Guiltless

By Palinurus

April 24, 1998

He could hear the phone ringing through the flimsy door. In his rush to get inside in time, he fumbled with the keys, cursed, finally got the door open. He whirled around to close it behind him, knowing it wouldn't close if he didn't push it shut. In the middle of his turn, something struck him between his shoulder blades with tremendous force, knocking the wind out of him, bringing him down to the floor. A heavy weight landed on top of him, and at the very same moment one of his wrists was enclosed in a handcuff and pulled behind his back. By the time he started to struggle, it already was too late. The arm was pushed up until his wrist was between his shoulder blades, making him groan in pain. He was immobilized, trying to arch his back to relieve the pressure. His other arm was grabbed, twisted in the same way, and the second cuff clicked in place.

Through the answering machine, Scully said, "Mulder, are you there? Pick up the phone, I have some new information about the Beale case."

The intruder let go of his arms with a satisfied grunt, then took hold of one upper arm and turned him over. The familiar face made him gawk. "Krycek... what the fuck..." His astonishment almost overshadowed his rage. If there were anyone he would have bet his meager savings on never seeing again, it would be Krycek. He couldn't decide if this was better or worse than he had feared, and he was at a total loss for a rational explanation of the sudden apparition.

Scully made an impatient sound and hung up the phone.

Krycek looked down at him, smiling in satisfaction at his easy victory. "Hello Mulder. I'm glad to find you alive and well."

"Have you lost your mind, Krycek? What are you hoping to gain from this idiocy?"

In a quiet voice, Krycek answered, "Don't worry, Mulder, I won't keep you for long. It's just that... I missed you." It was true, although he expected it would be a while before Mulder would believe that that was the sole reason for his visit. Since the inevitable apotheosis of the events set in motion years ago, he had missed his former partner a lot more than he had expected. A lot more than he had thought possible. Their relationship had been brief, and although there had been passion, he wasn't sure that there had been love. But there had been a lot of things that he had appreciated more than he realized. Until he'd lost all of them.

It was obvious that there was no way to reverse the chain of events. Too much damage had been done, too much trust had been abused, too much hope had been quashed. But he had devoted quite a bit of thought to possible ways of relieving at least part of the ache.

"I'll let you go in a little while. I just came here... for old times' sake." He looked at Mulder's face, expecting and finding a sneer.

"Yeah, sure, screw me, betray me, then beat me and tie me up and we'll have some beers and reminisce. Let's go over how it got to be like this. Let's share memories and mementos." Mulder had aimed for smooth, dripping sarcasm, but it came out sounding raw. He thought better of it and shut up.

Krycek didn't miss the edge in Mulder's voice, but didn't dare interpret it. He knew the dangers of wishful thinking while engaging potential enemies. Better to reserve judgment and store this new information for possible future use. For now, he had a few other cards to play. He knelt next to the supine body. "Mulder. I'm not going to try to explain what happened, or why it happened. It's too complicated and you won't believe me anyway. But I've missed you a lot. And I'll prove it." He stretched out his arm and touched Mulder's cheek, a gentle, experimental caress. Mulder violently jerked his head away. Krycek sighed and added, "Whether you'll give me a chance or not."

Mulder had been about to spit some curses at him, but that last remark stopped him in his tracks. "What do you mean by that, you bastard?"

"Mulder. We've had good times before, haven't we? I won't believe you don't remember that. I want it back. Whatever part of it I can get. I think you want it, too. In fact, I'm sure you do." Once again, he reached out and touched the warm flesh of Mulder's cheek. This time, Mulder lay still for a while, glaring up at Krycek. When the hand was close enough to his mouth, he suddenly moved and tried to bite.

Krycek's reflexes were good, and he escaped unbitten. He sighed warily and said, "Well, I didn't think it would be easy. You've always had a hard head. But as you know I don't give up quickly either." He started to scramble to his feet. When he was at the most precarious stage, Mulder rolled over on his side with lightning speed, curled up and aimed a two-footed kick at Krycek, hitting him in the knee and bringing him down with a cry of pain.

