: Let's follow Alex around on a typical couple of work days.

"Take off those clothes."

I blink, narrowing my eyes, but I start to pull my jacket down my false arm. I hope that whatever he wants, I'll be able to take a shower first. A long, long shower.

"And don't drop them on the Persian carpet," he says, looking down his patrician nose at me. He takes a slow drink of his brandy, settling back into his leather chair by the fireplace. "You can give your report while you disrobe," he continues, crossing one slender leg over the other, adjusting his wine-colored velvet smoking robe.

I clear my throat, pulling my filthy shirt over my head and reaching for the straps of my prosthesis. I've been wearing it for four days straight now, as well as these clothes, and it's rubbed my skin off in several places. I hiss and slowly unfasten the slim straps, wincing as I pull them out of the grooves in my stump. "I gave him the information, just as you asked."

"And is it your belief that he will act on it?" He doesn't look at me, sipping from his brandy and staring into the huge fire.

"Yes," I reply, shivering as I reach for the button on my crusty jeans. I remember the feel of his stubble against my lips and sigh very quietly. "I think I shook him out of his complacency."

"Good," my new master says. "Finish undressing and leave your garments in a pile on the floor. There's a bath upstairs next to the master bedroom. Reginald!" He summons the butler, who appears at the doorway just as I'm stepping out of my underwear. I feel a slight flush of embarassment, but it only lasts a moment. "Wash Mr. Krycek's things and take them up to my room. And show him to the master bath." The man scoops up my clothing, wrinkling his nose only a little, then turns, arms laden with the smelly things, and pauses. Naked, but not cold in the overly warm room, I step in behind him and let him lead me up the stairs.

To his credit, the Brit has one hell of a bathroom. I take my time in the tub, crawling out an hour later, scrubbed cleaner than I've felt in about five months. There's a cream-colored robe waiting for me, draped over a chair in the massive bathroom, and I slip into it with an exhausted sigh. The only place I know to get any clothing is the master bedroom, where the Brit said he wanted the butler to take my things. I go through a closed door and find that it adjoins exactly that room. I stop just inside the door, eyes fixed on the large, sumptuously appointed bed across the room. The dandy's in it, sitting on the left side, blankets pulled up to his waist, leaning against the headboard.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were in here," I begin.

"You'll be sleeping here with me," he says calmly, setting his reading glasses to the side.

Oh. He's one of those. I blink a moment then nod curtly, slipping out of the robe. I start summoning up the fantasies that help me get through these times; fantasies of serving not wrinkled, aging, tired bodies but a long, lean, strong one, graceful hands guiding mine, pushing my head down beneath the covers...Jesus, I'm getting hard as I climb into bed next to him.

"For me?" he asks, looking down at my crotch and arching a white brow.

"All yours," I rasp, smiling a joyless smile. I slip under the thick blankets next to him and scoot over closer, reaching under them with my right hand. He grabs my hand in one of his, frowning slightly.

"No, I don't require you to touch me," he says, then he carefully places my hand on top of my own half-hard cock. He takes his hand away and settles in, watching my hand wrap around my flesh. "Go on," he says in the same tone he must use with his shoeshine boy. I pause a moment, then shrug slightly and settle in against the headboard, letting my eyes flutter closed. I give myself a healthy squeeze, letting out a loud moan.

"Oh come now," he says. "I don't want a porn star. I don't care who you have to think of, I want this to be real."

I look sideways at him from under my lashes, frowning. I had planned to make this a quick, dirty wank. But he wants a show. A real show.

"Why don't you think of Agent Mulder," he suggests, and I whip my head around, alarmed. He arches his brows at me patiently. Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. I'd put up some token protest, but at the very mention of his name, my cock fills up and bobs into my loose fist, so I just squeeze it, my mouth a tight, scared line, and I lean back into the headboard shakily.

"It was nice being close to him again, wasn't it?" he asks. When I don't say anything, I'm shocked to feel his dry, bony hand crack into my jaw as he backhands me. "Answer me!"

"Yes!" I gasp out, shaking my head, startled at the man's sudden violence.

"You will answer me when I ask you a question, Alex," he says, pursing his lips threateningly. "Is that clear?"

"Yes," I say again, licking my lips, looking at him, then down to my lap, where my cock is now softening.

"Did you touch him?"

It swells against my hand and I squeeze again, sighing. "Yes."

"Did you let him hit you?" he asks.

I lean back against the headboard. "No."

"Really," he says, as if he doesn't quite believe me. "You fought back this time? I thought you liked the feeling of his righteous fist sinking into your needy flesh, Alex. His body pressed against yours, his snarling face spitting accusations."

"I had to get the drop on him," I explain, picturing just what the Brit's describing, his plump lip curled in derision, his chameleon eyes sparking just inches from mine, our bodies pressed flush from chest to groin. My cock's hard now and I pull from base to tip with a quiet grunt.

"Did you hurt him?" the Brit asks curiously.

"Just enough to get his attention," I answer crankily, his questions not taking the direction I need them to.

"Were you erect?"

My dick jumps in my hand, remembering the time it spent pressing against the fly of my filthy jeans. "Yeah."

"Do you think he noticed?" he asks, and it throws me off my stride just a little, my hand pausing in mid-pull.

"I-I don't think so," I answer, feeling fear warm my face.

"And do you think he was erect also?" inquires the Brit quietly.

I imagine him, sitting sprawled on the floor before me, long legs spread, knees bent, hands at his sides. It was too dark to see, and I couldn't look away from his eyes long enough to check, but just the thought of looking down between those legs and seeing an answering hardness makes me sigh. "I don't know."

I feel him nod beside me. He's made no move to touch me, and there have been no sounds to suggest that he's touching himself. I don't open my eyes to check, still caught in the image of Mulder at my feet, hard for me. I groan quietly, quickening my strokes.

"What do you fantasize, Alex?" he asks me in a voice that lets me know I'm not being given the option of refusing to answer.

There are so many. For so many occasions. I don't think I'll tell him about the one with two big dogs and a backyard with a barbecue.

"He's hitting me," I breathe, jacking myself steadily. "And he knocks me to my knees."

"Are you bleeding?" he asks.

"I always bleed for him," I answer absently, tasting it on my lips.

"Then what happens?" he prompts. "I don't have all night, Alex. I'm tired."

"He grabs me," I answer quietly, feeling the tingle in my scalp. "By the hair. He yanks me in close, and I look up at him, feeling the drool collect under my tongue. His cock's just inches away. It's right in front of me."

"So in your fantasies, he *is* hard for you," clarifies the Brit.

I frown, annoyed. "Of course he is," I answer. "I can see it, pressing out against the fly of his expensive suitpants. I lick the drool off my lip along with the blood. He doesn't say anything." I move my hand faster, lifting my hips up into my own touch as I take myself closer. "He just starts unfastening his belt, then his pants with those long, beautiful fingers."

"Yes, he does have beautiful hands," says the Brit, interrupting my thoughts.

I try to screen him out, licking my lips rapidly, working my dick hard. "He pulls down his knit briefs, still holding me by my hair with one hand, then he yanks my face in against his cock...oh...oh god..."

"Keep talking, Alex," my master warns, and it's just enough to make my speech center somewhat functional again.

"I keep my mouth closed," I gasp, "as if I don't want to do it, but really I just wanna feel that warm skin against my lips for a minute." I'm getting so close, I bite my lip a minute, then gasp, panting. "He jerks me by the hair, and I open my mouth against him...ohhh..." My mouth drops open, panting and imagining his cock filling it, stretching it, stabbing against the back of my throat. "And he...he...takes himself in his...hand..."

