Breathe

My head is filled with disease
My skin is begging you please
I'm on my hands and knees
I want so much to believe
~nin

He's lying there, oblivious to me. Sleeping. So he does sleep.

I let myself into his apartment. It's easy. I've done it before. His lock is close to useless.

I am quiet.

He sleeps on.

Watching him sleep you would think that everything is right in the world. He lies there on his leather couch, sprawled out in classic Mulder style, all or nothing. He is on his back, right arm cocked under his head as a pillow, left arm lying on his stomach, his finger tips barely under the waistband of his jeans. He makes light breathing sounds.

Moving to stand at the foot of the couch, I hunker down to crouch on my haunches. I am now half the target I was while standing. I sit like this for a long while and just watch the man breathe. It is very comforting. He starts to move and I am instantly ready for flight, but he just rolls over onto his side. He tucks both arms up and one fist goes under his temple and the other under his chin. His legs draw up and he is in classic fetal position.

My legs let me know that I have been crouching this way far too long. After I make sure he is still asleep, I stand slowly and try to stretch out some kinks in my back and legs. The chair would be a lot more comfortable, but do I want comfort? <Yeah, why the hell else would you be here?> I tell myself I am here to make sure he made it out of Russia alive, with all body parts intact, but I knew that before I got here. Consortium and all. So I move over to the chair, the one facing the couch, and ease myself into its comfort. Damn gun. I take it out of the back of my jeans and lay it across my thigh, and getting comfortable, I concentrate on Mulder's breathing again. It lulls me and I realize I haven't slept for about three days. Options, Alex, my mind drills. 1. Leave and sleep. 2. Stay and sleep. 3. Just pull the fucking trigger now, cos you're in deep. No contest. I let myself drift off to sleep.

I wake with a start, gun in hand, safety off, pointing to the noise I heard. It's Mulder. He must be having a bad dream. A whimper comes floating up from the couch and he seems to be trying to make himself into a tiny ball, pulling his knees up and bending his torso over his legs. I tuck my gun back into my jeans after thumbing the safety on, and quickly go to his side. I go down on my knees and slowly reach out to stroke his brow with tender caresses. <What the fuck are you doing, why not just shake him and wake him up, let him kick you around a bit and go home to get some real sleep?> I sigh. The touch on his brow seems to have calmed him; he is relaxing in degrees under my ministrations. I take my hand away and he moves to keep contact with me, frowning slightly in his dream at the loss. <bells, whistles, clang clang, leave now Alex before he wakes up and really does kill you!> I can't. I really can't leave. He fills a need in me, a need I didn't even know I had until recently.

I had a lot of time while I was...what's the word...recovering? Fuck that, you don't recover from getting your arm chopped off, you just sorta...cope. Well anyway, I had time to think. I had been looking into some very dark places inside me and found a lot of 'em were empty, and the rest were filled with Mulder. <Oh god, introspective dribble, or How Not To Live Very Long, by Alex 'Ratboy' Krycek! Fuck! > OK, I should leave. I have confirmed that he is still intact after that whole Tunguska nightmare, <You knew that already, Ratboy!> and now I can go and do what has to be done. I linger near the head of the couch and just watch him for a little while longer. He is beautiful.

Waiting a few minutes longer to decide on my course of action, <Fuck it, you just want to watch him breathe for a little while longer!> I finally move back to the chair and remove my gun again. This time I take out the clip and put both pieces on the table between us. Leaning back and rooting my back into the chair, I find a comfortable spot. I watch him breathe.

Dreams. Do you remember when they were good, when no one died? And the best ones were when you were flying. I never dream like that anymore. My dreams are filled with dead bodies and fires, smell of cordite in my nose and taste of bile on my tongue. And blood, always the blood. On me, on the walls, and on the bodies...I really hate to sleep recently. If my traitorous body didn't need to sleep.....<What, you would be happy? Grow up Alex and get the hell OUT OF HERE!>

When I wake my heart is going 100 miles an hour and my body is screaming that I am no longer safe, that something has changed. Opening my eyes, I focus on the shape of Mulder on the couch. He is looking right at me. Neither of us move. <Breathe, breathe damn you.> I flick my eyes to the table where my gun still lies, clip full but still detached. I slam my eyes back into his and let out a pent up breath. I try to relax and almost succeed. He hisses out a breath between clenched teeth and forms the word "What..." and I close my eyes and sigh. <Here we go ladies and gentlemen, the "Questions" have begun, to be immediately followed by the "Accusations" and then the inevitable "Beating", then Alex, love, you can scrape yourself off his knuckles and slink back to your rat hole.>

Something is wrong. I can hear him breathing over there, but he has yet to ask me the "Questions". This is new and different. Puzzled, I continue to stare into his eyes, shadows in the dark. He has a pained look on his face. His eyes are still boring into mine, but he is holding his tongue...why? He is still lying down with one fist balled up under his temple, and one under his chin. I must be wearing the questioning look like a sign on my eyebrows, because then he begins to speak.

