The Dolphin Hotel

By Palinurus

July 1998

In the morning mail was a hand-addressed, stamped envelope, a rarity and therefore quite conspicuous. After sorting through the stack, he opened it first. Inside was a single sheet of paper, the photocopied front page of a case report. The Cole case, the first one he had worked on and solved together with Krycek. Below his and Krycek's name was a line in handwriting. It said, 'April 15, Dolphin Hotel, Russell Beach, DE.'

Initially he thought it must be a prank from one of his colleagues. Then he considered that it could also be a simple trick to get him out of town, or lure him to whatever that place was, alone, without Scully. It took a minute for the morning fog to lift away from his brain, and then he realized that the most plausible explanation was that the note had been sent by Krycek himself. He crumpled it into a ball and with masterful precision shot it into the wastebasket next to Scully's desk.

But the single hand-written line was already etched into his memory, and kept at him with maddening persistence. He could see its afterimage outlined against the wall, against his computer screen, against the river's irregular surface from his favorite bench at lunchtime. Today was Wednesday, April 12.

Two days later the situation was unchanged, but his ability to deal with it was almost depleted. On two consecutive nights he had dreamed several times about the invitation. One of the dreams had been a nightmare, where Krycek had captured him in a cheerful little beach resort, handed him over to a shady group of faceless men, and walked away without looking back. The other two had had distressingly erotic overtones. One of those, last night, had left him wide awake and totally, inexplicably depressed at 3:45 in the morning, forcing him to get up, dress and go for a ridiculous run that neither improved his mood nor helped him to go back to sleep. Presently, his main emotion was chagrin at being once again confronted with a dilemma that had no painless way out.

Damn the man to all hell. He was sure that Krycek knew exactly what turmoil he had brought about with his insidious little note. He even suspected that Krycek had a fair idea of the chronological order of the considerations that would occupy his mind, and how long it would take for each new one to replace the previous ones; and that he had had timed his message accordingly. Three days seemed just enough to break his resistance, to exhaust him to the point where he knew he had to go because not going would mean not knowing, and not knowing was the worst of all possibilities.

He suspected that his musings on the extent of Krycek's control were a symptom of paranoia; but self-diagnosing paranoia was notoriously difficult.

On the fourth day, he packed an overnight bag, got into his car around noon, and drove to Russell Beach, Delaware, in search of the Dolphin Hotel.

He arrived at 4:30 p.m. The town, as the name promised, was located on the beach. A four-lane road separated the town itself from the beach. Next to the road on the beach side was a wide sidewalk with benches, and adjacent to that, the last obstacle before the beach, a low stone wall. It looked like a misguided attempt to create a 'boulevard'. Even so, it was probably a pretty place in summer. It was easy to imagine ice cream carts and people strolling in the sun, dressed in shorts and flowery dresses. But mid-April wasn't summer; and today looked more like January. Both the beach and the boulevard looked cold, gray and windy, and were practically deserted. The sea was a sickly shade of green, the two-foot waves crowned with little foamy caps.

The Dolphin Hotel looked out over the sea. It was an old-fashioned hotel, a bit run-down, but passable. And it was very, very quiet. The lobby was huge and dark, lit only by a large chandelier in the center and some small lights surrounding the front desk. The wood floor was partially covered with worn burgundy carpeting, the walls with polished wood paneling. A few potted palms were clinging to life, pining hopelessly for daylight. The desk clerk looked extremely bored, but perked up when he saw a potential customer approaching.

When Mulder said his name, the clerk replied, "Ah, Mr. Mulder, it's good to see you. We have your reservation here. I'm happy to inform you that we were able to get you a sea-facing room." He looked genuinely happy, as if he were proud of this feat. The hotel appeared to be deserted, so Mulder grimly wondered if there weren't more than one or two rooms facing the ocean. He presented his credit card, signed his name, accepted the key, and climbed the wide, spiraling staircase.

The room was a nice enough, large, as old-fashioned as the rest of the building, with a gleaming wooden floor covered with a worn would-be Persian rug, heavy curtains and stately furniture: two overstuffed chairs and a huge poster bed. As a concession to modern times there was a small TV with a remote, and, surprisingly, a VCR set on a dresser opposite the bed. There even was a door to a small balcony, overlooking the ocean as promised.

There was no sign of Krycek.

Annoyed, he set his bag on the bed, dropped into one of the overstuffed chairs and considered what to do next. He reached for the remote, but changed his mind and put it back on the dresser. He craned his neck to watch the ocean from his chair, but it looked so uninviting that it wasn't worth the effort. Then he checked the VCR for a tape that might contain a message. There was nothing, and his misguided spy-novel fantasy immediately angered him. He scanned cars parked on the road in front of the hotel. He fleetingly wondered if Krycek would be watching the hotel from afar and laughing his ass off when he saw that Mulder had actually followed his trail of bread crumbs and duly reported at the hotel. But that seemed a bit far-fetched; after all, he had had no idea of the time Mulder would arrive, and going through a whole day of stakeout for thirty seconds of fun wasn't like Krycek. He drummed his fingers on the armrests, listening to the muffled taps. He stretched out his legs, let his head fall back and studied the stuccoed ceiling. Then he muttered, "Fuck!", got up, and began to pace. After a few minutes of pacing, he was so agitated that he put on his jacket again and went out.

The clouds were heavy, on the verge of releasing a fine, misty rain. It was windy; the flags on the beach stood out straight, pointing inland. There would be at least two more hours of daylight, but under the heavy cloud cover it looked like twilight already. The day looked grim enough to make anyone shiver, even though it wasn't really very cold, and Mulder raised the collar of his jacket before stepping out.