"Finish it, Alex," the Brit orders.

I buck up into my hand. "And he holds my face in p-place while he...sh- shoves his cock down my throat! Oh fuck!" I'm coming, hard, spurting all over my freshly-scrubbed stomach and hand, hips arched into it long enough for me to be seeing stars from lack of breath once I finally start coming down again. I pant for a few seconds, relaxing my body back down into the bed, then I feel a soft towel being pressed into my hand.

"That was very nice, Alex," my boss tells me. "I look forward to hearing more of your Mulder fantasies in the future. For now, let's go to sleep." And he reaches over to the lamp beside him and flips it off, plunging us into darkness.

I lie against the headboard, wiping away the stickiness and blinking. How fucking vulnerable did I just make myself to this old man? How did he know? How long has he known?

I let the towel fall to the floor and scoot down into the blankets, absently grateful for their luxurious softness and warmth. Even though I'm terrified at how it might be used against me, I have to admit that it's just slightly comforting to be able to share my secret with someone. Someone whose first order for me was to go to Mulder with information that might make him want to ally with us. Maybe this isn't such a bad gig.

***

"I'll take care of it." The Brit sets the phone down in the cradle carefully and turns to me. "It's time to bring our little rabbit out of hiding," he says.

"Spender?"

"Yes," he replies, pursing his lips. "You have my resources at your disposal. Bring him back. I don't care how."

I nod, already putting together my team in my head. We've known where he was hiding for a long time, now, but there was no reason to flush him out until this. I know the Brit's regretting not sending me to do the original hit. God knows I'd have done it for free. Fucker left me in the dark for days. I don't know if he ever would have come back for me. And if he had, I would have been so fucked up I'd have wished he hadn't.

"We need him alive, Alex," says my employer, seemingly reading my thoughts even without the benefit of alien DNA. I narrow my eyes and nod again. I know this isn't about my personal vengeance. I have a job to do. But his day will come, and when it does, I'll be the one standing over his gray, withered, nicotine-stinking, dying body.

I listen while the Brit makes another call.

"Ms. Fowley, please."

I swear I nearly break a tooth I grit my teeth so hard.

"Yes, hello, Ms. Fowley. How are you?"

I can't hear the other end of the conversation, but I can picture her conniving, lipstick-painted fish-mouth.

"Good to hear. Good to hear. We have something we need you to do for us."

He pauses, and I can almost hear her fawning over the phone.

"So glad to hear it. You're going to be reassigned, Ms. Fowley. We need your help in clearing up a little Bureau matter. You'll be working with Fox Mulder again."

I try to make my face completely blank as the Brit glances over at me, and I stride quickly over to my laptop, booting it up as I listen to the end of the conversation.

"We'll expect you on the next flight into the states. Call me when you get in so I can brief you on the assignment. Good day, Ms. Fowley."

He hangs up the phone, and I look down at the screen, blinking. *She's* being assigned to work with Mulder again. The bitch Scully was sent in to replace. The first of the three of us, and the one who got to fuck him. I hate her fucking guts.

Jesus, it's so fucking hilarious, really. They send Fowley in to keep an eye on him as soon as he gets his hands on the X-files, and she does such a great job that he marries the cunt, totally unaware that she's blowing the smoker in between cocktail parties. But they can see that she's falling for him for real, and before she can decide to go over to his side, they yank her out of there so fast both their heads spin, and she's doing anti-terrorist duty halfway across the world.

Enter Scully. They were pretty fucking sure she wasn't gonna want to join such a foolhardy crusade, even though she, too, has a history of falling for authoritative, arrogant men. They didn't really care if she fucked him, as long as she didn't join him. Ironic, isn't it? They weren't exactly happy when Agent Scully became Mulder's right-hand man. And she didn't even manage to lure him into her bed to do it.

Enter Agent Krycek. What's that they say? Never send a woman to do a man's job. I assure them they've chosen the right man for the job, and they don't have anything to worry about. I don't get involved with my marks. I go home the same fucking night I start working with him and beat off so hard I think I'm gonna have an aneurism.

He's...So. Fucking. Beautiful.

And smart and passionate and arrogant and sexy and so fucking GOOD!

It pissed them off royally when I left those cigarette butts in my car. I just couldn't be near him anymore and do what I was doing, when all I wanted to be doing was *him*. I hated what I was falling into. I couldn't believe how far I'd gotten in over my head and how fast. I couldn't think of any way out except to get myself caught, so I left the cigarette butts in my car and waited for justice to rain down on me. I pretty much expected death.

Instead, I got yanked out, too. I plead stupidity and airheadedness and got off with a beating, a warning, and a cut in pay. And that was the end of my chance with Mulder. And the beginning of my lifetime of fucking him over instead of fucking him senseless.

And now *she's* back. They're sending her in after all this time. The only one of the three of us partners who actually got to fuck him, and she just might get to do it again. God knows he isn't getting any from Scully, so he's probably more than willing to jump all over her slutty ass. Jesus, I'd rather Scully finally opened those lily-white legs of hers for him than have that bitch anywhere *near* him.

But I'll have to think about that later. Right now I have a job to do.

***

When I return from my sojourn to Canada, I find I've actually missed home. The Brit's the best master I've ever had, and the only thing sexual he's ever done is watched me beat off while I tell him Mulder-fantasies. It's actually kind of nice, in a sick sort of way. I mean, I don't have a choice anyway, and it's a little bit like getting to fuck Mulder a different way each night.

Of course, I think he's made a huge mistake in bringing Spender in from the cold...literally...but I'm just a 'boy', so I keep my mouth shut and do as I'm told. So far, it hasn't been bad at all; first that trip to Mulder's apartment, then having that smoking son of a bitch at gunpoint. And now I get to go visit Skinner.

I owe that boy.

I'm waiting for him in his bedroom as he comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his middle. He's looking good. Buff. Cut. One of the best bodies I've seen, honestly, in a long time. But I'm not here for that.

"Keep your hands where I can see 'em," I bark out, leveling my gun at him and cocking it.

"Krycek," he says darkly, lifting his hands but darting his glance around the room, scouting for weapons. Too bad for him that he doesn't take his gun into the shower with him. Maybe he will next time. It feels nice in my hand. Good, government-issue steel.

"Oh, you remember me," I answer, stepping in closer. "Well guess what, baldy," I sneer, leaning in. "I remember you, too." And I swing the gun briskly against the side of his head, driving him to his knees. He's not unconscious. I don't want that. But I think I've got his attention. "And we're not even yet," I add, plagiarizing him.

"What..." he gasps. "What do want, Krycek?" He still doesn't sound scared, but he's not getting up off the floor, either.

"You're fucking it up, Walter," I tell him, stepping back.

"What are you talking about?" he asks, lowering his hand away from the angry red mark on the side of his head.

"You're gonna get him killed, you stupid prick," I snarl, just the idea making me angrier.

"Mulder?" he asks, and I want to shoot him right then, because it's just so fucking obvious he wants him.

"You were given express orders to keep him *away* from the Gibson Praise case, Skinner," I say, leaning in, pointing the gun at his forehead. "And yet you went down there and handed it to him on a silver fucking platter."

His eyes narrow as he takes this in, and he doesn't argue.