"I guess it would be pointless to ask how you got in." His voice is low and thick, like he isn't quite awake yet.

I smile my best 'aww shucks' smile and say, "They should have your doorknob at the Smithsonian as the easiest lock to pick in the western world."

A snort. "You would know," he says.

I am at a loss. What am I supposed to be doing? He's not hitting me...or accusing me...what the hell is up? I clear my throat and sit up a little bit straighter. He sits up slowly on the couch and runs his hands over his face and through his hair. He stops and looks at me sharply, his eyes cutting to my left arm. He must see the unnatural stiffness of it. He draws in a breath and the "Questions" finally begin.

"Did the truck driver do...?" He indicates my arm. "Did he take...? Fuck! What's wrong with your arm?"

I can feel all the blood drain out of my face...and I am not sure what to say. Sharp retorts die on my tongue when I see the real horror in his eyes. He is up and around the low table that has separated us, and is reaching out to touch my left hand, lying on my thigh. Shit shit shit, this is NOT what I was here for! <No, you're here to watch him breathe, remember?> Well, he's breathing now. Harsh sounds are coming from his chest, as he lightly touches my cold left hand. He recoils a little when he feels how hard it is, and then he is grasping it in both of his hands and rubbing it slowly, like he is trying to warm the unfeeling plastic. I push him off with my one working hand and stand altogether too quickly. Fighting a short bout of dizziness, I push myself as far away from him as possible in his tiny living room.

"Don't!! Don't touch me!!" I gasp out. I didn't mean for it to sound as desperate as I feel.

I look up from the floor at my nemesis backing away from me, up against the wall. He looks like a cornered animal. In fact, in all the times I've beaten him up I don't think I've really seen him look this scared. I can't help but feel sorry for him. They cut off his fucking *arm* for Christ's sake. But I know that's the last thing he wants. Tenderness just isn't the language we speak. So I rise up off the floor, and steeling my expression, shove him up against the wall with my arm under his chin.

"Don't touch you? Like this?" His eyes are inches from mine and they throw sparks that burn me inside. "Or is this the way you prefer to be touched, Krycek? Hard, rough, violent. I think it would hurt you a lot more if I didn't touch you this way." Yeah, that's it. Struck a chord there. His eyes go wide and he struggles against my arm. I keep it firm but don't press against his throat. I don't want to hurt him. Not this time. I just want to make a point. The only real resistance he gives is the way his hand comes up to grab at the arm braced across his neck. He isn't even really trying to pull it away, he just grips it hard. I can feel his hot breath as he struggles to control it. We stare at each other, our hearts thrumming against one another. I don't pretend that I can't feel the hard length of his erection pressing against me. I also don't pretend that's not my own hard cock that's pressed firm against his hip.

I remember waking up on the couch and seeing his dark form asleep in my chair. The instantaneous cold wash of fear immediately gave way to recognition and I was shocked to realize that it wasn't anger I was feeling, but a sense of exhilarated anticipation. I was excited to see him. As if he was an old friend come to visit. I pondered that for a quiet moment as I watched him carefully for signs of alertness. I'd never had the chance to just look at him before. I was always busy throwing him around and smacking him in the stomach and face. But here he was, laying back in my chair, head lolling to the side, for some reason feeling safe enough to fall asleep in my presence. He's beautiful, aesthetically speaking. An angelic demon.

And what about me? He'd obviously come in and found me asleep as well, and rather than using that as an opportunity to get the drop on me or hurt me or even kill me, he just...pulled up a chair and slept with me. He slept. With me. He must have been extremely tired to take a chance like that. He must have watched me sleep, too. I shiver at the vulnerability.

Now I have him pressed against the wall of my apartment in a mimicry of the time I shoved him against the wall in the gulag. I'd been at the disadvantage then. He'd growled at me, low and sure, "Don't touch me again." And I hadn't, until I'd thrown him to the floor of the truck and knocked him unconscious to make my escape.

