TITLE: Str8 Four
NAME: Mik
E-MAIL: mik_dok@yahoo.com
CATEGORY: M/K
RATING: NC-17. M/K. This story contains slash i.e. m/m sex. So,
if you don't like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is
forearmed. Proceed with caution. Of course if you have four arms
you can throw caution to the wind.
SUMMARY: The case in California that Chris didn't tell you about.
ARCHIVE: Only with my permission.
FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist .
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is right after 3.
KEYWORDS: story slash angst Mulder Krycek NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek, and all other X-Files characters
belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox
Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is
being made from their use. I'd rather say that they really are mine,
but I've been advised to deny everything. But when I become king ...
Author's notes:
If you like this, there's more at https://www.squidge.org/3wstop If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.
Str8 Four
by Mik
He's stronger than I thought. Or maybe it's adrenaline that made him pick me up and take a flight of stairs without so much as a wheeze. I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep from smiling just a little. This had worked out better than I had planned. All I wanted to do was get his attention, maybe work up a little sympathy, which might turn to empathy, which could very possibly turn to intimacy, which in turn always turns to lust.
But then I found myself in his arms, being swept upstairs like ... like ... that chick in the movie about the war. It would have been a great metaphor if I could only remember the damned name. I didn't particularly care. All I cared about was how good it felt for him to hold me like that.
"In here." The woman from the bar was opening a door for him, and he brought me to the side of a bed.
I could hear the frown in his voice. "Is it clean?"
"It's not used for that. Get your mind out of the gutter." She sounded very irritated.
Bless him! He was concerned about where he put me. But she was wrong. If I had my way, that's exactly what that bed would be used for.
He eased me down on the bed, and brushed my hair back with an awkward movement. She must have been right next to him. "He doesn't look so bad in the light," she said.
"What the hell happened?" he was demanding in a very ragged voice.
She apparently moved away from the bed, but her voice came back as she returned. "I don't know. You left --"
"-- was thrown out --"
"-- whatever, and I offered him a beer. He said no thanks and headed for the john." She was bending over me. "That's the last I heard until someone ran in and said you were beating him up in the parking lot."
"Me?" Mulder was practically spluttering. "It wasn't me! I was doing my time out, remember?"
"I am only accepting that provisionally." I felt something cool and wet on my face. "It's not so bad," she repeated. She was wiping all my blood away. The bathroom door hitting me in the face had been dumb luck, but I had been grateful for the added effect.
"We should call a doctor. He's unconscious," Mulder was whining. Yes, it was a whine. But it was kind of hot. After all, he was whining for me.
"Jon, go downstairs and tell them Mich said to send up a bottle of vodka. The cheap stuff. I'm not wasting the good stuff as antiseptic." Her voice hardened a little impatiently when Mulder didn't respond. "Now."
I could hear him stall at the door, but he finally left.
She sat back. "Okay, cut the act, Skippy."
I thought I'd try it for another minute or two and gave up. I opened my eyes. Grinned at her. "How did you know?"
"I've spent thirteen years watching that Camille act played out in every possible permutation," she told me. "And as good as it was, it was wasted on that one. He's straight." She thought for a moment. "I know a guy, though ..."
"No." I struggled to sit up. The kid I'd bribed to take a couple of swipes at me had managed to connect well enough to make my solar plexus a bit tender. "This is the one I want. And every guy's got a drop of gay in him somewhere. Every woman, as well." I focused on her. "For the right woman, you'd switch to the other side of the street."
"I don't deny it," she said, handing me the washcloth. "But she'd have to have certain qualities that I consider essential to a healthy relationship."
I held the cloth to my nose that was still bleeding slightly. "Like?"
She stood up and wiped a little blood on her jeans. "Like a big checking account and lots of batteries."
I snickered.
She gave me a hard look. "God's truth, Skippy ... did he do this?"
I gave her a not so hard look, and a smile. "Not him. I got a kid to give me a couple of punches for effect, that's all. All I wanted --"
She put a hand up. "Yeah, I know what you wanted."
We could hear Mulder on the stairs and I sent her an imploring look.
"No, I won't rat on you, Skippy, but don't get hurt, huh?" She took the washcloth back. "And don't hurt him, either." She paused thoughtfully. "He's not bad for a straight guy."
The door pushed open just as I sank back into a sham faint. Mulder had a bottle of Stoli and a shot glass. I could just see it through my lashes.
"Jon, I said --"
"If he wakes up, this is what he drinks." He put the bottle on the table. "Don't worry, I'll pay you for it."
