Title:  With Or Without Him

Date: September 17, 2002

Pairing: M/K

Rating: NC-17

Cover by:   Marcia Elena

Archive: If it's posted to your list, it's yours.  If not, just ask.

Feedback: If this story touches you, I'd really like to know. Send it here.

Spoilers: All right, here's where I play Goddess. In my world, it's after The Red and The Black, but the events of Gethsemane are taking place. In other words, Scully has just told Mulder that They gave her the cancer to make him believe the lie, and Krycek has already made one famous, lipsmacking trip to Mulder's apartment. So far so good?

Disclaimers: Though I may be playing Goddess, I will begrudgingly admit I didn't come up with these characters or most of this plot on my own. But hey...the juicy parts are alllll mine.

Summary: See the spoilers. We begin the scene with Mulder grief-stricken and contemplating the worst.

Beta thanks: Jami, luv, you're a true friend and the most fantabulous beta a chick could ever beg for. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your kind, passionate, loving attention to this story. You will truly never know what it means to me.

---

His thumb slid slowly, sensuously over the warm gunmetal. Up, back, forward, then his forefinger slid down to the tip of the trigger experimentally before sliding back up and taking its original place, pressed in firmly.

The barrel wasn't to his head. At the moment, it lay across his knee, which was raised, his feet resting on his coffee table, bouncing just slightly, as if with impatience. But he wasn't impatient. He was...indecisive. He couldn't decide if the end of his pain was worth what he knew his demise would cause his partner.

He knew she would be the only one hurt. The only one to really mourn him. And he felt terribly guilty that her devotion, her love didn't seem to be enough. Sometimes it was. But sometimes, like now, when he'd just been told by her very own lips that her cancer was someone's idea of a good way to convince him of the veracity of a government conspiracy, her love became more of a burden than a blessing. Because it only added to his unbearable load of guilt, now. Cliche or not, the truth rverberated over and over through his grief-stupid head. She was better off without him.

Better off without him.

Better off without him.

...

"Where's the most recent tape?" Krycek pursed his lips, sighing shortly. He tried not to give away how anxious he was to see it, attempting to cloak his excitement behind irritated impatience. The lackey grunted around a Krispy Kreme donut and pointed to an unlabeled black VHS cassette sitting on the table in front of him. Krycek narrowed his eyes and picked up the tape. "Anything going on I should know about?"  He flicked unconcerned eyes to the tiny black and white screen, not really taking in the small, grainy image, focusing back in on the grunt who was just swallowing his immense bite of custard-filled pastry.

"Oh, well, uh...sorta..."

Krycek's eyes narrowed dangerously as he immediately picked up on the man's attempt to hide something from him. He looked back at the screen, turning it to face him, and bent in, examining the image closely. He swore and turned the volume up on the sound.

"Is that...does he have his gun out?" Krycek peered more closely, alarm making his voice more breathy, more dangerous.

"Uh yeah, I think so," said the surveillance man quietly.

Krycek turned and stared ice straight through the man. "What the fuck is he doing with his gun, Miller?"

"Oh...I guess...well, it kinda looks like he might actually be...gonna maybe...blow his brains out, I guess." The man blinked and swallowed, squeezing the scrap of donut in his hand, squirting custard out over his fingers. He didn't notice.

"And why the fuck wasn't I told this?" Krycek said slowly, quietly.

The other man swallowed hard. "We're under orders not to interfere. They kinda...they kinda said to go ahead and let him do it."

Krycek breathed slowly, trying hard to control his murderous impulses. He found that a fruitless endeavor with the lackey's response to his next words.

"Get the fuck out of here. I don't care what you tell them or where you go, just get out of my sight." Krycek lowered his face to within a foot of the other man's.

"I-I can't! They'll...they'll kill me! Saving him is no longer part of the overall plan!"

Krycek smiled, and for one stupid moment, the other man let himself start to sigh with relief. Then he caught sight of the Magnum as Krycek brought it up to his head. The breath caught in his throat, turning into a slight hiccup completely overshadowed by the un silencer-softened report of one close-range shot to the temple.

"Oh, didn't they tell you, Miller?" Krycek said, tucking the weapon back into his waistband, staring at the tiny gray image of Mulder fingering his own gun, the little screen now spattered with a spray of blood. "There's been a change of plans."

...

Mulder jerked, his head coming up at the sound of a shot being fired directly overhead. He shot up off the cushions, gripping his fully-loaded weapon, and sprinted to the door. He was a lot more than surprised when it came crashing inward, bashing him in the face. He fell back on his ass, his face an explosion of pain, his nose bleeding profusely. He tried to shake it off and scramble to his feet, but before he could, he found himself pinned, his right wrist being pressed relentlessly against the wood floor, loosening his grip on his Sig.

"What the hell? Krycek?"

His nemesis didn't say anything, eyes throwing cold sparks, lips a thin line as he applied more pressure to Mulder's hand. Mulder gasped, throwing his head back as the pain became too much to bear any longer and his hand opened, the gun clattering hollowly to the floor. Krycek sighed softly and batted the gun away with his hand. The sound of plastic impacting on metal startled Mulder into turning his head to check the source of the noise. He blinked the tears of pain out of his eyes and they widened.

"Wha-?"

"You selfish son of a bitch. What the hell do you think gives you the right?" Krycek leaned down low into Mulder's face, ignoring Mulder's attempts to look sideways at the fake hand, ignoring the blood streaming down over Mulder's upper lip and over his cheek to drip onto the floor. He squinted and brought his real, black leather-covered hand up to Mulder's face, his thumb brushing tenderly at the tear tracks on his cheek.

"Fuck you, Krycek!" Mulder spat, regaining enough of his senses to fall back into his usual repartee. He began to struggle against the man straddling him, curling his right hand into a fist and driving it into Krycek's side, only to be blocked with a very solid length of hard plastic.

"My physical therapist would be so proud," Krycek murmured, watching Mulder shake his probably-broken knuckles. Mulder's left hand came up and gripped Krycek's throat, thumb pressing in painfully. Krycek choked and leaned back, his hand coming up off Mulder's face to grip his wrist, squeezing the small bones there in a crushing grip.

"Don't...make...me...hurt...you," he ground out through gritted teeth, trying to dislodge Mulder's hand without knocking him in the head with the prosthetic. But Mulder seemed to be playing for keeps, bringing his other hand up around Krycek's throat, broken-knuckles-be-damned, and as the stars began taking over Krycek's field of vision, he swung the side of his fake arm into the side of Mulder's head, he hoped just hard enough to knock him into submission, rather than out of consciousness. The hands on his throat weakened and he wrenched himself out of the failing grip, taking both of Mulder's wrists in his own and pulling them up over Mulder's head, leaning over the gasping face.

"Knock it off, Mulder. This isn't what I came for."

Mulder spit a mouthful of blood in his face and he scowled, wiping it on the shoulder of his leather jacket.

"If you came for my head on a plate, Krycek, you shoulda given me a few more minutes. I coulda gift wrapped it for ya." Mulder sniffed blood back up his nose and this time spat it to the side, evidently tired of acting like a juvenile. "Oh, but this way's a lot more fun, though, huh?" he taunted, bucking under Krycek's hold, struggling in his grip more for effect than anything. "Spill a little a blood first? Break a few bones?"

Krycek glared. "If your hand is broken, Mulder, it's because it tried to impact with my kidneys and instead made acquaintance with my replacement limb. As for your bloody nose, surely you don't think I smacked you in the face with your own door on purpose?"

"Wouldn't put it past ya," Mulder sneered in a voice that revealed that even he had to admit it had all happened too fast to be intentional.

"'Course you wouldn't," Krycek muttered, blinking as he tried to ignore his desire to wipe the blood from Mulder's face.

Mulder's body relaxed fractionally under Krycek's. "So if you didn't come here to break my nose and my hand, what the hell are you here for?" he asked reluctantly.

...

Krycek took a deep breath, studying the blood-smeared face under him. He hated the way the red marred those features, weakened that cold stare that attempted to cut right through him. What the hell was he here for? Well, to stop Mulder from blowing his own head off, basically, but would it really work to just tell Mulder that?

"C'mon," Mulder goaded. "Think up a good one and do it fast. My hand and my nose are killing me and I'm gonna start choking on my own blood in a second."

"If I let you up, can we agree you won't act like such an asshole?" Krycek replied, ignoring the thorny question for the time being.

"Sure, what've I got to lose?" Mulder said, awkwardly shrugging his stretched shoulders.

Krycek leaned back on his prosthetic arm, putting his weight on it, taking his hand from Mulder's wrists slowly, breath held, ready to jump into action again at the earliest provocation. Mulder just hissed in pain as he brought his damaged hand down in front of his chest, cradling it in his good one. Krycek narrowed his eyes, studying Mulder's face and body for intent once again, then slowly got up off him.

Mulder rolled to the side slowly, pushing himself off the floor with his good hand. Krycek's hand twitched, wanting to reach out to Mulder, but he let the agent get himself to his feet, slowly and painfully, then watched him wipe the blood from beneath his nose ineffectually, tilting his head back to slow the flow. Krycek's eyes widened slightly as Mulder turned away from him, unconcernedly heading for the bathroom. Krycek waited, awkwardly fidgeting from one foot to the other as he listened to the sounds of Mulder's cleanup, wincing just slightly as he heard the small sounds of restrained pain over the running water. He sighed quietly as Mulder turned off the water and exited the bathroom, a slightly spattered white hand towel wrapped around his right hand. Krycek chewed his lip as Mulder ignored him and walked into the kitchen, then came out with a full bottle of Scotch whiskey.

"Here. I'll hold it while you unscrew the cap," Mulder said, only a trace of sarcasm edging his quiet voice. He extended the bottle in his uninjured left hand.

Krycek frowned but reached forward and quickly dislodged the cap with his gloved right. He held the lid in his hand for a moment, unsure what to do with it, until finally he slid it into his jacket pocket. Mulder didn't seem to notice, upending the bottle and taking a long, sloppy drink, then licking his lips and extending the bottle again.

"Drink?"

Krycek looked to one side, then the other, half-expecting someone else to be there, ready to take the proffered bottle. Then he reached forward and took the Scotch from Mulder's hand, taking a careful, conservative swallow. "Thanks," he murmured, his head already beginning to spin with just the thought of drinking with Mulder rather than because of him.

Mulder said nothing, just taking the bottle from Krycek's hand and taking another generous draught. "So," he said, stepping over his abandoned weapon on his way to plop himself back down on the indentation he'd left on his couch. "What the hell are you here for, anyway?" He held his wrapped hand to his chest, wiping beneath his nose with the other before taking another long drink. "Are you here to kill me?" Mulder sounded nothing but curious.

Krycek frowned as Mulder downed the equivalent of about eight shots in about one minute's time. He looked around again, now looking for some phantom someone to step forward and stop Mulder's self-destructive behavior, but no one did. He tentatively stepped up, coming to a stop standing in front of Mulder. "No, Mulder. I'm not here to kill you."

"Well, damn," muttered Mulder, his mouth already sounding rubbery. He raised the bottle to his lips again, but Krycek leaned over and took hold of it.

"Mulder, we have to get out of here. Someone's bound to have called the police over that gunshot."

Mulder's brow furrowed, his slack lips parted in surprise as Krycek divested him of his Scotch. "Who'd you kill, Krycek?" he said, sounding somewhat irritated.

"The man who was surveilling you. Now let's go." Krycek set the halfempty bottle down on the table and reached down for Mulder's hand, not too surprised when the inebriated agent actually took it. He pulled Mulder to his feet gently, and helped him steady himself. "Where's your jacket?" Mulder frowned and looked sideways toward his bedroom, and Krycek let go of him and quickly crossed the apartment, returning with Mulder's own leather jacket. He placed it around a surprised Mulder's shoulders, then bent down and handed an even more surprised Mulder his gun, jerking his head in the direction of the door, imploring the man to follow him.

His liquor-numbed lips slightly parted, eyes somewhat dazed, Mulder did.

...

After ten minutes of uncomfortable silence, during which time Mulder found himself getting more and more nauseous, Krycek spoke.

"I told them," he muttered, staring out the windshield into the black night.

"Tol' them what?" Mulder asked, turning his head slowly, feeling the car spin as he brought Krycek's tense profile into his sights.

"That they were going too far," Krycek said quietly, tightening his onehanded grip on the wheel.

"You knew alla this," Mulder said, nodding his spinning head. "'Course you did. Why would I think otherwise?" He turned his head back to the windshield, staring straight ahead, feeling his drunkenness fade in the wake of his sad anger.

"Yeah, I did. I knew they were gonna try to convince you it was all a lie. I was just hoping you were smart enough to see through yet another layer of bullshit."

Mulder laughed halfheartedly. "Years of practice with you?"

"Whatever," Krycek replied, not rising to the bait. "But maybe I should have known, after the way it was so easy to get you to take me to Tunguska."

"You son of a bitch!" Mulder spat, turning in his seat, about to launch a physical attack.

"Easy, Mulder, you don't wanna kill us both." Mulder smiled sickly and watched the alarm grow in Krycek's eyes as Krycek realized just who he was talking to and when. "It was for your own good," Krycek said quickly.

Mulder narrowed his eyes, smile gone. "What are you talking about?"

...

Krycek sighed, relieved that Mulder's curiosity was just as easy to arouse as it had always been.

"It was the only way to get the vaccine," Krycek said, studying the road signs as he turned onto the freeway.

"By letting them experiment on me?" Mulder's slur was gone, his bloodshot eyes now trained on Krycek accusingly.

"By letting them vaccinate you," corrected Krycek quietly, looking once to his side to gauge Mulder's reaction, then stepping on the gas pedal more firmly, accelerating as he merged into the fast lane. It was too quiet, and he couldn't help but flick his gaze to the side repeatedly, watching Mulder stare out the front windshield, weighing what Krycek had just told him. Deciding if it was truth or bullshit, as usual. Oddly enough, this was a truth being told to disarm a too-effective lie.

"Where the hell are we going?" asked Mulder suddenly, breaking the tense silence.

"Just...somewhere to get away and think," said Krycek reluctantly, looking in his rearview mirror to see if they were being followed. They weren't. So far. He looked at Mulder again, then relaxed as he turned back to the road.

"Somewhere you can fuck me up and leave me for dead, you mean," said Mulder, sounding surly and tired.

Krycek turned on him angrily. "What the fuck do you care, anyway, Mulder? Wouldn't I just be doing your job for you?" He focused back on the road, his jaw tense. As the silence stretched out between them again, he looked sideways, trying to gauge his passenger's reaction. Just when he was beginning to wonder if Mulder had passed out with his eyes open, that soft monotone broke the pregnant quiet.

"You knew about that?"

"Of course I knew about that! Why the hell do you think I took your gun away from you?"

"So I wouldn't shoot you," responded Mulder immediately.

Oh. Well, there was that, too. Krycek scowled at the windshield, saying nothing.

"What do you care?" said Mulder, softly throwing Krycek's angry words back at him.

Krycek winced. "You're important," he hedged.

"Why did you kill the guy watching me?"

Oh shit. Not fair. Krycek sighed. The silence built again as Krycek's black Maserati ate up the road at a nice, legal 75 miles per hour.

"They were gonna let me do it, weren't they?" said Mulder quietly, staring out the windshield. "They knew. They were watching. And they weren't doing anything to stop me."

Krycek felt Mulder's eyes on him then, and flicked his gaze sideways nervously, his stomach tightening as he watched Mulder's famed deductive powers at work.

"So you stepped in and stopped me," said Mulder, now staring at Krycek's profile relentlessly. "The only question is, who are you working for that wants me alive, when they don't?"

Krycek said nothing, the muscle in his thigh twitching as he bounced it slightly on the seat.

"Who are you working for, Krycek?" Mulder's voice was cold.

"I work for myself," Krycek replied acidly without thinking. He startled at the forced laugh this pulled from Mulder.

"Yeah, right. You were working for yourself when you killed the guy spying on me and stopped me from blowing my brains all over my walls."

Krycek winced again at the image this produced. Just a half-minute ago, he'd been angry at himself for letting it slip that it was all his own idea to intervene. Now he was more angry that Mulder was so incredulous. It was all going to hell so quickly. He was in such deep shit.

"You realize that when I come up missing, they're going to think I killed that guy." Mulder was still turned toward him, eyes narrowed in speculation.

"They would have anyway, once they discovered who he was spying on," replied Krycek, relieved to have the conversation take a new turn.

"So now you've not only saved my life, but kept me from taking your rap?"

Krycek couldn't help but turn to look at the eyes boring into his, withering under their intensity before turning back to the road with an inward sigh. "I have a place," he said, finally, again ignoring Mulder's question. "About a hundred or so miles south of here. We can hang out there and think things over...figure out what to do about all this."

"We?"

Krycek could hear the arched brows in Mulder's voice. He turned and gazed steadily into Mulder's eyes. "We. Like you said, Mulder. I saved you from yourself, then I saved you from taking the rap for me. Don't you want to know why?" He turned back to the road and smiled slightly, proud of his ability to tap into that Mulder curiosity at will.

It was quiet a few minutes, then Mulder spoke. "How long 'til we get there?"

Krycek grinned. "I always knew there was an impatient five-year-old trapped in you, wailing to get out. We'll be there in about an hour or so."

Mulder just nodded, finally turning his own gaze back to the road, resting his injured hand in his lap, stroking over the towel thoughtfully. Krycek sighed, relaxing back into the seat, relieved that the interrogation, for now, was over.

...

Mulder had wanted to just let his eyes close as they sped through the night, but his trust level for Krycek was far from being that high, so he forced his eyes open and rolled down the window, hoping the fresh air would clear his head.

"Norfolk?"

Krycek shrugged, taking the turn. Mulder fidgeted in his seat slightly, impatient with the lack of explanation from Krycek. As the sleek, black sports car slowed and turned up a long private drive, Mulder sat up higher in the seat, checking out his surroundings. Krycek stopped at a black, wrought-iron gate and rolled down his own window, then punched in a long, complicated code. The gate opened and he drove through. He pulled up in front of a large, slate blue clapboard house, then turned into a stable-turned-garage, closing the door behind him with a small, black remote, then finally cutting the engine. He sighed long and low.