Don't touch me.

He'd said it again now, and I wonder if maybe his petulant mouth was telling me what he really wanted all along. <Touch me again. Touch me.> The thought makes me smile, just a little, which he takes as an offense, resulting in a renewed struggle. I smirk just slightly and ram our bodies together hard, stilling his struggles and coaxing a loud gasping grunt from his lips. With great effort, I control the groan that wants to escape mine.

"Was that pain, Krycek?" I ask in a voice that lets him know I know otherwise. "Did I hurt you?" His eyes gleam with rage and a disquieting glimmer of pain.

"No," he rasps out, and the very sound of it belies the truth. I hurt him. Just not physically. Interesting. I have the power to hurt him with a smile. And all this time I'd thought it was my fists that would make an impression. "Liar," I spit, and brace my other hand on the wall at the side of his face, relaxing somewhat against him.

"You don't think I could take you out in a heartbeat, Mulder, if I wanted to?" he says with an edge of arrogance, squinting into my eyes.

"You know," I say slowly, cocking my head and staring into his enigmatic green depths, "I believe that you probably *could* bring me down if we were going head to head." I stop, and seeing the nervousness making its way into those dark eyes, I know he can tell I'm not done. "But I also think I know your real weakness now, Krycek," I say, and grind my crotch into his hip, pressing my thigh firmly into his answering hardness.

He lets out a whimpering grunt that I find immensely satisfying, although once again I bite back my own sound of pleasure. "It's the soft touch you're afraid of," I say quietly, leaning in closer; so close I can see the tiny dots of perspiration on his cheeks. "Like when I held your arm." I glance down at the prosthetic, hanging limply at his side. "You would have thought I was attacking you, the way you jumped out of that chair."

I'm pushing all the right buttons. I can see it on his face, in the way he tries to look away, then blinks rapidly, squinting as I hold his gaze. I can feel his body giving way under mine, the only real tension left being that in the arm that grips mine and the stiff bulge against my thigh. "That's it, isn't it Krycek?" I ask, sliding my hand down the wall at his side. He nervously tries to follow its path with his eyes but my forearm across his throat blocks his attempts. "What's the matter, Alex?" I purr, feeling his body twitch beneath mine as he hears his first name. I lean in closer, my lips at his ear, and bring my hips back from his just far enough to get my hand between us. My cheek brushes against his and I feel the stubble from several days...smell his sweat and musk, and as I close my hand over his granite-like length, my voice comes out in a harsh, shuddering whisper. "Scared?"

Scared?? I've never been this aroused in all my life. Does that scare me? Fuck yes! How long have I dreamt of this exact moment, only to be here and completely lose any scraps of courage I ever had? He's only ever touched me to hurt me, punching me in the gut, in the face, splitting my lip, making me bleed. <Internally and externally.> To have him touch me tenderly nearly rips my heart out. He hates me, I love him. The duality of man, the paragon of animal...I know all this, and that's the way the world is. You can't just go and change the rules right in the middle of the game. <You're not supposed to change sides in the middle either, Ratboy!> No, I can't...I can't do this. <Your lips they say no no, but your cock it says FUCK YEAH, 'bout time too!> Oh god, he smells good. <He's palming your cock, and all you can think of is how good he smells?> Oh...OH... If he whispers in my ear again, I'm going to come in my pants!

My fingers are digging into his arm. His lips are touching my neck, searing me. It feels like I have been branded. <Pilot to bombardier, we're going in.> I lower my head to his neck and very slowly, keeping my tongue soft and flat, lick straight up his neck, over his cheek and straight into his hairline at his temple. Oh fuck! The taste of him... Somewhere between salt and soap and all through that a sweet taste that's all Mulder. He shudders and groans straight into my ear. I can't take it; I start to thrust into his palm. Now I can hear my own breathing over his. I can feel his rock-hard cock through his jeans, my jeans, and straight into the flesh of my thigh. I need to touch him; I need to feel his skin. I need this, I need... contact.