"Jesus Mulder, why won't you at least hear me out!" Krycek shouted, suddenly enraged in spite of his plan. He crawled out of reach of Mulder's legs and sat leaning against the wall for a minute, nursing his knee and staring wearily at his former partner. Then he got up and limped into the bedroom.

He knew the way from happier days; nothing had changed. He stopped in his tracks and looked around, overcome by a melancholy that made his limbs feel heavy. He felt like sitting on the bed for a minute to recover. Or not. Wallowing in grief suddenly seemed like a better idea than what he had in mind originally. But he heard Mulder making frantic attempts to get up, and remembered he was in a hurry. He quickly grabbed a tie from the rack and went back.

Just in time to hurl himself on top of Mulder, who had managed to get to his knees and was about to get to his feet. Krycek's weight sent him sprawling again, and this time, with his hands cuffed behind him, he hit his chin painfully on the floor. Mulder grunted as Krycek sat on his legs and with amazing efficiently tied them together at the ankles with... he glanced back, fuming to see that he was being tied with one of his favorite ties, green silk with a cheerful orange paisley motif.

"Fuck you Krycek. Whatever you have in mind, you can forget about it right this minute." His rage made it difficult to breathe. He had to concentrate for a moment to avoid hyperventilating.

Krycek got up and smiled. "Don't be pathetic, Mulder. You're in a fine position to bark. In a minute you'll start threatening me. Don't make me laugh at you." He grabbed Mulder under the armpits and began hauling him to the bedroom. It wasn't too difficult. He dumped Mulder unceremoniously on the ground and pulled back the bedclothes. Lifting the resisting body onto the bed was a bit tricky, but with some patience he managed to do it without dropping Mulder to the floor.

The headboard was exquisitely suited for tying extremities, as he knew very well. He got up and grabbed some more ties. Since Mulder's hands were cuffed behind his back, he would have to take off the cuffs in order to tie him to the bed in a position that was halfway comfortable. That was a complication he hadn't foreseen. He knotted a tie to each of Mulder's wrists, then pushed his arms up between his shoulder blades again. Mulder grunted, but Krycek knew better than to give him half a chance. He held the arms in position with his knees while he dug up the key for the handcuffs from his jeans pocket.

As soon as Mulder felt the hold of the cuffs being released, he tried to buck, but the pain in his arms and shoulders prevented any effective movement. Krycek took one arm and rotated it back to its normal position, then pulled it over Mulder's head and quickly tied it to the headboard. The second arm was less dangerous, although Mulder now did his best to dislodge him. He tied the second wrist close to the first, so he could turn Mulder over. "Damn you Mulder, lie still for a second, this won't help you and it's a fucking pain in the ass!" He sat on top of his victim's legs again, holding him down with his weight, riding out the frantic wriggling. On an impulse he threw himself face down onto Mulder's back, holding himself in place with and arm and a leg on either side of Mulder's thrashing body.

The smell of sweat immediately made him dizzy. He could barely refrain from rubbing himself against Mulder's back like a cat in heat. He lay, inhaling the scent as deeply as he could, waiting. He was in no hurry.

When Mulder quieted down, Krycek got up to turn him on his back, then sat back again on Mulder's thighs and took a minute to look. A long minute. He looked with the enormous hunger that resulted from six months of pent-up desire. He looked with abandon, not knowing when he would be able to take in this sight again. "God, you're so beautiful," he murmured absently, as if he was speaking to a dressmaker's dummy. He didn't notice that he was still breathing deeply, as if he was breathing fresh air for the first time in months. He looked, already nostalgic for this moment.

He came out of his reverie to find Mulder staring back at him with immense curiosity. With the wary fascination with which he would regard an alien.