"Did you think if you gave him his holy grail he'd be so grateful he'd fall down on his knees and suck your cock?" I say through gritted teeth. Oh no you don't, skinhead. If that trick works for anybody, it's gonna be me. "Well, all you're going to accomplish is getting his pretty head blown off, you stupid asshole."

"Mulder's in danger?" he asks, brows drawing down over serious, dark brown eyes.

"Of course he's in fucking danger!" I spit. I can't believe how Goddamned stupid Skinner can be. "You're supposed to keep him safe! Keep him away from things he's not supposed to be near!" Like you, I want to add. "But you don't have the balls to do what needs to be done." I readjust the grip on my gun. His gaze into my eyes hasn't faltered once. "I do."

"Is that a threat?" he says dangerously. "Are you threatening to hurt him, Alex?"

I glare at him. "You stupid fucker. I'm the one keeping him *alive!*"

He frowns at me, honestly confused, and I chuff out an unamused laugh. "You send him into danger, and I keep his ass alive, and he beats me up and calls you sir." I shake my head, trying to dislodge the impulse to pistol-whip this ineffectual son of a bitch. Then I smile and pull a set of handcuffs out of my jacket pocket. I brought them just for him. I throw them at him with my fake hand and he catches them just before they smash into his face.

"Fasten one of those to your wrist," I say, grinning delightedly. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and it's pretty fucking cold out there tonight. He sighs quietly and does it, kneeling in his towel, right wrist shackled. "Take the towel off," I order in a low voice. He narrows his eyes, looking into mine for a moment to see how serious I am, and to see if he has a chance of getting out of this. I rear back and crack him another one in the skull, being kind enough to make it the other side, and he gasps and falls sideways, holding his head. "Do it."

He unfastens the towel and lets it fall and I can't help but check him out. Like I said, he's got a damned nice body and I've always wondered about his package. It's quite nice, too, though it's completely soft so I can't tell how long it might be. Looks fat, though. I imagine it'll shrink even more when we get out on the balcony. I walk around behind him, shoving him in the back of the neck with my boot. "Get up," I tell him, and he struggles back up. "Now let's go out and get a look at that spectacular city view of yours," I tell him, grinning.

He doesn't say a word, just starts making his way out of the bedroom, then slowly down the stairs. I see him looking side to side furtively. "Try anything and I'll blow your nuts off," I tell him casually, and he straightens his back and keeps walking until we're at the door to his balcony.

"Open it," I say, gesturing to the latch, and he reaches forward, cuff dangling, and slides the door open. I'm wary of the billowing curtain as we step through it, not letting him use it to catch me unawares, and soon we're standing out in the cold, crisp, starry night together.

"Cuff yourself to the rail," I tell him, pointing at it with my gun. I'm surprised when he doesn't even make one attempt to plead for his clothes as the steam rises off his body, immediately turning to cold fog around him. I can't see my breath, but it's damned fucking cold out here. Soon he's securely cuffed and standing, trying not to shiver. He's doing a damned good job. Mind over matter, I suppose. I step over to him. "We're not quite even yet, though," I remind him, then before he can pull his brows down into a frown, I swing my gunhand into his gut as hard as I can, stepping back as he doubles over with a grunt, coughing.

"If Mulder gets hurt because you didn't have the balls to keep him away from this, I'll be back, Walt," I tell him, and he looks up at me, head lowered, holding his middle with his free arm. I take the handcuff key out of my pocket and place it on the small table about five feet away from him. Hey, I'm not a total monster. He'll figure out a way to get to it. I look up at him watching me set it down, and I give him a smile before I leave. "Think warm thoughts."

***

I've heard Diana hasn't made it into Mulder's bed, yet. Good for him. Good for Scully. But I also hear it's only a matter of time. I can't imagine why Scully hasn't made her move! All she'd have to do is wiggle that cute little ass of hers and he wouldn't think twice about fish-lips. He'd be all over that tiny little body of hers in a second. But she's not doing a damned thing, and he's getting hornier and hornier, what with Fowley practically wearing a sign that says, "Insert dick here!" around him.

It's not in my job description to stop him from sleeping with her, I just can't stomach the thought of it. And if it happened, I'd have to kill her, and that would probably really piss off the Brit. And the real pisser is, if Mulder would just believe me, I'd honestly be helping him. Warning him off someone who was just going to end up hurting him. But even if I let him knock all my teeth out and give me a concussion, he's *never* going to believe me when I tell him Fowley's a plant. So while it might be fun to try, time's wasting, and I need to get that whore away from him.

I do have one idea. There is someone who has as much reason to hate Fowley as I do, even though she doesn't know it, yet. And maybe once I convince Scully, she can convince Mulder.

I wait and watch until Fowley comes to relieve Scully on Gibson-watch, then I follow her home and watch her flick the lights on in her lonely, empty apartment. Well, empty except for me, that is, as I pick the lock a few moments behind her. I've never been a particularly lucky guy, but that lady's with me tonight as I walk in and find Dana Scully reaching behind her back to unhook her bra, back to the door.

"Need some help with that?"

She whirls around, clutching her chest with one hand, holding her unhooked bra loosely in place, frantically grabbing to the dresser beside her for her weapon. Whose trigger-guard I stroke, smiling. Her exclamation is all lost breath.

"Krycek!"

Her eyes dart side to side, and now she must be looking for something to cover herself with, but she dropped her blouse on the bed a few steps away. I level the gun at her chest, letting her know I'd rather she didn't move. I watch as she swallows and takes a deep breath, and the Scully-ice comes down over her features, hardening them. The only sign now of her discomfort is the slight tremble in the hand holding up her little white bra.

"What are you doing here?" she asks archly.

I admit, this is not what I had in mind. And my brain's still working to catch up with the other parts of my body which seem to have hi-jacked the majority of my blood supply. I smile some more. I can't help it. I mean, fuck, I'm only human.

"Well, Agent Scully, it appears what I'm doing is holding you at gunpoint in your underwear." I give a brief glance down to the skirt she's still wearing. "Well, topless, anyway."

"What do you want?" Her voice is clipped, angry. There's no sign of fear other than her still-slightly-shaking hand.

I chuckle lowly. "I don't think you really want to ask me that right this moment, Agent," I tell her, licking my lips. To my surprise and delight, she sighs in exasperation, not fear. The upper mounds of her small, soft breasts move with it. I sigh with her.

"What did you come here for?" she asks me a bit impatiently.

Ah, well that's another matter altogether. I wipe the grin off my face and step in, and I'm gratified when she shifts backward just a bit, obviously still nervous. "I'm here to talk to you about Diana Fowley."

Oh just watch those eyes light up now. That's the way, Scully. Protect your territory. Help me protect it.

"What do you know about her?" Her little brow is furrowed now with a frown, her blue eyes throwing sparks of curious anger. It's a good look on her. Better than her usual, annoying-as-all-fuck, show-me attitude.

"I know she's gonna get back into Mulder's pants if you don't do something about it." Her lips look even better parted like that. "But really, Scully, I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, am I?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says weakly, blushing like a virgin.

I take another step in, and now I can really smell her, the Scully-smell amplified by a long day at the office. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting my eyes settle in on hers. The bra covers the bottom two-thirds of her breasts, except for a few tantalizing glimpses of flesh here and there where it's falling away. Damn, it's hot in here. I shift a little, readjusting subtly.

"Don't tell me you don't know that Diana fucked Mulder, Scully. I'm not stupid and you're not, either."

