TITLE: Str8 Six
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 ...
Hey, wait a minute, I am the king. Mik, the Wikked, King of the
Cliffhangers. Bow before me and beg for resolution ... oh, yeah, and
a happy ending.
Author's notes: Uh oh ... this smacks of non-con. The delicate should avert their gaze.
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 Six
by Mik
He looked at me.
He looked as if he wanted to hit me.
But he didn't.
"Jon, I --"
The look was enough. He turned away from me. "Outside," he hissed.
I wish he had just hit me.
The oblivious crowd swallowed him up before I could react, and I had to fight my way off the dance floor. By the time I caught up to him, he was below the back step, leaning against the brick wall, one foot resting on the wall, knee lifted in a mockery of carefree laziness. He was lighting a cigarette, letting the hot gusts of the Santa Anas whip his hair and the smoke into wild gyrations over his brow. Never in a million years would I have pictured the Bureau's own Armani poster boy looking like that.
He didn't look up as I came down the step. "What is with this wind?" he asked, flicking the match away with a vicious snap of his wrist.
"They're the devil winds," I told him. They had always unnerved me. They brought firestorms of assorted natures to anyone in their path.
He took a long drag and released smoke slowly. "Why?"
"I'm not sure. It has something to do with --"
"Why did you do it?"
I stood there, for the first time in twenty years at an utter loss. I knew I needed to give him an explanation. Hell, I think I knew when I tapped that kid to knock me around that I was going to have to face him at some point and give him a reason for it. But I didn't have one. "I thought it might jar something loose," I began feebly. "Get someone --"
"Bullshit."
I stopped talking. What more could I say?
He clamped down tight on the cigarette, glaring out into the dust devils whipping up in the parking lot. "I know why."
I felt my skin go hot, my spine go cold. "You do?"
"Yes, I know why you're out here." He still didn't look at me. "They tried to do the same thing with Scully." Pain flashed across his face. "Sent her there to spy on me, disprove and discredit me." His eyes widened in a look of helpless incredulity and he shook his head slightly. "But she started to understand, started to believe. So they ... so they took her away." There was a dangerous warble in his voice. "Then they sent you." The helplessness, the incredulity, the tears vanished on a breath. "Only you won't see, won't understand. You'll never believe." He looked at me at last, giving me a cold, bitter smile. "This is just a game to you. Anything to fuck me up, make me look like a fool."
I couldn't stand it. Damn it, he'd been hurt enough. It was time to end the cycle. Time to give him something he might believe in again. Me. "No." I maneuvered myself in front of him. "You're wrong."
His lip curled. "Yeah, I always am." He tossed the cigarette away angrily and turned from me, moving around the corner into the alley.
I followed him, reaching for his sleeve. "Mulder --"
"Leave me alone, Krycek."
"It wasn't to make you look like a fool," I insisted desperately.
He pulled free of me. "Oh, that was just a bonus, was it?"
"No ..." I let my tongue swipe over my lips nervously. "I ... just ... I ..." I stopped. "I wanted your attention. That's all."
He stared at me as if I'd turned green and developed antennae. "My attention?" He glanced away, his breath coming in deep, shaky gulps. "You mean ... like this morning?" he asked through his teeth.
"Yes," I confessed.
"You jeopardized an investigation to get laid?" he said. The incredulous expression was back but it was flushed with rage.
It was enough to make me flinch slightly. "Yes," I repeated.
His gaze came back to me, hot, blazing, even in the darkness of the alley. "You want my attention?" Suddenly, his hand was on my shoulder and he was whirling me around so that it was me up against the wall, and he was behind me, his body pinning me in place, his mouth savaging my neck, his crotch grinding against my ass without even a semblance of pleasure or desire. "Is this the attention you wanted?"
For a minute I was actually scared of him. I knew what he was capable of when that rock hard control of his broke and all those feelings came roaring out like water from a broken dam. And there was no doubt there were enough feelings inside him to drown the entire west side of Los Angeles. I was in serious danger of being swept away in the flood of his emotions. I put my hands up to the wall and tried to push away. "Mulder, listen to me --"
"Shut up," he snarled in my ear. "It's my turn." He pulled off me slightly, yanking my wrists roughly into one of his hands. His free hand was groping for the front of my pants. "Is this what you want, huh?"
The feel of his hands inside my pants was enough to tip the scales the other way, and they tipped fast, spilling me out into an oblivion of raw, unspeakable passion. "Ohh ... God." I gave myself away in that groan.