The tide was low, and after some fifty yards of loose, dry sand, there was a long, flat stretch of wet sand. Perfect for running with a dog, as most of the few others on the beach had realized; but he had no dog. It was hard not to feel conspicuous, walking there: alone, no dog, no excuse. Only lonely, distressed, or deranged people would go for a solitary walk on the beach on a day like this. Lonely, distressed, deranged; please consider the options carefully and then circle the word that most closely describes your condition.

He put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, hunched his shoulders and marched along the water line, carefully staying away from the swell of the waves to prevent being forced into a jog to keep his feet dry. Having to run to keep you feet dry when you're by yourself is about as ridiculous as it gets. Every few steps he kicked at something, a discarded soda can, a piece of driftwood. Shit, shit, shit.

He considered going back to the hotel, paying for the room and driving back. It was only a four-hour drive, not very appealing but quite possible. But the thought of giving up, going back without an answer was even more depressing than the thought of spending the night alone in this god-forsaken place with absolutely nothing to do. He could probably find a bar and get drunk there, or find a liquor store and get drunk in his room; maybe they even had pay-TV. He was fairly certain that there wouldn't be a decent bookstore within a fifty-mile radius.

He had been walking mechanically for quite a while now. The town lay some three miles behind him. The grayish light and the cries of the seagulls overhead suited his mood perfectly. He had always hated seagulls; somehow they had become associated with loneliness, with desertion. He very much felt like pulling his gun and shooting one of the damned birds, just to shut them up. The thought made him stop in his tracks. Take it easy, Mulder, it looks like you're overreacting a bit here. He sighed and kicked at an empty can, finally deciding to head back. He took two more steps to reach another shell, kicked it, and turned around to go back to the hotel. Then he froze.

Krycek was standing there, not even twenty feet away, watching him. Relaxed posture, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, looking with an expression of detached interest. He didn't move when Mulder turned, he just waited.

Krycek was silently ranting. He had planned to make his presence known much earlier, but he had been distracted, happy to just amble along and watch the lean figure before him. He was pleased that Mulder had shown up, but he expected the meeting to be tense, and was savoring the last moments where Mulder's presence was combined with relative peace of mind. So much so that he hadn't noticed the moments had clotted into almost an hour. Now he cursed his stupidity, while another part of his mind was frantically searching for the right words to defuse the situation. No words had come up yet.

Mulder was stunned. Too stunned to be angry, at first. He walked over to the other and asked, incredulously, "Have you been following me all this time?" There was no reply. "You could have... Jesus! You're a fucking maniac, Krycek, do you know that?"

Krycek stood there, motionless, watching. Studying, it looked like. It infuriated Mulder.

"What the fuck possesses you to follow me for miles without saying anything?" He stood very close to Krycek now, shouting into his face. It felt so good to lash out, to finally let himself go.

Krycek realized where this was heading; with or without the right words, he had to say something. "Mulder..."

"Was this the whole point of this ridiculous exercise? To watch me be miserable and make a fool of myself? Is that what you like to spend your weekends doing?" Mulder knew that there was a good deal of embarrassment fueling his rage, but it was too late to stop now. He grabbed Krycek's lapels and shook him. "I've had it with you, your twisted mind and your insane pranks. Fuck you, Krycek!"

Krycek took his hands and tried to pull them loose, protesting, "Hey, come on! Mulder, listen, I just..." Before he could get the next word out, Mulder freed his right hand and lashed out, hitting him on the side of his face with enough force to down him. Krycek immediately turned onto his back and pulled up his legs to defend himself against the next attack; but that didn't seem to be forthcoming. Mulder stood stock still, panting, staring down at him. He seemed dazed.

Mulder had shocked himself with his attack. Nothing he could have done would betray his feelings more effectively than this foolish outburst. He was mortified, and now felt more like kicking himself than Krycek, although it was a close call.

This had turned into a mess with depressing ease. He was still too angry to help the other up and make light of it. The only thing he did want to do, turn around and run, was out of the question. He sighed hopelessly and slumped down to the ground, only partly of his own volition. Staring at the sea, he rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and hoped that Krycek would have the decency to depart, or to disappear into thin air. The ice-cold seawater quickly seeped through his jeans and chilled his ass, which had been none too warm to begin with.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arm, and Krycek's face appeared in his narrow field of vision.

"Hey Mulder... look, I'm sorry about that."

Mulder glanced at him miserably.

"I shouldn't have let it go one so long, but I just wanted to... to look at you for a while. Because as soon as we start talking it always gets so... convoluted. I wasn't trying to make you feel like an idiot. I didn't think. I guess I should have left you a message or something. I'm sorry."

They were the right words, but they did nothing to dispel the black despair. Nothing good was ever going to come out of this. He might try, Krycek might try, but it seemed they were doomed to fuck up every time. It had been immensely stupid to come here.

He felt Krycek's free hand slide between his jacket and his sweater, and then find the bare skin of his back; it only served to emphasize the hopelessness of the situation. To his horror, he felt his throat constrict. That'll be the last straw, crying on the beach in the arms of... He turned away even further, and felt Krycek shrink a little behind him; and then he shrunk a little himself.

Now he'll come around to look at my face, and I'll have to turn away again. He'll try to touch me and I will avoid his touch. And then he'll give up and walk away, and I won't be able to follow him because my legs will buckle, and I'll be as blind as a bat, and my voice won't work. And he'll be gone before I have a chance to recover, and that will be the end of it. Then I'll probably shoot a seagull after all, or a couple of seagulls.

But instead, Krycek sat down behind his back, did nothing for a while, then leaned against him and slid the hand inside again, stroking the small patch of bare skin he could reach from there in a constant, slow, hypnotic rhythm.

He's comforting me, like a child.