"I know they were involved," she says tightly, blushing more and chewing the corner of her lip. God, that just makes me wanna fuck her. Focus, focus, focus...

"Involved," I say, my voice dropping into a breathless rasp. "Yeah, they were involved, Scully. That bitch spent a year and half in Mulder's bed. How does that make you feel, Scully? Thinking about Mulder pumpin' away between that whore's legs? Licking her pussy? Shoving his massive cock down her willing throat?"

"Stop it!" she cries, her chest heaving now, the blush having spread over all of her body that I can see.

"I asked you a question, Scully," I say, hardening my voice and raising my weapon a little in a gentle reminder of its presence. "How does that make you feel?"

"It's...none of my business! He's my partner!" she squeaks out breathlessly.

"So?" I chuckle. "He was my partner, too, and I wanted to fuck him."

Her perfect, moviestar lips drop wide open in a loose 'O' of shock that's just too fucking delicious *not* to want to push your dick into it. I lick my lips and shrug.

"You..." she chokes out, licking her lips over and over, making my cock extremely jealous. "You..."

I make it easy on her. "Wanted to fuck him, yeah," I answer. "May as well tell you now, since we're gonna have to work together on this."

"Work together on what?" she says, getting a little of her spitfire back.

"Keeping Mulder's dick out of Fowley."

"You've got a filthy mouth, Krycek," she says, raising her chin and trying to look down her nose while looking up at me. Doesn't really work, especially since she's taken off her shoes already and is about a foot shorter than me.

"What about you, Dana?" I ask, making my voice smooth and silky. "Is your mouth as dirty as it looks? Cuz it looks like a fucking blowjob waiting to happen."

The little, tiny whimper I get in response to that shoots straight into my balls.

"I think you like it when I talk dirty, Dana," I exclaim, truly surprised and delighted.

"Get the hell out of my bedroom, Krycek," she says, more breath than voice.

"Put your hands up, Dana," I tell her in a low growl. I watch her eyes widen in scared shock, and I watch her sumptuous lips firm in a tight, stubborn line. "Now." I watch her face as it flashes with emotions, first more shock, then fear, then anger, then more of that pink-skin-everywhere embarassment. Then she makes *my* mouth drop open as she pulls her hand away from her chest, letting the bra slide down her breasts and to the floor. She holds her hands up at shoulder height.

And frankly, I couldn't tell you now what look she has on her face, because I can't be bothered to check. Or care. Scully's naked breasts are about three feet in front of me, and I just had to swallow a whole mouthful of drool. Her nipples are hard and pointing at me in the cool of the room, the soft swells of flesh rising and falling with her rapid but controlled breaths.

"Jesus," I breathe. And then, when speech control returns somewhat, I can't help but add, "Does Mulder know what he's missing, here?" She doesn't answer, and after staring at her undulating breasts for...oh, I dunno, probably about five solid minutes, I finally look up at her face and gasp softly.

Her lower lip is trembling slightly, her eyes swimming with tears she hasn't yet let fall. Well, shit. I'm no rapist. I was just having some fun.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Scully," I say quietly.

She doesn't respond, just taking a deep breath and looking anywhere but me. And then I stop being so stupid, and realize this isn't about me.

"You want him. There's no shame in that," I tell her. "But what I don't understand is, why haven't you done something about it?"

"Oh God," she whispers, and she closes her eyes and releases the tears, and they trickle down her porcelain cheeks.

"Put your hands down," I tell her, blinking, understanding better than she might think. She lowers them slowly, pausing to wipe away a tear before letting them fall to her sides, her shoulders shaking silently. "He wants you, too, you know," I assure her. Fuck, it's more than I get! Then I start to get pissed off again, thinking of what she's throwing away. I frown, narrowing my eyes, letting the aim of the gun sway to the side slightly.

"It's not that," she whispers, shaking her head, then she lets it fall, bowed.

"What the fuck is it, then?"

"Why do you care?" she says, voice thick.

"Scully," I say incredulously. "You have him! If you want him, all you have to do is snap your fingers and he's yours! What the fuck are you waiting for?"

"I want more than that."

I blink. She wants more than Mulder. I...I don't think I get that. More than Mulder?? And I'm quiet long enough that she finally looks up, eyes shining with sadness. "If I slept with Mulder, it would just be sex, and I need more than that. I need more than he can give me, and I know it."

I know I'm gaping. I can't help it.

She sniffs and wipes her eyes with two careful fingers. "I couldn't do that to him. I don't want what he wants from life. I can't be that for him. And he doesn't want what I want. He can't be that for me. And I won't ruin what we have by giving in to some hormonal lust."

Well fuck me. So she wants him, but she doesn't want him? Well...hell, now what?

"Well," I say, gesturing helplessly with the gun. "We can't let Fowley get him!"

She laughs, wiping away the last of her tears. Then she actually smiles at me, shaking her head. Her smile is more beautiful than her naked breasts. Well, maybe. Ask me after she puts her clothes on.

"Fowley's a plant, Scully," I explain, then, feeling like it's only fair, "Put a shirt on."

She arches a brow, making me frown, then leans over to the bed and slips on her little short-sleeved, plain silk blouse. Braless. Jesus, I think that's worse. I really need to leave.

"What do you mean, a plant?" she asks, pulling down the shirt and straightening it. I see her nipples poke against the fabric from time to time as she breathes. I fucking can't think, dammit.

"I mean they brought her in, just like they brought me in," I say, trying hard to look *just* at her face. That's it. Focus, Alex. "Just like they brought *you* in."

"Don't include me in such distasteful company," she says, getting snotty.

"Oh, of course not," I reply snidely. "The squeaky-clean Saint Scully. I forgot. Your shit don't stink."

"You could have stayed clean, too," she says haughtily, hugging herself around her middle protectively.

Ha. Clean. That's a laugh. "You gotta *be* clean at some point in order to *stay* clean, Agent Scully."

"Well, don't blame me if you're too dirty to stand yourself," she retorts, giving me the superior look again. That just makes me want to knock her down and get her dirty. Really dirty. "Or too dirty for Mulder," she adds, looking damned fucking smug.

"Bitch!" I snarl, stepping forward, sticking the gun in her face. "What the fuck would you know about it? Maybe dirty is what Mulder fucking *needs*! You ever think of that, you pristine little ice-queen?"

She seems to consider that. Really consider it, her little, perfect brows drawing down in a little, perfect frown as she looks up at me. She doesn't seem to be afraid of me anymore, gun or not. Does she think that just because I want to shag her partner that I won't hurt her? Or that because she's cried in front of me that I'll have some misplaced sympathy for her, that we've bonded or some shit?

"You could be right," she says softly, then drops her head to stare at the floor.

Wha?

"What's Fowley's business?"

Huh?

"Krycek? What's she there to do, exactly? Spy on him? Make reports on him? Or is she going to hurt him?"

You could be right?

"Krycek!" Her impatient voice grabs my attention, and she's looking up at me now, just inches from my face, brows arched imperiously.

"I'm not sure," I admit. "I just know they sent her in. I know he shouldn't trust her."

"And you came here to...what? Convince me to sleep with Mulder so he wouldn't sleep with Fowley? That's your plan for keeping him out of her evil clutches?"

I chew my lip. It seemed like a pretty good idea at the time. Well, it didn't suck as badly as it seems to now, anyway. I shrug, stepping back and putting away the gun, which lost its power about two shocks ago.

"He won't listen to me," she says very, very quietly.

Join the club.