Oh, I knew it then. I was in love.
She left us.
Mulder sat sort of gingerly on the side of the bed. I could feel his helplessness pour over me in little warm waves. He didn't want to touch me, but he did want to make certain I was all right. This was ironic in the extreme, given the number of times he'd used my body as a punching bag. His need to take action, stifled by his inability to decide what to do, was expressed in impatient little sighs and grunts as he shifted on the edge of the bed. Finally, he picked up the washcloth and rubbed against my cheek, and then over my brow. He poured a bit of Stolichnaya on the cloth and pressed it a little too hard to an abrasion on my chin, making me gasp.
"Krycek?" He pulled his hand away. "What the hell happened? Who did this to you?"
I had the presence of mind to flutter my eyes a little and look bewildered. "Wh -- what happened?"
"I asked you first." He reached for the bottle and splashed a couple of fingers into it. "Did you see him?"
"Him?" I took the shot.
He kept his hand on mine, not letting me drink. "The guy who did this."
"Oh. No." Come on, Mulder ... where's my big comforting hero? "Ach, my head hurts."
He pulled the glass free. "You shouldn't be drinking. You've been unconscious. You need to see a doctor."
"No, no I'm fine. I think it was just the pain. I'll be all right." I tried to lie back and look alluring. But he was frowning, oblivious. "Mulder, it's not your fault."
He was still frowning but it was hardly oblivious now. "You're damned right, it's not. You're the one who was acting like a jerk."
Jerk. "Well, we did say we were going to try something ... a fight," I answered weakly. I shifted away from him, groaning slightly. "I want to go back to the hotel."
"I think you should go to a hospital," he argued. "You were unconscious."
"No." I tried to sit up. "Gavna!" That kid did his work too well.
"What?" Mulder was now really frowning. "Who is that?"
Shit. I meant shit. I shook my head. "I'm okay. Let's go back."
He handed me the glass. "Sit still, I'll go get a cab."
I nodded and slid slowly to the edge of the bed. Well, so much for my brilliant idea that Mulder would go all soft and gooey over a kicked puppy. What did it take to get to him? Red hair and an attitude? The man was just too focused for his own good. I'll bet he never gets laid. The problem was that, despite my aching ribs and slightly throbbing nose, something else was throbbing and I wanted to get laid. Immediately. But how?
He came back up the stairs. "I've got a cab downstairs. Can you walk?"
"I ... I don't know." I really didn't at that point.
He sighed. I mean a deep, shuddering, aggrieved sort of sigh. He came to the bed and lifted one of my arms over his shoulder. "Hold on," he grunted, and lifted. It wasn't the effortless sweep he'd performed earlier, but then the adrenaline rush was over and now he was just annoyed.
I let my head fall against him. "Thank you," I murmured. I wonder if he knew I was getting an erection.
Mich was there to hold the door for us as the cab swung around the back of the bar. She looked mad enough to ban us both. In fact, I think she was actually considering it. "No more of this," she said, looking at me pointedly. "There's been enough trouble around here lately. It's bad for business."
Mulder looked back at her. "Trouble?" I could almost feel his inclination to drop me and turn around to interrogate her. Instead he bumped my head putting me down into the cab. "What kind of trouble? I mean, besides him getting assaulted in the alley?"
"Nothing for you to worry about. I'm handling it," she assured him.
"So, this has happened before and yet you --"
She put a hand out, cutting his protest off in the middle. She's very good at that. "I said, I'm handling it. Look, if I still thought you were responsible for what happened to him, the cops would be here. All I'm saying is have your next lover's spat at home. This is a place to have fun, that's all." She turned and went inside.
The cabbie, a mountain of a black man, seemed amused by the whole exchange. "Where to, lovebirds?" he chuckled as Mulder climbed in after me.
"Where's the nearest emergency room?" Mulder asked him.
"No." I sat up. "The hotel. I'll be fine. I promise. If I'm not, you can kick my corpse all the way home, okay?"
He wasn't liking it, I could see that in his face, but the idea of visiting violence on me himself, even posthumously, tipped the scales. He gave the driver the name of the hotel. "You'd damned well better not go into a coma until you tell me who did this to you," he warned, settling back.
"A deal," I promised. I wanted to slip over and rest my head against his shoulder, but I knew better than to try that in the cab. He wouldn't wait for my injuries to kill me. He'd do it himself. Then have the cabbie drive us to the police.
Aside from a couple of odd glances afforded us in the rearview mirror, the driver said nothing else on the brief trip back to the hotel. He even got out of his cab and helped Mulder help me out. Mulder paid him with an impatient effort at gratitude and half walked, half dragged me to my room. "Where's your key?" he grunted.