The thought pissed him off again, but he suppressed the flare of anger; and after a while, it actually was comforting. He leaned back a little, against the hand, the shoulder supporting him. After a while, he swallowed experimentally. His throat seemed to have become a bit less constricted. A few more tries, and it definitely became easier. His jaw relaxed; his eyes still stung, but the danger of overflowing had abated.

Then Krycek's other hand came up around his shoulder, and furtively touched his cheek, checking for tears. The gesture caused another surge of irritation, again ignored.

"Mulder, do you think we can go back now? I'm freezing my ass off here, quite literally." He sounded impatient.

Mulder got up, waiting for the other to get up too. He was at a loss for words, stared in silence as Krycek unsuccessfully tried to wipe off the wet sand clinging to his pants. He was confident he could say something in a more or less steady voice, but the fathomless melancholy hadn't lifted, and he couldn't think of anything worth saying.

They set off uncomfortably, next to each other, not speaking. Pretty soon, Mulder fell into his mechanical walking rhythm again, striding across the wet sand, again far enough away from the water to preclude forced sidetracks.

Why had he come? In retrospect, he had known, or could have known how it would be. A dingy little town, low gray skies, and an uncomfortable truce he desperately wanted, but would never really accept. Everything conspired to make the situation unbearable. Maybe getting drunk with the Playboy channel for company would have been better. He looked at the lead-colored sea, the white-fringed waves. It had begun to rain a little, barely noticeable, like heavy mist.

He gradually became aware of an urgent voice behind him, and turned.

"Hey, Mulder! Jesus Christ. You've got company, had you forgotten already?" Krycek took a few large strides to catch up. "How am I ever going to pry you out of that shell? What is it with you? The second I let go of you, you slither back inside and I'm left trying to kick the door in until you poke your head out. It's not very flattering, you know."

There was no more energy to check his temper; all that was left was a sneer. "What do you want, Krycek? How about some small talk about the weather? A philosophical discourse? Should we gossip a bit about some former colleagues? It's not like we're..."

Krycek reached him in three steps and almost jumped up against him, holding him close with one arm, pulling his head back by the hair with the other. His mouth was sealed with a kiss that was clearly born of pent-up rage. Krycek pushed on, bending Mulder back until his spine popped, holding him almost off-balance. Then he began to move his hips against Mulder's groin, with sharp, aggressive thrusts.

Mulder hung on to him, dazed by the sudden change, dizzy, breathing heavily through his nose. And awash with total, overwhelming arousal. He had to fight to keep control of his legs. In acute need of oxygen, he began to squirm violently; Krycek let go of his mouth for a second to allow a gasping breath, then descended again.

Slowly, Krycek lowered the two of them onto the wet sand without breaking the kiss. If it was a kiss.

Mulder barely noticed the cold, frantically clawing his way into Krycek's jacket, pulling up his sweater, thrusting his face against the smooth skin, his arms folding around the ribs, his hands cupping the shoulder blades. He pulled Krycek against him with all his might. His hips were moving against Krycek's crotch with a self-sustaining rhythm. His mind was too foggy to be aware of the groans he forced into Krycek's throat. The smell, the taste, all sensations were familiar, instantly transported him back to the frenzy they had shared months ago. "God... Oh God..." This was why he had come, of course.

He tried to reach Krycek's fly, but couldn't manage between two uncoordinated grinding motions. Instead, he slid his hand inside below the waistband at the back, pushed deeper, following the crack of Krycek's ass, roughly forcing a finger inside. Krycek parted his legs to give him room, grunting, biting his throat, then licking at the bruises.

Suddenly, Krycek pushed himself up on his hands and said, "Turn over."

"What? Krycek, you're nuts, we can't..."

"Mulder... there's no one here, the place is deserted. And even if someone saw us, they'd probably think they were hallucinating. Come on, turn over." He pulled up his knee, pushed it into Mulder's groin, giving suggestive little humps against his erection.

Mulder looked up at him, focusing with an effort. Krycek's lips were parted, bruised from the violent kiss, his eyes dark and hazy with lust, sweatshirt pushed up under his arms, revealing his stomach. Mulder ran his hand over the warm skin there, felt the muscles move under his touch. Krycek now leaned on one hand, using the other to knead Mulder's erection, his balls, through the cloth of his jeans. Shifting his weight to his knees, he unbuttoned Mulder's fly, freed his erection and immediately engulfed it in his mouth, sucking strongly.

Mulder cried out and grabbed Krycek's head. He tried not to thrust, but couldn't help himself. He moaned loudly, and dimly thought that it would be a matter of seconds. Then the mouth disappeared. The cold air that replaced it made him gasp.

"Turn over."

He looked up, and now saw only determination. "Jesus..." He began to turn, awkwardly. Krycek grabbed his hips and flipped him over with tremendous ease.

Mulder didn't protest. He raised his hips when Krycek pushed his pants down around his thighs, then stayed up on his knees when he felt an arm around his waist, pulling him up. One hand was warming his cock, fingers of the other spread saliva around his anus, then pushed in, slowly at first, then harder. The heat they generated almost drowned out the pain. Mulder bit his lip, tried to spread his knees to make it easier. When the fingers found his prostate he pushed back, forgetting the pain, fighting for breath that the thick waves of lust had forced out of his lungs. Krycek set a relentless pace, pushing him on with a two-handed counterpoint, not even allowing him time to adjust his posture. He came without regaining control, tumbling over the edge, his heart skipping from the exertion.

He barely noticed Krycek spreading the semen over his cock, only coming to his senses somewhat when he felt the pressure against his sphincter and opened easily, surprisingly easily. It felt almost luxurious, in spite of the cold, the sand, the rain. He leaned back on his knees, totally relaxed, as Krycek filled him, stretched him, wrapped his arms around him, moaned softly into his ear. He wanted to turn around, to hold that straining body, to help it along. The small moans made his gut melt in sympathy. Finally, a series of long, shuddering gasps indicated that it was over. He quickly shrugged Krycek's body off of him, turned to his side and wrapped himself around the other, smelling him, licking his neck, his cheek.