"He's more likely to listen to you than to me," I reply just as quietly.

"Why do you care, anyway?" she says, frowning and looking a little too deeply into my eyes for comfort. "Aren't you working for them, too?"

I blink and frown and try to formulate an answer.

"You're just jealous, aren't you?" she finally says, unwrapping her arms from around her middle, now obviously feeling quite secure with me. Must be losing my touch. I try to look dangerous, but she just pins me with a knowing look. "You don't want her to go in and mess with his head and possibly his body when you think you would do such a much better job. Is that it?"

Well, kinda...

"He's onto something big, Scully. Something that's going to get him hurt this time."

She frowns. "Go on."

"If he doesn't back off of this one, all bets are off. I don't know how far they'd go." I look at the floor, then steel my gaze and look back up at her.

"Is he on the right track?" she asks softly.

I sigh impatiently. "That's not the point. Just do what you can to get him to back off. And to keep him away from Fowley." I turn and walk out of the bedroom, and she follows me to the door. I'm stepping through it when she speaks.

"He has no idea, you know."

I look back at her over my shoulder and snort. Then I turn and walk out, swinging the door shut behind me.

***

I'm considerably cheered when I hear that someone took a shot at Fowley and didn't miss. Plus, Mulder's informant, the shooter, has been shot. I'm worried for Mulder's safety now, even though what the smoker's doing is cleaning things up a bit, I have to admit. But what the hell was the Brit thinking, letting that insane prick off his leash? Sometimes I really wish everybody would just shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down, and let me run things for a while.

I'm sound asleep when the call comes in, and I feign sleep as I hear the Brit's raspy voice in the silent of the bedroom.

"I see. This wasn't part of the plan. We're going to need him. Something like this could destroy him."

Oh fuck. Mulder. I keep my breathing as steady as possible, trying to learn as much as I can before I make my move.

"At least our problem has been taken care of," he continues calmly. Then, "Yes, I'll talk to you then. Good night." He hangs up the phone and sits back in the bed. "You don't fake sleeping any better than you fake sexual arousal, Alex," he tells me, and I open my eyes and sit up in bed quickly.

"Is he okay?"

"He is. His office, however, is not."

"What do you mean?" He's okay. He's okay. That's all that really matters here.

"It seems someone was careless with matches," says the Brit with an edge of irritation. "The X-files are no longer a problem for us."

I give him my stupid look.

"He set them on fire, Alex. He's burned the X-files to the ground. Fox Mulder's basement office is a smoldering heap of rubble."

"But he's okay?"

The shrewd, calculating look I get from the Brit does absolutely nothing to make me feel better and does everything to make me wanna crawl under the covers and pull them over my head.

"He is, of course, rather upset, but he was not in the office when it burned."

I control the sigh of relief, my eyes closing. If that smoking fuck had hurt him...no one could stop me from wringing his miserable life from his fucking neck. But he didn't. Mulder's okay.

"It might be wise to keep an eye on him," my boss continues, and I frown, opening my eyes. "It's good to know how he's taking it. He's liable to be in a very vulnerable state. Why don't you go, Alex, and report back to us when you have something to share in that regard."

He's letting me go to him. No, he's *telling* me to go to him. What the *fuck* is going on here?

"Don't fool yourself into thinking that this is anything but my attempt to feed your weakness, Alex. If I know your vulnerabilities, I control you, don't I." He doesn't make it a question, and we both know it needs no answer. "In mental hospitals, they sometimes facilitate cigarette addiction in the patients so they'll have something to manipulate them with."

I swallow thickly.

"Now go and do what you must, Alex, and then return to me for your next assignment. I can trust you not to do anything foolish, can't I?"

"Yes, sir," I rasp out, wondering when the axe is going to fall on me for this one.

He nods, and I slip out of the bed, looking back at him as I get into my clothes, giving him a last look as I walk out the door and into the night, headed to his apartment.

I am so fucked.

I wait and watch with a set of hi-power binoculars from the street. I see his legs, stretched out on the couch, and I see her, passing in front of the window, carrying everything from pillows to tea to food to aspirin. And finally, after four hours of this, just as the dark is giving way to the watery-purple light of dawn, I watch her walk down the steps of his building, hurrying to her car. I wait until she reaches it, feeling a very odd sense that maybe it's not just because I want to make sure she's gone. Stupid, stupid, Krycek. Get your mind where it belongs.

Or rather, where it really doesn't, but where you can't help but let it go.

Back to him. I watch a little longer, figuring I've got my answer. If Scully thinks he's in good enough shape to leave him alone, I should get out of here, too. I watch him stand, and my breath catches in my throat as I get a full view of his long body, then he plods slowly to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Then I wait. And I wait. And I wait some more. Then, when twenty minutes have ticked by, I grit my teeth and lower the binoculars. Fuck. He's been in that bathroom longer than it takes any respectable guy to take a piss, a shit, or even a really long shower. Jesus, Mulder, don't you dare be so fucking stupid. Don't you *dare*. What the fuck have they done?

I steal up the stairs quickly, before the earlybirds are opening their doors, and I stop in front of his, quickly pulling out my lockpick. I make short work of his lock, then push his door open quietly, closing it softly behind me. There is no sound in his apartment. Not the sound of the faucet, not the sound of the shower, not even the television is on. I swallow a hard lump in my throat and take four quick strides to the bathroom door. Then I stop. Should I knock? Or just try to open it? What the fuck is he gonna think about Alex Krycek showing up outside his bathroom and knocking on the fucking door?

Guess I'm about to find out. I raise my sweaty, tight fist and knock. Maybe he'll think it's Scully and just tell me to come in. He doesn't. He doesn't say anything. I try to disguise my voice, making it higher, and speaking very, very quietly.

"Mulder?"

Nothing. Okay, that's it. I reach for the knob and make my face and my mind blank, ready for anything I might see. I push the door open quickly, then stop, hand frozen on the knob.

The room is dark. Mulder's sitting in the bathtub. But he isn't wet. And he's fully clothed, chin to his chest, hands over his face. I rush forward, falling to one knee, reaching out to the unmoving body.

"Mulder?" I don't bother disguising my voice, or trying to keep the choking sound out of it as I put my hand on his still shoulder and shake it. His body is warm, and I watch as his closed eyes open sluggishly, then blink as his brows draw down in a frown. I quickly scan his wrists, then the rest of his body, for any signs of blood, and seeing none, quickly scoot backward, standing up.

He doesn't put his hands down, just turning his head slightly to look up at me from behind them. Then he turns forward again, closing his eyes and letting his chin fall to his chest, long, beautiful fingers covering his face. Not the response I was expecting. I blink, staring down at him. This isn't exactly my area, getting people out of shock. I either put them in it or...Jesus, I've been there. Remembering, I grab my left shoulder, eyes narrowing in ghostly pain and helplessness. I remember waking up, shaking uncontrollably, burning up with fever, delirious, and in so much pain all I wanted was to die. I looked everywhere for something to end it with, but they kept me from it. They nursed my wound with folk medicine and vodka until I was strong enough to sneak away in the night.

I think I forgot about wanting to die only because I had to focus on getting away first. By then, the old survival instinct had kicked in and I was back in form, getting medical help and getting back in the game.

What will put you back in the game, Mulder?

He's still not looking up at me, face buried in his hands.