Triumphantly, he freed my cock, which I should be ashamed to say was already rock hard, and worked it roughly, barely protecting it from the rough facade. "Say it, Alex," he sneered my name, "is this what you want?"
"I ..." I couldn't find a rational thought in my head. I should have been frightened. I should have fought back, resisted, called for help. I just let him jerk my pants down around my thighs. I felt his hand on my butt and I knew I was in trouble. Serious trouble. But in danger only from my own needs and weaknesses.
He bit hard on my neck as he worked his hand against me. "Say it, Krycek," he commanded harshly. He pushed a finger down between my cheeks. "Say it. Is this what you want?" He shoved, hard.
"I ... oh, shit! ... yes! Yes, that's what I want."
He pulled his finger free. His weight was heavy against my back, and his hand was squirming into one of my pockets, pushed down around my thighs. "Where are they, Krycek? I know you carry. Where?"
"Wh -- what?" My face was being abraded by the brick he had me pressed against, and my cock was dangerously close to suffering the same fate.
"No way I'm riding you bareback." He gave me an impatient little shove. "Where do you keep them?"
I almost came as the full implication of his words hit me. "W --wallet," I gasped. Oh, shit. He's going to do it. He's going to fuck me right here in this fucking alley. This wasn't the way it was supposed to work. "M -- mulder ... c'mon, not like this."
"What's the matter, Al -- lex?" he drawled out my name nastily. "Isn't this enough attention for you? You want me to get a kid to smack you around some more first?" I could feel him struggling to get the condom out of the packet and over his cock without letting me have any leeway that might let me get free. "Is that your idea of foreplay?"
"No!" I protested, struggling to get my hips back from the wall before he turned my cock into grated cheese against the brick. No, come on, Mulder, I thought frantically. We're supposed to be in bed. I'm supposed to seduce you into wanting me. I'm supposed to make love to you. "Mmmulder, this is ... this is --"
"I know what it is." I felt the slimy sensation of the cold, lubricated condom against my anus. I clenched in reflex. "It's what you want, though. Admit it." He took my wrists in each of his hands and slammed them hard against the wall on either side of my head. "Do it," he hissed in my ear. He gave his hips a little thrust. "Do it."
I couldn't move. I was paralyzed. Paralyzed by sensation. Paralyzed by memories. Paralyzed by the realization that Fox Mulder, Wonder Agent, had his dick against me, planning to make an illegal entry, and for all the reasons it was so wrong, it felt soooo right.
I felt him snort impatiently. "Right, I'll do it, then." I felt him shift his stance, and then, with no further warning, thrust hard.
My head fell back and a howl erupted from my gut. I hadn't had anyone in me since I was a kid. And it hurt. He was splitting me open. Who knew a tall skinny guy like that would be packing so much heat?
I felt him still, in shock, after the initial penetration. I could have taken over then, because I realized he was moving purely on rage and didn't have a clue what he was doing. But I remained where I was, feeling my ass on fire, and a slow boil of need in my balls. Fox Mulder was doing me. Hard. Like he needed me. Like I needed him.
I'll give him credit, though, for getting the idea quick enough. He pulled back slightly, and pushed again. And then again.
"Shit!" I moaned. It felt so bad it was good.
A couple of furious shoves and he was settled against me, his flat belly and groin against my ass, his mouth under my ear. The angle didn't let him get too deep, but it was more than enough to hit all the right spots for both of us. "Do you know," he grunted, pumping hard and shallow with almost each syllable, "how many state and federal and moral laws I'm breaking?" He sucked loudly on my neck. "But it doesn't matter as long as Krycek gets some attention. Right?" He gave an unexpectedly hard thrust. "Right?"
"Ohhh, shit, right." The burn was shifting, turning into heat that was moving through my body, making me sizzle and tingle and moan.
I think it was affecting him finally. His breathing was getting raspy and hard. He wasn't cursing me anymore. He pressed his brow hard on my shoulder and worked in and out of me in a deliberate sort of frenzy. "Ohhh, shit, right," he echoed on a sigh. His fingers wrapped around my wrists in a painfully tight rigor, his thighs started to shake.
Then he came. Fox Mulder came inside me. His body went rigid against me, pushing hard, forcing me against the wall. I could hear him moan something soft that made me go cold. "Oh, God ... Scullllllly."
He stayed against me for a moment. I hated him. I hated her. I hated them. I needed to come. I needed him.
He jerked away from me. Releasing me. Leaving me open and empty and shivering. "Turn around," he gasped.
I turned slowly, my cock straight up, leaking, almost blue. My breath was coming in strained hitches. I was empty in so many ways. Yes, it's true. Payback is a bitch. Betrayal revisited is something I had never known before.