I loosen my death grip on his arm and lower my hand to his belly. I manage to wedge my hand between his stomach and my hip and start to caress his flesh, just above his jeans. Soft flesh over hard muscles, they jump under my touch. He squeezes my cock and I lose my mind. <Tell me THAT'S not a tender touch you want!> Through the white haze that has sprung up around me, I feel his ear against my lips. "Oh fuck.....oh...yes..." I whisper and hiss directly into his ear, my tongue caressing the delicate ridge that curls into his inner ear. That gets a response. Now he is grinding into my thigh. Hooking my hand into his jeans, I pull with all my strength to align our hips and press my cock, his hand still rubbing me through my jeans, into his hard crotch. I catch his wrist and pull it around his back and push the back of my hand into his back, pulling him further into my body. His other hand has found purchase on my shoulder, his fingers digging in and holding on. His arm, at first across my throat, is more lying on my collar bone. He is rubbing his hard bulge <He must wear briefs.> against the length of my cock <I don't wear any.> The apartment is getting fuzzy around the edges, and my entire world has become the 6 feet of hard body in front of me.

And then I fuck it up.

"Fox, I..."

Try again.

"...I love you, Fox. I always have..."

He stops breathing, stops moving. His body is instantly ice. His arm presses into my collar bone and slides up to my throat, pushing hard. I'm having problems breathing now. Oh god! This could have been so good, could have been nothing but a good come and then maybe an embarrassed hasty retreat, and I could have had this memory, intact <!> for the rest of my...<What, life? You think you have life? You are the epitome of the walking dead! The one right thing that a fucking waste of skin like you ever did was not telling him that a traitorous rat loved him. How's he supposed to react? You want roses and champagne?? Fucking Idiot!! Jesus Alex, let a man touch your cock and you let slip the secret of the fucking universe! Glad nothing the consortium told you was floating in your head right then!> God, no. Nothing they ever told me has the same value as what I just said.

My eyes are burning, my throat is closing, and I can't breathe. Not so much because of the arm across my windpipe, but because I am going to die. One way or the other tonight, I am going to die. He will kill me, or I will kill myself. I can't live through this...this much...pain.

Motherfucker! MotherFUCKER! It was so good! So fucking good! I had him exactly where I've always wanted him, under my thumb and helpless and whimpering and the physical combined with the psychological high had me almost coming in my pants! Then he opens his fucking mouth and *what* comes out? Not, "Mulder, fuck me!" or even "Mulder, I want you!" but "I love you, Fox!" What the fuck am I supposed to do with *that*? I can't fuck him now! I can't do anything now! I can't even fucking *breathe* now! Jesus Christ, Krycek, will you ever stop fucking with my goddamned head?

"What the fuck do you mean, you love me?" I grind out into his twitching face. He doesn't answer, just opening his mouth wide, gasping, trying to draw air. I realize my arm is pressing painfully against his windpipe now and cutting off his breathing. At the same time I relax just marginally, I also realize that rather than pulling my arm away, his hand is braced against the wall behind him. He's making no effort to save himself. Do you have a fucking death wish, you psycho? I know the look of incredulity on my face is totally impossible to hide and I make no effort, my eyes wide, my mouth hanging open. I can feel the flecks of saliva on my lips from snarling and I feel like an animal.

As my arm pulls back from his neck, I hear him suck air into a raspy, choking throat. At that moment, hearing him struggle to breathe, I become fully aware, once again, of the way he's maneuvered our bodies so that our erections are mashed against one another. I feel myself swell against him and I feel the answering jerk of his hardness against mine. I'm fucking suffocating him and he's still hard for me. He's sick. Sick! I'm sick, too, because I'm harder than ever, after nearly killing him. We're sick. Sick separately and sick together.

"You can't love me, Krycek," I spit into his sweaty face, bracing myself against the wall once more, just inches from his own hand which scrabbles against the plaster, seeking purchase. Finding none, I feel his hand scrape at mine and I don't even know how or why but our hands are intertwined, mine pressing the back of his painfully into the plaster. I buck my hips forward and my breath leaves in a gasp, bathing a face contorted in bliss or pain or both as his eyes flutter shut and that tortured throat emits a high, hoarse moan.