They lay together for several minutes. Over Krycek's shoulder, he could see a couple with a dog approaching. That made him realize that he was rather exposed, lying naked from waist to ankle, knees spread protectively around Krycek's thighs. He scrambled up and hastily pulled up his pants.

"Alex."

"Come back here, Mulder. Please."

"Let's go. It's raining, it's cold, I want to go inside." He felt a whole lot better; in fact, he felt strangely elated. Elation resulting from defying the rules, from doing something totally outrageous and irresponsible just for fun. It was a very old feeling; he couldn't remember having had it for many years.

Krycek opened his eyes, made a face, then slowly got up.

"Zip up, Alex. This isn't how people dress around here."

With a smirk, Krycek zipped himself up, then wiped some sand off Mulder's face, who then did him the same favor. It didn't help their appearance much.

"I hope that posh hotel you found us will still let me in." Krycek looked at him, apparently annoyed, but he ignored him.

During the walk back, Mulder's elation had subsided; it was replaced by increasing annoyance at his passivity. Twice now, Krycek had rescued the day with no assistance at all from him. On the other hand, it had been Krycek who had screwed up the day in the first place. Sending that crazy note, choosing this godforsaken place, leaving him to his own devices, and then sneakily following him on that awful beach walk to watch the trap he had set take effect. The remembered humiliation made his anger return and quickly grow again; by the time he got the key, his mood was foul once more. Foul enough to look for an opportunity for revenge.

They covered the remaining mile in record time, half-running, now chilled to the bone. In the hotel, the receptionist looked at them strangely for a second, then apparently checked himself and first retrieved Krycek's backpack, then the key.

Halfway up the spiraling staircase, just outside the view of the receptionist, Mulder made his move. He turned, descended a step and braced his arms on either side of Krycek, then slowly leaned in and kissed his neck and the side of his face tenderly. He watched the surprise, quickly changing to delight. Krycek leaned against the arm supporting his back, turned his face slightly towards Mulder. Mulder licked Krycek's ear, then whispered, "This could be so wonderful if you weren't such a scumbag, Krycek..." He ran a finger along his jaw, then trailed his hand across Krycek's chest and stomach, then cupped his crotch, squeezing gently. "I might have had some fond memories of our last time together. As it is, you're just a quick..." small kiss to Krycek's brow, "... admittedly hot..." nuzzling of Krycek's hairline, down to the cup of Krycek's ear again "... fuck."

He felt Krycek's body go rigid, watched the skin of his cheek go white. Krycek looked away, then turned back to lock burning eyes with Mulder's.

He closed his hand on Mulder's jaw, squeezing with a vise-like grip, causing Mulder to open his mouth involuntarily.

"Keep thinking that, Mulder. Maybe it will help you forget who's in charge here. You come when *I* call, Mulder, and only when I'm fucking well ready to let you."

He let Mulder go, and they glared at one another, panting, heat and sex and hostility crackling in the air around them. Mulder could actually feel it; tiny pinpricks against his cheeks, like sparks from a burning fuse.

Krycek abruptly looked ashamed. "Mulder," his voice husky, eyes dark, almost pleading. "We don't have to do this. I didn't come here to insult you, or even to fuck you stupid. I came to..." He trailed off, brushing his fingertips lightly against the red indentations his nails had left in Mulder's skin. He cupped Mulder's cheek gently and leaned in to kiss him, apology sweet on his lips.

Smiling triumphantly, Mulder pulled back, turned and continued on his way to the room. He felt considerably better. Insulting Krycek usually helped improve his mood when he was angry, which was often when they were together.

Krycek hung back. He had to hold on to the handrail, and it was an effort not to sit down on the steps. The roles had been effectively reversed; now he was the needy one, vulnerable, weak. He always fell for this particular trick, because he never saw it coming; and it was very hard to take. His guilt, his desire to make amends had handed Mulder a way to open him up and pour in all his pent-up rage; and Mulder wasn't above abusing it. He clearly knew exactly what he was doing, which made it worse. Krycek considered going downstairs and clearing out. The sudden blow left a metallic taste in his mouth. It would be hard, if not impossible to get things back on track after this.

But it would be even harder if he left. The point of this whole meeting had been to try to repair some damage; but so far he had only succeeded in doing more, to both of them. He leaned against the wall, completely discouraged.

It seemed like Mulder had succeeded in transferring his depression as well as his rage in that neat little scene. Krycek wasn't sure if that was his intention. He also wasn't sure if Mulder didn't time his attacks so that they caused the greatest possible misery. They always came at the moments that came as close to happiness as Krycek thought he'd ever get.

But that's what you like about him, isn't it? Beauty, temperament, and these occasional low punches? He sighed, clenched his jaw and followed Mulder into the room.

Mulder had switched on a single table lamp and closed the curtains. He was sitting on one of the overstuffed chairs, legs crossed, and was studying the room service menu. "Glad to see you're feeling better," he said cheerfully when Krycek came in.

"Mulder..." he began, then changed his mind immediately as he saw the raised eyebrows that greeted his words. "Oh, never mind."

Mulder grinned, and innocently resumed, "Want something to eat? I'm pretty hungry, myself. They have room service. Do you like salmon?"

Krycek stared at him, amazed at the ease with which Mulder acted as though nothing had happened. His mood changed with lightning speed; its volatility was confusing. Krycek couldn't predict it, nor get used to it. It was disconcerting. "Whatever you like, Mulder. It's food," he replied tiredly. While Mulder phoned in his elaborate order, Krycek was still trying to calm himself down.

