Alright

Alright, so the world was going to hell. But there was no way they were taking him down too.

He knew this was just another bump in an otherwise pot-hole filled road, something he was quite used to, but loathe to travel. He'd just have to adapt, he was good at that. If there was one thing he could say about himself, it would be that Alex Krycek was accommodating.

The sun had set some time ago, he wasn't sure when the room had become so dark but he had to squint to make out the furniture of the dimmed apartment. He leaned forward and considered turning on a lamp but dismissed the idea. It was much easier to mope in the dark.

He lifted the vodka bottle to his lips, having given up on using a glass about an hour ago. The clean-sweet taste filled his mouth- it was still mildly chilled and tingled as he swished it around his cheeks a few times before lifting his chin to the ceiling and swallowing loudly. He closed his eyes and turned it all over again in his mind, to test whether he was drunk enough yet.

// Jeffrey Spender was dead. Alright, so I may be jumping to conclusions, but that was a really good plan and damn-near foolproof if his asshole of a father hadn't stepped in if he really took him out at all...

//I'm rambling, and I'm still angry therefore...

//That stupid, stupid bitch Marita got herself some payback. Can't say I would have done -that- to her, but...

//Well, I remembered her name.

//The Syndicate is gone. The alien embryos are gone, and that Smoking govn'uk damn well knows what side I'm on now...

//At least I'm cursing in Russian//

"Then I'm not -that- drunk," He said to the empty room and leaned forward to set the bottle on the coffee table.

Alex breathed heavy sigh, and he let his mind go.

Agendas could be realigned, plans re-directed. All he needed was a really good angle.

He thought he'd coaxed one out of the young Spender; someone willing to join the cause and fight for ideals that seemed to heartfelt and true to be anything but your own. But that was one thing about plans... count on them too much and they're sure to blow up in your face.

Never mind he himself was getting more out of watching everyone turn on his skewer than from making Skinner one of his minions.

//Ah, Skinner//

His lips turned up in the slightest of grins in the darkened apartment, a gleam of white teeth for no one to see. Images of pain and surrender in the half-turned profile of his former superior as he had asked just what this was all about. Alex knew all too well Skinner wouldn't ask for help in this new game; life and death held in the literal palm of his hand. A plastic box that was nothing more than wires, microchips and fancy gadgets... but with it sitting quietly in the soft of his glove it took on a menace even the AD couldn't deny.

Mulder's half-heated glimpse foiled by the ragged disguise, from beyond the racks of the hospital corridor. The agent's downcast eyes darting back to meet with his for an instant.... just the slimmest flash of hazel over the distance.

It was all going so smoothly- almost like machinery- until a link broke in the chain. Careful-laid plans burned to a cinder when his hand hit the empty bottom of the Cryo-container. Hopes vanishing like the pale wisps of nitrogen as he ripped the layers of protective clothing off and stalked out to find someone- anyone- to rage at.

He'd asked for another card from the dealer. And lost. Now what he needed was a better hand.

He smiled at himself for making the crack even if it was just to himself, and let the warm arms of the vodka wrap themselves around him.

But it wasn't enough, not nearly. Tomorrow was coming all too soon, and he knew there was a way out of all this mess. If he could just focus on the goal, it would come to him.

"Mulder."

The name floated to him off his own tongue, sounding like his voice was coming from the next room.

"That's insane, you idiot," he scolded to himself in the quiet. "Not only would he shoot you, he'd beat you up and -then- shoot you."

He realized he was talking to no one and glanced around the room, an instinct of fear creeping through him. "Ah... fuck," he spat. "If there are bugs in here..." He leaned forward, resting one elbow on his knee. "...I don't know who the hell is left to listen to them."

No one left. No one to control, no one to convince. The world was spinning on without anyone at the wheel and Krycek was belted into the backseat.

"I'm not going down," he mumbled to himself. "They're not taking me down. I'll take myself out before..."

He shook the thought away. It wouldn't come to that.

But the name crowded into his mind again, over the soft sea of rolling waves that drifted in his dulled mind.

Mulder. It would never come to that. It was a gamble he couldn't risk.

Krycek leaned his head back, eyes closed and let the soft back of the couch anchor him.