"Mulder?" I rasp, eyes squinting. This isn't good. I could raise my gun and blow him away and he wouldn't even look up to see who it was. Thank God it's me and I'd never do that. I've gotta get through to him somehow. Suddenly it's become as imperative as it was to get away from the peasants, a priority one goal, putting all others in the dark. I step forward, giving his shoulder a sharp shove. "Snap out of it, asshole," I say breathlessly, hoping anger will break the spell.

"Go 'way," he says quietly.

"I'm not fucking going away!" I growl, giving him another shove, which gets me only the result of him shifting a little, sliding down further into the tub. "Damn it, Mulder! Get out of that fucking tub and fight this like a man!" I know I sound inane, but I'm starting to shake, and if he doesn't start yelling at me and hitting me soon, I think I'm just going to break down.

"I killed your father, Mulder!" I yell desperately, throat closing with fear. "Did you hear me? I fucking shot him in the head in his own Goddamned bathroom! Do you want me to do the same to you?" I sound hysterical now, I know it, but I *have* to get him out of that tub. Priority One.

He makes a sound into his hands, and it takes me one heart-stopping moment to realize it's a pained laugh. I hold my breath and wait for what he has to say.

"If that's what you came for, stop pissing around and do it," he says thickly.

He's talking! That's got to be good, right? But dammit, where's that survival drive, that fight or...fight instinct he has around me? "Fuck!" I spit, pacing the small room. "That's *not* what I came for, you stupid prick! I don't wanna kill you!" Careful, Krycek...dangerous ground...warning lights going off...

"Then fuck you," Mulder says into his hands. "Get out."

"Fuck me?" I say, standing over him. "Mulder, fuck you!" I say, hand shaking as it curls into a fist. I've *never* wanted to hit him, but I want to, now, just to get him up out of that fucking TUB! I reach down and grab him by the front of his shirt, adrenaline enabling me to lift him several feet up out of the tub. "Get up out of that fucking tub and face me, damn it!" I yell into his face, and I'm thrilled to watch his hands fall away, his wet, red eyes fluttering in surprise as he's wrenched up and shaken. Fuck, I wish I had two hands to do this.

"What's your fucking problem, Krycek?" he finally scowls, a flicker of the old light coming into his tired eyes as he reaches up and grabs my arm, feet scrabbling on the porcelain. God, yeah, hate me again, Mulder. Hate me again. Just makes me wanna kiss him, and I realize that he's just inches away, frowning and blinking and dazed and hurting and...I throw him back down into the tub, stepping away, fist going to my mouth as if to block my lips from making their attack.

"Ow," he complains, impacting the porcelain with elbows and ass, his head smacking back against the tile wall. "Fuck," he says, putting his hands on the sides of the tub, levering himself up. Yes. I step away, back against the bathroom door, and watch him climb out, hissing as his hands press against the porcelain. As he raises them, standing, I see he's left slight blood smears against the stark white. Burns, no doubt, from trying to sift through the wreckage of his office. I lower my hand from my mouth, not wanting him to see the loss of control in that gesture, and watch him straighten up, glaring at me. "What the *fuck* are you doing in my bathroom, Krycek?" he says evenly.

I have no answer for that. I swallow and lick my lips, thinking frantically, picking and discarding lies, heart pounding. Fuck, none of them work! There is no fucking reason why I should be here, except for the truth! My hand starts to shake again, my eyes darting around, seeking escape from his penetrating stare.

"Come here to gloat?" he asks, narrowing his eyes. "To see me finally broken? Destroyed? Is this how you get your kicks, Krycek? Watching me hurt?"

I narrow my own eyes, blinking rapidly. Would that lie work? At what cost?

"Take a look, then," he finally says, pushing past me and opening the bathroom door, letting it push me to the side. My mouth drops open as I stagger sideways. He leaves the bathroom, and after I shut my mouth and blink off the paralysis, I step out behind him, having no fucking *clue* what I'm gonna do next. I watch as he goes to his couch, sinking down into it, covering his face again with his hands. Then he sighs and turns, curling up and lying down, facing the back. Turning his back on *me*. I stand in the middle of his living room staring at it. It's when I notice his shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly that I feel something shatter inside me, my heart clenching painfully in my chest.

He's crying. No, he can't. He can't cry. He just can't cry. In front of me? I just confessed to killing his father, and after all that I've done to him...to cry in front of me? I'm afraid I'm going to throw up. I need to leave, to get away from all of this terrifying emotion, but I can't...I physically can't walk away from him when he's like this. My hand curls into a painfully tight fist at my side and I walk over to him, watching my own vision haze over, feeling my throat close, my chest so tight it scares me.

I never had to actually see it before, his pain. I knew I was causing it. In theory, I knew what it would do to him when he found out I'd been lying...that I'd killed his father...been instrumental in the abduction of his partner...in his partner's sister's death and his partner's attempted murder...when he saw me betray him to the camp commander, letting them use him in their crude experiments...

But I'd never watched him cry. I'd never stopped to see the results of the pain I'd inflicted. I just skulked away into the shadows, trusting in his strength and his determination to see him through, just grateful that no one had yet ordered me to kill him. Because I never would. I never could. And everything I'd ever done had been for his own good, though he'd never know that. Even this, the destruction of his office, was a last-ditch attempt to get him to back off from something that was far too dangerous and liable to get him killed. It's for your own good, Mulder, I wanted to say. All of it. All of it, Mulder. If only you could understand that, then you wouldn't be so...hurt.

I lower myself, trembling, to my knees beside the couch, pushing the coffee table away to give myself room. I don't know what I'm going to do or say, only that I have to make him stop crying. Stop hurting so badly. God, Mulder, hurt *me*! I deserve it! I want it! Fuck, sometimes I get off on it! But please, dear God, don't hurt in front of me.

"Was it you?" he croaks out into the leather.

If I say yes, will you hurt me instead of hurting yourself? It's almost enough to make me open my mouth and tell him yes, then I realize with a jolt that I *can't* take responsibility for giving him this pain. Maybe...I can't be responsible for *ever* hurting him again after watching him cry like this. The thought leaves me breathless and scared.

"No," I whisper, knowing he won't believe it.

"Why?" he whispers, his breath hitching. "Why is it always you? Why do you want to hurt me?"

I'm leaning forward, hand reaching for him without any conscious decision on my part. We both jerk as my hand comes down gently on his shoulder and I feel his body tense beneath me. "I don't," I say breathlessly, voice cracking. "I don't want to hurt you, Mulder. I don't." And it's so fucking true that I feel the tears start in earnest now, running down my face silently. I don't want to hurt him. I never have. He's the only person I've ever given one flying shit about. Life's a fucking bitch sometimes.

His sobs become audible as he lets go, his shoulders shaking convulsively under my hand now. "Everything was in there," he chokes out between sobs, and I begin moving my hand in awkward circles on his shoulder, knowing nothing about how to give comfort. "Everything I've done with my life...everything that *is* my life...everything I am," he finishes softly, sniffing.

I can feel the heat of his body warming my belly where it's trying very hard not to press into his heaving back, my hand clutching and releasing on the muscle of his shoulder, trying to give solace instead of take what I can hardly stand to have so close to me.

"It's not everything you are," I whisper, my voice like broken glass. "Not even fucking close, Mulder. It was just a bunch of fucking papers, that's all. It wasn't you." It wasn't you, I repeat to myself, pushing away the debilitating image of him actually being there when the office was burned...burning with it. I close my eyes against it, swallowing back a sob painfully. It's all over, I know it now. There's no going back after this. This is where it ends. I swallow again, gripping his shoulder firmly.