Mulder had decided that his life didn't seem to be in immediate danger. He didn't believe a word Krycek said, but his treatment so far had been rather gentle, certainly a lot gentler than he would have treated Krycek if the roles had been reversed. That was reassuring. The unremitting hatred that had gradually become the predominant emotion associated with Krycek was still there, but now he found himself grudgingly studying this amazing creature with renewed interest. Krycek was a total enigma to him, unpredictable, defying all attempts at classification and explanation, an object of wonder. Once he had thought he had known Krycek, but that had been a tragic mistake. What the hell was he up to now? What was all that bullshit about missing him, and what was that soft, almost sentimental gleam in his eyes? It was incomprehensible. It was absurd.

Krycek's face broke into a grin. "I'm glad you haven't lost your interest in me, Mulder, although I'm not sure it's the type of interest I was hoping for. But that will change." He ran his hands over Mulder's thighs. The wriggling immediately resumed, but died down more quickly this time. Krycek's hand moved higher, over Mulder's narrow hips, skimming the crotch, then converging on the flat plane of the stomach, fingers spread wide to cover the largest possible area. He sighed again without noticing.

Mulder looked at the approaching hands with fascinated horror, a furrow in his forehead forming and deepening. At last, he said, in a voice stunned into toneless softness, "Krycek. I'm beginning to think you intend to rape me." This evoked another grin, very wide this time.

"That's not the word I would have used, Mulder." His hands trailed over Mulder's chest, untying the buttons of his shirt one by one. The stomach was flexing erratically when his fingers touched it. Ticklish. He decided to stay away from the jeans for now. He got up and rummaged through the bedside drawer. The exact same bottle of lube was still sitting there, three-quarters full.

Mulder had used the interval to frantically pull on the ties that bound him to the bed, but they defied his efforts. "Mulder, don't wear yourself out. I know how to tie a knot." Krycek wrestled Mulder down again and resumed his position. With some effort, he turned Mulder back on his stomach, then turned around, still straddling his legs, to fasten a new tie to one of his ankles. Holding the tie taut, he got up and tied it to the bed. Mulder fought hard now, but was at too much of a disadvantage. Both men were sweating heavily when Krycek finally managed to secure the knot.

"Jesus, why can't you just lay back and enjoy it? You'll wear me out before we get to the good part!" Krycek protested plaintively. He sat next to Mulder on the bed and went on in a reasonable tone, "Look Mulder. Some very unfortunate things have happened between you and me. All right, they were mostly my fault, I won't deny that. But we had some great times before things... went wrong. I miss that. I miss you. And I think you miss me too, although in the circumstances, I can understand that you won't shout that from the rooftops." He gently tugged at Mulder's shirt to pull it out of his jeans. "You're even wearing my favorite outfit. How considerate," he muttered, freeing the shirt from below Mulder's chest, where it had gotten into a tangle during their wrestling. He shoved it up over his back and shoulders, and bundled it up around his wrists, where it wouldn't get in the way.

"So here's what I came up with. Obviously, we can't be together anymore. Not because I would object, as you know. But I know you could never allow yourself to do that; your ego is too damned big. I can see that. So I have thought of a way to make it easy for you." He slowly ran three fingers down Mulder's spine, watching the muscles ripple in response. He followed the trail of his fingers with his lips, listened to the muted gasp that followed.

"I'll do everything, Mulder. I'll take full responsibility. You won't even have to say yes. In fact, you can say no all you want, it won't bother me, and it certainly won't chase me away." Again he traveled the same route, this time with his tongue, continuing until the waistband of Mulder's jeans stopped him. "You can have the sex you want, without the guilt. It's like the chocolate brownies in the ads, except this will be the real thing. I'll do the whole guilt part for you. It will all be my fault; you'll have nothing to do with it. Nothing you try will make any difference. You can even go to the police station this afternoon and report a rape. I won't blame you, and after all, it *is* a rape, of sorts. Although I'm sure the sex is going to be great. But I'm sure I don't have to tell you that."