Ringing bells, loud commotion of tinkling coins in metal trays and plastic cups... the smell of cigar smoke and day-old beer. Firm, green velvet under his hand as he glanced at his cards. Jack and 10. Spade and club. A long slide of cool cards under his fingers as he smoothed them flat and looked up at the tuxedo-clad dealer. It wasn't a surprise to him that the man had a definite likeness to Mulder...same stone-hard face and pained eyes. The voices of other gamblers floated around him, but his attention focused on the game. A loud shout from somewhere as a roulette wheel spun, his dream spinning as fast as the red and black numbers. "Would you like another card?" His familiar dealer asked, the voice stirring a steely hook in his gut. Hazel-dark eyes looked back at him, quiet cool mouth turned in question... Mulder sparkled under the garish lights of the casino. Curved lips parted and he waited for the word from the player...

Krycek snapped to attention and the sharp sense of leaving himself vanished. He felt the creeping heat of panic rising in him, the inevitability of bad decisions and worse ideas... mislaid plans and lies running scared through a life that meant nothing more than waking up the morning; glad you had made it though another day.

He had to do something, and he had to face it. Whatever card the dealer dealt him.

Krycek took another look down the corridor and asked himself again if this was a good idea. The black-faced elevator doors stood quiet, his hand poised to knock... He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever would come next and glared at the brass 42 as his knuckles rapped loudly in the silence.

His head was still buzzing from the vodka, and there was a nagging discomfort from south of his belly that reminded him he should have pissed -before- doing this.

A few seconds ticked off in his head, and Krycek considered stepping aside to escape the bullet he expected to crash through wood at any moment.

12 seconds... 30... he raised his hand again, glancing down at the elevator and knocked again. Still nothing. He took a step back and rubbed the back of his neck, considering his next move. Leave it to Mulder to be out chasing his demons when the biggest one stood on his doorstep.

With a shrug Krycek fished a small wallet out of his coat pocket and lifted the flap with his fingers, gripping a small tool between his teeth before tucking the wallet away again. Another glance down both ends of the hallway and a small click and turn later, the door swung open.

Krycek smiled to himself and walked inside, shutting the door behind him and turning the lock back into place.

He let his eyes adjust for a moment to the darkness, remembering the placement and layout of the dark room before taking a quick look around. All was still.

So Krycek made his way to the leather couch and lowered himself down to wait in the darkness. All his choices had dwindled to one grim idea that whatever eventuality might come, Mulder was one of the only chances he had. He tried to plan his explanations and persuasions that he hoped would quell the violence he expected. He even figured he'd take the few blows, waiting for his old partner to get it all out of his system before he could listen to the excuses. Krycek knew Mulder would want in on the power and knowledge; he would feed all the sordid truths to him like morsels of sweetness.

And the urging of his bladder continued.

He cursed at himself for making such an oversight, and for indulging when he -knew- the consequences. The last thing he wanted was to be mid-stream, his dick in his hand when Mulder returned.

But 10 minutes later, it was getting past have-to-piss, bordering on need-to-piss-now. He sighed and stood, swaying for a moment before taking a step toward the bathroom and thought that surely he wasn't that drunk if he could walk this straight. But then, he knew, if he was sober he wouldn't be here; making his way to Mulder's bathroom, in Mulder's apartment, to take a leak.

He decided to make it quick and checked his weapon tucked securely in the leather holster hanging under his arm, wondering what Miss Manners knew of bathroom etiquette concerning a former partner that had shot the father of said host... and a handful of other unmentionable acts.

But his bladder ignored such considerations, the demanding heartless organ that it was, and he stood in the white-tile stillness still cursing himself. He fished under his coat for his belt-buckle and remembered he'd left that on the bed at home.

//Damn, am I -that- gone?//

A one-handed work on his jean's row of buttons made the pain of cold air jab straight up his spine.

//Alright. No belt, no underwear, you are an idiot//

The final release of himself was pleasure. Sweet chills of relief and the keen prickle of gooseflesh made his head swim.

He almost didn't feel the soft jab of cold steel against the back of his neck, or hear the snap of a safety released over the drone of his stream in the toilet.

But he felt the pull of the presence behind him and his heart fell. //Fuck//

"I hope your aim is as good as mine," Mulder growled at his back.

But beneath the sudden rise of fear and flush of embarrassment, Krycek felt a giggle bubble up from his throat.

Mulder saw the tremor of laughter in the man before him as he heard it, wide shoulders shaking as the tide ebbed and finally ceased.

"Care to tell me what the hell you're doing taking a piss in my apartment, Krycek? And hands up. Where I can see them."