"Pocket," I told him. I kept myself limp so he wouldn't expect me to get it.
Evidently my pockets were not appealing to him, so he shifted his weight, dragged me to the next door and dug for his own keys.
Actually, this too worked in my favor. My room had two doubles. His room had one king ... singular. This meant that, whether he liked it or not, Special Agent Fox Yum-Yum Mulder was going to sleep with me.
He moved me toward the bed and eased me back. Despite his obvious irritation, he was surprisingly gentle. He untied my shoes, lifted my feet to the bed, pulled the bedcover over from one side of the bed to fold me up. This was inconvenient in my opinion because it effectively created a body condom and kept him protected from contact with me if he got into bed. "You want some coffee or tea or water or anything?" he asked. "Aspirins?"
I shook my head. What I want, you big idiot, is you! "I just ..." I shifted and grimaced effectively. "I need to get out of these clothes."
He did not like that. There was something akin to panic on his face. "Do you think you can do it?" he asked and what he meant was please say you can do it.
I shook my head. "No, I'm going to need some help here." I gave him a weak smile. "Sorry."
He looked down at me for a long time. Then with another one of those deep, shoulder shift sighs, he bent over me and tugged my shirt up from my jeans and worked it, bit by bit, up over my chest. "Lift your arms," he commanded.
Deciding I'd better cooperate now in order to keep him willing to help, I lifted my arms slowly. My ribs really did hurt.
He got the shirt over my head and tossed it aside. I could see him trying not to look at my chest, giving it just a sideways peek. Then with gritted teeth, he started on my jeans. "I'd like to know how the hell he got the drop on you," he grunted, tugging. "You're a trained agent of the --"
I let out a howl that was not entirely fake. "Easy."
"Sorry, sorry." He reached up and patted my chest in what I know was just an automatic soothing response. He pulled his hand away the moment he realized what he had done. "Look. Do you really need these off?"
"No," I snapped. "I'll be fine. God knows I don't want to make you uncomfortable." I shifted, attempting to put my back to him.
He stood up. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.
I looked over my shoulder at him. "You know what I mean, Doctor Mulder. This case has you freaked. The whole idea of being touched, kissed or made love to by another man has you scared to death. I'm sorry about what happened in the john. But I thought you were having a good time, too."
"Yes, this case has me freaked," he snarled, pulling me back onto my back. "Some maniac is out there preying on young boys who are looking for some kind of connection to a father figure. They're looking for love and he's looking for ..." he stopped and swallowed hard. "I want to stop him." He yanked on my jeans and staggered back as they slid off. "What happened between us was merely a response to the environment. It meant nothing." He tossed my jeans aside. His eyes bored into mine, never flickering, even in curiosity, to what he had exposed below. "Do you think you can sleep now?"
I couldn't keep the disappointment from my voice. "Yeah." I turned back onto my side and pulled the bedcover around me tight.
*******************************************
I must have slept. The room had gone from dark to dull grey. Mulder was slumped in a chair, a file folder balanced against his knee, his mag light between his lips, a paper cup of coffee pressed to his temple. He looked like shit. It wasn't just lack of sleep. He was losing himself in the case. I'd heard the stories from his days in VCU. I'd even seen it to a certain extent. But it scared me a little. And it wasn't just my own selfish need to possess his body for a while.
I shifted slightly, must have made some kind of noise, because he looked up, the beam of the mag light directed to my eyes. "You okay?" he asked around it. He seemed almost startled to find out he wasn't alone.
I held a hand up to shield my eyes. "Yeah. Why are you still up?"
He took the flashlight from his mouth. "Just reviewing the files." God, he sounded so tired.
I pushed the bedclothes back and got up, heedless of my nakedness. "Mulder, you've been over those files a thousand times. Nothing's changed." I pulled the coffee cup from his fingers and put it on the table. "Nothing's going to change in the next two hours. Come on, get some sleep before you drop." I picked up Sean Seal's file and put it down. He was staring, helplessly, at my groin. For a moment, I wanted to thrust my waking cock in his face, but I felt sorry for him, and instead reached for his hand. "Come on. You'll feel better if you sleep."
I got him out of the chair and started working on the buttons of his plain white dress shirt, smeared with my blood. Did he have any idea how hot he looked tonight? No, I don't believe he did. I used to think he was vain about his appearance, now I think he has no idea the effect he has on others when he just reaches into his closet and grabs the first thing he can see. I pushed the shirt off his shoulders, trying to remain as detached as he was, even though I wanted to devour that chest.