"Are we there yet?" Mulder said sarcastically. To his surprise, there was a ghost of a smile playing around Krycek's lips as he turned his head to look at Mulder. Mulder forced himself not to fidget as Krycek's eyes took him in from face to legs and back again.

"Yeah, Mulder. We're here. Please don't do anything stupid. I'm not sure how the group will react to your disappearance or Miller's death. You're safest if you just lay low with me. Okay?"

Mulder was surprised at the way Krycek actually left it open for him to refuse. He'd never seen him quite that tractable before. He frowned.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Krycek added quietly, taking Mulder's silence for refusal. "I'll even help you take care of that hand." He nodded to the towel-wrapped hand lying in Mulder's lap.

Mulder said nothing, finally turning and opening the door, stepping out into the well-lit interior of the garage. He heard Krycek sigh and step out of his own side of the vehicle. "This your house?"

Krycek looked at him over the hood of the vehicle before turning and punching a long code into the keypad at the door. "Yeah," was all he said, opening the door and walking into the house, whose lights went on automatically with the opening of the door. He stood with the door open, waiting for Mulder. Mulder peered into the interior of the house skeptically for a moment, then stepped in past Krycek, careful not to brush him as he passed. Krycek closed the door quietly behind him, punching in another code before heading through the small hallway to the kitchen.

Mulder followed him cautiously, taking in every detail of the house. It was big, scrupulously clean, and furnished very cozily with period furniture and decor. He followed Krycek into a large, airy kitchen and found him leaning into a huge white refrigerator. Krycek closed the door, handing Mulder a large bottle of water, then using a built-in antique bottle opener to flip the cap off his beer. Mulder frowned, then had to begrudgingly agree he'd had enough alcohol for the evening. He used the thumb and palm of his injured hand to remove the lid from the bottle, then took a long, grateful drink, finding himself much more thirsty than he'd expected. He almost wanted to say thanks, but he didn't.

Krycek just watched him, head tilted, slowly working on his beer. Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen, and after a moment's hesitation, Mulder followed him. He felt a little awkward as he realized Krycek was headed for a bathroom, but as he stopped in the hallway, Krycek opened a long cabinet just inside the door and pulled out a huge plastic tub. He balanced it on his prosthetic as he took it out into the spacious, comfy living room. He put it on top of the magazines scattered across the coffee table and walked around, sinking down into the soft, welcoming beige and blue plaid cushions with a sigh. He looked up at Mulder, brows arched expectantly, and finally Mulder stepped around the table to join him on the couch. Krycek pulled the lid off the tub.

Inside was an array of first aid supplies, as well as a varied and interesting collection of pharmaceuticals.

"Hurt?" asked Krycek, reaching into the tub.

Mulder shrugged. Krycek handed him a bottle of pills anyway. "Take the towel off so we can see what we're dealing with."

Mulder frowned but immediately began unwrapping the towel from around his knuckles. They'd blossomed into color since their injury, a vivid blue and green and red now.

"Here."

Mulder couldn't help but jump as Krycek reached into his lap, taking hold of his hand very gently. He struggled to control his breathing, swallowing rapidly. Krycek seemed oblivious, turning the hand this way and that, then laying it on Mulder's thigh, brushing ever-so-gently over the knuckles with the pad of his ring finger. Mulder's sharp intake of breath made him pull back.

"Sorry," he said shortly. " Do you think they're broken?"

Mulder stared at Krycek incredulously, his hand still resting where Krycek had laid it so carefully. He couldn't make himself reply, trying to discern Krycek's motives by studying the deep, dark, thickly-lashed eyes that were looking intently back at him.

"Can you move them?"

Mulder blinked and looked down at his hand, then experimentally wiggled his fingers and found that yes, he could move them. "They're fine," he said quietly, withdrawing his hand back into his lap.

"I might have some frozen peas," said Krycek, beginning to stand.

"I hate peas," said Mulder automatically.

Krycek stopped, a smirk taking the place of the all-business concern he'd been showing. "I'm not gonna make you eat 'em, Mulder," he said, tilting his head slightly. "I'm gonna use 'em as a cold pack."

"Oh," said Mulder, dropping his eyes in embarrassment.

"Although I'd hate to let them go to waste," he said, looking back over his shoulder with a smirk. Mulder just stared after him, brow furrowed.

...

With the maligned peas resting gently over Mulder's self-abused knuckles, Krycek felt at somewhat of a loss. He put the tub of first aid supplies away and took a seat across from Mulder this time, awkwardly staring at nothing in the quiet of the big, empty house.

"Tired?"

Mulder looked up from where he'd been stroking the melting frost from the cold plastic. He shrugged.

Krycek got up out of the chair. "It's a four bedroom house. All of the bedrooms are upstairs." He considered a moment, almost letting Mulder select which bedroom to sleep in, then decided he'd feel safest and best about putting Mulder in the room right next to his. "I'll go make up a room for you. There's all kinds of extra bathroom stuff in the medicine cabinet. Help yourself." He crossed the room and ascended the staircase quietly, instinctively avoiding every creaky step along the way.

After he'd set up Mulder's room and started back down the stairs, he got the sudden scary feeling that Mulder was gone, that he'd taken the opportunity of Krycek's turned back to run. He wasn't even aware that he was holding his breath as he hurried down the stairs, and the empty couch confirmed his fears for just a second before he heard running water in the bathroom and his breath left him in a shaky sigh.

God DAMN it. It wasn't smart to let himself give this much of a shit. But then, if he didn't, he wouldn't have taken such a monster risk, killing a consortium operative and abducting a federal agent. But Mulder didn't have to know that. Mulder could just keep on thinking that Krycek was working for someone else, just doing his job.

He waited for Mulder to exit the bathroom, then jerked his head toward the stairs to indicate Mulder should follow him. He turned and started back up the stairs, only letting himself breathe as he heard Mulder creak the steps behind him. He led him to the room next to the master, gesturing inside with his hand.

"There are some extra clothes in the bureau. We're about the same size." He shrugged. "Use what you like." He turned away as Mulder stepped slowly into the room, looking around. "I'm right next door," Krycek said quietly. "If you need...anything." He stepped over to his own door and through it, leaving it open. He heard Mulder's close as he walked slowly over to his bed and sat down. He crawled into bed fully clothed, ready to act at moment's notice, and as he willed himself to fall asleep and get some very necessary rest, he found himself listening for the slightest noise from next door.

When he found himself jolted awake two hours later, he felt as though he'd just fallen asleep seconds before. He froze, listening for the sound that had roused him, and when the breathless gasp reached his ears, his stocking feet were touching the floor before he'd made the decision to stand. He grabbed his gun and silently, quickly crept to his door, checking the hall before moving to Mulder's door, stopping outside it, ear pressed to the old wood.

He heard the sounds of what could have been a struggle, and without thinking any more about it, kicked the door open, taking a shooter's stance aimed at the bed.

Mulder sat up in bed, snatching his own weapon out from under his pillow and pointing it at Krycek's face.

"Jesus, Mulder!"

"What? What the hell are you doing? Trying to kill me in my sleep? Not too stealthy about it, are you?" Mulder's voice was shaky, his hair spiky with sweat, his face glistening in the dim light.

Krycek uncocked his weapon, thumbing the safety on and tucking it into the back of his waistband. "I heard...I thought you were...I heard something."

Mulder didn't lower his own weapon. "What? What did you hear?"

Krycek scrubbed his hand through his hair. "I dunno...sounds of a struggle..." He trailed off, listening to the slowly lessening thud of his own frantic heartbeat.

"I'm the only one here," said Mulder, after a quick glance around just to be sure.

Krycek nodded, looking at Mulder's barely-visible form in the low light for a moment more. "Nightmare?" he finally said, almost inaudibly.

Mulder shrugged, not lowering his gun. Krycek nodded, and after a few more moments of studying Mulder in the dark, he turned and exited the room, closing the door behind him, giving no indication that he even noticed the fact that Mulder had not, throughout the entire encounter, lowered his own weapon. Krycek went back to his room, curling up in his bed, hand wrapped securely around his gun, tucked under his pillow. He didn't sleep the rest of the night, listening for the sounds of another of Mulder's nightmares. He heard nothing but a few creaks and some rustling.

...

Mulder listened for the sounds of Krycek getting up, but the sun had been streaming in through his window for an hour and still he'd heard nothing. Finally, he slipped back into the clothes he'd arrived in, not wanting to wear anything belonging to Krycek, and tiptoed out into the hall. He'd lain awake all night after that rude awakening, and he yawned hugely as he peered into Krycek's bedroom and found it empty, bed made and looking as though no one had ever slept in it. He listened for sounds from downstairs, but still heard nothing, although he was almost sure he caught a faint whiff of coffee in the air. Yawning some more, he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, not finding Krycek, but encountering a full pot of what proved to be very good coffee. As he poured himself a cup, he heard a creak from outside the kitchen window and walked over to take a look.

Krycek was on a large wooden deck that overlooked a stunningly beautiful beach. He was leaning into the corner of the railing against his false hand, his real one curled around a steaming mug. He, too, was dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, Mulder noticed. He watched Krycek staring out over the shore as the tide came in, forgetting to drink his own coffee as he watched Krycek bring his mug to his lips again and again, taking slow, leisurely sips. Finally, when he remembered to drink his own coffee before it got cold, he went to the back door and stepped out onto the deck, at a loss as to what he should do other than that.

As he stepped out onto the deck, creaking the weathered old boards, Krycek didn't even turn, and it was then that Mulder realized that Krycek had known he was being watched the whole time.

"What're you doing?" he asked quietly.

"Just making sure the beach is secure," said Krycek, taking a last drink of his coffee, tipping the cup up to get the last few drops.

Mulder looked down both ends of the vast expanse of sand but saw nothing but the seagulls, diving in to catch the sand crabs as they burrowed beneath the receding waves.

"Looks okay," he said, feeling stupid. He took a long drink of his cool coffee, avoiding conversation for a few precious minutes.

Krycek nodded, then turned and leaned back against the railing, finally looking at Mulder. "You look tired."

"What am I doing here?" replied Mulder.

Krycek opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, then closed it.

Mulder felt his lips firm in frustration. "You said...last night, you said you hoped I'd see through another layer of bullshit. What did you mean by that?" Mulder took a few steps out onto the middle of the deck, stopping a few feet in front of Krycek. Krycek set his empty coffee cup on the railing, clenching his fist for a moment before putting his hand on the rail, trying to look relaxed. Mulder could tell it was for show and watched Krycek's nails dig into the soft wood of the railing. He felt a little braver. A little less awkward. He arched his brows. "Well?"

Krycek stared at Mulder, not fidgeting, his tense fingers the only thing revealing his anxiety as Mulder stared him down. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke. "You couldn't bear it, could you, Mulder? If all the shit about aliens was a lie?"

Mulder hid his anxious intake of breath, frowning only slightly. He felt a little queasy at the way Krycek laid his biggest weakness out for examination. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, wincing a little as he was reminded of his bruised knuckles.

"What do you want me to tell you, Mulder?" Krycek blinked three times, obviously nervous.

"The truth," said Mulder redundantly, he himself feeling tired of hearing the words fall from his lips. He wasn't surprised when Krycek snorted. "Just...Krycek... I know you know. Tell me...I just need to know...did they give Scully her cancer to make me believe a lie?"

"Mulder..." Krycek's voice was, surprisingly, a strangled whisper. "I don't...you wouldn't...there's more to it than that."

"What?" Mulder stepped forward, brow furrowing. "What the hell did they do to her, Krycek? Isn't that what you brought me here to tell me?"

"I brought you here..." Krycek said between clenched teeth, and stopped.

"What?" Mulder stepped closer, now invading Krycek's personal space. "Why did you bring me here? What do you have to tell me this time?"

"Whatever the hell will keep you from blowing your brains out!" snapped Krycek, pushing himself away from the railing, bringing him right up into Mulder's face, staring him down.

Mulder blinked, but gave no other indication of discomfort, hazel eyes locked onto stormy, jade-green ones. His voice was low and measured and as cold as the brisk morning wind.

"So now it's your job to keep me alive?"

...

Krycek narrowed his eyes involuntarily. Then he almost snorted at the irony of situation. No, it was no longer his job to see that Mulder stayed alive. Now he did this foolhardy bullshit on his own time and against orders. Was he fucked in the head or what? He decided not to answer. He let out a careful, quiet sigh and relaxed his body language slightly. Mulder blinked slowly, not taking his eyes off Krycek. Krycek found himself feeling a bit dizzy and breathless, caught in the tractor beam of those penetrating eyes. He swallowed.

"Is it all really just a lie?" Mulder's voice was imploring, equal parts fear and bravado. Krycek felt his gut clench. He'd never, ever heard that voice directed at him. He was completely powerless against it.

"Lies within lies," he murmured, finally dropping his gaze to the faded deck boards.

"What did you say?" Mulder said, suddenly way too attentive. Krycek's heart was pounding, but he didn't look up. Then he felt Mulder's two long, slender fingers roughly forcing his face up by the chin. The pads of those fingers were surprisingly soft. The tone wasn't. "What did you say, Krycek?"

Krycek tried to jerk his head backward out of the touch, but Mulder was leaning in, so there was nowhere to go. Mulder's fingertips burned against his cold skin, and he could feel the warm puffs of Mulder's anxious breath on his face. He met Mulder's glare head-on.

"Lies within lies," he repeated, this time very succinctly, making his voice cold, his eyes calm.

"You and Deep Throat," Mulder said quietly.

"Excuse me?" Krycek's brows arched into the stratosphere, his voice slightly squeaky. "That's one part of the movie I don't remember, Mulder."

Then something happened that made Krycek's stomach drop down into his boots.

Mulder smiled. Not smirked, but genuinely smiled.

And then something else happened that scared Krycek even more. He found himself smiling back. And they froze there like that, a moment in time when nothing else could enter their awareness. He felt he was inhaling Mulder's exhale, and he became even more acutely aware of Mulder's fingertips, still touching the delicate skin under his jaw. His tongue darted out to wet dry lips. He felt himself harden. Before he realized what he'd decided to do, his eyes were fluttering slowly shut, and he tilted his head, leaning in to press his lips to the ones in front of him.

They jerked back as if scalded, the fingers leaving his face so fast they left scratch marks. Mulder stumbled backward, freeing Krycek from his trapped position, scrubbing his fingers over his lips unconsciously, even though the skin of Krycek's lips had never even made contact.

Krycek pushed past him, leaving the back screen door swinging in the wind in his hurry to get into the house and away from what he was quite sure was the most humiliating and dangerous mistake of his life.

...

He...he tried to...did he really...was he really gonna...did Krycek just try to KISS me?!? Mulder pressed his four fingers against his mouth, eyes wide, staring out over the rail onto the surf-covered shore. He could still smell Krycek's freshly-shaven scent on his fingers. He jerked them away from his mouth and wiped them on his jeans frantically. But he could still almost smell the man, even in the salty, wet air.

What the hell just happened? Was that part of Krycek's job, to seduce him?? Damn funky-ass way to do it, in Mulder's opinion. And why, for shit's sake? What would seducing Mulder gain the consortium, anyway? If they wanted to use Krycek to pull off another lie, all they had to do was get Mulder to trust him, not...sleep with him. Did they think if Mulder...he couldn't make himself even think the word...if he did that with Krycek, that he'd just buckle under and be their 'boy', too?

Even in all his paranoia and self-delusion, Mulder knew that was a ridiculous theory. And why would they even think that throwing Krycek at him would arouse even the smallest bit of interest? Mulder, while very open-minded about sex and not the least bothered by homosexuality, had always considered himself on the het end of the continuum. And the old boys had to know that by now. So if they wanted him to fall for someone, they would have sent a woman. Well, they did. Scully. But none of that scenario had worked out the way they'd planned, obviously. So they decided to kill her slowly to achieve their aims instead. And they sent in Krycek to do her dirty work. Did they think that because he hadn't fallen in love with Scully that he must be gay?

Mulder swallowed back the bitter stab of pain that thinking of his partner aroused and tried to focus on his deduction. Okay, so this wasn't part of some group's plan. Krycek was doing this for his own reasons. So...the question remained. What would seducing Mulder gain Krycek personally?

Again, if Krycek wanted to drag Mulder off on another horrible field trip like the one they'd taken together to Russia, he wouldn't have to get Mulder in bed. He'd just have to get on Mulder's good side, which he'd pretty much already done by showing up just as he was about to put a bullet in his brain. So why bring sex into the picture, Krycek?

Blackmail material? Pretty weak, really. Homosexuality was no longer grounds for dismissal in the Bureau, and while it would be a little embarrassing to admit to a same-sex relationship, and even more embarrassing to tell anyone that it was with Alex Krycek, Mulder certainly wouldn't hesitate enough that the information would make good blackmail fodder. Hell, Mulder's rep did leave him that small bit of consolation. It was damned hard to insult his dignity successfully anymore. Of course, Krycek didn't necessarily know that, and the way Mulder had just reacted to Krycek's 'move' only gave Krycek more reason to believe that Mulder would be freaked out if somehow Krycek succeeded in getting him in the sack. And of course, that would lead to using the information that it had happened for any number of nefarious purposes.

Frowning, Mulder shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, and turned to go back into the house, determined to let Krycek know he had gained nothing in his attempt to throw Mulder off his game.

Krycek wasn't in the kitchen, so Mulder went into the living room and found it empty as well. He hadn't heard the car leave, so he was pretty sure Krycek hadn't driven somewhere, but he supposed he could have just walked somewhere. Mulder's frown deepened as he considered what to do next.