A shift against the muzzle of his gun and Krycek's head turned slightly to attempt a glance backward. Mulder shoved the weapon against his head, and one hand slowly showed itself.

"Can I at least shake and button up?"

The husk of the other man's voice sent Mulder's skin crawling. Somehow seeing him here was one thing, but hearing him with his own ears was quite another.

"Shut up," Mulder spat and switched the gun to his left hand. With his right, he leaned in and found the shoulder-holstered gun, the sharp scent of leather and sweat hitting him. He realized his inhalation may have been too obvious as he tucked the errant gun into the waistband of his jeans and stepped back.

"Keep your hands up." Mulder barked as Krycek relaxed.

"I'm afraid that one..." Krycek cocked his head to the left, "doesn't do that."

"Out."

Krycek exhaled sharply and turned, stealing a shift of eyes at Mulder as he walked at the end of the gun muzzle and into the apartment.

"Stop."

The captive aborted his next step and wavered for a moment.

"Down on your knees."

Krycek glanced back at Mulder over his shoulder.

"I -said- down on your knees." A hand grabbed at leather and pushed him down, almost toppling him to the floor.

Mulder walked around to face him, gun trained at his head. Krycek's eyes were closed, his one hand poised next to his right ear. "You gonna let me button my pants, Mulder?"

"Nope," Was his reply, quick and sharp. "Not until you tell me why you've paid me this little visit. Here to help me again?"

"No."

Krycek opened his eyes and glared up at the man above him. "Actually, I was hoping you could help me." He wasn't expecting the laugh that came from Mulder, but he accepted it all the same.

"Well, if you just needed a place to relieve yourself, there's an Exxon a block down that would have been much safer."

"True. But I would have ended up here anyway."

Mulder couldn't help the pull on his eyes that the flash of skin Krycek's open pants offered and felt the burn of a blush creeping. To have this man in his apartment, and so unaware sent a surge of power straight to the base of his skull that he wasn't all that easy with.

"So, are you going to shoot me? My knees are going numb."

Mulder snapped back to the present and glanced over his shoulder to the couch in the far room.

"Tell me why you're here first."

"Like I said, I need your help. Or you need mine, I don't know anymore."

Mulder leaned down, finally close enough to make out the dim light in Krycek's eyes and grimaced at the anger rolling in his gut. "I'm not helping you, you son of a bitch."

Krycek recoiled, a hiss escaping from behind his teeth. Mulder caught the faint whisper of something sweet and hollow on his breath.

"Are you drunk, Krycek?" He couldn't help the grin that came with it.

Ah, not only had a un-buttoned and now unarmed Krycek dropped in his lap, but an inebriated Krycek.

"I was until about two minutes ago."

"Having a gun shoved at your head sort of sobers you right up, huh?"

"Quite. Are you going to listen to me, or just make your little snide retorts?"

"Well, I'm trying to decide if I should call Skinner first, so he can get in a few shots before I do, or just call the cops and let the boys at County have you." He heard the long sigh from Krycek and knew he'd struck a nerve. Whatever gamble Krycek was taking in showing himself had to have either desperation or ignorance. Surely he could have guessed Mulder wouldn't welcome him with open arms.

"If I'd wanted to see Skinner, I would have gone there," Krycek muttered.

Mulder snorted. "With or without the Chuck Manson getup?"

A brief flash of realization crossed Krycek's shadowed face.

"Yeah, I know about your little visit to Hoover. Skinner wouldn't admit to it, but I have this really good memory, you see..."

Krycek shook it off with a jerk of his head. "Do whatever you want, but I can tell you things that will make your job worth more."

"Worth more than what?" Mulder straightened tall again, his aim never wavering. "Worth more than my father's life? Worth more than Scully's health? How about telling me about Skinner's little brush with death, I'd really like to know about that one."

"You know the Syndicate's gone."

Mulder bit his lip and lowered his gun. Krycek dropped his hand. There was much more he wanted to say, but the opportunity was becoming obvious. Here kneeled a well of information, no doubt most of it lies, but here it was. He could sort out the truth later.

"I suppose you know how that happened," Mulder replied sarcastically.

"Of course. The Rebel contingency has taken matters into their own hands. What started as a small movement has become something uncontrollable, even for themselves."

"And where do you fit into this?"

"Well, at the moment, I seem to be on my knees."