He was working the condom off, and he flung it aside, disgusted. He wouldn't meet my eyes. "You're off the case."
And right when I didn't think he could hurt me any more. "M --mulder."
He was shaking his head in agitation. "I can't work with you. You jeopardized a case to get your rocks off. That's beyond stupid. That's beyond selfish. That's dangerous. " He pulled in a long, shuddering breath. "Go back to the hotel, clean up, get back to DC." He tucked himself gingerly, back into his jeans.
"But ..." What I wanted to say was `what about me?' but I knew how fucking unimportant that was at this moment.
He took a step away, stopped, looked back but not at me. "I broke the law. If you want to press charges, you've got evidence there." He pointed into the darkness where he had discarded the rubber. "Somewhere." He got all the way to the corner, put his hand against the wall and looked again, for the first time meeting my eyes. "But if you do, someone else is going to die, someone who doesn't need to. And it will be your fault. Think of the attention you'll get then." He went around the corner, and up the stairs.
I stood there, who knows how long, my pants still pushed down on my legs, my cock still hard, though starting to droop, my ass burning, and a horrible hole of loss inside me. I flinched as I heard the back door slam. With effort, I began to struggle back into my pants. When I turned back toward the wall, I realized I wasn't alone anymore. "What do you want?" I demanded miserably, trying to get myself covered up without being too obvious about it.
She was leaning back against the wall in much the same pose I had found Mulder when I came outside. She was lighting two cigarettes, cupping her hands around them to protect them from that eerie, hot, howling wind. "Men are pigs, aren't they?" She handed me one.
I took it and sagged against the wall beside her. "Thanks." I wanted to ask her how much she had seen and heard, but I couldn't. Besides, it was immaterial what she saw or heard. The key element of what had just happened was something only he and I knew. That he was seriously jonesing for his late lamented partner. It was funny, in a pathetic sort of way. I laughed around the cigarette.
"You look like shit," she told me frankly.
"Thanks." I nodded at her. "You're a treat, yourself."
She laughed and it grated on my spine the way the brick wall had grated on my flesh. "You need to give up on the macho, look-at-me-I'm-really-straight types." She sipped at her cigarette and tipped a look at me. "Unless rough sex in dark alleys is your kink."
I sent a glance back to the corner, and the lights of the parking lot. "Not usually." I could have killed him once ... he was practically posing in my crosshairs. It would have been so easy. God, I hurt inside and out.
"No, I didn't think so." She was quiet a moment. "You should let me fix you up, I've got a lot of connections around here. You're pretty enough to get someone who will take really good care of you."
"Pretty?" I shuddered at the memory of someone else telling me that. Someone a long time ago. Someone with cold, arthritic fingers. "Remind me to smack you around for that when I get my wind back."
She laughed again, her head back to expose throat and make her hair ripple around her shoulders. "I can hardly wait. Seriously. Think about it. A good looking slut like you could do really well around here."
"What are you? A pimpette?"
"Me?" She smiled around her cigarette. "No, just a good hearted gal who doesn't like to see a nice kid like you get hurt."
"A nice, good looking, slutty kid?" I grimaced. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day." I sent another longing glance to the parking lot. Come on, Mulder, come back and tell me it's going to be okay. Tell me you cooled off and let's forgive and forget. And go back to the hotel so I can --
"Hey, you're bleeding!"
I put a hand to my cheek. There was a definite abrasion there where I'd had my cheek slammed against the wall. "Yeah. It's okay."
"Here." She had a handkerchief and she pressed it to my cheek gently. "Ah, there. Not so bad. Really."
It took a moment to hit me. That first wave of woozy protest. Unfortunately, my response to surprise was typical and I inhaled deeply to try and call out. I felt myself stagger against the wall, and slither downward. "Mulder," I called quietly.
"That's right." She followed me down, pressing the cloth against my nose. "Mother's here. Mother's going to take good care of you."
Blackness was forcing its way in from the corners of my awareness, trying to drag me under, but I struggled against it. "Y -- you ..."
"Yes," she smiled. "Me."
"Mulder," I mumbled, trying to shake her off. Somehow I had to tell him. Somehow I had to get the message to him. I groped into the dust and dirt behind me, trying to find a way to leave a message.
She stroked my face softly, with an obscenely tender smile. "Shh ... it will be all right soon."
"Wrong." The words seemed too thick to fit in my mouth and I couldn't get them out. "S'all wwwwrong."
"It will be all right."
No. The curtain was coming down. Mulder was wrong.
- END Six -