He needed to find out what things were like back in DC. Maybe he could just call a cab and go home. He looked around, but couldn't find a phone anywhere. He guessed Krycek wouldn't want or need something as permanent and traceable as a land line. Did Mulder have his cellphone with him? He couldn't remember. He remembered Krycek getting his jacket for him, but he didn't know if the phone had made it into a pocket or not, though Krycek had been nonchalant about including Mulder's gun. Mulder had left the jacket upstairs in his room.

Mulder started up the stairs, and as he neared the top, he slowed. The door to Krycek's room was closed. It had been open when he'd come downstairs. So either Krycek had come and gone and left it closed, unlike this morning, or he'd gone in and shut the door behind him. Mulder climbed the rest of the stairs and walked over to the door slowly. He reached out his unbruised knuckles and knocked.

"Yeah?" Krycek's voice was short.

"Did you get my cellphone last night?"

"What?"

Mulder reached down and turned the knob, pushing the door open. Krycek was standing, smoothing the black cotton sleeve down over his prosthetic, and Mulder was sure he'd just jumped up off the bed. He looked at the slight indentation in the mattress behind Krycek, then back up at Krycek, who stared back icily.

"Did you happen to grab my cell on the way out the door last night?" Mulder asked, stepping into the room uninvited. Krycek's hand moved from his prosthesis to his thigh, where Mulder could see he was trying not to clench it.

"Yeah, actually," Krycek answered. "It should be in your jacket pocket. Top left inside."

Mulder nodded, confident to be in his profiler persona. Even if Krycek's attraction to Mulder was faked, it gave Mulder leverage. Which caused Mulder to frown again. Why would Krycek want Mulder to feel like he might have an upper hand? He turned and walked out of Krycek's bedroom, leaving the door open, still processing.

...

Krycek stared after him, wiping his sweaty hand on his jeans. He closed his eyes in frustration. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Coming up to pout in his room had only given Mulder reason to think he had one up on him. He could see it in Mulder's eyes...the smug certainty and superiority. He punched the muscles of his thigh repeatedly. He had to shake this off and get back on top, and he had to do it fast or Mulder would never let him forget it. He took a long, deep, steadying breath, and walked out of his room and over to Mulder's.

He stopped in the doorway, watching as Mulder pulled his cellphone out of his jacket where Krycek had put it.

"What're you going to do?" He tried to sound curious and a bit threatening, but he felt it came off sounding needy. Fuck.

"Thought I'd call home and see what I have to go back to," replied Mulder, looking up, already pressing speed-dial.

Krycek could do nothing at that point but nod, so he did, although he was anything but comfortable with the thought of Mulder talking to Scully right now.

"Scully, it's me," said Mulder into the phone. Then Krycek watched as his brows drew down in a frown. Mulder was quiet a moment, then he said in a low voice, "You're not alone and you don't want them to know you're talking to me. Okay. I guess things aren't so great, then." Mulder listened a moment, nodding unconsciously, then said, "I've got my cellphone turned on now, so call me when you can." Mulder then listened, chewing on his lip, and said, "I get it. You're afraid I'll be traced. I'll turn it off. I'll be in touch, Scully. I'm safe, so don't worry. I didn't kill him. Be careful. Take care." Mulder ended the call and switched off the phone. Krycek let out a breath he'd been unknowingly holding.

"She couldn't talk, but from what she did say, I get the idea that it's a worst-case scenario back there. And she mentioned the word 'trace' so I guess I shouldn't use my cellphone any more."

Krycek nodded slowly, squinting. What the hell had he gotten Mulder into? Saved his life just to get him on a murder charge? Fuck. He had some cleaning up to do and fast. He'd covered his own tracks so well that no one would ever suspect him. And Mulder's disappearance had immediately made him a prime suspect. He sighed. He'd have to go back to DC. And he'd have to convince Mulder to stay here.

He was so fucked.

"I'm...sorry," he murmured, looking at a spot on the floor near Mulder's shoes. He felt a shiver go down his spine as he realized Mulder was just looking at him. Studying him. "I mean it," he said, raising his eyes. "I didn't do this to get you in trouble. I'll take care of it."

At that, he watched Mulder's brows rise. Still Mulder said nothing, just tilting his head a bit and staring at him.

"So, I think it's best if you stay here. Don't you?" said Krycek, feeling like every word out of his mouth lost him ground. To his immense relief, though, Mulder nodded slowly. Krycek sighed and nodded back. "I'll be back tonight. I'm not expecting anybody, so lay low and keep yourself out of sight if anyone shows up. No one has the codes but me."

Mulder nodded again, still not looking away from Krycek's face. Krycek began to feel as though he'd forgotten to get dressed that morning. Even though he'd never gotten undressed in the first place. He decided he'd said enough, and merely nodded again, curtly, this time in farewell, and turned and left Mulder's room.

He cursed inwardly as Mulder followed him out, but he continued down the stairs, picking up his keys on the way to the back door. Mulder followed him all the way, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded, as Krycek punched in the series of numbers, letters, and symbols that would fully arm his custom security system. As he opened the door, he looked back over his shoulder, but didn't say anything, and as he closed the door behind himself, he could have sworn that Mulder was smirking.

Shitshitshit.

...

Curiouser and curiouser. Krycek was...flustered? Mulder'd never seen him like that...well, not never, but back then it was all bullshit, and Mulder was pretty sure that this time, Krycek wasn't faking.

Could it be...was the truth that Krycek did, in fact, have a real attraction to Mulder? Mulder stared at the door through which Krycek had left, listening to the low hum of the Maserati leaving the garage.

Krycek...attracted...to him. While it certainly fit all the evidence, it seemed a much more 'out there' theory than his other ones. Mulder frowned, wondering how one would go about testing a theory like that.

Where the hell did Krycek go, anyway? And what the hell was he up to? Mulder chewed his lip and slowly pushed his body away from the counter, unfolding his arms. The smell of coffee was thick and tempting, and he poured himself another cup, shutting down the coffeemaker, pretty sure Krycek wouldn't be returning in time to have another cup. He took a sip, then arched his eyebrows at the improbability of the situation.

Here he stood, sipping Alex Krycek's gourmet coffee, in Alex Krycek's beachhouse after sleeping in Alex Krycek's bed...*guest*bed...following being essentially saved by...Alex Krycek. He found himself shaking his head, though there was no one there but himself to convince. He decided that, along with the weird, queasy feeling he'd been fighting all morning due to lack of sleep and too much booze the night before, he was hungry. He wondered if Krycek had left any food in the house for him.

For him? Mulder laughed aloud at himself, then felt a little crazy as he heard it reverberate through the empty house. Krycek did things only for himself. He'd even said so personally. Which led Mulder back to the uncomfortable pondering of Krycek's motives for the near-kiss on the porch. Because the fact remained, that physical attraction or not, Krycek wouldn't make himself that vulnerable without an ulterior motive. So what was he trying to accomplish by coming onto Mulder?

Mulder opened the refrigerator and was deeply relieved to see that Krycek didn't live nearly as haphazardly as he did, at least when it came to groceries. The larder looked well-stocked, with everything from butter to beer. Mulder looked briefly at the latter and finally chose the former, bringing out a covered dish of what looked to be the real stuff. After a moment of snooping, Mulder discovered a breadbox. He hadn't seen one since childhood, and opened it slowly, almost reverently. Rather than the holy grail, he found a package of whole wheat bread and a package of multigrain English muffins. He opted for the muffins, sliding them into the toaster oven when he couldn't find a regular toaster. He searched for a microwave to warm his cooling coffee, but never found one. He gulped it down cold and poured himself a glass of the orange juice in the fridge, shocked when it was actually well within its expiration period. Wow. Juice. Krycek had orange juice. How weird was that?

After his breakfast, and after searching the cupboard to see what other culinary miracles might lie within, Mulder decided to explore the rest of the house and try to learn something about his enigmatic former partner, turned father-killer, turned travel-companion, turned informant, turned...savior? And don't forget seducer.

He headed for a desk along one side of the wall, and was not the least surprised to find it locked. There was no computer, either, so he turned to the bookcases to see what he could discern from the content of Krycek's library.

Lots of very attractive hardbacks. No dustcovers. Certainly they looked much nicer without the garish marketing jackets, Mulder had to agree. He peered closer, reading titles. "Doctor Anderson's Way." "More Than Enough." "The Magic Umbrella." The Magic Umbrella?? What the fuck? Mulder pulled it off the shelf and opened it, reading quickly. Yep, just as stupid as it sounded. And far more whimsical than Mulder would ever have expected of Alex Krycek. Shaking his head, he pushed the book back between its brothers. He thumbed through a whole line of hardbacks, never recognizing a single title. Then, finally, a classic. "The Hobbit." Mulder pulled it down, noticing that its pages were more worn than any others he'd opened, with some corners turned down here and there. Mulder had a feeling that Krycek might not even know what books were in the shelf himself, but he also thought Krycek almost definitely read this one, and from the looks of things, more than once. He nodded to himself, giving Krycek a couple of mental points for being a Tolkien fan.

He moved down to a shelf full of paperbacks, and here he found titles he actually recognized. Some were modern-day thrillers, such as the set of eight Robin Cook novels, and some were dog-eared classics, such as the suede-soft copy of "Alas, Babylon." Mulder pulled that one out as well, it being one of his own favorite apocalyptic titles. "Andromeda Strain" was next, and then Orwell's "Animal Farm." Mulder shivered, remembering having read that one in Junior High, horrified then and horrified even more now at the sinister social metaphors within that innocent-looking, slim little volume.

He found himself frozen, crouched with a handful of paperbacks, trying to imagine a young teenaged Krycek doing his mandatory reading of the same title. Mulder guessed he'd been very studious, taking it all very seriously, and probably reading it more than once, just to be sure he hadn't missed a single thing. Mulder had a feeling Krycek was an 'A' student, primarily because he couldn't imagine Krycek doing anything halfassed, and he couldn't imagine a care-free, casual-attitude Alex Krycek no matter how hard he tried. He imagined a youth more like himself, though probably not nearly as withdrawn. Mulder had been the silent, boy-genius loner. He had a feeling Krycek fell more into the category of serious pretty-boy you knew better than to fuck with.

He wondered at what age had Krycek worn his first leather jacket. He realized that Krycek just didn't look himself without it. Which brought his thoughts back to the morning, and the thwarted kiss. Krycek had been wearing the jacket, and when Mulder had stepped in close and forced Krycek's face up to meet his eyes, he'd smelled the damp leather and the scent of Krycek's clean-shaven skin. Not enough of a scent to be aftershave, just the fresh smell of a masculine shaving cream. The same fresh smell that had been on his fingers, the one he'd rubbed frantically into his jeans, eager to be rid of that evocative odor.

Mulder had never kissed another man. He'd been propositioned many times in school, especially at Oxford, but he'd never felt interested enough to actually take the plunge, though his curiosity had been aroused more than enough to make up for his lack of sexual attraction for other men. But Mulder had never really made time for much of any kind of relationship, even with women. Unless you counted Phoebe, and that was enough of a horror story to remind him to keep his mind on his studies and his dick in his pants. He'd wondered if he'd have those thin, light scars on his back forever, but eventually they'd faded, leaving only the emotional ones behind to mark her passage through his life.

He walked over to the middle of the living room, carefully considering the seating arrangement before sinking down into a huge, immenselycomfortable -looking recliner. He sighed deeply, activating the footrest, then inhaled and realized the chair bore the same scent he'd noticed this morning. He was sitting...reclining, actually...in what appeared to be Krycek's favorite chair.

Of course it was. It was big and squishy and it was a recliner. What more did a man really want out of life? And why the hell hadn't Mulder ever gotten one of these wonderful chairs for himself? Maybe for the same reason he hadn't gotten a bed. Because every time he relaxed like this for more than an hour or two, he started to feel incredibly guilty. Like he was wasting time, letting it slip away while he should be working, searching, finding. He flipped the footrest back down and decided he needed a shower.

...

After Krycek had cursed his stupidity for the entire hour it took him to make the trip from Norfolk back up to D.C., he had pretty much decided he had to get Mulder the hell out of his house as soon as possible. He just couldn't seem to maintain around him. Nobody... nobody ever made Krycek feel so Goddamned awkward and stupid and helpless and...horny. He was sure it was just the lure of the unattainable that made his level of arousal spike so much higher than it ever had for any other of his lovers, male or female, in his life. Had he thought that if he just kissed Mulder that the lure would fade and he'd be able to think clearly once again?

No. He hadn't been thinking at all. Just feeling. And acting on it. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! He punched his thigh repeatedly, making a nice, sensitive bruise, as he made his way through the airport to the lockers he maintained there. He went through them each, one at a time, collecting the materials he needed, then, looking furtively all around to insure he hadn't been followed, he carried the things back out to his car.

What the hell was Mulder doing right now, anyway? Krycek had left him in his house. In his house for Christ's sake! What had he been thinking?? One thing and one thing only. To frame someone else for the murder of that surveillance man and get Mulder off the hook. So he'd left an FBI agent in his best, nearest safehouse and given him carte blanche to snoop through all his stuff at leisure. He really, really needed to get back there and NOW. He purposely shoved his worries to the back of his mind and started putting his plan in motion. He pulled out his cellphone and punched the keys, steadying his breathing.

"It's me, Krycek. Put me through." While he waited, he distracted himself from his unhealthy ruminations about Mulder's present activities by pawing through the evidence in his lap. When his boss came on the line, he was pretty much steady.

"Yes?"

"Hello, sir."

"I didn't expect to hear from you."

Krycek pondered that a moment, frowning. "I've prepared a counter story. I have everything we need to make it look like an outside job."

"And why would we need to do that?"

Krycek closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "He was going to kill Mulder. I had to stop him." He hoped the enhancement of the truth would be enough to convince the Brit.

"MMmmhmm."

Shit. He knew the truth. Krycek was silent. He listened to the sound of his own heart and swallowed quietly several times, waiting for the verdict.

"Bring me the materials. And see to it that Agent Mulder makes it home safely, Alex. He's not your personal plaything just because you saved his life."

Krycek's face burned and he ground his teeth against each other audibly. FuckfuckFUCK his boss knew way more than Krycek felt safe with. Well, at least the mystery of why the man had sent him with the information for Mulder about the resistance was now solved. He'd known all along that Krycek had more than an average interest in the FBI agent. He wondered how long it would take for that information to get him killed. He knew for sure now that it would mean compromises on his part the likes of which he would normally avoid even upon penalty of death. He took a deep breath and said only, "Yes, sir." The phone clicked in his ear and he pressed 'End' and tossed it into the seat next to him. He continued kicking his own ass all the way across town to deliver the documents and surrender the weapon he'd used to kill the man, picking up a replacement before getting back on the freeway, headed for home.

...

Mulder was going to head for the main bathroom to take his shower, then decided to go upstairs and use the one in the hallway next to Krycek's bedroom. He wanted to get as much on the man as he could, and he figured hanging out in a man's bathroom could tell you quite a bit about him. He immediately picked up the can of shaving foam and sniffed, and sure enough, there was that fresh, woodsy smell, only this time much sharper, and not augmented by the warm smell of...he set the can down and opened the medicine cabinet.

Nothing but Advil and Tylenol and some crusty-looking Nyquil. Krycek kept the good stuff in that big first-aid tub, evidently. And the man kept a very sparse, very clean bathroom, much to Mulder's frustration. The only thing remotely personal about it was the tiny scraps of bloodied toilet paper in the trash basket. Krycek had cut himself shaving that morning, it seemed. Mulder found himself wondering if he'd be able to see the tiny wounds on Krycek's face, then stopped himself when he realized how close he'd have to get for that to happen.

Would Krycek want to get that close? Would he continue in his quest to seduce Mulder? Or would he play it cool and wait to see Mulder freak out? Was there any real attraction there or was it all just for show? Mulder walked over to the shower, immediately being accosted with the image of a naked, wet Krycek soaping up right where he was looking. He'd never really fantasized about a man's body before, and found it an interesting experiment to do so now. He reached in and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature to steaming hot before withdrawing his hand and beginning to peel off his clothing from the day before.

He stepped naked into the shower, standing where he knew Krycek had stood more than once. He reached for the half-empty shampoo bottle, taking another deep whiff and considering the pleasant, musky-woodsy scent. It wasn't an inexpensive store brand, but one of those aromatherapy, all natural herbal things like the ones that Scully always toted with her. After a short, aborted stab of guilt and pain at the thought of his partner, he felt his lips stretch into a smile at the thought of Krycek picking up hair products at his local salon. Who did his hair, anyway? And God, was it the same hack who had shaved him into that stupid-ass butch 'do he'd worn to Russia? Mulder was more than relieved to see that it had since grown out, and into an attractive, spiky style that Mulder liked a whole lot more than either GI Joe Krycek or KissAss Green-agent Krycek.

Okay, so that was a good start, finding Krycek's hair to his liking. It was very dark, and quite thick, and he wondered if it was soft or coarse. It appeared to have a wild natural wave. It was probably very difficult to tame down back in his Fibbie days. Mulder closed his eyes, extending his hands and imagining them running through that thick, dark mop of hair. He let himself moan a little, imagining the sensuality of the moment. What if Krycek were here now, standing in front of him, naked and waiting for Mulder to touch him? What would his voice sound like...that deep, rich, smoky, secret-filled voice...when he moaned back?

Mulder was a little surprised at how his dick rose to full-mast at that thought. Yes, he conceded to his prick, Krycek did have what one would have to classify as a very sexy voice. What would it sound like, sighing his name? Oh yeah, that was a good one. He reached down and gave himself an encouraging stroke, sighing the name 'Krycek' experimentally into the steam. It wasn't quite right. He stroked himself again. "Alex..." Now that was better for some reason. More intimate. Mulder had to admit he felt more powerful using Alex's first name than his distancing last one. "Mmmm Alex..." he tried, imagining his hands running over those broad shoulders.

And that's where the fantasy came to an abrupt halt. The arm. Actually, the lack thereof.