Mulder scowled and lifted the gun again. "Tell me why they did it."

"They knew about the plans for colonization. The schedule I've already told you about. They're bypassing what the virus could do and eliminating everyone that has participated with the plan."

"And, as I asked, what are you in this?"

Krycek shook his head slowly. "Not everyone died in that hangar. There's still one man left, and he has the power to destroy everything."

"Destroy what? Which side are you on?"

Krycek leaned and placed a hand on the floor, rising slowly to his feet despite Mulder's aim. "Has it ever occurred to you, that I might be on your side? That I always have been?"

"It's occurred to me that you're a propitious liar and a coward. That you have no interest in anything but your own well-being."

"So you're refusing my help."

"No," Mulder snapped. "I'm taking you for your word, which means nothing."

"So then, shoot me. Put me out of your misery."

Mulder raised his gun level with Krycek's eyes and steadied his grip. The other man closed his eyes and waited, his body tensed with the inevitable bullet. But after an eternity, he realized it wasn't coming and heard nothing but his own steady breathing.

Mulder had lowered the gun and simply stood staring at him in the darkness. "Now who's the coward?" Krycek heard himself say, the words out before he could catch them.

With the liquor, and perhaps even a bit of apathy, Krycek wasn't prepared for the lunge Mulder made for him. He felt himself hit the hardwood floor and a knee in his stomach almost simultaneously, both stealing his breath. He grappled from below at Mulder's throat but couldn't get a firm grip with his one hand, a flurry of heavy slur in the darkness.

Dizzy shock as Mulder's fist connected with his jaw, stunning him into numbness for a moment as another hit its mark, and he knew a third hit might down him. A quick dodge and Mulder's knuckles slammed into wood beside his head, hearing his immediate curse through gritted teeth as Krycek lurched into motion.

Mulder felt Krycek shift beneath him and a sudden upset of balance as strong legs powered him over and straight into a nearby table-leg. A leather-clad arm around his throat and well-placed knee in the small of his back panicked him as his enemy tried his best to snap his spine. Mulder felt the raw power in the muscles, heard the feral squeal of rage and force from the other man and the edges of his vision began to fade. Blue fleck sparks of impending unconsciousness floated before his eyes and he thought his heart would burst soon with the sucking need of oxygen in his chest. Mulder made one last desperate shove and he was falling backwards with this inhuman warmth at his back, a startled cry from Krycek as Mulder landed full-body on top of him. But with the arm still loose around Mulder's neck, his other as useless as the guns that had been knocked free and too far to reach, Krycek was hopelessly pinned.

With a great gasp of air Mulder could feel Krycek struggling under him. The hard roughness of a body that could only be male and sharp cold scrape of loosed Levi buttons through the thin material of his sweatpants. Mulder waited for a moment as his vision cleared and realized Krycek had almost worked himself free enough to topple him, a warm thickness nudging at the small of his back. And it only took a heated sear of realization for Mulder to recognize that heat.

With revulsion and new energy he scrambled away and pulled the weakened Krycek to his feet, hand wrapped in the leather coat as he hauled him through the apartment, stumbling as they went and shoved the startled man onto the couch.

Krycek landed solidly and Mulder loomed above him, a back handed strike landing on an already bruised jaw.

"Fucking stay there," Mulder yelled and tensed for Krycek's return but there was none. Green eyes stared up at him full of anger and dark challenge but he said nothing.

Mulder tasted the tang of blood on his tongue and winced at the new roar of pain coursing through him, pulse as loud in his ears as the harsh ragged breathing of the other man. He wiped at the sting on his lower lip with the back of his hand but saw the welted proof on his knuckles and heaved a deep breath.

This was anger. This was power. Both men glared at each other, the stillness ringing as lungs struggled for control over grinding hate. The uneasy silence was growing with each breath.

"You gonna listen now?" Krycek heaved, voice broken and gravel-worn.

Mulder lowered himself to sit on the coffee table, kicking Krycek's sprawled legs out of the way.

"If I were you, I'd shut the hell up." Mulder growled, feeling his breathing level.

Krycek let his head fall back onto the couch, his head shaking slowly as he watched Mulder through dark lashes. "Just can't help yourself, can you? You think you can take it all from me by force? Make me pay for it all with enough punches?"

Mulder dropped his head for a moment, his rage building again but he pushed it away... this was too easy, and a creeping fear told him there might be truth beneath it all somewhere. And then he heard the low laugh, soft and defeating from the other man which brought Mulder off the couch. It wasn't over.