"Do you hear me, you psycho?" I scream into his face, the force of my words matching the force of my crotch against his, and the last word becomes a gasp and his only response is a shuddering groan that sounds like a sob. "You can't *love* me! You *can't*! You just *fuck* me *up*! Do you *hear* me?" I'm thrusting against him now with about every other word and the words are coming high and forced, more groan than voice and I'm so fucking close to coming that it's painful. His head is lolling against the wall, his eyes closed as he makes no attempt to stem the sobbing moans that make their way constantly out of his body. There are tears running down his fucking face! He's crying! He's fucking crying and moaning and thrusting back and before I know what the fuck I'm doing I strike like a snake, opening my mouth violently against his and ramming my tongue between shocked lips, and I feel his whole body jerk and spasm and twitch against the wall over and over and as his tongue pushes deep into my mouth. I come too, my mouth open, lips mashed against his teeth, sobbing and groaning and sliding my arms around to yank him up as hard against me as is physically possible. I'm still moaning into his mouth and it blends with his and we're both sobbing and our tears are smearing on each other's faces and I'm still pulsing against him, still throbbing with the painful pleasure and I can't stop the words from tearing out.

"You can't love me, Krycek," I say against his mouth, and he only grunts and his arm is around my waist, pulling me in close. "You can't love me and I can't love you." And with that I renew my mouth's taking of his and he whimpers and cries openly into my mouth as he strokes within me, deeply, his tongue nearly stealing my breath and fighting with mine as our bodies clutch one another hard and tight and close and we're one shuddering, gasping, writhing mass of tortured human flesh.

He's going to choke me, and I am going to die. It's only right that he kill me. He has given me so many little deaths. He is the only one. I would only allow myself to die in his hands.

I can feel the world turning on its edge and I take my hand from his wrist and place it on the wall behind me. Passive. Will he remember me this way, or will he violently deny ever seeing me this way? The world, already rolling over, now decides to give me a color show. Mulder's hair has the most amazing strands of copper in it, now brown, now red, now grey...wait. I think this is it...<Pilot to bombardier, so long sucker....>

And then...I can breathe.

Oh fuck, what is he doing? I can't focus my eyes. I see his face in front of me. He looks feral. I think I really pissed him off. His cock pushes up against me and I feel mine surge out to meet him. <God damn Alex, 'Near Death Experiences and The Erections That Fuel Them', film at eleven.> He's shouting at me...Can't love him?? Why the hell not? I'm the one who's going to die; I can do whatever the fuck I want! <Come ON Alex, shake it off...FOCUS GODDAMNIT!>

My hand...I didn't realize it was moving until he had hold of it, his long fingers twined with mine and he's pushing it back against the wall. It hurts, but what a small price to pay for the contact. His denim covered cock...the center of my existence right now...is pushing into my crotch. I can't help the moan that makes its way past my lips. He is smashing my hand into the wall, my balls into oblivion, and it's the best pain I have ever felt! I could come right now! He's screaming at me again, calls me psycho. All I can get out of my mouth is another harsh groan. I think I'm crying, and I think I don't give a fuck. More words. He is hitting into my body like he's fucking me with those words. I'm crying, I know I am, but I can't control it anymore than I can control the harsh sounds coming from my rough throat. My eyes are closed. I can't look at him, can't see the disgust, the loathing there, can't see it right now. I am too close to redemption to mar it like that.

HOLY fucking GOD!!! He's kissing me...fucking me with his tongue and I can't breathe...don't want to breathe...I'm coming, harder than I ever have in my life. Wave after shocking wave of pure bliss is pouring over me, through me, and everything is washed away except his mouth, his cock, and his hand holding mine. He's crying, too. <Christ, what a couple of fucking basket cases.> He's talking; I can barely focus on the words...did he just say that he can't love me? Was that an option? Oh-god oh-god OH GOD! I can't stop crying and kissing and pulling him to me, and he is doing the same.

I'm kissing him and he's kissing me and it's like breathing, like eating, like...making love. Jesus Christ, it's good like it's never been good before and I don't want to let go. Can't let go. I can taste the salt on my tongue...his tears? Mine? Don't know, but it's not enough distraction to separate me from his mouth. It's less urgent now, and my body relaxes somewhat against his, my arms stroking up and down his back. I'm breathing him in and giving it back and I'm dizzy with the lack of oxygen and the aftereffects of the most dazzling orgasm I can remember. Stars? Yeah, I'm seein' 'em. I'm getting the thought that maybe I need to breathe before I collapse. I don't want to break the contact. I don't want to break the spell that lets us just exist, merging, swirling in sensation and emotion.

But I absolutely have to take a breath.

I pull my head back from his very reluctantly, suddenly, and his mouth tries to follow mine's departure, as if our lips were magnets, each polarized to one another. The way our bodies are flush against each other, they must be too. I can't look at him. Can't face him. Can't let him see the raw vulnerability I just *know* is stamped across my face. Gasping for breath, I burrow my face into his shoulder and I feel him shiver and do the same with me. We pant against each other, arms still wrapped tightly around one another, sticky, spent cocks still pressed together in miniature of our bodies. Don't want to break away. Don't want to talk about this. Don't want to admit that this just happened. Don't want this feeling of warmth and *want* to end.