Mulder squinted, and he realized that what he felt wasn't exactly guilt, because he knew he wasn't responsible for Krycek's injury. And it wasn't disgust, Mulder having seen more than his share of physical anomalies in his time, and being more fascinated than anything else. No, it was more a feeling of 'There but for the grace of God go I.' It could have been him. It almost was. He couldn't believe that Krycek had actually come back from Russia missing a limb. What must he have gone through? How did it happen, with some well-meaning peasant and a chipped machete blade like the one that had glinted in the moonlight, singing his fate? Why hadn't he been able to fight? He guessed it would take way more than one man, even the behemoth he'd been looking up at, to separate Krycek from his limb. God, the fight that man must have put up.

Mulder finished washing up quickly, his thoughts of fantasy gone, his erection wilting, as he imagined Krycek allowing something so horrifying to happen to him.

He turned off the water and stepped out, pulling a towel off the rack, sniffing it for Krycek's scent before scrubbing his hair dry and toweling himself off. How did a one-armed man do this? Did he just walk to his room, naked and dripping on the hardwood, letting the air dry his body before he put on his clothes? Mulder supposed one really could reach most of the body with only one hand, and could even wad a towel up in one fist and reach up and over, drying one's back. But he found he preferred the former image, and examined the floor on the way to his room, looking for telltale water spots. He saw none and shrugged, stepping through the door and into his room.

His room? Krycek's guestroom. That's all it was. And he'd slept there, and now he was going to go through the dresser there, and put on Krycek's clothes. He pulled open the top drawer and found underwear. Tricky business, wearing someone else's underwear. He wasn't sure if it was sexy or disgusting. He pulled out a pair of soft, black cotton boxers, and as he pulled them on, imagining them sliding up over Krycek's full, round, high buttocks, and snugly holding his cock and balls, Mulder felt himself begin to harden once more. Hmmm...definitely sexy, then. He pulled out a black T-shirt that matched them, catching the faintest hint of a scent as he pulled it over his head. It wasn't that shaving cream smell he'd experienced this morning, but something else. Something warmer and much more faint. It was, Mulder knew, the smell of the man himself. He took a deep breath, concentrating intently on truly smelling it. He felt his heart speed up as he caught the scent and his body recognized it this time, revving up a little.

He'd always felt revved up around Krycek. Well, at least since he'd taken off after Scully's abduction, anyway. And that energy had always been focused on hitting him. Hurting him. He realized his cock was now completely erect and wondered how simple it might be to turn those violent impulses to something else. Oh, he was really liking the images his mind was feeding him now. Krycek up against a brick wall, pressed against it by Mulder, but instead of frisking, cuffing, and arresting him, Mulder was yanking his jeans down and fucking him.

Mulder's cock jumped inside the confines of Krycek's underwear, and Mulder imagined Krycek's cock pressing against the same cotton. What would Krycek's cock look like? Was it long or short, thick or thin, smooth or veiny, dark or light? Mulder himself was longer than average, and rather thin. And other men could envy him all they liked. What they didn't know was that Mulder had rarely let himself really go with a woman for fear of penetrating too deeply and hurting her. He suddenly realized that it was better when he'd had anal sex, because there was no cervix to bump into, and he was free to shove in deeply, up to the balls, once he'd made sure his lover was well-prepped and ready for him. And he certainly didn't have to worry about hurting Krycek, did he? He heard a groan and realized it was him as he thrust into his own fist, giving himself a squeezing stroke through the soft cotton.

This fantasizing about Krycek stuff was a lot easier than he'd thought it would be. He smiled, pumping himself languidly as he rooted around, bringing out a pair of Krycek's jeans. Wouldn't Krycek be surprised when Mulder turned the tables on his little seduction scene?

...

Krycek pulled up in the falling darkness, noticing that almost all of the lights were off. It appeared that the ones in the living room were burning, though, and Krycek beat back the bloom of paranoid fear that had whispered to him that Mulder would be gone when he returned. He parked the car in the garage and punched in the codes, swinging the door open into a dark kitchen. Frowning, he listened carefully for sounds of occupation. He heard nothing. He pulled the new gun from the waistband of his jeans and walked slowly through the kitchen, half-ready to shoot anything that moved. Nothing did. He made his way through without turning on any lights, stepping into the lamp-lit living room, immediately spotting Mulder sitting on the couch, leaning over the coffee table, setting down a paperback book. He uncocked his weapon, turning the barrel toward the ceiling with a quiet sigh.

"What, no 'honey, I'm home?'" asked Mulder, stretching his arms up over his head.

Krycek narrowed his eyes, putting his gun back into his waistband. "You're wearing my clothes," he said gruffly, taking note of the black T- shirt and jeans that he knew Mulder had not had with him when he arrived.

"You said I could," said Mulder, leveling an unreadable look into Krycek's eyes.

Oh, yeah. Get a hold of yourself, shithead! Krycek took a deep, careful, steadying breath and shrugged. He turned to go back into the kitchen, this time stopping to turn on a light. He heard Mulder follow him in. He ignored him as he began going through the cupboards, pulling down a bag of pasta and a jar of pre-made sauce. He felt Mulder's eyes on him the whole time as he filled a pot with water and put it on the stove, and as he opened the jar and poured the sauce into a saucepan. As he set them both to bubbling, he ran out of things to do with his hands and was forced to turn around and face Mulder.

"So you didn't eat, then?" asked Mulder, leaning against the counter a few feet away, long body stretched out casually, feet bare, one leg loosely crossed over the other. Krycek forced himself not to look him over from face to feet and back again and found himself staring at the floor as an alternative. He shook his head, praying to any deity that would listen that Mulder would just turn around and leave him to his dinner preparations. Apparently no deity could be bothered to give him that kind of attention, because Mulder just nodded, running the back of one bare foot up the back of his calf, scratching an itch. "Me neither."

Krycek looked up. "You can have some," he said uncertainly. Then he inhaled quickly as Mulder stood up away from the counter and stepped up in front of him.

"I wasn't sure when you'd get back," Mulder said, tucking the fingertips of his left hand into the front pocket of his (Krycek's) jeans, running the fingers of his right through his already wild-looking hair. He ran them through again and said, "Don't you have a hair dryer? My hair looks stupid when it dries naturally."

Krycek found himself grinning slightly, despite his anxiety. "No dryer. Sorry. My hair tends to be dry, so I don't use one." Then he nearly choked, forcing himself not to step back as Mulder stepped in closer, reaching his hand out. His body was completely rigid as Mulder casually flipped a lock of short, black hair back from Krycek's temple with the backs of his fingers.

"I wondered," said Mulder, stepping back out of Krycek's personal space. "Your conditioner level was the same as your shampoo," he continued, rubbing his nose very briefly, then his mouth, then tucking his right hand into the other pocket of the jeans. "Usually, there's a bunch of conditioner left over after the shampoo's gone," he went on calmly, ignoring the way Krycek's eyes were blinking rapidly, his own hand coming up to brush at the spot Mulder had touched, as if it bothered him.

Krycek stared at him, unable to stop processing the thought that Mulder had just touched him. Not hit him, not grabbed him, not shoved him. Touched him. God, he was so hard he thought Mulder must be able to see it, and he tried not to look down at his own crotch to see how noticeable it was.

What the fuck kind of game was Mulder playing, now? Did he think he could just jerk Krycek around, now that Krycek had tried to kiss him on the mouth? Fucker. Krycek spun around and viciously stirred the pasta, splashing boiling water over the side of the pot. He jumped a little as it sizzled on the burner, then jumped a lot more as he felt Mulder step in right behind him. He dropped the spoon into the pot with a splashing plop, jerking backward and bumping his ass right up against Mulder's groin. Which felt unaccountably hard. He slithered out from between the stove and Mulder, afraid equally of the heat of both.

"What the fuck are you doing, Mulder?" he asked, backing up against the wall as Mulder turned and followed him.

"Well, Alex," replied Mulder, stopping right in front of him. "I was trying to find out if you were really attracted to me after all."

"Fuck you, Mulder!" Alex tried to duck to the side, but Mulder blocked him, placing a hand on the wall.

"What's the matter?" asked Mulder, placing his other hand at Krycek's other side, boxing him in with his body. "You started this."

"Get away from me, you asshole," said Krycek, close to hyperventilating and regretting his stupid come-on with everything he was. Mulder was using this new vulnerability to his own advantage, just as Krycek had feared. No way was Krycek going to let Mulder know how much of an effect he had on him.

To his complete horror, Mulder smiled.

And it wasn't that amused, surprised smile they'd shared this morning. This was pure, smug, satisfied arrogance here. Then without even losing the smile, Mulder leaned in, eyes open and sparkling with certain knowledge, and pressed his lips against Krycek's.

Krycek whimpered immediately, then tried to disguise the sound as one of struggle, as he made a half-hearted attempt to pull his head away. Mulder just pressed harder, pushing Krycek's head back against the wall hard as he crushed Krycek's lips with his own. Krycek felt tears prick behind his eyes as his weak, traitorous, slutty mouth opened and his tongue stroked over Mulder's lips, begging admittance. He groaned long and loud and deep as it was granted and Mulder's lips parted and invited him in. Mulder's tongue pushed hard against his, pressing it back into his own mouth. Mulder proceeded to fuck his mouth with that tongue, hard and steady and insistent, moving in to bump his hips into Krycek's in the same rhythm.

Oh God, that was it. Krycek was losing and falling and completely lost as he groaned and whined and ground against the pelvis pushing into his. He didn't even raise his hand away from the wall, his fingers scrabbling at the plaster as Mulder thrust against him, banging him into his kitchen wall as he ate his mouth.

He was literally starved for oxygen, seeing stars and feeling his body start to slide down the wall. He was shocked back into conscious alertness when Mulder grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him upward.

"Jesus, Krycek," Mulder gasped, his lips red and swollen and wet. "Where's your follow-through?"

It took one second for the words to penetrate the fog in Krycek's head, but when they did, he growled deep in his throat and lunged at Mulder, using the advantage of surprise to catch him off-balance.

"Follow-through?" he breathed. He began rapidly walking Mulder backward through the archway into the living room, Mulder stumbling and breathing hard but not really fighting him. "You mean you want me to actually do all the things to you that I only hinted at with that kiss?" He fell on Mulder's mouth, groaning as he gave Mulder everything Mulder had given him, thrusting his tongue deeply into Mulder's mouth, fucking him breathless. He pushed him back into the recliner, thudding it against the wall as he climbed on top of him, bracing himself on his knees, straddling the dazed, sprawled agent. He pulled his mouth off violently, licking Mulder's drool from his lips. "You want me to actually suck and bite and lick and fuck you like I've done in my head every night since the one we met?" He reached down and ripped the T-shirt up over Mulder's head, throwing it to the floor and raking his nails up Mulder's chest. He sank his teeth into Mulder's neck, biting and sucking and grunting low in his chest.

"Nuhhhh..." Mulder answered, gripping Krycek's hips frantically, arching up to press his own hard crotch against the one hovering over him as Krycek sucked him painfully.

Krycek responded with a long moan, the feel, the smell, the taste of Mulder taking over his senses and making him lose all sense of self, his body in charge now and with one objective. Possession. He forgot this was an actual person under him, a man with feelings and opinions and wants and needs. He could only sense this body, this smell, this taste that he had craved for years now, and it was his, dammit. HIS and nothing and no one was going to stop him from taking it, now.

"Gotta fuck you," he moaned, pulling his mouth away from the huge, redpurple mark he'd made on the side of Mulder's throat. "Oh God, gotta fuck you," he whined, reaching down between their bodies and ripping the button of Mulder's jeans open, yanking the fly open by sheer force, warping the zipper. He was vaguely aware of sounds, possibly words, coming from the mouth in front of him, but they were of little importance as he backed off Mulder's body and pulled him up out of the chair by his jeans. He then yanked them down over Mulder's hips and thighs, taking what he vaguely recognized as his own black boxers down with them. Whether Mulder was resisting or not, he couldn't say, but it wasn't impeding him if he was, and he spun Mulder around, pulling the jeans the rest of the way down and then shoving him forward, knocking him off his feet so he could pull them off.

Mulder landed on his knees on the chair, facing the back. Krycek ripped his own jeans open, cursing the fact that he couldn't press himself naked against his obsession, but not able to wait another moment to fuck him. He climbed into the seat of the chair behind Mulder, shoving him forward and knocking his legs open further with his fist, making room for his body.

"Wait...wait..." he heard Mulder say, and his mind screamed, "Can't! Too long!" He reached roughly between Mulder's tightly-clenched asscheeks and felt for his opening, finding it quickly and pressing in with his middle finger, grunting. "Ohhhh..." Mulder cried, and Krycek couldn't tell if it was pain or pleasure, but he tried to slow down as much as he could, reaching into his pocket for the condom he always carried there. He ripped it open with his teeth, then pulled it out and put it on quickly, nudging Mulder's asshole with the blunt tip of his sheathed cock as he rummaged for the small packet of lubricant he tried to remember to replenish from time to time. Yes! He brought it out with shaking fingers and opened it, too, with his teeth, ignoring or enjoying the moans coming from the man spread out in front of him. He squeezed the packet, sloppily covering his fingers with the slick substance, then threw the packet down and reached forward, pressing slicked fingers into the tight hole roughly, moaning at the sharp cries he heard coming from Mulder's throat, sorry it was so harsh but unable to do anything to stop himself.

"FFffffuck you," he gasped, not a curse but a promise as his fingers moved quickly, desperately, in and out of Mulder's body and he quickly added a third, forcing the way open, wincing at Mulder's sounds of discomfort, but continuing to fuck him open with his hand. "Love you," he groaned, unaware that his words had changed as he pulled his hand away and braced himself on the arm of the chair with his prosthetic, grabbing his cock with his hand and lining it up. His hand was shaking so badly he couldn't get it placed for a few moments. As soon as he did, he shoved hard, burying himself deeply, and he was dimly aware of a loud cry, possibly even a scream, over the rushing of blood and the long, low cry that was forced from his own throat.

"OH GOD YEAH!" He yelled, ramming himself in hard and deep, tears running down his cheeks unnoticed. "Yeah yeah yeah," he chanted as he thrust, sobbing now as he rammed Mulder against the back of the chair, holding him there as his hips pistoned in and out, fucking him hard and sharp and deep. "Oh God Oh God Oh God," he groaned as he climbed higher and higher toward his climax, flesh slapping flesh as he slammed into Mulder again and again. Blindly, he fumbled his hand between Mulder and the back of the chair, taking Mulder's cock in his fist and pumping it wildly. "God, fucking come come come," he said desperately, his hand moving spastically as he felt his body starting to totally overload. He was aware of Mulder's body bucking and spasming beneath and around him and in the next instant knew nothing but a white-hot oblivion, his body flying apart, his mind shattering, his voice breaking as his throat tore forth with a scream that sounded like he was dying.

It was a few moments before he regained any kind of conscious awareness of himself or his surroundings, and his hand was shaking so badly he couldn't get hold of himself to withdraw for a few tries, but finally he grabbed his cock around the base and pulled out, wincing at the hiss he heard come from Mulder's throat. He was shocked to look down and see faint blood streaks on the white condom, and he blinked and looked at Mulder's back, then down at his cock, then at the ass he'd just vacated, noting with horror the vivid redness surrounding that opening, at the obviously misused, bruised, and even torn tissue. He started shaking his head before he even knew what he was doing. "No...no..." he croaked, climbing back off the chair carefully, sliding off the used condom and holding it, staring at the heaving, sweaty back before him. Mulder said nothing, just lying against the back of the chair, face against the wall, eyes closed.

Krycek made his way to the bathroom with his pants around his thighs, threw away the condom, then pulled up and fastened his jeans. He washed his hand in the sink, looking quickly away from the sweaty, tearstained face in the mirror before wetting a towel with warm water and bringing it out to Mulder.

Mulder was just as Krycek had left him, but he had turned his head to the side, his cheek now resting against the wall. He was breathing slowly now and even appeared asleep. Krycek knew better. He cleared his throat.

"Mulder?" The agent neither moved nor answered, and Krycek stepped forward hesitantly, sharply aware of the contrast of Mulder's naked body with his fully-clothed and even jacketed one. "I-I brought you a towel," he said, extending it with his hand, his voice falling. Mulder was still and silent for a few more horrible moments, then slowly raised his head away from the wall, reaching behind him with one shaky, pale hand. "I-I'm..." Krycek began, placing the cooling towel into his hand. But he couldn't make himself finish. His brain was screaming 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Mulder, so sorry!' but his mouth wouldn't say it.

Mulder moved slowly, carefully getting down off the chair, a few sharp inhales the evidence of his mistreatment at the hands of Krycek. Krycek winced and squinted. "Are you hurt?" he asked inanely.

At that, Mulder looked up at him for the first time. "Yes," he said, then he carefully and slowly walked past Krycek toward the bathroom. Krycek's view of him blurred as his eyes filled with shame, then he looked away, closing them.

"I-I don't..." he started, but Mulder's quiet voice interrupted him.

"Just shut up."

And he did as he heard the bathroom door close.

...

Oh it hurt. It hurt deeply and it hurt shallowly. It hurt to stand, to walk, to step over the edge of the tub and into the shower.

He deserved it. He'd been a fool...an absolute moron to think that Krycek would ever have anything but pain to deal him. And pushing him like that? Teasing him like a caged animal? Stupid. Mulder turned on the water and began to soap the sweat from his body.

Had he done that on purpose? That goading, taunting, tormenting which he had to know was bound to end badly? He had, in fact. He hissed, gently reaching between his legs to rinse away the lube and blood. He still had believed he would retain the upper hand.

Why? Had he forgotten he was dealing with an assassin? A betrayer and a criminal of the highest degree? Had he been fooled for a moment by a show of kindness and a glimpse of normality? Did reading Krycek's copy of "Alas, Babylon" make him think he had some level of understanding of Krycek's psychotic mind?

He shook his head, using the plain soap this time to wash the sweat from his hair, rather than smelling again that once- comforting woodsy-musky shampoo he'd used just scant hours earlier. It would leave his hair dry and coarse, but he wouldn't smell like Krycek, and that was enough consolation.