His hands viced around Krycek's neck, willing all the hate through those fingers on that treacherous throat and the body struggling under him as he pressed into the hold. But it wasn't enough. He wanted him to feel every inch of darkness. Every thread of anger and despair. Every lie.

Mulder straddled the flailing limbs of Krycek's long, lean body and watched him desperately cling to consciousness. He ground himself against Krycek, wanting to squeeze every last bit of himself into this grip. He saw a flash of a plea in those hooded eyes along with the slightest gleam of tears around the edges, and a spear of power knifed on Mulder's mind. But it wasn't enough. He glimpsed flesh below him, framed with leather, denim, and the hint of dark curling hair. Mulder surged with raw anger.

A grating gurgle arose from the tightened throat under his hands. With another lurch of hips, Krycek tried to break free, but Mulder leaned in harder.

Years of loathing and despair broke loose and glided across his arms to the neck of the enemy he had finally overcome... Krycek's panicked struggle beneath him urged him closer to insanity with his grip.

Mulder felt the strike of Krycek's hand on his leg, his desperate scrambling to loosen this vice that was stealing his breath turning frantic. Krycek's mind was closing in on itself, the manic need for air and continuance floating dangerously out of reach.

And Mulder could see the end. He could feel the near submission and acceptance of death in the other man, the last few flutters of lashes and rolling struggle of starving limbs. He hadn't known it would be this easy, to simply put this all behind him in an easy moment... it almost wasn't enough.

Krycek clawed at Mulder, his hand meeting the worn fabric of sweatpants and tugged at them for any hold he could. For an instant Mulder's grip wavered, the instinctive reflex to keep himself covered breaking through the resolve and determination to finish this job. But the instant he relaxed, he heard Krycek's strangled heave of air and the rage returned. The pants were forgotten. All that remained was how he could possibly make this more than simple death... something that would put that final dash of salt on a wound so deep it would never heal.

The moment the grip on his throat shifted, Krycek was already forming his escape. A distraction, a well-planned strike, anything just to get this damn man off of him. Fuck rational explanations and smooth words, this was life and death. The adrenaline-crazy shift of his mind, mixed with the still lingering ease of the liquor made it harder to weed out the impossibilities. All he had were the facts... Mulder had the upper hand and any moment those hands would close on his throat again. If there was any time for fast thinking, this was it.

And as he expected, the waver of indecision in Mulder's grip passed within a heartbeat and the fingers closed again on his throat. But his hand still gripped Mulder's sweatpants. An idea flashed but he shoved it away. If it worked once... it might work again. But still, he thought there had to be something else he could do besides flail around like a damn animal caught in a trap.

Mulder leaned in to his grip on Krycek, pinning the other man down with his knees. There wasn't much he could do with the bucking of Krycek's thighs but stay out of the way, hoping this would be over soon. The fucker just wouldn't die. It wasn't really that much of a surprise, really. Alex Krycek wouldn't let a little choke hold do him in. But he was putting up a good fight, the one hand scrabbling at him, eyes wide and strangely calm. He thought the man would at least just give up finally, and with the deepening grimace on Krycek's face as he fought for breath Mulder felt an animal need to maul him... bite him, anything to prove he had finally won. He wanted to see the dark purple evidence of his marks on his enemy's skin and the swell of blood in his wake. It wasn't enough to simply kill him... he wanted every ounce of life Krycek had left.

Mulder positioned himself closer yet to his struggling prey, hovering over his face and wanting nothing more than to make sure his was the last fucking face Alex Krycek ever saw. The eyes that glared back into his glittered with unshed tears of frustration and pain, but the stone-cold defiance was still there. And that only enraged Mulder more.

That hand that tugged at him finally loosened his grip, but the challenge was still there in the darkened grit of teeth and black stare. He wasn't sure if Krycek could breathe at all, and didn't really care as long as the bastard finally got what he deserved. One way or another.

But the thoughts of revenge Mulder clung to as fiercely as he gripped Krycek's throat scattered with the white-hot touch of a hand on his bare thigh. He didn't know when the struggle had loosened his draw-string sweats, or when Krycek had managed to maneuver them somehow over his hips, but Mulder was now keenly and revoltingly aware of his nakedness. And of the fact he had probably been that way for far too long. This was the last time, he told himself, he would don athletic attire home from the gym with no underwear.