"I'm going to take a shower," he announced when Mulder finally put the phone down. He was hoping for some more time alone, but Mulder's face brightened. "Great idea," he said enthusiastically. "I could use one too. I'll join you. If you don't mind, that is."

He had probably made it sound like an invitation. "Sure Mulder. Join me if you like," he said, shrugging, and began to strip without enthusiasm.

Once in the shower, things got better. After the sand had been shampooed and rinsed off, Krycek accepted a blow job by way of an apology. Then, bracing himself against the back wall, he let Mulder fuck him with slow, tender strokes, by the soft, shadowy light behind the shower curtain, further dimmed by clouds of heavy steam. The tension of suppressed anger left him, and he slowly came back to life, a soft, mellow kind of life. He had difficulty keeping himself upright. Mulder supported him, one arm wrapped around his ribcage while the other made small excursions over his torso, and lapped at his neck. Why do things always get derailed at some point? He had asked himself a thousand times, and there didn't appear to be an answer.

Afterwards they lay on the bed, entwined, roused from sleep by a sharp rap on the door. "What the hell... oh damn, the food." Krycek pulled the covers up to his chin, while Mulder got up and into his soiled jeans. He opened the door, digging in his pocket for tip money. A cart was pushed in, causing Krycek to guffaw loudly. The waiter ogled them, looking from one to the other with unveiled curiosity. Mulder hastily signed, tipped and locked the door. "I guess I overdid it a bit," he admitted sheepishly, looking at the cart, laden with covered plates, two bottles of wine, glasses, several small jars, and a large bowl of fruit.

They ate on the bed, in companionable silence, until Mulder switched on the TV. After a few minutes of 'The Poseidon Adventure', Krycek suddenly got up. "I almost forgot! I brought you a present!" He was digging in his backpack and came up with a videotape. He handed it to Mulder. The cover showed a nude male, kneeling, hands bound behind his back, which was striped with red welts. A large, shadowy man loomed behind him, fully dressed, holding a bullwhip raised above his head.

Mulder looked up, clearly annoyed. "Alex, you *know* I don't do this shit."

Ignoring his expression, Krycek said, "Just watch it, Mulder. Convince me that it really doesn't do anything for you."

He took the tape from Mulder and popped it into the VCR. Taking the plates from the bed and stacking them onto the cart, he returned with the fruit bowl, which he set on the bedside table, pushing a crowd of glasses, wine bottles and a jar of cookies out of the way. "Shit". With a sigh, he got up again, pulled a bottle of lube from his pack, and added it to the small bedside army. Then he took the remote from Mulder's unresisting hands and pushed him back against the pillow-covered headboard. Leaning back as well, he pulled up the covers and started the tape.

The opening was a scene in a gay bar. A tall, muscular blond man was picking up an almost equally tall dark-haired one. Both were dressed in denim and black leather. It was fairly boring; after a minute of two Mulder looked at him and said, "Wouldn't you rather watch 'The Poseidon Adventure'?"

"Shut up and wait, Mulder."

The two men on the screen left the bar and went to an expensively furnished penthouse, a fire burning in the fireplace. Mulder said, "Where do the fags in these films get the money for places like that?" It elicited an irritated "Shut the fuck up Mulder," from Krycek.

The dark-haired man immediately undressed and held out his hands behind his back, where they were cuffed. They moved to the bathroom, where he knelt on the floor of the bathtub.

"That seems an unlikely po... Oh." Mulder said. The blond man took out an enema bag, filled it, and inserted the nozzle between the buttocks of the other, who quickly began to squirm.

Mulder glanced at Krycek from the corner of his eye and pulled up his knees. Krycek, grinning, pushed the knee closest to him down again.

The camera zoomed in on the man in the bathtub. He was breathing heavily, sweating. A hand of the other man appeared, pulled out the nozzle and replaced it with a big, glistening anal plug, pulling it out partly and then pushing back several times. The man was writhing; when the plug filled him, he moaned.

Mulder pulled up his knee again. Krycek reached out and pulled him off balance, laying him down across the bed. Then he stretched behind Mulder and pushed one arm under his head, lifting it enough to allow Mulder to see the TV, and the other arm over his waist, finding a rock-hard erection. He grinned again and kissed Mulder behind his ear. "Boring, isn't it? Should we watch "The Poseidon Adventure' instead?" He shifted to insert his own erection between Mulder's thighs, thrusting gently a few times. Reaching out, he pulled a grape from the bunch on the fruit bowl and pushed it against Mulder's lips. Mulder obediently opened his mouth, and he popped the grape in.

The men were now in another room, brightly lit, which contained an impressive array of equipment. The dark man was bent forward over a wooden horse, his legs spread wide and tied to bolts in the floor, his arms still cuffed behind his back. The plug had disappeared. The other man went over to a rack on the wall and selected a larger plug, which he lubed up carefully.

Mulder shifted slightly, and Krycek happily shifted with him. He wrapped his upper leg around Mulder's thighs and his upper arm around his torso. Your personal heart rate monitor, he thought to himself. He moved up a bit so he could still see the TV.

The plug was slowly inserted into the man's rectum, with rotating movements. The man was filmed from the side. His eyes were closed, he was panting hard, and his erection was clearly visible.

Mulder's head rested against Krycek's shoulder. His hand transmitted Mulder's heartbeat to him, and the accelerated breathing. His cock was still resting between Mulder's thighs. He badly wanted to plow his way inside, to feel that pulse move against his cock. Instead, he reached out again and picked up another two grapes, eating one himself, thrusting the other into Mulder's now open mouth.

"You're right Mulder, it's not your thing. It clearly doesn't do anything for you."

"I can still watch it, can't I?" Mulder replied, his voice hoarse.