When he felt relatively clean and the hot water had relaxed him somewhat, dulling the sharp ache all the way through his lower body, he turned off the water and stepped out onto the dark green mat. As if on cue, Krycek's voice came through the door.

"I laid your clothes outside the door. I'm going upstairs."

Mulder said nothing, pulling down a towel and cringing slightly as the smell of clean Krycek enveloped him. He quickly dried off, throwing the towel to the floor, then opened the bathroom door and pulled the small, neat pile of clothing inside.

It was neither the outfit he'd worn here nor the outfit Krycek had stripped him of, but a third outfit, soft, worn gray sweat pants and a crisp white Tshirt. There were no underwear this time, and he figured Krycek had rightly surmised that after that he'd choose commando over wearing Krycek's shorts. There was, however, a pair of thick, white cotton sweat socks, and he slipped them on gratefully, beginning to feel warm and comfortable despite the ever-present pain.

He came out of the bathroom, and true to his word, Krycek was nowhere in sight. He had left both the kitchen and living room lights on, and Mulder followed a burning smell into the kitchen. The sauce was a hard, black crust on the bottom of the saucepan, the pasta a thick, slimy paste. Dinner had been completely consumed and destroyed by the heat. He decided he wasn't hungry anyway.

Now what? He couldn't go home. Everyone except Scully thought he'd killed a man, and leaving with Krycek had really made him look guilty. He supposed he could go on the lam on his own, but Krycek owed him, didn't he? He got him into this mess, after all.

Mulder rubbed his hand over his face, then decided to go up and take some of the Advil he'd seen earlier, then get some answers. Some real answers. Damned if he was going to act like a rape victim.

...

Krycek turned his head, listening as Mulder came up the stairs slowly. He frowned at his part in making Mulder move so cautiously, and listened to the sound of the medicine cabinet next door opening and closing, then the brief running water. He figured Mulder would head to his own room, or perhaps even find one of the other bedrooms and crash, so he startled quite badly at the knock on his door. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

"Can I talk to you?" Mulder's voice was calm and strong. Krycek panicked, realizing he couldn't very well say no. But Mulder didn't wait for the answer, just pushing the door open as he had earlier. Krycek turned back to the window quickly, holding his false elbow with his right hand tightly, staring into the darkness outside.

"I said I need to talk to you." Mulder was closer now, his voice hard. Krycek turned around, glancing very briefly at Mulder but unable to meet his eyes. He stared at a spot on the floor, unconsciously holding himself.

"What the hell was that?"

Krycek's mouth fell open, then closed, then he swallowed hard. He wanted to have an answer for Mulder. He wanted to know, himself. But he didn't know what had possessed him, made him do something so horrible and stupid and crazy. He didn't know who he'd been as he'd fucked Mulder so hard and so brutally. He turned back to the window before Mulder could see his eyes flood again.

"Well?" Mulder's voice was closer now, several steps behind him, just beside the foot of his bed. It was clear that Mulder wouldn't leave without a satisfactory explanation.

Did he want Mulder to believe it was nothing...just violence and domination and lust? Did he want Mulder to continue to hate him, to think he was hated in return?

Or did he want to reveal his growing awareness of his uncontrollable passion for this man? Did he even want to face it himself? Would he rather think himself a rapist than think that his feelings for Mulder could make him lose control like that?

No. Whatever else Alex Krycek had been forced to do and to become, he was no rapist. He steeled himself for what he thought was probably going to be the hardest, scariest, most courageous thing he'd ever done in his life. Telling the truth.

"I've...wanted...you..." he whispered brokenly.

"What?" Mulder asked, coming closer.

Krycek cleared his throat, closing his eyes. "I said, I've wanted you, Mulder, for such a long time." He stopped, willing himself not to pass out or vomit, feeling very close to doing one or the other or both at any moment.

"Uh huh." Mulder was obviously not impressed.

He tried again. "I didn't know...I didn't realize how much..." he trailed off.

"Look at me," Mulder said shortly.

He couldn't. Couldn't gain enough control of his body to make it turn around, to make his eyes meet those of the man behind him.

"I said, look at me."

He slowly turned his body, staring at the floor, then moved his eyes haltingly up Mulder's body to his face. He tried to make his mind a blank as he met that intense, curious, confused and hurting gaze.

"Do you realize you told me you loved me?" Mulder asked calmly.

Krycek turned white, feeling the room start to spin. Love? He'd said love? He'd never even let himself think that loaded word. He had no answer for Mulder as he used every ounce of his will to keep his head raised, his body upright.

"What was that?" Mulder bit out. "Just part of fucking with my head while you fucked my body?"

"No!" Krycek said too loudly. "No, Mulder, I didn't say it on purpose."

"Oh, so it's just something you say in the heat of the moment."

"No," replied Krycek quietly.

"No?"

Krycek gritted his teeth, breathing deeply. "No. I've never said it." He took another deep breath. "Not even to my own mother."

Mulder's eyes narrowed, his brow creasing in confusion and not a little fear.

"To answer your question," continued Krycek slowly, defeatedly, "No, Mulder, I didn't know I'd said that."

The two men stared across the short distance between them for what seemed like endless periods of time. Then Mulder spoke.

"How can you...why have you...what the fuck are you doing in my life, Krycek?" Mulder's voice rose, and Krycek winced.

He'd honestly never thought of it that way before. He'd only been doing his job, and being dangerously distracted by the pull he'd felt from Fox Mulder. Sometimes to the point where his own life was in danger, and sometimes to the point where Mulder's was. He'd never considered what it must feel like from Mulder's side. He'd never thought Mulder took much notice of him, honestly, except as a convenient whipping boy on which he could always take out his frustrations

And did he? Did he really...love...Fox Mulder? Did he really even know what that word meant? What had made him say that?? What demon had jumped inside his brain and blurted out such dangerous gibberish? And was it gibberish? Or was it a truth he wasn't even aware of himself?

"I-I can't leave," he finally said by way of a late answer to Mulder's question. "I can't seem to leave," he repeated, more to himself this time.

"Lucky fucking me," muttered Mulder angrily. Then, at Krycek's wounded glance, he went on. "Is that...why you stopped me?" Now his voice was quiet. Ashamed.

"I didn't really think about it," Krycek said slowly, his tongue finding it strange to let the truth just slip out from between his lips at the same time he was discovering it. "I got there and saw that they were going to let you do it...going to let you kill yourself...and I knew."

"Knew...?" Mulder asked softly.

Krycek inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Knew that nothing mattered...nothing was worth anything if you weren't alive." His heart clenched, his gut turning as he realized it was true. And realized what that really meant for him, for Mulder, for all of the human race. "I don't know when that became the case," he continued quietly. "Maybe I just took my first assignment too personally."

"Assignment?" Mulder's voice was low, measured.

"To keep you alive," answered Krycek. "To see that you didn't do anything to get your fool ass killed." He smiled sadly, remembering easier times, simpler goals.

"I thought you were sent to sabotage me," said Mulder quietly.

"Yes, I was," answered Krycek, nodding. "Your brilliance has come so close to getting you killed so many times. I was there to make sure you never crossed that fine line."

"And...Scully?"

"Hated her," answered Krycek without hesitation. "Wanted her out of the way as soon as I realized how much a part of your life she still was." He watched Mulder's eyes darken, the familiar storm quickly building there. "But I didn't know what they had done until it was too late," he went on, looking at a point beyond Mulder. "I didn't even know where they had taken her until you figured it out. Then they told me I had to keep you from reaching her, or you might get hurt. So that's what I did." He shrugged, running his hand up and down his prosthetic as if warming it.

"What..." Mulder's voice was raspy. "What did they do to her, Krycek? Why is she dying?"

Krycek heard the tears hiding in Mulder's voice, and he squinted, realizing he'd have to go further than he'd ever in all of his life planned.

"She's dying because they removed the chip."

Mulder blinked. "What?"

"It's a failsafe device, designed to keep the subjects from removing the implants. It fucks with their DNA, causing tumors and other abnormalities. It also ensures elimination of subjects once they start to figure out what's going on, so that no one can figure out what's been done to them."

Mulder's mouth hung open, eyes blinking rapidly. It was obvious that Mulder wasn't going to waste time not believing him this time. There was too much at stake. For both of them, though Mulder couldn't possibly be thinking of that.

"Can I save her?" Mulder whispered.

Krycek licked his lips. "Yes."

"How?" Mulder's whisper was breathless, full of fear and hope and already cold with disappointment at what he was sure Krycek would say. Krycek couldn't help but smile, knowing he had the one thing that could give Mulder peace.

"We need to get the implant back from them and put it back," he replied.

Mulder frowned. "What does the implant do?" he said almost inaudibly.

Krycek sighed, the smile gone. "It tracks her location, and in extreme circumstances, it can be used to summon her. Control her."

"Control her?" Mulder's voice was full of horror.

"It's what they used to get Duane Barry to her, Mulder. He didn't know where she lived. No one gave him her address." He stopped, remembering a meeting around a polished oak table, his suit scratchy against his collar, watching the men around him silently scoff and sneer as Mulder shared his theories on what had happened to his partner. He'd started to really feel regret only at that moment. He'd looked over at his boss, and he'd realized he was too far gone to do anything but keep swimming. "They simply summoned him to her, and then summoned him to the mountain."

Mulder rushed forward, grabbing Krycek by the shoulders, his eyes gleaming with tears. "You knew! You knew what they were doing, you bastard!"

"No! No, Mulder, I told you, I didn't know until after the fact," said Krycek, grabbing Mulder's hand with his own, trying to stop Mulder from shaking him. "I only knew much later, and I convinced them to chip her instead of killing her. I convinced them to let me bring her back."

Mulder stared at him, silent tears coursing down his cheeks. "You? You brought her back to me? I thought you said you hated her."

"I did," Krycek shrugged under Mulder's grip. "But I knew you needed her. I knew you couldn't make it without her."

"You have to help me," said Mulder quickly, wet eyes staring intently into his. Krycek watched a tear drip off the sharp jawline.

He let go of Mulder's hand on his shoulder and nodded, reaching forward to brush his thumb along Mulder's cheek. "She'll be fine, Mulder," he said softly.

Mulder jerked back from the touch, blinking and frowning, letting go of Krycek's shoulders and stepping back a step.

Krycek withdrew his trembling hand, slowly lowering it to his side. "We'll get the chip," he said, his voice a broken whisper. "She'll be fine."

Mulder nodded, looking at the floor. His face was still lowered when he looked up at Krycek from beneath his lashes. "Do you know where it is?"

"I think so."

Mulder nodded again, slowly, then turned and without another word, headed for the door.

"Mulder..."

He stopped, still facing the door. He said nothing.

"That's not what I...wanted to do," Krycek said softly, his voice barely above a breath.

"Me neither," Mulder replied, and stepped out the door.

...

That night, Mulder woke three times with nightmares, but none of the times did Krycek come rushing in, brandishing his firearm. Mulder, relieved and disappointed, got about three hours sleep, all told, before he heard Krycek running the shower in the upstairs bathroom.

Mulder remembered his own shower the previous day, his juvenile fantasies and new desires. Krycek was in there now, naked, standing again where Mulder'd stood and touched himself while thinking of him. Was Krycek now touching himself and thinking of Mulder? Did Mulder want him to?

He swung his feet out of bed, the dulling ache in his backside reminding him of the extent of Krycek's feeling for him. It had been terrifying, and exhilarating, and painful, and it was easily the most sexually exciting thing that had ever happened to Mulder. He'd felt that unrestrained lust, that wave of pure need that had carried Krycek on beyond the point of control, and despite his own physical pain, he'd been more aroused than he'd ever want to admit.

He wanted Alex Krycek. He'd wanted him before. And now that he knew the extent of the man's passion for him, he wanted him again. Krycek was like a dangerous drug, addictive after only one try. And the scary part was, he knew he could have him. He knew that, whether or not Krycek 'loved' Mulder, as he had said, he certainly 'wanted' him.

Mulder sat on the edge of the bed, chewing his lip indecisively until he heard the water turn off. As if that were some kind of Pavlovian cue, he stood and, not letting himself think another moment, strode purposefully to the bathroom. He hesitated only a minute before turning the knob boldly.

It wasn't locked, as he had known it wouldn't be. He swung the door open, stepping into the bathroom to find Krycek bent over, naked except for the towel he was using to dry his hair. Krycek shot up, spinning around, eyes darting wildly, looking, it seemed, for something to cover himself with. Mulder reached up and jerked the towel out of Krycek's hand, leaving him stripped of everything. He glanced curiously at the stump of Krycek's arm, then met his eyes coldly.

"Wha-what do you want, Mulder?" Krycek asked breathlessly, running his hand over and over through his dripping hair, turning the marred side of his body away.

"Same thing you want, I guess," said Mulder, voice raspy with selfloathing. He stripped his T-shirt off over his head and flung it to the wet floor.

"I-I don't understand," stammered Krycek, watching Mulder bend and matter-of-factly strip off the pair of sweats Krycek had given him.

"You wanna fuck me. And I guess...I guess I wanna be fucked." Mulder, now totally nude, grabbed his cock with one hand and squeezed gently. It was rapidly filling and rising in his grip. He noticed that Krycek's own erection was at about half-mast and rising, too. He also saw what he hadn't been able to see the night before. Krycek's cock was long, though not nearly as long as Mulder's, but what it lacked in length it more than made up for in girth. No wonder Mulder's ass was sore. "Can I just suck you off this time?" Mulder asked, trying to hide his nervousness. He started to get to his knees.

"No!" Krycek yelled, reaching down to pull Mulder back up. "That's not what I want, Mulder. I..."

Mulder frowned, straightening back up.

"I don't want that...I don't want you on your knees, Mulder. I never did." Krycek blinked rapidly, staring down at the puddles on the floor. His erection was wilting.

"I don't get it," said Mulder, eyes narrowing. "Last night..."

"I told you, Mulder," said Krycek, bending to pick up the towel Mulder had taken from him and wrapping it around his middle. "That's not what I wanted to happen." He quickly stepped around Mulder and out the door, and Mulder turned and watched him, his brow creased with confusion. When he heard Krycek go next door and shut the door to his bedroom, Mulder slowly stepped forward and turned on the water for his own shower.

As Mulder soaped his chest vigorously, he became more and more frustrated. Was it just that everything had to be on Krycek's terms? Was it only going to happen when it was Krycek's idea? Did Krycek want to make him crawl? Beg? Well, that wasn't going to happen. Mulder may want Krycek so bad that, even now, getting angrier and angrier, his cock was rock-hard, but he'd be damned if he'd lose all his pride for good sex. He decided he needed to take the edge off before facing his host again.

He reached down with one soapy hand, bucking forward into his own touch as he stroked his slick palm from root to tip slowly. God, he was more sensitive than he'd thought. It wasn't going to take much this time. He conjured up the image of Krycek fucking him in the recliner and couldn't stop the moan that worked from his throat, reverberating off the shower walls. His eyes fluttered closed, and he braced himself with one hand against the wall, wrapping the other firmly around his cock.

He focused on the pain, the sharp invasion first of Krycek's fingers, then his dick, forcing its way into Mulder's body, making room for itself against the protestations of the virgin flesh. To his surprise, that didn't send the jolt to his cock that he'd expected. Maybe it was being stripped and thrown around that had done it. He'd found pleasure in being a bottom before, but it had always left him feeling vaguely drained. But this was so different. He imagined the feeling of his jeans roughly leaving his body, the disequilibrium of falling face-forward into the chair and feeling a hot, male body take its place behind him.

That made him throb, but nothing close to what he'd thought he'd get from that image, that memory. Was it the man himself? Did he need to specifically imagine Krycek's hand on him, Krycek's fingers in him, Krycek fucking him? Oh yeah, that was better, the memory of Krycek's frantic, grasping hand, his slippery, insistent fingers.

Mulder thrust into his own fist, groaning into the steam. Krycek's chest, scratchy with unfamiliar hair, sweaty against his back, Krycek's hips pumping hard against him, hurting with every thrust, driving him closer and closer to a climax he knew would blow his mind.

"Oh...Oh God...please..." He said the words he hadn't let himself utter last night, climbing closer and closer to the release he needed. Then he remembered how Krycek had desperately grabbed hold of his aching, thrumming cock and gasped desperately into his ear, "God, fucking come come come!" and it was that desperation, that base, mindless, out of control need that drove Mulder over his edge, the breathless, groaning rasp of Krycek's voice shooting through his mind. He jerked again and again into his own tight fist, head falling back, mouth open on a cry he didn't realize he was making, spurting into the cooling stream of water, then shuddering as his knees threatened to give out and he caught himself against the shower wall, panting.

Oh God...he'd never had such an intense jerk-off session in his life, and his body felt weak and dizzy in the aftermath. He closed his eyes, leaning against the wall for support, and caught his breath, the water beginning to run cold as it hit his shoulder. When he was breathing close to normal and the strength was returning to his legs, he reached forward and shakily turned off the taps, then stepped out into the bathroom carefully. He opened the cupboard and took down a towel, slowly and thoughtfully drying his pinprick-sensitive body.

He looked around and found that the T-shirt he'd flung to the floor had landed in a puddle of water and was now soaked, but the sweat pants had fallen in the corner and looked wearable. He slipped into them, noticing again how soft and warm and comforting they seemed. It was obvious Krycek had worn these many times himself. He'd given Mulder one of his favorite pieces of clothing. Mulder frowned and scrubbed his hair with the towel, then draped it over the shower rod and left the bathroom.

The door to Krycek's bedroom was closed again, and Mulder stopped outside of it, listening. He stepped back quickly as the door swung inward, Krycek exiting dressed head to toe in black. Black jeans, black turtleneck, black boots. Krycek startled as he found Mulder lurking outside his door, then hid his surprise, making his face a cold mask.

"I don't get it," said Mulder without preamble, not moving aside to let Krycek pass.

Krycek tried to step around him, but Mulder stepped into his way again. Krycek sighed, squaring his shoulders. "What, Mulder?"