He tried to calculate how long Krycek had left, and wondered for a strangely detached moment if he could allow him another small gift of air just to make this last longer. Draw this out, make it count... you could only kill a man once, after all. And his hands were beginning to cramp.

"Just give up." He growled through clenched teeth but the soundless words Krycek mouthed were unmistakable. Fuck you.

Mulder's rage flared again and he slammed Krycek back against the couch again with the weight of his body, hoping to squeeze the last bit of hope from the man... but was instantly horrified as he felt the blunt heat of an erection graze his own. Disgust and hate coursed through him, but he couldn't quite move himself away yet. That meant giving up preciously won ground. The snag of a fly-button against his balls sent a shiver of something disturbingly close to pleasure through him and he wondered just why the hell he was so hard in the first place. This was a man, for christ sakes, and Alex Krycek for that matter. The next consideration hit him squarely and quickly, as smartly as if Krycek had struck him with his fist. Why the hell was Krycek so hard, too?

Mulder was immediately aware of everything other than the anger that still burned deep and how just a bit more pressure might crush this windpipe beneath his fingers. He felt the sharp cut of dark leather against his legs, the firm thighs beneath his... and that grim idea that dirtying Krycek with his come would be the ultimate revenge. Fuck societal wrongs and taboos, and all the ideals and psychological reasoning within the heterosexual male ego, Mulder wanted nothing more than to smear himself over that sheen of a smirk on the bastard's face and give him something he'd never be able to wash off. To leave the son-of-a-bitch dead on his couch, after the truth was spilled from behind the dark whispers of lies that fluttered from a life full of emptiness. It was a final act that Mulder could give himself and take from Krycek... knowing until his last day he had used this man as much as he had used everyone else.

He pressed himself against the warmth of the matching length and felt a ripple of dominance and aggression sear through him, along with hard, heated friction and a sudden new panic from the struggle beneath him. Strong fingers gripped his hip, the nails digging in soft flesh. A swell of light-headed obsession and the wanting tore at Mulder as he ground his cock against Krycek's, his hands releasing enough to allow the man to linger a bit longer on the edge of unconsciousness. The expected loud sputter and rake of starving lungs flew from Krycek, and the panic returned to green eyes. This wasn't over yet.

Krycek's mind slammed back into himself with the sweet, cool wonder of breath. And Mulder was as hard as he was. Fuck. This wasn't in the plan. But whatever gods had frowned on him earlier, were giving him a break this time. At least those fingers weren't crushing the life out of him. And there was a warped wonder at the unexpected ecstasy of the slide of Mulder's hardness against his own. Compared to death, he figured, even this wasn't so bad. And if this was what Mulder thought would end the pain, he just might be able to work it into his favor. If anything, Alex Krycek was accommodating.

Mulder saw a flare of something other than fear sweep the other man's features and he thought he shouldn't have loosened his grip yet. Krycek's hand slid with irritating softness to the bare skin of Mulder's ass and the resulting flash of indulgence made Mulder gasp. Mulder stroked himself along Krycek's willing cock, hearing the moan it rose from his enemy's lips. The admission loosened something in Mulder and he quickened his grinding against the soft skin and burning heat. No amount of tapes and joyless oiled hand jobs could ever offer the grating need he felt. There was nothing for him but the head of his cock against Krycek's soft curls and the urging palm on his ass. Whatever plans for humiliation and payback fled with the rush of hot pleasure and realization he could have more than simple death from the man. Much more. The younger man's finger traced the crevice between his cheeks and a shudder raced through him. He realized his hands had left Krycek's throat altogether, braced against the back of the couch on either side of Krycek's head as he bucked and moaned his pleasure. Those swollen, wet lips were all too close, slack with mindless passion. Sable lashes curled shut against flushed cheeks. The heaving breaths touching his face weren't from lack of oxygen or anger, but from the reeling sense of heady desire for something other than hate. Mulder took Krycek's lips with a lunge that brought the connection between their bodies to a lesser degree and Krycek groaned the loss into his mouth.

Mulder shifted the weight of his knees over Krycek's thighs, his lips never leaving Krycek's, and the distance left enough opportunity for the younger man's hand to slide between them and grip Mulder's cock. The strong tug on his aching thickness sent a new wave of need through Mulder and he bucked into the greedy hand, opening his mouth to the kiss and welcoming the slide of urgent tongue and desperate passion. But, fuck, this was Krycek... he was kissing him, and that hand on his cock was exhilarating and foreign. It was everything he'd never thought about could possibly feel so damn good.