"Why are you here?" he asks with a voice nearly as raspy as my own. "What do you want from me?"

Oh, God, Mulder, don't ask me that when I've got my hand on you, my belly just an inch from touching your back, hips pressed firm against the leather of your couch. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, staving off the overwhelming need, my cock instantly painfully hard. "To know you're okay," I finally whisper, not opening my eyes.

They bolt open as he shifts under my hand, his back lifting and bumping into me for an instant before I fall back, jerking my hand away as he turns and sits down, letting out a trembling sigh. "I'm not," he whispers, staring down at his hands on his knees. "But why do you care?" he asks, looking up at me from under tear-soaked lashes.

I'm sitting back on my heels, hand at my side, mouth open as he pins me with his exhausted, devastated stare.

"I-I never...nothing I ever did...was because I didn't care," I finish lamely, heart pounding at what I'm trying hard not to let myself think. Or say.

"You lied to me," he accuses, eyes narrowing.

"Mulder...I didn't...I had no choice," I say helplessly, fist opening and closing where it hangs at my side.

"Don't give me that!" he says, his own hands curling into claws on his knees. "We all have a choice! You could have told me the truth!"

"Ha," I laugh, feeling my eyes fill up again at the thought of having made such a huge decision all those years ago. "And what would you have done, Mulder? Welcome me into your life with open arms?" I drop my eyes to the side of him, instantly terrified at what I've revealed by my emotional outburst.

"I trusted you," he says, his voice thick but gaining strength. "I wanted to like you." I look up at him, eyes wide. "I *did* like you," he says, never looking away. "Once."

I look away again. Because I'd known that. I'd known that I'd gained this man's hardwon trust, and I'd known that my betrayal would be a hard wound for him to recover from. But God...would he have welcomed me in? Would he have heard my story and helped me get out while I still had the chance? I hunch forward, nearly doubling over with the pain of 'what if'.

"Why did you kill my father, Alex?" he asks quietly, wounding me so badly with the intimate use of my first name that I fall forward further still, my hand clutching my belly protectively. Not Alex. Call me Krycek, Mulder, or I won't be able to *be* Krycek any longer. My world spins out of my control.

"I...had to," I whisper, feeling dizzy and sick. "It was my job, and..."

He doesn't let me finish. "Your job?" he yells, standing up suddenly. I just open my eyes, staring at his feet. They're bare. I hadn't noticed. "Is that what I am, just another job? Get the fuck out of my apartment, Krycek!" He lands a good kick in my unprotected side, but it would have been better if he'd had shoes on. I let my breath out in a relieved gasp of pain. This I can handle. This I know. Hurt me, Mulder. Make your hurt go away. Give it to me.

"You hear me?" he yells, shoving hard with his foot, knocking me over onto my side where I just curl in slightly, not so much to protect myself as to hide. "Just get the fuck out of here and do your fucking job some more!" He kicks me again, harder this time, and it must be hurting his foot to do that, the blows leaving me breathless and aching on his floor. Then he falls to his knees and begins punching me, crying again. "There must be something more you can take from me!" he sobs, driving his fists into me over and over. I gasp and jerk and try to take as much as I can without rolling away. Suddenly he falls over me, clutching at me with clawed hands, scratching me through the cotton of my shirt as he rakes up my back under my jacket, his body heavy over mine. "Why don't you just kill me?" he sobs into my jacket, now clutching it in both hands, draped over my side. "Get it over with!"

Without thinking about the potential results of my actions, I roll over onto my back, only wanting to unfold my body and possibly give him comfort. What happens is that his face is now in my belly instead of my back. I gasp and arch into him mindlessly, head thudding back against the floor. He chokes out a sardonic laugh against my lower abdomen, pulling himself up over me. "You wanna fuck me, is that it?" he asks tiredly. "Want me to suck your cock?"

I can't help it. I let out the smallest, most pathetic whimper, squeezing my eyes shut as my cock throbs and tries to push its way out of my pants and up to meet him. Oh God, it *hurts*.

"Is this just another trick?" he asks, still sounding more exhausted than curious. "Fuck me when I'm down, then walk out, laughing?"

I frown, breathing heavily, then cautiously open my eyes, looking over to where he's staring down at me, sitting back on his heels, eyes so red and swollen it looks like he's been in contact with a wounded bounty hunter.

"S'no trick," I gasp, trying to sit up, a myriad of new pains making it a slow and careful process. I pull myself up until I'm sitting in front of him, leaning sideways on my fake arm, breathing heavily. I stare at the floor between us, completely unable to meet his eyes.

"You really want me?" he whispers.

I let out my breath. God, the want is so bad that I don't think I can even put words to it. How can I just talk about something like this? Put words to something so deep and painful and all-consuming?

"Yes," I whisper back, breath hitching. Then it catches as out of the corner of my eye, I see his hands take hold of the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it off over his head. I look up quickly to see him kneeling up, fumbling with the buttons on his jeans, pushing them down, along with his briefs, letting his long, hard cock bob free. I gasp and stare at it, at him, as he sits down on the floor and finishes removing his jeans, tossing them to the side. When he's breathtakingly, terrifyingly, stunningly naked, he gets to his feet and walks away from me, going through a door into what I presume must be his bedroom. After a moment of shocked inaction, I scramble to my own feet, ignoring the pain of my new scrapes and bruises. I hurry into his bedroom, pushing my jacket off my shoulders. I find him spread out on his bed, face down on his stomach, legs spread. Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ.

"Go ahead," he says dispassionately. "Fuck me."

I gasp, my cock throbbing against the fly of my jeans even as my heart clenches at the lack of feeling in his voice. I swallow and reach down with a very shaky hand, pulling my henley up over my head and down my prosthetic, adjusting the straps for comfort before reaching for my fly, gasping again as my straining cock is bruised by my frantic efforts to get my jeans open and down. Using my fake hand and real to push them down, I step out of them and my underwear, carefully regaining my balance and taking a steadying breath as I stand back up, next to Mulder's bed.

God, he's fucking unbelievable. Long and lean and strong and gorgeous. And perfect. Unmarred. Both arms and both legs intact and spread wide, making his body as vulnerable to me as he can. Jesus, his ass. Hard and narrow and round and perfect. I moan as my cock jerks toward him impatiently.

But I don't just want to fuck him. I know that now, if I've ever fooled myself into thinking otherwise before. I don't even know if I'm sure what the damned word means, but if it's in me to do so, I think...I love this man.

"Mulder," I whisper, the word sacred on my tongue like an incantation or the invocation of a deity. "God, Mulder." Not too far from the truth, really, I realize, as I crawl onto the bed with him, kneeling at his side. He's facing away from me, his eyes shut tight, ribs expanding and contracting with his nervous breathing. I'm afraid to touch him, now that I have permission. It's all I think about and all I've ever really wanted, and now that I'm being given it, I just don't know how to give myself permission to take it.

"Just do it," he whispers against the comforter. "It's what you want. Just take it."

I don't want to just take, though. I want to give. I want to see the pain on his face replaced by a joy that, even if it's fleeting and misplaced, is put there by me, by something I've done. I balance myself carefully on my real and fake arms and lean forward, licking my lips. I press them to the hot, salty skin of his back softly, and it twitches against my mouth, tensing as I kiss it. I bring my hand up, sighing, and stroke his shoulder as I continue to place soft, reverent kisses all over his back, breathing in his scent, getting high on it.