"Do you want me or not?" Mulder's voice was challenging, but he himself heard and hated the hurt hovering on the edges. And he watched Krycek blink and knew he heard it, too.

"Just tell me," said Mulder quietly. "You told me the truth before. Just tell me the truth about this."

Krycek stared at him.

"Do You Want Me?" asked Mulder again, enunciating each word painfully clearly. He thought he knew the answer, but Krycek's rejection of him in the bathroom had caused doubt to creep in. He waited, pinning Krycek with his emotionless gaze.

...

Krycek fidgeted, trying to look away, but feeling the pull of those deep hazel eyes like nothing he'd felt before. Did he want Mulder? His heart, his stomach, his head, and most definitely his cock ached with how much. He took a deep breath, getting ready for anything.

"I want you," he whispered, blinking rapidly as though that would cut the intensity of Mulder's focused stare.

"Then why?" Mulder frowned.

"Mulder..." Krycek began, then he dropped his head, staring at the floor. After several moments of contemplating the red and blue of the rug, he looked up into Mulder's timelessly patient gaze. "I never, ever want you on your knees for me again," he said in a low, soft voice. "I told you, that's not what I wanted to happen." He felt the logjam in his mind break free, and the words he'd wanted to scream finally made their way through. He looked up and met Mulder's gaze head on. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that happened, Mulder."

He saw Mulder's eyes narrow slightly and watched his bare, glistening chest rise and fall with several deep, considering breaths. He swallowed hard, wanting so badly to both look away and to devour this man with his eyes. He settled for studying the face as it studied him. Mulder's voice made him jump a little when he finally spoke.

"If that's not what you wanted, what was it?" Mulder's voice was quiet, the words sounding like they'd narrowly avoided being swallowed rather than spoken.

Krycek let out a breath. What did he want? Did Mulder really want to know? And why? Mulder should hate him for what happened. And why, why, why did he think Krycek would want him on his knees again? He'd said over and over that was not what he wanted! What would it take? Then he knew.

He fell to his own knees before Mulder softly, head bowed. Mulder's bare feet stumbled back a step in confusion. Krycek looked up into wide eyes.

"I want to touch you," he sighed, raising his hand a little. "Just...be allowed...to touch you."

Mulder licked his lips, and Krycek tracked the motion hungrily with his eyes, letting his desire show.

"Please?"

"Get up," Mulder choked out. "Get up."

Krycek got to his feet slowly without taking his eyes off Mulder. The two men stared at each other for an endless moment, a million emotions and unsaid words flickering in Mulder's fathomless eyes. Krycek just breathed and watched the show, waiting.

"How?" The word was whispered.

"How what?" replied Krycek throatily.

Mulder stared at him a moment before answering. "How...do you want to touch me?"

Krycek breathed out heavily. "Let me show you." At Mulder's nearly imperceptible nod, he stepped forward, raising his hand once again. Mulder made no move toward him and Krycek had to reach down and pick up his hand.

"Come with me." He turned and gently guided Mulder through the doorway and into his bedroom again. He stopped with Mulder standing beside the bed. He turned to face him.

"Your face," he said quietly. "I want to touch your face." He waited, looking into Mulder's frowning eyes, until he got what he needed, another nod of assent. At that, he smiled, raising his one hand to place the pads of his fingers lightly at the side of Mulder's eye, brushing softly downward.

"So incredible," he said distantly. "So perfect." Mulder blinked rapidly, and Krycek quickly raised his fingers to run them very, very gently over the fluttering lashes. "Amazing," he said, breathing in deeply, dizzy on the scent of freshly-scrubbed Mulder. He ran his fingers down the majestic nose and Mulder's frown deepened. "I love your nose, Mulder," he said, smiling again gently. "It's so you."

At that, one of Mulder's eyebrows cocked, his lips pursing just slightly. Krycek trailed his fingers down, sliding his thumb over those lips again and again, sighing. He grunted very softly as Mulder's tongue flicked out to lick nervously at them and caught a taste of his thumb. The tiny stroke of wet heat was a spark straight to his groin. He couldn't help but to gently press against that full, sumptuous bottom lip. He breathed heavily as Mulder's mouth opened slightly, allowing Krycek's thumb to stroke along the silky, moist place just inside that full lower lip.

Mulder's mouth closed on his thumb and Krycek gasped. He groaned as he felt Mulder's tongue slide out and curl around it, laving it curiously. He swallowed and withdrew it, lowering his shaking hand to his side. Mulder licked his lips repeatedly, his eyes darkened and beautiful, and it took several breaths for Krycek to regain his composure. When he had, he raised his hand again.

"Your neck," he said shakily, reaching to run one fingertip down the side of it. Mulder's eyes closed and his head fell to the side, baring more skin. Krycek could see the violet-red mark he'd put there the day before, and he frowned as he stroked his thumb over it softly.

Mulder shuddered. Krycek watched it work through his long, graceful body, and inhaled deeply as he watched Mulder's cock press the fabric of his sweat pants out in front of his body. He closed his eyes, feeling his own cock surging with blood, then opened them to find Mulder's looking right back at him. Krycek's hand was resting softly on Mulder's shoulder. His thumb began to move again.

"Your shoulders," he said, stroking down over the left one. "Bearing the world," he said absently, giving them a gentle squeeze, as if to knead the tension out. Mulder grunted slightly, eyes fluttering closed again, and Krycek strengthened his ministrations, massaging the whipcord-tight muscles now, loving the way Mulder's body seemed to lengthen and melt at his touch. He had to do one shoulder at a time, but did a thorough job, listening to Mulder's deep, relaxing breaths and occasional small moans and glowing with pride at having produced such results.

"Lie down," he said softly, nodding at the bed but not pushing Mulder. Mulder slowly lowered himself to the bed, frowning again, his body tensing once more. He situated himself lying lengthwise on the bed, chest rising and falling rapidly as he stared at Krycek, waiting to see what he would do next.

At first he just looked. Mulder on his bed. Fox Mulder, nearly naked, wearing his favorite sweat pants and stretched out on top of his bed. He couldn't keep the dopey smile from his face. And he was allowed...allowed to touch him. And from the looks of the poor, strained cotton stretched over Mulder's sizeable erection, his touch was wanted.

He stripped off his shirt, then worked the button and zipper on his jeans, kicking off his boots and getting out of his pants and underwear quickly. As he rose up from pulling his jeans free of his feet, he found Mulder staring at his cock with a deep crease in his brow.

"I'll never do that to you again," said Krycek in a low, shamed voice. "I only want to touch you."

Mulder looked up at his eyes at that.

"Nothing you don't want," Krycek said. "Never again." He stared at Mulder staring at him, feeling the uncertainty in the air. "Can I touch you?" He asked once again, stepping toward the bed. He watched Mulder's upper teeth sink into his lower lip as Mulder struggled with his question. Krycek didn't hear a yes, but he didn't get a no, either, and so he climbed slowly and carefully onto the bed, kneeling beside Mulder. He reached out, his hand moving slowly up over Mulder's body.

"Your chest," he breathed, his fingers alighting softly on it. "I want to touch your chest, Mulder." The skin jumped and heaved beneath his soft touch, but Mulder didn't tell him to stop, staring at the ceiling in between closing his eyes. Krycek stroked over to Mulder's left nipple, stopping just short of it. He raised his fingers from Mulder's flesh, then reached out with his ring finger and gently scraped his fingernail across the already tightening nipple.

Mulder gasped and arched up off the bed, pushing his chest against Krycek's hand. Krycek smiled and stroked him firmly, now running his finger around and around the small nub, making Mulder's breath catch and heave, his body rising and falling as he tried to decide whether to rise up into or avoid the touch. Krycek brushed his hand over to the other nipple, giving it the same attention. He alternated between the two of them, feeling murderous at the lack of a second hand to get the job done right. Mulder writhed under his touch, his breaths turning to small, nearly inaudible moans. Krycek was actually drooling, watching him respond. He shifted, taking a little pressure off his aching balls, and rested his hand at the waistband of the sweat pants he'd given Mulder to borrow.

"These are my favorite," he said softly. "I wear them whenever I want to feel..."

Mulder opened his eyes. "Feel what?" he asked a little breathlessly.

Krycek squinted, looking down at the face, so open and beautiful and flushed with excitement, looking back up at him.

"Home," he finally rasped, so quietly he thought Mulder probably didn't hear him. But Mulder nodded slightly, eyes serious.

...

Mulder sat up, raising himself on his hands. Krycek frowned and moved back a little nervously. "It was just what I needed," said Mulder softly.

Krycek smiled, letting his eyes trail over Mulder's chest and back up.

Mulder smiled. "No, I'm talking about the clothes. The pants." Mulder looked down shyly a second, then back up from under his lashes. "The socks." He grinned.

"The socks?" asked Krycek, brows arching.

"Yeah," replied Mulder. "They were more comfortable...more comforting...than anything I've felt in a long time."

To his surprise, Krycek's smile faded. "I'm sorry you needed that comfort, Mulder. God, an assault is the last thing you needed, after trying..."

"To kill myself?" Mulder finished for him.

Krycek looked down, hand clenched into a fist at his side.

"You're missing something," said Mulder, leaning up off his hands. Krycek looked up quickly, lips parting in surprise as Mulder came closer. Mulder got on his knees, kneeling in front of Krycek. "I didn't want that," he continued, and Krycek squinted, trying to look away. Mulder grabbed his jaw gently, holding his face in place. "At least I didn't know I did," he went on. "But when I felt your hands on me..." Mulder looked away a second, feeling embarrassment make him mute, then he gathered his courage in the face of this man's utter worship of his body. "When I felt you in me," he said, his voice falling into a lower, breathier range. "It was the most amazing fucking thing I've ever felt."

As Krycek's mouth dropped open further in shock, Mulder dove in and claimed it, immediately pressing his tongue in deeply. He wrapped his arms around Krycek's body, feeling the muscles first tense, then relax under his touch, a deep moan reverberating from Krycek's throat to instantly be swallowed by his own. He pulled his mouth off to speak, watching Krycek's lashes flutter wildly. "I didn't know I wanted you to fuck me, Alex," he said, trying out the flavor of the man's first name and liking it. "I thought I just wanted to fuck you."

Krycek's mouth opened on a whimper, and before he could say anything in response, Mulder took his mouth again, pressing him back into the bed. He soon had Krycek stretched out under him, his tongue shoved deeply down the unresisting throat. Krycek's arm came up around him, gripping him tightly, holding him down against him. Mulder thrust his still-clothed crotch against Krycek's naked one and broke the kiss again.

"You said that wasn't what you wanted to do," he said breathlessly, lips just inches from Krycek's, which were now being licked repeatedly by their owner. "Are you saying you didn't want to fuck me, Krycek?"

"No," Krycek gasped out. "God, no," he added, eyes closing as he struggled to catch his breath underneath the man still gently thrusting against him.

"Are you saying you wanted me to fuck you?" Mulder clarified, emphasizing the key words with more urgent pulses of his hips.

"I do want you to fuck me," Krycek groaned, his hips moving helplessly, pressing up and grinding into Mulder's. "I want you to fuck me and I wanted to...make love to you." He raised his head up, mashing his lips into Mulder's before Mulder could retreat. Not that Mulder wanted to, sinking into the kiss with a growl and taking back control, pushing Krycek's head back down into the pillow.

"I'm not gay, you know," he said, pulling his lips away for a moment before going back in again. Krycek moaned against his lips plaintively, and he spoke against them breathlessly. "I just want to fuck you." Krycek whined and kissed him frantically, gripping the material of his own sweat pants over Mulder's ass and yanking on them, trying to remove them as quickly as possible. Mulder helped him, shimmying and trying to kick the soft gray material down off his legs. "I had no idea it would feel so good to be touched by another man," he continued, lowering his lips to Krycek's neck as he kicked the pants free, now totally naked.

"Uhhnn!" Krycek groaned as Mulder's hot, silky erection slid up against his.

"Oh God," Mulder gasped against Krycek's neck. "Or how good it could feel to touch another man," he breathed into the ear next to his lips, moving his hips, rubbing his cock against Krycek's.

Krycek shivered and moved under him, mouth open on gasp after gasp as Mulder humped him.

"Muh-Mulder," he gasped out.

"Mm," Mulder hummed against his throat, sucking hard.

Krycek arched into it. "Fuck me!"

"Mmm!" Mulder moaned against his skin, pressing against him hard.

"Nnngod, Mulder, now!" he begged. "Before it's too late!"

Mulder raised his face to look into Krycek's eyes and saw the urgency there.

"You gonna come for me, Alex?" Mulder breathed, moving slowly and firmly, eyes drifting closed in pleasure and then opening again.

"Oh God!" Krycek sobbed. "Don't say that! Don't do that!" He clenched his teeth as Mulder smiled, thrusting one last, excruciatingly thorough time. "Lube...condoms...table..." Krycek choked out, throwing his hand to the side.

"You talk too much," Mulder said, swooping in for another kiss before lunging to the side and pulling open the bedside table's drawer. Krycek lay gasping, eyes squeezed tightly shut as Mulder pulled out a foil packet and a small, slim bottle. Mulder's hands were shaking as he ripped open the packet with his teeth and kneeled up, rolling the condom down over his twitching cock. Then he opened the bottle of lube, slathering it onto his dick, covering his fingers liberally in the process. He clicked the lid closed on the bottle and tossed it on the bed, then leaned back over his victim.

"Turn over," he said in a dark, smoky voice. Krycek immediately complied, wriggling a bit to raise his ass for Mulder. "Damn, Alex. You really have one fucking amazing ass," said Mulder thoughtfully, tilting his head and really looking it over. He reached his hand forward, smoothing it over the full, round, pale globes appreciatively. Krycek whined slightly, raising it higher into Mulder's touch. Mulder slid his slippery fingers in between the cheeks, running them from the top of the crevice to the bottom, gliding over the small opening he was preparing to breach. Krycek writhed and moaned under him, rubbing himself against the bed and gasping.

"You make a beautiful slut," Mulder said, sounding very pleased. Krycek moaned and continued to move for him. Mulder slid his finger around in circles over Krycek's small, tight asshole, leaning in and bracing himself on Krycek's thigh. Krycek whimpered and spread his legs, inviting Mulder to go further. So he did, working his middle finger into Krycek's hole and beginning to fuck it.

"Gah...Muh...You don't have to be gentle," Krycek gasped out into the pillow. "Go ahead...just fuck me."

Mulder moaned at the words, leaning in to slide his sheathed cock against Krycek's hard thigh as he pressed in with another finger, working Krycek open for him quickly. He remembered how roughly Krycek had fingered him, but somehow that had no bearing on what he wanted to do to him. This was about making Krycek his. Making Krycek fall apart in the most awesome way Mulder knew how. Mulder angled his fingers down, stroking and twisting, and Krycek bucked up against him with a loud grunt as he found the prostate.

"God, Mulder! I'm gonna come if you don't...just fuck me!" Krycek shoved his face into the pillow in frustration.

Mulder pulled his fingers out and decided to take Krycek's advice, moving to kneel between his widely spread thighs, surveying the situation. He decided he wanted that gorgeous ass propped up just a little higher for his comfort and pleasure, and grabbed a pillow, shoving it under Krycek's hips and inadvertently jostling his cock. Krycek cried out, raising his hips and settling in on the pillow. Mulder moved in, sliding his cock up between Krycek's ass cheeks, his eyes fluttering closed on a groan.

Krycek moaned and raised his ass higher, placing the head of Mulder's cock right at his loosened, slick entrance. He shoved back against Mulder, trying to impale himself. Mulder swallowed hard, Krycek's shameless lust nearly driving him to come all by itself. He grabbed himself around the base and started shoving in, pressing forward in little stabbing thrusts until he popped past the ring of muscle. He let out a sharp, stuttering breath, letting his body relax down on top of Krycek's, placing his hands on either side of his body. Hot skin pressed against hot skin from shoulders to hips.

He took momentary notice of Krycek's truncated arm, then stopped thinking as he felt his cock slide deeper into that willing body.

"OohhhnnnnGod..." Mulder groaned against Krycek's shoulder as he sank in deeply, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as his cock became engulfed in the tightest, hottest thing he'd ever known. Krycek moaned high and breathy as Mulder impaled him, gripping the blanket in his one hand. Mulder took a moment to get himself under control, and then he began to move.

He pumped slowly, staying deep inside, working his body against Krycek's. He opened his mouth against Krycek's throat, groaning and fucking him with intense focus. Krycek's face came up out of the pillow, panting out shuddering breaths, and he turned his head, trying to catch Mulder's mouth in a kiss.

Mulder leaned in, pumping hard, and fastened his mouth to Krycek's. He swallowed Krycek's grunts and whimpers and sobs, putting all his focus on the fucking of his ass. Krycek moved to meet his thrusts, and they worked in a hard, smooth, unending rhythm, eating one another's mouths as they undulated together.

As Mulder began getting closer and closer to losing all control, his mouth couldn't stay engaged any longer, and it opened, gasping against Krycek's cheek.

"Gonna...come..." he panted.

"Oh!" Krycek sobbed. "Oh God, Mulder!" And his hips were bucking, ramming his erection into the pillow beneath him and pumping his come out onto it. Mulder groaned as the tight contractions squeezed him, and he felt the tears slide down his face as his mouth opened on a howl and he came. He screamed into Krycek's ear as his body went rigid, then jolted and shuddered him through an orgasm even more intense than the one Krycek had given him in the chair. As he finally, finally, felt it let go of his body, he went limp on top of Krycek with an inarticulate animal growl of utter satiation.

He drifted in a haze of exhaustion for a moment before becoming aware of words being spoken by the mouth somewhere near his face. He raised his head, licking his lips. "What?"

"Thank you," Krycek repeated. "Thank you for that."

Mulder smiled lazily. "Anytime," he said, feeling himself start to slide out of Krycek's body. He quickly reached down and grabbed the base of the condom, pulling out completely and kneeling behind Krycek.