A slow, hard stroke that Mulder felt from the bottom of his feet to the base of his skull caught his breath in a gasp and he broke the kiss. The sensation of warm lips and sweet breath on his face too much. He wanted this pleasure to go on forever, just as he had wanted Krycek's death to linger for a while. A murmur escaped Krycek's lips as he felt Mulder in his hand, the smoky tone of his voice shooting through the older man as he knew he was nearing the edge. Expert fingers spread the glistening hint of precome and quickened the pace of the pulls, Mulder already reeling from the smell of sex and leather. He let himself drift into the touch, leaning up and into the hand on his straining cock as Krycek's mouth leaned in to bite through the thin layer of cotton at a hardened nipple.

"God, stop, I'm gonna..." Mulder whimpered and pressed his hand to the back of Krycek's skull and wrapped his fingers through soft hair. The tongue that had been laving at his nipple withdrew and lust-heavy eyes turned up to his.

"Do it, Mulder..." Krycek breathed, the creak and squeal of the couch beneath them almost drowning him out. "Come for me." The plea for life had turned to something still as needful, just as dark, and Mulder felt the build of his orgasm rolling upward through the slick slide of the hand on his length.

"Fuck, Alex... I've wanted...." and the words fell into a rising moan as his orgasm hit and the hand didn't stop... milking the waves of pleasure and come as they spilled onto the man he'd forgotten was the enemy.

Krycek thought this was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen: Mulder's head thrown back, his cry of release still loud and the mindless thrusting into his hand more than he could have imagined. Mulder's lean hips jerked against Krycek erratically as the last ebbs of pleasure faded, the evidence of his lust spilled on the other man's aching cock. He released Mulder's fading erection and spread the evidence along his own heat, eyes still focussed on the spent affect of his former partner and knowing he had given that to him. And that thought alone had him on the edge himself. But Mulder's hand tugged at his wrist just as he thought he was going over the edge and the deprivation of his hand leaving himself made him flare with anger. He resisted against the grip, but the other man had different ideas.

Mulder backed off Krycek's lap and knelt down to the wooden floor, his hands tugging at the waistband of the jeans. He lifted his hips off the couch and Mulder pulled them free, sliding his hands up the well-muscled thighs to hold them steady under the urging bucks. He leaned in to kiss the smooth, flat belly and nuzzled the delicate line of hair that traced downward toward the straining cock.

"Fuck, Mulder... suck me." Krycek moaned and thrust his hips for emphasis. Mulder chuckled against the soft skin.

Krycek gasped as Mulder gripped his swollen cock in a strong hand and licked the glisten of precome off the slit, enjoying the answering moan from below. He could feel Mulder doing his best to hold him still, on hand on his hip, as he fumbled with the foreskin in aching slowness. His darkened eyes stared down at the Mulder's nuzzle against the shallow of his hip, black with lust and his face slack with pleasure. Their eyes locked, Mulder wrapped his lips around the pulsing head of Krycek's length and reveled in the deepening look of ecstasy that resulted.

Struggling for breath, but for a different reason, Krycek knew this was going much too quickly. The wet heat of Mulder's mouth was quickly burning him down to a core of need and release, and he strained to hold back just a little longer to prolong the inevitable. He gripped Mulder's head in a shaky hand and felt soft lips against the base of his cock, fighting the urge to buck further into that warmth overtaking him. Mulder aborted his movement with a long, hard slide all the way to the tip and Krycek moaned, the grip on Mulder's head tightening as a warning. "Mulder...." he croaked, fingers tightening. Mulder's hand left his hips and one pulled a long stroke , as the other caressed his balls.

Krycek let his head fall back onto the couch and took a long, shuddering breath... the first spasm of pleasure making him cry out. He bucked into Mulder's mouth as hands tried to hold him still... endless sea of light and sharp pleasure, waves of heat and release and Krycek still cried out as Mulder's mouth never stopped the teasing and took it all... draining the anger and the need and the life that was so empty before.

"God..." he rasped finally.

Mulder straightened and grimaced at the pop of a joint, leaning in to straddle Krycek's lap again as before. "Now where were we?" He growled and his hands caressed the bruised throat.