I got him backed up to the bed, and knelt to untie his shoes. I was stunned, therefore, by the unexpected sensation of his fingers sliding through my hair. I lowered my cheek to his knee and waited.
"Soft hair," he murmured. "Krycek?"
I looked up.
"Are you gay?"
Funny. No one's ever just asked me before. I've never had to make the statement, even to myself that, yes, I am a homosexual. It was just out there, that thing I do when the right guy comes along. "Yes."
"Hmm." His fingers stayed in my hair. "I never knew that about you."
I liked his fingers in my hair. "Do you mind?"
He was quiet for a moment. "No. I just never knew that about you."
I returned to the task of removing his shoes and socks. He has nice feet. I never knew that about him.
"Why?"
I looked up again. "Why what?"
"Why do men fall in love with other men?"
"You're the one with a million years of study in the science of the mind, Mulder, you tell me." I reached for his fly.
His eyes were on me, but I realized he wasn't with me. He was buried somewhere in the vault of his thought processes. "I don't know. I understand clinically that it happens. But I don't know why." He didn't even flinch when I pulled the buttons open. "Are you happy when you're having sex with another man? Do you feel stronger?" There was a glimmer of curiosity. "Or ... more violent?"
I pushed him back and pulled the jeans down. Silk boxers, bunched up high, with his balls just peeking out one leg. I shut my eyes tight because I knew in a minute I was going to have a raging hard-on. "We'll talk about it tomorrow," I promised.
He seemed unaware of my struggle. "Are you a top or a bottom?"
I almost laughed. "What?"
"Are you a top or a bottom?" He pulled up on his elbows and looked at me.
"I'm whatever the situation calls for," I answered. I decided to leave the shorts alone. Too inflammatory for me. "Into bed. Now."
"Why do men rape other men?"
Oh ... please, God ... help me, here. "Because they won't shut up and go to sleep." I moved around the bed and yanked back blankets and sheets. "Now, come on."
He rolled over off the edge of the bed and tumbled into the waiting bedclothes. "I think our unsub's a bottom."
In the process of pulling the blankets up around him, I stilled. "What?"
He was nodding sleepily. "I think he's a bottom. And I think he hates himself for it."
"So?"
He stretched and shifted, eyes closed. "His next victim will be a top."
I stared at him. How does he do that? Yet the minute he said it, I knew it was true. "Okay. We'll catch him tomorrow, Mulder." I patted the bedclothes around. When did the roles shift? Here I'd been wanting him to feel protective of me and become my caregiver, and yet I was the one tucking him up for the night. I moved around him and back to my side, and the bedcover I'd been sleeping in. "'night."
He turned toward me. "How are you feeling?"
"Exhausted," I grunted, wrapping up tightly.
"Here." He was pulling the bedcover away. "Get in." His voice was thick and sleepy and full of concern. There wasn't one drop of yearning.
Heart in my throat, I slid in under the blankets. "Thanks." I shifted around, being very careful not to brush against him in any way.
His eyes were open. He was looking at me. "Don't go trying to lure him out on your own again, please?"
I wanted to kiss him so badly. I could only answer with a jerky nod.
He was quiet for a while. I let my eyes close, drift away on visions of his mouth against mine, that silky firm body against mine, that ...
"Krycek?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you attracted to me?"
Are you fucking blind? "Yeah. A little."
He rolled onto his back. He was staring up at the ceiling. "I love her, you know."
Love, not loved. Boy, he does want to believe. "Yeah, I know. I'm really sorry about her."
"But we never had sex."
"Why not?" And why are you telling me?
He shrugged. "I don't know. I wanted to a couple of times. The moment seemed very right, but then ... someone started shooting at us or a cell phone rang or something. It just never happened. We never had a moment like ... like ..." he turned and sent an incredibly sweet, shy glance my way. "... like us in that bathroom."
"Mulder." I fought to keep my voice steady. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I don't know." His voice was even, matter of fact, almost detached. "I mean, I must know. There's a motive for everything, even if it's sometimes buried outside our conscious thought, but I don't know really what mine --"
"Mulder."
He stopped and looked at me. "I don't know."
I lifted up on one elbow and looked down at him. "Kiss me."
"Do I want to?"
I nodded. "Yes."
One hand came up from under the bedclothes and snaked around my neck. His eyes went all over my face for a moment. "I'm not sure how far I want to take this."
"Shut up and kiss me."
He pulled me closer. "Really soft hair," he said. And he kissed me.
- END Four -