The plug was now in place; the man tied to the horse was trembling and glistening with sweat. His hands were uncuffed, pulled out sideways and tied at a 90 degree angle from his body. The other went back to another rack and selected a thin, nasty-looking wooden paddle, hitting the palm of his own hand experimentally a few times. The sound made both the tied man and Mulder wince. Then he walked over, gently stroked the tied man's buttocks a few times, and suddenly brought the paddle down forcefully. The man cried out, his body jerked violently. Mulder gasped. Krycek kept stroking him, and gently sucked at the back of his neck.

As the flogging progressed, Krycek pushed his hand against Mulder's throat, feeling the heavy, rapid pulse. He lay back and let his hand trail down Mulder's body slowly, tugging gently on hairs he encountered along the way. Moving his own leg out of the way, he lifted Mulder's upper knee to a right angle, then thrust his hand between the legs and gently massaged his balls. Mulder unconsciously thrust up against him, engrossed in the flogging on the screen. Krycek backed off and got the lube from the nightstand, together with two more grapes. After depositing the grapes in Mulder's mouth, he thoroughly lubed his cock and his right hand.

On the screen, the flogging stopped. The blond man turned his attention back to the anal plug that still filled his shuddering, gasping victim. He twisted it and pulled on it, wrenching twitches and gasps from the tied man. Then he unzipped himself, took out his huge cock, and after roughly pulling out the plug, impaled the other in one hard thrust.

Mulder made a small, throaty noise. Krycek caught his hand on its way down, and quickly pushed it away. "Wait, Mulder, Jesus, we really should have stuck to the Poseidon..." There was a brief struggle, and he ended up pinning both Mulder's arms behind him, while the man on the screen violently fucked the other. Krycek passed up on the scene, instead nuzzling Mulder's neck, his arms wrapped tightly around him. Mulder's body was a taut mass of muscles and sinews, straining, tense. The delight of holding that struggling body down merited full concentration.

The video scene lasted for minutes. A few seconds after it ended Krycek warily let his arms go slack and turned Mulder over on his back. His eyes were heavy-lidded with arousal and half-closed, cheeks flushed, mouth partly open, revealing even teeth glistening with saliva. He was panting heavily, his pulse a moving shadow against his throat.

"Oh God, Mulder..." Krycek was almost overwhelmed. He put his tongue against the pulsing artery in the throat, turning his head so he could look down the torso at the erection, lying flat against Mulder's abdomen. He stretched out an arm and touched it, making it jump. Mulder reached out again and tried to trap his hand in place, but Krycek sat up. "Sit here," he said hoarsely, motioning to the pillows leaning against the headboard. Mulder groaned, but then moved over. Krycek kneeled next to him, spread his knees and pushed them up slightly. Staring at his face steadily, he reached between Mulder's legs and slowly inserted two slippery fingers into his rectum. Mulder's flush deepened, his mouth opened wider. There was a whispered "Ohhh..." when Krycek pulled halfway out and pushed back in. He set up a slow rhythm, wincing as Mulder's fingers gripped his shoulder and dug into the muscle, now and then bending down to lick up drops of moisture that leaked from his cock. Mulder arched up against him, breathing so hard it sounded like smothered sobs.

"I'm going to fuck you in a second," Krycek promised. He felt the muscle clench on his fingers. "What if that were you up there, Mulder? Bent over a wooden horse, tied down... At my mercy..." Mulder bit his lower lip, "I'll force a big plug up that wonderful ass of yours... and flog you until you beg for mercy..." Mulder turned his head away, his erection pulsing rapidly against his belly, "... and then I'll slowly twist that plug, torture you..." He took out his fingers, pushed back in with three. Mulder arched up again, almost spraining his fingers, "... and then I'll pull it out and ram my cock inside you." A small, strangled sound; more twitching muscle. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Krycek's voice was very hoarse now, his mouth dry, his cock swollen and pulsing painfully. He sucked at Mulder's earlobe, thrust his fingers in very deeply, then whispered, "You'll want whatever I give you... and I'll give you an enema." Mulder blinked, shook his head, barely noticeable. "I want you to kneel in front of me, naked, powerless..." Mulder swallowed heavily, "... I'll fill you up with water, force it inside you, feel you struggle, cramp up..." Mulder whispered, "No..." but his pelvis was moving with Krycek's hand, slowly gyrating. His eyes were completely closed now.

I'm going to come from listening to myself, Krycek thought hazily. He tried to clear his head. Still finger-fucking Mulder in the same slow tempo, he reached out again and picked another handful of grapes. He shifted slightly and pulled out.

Mulder whimpered pathetically. Krycek took one of the grapes and pushed it against his anus.

"What... Jesus... Alex!"

Using his thumb and forefinger, he quickly forced it through the opening, again watching Mulder's face. There was shock, but also fascination. "We could have such a good time if you'd let me clean you out," he whispered suggestively, using one finger to push the grape in a little further. Then he followed it up with a second one.

"Alex, don't... Shit!"

"Yeah, well..." he grinned. "It's really too bad, don't you think?" Looking at Mulder's flushed face, he added, "Don't worry, they'll come out again. Eventually." He pushed his fingers in again and resumed his thrusting, slowly, voluptuously.

"Oh God... You're crazy... Dangerously deranged... Oh Jesus, Alex, please..."

"Do you want me to fuck you now?"

"Yes! Oh Jesus, you're worse than... Ahhh..."

"Let me think, Mulder... How do I want this..." His voice was very unsteady now. Cut the crap, Krycek.

He moved over to kneel between Mulder's legs. Hooking his elbows under Mulder's knees, he pulled him up into his lap and freed one hand to guide his cock inside. Then he pushed forward as hard as he could. Mulder made a strangled noise, clenched his muscles momentarily before he gave in and relaxed. He lay back, his head the lowest point of his body, a vein standing out on his temple, and moved with the hard, almost violent thrusts.