"You're n-not... "Krycek stuttered and jerked to reality, the boneless laze fleeing with the hint of something not finished.

"No..." Mulder whispered, leaning in to hover soft kisses on his lover's lips. Krycek could smell himself on his breath and a pang of something raced through him, catching him off guard for a moment.

"You gonna listen now?" Krycek asked, and Mulder attacked him with a fierce kiss that tasted of himself and sweat. Now it was a battle for dominance in the ruthless assault of tongue against tongue and Krycek finally gave in, letting that edge of danger and need release as Mulder pulled away and moved off, standing over him.

"Well, no." Mulder sighed and Krycek felt a sharp disappointment. It had just been sex. That was all, and now he was still left without an angle or a foothold, or anything but a sticky mess and a bruised neck.

"I have groceries sitting by the door that are probably melted or spoiled by now." Mulder grinned and gestured toward the other room.

Krycek leaned forward and there were two paper bags sitting quietly in the shadows. "I'll be damned. I'll wait for you to kill me, then. Mrs. Pauls takes priority."

Mulder chuckled and hiked his sweats back up, pulling the drawstring tight. "Alright. You go take a shower, while I put those away. I don't want the coroner finding any... evidence of anything other than the simple shooting of an intruder."

Krycek's humor faded. "Alright."

Mulder nodded and moved to leave, then halted. "You think I'd really do that?" He waved a hand in the direction of Krycek's neck. "After this?"

"Why not? Especially after whatever this was."

Mulder shook his head and neared the couch, sitting beside Krycek and glancing down at the half-naked man, still wearing the leather coat and jeans down at his ankles. "Don't you know a bluff when you see one?"

"No lights on in here, sort of hard to see." Krycek smirked.

Mulder leaned in and lingered for a moment before pressing his lips against Krycek's and running a hand across the smeared mess of his belly. "I think it's time for me to reconsider some views."

Krycek smirked. "Does that mean you're not going to kill me?"

"Not yet." Mulder teased and traced the graceful column of Krycek's neck with a finger, noticing the marks his hands had made despite the darkness. "I think I got it figured out."

"Yeah?" Krycek snorted and shook his head. "Then I'd sure as hell like to know myself."

"I guess we both need to talk, and to listen."

"You're not going to like some of it." Krycek replied and looked away, taking a long breath. "Hell, you won't like any of it."

"Yeah, well..." Mulder said, and stood. "what's new."

Krycek watched as Mulder walked to the doorway, then stopped. "What made you do that?"

"Do what?"

Mulder turned and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "I guess with you, that's a loaded question."

Krycek smiled and Mulder thought he wanted to make him smile again sometime. He didn't look so much the bastard he knew he was, just a man. A man that made mistakes and paid for them, that made decisions based on survival and carried the score with him as a reminder of what he could never be.

"Why come here tonight, why let me do this to you?"

"I guess I was trying to tell myself something...because... I wanted it." Krycek said, and there was a simple elegance to his hesitation. "And I knew you could help me, and I could help you if we could get beyond everything else."

"Can we?"

"What, help each other?"

"No, get beyond this." Mulder said, cocking his head. Krycek drug himself off the couch and reclothed himself, snapping the buttons back in place. He moved to stand before Mulder and shrugged.

"It's this, or die. That simple."

"Resist or serve, huh?"

Krycek grinned and shook his head. "Sometimes a little submission is a good thing."

"As is priority."

"Yeah." Krycek looked down at the floor and set his jaw. "My priorities have been fucked up for a while. But I'll have the advantage for once, if you'll listen to me. I think I've got my mojo back, now."

"What, because I'm not going to kill you yet?"

"It's a start. Sometimes you have to call a card even if you know the house is stacked against you." He reached out and touched Mulder's cheek, the rough stubble of evening making him grin. "And sometimes, you just get lucky."

Mulder returned the smile and nuzzled into the caress. "Go take a shower, grab some clothes from a drawer and we'll lay all this out."

"You'll really hear me out? Just like that?"

"What, you want to lie to each other like usual?"

Krycek shook his head and left Mulder at the doorway.

"And this..." Mulder waited for Krycek to stop. "Well, you, I guess would be a better term, will be our little secret."

Krycek looked back at Mulder over his shoulder. "I'm good at keeping secrets," he purred and flashed that smile that Mulder had wanted a repeat of.

And that, Mulder considered, was at least one truth he could live with.