Krycek groaned, then turned over slowly until he was lying on his back, keeping his legs on either side of Mulder. He looked at him, eyes dark and hooded, lashes spiked with tears Mulder hadn't noticed him shedding. Mulder slid off the condom, tying it off and tossing it the wastebasket by the bed, then settled in on his heels, regarding the man under him.

"Will you really fuck me anytime I want you to?" asked Krycek, brows arched.

Mulder quirked up one corner of his mouth, responding to Krycek's attempt to lighten the charged atmosphere. Then the reality of the situation, and even the question, hit him, and the half-smile faded.

Krycek's brow furrowed as he looked up at Mulder's darkening expression. Mulder frowned back and climbed over Krycek's leg, then off the bed. He picked up the discarded sweats and slipped them on slowly, buying time while he tried to figure out how to get past the awkwardness of this moment.

"Uh, I need to shower again," he said, running his non-lubed hand through his hair.

Krycek scooted himself up into a sitting position against the headboard, nodding vaguely. He looked at a spot on the floor by Mulder's bare feet.

"I just...need a minute," said Mulder helplessly, seeing the hurt washing over Krycek's features but not being in a place to do anything about it. Krycek just nodded again, not looking at him, and finally Mulder sighed and walked out the door, resisting the urge to look back.

...

Krycek's eyes closed as soon as Mulder was out the door. He sighed deeply, holding himself with his arm. It was obvious that Mulder regretted what he'd done. What *they'd* done. He should have expected it, and part of him had, but the sting still hurt worse than he ever could have imagined. And stupid, stupid, stupid. He'd pushed things, making Mulder think of the future instead of just living in the present, asking him flippantly if he was going to fuck him again.

Dammit all to hell. He opened his eyes, staring at nothing as they glazed over with unnoticed tears. No more feeling. He couldn't afford it. It made him stupid and dangerous and needy and vulnerable. He made his expression cold, shutting down the emotions as they came, building a wall around them quickly. By the time Mulder had finished with his shower, Krycek was dressed and downstairs, putting breakfast on the table.

He looked up to see Mulder pad into the kitchen wearing a pair of his jeans and one of his gray T-shirts. He vaguely wondered if Mulder was wearing his underwear, then mentally shrugged, telling himself he didn't care anyway. He looked back down at the table, setting out the sausages and eggs.

"Smells good," Mulder commented, lowering himself into a chair.

Krycek noticed he was still moving carefully, and swallowed back his feelings before they could even define themselves, going behind his wall of ice. He put a cup of coffee in front of Mulder, then took a place on the other end from him.

"We'll need some things," he said, cutting his sausage link into four neat pieces and pushing them around on his plate. When Mulder didn't reply, he looked up to find him staring at him. He looked back down at his plate, now separating out a bite of scrambled egg slowly and methodically.

"What things?" Mulder asked finally, picking up his fork and beginning to eat.

Krycek sighed quietly with relief. He raised the fork to his mouth, placing the food on his tongue and making himself chew it before swallowing. "We need to override their security system," he said, taking a long drink of coffee.

Mulder nodded, already half through his plate of food. "I have some friends."

Krycek nodded. "We can get in touch with them as soon as we're done eating. How quickly do you think they can get the stuff?" He put his fork down, nauseated with the thought of continuing his pretense of eating.

"As quickly as we need it," said Mulder around a mouthful of food. Somehow, that was so intimate, being with Mulder while he talked with his mouth full. Krycek stood, grabbing up his coffee cup, his chair scraping back from the table abruptly.

"I'll be in the living room when you're done," he said, and quickly walked through the archway, not waiting for a response.

It was no more than two minutes after he had sat down on the couch that Mulder entered, carrying his own coffee mug. Krycek looked up in time to see Mulder glance at the recliner, his lips parting for a moment before he looked away. He found a seat on the loveseat at a right angle to the couch. He leaned forward, placing his cup on the shared coffee table. Krycek swallowed back the shame that the sight of the chair evoked in him, making a mental note to get rid of the damned thing as soon as Mulder was gone.

"So we just break in and get this chip back, and put it into Scully's neck again?" Mulder leaned back into the loveseat, crossing his ankle over his leg.

Krycek nodded. "Basically." He tried not to think about how Mulder had said he'd liked it when Krycek had fucked him into the back of the chair. How he'd said he liked it when Krycek touched him. How he'd said he liked to touch Krycek. He stood up. "I need a shower before we leave," he said, clearing his throat to rid it of the rasp, but failing. "My phone's on the table. Why don't you make your calls." He didn't look at Mulder, but saw him nod out of the corner of his eye, and he walked up the stairs slowly, feeling the welcome pain in his lower body and promising himself not to forget what it felt like to have Mulder put it there.

...

Mulder sighed, watching Krycek climb the stairs gingerly. He knew he was hurting the man with the way he was acting now, but he felt so completely weirded out it was almost all he could do not to go running down the beach.

He hadn't just fucked Alex Krycek.

He stared at his bare foot, resting on his knee. He couldn't lie to himself about this one. What he'd done was make love to the man.

He sighed deeply. God, he needed space. Space to think. Space to reexamine these new feelings he had for his former enemy-turned-savior. Space to get away from the overwhelming attraction he was now burdened with every second he was near him. Space to decide if, indeed, he was going to be fucking...or making love to...Alex Krycek again anytime soon.

He closed his eyes, feeling confused and guilty. He needed to refocus. He needed to get to work. He reached forward, snagging Krycek's cellphone off the table as he heard the water turn on upstairs. He punched in familiar numbers, trying not to think of Krycek wet and naked. Frohike answered on the second ring.

"Lone Gunmen."

"It's me. Turn off the tape."

A pause. "It's off."

"Dammit, I really mean it, Frohike. If anyone gets a hold of this, we could all be in a world of hurt."

Another pause, and a defeated voice on the other end. "Okay, go ahead, Mulder."

Mulder sighed. "I need your help."

"What's new?"

"Yeah, I know, I know. Just listen. It's about Scully." He felt only slightly guilty playing the one trump card that he knew would get Frohike to do anything short of murder. And he wasn't so sure on that count, either.

"Go ahead." The little man's voice was serious and focused.

"I'm going to be coming over there...with a..." He stopped. Krycek wasn't a friend. At least, that didn't feel exactly right. "An associate," he finished. "He can tell you what we need."

"We'll be waiting for you," answered Frohike.

"Thanks," said Mulder quietly, and he ended the call. He sat back on the couch, steepling his fingers at his lips, and listened to the sounds of Krycek finishing his shower and getting dressed again. Mulder wondered if he'd put the same outfit back on. He shifted slightly on the couch, remembering the sight of Krycek taking it off for him. He closed his eyes, disgusted with himself for being distracted again. He didn't open them until he smelled Krycek come to a stop before him. He inhaled deeply and opened his eyes.

"Well?" Krycek's hair was still damp, and he was indeed dressed in the same black jeans, black turtleneck, and black boots. He also had on his leather jacket and black leather gloves. Mulder thought he looked absolutely edible.

"I need to change," he said, licking his lips and getting to his feet. Krycek stepped back quickly. Mulder noticed he was carrying a duffel bag, also black. Krycek waited quietly by the door as Mulder turned and headed for the stairs. When Mulder came back down a few minutes later, dressed in an outfit identical to Krycek's, except for the duffel bag, Krycek was still standing by the door, a faraway expression on his face. He blinked and looked at Mulder briefly as he stepped up next to him.

"Here's your phone," said Mulder, handing it to him. Krycek took it quickly, slipping it into a front breast pocket in his jacket.

"Let's go," he said, turning to punch the codes into his security panel.

"Krycek..." Mulder started, then stopped. Krycek continued carefully punching in the code. Mulder leaned in to the side of his face, trying to get his attention. "Alex."

He watched as Krycek's eyes squeezed shut, his mouth firming in a tight line. "Don't worry," Krycek grated out. "I don't expect anything from you."

"That's not..." Mulder said, but Krycek pulled the door open and stepped through it.

"Let's go."

...

They drove to the Gunmen's place in silence, Mulder stealing glances at Krycek from time to time, seeing only the stony, cold facade he'd been faced with since he'd bailed after the sex. He sighed and looked out the window, watching the scenery as Krycek's sexy black car ate up the miles.

They got the equipment they needed and headed to the facility where Krycek had confirmed the chip was being stored. They got in with little difficulty, and the fact that they had to be totally silent meant Mulder could only try to read Krycek's eyes for his state of mind. They told him nothing, glinting like chips of jade and looking away from him every time he tried to catch them.

They headed down the hall, then Krycek grabbed Mulder's upper arm. Mulder felt a little spark shoot through his body.

"I'll cover you. It's through those doors, in the storage room I told you about." Krycek held his weapon against his shoulder, already casing the hall.

Mulder nodded, moving through the doors and into the facility, where, with Krycek's explicit instructions running through his head in that soft, raspy, sex-rough voice, he found the vial with no problem. He was heading back out the door when he heard the commotion in the hallway.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" he heard Krycek spit. "I was following him! Get that gun off me."

"Why were you following him? Why not just kill him?" Mulder shivered as he heard the boom of the alien bounty hunter's dead voice.

"Not all of my assignments are your business," said Krycek menacingly.

"Fine. It's of no concern to us. Just retrieve the chip if you don't want him killed," said the alien dispassionately.

Mulder waited just inside the doors, heart thudding frantically. Could he make a run for it? Would Krycek help him get away, or would he turn him over to the bounty hunter? And if he did, could he trust Krycek to get him out again, to get him the vial? He looked around the room he was in, but there was no other exit and no windows. And how much time did he have before Krycek came in here?

"Frohike," he whispered into the mic in his lapel.

"Yeah?"

"As you can see, everything's going to hell. Can you get me out?"

"We can unlock the doors at the end of the corridor, but Mulder...they're almost there."

Mulder closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He heard the door to the storage room open, and opened them quickly.

"Give me the vial," Krycek said in a low rumble, hand outstretched, body silhouetted in the doorway.

For a moment, Mulder imagined that hand, moving so gently, so sensuously over his body, making him burn. The bounty hunter stepped in behind Krycek, pointing his automatic weapon at Mulder calmly. Mulder narrowed his eyes, looking from the glove-covered, outstretched hand, to the eyes regarding him with a green, flint-cold stare.

"Then what happens?" he asked, nodding to the bounty hunter.

"We want the vial," the bounty hunter replied. "Whether you live or die is not our concern."

"Well, it's my damned concern," Mulder responded. He looked at Krycek's face again, studying it for signs of emotion, but saw absolutely none.

"You give me the vial, we walk out of here, and you're free to go," answered Krycek shortly, still holding out his hand.

Mulder stared into those eyes, letting his fears, his hopes...his feelings shine out to this man in hopes that he wouldn't be let down yet another time. He saw Krycek's eyes tighten almost imperceptibly, whether out of anger or discomfort, he couldn't tell.

"Take it," ordered the alien, gesturing with his gun.

Krycek stepped forward, stopping right in front of Mulder. "Where is it?"

Mulder smiled thinly, staring into the eyes regarding him coldly. "I put it in my pocket," he said, holding his hands out the sides. "Come and get it." He braced himself for the feeling of having Krycek's hands on him once again, already hard.

Krycek's brow furrowed, a deep crinkle appearing between his brows. For the first time that night, Mulder saw his cold facade begin to shatter. He stepped in close to Mulder, and Mulder couldn't help but inhale deeply, quietly, awash in his scent. He felt Krycek's hand slip into the front of his jacket, unerringly finding the vial in Mulder's breast pocket, and he held his breath as he felt the slight brush of Krycek's gloved hand on his chest. The pinky finger moved just slightly, stroking until it found Mulder's nipple, and Mulder struggled not to gasp, looking into implacable, cold, green eyes. Krycek withdrew his hand, holding the vial. "Go home," he said in a broken rasp, stepping back. Mulder watched the exchange as Krycek handed the vial off to the bounty hunter.

"If she dies..." warned Mulder in a deadly tone.

The bounty hunter leveled the gun at Mulder, cocking it. "You should be more concerned with your own life. Go."

At that, Mulder looked again into Krycek's eyes, wordlessly reminding him of what Mulder felt his life was worth without Scully's cure. Krycek blinked once and looked away. Mulder turned and walked quickly down the hall, exiting through the doors that were no longer locked, and heading briskly down the street. They had come together in Krycek's car, so he had no ride. He scanned the streets for a pay phone so he could call a cab.

He was still sitting on his couch, leaning forward on his knees, forehead resting on his folded hands, when he heard the knock. He started, looking up, then quickly got to his feet, checking the clock. Three o'clock in the morning. It seemed like just a few minutes ago that he'd trudged in, stripping off his jacket and plopping down on his couch. It had actually been five hours. He looked around, realizing all the lights were off and he was sitting in a darkened apartment. He heard the knock again.

He rose, moving quietly to the viewhole and peering out. He sighed deeply, taking in the nervous, side-to-side glances of his former partner standing outside his door. He reached down and turned the knob, pulling it open.

Krycek stepped in wordlessly, very quickly pulling the vial from his pocket and holding it out to Mulder. Mulder sighed again, quietly, and took it from him, closing the door softly.

"How...?"

"I have to leave," said Krycek quietly by way of an answer. "I have to disappear for awhile."

Mulder nodded slowly. It was obvious that Krycek had put his life on the line to bring this to him. Mulder wasn't sure what to say.

"I'd better go," said Krycek, turning and reaching for the knob.

Mulder stepped in close behind, reaching to place his hand on top of Krycek's gloved one, pressing himself against the rigid back. He felt the body against him first tense, then shiver and relax with a sigh, dark head dropping forward. He leaned in, placing his lips on the back of Krycek's neck, feeling the shudder work its way through Krycek's body. They stood like that, Mulder's lips resting against the hot, salty skin of Krycek's neck, for several moments.

"I want you to come back, you know," Mulder said against his skin.

Krycek sighed heavily, shivering again. His mouth opened to say something, but closed on trembling lips. He nodded briefly, closing his eyes.

"I still have to fuck you," Mulder breathed into his ear.

Krycek frowned, sighing. "But, you did..."

Mulder stopped his words on a gasp by stabbing into his ear with his hot, wet tongue. "No, I didn't. I made love to you."

Krycek whimpered as Mulder used the resulting weakness in his body to get him turned around, pressing him back against the door. He pushed his body up against Krycek's, closing his eyes on the intense wave of heat that was caused by touching this man. "So get back to me as quickly as you can," he finished, leaning in for a slow, deep, wet, long kiss. He didn't want it to end, knowing he would lose Krycek as soon as it was over, and knowing he couldn't even definitely expect him back.

"I love you," Krycek whispered into his mouth, and he swallowed the words, returning them the only way he was ready to, with the movement of lips and tongue. He finally broke the kiss, gasping, pressing his forehead into Krycek's.

"I know," he said softly. Then he stepped back, licking the taste of their kiss from his lips and watching Krycek do the same. "I'll be waiting."

Krycek blinked several times and nodded, then turned and opened the door, stepping through it. He stopped for a moment, but didn't turn around, and finally resumed walking down the hall. Mulder watched him until he was down the stairs and out of sight, then with a sigh, retreated into his apartment and closed the door.

He smiled as he thought of the look on Scully's face when they announced her cancer was in remission. He walked into his bedroom and fell asleep still wearing Krycek's clothes, clutching the vial in his hand.

---

Mulder reached over, sloppily grabbing the ringing phone and bringing it to his ear without raising his head off the pillow. "H'lo?"

"When I think about you, I touch myself."

The low, smoky rasp brought Mulder to immediate attention, and as blood rushed down between his legs, he couldn't help but smirk, sitting up in bed. "The D'vinyls, Alex?"

Alex chuckled warmly over the phone. "I couldn't think of anyone who said it better, Mulder."

Mulder grinned, sighing with relief. Alex was alive.

He'd begun to worry, and then to wonder, as week after week and month after month passed with no word at all. And no one that Mulder had looking for Krycek had made any sightings, either. Part of him had been glad, reassured that Krycek wouldn't let himself be found, and part of him had worried that perhaps Krycek was no longer around to be found.

"How's Scully?" Alex's voice was quiet, serious now.

"She's great, Alex," said Mulder, the smile shining through, he was sure, even over the phone. "Complete remission."

"Good."

"I told her you helped me," said Mulder softly, shifting his legs under the sheet.

"Why?" Alex's voice was honestly curious.

"I wanted her to know...that I didn't feel the same way about you anymore."

Mulder heard the carefully controlled sigh over the phone. "I...I was afraid..." Mulder stayed silent, allowing Alex to gather his courage. "I didn't know if you would...feel the same."

"What do you mean?"

This time the sigh was not hidden at all. "I mean...you said...you wanted me to come back."

"Yeah?" Mulder knew he was being vague, but he still wasn't sure of Alex's own intentions. He just needed a little more before he'd feel safe enough to tell Alex how much he ached for him.

"I think things have died down enough that I..."

Mulder waited, breath held. He heard first one, then another soft, deep inhale and exhale on the other end of the line.

"I could...come back...if you still want that."

"Come home, Alex," Mulder said quietly. He heard the hard swallow on the other end.

"Yours or mine?" asked the shaky voice untold miles away.

Mulder took a deep breath, considering. It would probably be far safer to meet at Krycek's safehouse than for them to be seen together anywhere near Mulder's apartment. "Yours," he answered after several moments.

"Can you find it?" asked Krycek with a smile in his voice.

"Oh, I think so," replied Mulder, smiling back. "When are you going to be there?"

There was a long, deep, shuddering sigh on the other end, and Mulder knew he'd just asked for the final bit of trust from Krycek, asking where he would be and now when. It would be so easy for Mulder to just show up with a group of Federales and take him in. He waited for Krycek to make his deliberations.

"Can I meet you on the beach?" he asked tentatively.

"Works for me," answered Mulder. "When?"

"I'll be there Saturday morning, first thing," Krycek said, sounding like he'd made a decision within himself.

Mulder smiled. "I'll see you then."

He could hear Krycek's smile across the phone lines. "I have to go now, Mulder."