Mulder's head was reeling. Krycek was clearly out of his mind, he had lost touch with reality. No sane person would come up with such a ridiculous plan, let alone actually believe in it enough to think that it could succeed.

But like most of Krycek's plans, it did have a touch of genius. His crazy scheme certainly evoked an unsettlingly familiar echo in Mulder's mind. He had missed the sex very much, to the extent that he had sometimes thought that the loss of that incredible body, its physical absence, hurt more than Krycek's betrayal. The sex had been riveting, almost unreal in its intensity, for the short period it lasted. They had loved each other explosively, violently, with an abandon that made him think afterwards that they had both sensed that it would end very soon. There was no way he could go back to that; it was innocence lost forever. And he didn't believe he would ever find it back with anyone else.

How often had he wished it back, with intense, guilty longing. Even six months later, almost no night went by when he didn't think back to it. He could grit his teeth and lay awake with a raging erection, sweating, fending off the erotic images that assaulted him; or he could jack off and lay awake as well, feeling disgusted with himself and with his unrelenting obsession. He had dreamed about Krycek. He had frantically designed scenarios that might account for everything and redeem Krycek, or at least make his actions understandable, inevitable. Only one scenario had stuck. In that one, Krycek would return, knock him unconscious, handcuff him, and then... A rape fantasy, designed to absolve him of guilt. It was pathetic.

It almost made him laugh bitterly right then. It was as if some malicious devil was playing with him, one that knew about his most shameful wishes and twisted them into paradoxes before making them come true. A devil that inserted little barbed thoughts into his head. Thoughts so small that they were barely noticeable before he pushed them out again, but present long enough to do their poisonous work. Like this little thought: that if only he hadn't had those fantasies, it would have been possible now to give in to Krycek's insane plan. That if it had genuinely fallen out of thin air, he would have been able to tell himself that he was only a victim of the other's wily mind. While now, there was no way to plead innocent; he would be responsible, in spite of the ties, the punches, the wrestling, because he had hoped for it, night after night.

The little devil in his mind giggled wildly.

Krycek was his worst enemy. He was a dangerous man, a lying, murderous bastard with no morals whatsoever. There was no way any involvement with this monster could be justified. Mulder clenched his jaws and once again tried to clear his head by shaking it violently.

He surfaced again when two strong hands lifted his hips slightly and undid the button and the fly of his jeans. This was spinning out of control too fast. Something had to be done, and quickly. "Krycek. Stop that, right now."

A chuckle was his reply. Protesting clearly wouldn't get him anywhere; it would only result in ridicule. Fighting was even less of an option. What was the sensible thing to do? He really couldn't figure it out. He closed his eyes in total confusion and hoped for enlightenment.

The little devil in his head, presumably of Consortium manufacture, was whooping with mirth.

Krycek knelt over him, one leg on either side of him. A strong arm was shoved under his middle, and Krycek lifted his hips, tugging at his jeans and boxers with the other hand. This made the decision on what constituted a sensible course of action much more urgent, but Mulder had never found his brain so sluggish as it was now. His jeans and underwear were pushed down round his ankles, and the cool air in the bedroom felt incongruously pleasant on his bare ass.

It was obvious that reporting a rape was not an option. He'd have to shut up about this whole episode. Not that that bothered him particularly, but it meant that this could never, ever be officially declared a rape. So he would have to make doubly sure it was one at least in his mind.

Krycek's hands slowly climbed up along the insides of his legs, and the warm glow of anticipation that started low in his gut didn't help things. Krycek paused at his knees, then brought his tongue in on the action, giving the soft skin at the back of Mulder's legs a lot of languorous attention.

The bastard knows his way around much too well. I can't just decide I'll go along with this. It's absurd, it's crazy, it's not of this world. He's lost his mind.

The hands continued their ascent, and the swirling ball of warmth in Mulder's abdomen grew larger. Krycek's mouth followed his hands, softly biting the fold between his thigh and his buttock. Mulder slowly shook his head from side to side, hoping for a coherent thought; but the gesture only seemed to make things worse. He moaned, mostly in confusion.