"Look at me, Mulder. Keep your eyes open," Krycek rasped

Mulder tried, but failed. He hooked his legs around Krycek's waist, pulled himself up against the thrusts, and let himself be carried by the violent wave of motion. He reached for his cock again, but Krycek pushed his hand away.

Still thrusting aggressively, relying on Mulder's legs to keep them connected, Krycek leaned forward on his hands, then lowered himself and kissed Mulder's swollen lips. This must be better than giving him an enema, he thought distantly, feeling Mulder curl up below him, tensing like a tightly wound coil, then suddenly bucking wildly with a cry that was muffled by Krycek's mouth, semen spattering both of them. When he finally relaxed and let his legs drop, Krycek almost slipped out. With a growl, he gathered Mulder's hips in his arms and rode him savagely for another minute until he came, gasping, his heart thumping in his throat. He dropped down on top of Mulder, but kept thrusting until it felt like a vacuum developed inside his balls. "Oh Jesus," he whimpered, burying his head against Mulder's neck.

Mulder awoke to the sound of heavy rain against the windows. He took a moment to get his bearings. They had fallen asleep without putting out the light or the TV; the room was dimly lit with yellow and blue light. Krycek was fast asleep, lying on his stomach, his head resting on an arm. Mulder watched him for a while, and listened to his breathing; then he carefully peeled back the covers until Krycek's back and ass were uncovered. He was quite muscular, but his muscles were covered by a thin layer of puppy fat, which softened his outline and made him look vulnerable. He knew how much Krycek hated that, but he found it quite endearing.

Mulder felt contented, almost happy, and he couldn't reconstruct the state of mind that had induced his vicious attack on the staircase. It had been a perfectly orchestrated, deliberate, and successful attempt to hurt. Now he felt bad about it. On an impulse, he reached out to caress that wonderfully sweet back, as if to make belated amends; he stopped himself at the last moment, not wanting to wake Krycek up. Instead, he rested his head on his arm and watched. He was getting hard again, just watching the other sleep. It was a reason for profound worry, but at the moment he couldn't be bothered. He looked, studied the motion of Krycek's ribs as he breathed, and felt at home.

After a few minutes, Krycek's skin began to form goose bumps. Mulder pulled the cover over him again, but the action woke him up. Krycek lifted his head and looked around, dazed. He settled back when Mulder wrapped his arms around him, and rolled back slightly to push himself against the warm body behind him. He would have fallen asleep again if Mulder's hands hadn't started to roam.

"Mulder, fuck off, I need to sleep," he muttered.

Mulder gently bit his shoulder, hands caressing his chest, gently tweaking his nipples, then drifting down to find him half-hard already.

"Mulder. I can't do it anymore. Wake me up four hours from now," he protested, ineffectually trying to push Mulder's hands away.

Mulder rolled him over on his back and looked down at his face. His eyes were heavy-lidded with sleep. "You can do it, Alex. You're already doing it," he murmured, licking his Adam's apple, then trailing a slow, wet trail down to one of his nipples, applying gentle suction there.

Krycek watched him disappear under the covers and vaguely wondered if it would be possible to fall asleep like this. How incredible that would be. The thought made him smile lazily. He stretched like a cat, then lingered, sleepy and aroused, content to let Mulder do the work. He wriggled his shoulders when the mouth crossed over to his other nipple, then tilted his pelvis in anticipation when it wandered south. A funny, squeaky sound escaped him when he felt himself engulfed, a tongue rasping over the head of his cock. He tried to keep his muscles relaxed, but his thighs went taut despite his best efforts. He closed his eyes again and let himself drift. The wet heat on his cock made him want to croon with delight.

After a minute, he felt a hand impatiently shaking his arm. He opened his eyes and croaked, "What?"

There were some frustrated noises, reverberating through his throbbing cock, from below the covers, then the hand emerged from the covers and waved around impatiently, while Mulder's other hand crept between his legs. Oh. He reached out, found the bedside table, the fruit bowl, and then the bottle of lube. He picked it up, and then on second thoughts picked up another two grapes on his way back. With a broad smile, he pushed the grapes into the waiting hand. There was a disgusted sound that made his spine tingle, then Mulder raised his head and giggled beneath the covers. There was a distinct munching sound as he ate the grapes. The hand came back a moment later, empty. This time Krycek yielded the lube.

Seconds later, the hot mouth descended again, sucking hard this time; immediately after, two greased fingers were inserted into his rectum. He arched up, hissing, then lay down again and tried to keep to his resolve to come in a relaxed fashion. Pulling up one knee, he put his arms under the cover and grabbed Mulder's head, then settled back against the pillows with his eyes closed. After a moment, his head lolled to the side.

Oh, to go to sleep like this... but his agitation was increasing, his pulse raced, his cock was on fire, his ass stretched open, and it clearly wasn't going to work. "Oh God, Mulder..." he whispered, trying to lie still, not to buck into that hot mouth, not to force the head down on him, over him. "Oh God, I'm going to... Ohhh..." And then he did buck, feeling Mulder's throat close against him, then open again, swallowing frantically, the fingers in his ass pushing him on until the end. He sagged against the pillows, glassy-eyed, then turned on his side again, overcome with sleep.

Mulder came up gasping for air, flushed, sweating, and saw him sink into sleep. "Alex! Shit, no way!" He indignantly shook Krycek's slack shoulder, then stretched out behind his back, rubbing himself against it, and forced his cock into the well-lubricated ass.

Krycek mumbled, then muttered, "Ng... oh...", and shifted his leg slightly. He refused to wake up again, and falling asleep while being fucked ranked a close second to falling asleep while getting a blow job. He sighed deeply, relished in Mulder's gentle intrusions, and tried to remain in the phantom-ridden limbo just before sleep.