"Okay." Then, "Krycek?" Mulder kicked himself for using his last name. It would take time to undo some habits. And he could hear Krycek's...Alex's reaction in his careful return tone.

"Yeah?"

"Did you give me that chip to save Scully's life or mine?"

There was at least a full minute of silence over the phone before Alex answered. "I think I already gave you the answer to that question."

Mulder frowned slightly, nodding at the phone. "Okay. See you Saturday."

He hung up the phone after he heard the click on the other end, and spent the rest of the night staring into the dark.

...

Alex pulled the collar of his jacket up around his face, though the morning salt wind was less than biting and actually made him feel energized...alive...clean. He knew what he was really hiding from, and it wasn't the wind. He forced himself not to turn and look down the beach yet again, watching for signs of either one lone figure or a group of them, brandishing weapons. He'd decided that he had to take the chance that Mulder was setting him up. He owed that much to him after all the betrayals. Besides, he knew Mulder wasn't a liar and a traitor, like him.

And he knew he loved Mulder.

When he'd called in the middle of the night after stroking himself halfway to orgasm with Mulder on his mind, he'd only gotten so far as to think that if he made Mulder laugh then gave him scorching phone sex, he'd be able to seduce his way back in slowly. He hadn't counted on the warm relief he'd thought he'd heard in Mulder's voice or the sting of tears that had resulted from it, washing all thoughts of crude sexual innuendo from his mind. He sat there and ached because he just wanted to hold him. And to be held. And then Mulder had told him to come home.

So there he stood, a solitary black figure on an endless expanse of beach, trying desperately not to hope too hard that Mulder would show up. He'd been there for two hours now, just walking the same short stretch, and he knew he'd wait several more before finally giving up. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the rising sun warm his windblown face, inhaling deeply of the cleansing sea air.

Suddenly he knew he was being watched. His eyes snapped open, his head whipping around instinctively, hand clutching around the gun in his pocket. When he saw Mulder standing there, head tilted down, hands shoved into the pockets of a black wool Navy peacoat, staring at him, he actually gasped. He covered it quickly, making his face unreadable.

"Sorry," Mulder said over his own flipped-up collar. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Krycek shook his head. "No," he rasped, then cleared his throat, trying again. "No, I'm fine."

Mulder nodded slowly, then looked down at the sand and back up again. "You've lost weight."

Krycek's lips parted in surprise and he blinked, knocked speechless by Mulder's level of awareness of him. He had, indeed, lost weight in the three months he'd been on the run. It had been the hardest thing in the world to do to walk away from Mulder after what he'd said and what he'd done. Only one thing was harder, and that was walking out on him the very first time. Krycek shrugged. "I'm glad Scully's doing better," he said carefully, trying to see Mulder's body beneath the long, lean line of the coat, then realizing that he was staring, moving his eyes back up to Mulder's face quickly.

Mulder smiled. "Not just better. Completely recovered. I can't tell you what..." Mulder's voice faltered. "Alex..."

Krycek nodded quickly, feeling a stab of jealousy at the intensity of the emotion in Mulder's voice. He knew he could never be as good, as giving, as pure as Dana Scully and thus could never earn the level of trust and intimacy they shared. His eyes narrowed and he blinked it back, focusing on the here and now. Mulder was here with him. That's all that mattered now. And he'd called him Alex, not Krycek, unlike that scary moment on the phone. The moment when he'd gone ice-cold, thinking it was all just a ruse to get him into position for the takedown. He sighed. Would it always be so hard between them? He cast his eyes down, staring at the prints in the sand.

"Alex," Mulder repeated, and he felt him step in close, saw his hand reaching forward, taking his chin and forcing his face up. Deja vu back to the porch and how this all began. Krycek lifted his face and his eyes locked on Mulder's, sending a bolt of heat through his body. He actually gasped, his eyes fluttering as he struggled not to let them fall closed on a sigh. He watched Mulder's eyes soften and darken, his lips parting as he stared into Alex's eyes, then down at his mouth. Alex had only half a second to realize Mulder was leaning in before he felt those lips, so lush, so warm, on his own. He whimpered, his arm coming up around Mulder and pulling him in hard, his tongue stabbing into Mulder's mouth, past unresisting lips, meeting its match in Mulder's own thrusting tongue.

They kissed, and it was so good it hurt, it made him sick, it made the tears well in his eyes, and he squeezed them shut tightly and kissed Mulder some more, their bodies now pressed in flush against one another. Mulder's right hand cupped Krycek's head, holding him in place, his other hand trying to push its way up under Krycek's jacket at the small of his back. Krycek could only grip Mulder vicelike, barely letting him move as he took his mouth and it was taken, small grunts and whimpers being carried away on the wind only to be replaced by more. When Krycek knew for certain that he was either going to pass out or come, Mulder tore his mouth away, gasping.

Alex's chest heaved as he struggled to find enough breath to speak, eyes still closed, body reeling and trying to find balance again. "Missed...you..." he breathed out. He heard the whimper that turned growl as Mulder unzipped his leather jacket, swinging one leg behind his own, tripping him and catching him as he fell to the ground. Mulder fell over him, and through his complete loss of equilibrium, he heard low, rasped words.

"Need you..."

He arched up as Mulder took his mouth in another hard kiss, this one brief as Alex felt the jacket being ripped down his arms, then the fly of his jeans being wrenched open, the cold air biting for one instant before the hot silk of Mulder's hand enveloped his cock firmly.

"God!" he sobbed, thrusting into Mulder's fist unintentionally, taking himself so close that his teeth were bared with the effort of holding it back.

Mulder's mouth fastened on his throat, sucking as he squeezed hard, stopping Alex's impending climax. Alex's mouth fell open, his hips inches off the sand, pushed up into Mulder's grip, body trembling. Mulder's mouth spoke against the skin of his throat between biting kisses.

"Jesus, you're so...I just...fuck..."

Alex moaned and pushed his own hand up under Mulder's coat, fumbling for his fly, finding a belt and growling as he struggled one-handed to unfasten it and get Mulder's jeans open. Mulder pulled his mouth off Alex's neck and his hand off his cock and knelt up, straddling him and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Then he backed off of Alex's legs, and Alex sat up on his one arm, frowning.

"On your knees," Mulder gasped, struggling to undo his belt, looking from Alex to the buckle and back.

Alex closed his eyes, shivering, resigning himself to the fact that Mulder had a score to settle and planned to do it right here in the sand. He struggled to his knees, pushing his jeans down to the bottoms of his thighs, then turned and fell forward, supporting himself on all fours, prosthetic hand digging into the sand.

"No," he heard from behind him, and Mulder's arm reached around his waist, pulling him up off his arms and back against Mulder's chest, which was now divested of its coat, though still clothed in a thin layer of cotton. Mulder's hand slid up his face, pulling back on his forehead, his other hand reaching down and taking Alex's cock firmly in hand. Alex gasped as Mulder pulled his head to the side, swooping in on the other side and fastening his mouth there with a groan. He began to jack Alex, thrusting against him from behind, the hot silk of his cock sliding between Alex's naked asscheeks.

Alex panted, eyes closed, mouth open as Mulder worked his throat and his cock. He reached up and behind him, holding Mulder's head to him, gripping the soft brown hair tightly, not allowing Mulder to leave. Then Mulder's hand left his pulsing cock and he whined.

"Lube," Mulder murmured against Alex's neck, and Alex shivered, spreading his legs a little wider, bracing himself in the sand. He felt Mulder moving behind him, his mouth still nipping and licking at Alex's supersensitized neck. He gasped as he felt one very cold, wet finger press between his cheeks, sliding around searching for his hole.

"Gah!" he jerked forward, then pushed back into Mulder, bearing the cold touch.

"Sorry," Mulder nuzzled into his ear. "Be hot soon. Promise."

Alex smiled as it became true, his own body heat warming Mulder's fingers as they slid between his cheeks, then he gasped again as Mulder pushed his middle finger in deeply, groaning into Alex's ear.

"Wanna fuck you," Mulder gasped into Alex's ear, forcing shivers through his whole body. "God, please, gotta fuck you, Alex."

In reply, Alex moaned and pressed back, fucking himself on Mulder's finger. "More..." he breathed, and groaned as Mulder inserted a second finger on his next withdrawal, fucking him hard and deep. Alex cried out as Mulder pulled his fingers free, then he felt another ice-cold, wet presence at his asshole, but this time he just groaned and pressed back against it and Mulder's lubed and sheathed cockhead pressed forward, entering his body steadily. "Oh fuckme fuckme fuckme," he gasped, tears drying on his face as the wind swept them away.

Mulder grunted and shoved in deeper, then grunted again and shoved in hard, finally burying himself completely in Alex's ass. "Ahhhhh..." he gasped in Alex's ear, and Alex shuddered and panted, feeling Mulder throb inside him. Then he sobbed as Mulder's hand reached around, still slippery with lube, and took his cock firmly, sliding tightly from tip to base.

"Wanted you...so much..." Mulder gasped, only just barely moving his hips, thrusting deeply inside Alex. "Every night...every Goddamned, fucking night...wanted you...wanted this." He shoved in hard, driving a grunt from Alex that ended on a groan.

"Me...too..." Alex gasped out, barely able to form speech as Mulder's hand fucked him in front, his cock fucking him harder and harder from behind. "Ohhhh Mulderrrr.....can't...."

"Do it!" Mulder jacked him harder, grunting loudly and ramming himself in deep. Alex's body arched, his head driving back as came, his scream carried away on the wind as he pulsed his come all over Mulder's hand and out onto the sand. Mulder let go of Krycek's cock, bracing himself on the hard abdomen instead, and drove in deeply, over and over, faster and faster, his own moan turning into a whining sob as he coiled tighter and tighter.

"GOD! ALEHHHHAHHHH!" He yelled, fisting Krycek's hair in a tight grip, ramming in so hard that they both nearly fell to the sand as he came, mouth open on a yell that slowly faded away, until he was panting and swallowing, body trembling against Alex's, holding Alex's hair in one grip, his arm locked around Alex's waist in another. Alex was finding it a little difficult to breathe, but he just smiled and rode it out, waiting for Mulder to relax his holds. When it happened suddenly and all at once, Alex wasn't prepared for it, and Mulder's slack weight pushed him forward, and they both fell into the sand.

"Ah shit! Sand!" Alex laughed, rolling over to get his sticky cock out of the stuff.

"Sorry," Mulder panted, Alex's wiggling starting to pull his body free from Mulder's dick. Mulder moaned and grabbed himself around the base, withdrawing the rest of the way. Alex inhaled sharply as he left, then let his breath out in a hard, shuddering sigh.

Mulder rolled over onto his back, eyes closed, hand still holding the condom on his cock. Alex groaned and rolled over next to him, their shoulders coming up against one another, the sweat instantly chilling them in the morning air.

When Mulder had caught his breath, he turned his head to look at Alex, whose head was still back, mouth open, neck arched. "Sometimes it hurts to look at you," he said quietly.

Alex gasped, turning his head and opening his eyes to look at Mulder incredulously. He licked his lips, trying to process the words, and they stared into one another's eyes. "Why...hurts?" he finally asked, voice gravelly.

Mulder sighed, turning his head and closing his eyes, face to the sky.

Alex watched his profile for a moment. "Mulder....?" he prodded.

Mulder shook his head slowly, eyes still closed.

Alex sighed, knowing he had to let it go. He waited a moment, then said, "Speaking of hurting, would you look at my cock, Mulder?"

He watched Mulder's lips relax into a smile, then watched as Mulder turned back to him, then pulled the condom off his soft cock, tying it off and dropping it into the sand. He sat up and looked down at Alex's crotch, which was covered with sand, glued on by the drying semen.

"Jesus," Mulder laughed, shaking his head. "That sucks."

"Interesting choice of words," said Alex, smiling back. "But I won't make you do that...this time." He raised himself up on his arm, stretching his neck and shoulders, warming in the climbing sun. "Mmm...I need a swim," he finally said, getting to his feet and pulling his shirt off over his head. He grinned as Mulder stared up at him, then quickly unfastened his prosthetic, tossing it down onto the shirt. He shoved his pants down and off, kicked off his shoes, toed off his socks, then turned and didn't let himself think about how fucking cold it was, running quickly toward the incoming surf.

...

Mulder's mouth hung open as he watched Alex's pale, lean, strong body jackknife itself into an oncoming wave. He gasped, imagining how cold that water must be in late fall, then grinned as Alex broke the surface of the water, screaming.

"FUCK!" He yelled, slicking the water off his hair with his hand. "That's fucking COLD!"

Mulder laughed, delighted to see this playful side of Krycek, and watched as a monster wave nearly knocked him over from behind.

"Shit!" Alex yelled, staggering forward. He began quickly slogging through the receding surf, walking back up onto the beach.

Mulder fastened his jeans, then pushed himself to a standing position, going to meet him. When he reached Alex, he could see the man was shivering, his pretty pink lips turning blue. "I think I prefer your shower," he said, smiling. Then it faded as he added, "if you're ready to trust me enough to let me in."

Krycek frowned, teeth chattering. "It...wasn't..."

"Yes, it was," Mulder interrupted him, wanting to take him in his arms and warm him, but frankly terrified of how Goddamned freezing cold his whole body looked. "And it's okay, Alex. I understand."

Alex's brow was furrowed, his teeth clacking together as he stared at Mulder.

"Say, how public is this beach anyway?" asked Mulder, looking around. "It's getting close to nine o'clock and I would think people would be coming soon."

Alex looked around. "Well, the t-t-t-tourists are all g-g-gone now, and m-m-most people don't ssssstay past summer, so it's p-p-p-pretty deserted, actually." He panted, the effort of speaking and maintaining core body temperature beginning to exhaust him.

"Can we go home now?" Mulder asked, keeping his voice even and gentle.

Krycek blinked several times, his spiked lashes making him appear even more innocent and young, then nodded, holding himself with his one arm.

Mulder frowned, then without letting himself think about, quickly stepped forward, wrapping Alex in a hard, tight hug.

"JesusFUCK you're cold!" he yelled, forcing himself to hang on.

"I n-n-noticed," replied Alex, smiling hugely.

Mulder rubbed his hands up and down Krycek's freezing back a few times quickly, then stepped back and turned, hurrying up the beach. Alex's smile faded slightly and he hurried to catch up. When he reached the place where they'd made love, Mulder was picking up his knee-length peacoat from the ground and shaking the sand out.

"Here," he said, stepping over and wrapping it over Alex's shoulders before Alex could do so much as protest. "It's warmer than your sexy little jacket," he said, one corner of his mouth turning up.

"S-sexy, huh?" Alex asked, holding the coat closed with one hand, already feeling it warm him inside and out. Surrounded in the scent, he began breathing more deeply.

"Fuck yeah, sexy," Mulder replied, turning and picking it up, then slipping it on over his now-wet long-sleeved navy blue shirt, inhaling Krycek's scent. "Makes me wanna grind you against a bank of phones or something." He leveled his gaze at Krycek. He wasn't just being flippant. He knew there was still plenty of shit between them and he didn't want to pretend there wasn't.

"I actually k-kind of suspected as much," Krycek finally said with a slight smirk.

Mulder let himself smile briefly, then turned serious again. "Did you know I just needed to fuck you back then?"

Krycek shook his head. "No. I only knew how badly I needed you to."

He swallowed, and Mulder watched his tongue flick out over his blueish lips. "Hey," he said, lightening his tone. "Get your pants on and I'll make you some cocoa while you take a hot shower." Alex groaned, his eyes fluttering closed. Mulder smiled and drank in the sight. "You do have cocoa, don't you?"

"What am I, inhuman?" asked Krycek, peeking out at Mulder from under one eyelid. His cold lips stretched into a smile. "Of course I have cocoa. You're on." He removed the coat from around his shoulders with a quiet sigh, bending to retrieve his prosthesis. Mulder watched, fascinated, as Alex quickly and efficiently strapped it on, moving so quickly Mulder couldn't have said how it fastened. He looked up at Mulder briefly, shyly, then bent and pulled on his sweatshirt, placing it first over the fake limb, then pulling it over his head and putting his other arm through. Mulder realized he was staring and looked away, gathering up Alex's jeans and handing them to him, then picking up his boots and moving them closer.

"Thanks," Alex murmured, stepping into the pants carefully, again using one arm to pull them up his wet body, one side at a time, then efficiently zipping and buttoning them. He stepped into his boots, stuffing his socks in his pants pocket, then sighed and picked up Mulder's coat again. He put his prosthetic in one sleeve, then put his real arm in, the coat settling around his shoulders neatly.

"You're wearing my coat," Mulder murmured.

Krycek looked up, brow wrinkling. "I'm sorry..." He began to slide it down his shoulders.

"No!" Mulder stepped forward, pulling it back up. "No, I just mean...it's...unreal," he finished, still holding the lapels of his jacket under Krycek's slightly shivering jaw.

Krycek swallowed hard, then smiled shyly. His eyes trailed over the leather jacket draped over Mulder's body, but he didn't say anything.

Mulder sighed. "When I look at you..." He narrowed his eyes as if he were in pain. His hands tightened on the coat lapels, gripping them tightly.

Krycek blinked, then brought his hand up, laying it over Mulder's. "It couldn't be nearly as badly as I want you to touch me, Mulder," he said, his smoky voice breathless.

Mulder pulled him into a kiss, taking his cold mouth, warming it with lips and tongue, moaning and holding his body close. Krycek was no longer shivering, his hand sliding around to wrap around Mulder's back, pressing him in even closer. Mulder moaned and pulled back reluctantly. "How 'bout we get back to the house," he said with a shiver of his own. "I just may be needing a shower, too, now." As the wind caught his shirt, dampened by being in contact with Krycek's wet body, his teeth chattered once.

"Let's get you home," said Krycek, smiling the most beautiful smile Mulder had ever seen. And he felt that familiar ache go through his heart, that one he'd told Alex about in the sand. The one that made him scared deep down inside. He nodded and they turned, separating, and walked up the beach, the wind at their backs.

END

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