Krycek stretched out full-length beside him and whispered, "I know exactly what you like, Mulder. I remember every square inch of you." Stroking his back, ruffling his hair, running his warm tongue along the hairline, breathing warm breaths into his ear. Tracing the bony ridges there with his tongue.

Why isn't my brain working?

Then a finger ran down the crack of his ass, and he shivered. Back up, then down again, furtively touching his balls, as if by accident. The electric warmth in his belly turned into searing heat, releasing a rush of adrenaline. His erection moved slowly across the sheet, trying to find a more comfortable position of its own accord. He squirmed, turned his face away from Krycek's, tried to jump-start his brain into action by shaking his head once again. There was nothing, just silence, static, as if his brain had been taken off the air, the cables disconnected.

Krycek sat up on his knees and looked some more, pensively trailing his fingers along Mulder's ribs. His plan seemed to be working out beautifully. He wanted to savor every moment of it, and concentrated on not rushing; that could spoil a lot. He planted a series of slow kisses in the small of the tantalizing muscular back in front of him, inhaling the scent of Mulder's sweat. He licked a series of expanding concentric circles around the lowest point, following the contours, noting the surreptitious movements this evoked. The fact that Mulder tried to hide them indicated that he still wasn't quite persuaded. Krycek's tongue moved down, between the clenched buttocks, and the movements, though still furtive, became much more obvious.

Krycek got up from the bed and undid the tie that held Mulder's legs together. Mulder seemed to take this as an opportunity to express his official opinion, and tried to forcefully pull up his leg, forgetting that it was still tangled in the jeans. Krycek re-fastened the tie above the jeans, and then carefully untangled the leg and pulled on the tie, forcing the leg to the other side of the bed and tying it there. Then he quickly stripped and regarded his prisoner again.

This new situation merited another long look, one that almost melted a hole in his gut. Oh sweet Jesus, what an amazing view. All muscles stood out sharply; a thin sheen of sweat, due to the most recent brief wrestling match, accentuating their profile. "Oh God, Mulder, I've missed you," he ground out, before diving between the spread legs.

Mulder arched violently, panic suddenly achieving what ordinary effort couldn't do. "Krycek, let me go! Don't do this!" His desperation was obvious.

Krycek was slightly surprised at his intensity, but not really taken aback. He sat up on his knees and said, "You know I can't do that, Mulder. Not now. This is going to happen, no matter what you do. Just relax and let yourself go." Realizing that slowing down a little might help, he placed his hands on Mulder's buttocks, then leaned forward, pushing his hands up over Mulder's back slowly.

Mulder was trembling. His body responded violently to anything Krycek did. His mind, at least the normal, rational part of it, the part that contained the anger, the part that would make it possible to get through this untainted, still was nowhere to be found. There were only three items in his head. One was a whiney, screeching voice that kept shouting at him to do something, without specifying what. The second was the howling laughter of the demon. The third and fastest-growing was his arousal, his white-hot desire for whatever Krycek was going to do to him, and his longing to give in to it.

Krycek's hands were caressing his back, massaging the taut muscles, while his insidious tongue was lapping at Mulder's earlobe. Mulder was panting. He was losing his fight, and it would cost him dearly later. But right now it didn't seem of supreme importance anymore. More soft moans rose from his throat, and just to spite himself, he let them go unchecked.

Krycek felt the change, the surrender, and wanted to crow with delight. He traced his way back down the now seemingly endless back, leaving a very wet trail. He put his greedy fingers back on Mulder's buttocks and spread them. It was a moment of almost religious significance, and it made him stop for a second. Then he plunged in, licking his way up slowly, then down again even more slowly. The strangled cry, followed by loud moans from above made his stomach contract to the size of a pinhead. He was almost too euphoric to think about what he was doing, but he managed to keep part of his mind focused. He pushed his tongue inside Mulder as far as it would go, determined to draw out as many moans as he could before an acute lack of oxygen forced him to withdraw. The familiar scent and taste revived the memories he had cherished, summoned up again and again until they had wilted, lost their texture, faded into pastel colors. "Oh God," he moaned into the tight flesh.