Mulder set a slow rhythm. He didn't know if Krycek was asleep, and didn't really care; fucking his sleeping body suddenly seemed very appealing. Krycek's back was very warm, and the heat inside was incredible. His slack body swayed gently with Mulder's thrusting. He bit and sucked on the fleshy shoulder in front of him, in half-conscious imitation of a rutting tomcat. The soft moan that resulted told him Krycek wasn't quite asleep yet. He felt a hand touch his thigh, then slump over it.

Oh God, that back...

He pushed Krycek over slightly for better access, then reconsidered and pushed him further, until he lay flat on his stomach, moving with him to stay inside. He slowly lowered his weight onto Krycek's body and resumed his thrusting, listening to the sleepy, or sleeping, sounds that emanated from it as he fucked it, slowly, intently, then faster. He smelled Krycek's sweat, licked it up from inside the fold in the skin of his neck.

When he knew he wouldn't last much longer, his raised himself on his hands and looked down, along the spine, the buttocks, watching his cock push in, pull out, push in again. The sight was so breathtakingly erotic that he slowed down, trying to hold himself back, but it was too late. He kept watching as he came, his eyes losing their focus; then he collapsed. I have to remember to watch that again, he thought vaguely. Krycek grunted and wiggled his ass below him, making him smile.

The next time he woke up, it was to the sound of the shower. He lazily turned on his other side to keep an eye on the bathroom door. The TV was still on, as were the lights. The heavy curtains kept most of the grayish daylight outside from entering, and the light in the room was dim. Mulder closed his eyes, stretched, and curled up again. He thought of the smell of Krycek's body as it would join him in a minute. Clean water, hotel soap, his own toothpaste, and Krycek's scent, a bit clove-like, never obtrusive but always present. And the feel of the film of water between his hand and the thin skin covering Krycek's ribs.

But when the bathroom finally opened and Krycek stepped out of the billowing cloud of steam, Mulder was shocked to see he was fully dressed.

He quickly walked over to the bed and whispered, "I have to go, Mulder, I'm late already..." Resting his hands on the mattress on either side of Mulder, he bent over to kiss him, and was pulled off-balance. He fell on top of Mulder, who hissed into his face, "You're not going anywhere yet, you bastard. We still have things to discuss. Take those clothes off." Pressing the other against him with one arm, he pulled up Krycek's t-shirt, then wrestled with the covers separating them.

"No, I really have to go. Come on, Mulder," Krycek was a little breathless, "Shit, I don't have time for this!"

"I don't care. Get your clothes off, Krycek. Goddamnit, do you think you can walk out of here just like that?" Krycek almost fell off the bed as Mulder roughly pushed him aside to yank away the covers. Pulling Krycek's back against him, he covered them both up. "I won't let you go." He wound his legs around Krycek's and held him down, opening his fly with his free hand.

"Mulder. I really have to go. I don't want to, but I must." He was squirming now, completely erect again. It seemed impossible to free himself without hurting Mulder.

Mulder tugged at the waistband of his jeans, struggling blindly to pull them down. "You can't go. I want to... I still have to... Shit..." The rage suddenly disappeared, leaving him drained, so tired he was shivering. His arms and legs lost their strength, and he let his head fall back on the pillow, eyes closed. "I'm sorry, Alex. Go if you want."

Krycek turned around and embraced him. "You know I don't want to." Desperately aroused, he pulled Mulder's naked flesh against him, kneading the muscles of his back, trying to keep his hips still. "Oh God, I want... I want to eat you up..." He felt Mulder's hand cupping his crotch, squeezing gently, and knew he was lost again. Frantic, he went on, "What do you... Do you want to screw me? Do you want me to..."

"I don't want to screw you. And you can't screw me either, I'm too sore. I want... Why can't you just stay here? Why does it always have to be an afterthought? Oh never mind... Forget that. Just take off your clothes and hold me."

Krycek jumped out of bed, undressed in record time, and got in again. They wrapped together, and lay in silence, nuzzling each other.

Krycek tried to control his nerves and to lose his persistent, senseless erection. He almost jumped when Mulder softly touched his cock and whispered, "Alex. Do you want me to blow you?"

"Just ignore it Mulder, it'll go away. I'm just... a little nervous, that's all."

"Oh. I hoped it might have something to do with my presence," Mulder sighed. Like a swimmer reaching the end of the basin, he went under, reversed, and swallowed most of Krycek's aching cock. Resting his chest and forearms on Krycek's belly to keep him down, he sucked, hard, fast, determined, keeping one steady, purposeful rhythm. And it took less than a minute before Krycek, writhing under Mulder's weight, moaned loudly and came, with one desperate thrust of his hips, followed by a series of slow rolls.

Mulder wriggled up again and said, "Now, that didn't hurt, did it?"

"Mulder, I told you not to - " Krycek was flushed, slightly embarrassed by his need and his inability to control it.

"I know you told me. I decided to ignore you." He re-entwined himself with Krycek, whose body now felt a lot more pliant. "I just happen to know you're at your best in post-climactic bliss. I've seen you keep still for minutes at a time." He resumed his nuzzling, resigned, waiting for the moment Krycek's restlessness would take over.

It did, two minutes later. "Mulder, I can't wait any longer. I'm sorry." He broke the embrace, stepped out of bed, dressed hastily. "I'll be back."

"See you later, Alex."

Krycek looked down at him, shook his head slowly. "I'll be... oh shit..." It was so hard not to flop down on the bed again, crawl under the covers, pretend the world would forget him if he wouldn't look at it. "See you later." He turned, grabbed his backpack, and fled, slamming the door behind him.

Mulder turned on his back, heaved a deep, shaky sigh, and stared at the ceiling for long minutes. Then he got up to take a shower.

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