"MMmmMulder," I murmur against his back. And it's a term of endearment more precious than any other, no other being more worthy.

"What are you doing?" he says in a choked whisper, pressing into the sheet. "Just do it, Krycek. Just get it over with. Hurt me and make me forget."

I let out my breath in a pained gasp. "I don't wanna hurt you, Mulder," I say against his back. I feel him shiver, and I smile against him, proud. "I'm not gonna hurt you anymore," I whisper, moving down his back, lips hungry to taste every inch of skin.

"Don't say that," he whispers back, turning his face down into the bed.

"I mean it," I say, no longer whispering. "I wanna take away the hurt, Mulder. Let me take away the hurt, okay?" I bend and place a kiss on the nearest buttcheek, and it jerks against my lips, clenching. "Can I suck your cock, Mulder?" I say against it, the oft-repeated, but only in my head, words nearly getting caught in my throat. I'm drooling already.

He gasps and starts to turn over, and I sit back up, giving him room. He turns over onto his back, throwing his arm up over his eyes. There is no dark to hide in now, the early-morning sun flooding the room with watery light. I understand his wanting to hide. I want to give him that. I climb over his legs carefully, kneeling between them.

I run my hand up his hip, feeling his abdomen contract at my touch, muscles jumping. I let out a shuddering sigh and lay my head on his thigh, turning my face in and inhaling deeply of his scent. I feel him jerk and realize that I've made a claw of my hand and scratched him slightly in my excitement.

"Sorry..." I murmur, breathing hot, moist air over his balls, then lifting my head to check his face. It's still covered, his one arm thrown over his eyes, the other clutching the blanket at his side. I bend over his cock, hard and swaying slightly just beneath my mouth. I let out a fast, hot breath, letting it wash over the head. It's not that I want to tease him. I just don't want this to be over with. And I'm still not sure I can do this. Let myself do this. A slight, frustrated lift of his hips makes my decision for me, bumping his cockhead against my lips. I gasp and close my eyes, licking away the slight trace of moisture he's left there. Drool collects under my tongue, and with a hungry groan, I open my mouth and close it over his swollen crown.

"Uhn!" It's an aborted cry, immediately stifled, but it harmonizes with my own satisfied moan against his silken flesh.

God, it's so warm and so velvety and so hard, and there's a slight salty tang over the warm, heavy, dark taste of *him*. "Mmmmmm..." I growl against him, sucking and slurping at him sloppily with my tongue, forgetting my usual finesse in the face of such amazing bounty. I just *want* it. Wanna eat it. Wanna lick and suck and swallow and *devour* it.

He's trying not to make any noise, choking, short sounds coming from deep in his throat and getting caught there behind his closed lips. But his hips are lifting, driving him further into my mouth, which widens to receive him, tongue working frantically to slick the way, drool running down to the base of his shaft. I vaguely realize I sound like an animal, grunting and growling and humming constantly as I consume my feast. I don't use my hand to tease and caress, like I usually do, but to steady me so that I can selfishly pay complete attention to what he feels like in my mouth, filling me, sliding in and out, hips trying not to thrust and failing.

I relax my throat, loosening my jaw, feeling the tip of his dick nudge against the back of my throat. He's big...bigger than I've had in my mouth in a long time, really, and I don't like to do deep throat unless I have to, but there's no one I'd rather have bruising me, tearing me, filling me up painfully from the inside. I force myself down on him, roughly and quickly working my way all the way down his cock, eyes squeezed shut as it batters its way through tight, aching flesh. I struggle to breathe through my nose as he goes impossibly deep, but he's groaning now, even sobbing, mouth forced open on his pleasure. I sigh proudly, sliding my straining throat up and down his length, moving my tongue as much as the limited control will allow.

Jesus, the pain and the pleasure of having him is almost enough to bring me off. Tears of exertion and pain and emotion are squeezing out of my tightly-closed eyes, tickling as they drip down my cheeks.

He's making noises. "Nnuh...Ahhh..." He's getting close now, his voice rising as his hips jerk, jabbing his cock into me quickly, roughly. I moan encouragement and slide my hand up his body jerkily, finding a nipple and feeling my own body shudder along with his as I begin to pinch and tug on it frantically as I fuck him with my throat.

"Ahh! Ahhhhhh!" His body raises up off the bed, frozen in a hard arc as he suddenly comes, and I struggle to pull back enough to feel it in my mouth, taste it on my tongue, rather than missing it as it's pumped into my throat. As I slide back on his shaft, he bucks, stabbing sloppily into my slurping mouth. He fills me, his urgent, stabbing thrusts gagging me as they ram into my bruised throat again and again. I struggle to keep my mouth on him and swallow his cum, wanting it to go on forever.

My dick is screaming, throbbing, even pulsing, *this* close to coming where it's pressed between my belly and my thighs. I will it not to, and somehow keep it from happening, riding Mulder's hips as he rides the wave of his orgasm gasping and writhing on the bed beneath me. When he finally stops moving, lowering his body to the bed with a long, hard, shuddering sigh, I slowly, carefully pull my mouth off his cock. I want to keep licking and sucking, but he's so sensitive now that it would only bring him pain. I pant, leaning over him, licking my lips clean of him. I start to catch my breath, swallowing carefully, then notice that his chest is rising and falling erratically, jerking.

I lift my head, frowning, blinking and clearing my throat. His arm is still up over his eyes, and his whole body is starting to shake the bed.

No. God, no. He's crying again.

No no no no no! I gasp and kneel there stupidly, looking down at him as he he bites his lip, his cheeks wet, tears running down the sides of his face into his hair. I can't just kneel here and watch him cry, for Christ's sake, but what do I do?

"M-Mulder?" I croak out through my abused throat. I reach my hand out but don't touch him, just leaving it hovering there over his jerking abdomen. He starts to turn on the bed, and I quickly get out of his way, climbing over his leg to place myself on the side of the bed he's facing. I watch as he draws himself up into a tight fetal position, both hands covering his face now. It hurts me in a way that even getting my arm cut off couldn't touch. I choke back my own tears, swallowing again and again painfully, trying to stay clear.

What does he want? What does he need? I just want to give that to him! I just want to know what it is so I can give that to him! I clear my throat, my voice so thick it's almost impossible to make out. "Mulder? Mulder, what do you want?"

He just curls in tighter, crying harder, and finally I slide off the bed and stand there, brow creased, tears now running unchecked down my face. They trickle into the corners of my mouth and I lick them away, tasting their salt blending with his as his image blurs to a wash of dark and light. Stupidly, I finally realize he doesn't want me here...standing over him, watching him break. He never did. He told me to leave, and I didn't. I will, now.

I step away, picking up my clothes and slowly putting my body into them, sniffing and wiping my eyes and nose as I work, not bothering to hide it. His quiet, choked, embarassed sobs fill the room, muffled behind his hands and in the bed as he turns his face into it. I slip back into my jacket and run a badly shaking hand through my hair.

"I'll go," I rasp out, clearing my throat again. "I'm going. Whatever you want, Mulder. But if you decide you need something...anything..." I trail off. What, am I working for him, now? Jesus, I need to get out of here. Everything's changed. Everything. I sigh and look down at him one last time. "Thank you," I whisper, too quietly for him to have heard. But I needed to say it. He doesn't respond, of course, and I turn and start to make my way through the apartment, stepping through the swaths of sunlight cutting across his floor.

At least I got him out of the fucking tub.

END