Adrenaline drove his actions past sweetness into ferocity. He began to distribute bite marks over the smooth cheeks, making Mulder squirm and moan some more. "Much too white, Mulder. No-one's been taking care of you," he panted, and resumed his biting. With one hand he reached for the lube and poured a generous amount on the fingers of his right hand, which he then pushed into the crack of Mulder's ass again. He tried not to interrupt his biting, but the fine motor control required to do both things well was now beyond him. He lifted his head and slowly, slowly began to push a finger inside against Mulder's straining muscle. He worked it around for a while, and deliberately protracted his ministrations. He withdrew and added another finger, moving even more slowly, making Mulder hiss in frustration.

Mulder's head was swimming. He tried not to push against Krycek's hand too hard, tried to make himself lie still and await what was in store for him, but it was too much. He silently cursed his bound arms and legs. As in the old days, Krycek was taking advantage of the situation by stretching out his ministrations. The fingers inside him were twisting and turning, finding the exact right spot from long experience. They made him gasp like a fish on dry land, made him grind his pelvis to rub himself against them; then they vanished again like a wisp of mist. Endless seconds later they returned and resumed. The cycle was repeated until he was ready to beg. He gritted his teeth, commanding himself to be quiet.

Finally, Krycek sat up on his knees and again took a long look at the body stretched out beneath him, now covered in sweat. He gave in to a sudden urge to kiss the small of Mulder's back again. That resulted in some very impatient noises. He gave up and stretched out full-length on top of Mulder, gingerly, as if he was afraid to break something. He knew he wasn't going to last much longer, and most of his body had barely even touched that satin skin. He forced himself to lie very still, trying to feel all parts of his body that touched Mulder's. It made him feel slightly drunk. It also, inexplicably, made him feel like crying. He hastily moved on, pushing his cock between Mulder's ass cheeks and rubbing it suggestively. Mulder groaned as if he was in pain. Then he said in a small, breathless voice: "Alex. Please. Fuck me."

"Patience, Mulder," Krycek whispered in his ear, just to be a pest one last time. He stopped moving, gave himself another fraction of a second to memorize the sensation of Mulder's skin against his, and then in one powerful, fluid thrust buried himself almost to the hilt inside Mulder's waiting rectum. He felt the muscles clench around him, and Mulder's drawn-out, voiceless "Ahhh..." went straight to his balls. He sank his teeth into his own bicep to bite back disaster.

When he had pulled himself far enough back from the brink, he began to thrust, slowly, carefully, trying to concentrate on Mulder's frantic breathing. He was gasping; Krycek read arousal, strong but edged with less desirable emotions. Mulder's head was hidden beneath his right arm, in the posture of a swimmer breathing while making another stroke. It didn't look like the most efficient way to breathe on land. Krycek slowed, stopped, and leaned over to peer into Mulder's face over his arm. In response, Mulder turned his head to the other side.

Damn you, Mulder. You and your triple-twisted mind.

He raised himself to his knees and put his lower arms around Mulder's waist, lifting his ass up as high as the ties would allow, which was just high enough to let him keep his balance on his knees. Then he thrust forward hard. A muffled cry rose from beneath Mulder's left armpit. Krycek thrust again, as hard as he could, setting a slow rhythm, each thrust strong enough to force the air from Mulder's lungs. After a few seconds, he raised his head and whispered, "Oh, God...", his body tensing in an attempt to push himself up and back against Krycek. Grateful for the help, Krycek held on to Mulder's waist with one hand and freed the other. He leaned against Mulder's drenched back, exhausted, and stopped thrusting to catch his breath. Through clenched teeth, Mulder gasped, "Don't stop... Jesus, Krycek, please..."

Krycek reached around Mulder's hip, and found his cock with his free hand. There wasn't any subtlety left in his touch, but none was needed. He applied a little pressure and felt the resulting shock wave travel through Mulder's body, converging in the muscles clenched around his cock. Krycek almost collapsed and gritted his teeth. He quickly withdrew his hand, panting, and put the arm back around Mulder's waist. Even so, his muscles trembled, and he knew he couldn't keep this up for much longer. He quickly increased the speed and force of his thrusts, driving Mulder closer and closer to the edge, then finally over it. It was a titanic struggle, the muscles in Mulder's back using all their strength to draw the back into a tight convex arch. A few seconds of his convulsive spasms were enough to wash Krycek away too, shouting out loud, swept along in a landslide of release. His legs gave and he collapsed forward, still hanging on to Mulder's waist. His thrusting slowed, but was still strong; it was as if his brain stem had taken over the motion, all higher faculties having been shut down. Finally he stilled, gasping, and checked to see if Mulder was breathing. He was. Krycek dropped his head on the pillow next to Mulder, and with slow movements licked the drops of sweat from his face.

When he woke up again, he was cold. Mulder was asleep, but trembling. He pondered for a while on ways to get them covered without getting up, but couldn't think of any. Reluctantly, he rose to his knees and grabbed the covers that were lying on the floor, then folded himself against Mulder. Slowly warming up, he punched the pillow a bit to make a comfortable place for his own head beside Mulder's. He never, ever wanted to leave again, and the fact that there was no alternative was almost unbearable; his mind skirted around it. He closed his eyes and let his free hand wander over Mulder's ribs, ready to go to sleep again.

Mulder suddenly turned his head to face him. "You don't know shit about guilt, Krycek. You have absolutely no idea. That's obvious from this crazy enterprise." His voice was hoarse.

Krycek lifted his head, then dropped it into the pillow again. "A fool's paradise, Mulder. And I plan to keep it that way."

" You might as well be from a different planet. Common decency is outside your reach."

Krycek sighed. "It would appear that I know enough to get you to cooperate. But maybe that doesn't require common decency."

Mulder screwed his eyes shut. He had wanted to piss Krycek off, to pick a fight, to have a shouting match, so that that would be his most recent memory of the man; but it was very hard to make him angry. He was immune to insults; he dodged them, admitted their truth, or hurled them right back, all without being affected. If anything, insults appeared to amuse him.

"Mulder, why don't you shut up for a moment. After today, you won't see me again for God knows how long, and you can hate me with a vengeance. Right now I need to memorize you. I should have done that before." His hand roamed wherever it could reach. He buried his head in Mulder's armpit, sniffing, stroking. He could already feel a small hole in the pit of his stomach opening up again. There was no way to fill it; it was going to stay there, maybe forever, a vacuum, a hollow, aching emptiness.

Mulder looked at him wonderingly. It was so difficult to reconcile this man with the image of his treacherous former partner; much easier to convince himself that there must have been a misunderstanding, a tragic mix-up of two unrelated people. He wanted to kiss Krycek, to wrap his arms around him, to tell him that everything would be all right in the end. But it wouldn't be. It was ruined forever, and everything that happened afterwards would only cause pain, confusion - and guilt. He felt his throat constrict.

"Get out of here, Krycek. Leave me alone."

Krycek looked up, staring into his eyes for a long moment, then shrugged and got up. He dressed quickly and untied the knot on the tie that held one of Mulder's wrists. "You can do the rest yourself," he said. He turned to the door, then turned again for a last look. Mulder looked back, thousands of words rushing, fighting, begging to be spoken; none were suitable. He turned his head away and remained silent as Krycek walked out of the bedroom and out of the apartment, softly closing the door behind him.

Please send your comments to palinurus@squidge.org

Back to main page

Background by Kathie