Want? How can I *want* this man? How can I let myself get close to him? Let him see this part of me? Let him *do* this to me? He killed my father! He was involved in Scully's abduction and the murder of her sister! God knows how many innocents he's slaughtered in his mission for self-serving power! He's lied to me and destroyed me and betrayed me and...and he said he...loves me.

JesusGod. What a fucked up world we live in. That this man, whom I've beaten and threatened and cuffed and abandoned and caused to lose his arm...who has lied to me, sabotaged me, and betrayed everything I've ever held dear...that this man, of all people in the world, would choose to love me.

I push away from him finally, not meeting his eyes. "I...I need some space." I stare at the floor, feeling chilled at the loss of his heat. It occurs to me that he might bolt, and I'm not sure how I feel about that at first. If I let him leave, I can pretend this didn't happen. I can wash myself up and throw away these jeans and go back to my life the way it was.

And I can slowly go out of my fucking mind wondering when he will show up again, *IF* he will show up again, and what it will do to me next time. No. We settle this tonight. This is *not* going to be another one of those fucking monsters, out in the world, carrying my scent and waiting for a good time to get the drop on me. This one I face down here and now, even if one or both of us don't make it out alive.

I make the supreme effort of bringing my eyes up to meet his. His are wide, crazed, frightened, fringed with wet lashes, and red. His mouth is swollen and rosy all the way around from our frantic oral exploration of one another, and his hair is spiked up all over his head, sweaty and wild. I feel a surge in my groin.

"Don't even fucking *think* about going anywhere, Krycek," I warn, stabbing my words into his eyes. I watch as his head barely nods in the affirmative and he wipes his mouth on the back of a trembling hand. He doesn't look away from me and I am the one to break eye contact as I turn and go into my bedroom to clean up.

Leaning my head back against the wall, I let my mind wander on its own path. <You came, you saw, you made him come, now what?> He said don't leave. Does that mean he wants me to stay? Is he going to come out of his bathroom, spare gun in hand, and blow my brain across this wall? My lips are still burning from where he kissed me like he was trying to eat my mouth. My head is reeling from the scent he left on me. I have been marked. I wonder if that's a bad thing...will I still smell like him tomorrow? Who do I actually get close enough to that would understand the smell that's clinging to my lips, my face, my very heart? I decide to never wash again and then check that idea as my cock sticks to my thigh inside my wet and stiffening jeans. My cock, though sated, is still showing signs of life. I'm still hard, but not desperately so. The edge is gone, but it leaves me hungry for more.

I hear the shower in his bathroom turn on and think of going to him and washing him off, starting at his toes and working my way up to his beautiful hair.... Groaning, I push myself off the wall and sway a little bit. Decision time. Cut and run? No, he said not to leave. <And we now obey everything that comes out of the Fox's mouth?> Follow him? Decision made, I head for the bathroom door.

As I peel the jeans down my sticky thighs I feel myself blush with embarrassment. How out of control do you have to be to come up against your worst enemy? Isn't that what he is? His smell is all over me and I'm so pissed at how turned on that gets me. I've *got* to get clean. Right now.

I turn the water on hot...hotter than I usually like it. Almost hotter than I can stand it. I step under the hard spray and before I can revel in one more inhalation of his scent I viciously scrub the bar of soap over my torso, my arms, my legs, my groin. My skin burns and tingles where my nails have raked and scratched but his smell is gone.

And I miss it.

Then I remember his words to me and it's there, again, in my head, and I know it always will be. "I love you, Fox...I always have." Such incongruously vulnerable and tender words from the lips of a killer. I'd doubt their sincerity *except* for that very same incongruity. If Krycek were trying to fuck with my head it would be that smirky, smart-assed, cocky personality he's adapted since he betrayed me. That's the real Alex Krycek. Isn't it? Isn't it?? I reach for the shampoo and the desperation is gone although I realize his scent is there in my hair, too, and this time I pause and breathe it in. And with a sinking feeling I'm forced to admit that I've seen this Krycek...this Alex before.

Bad suit, worse hair, and a tie that even *I* wouldn't pick out. Dark eyes with long lashes staring hard into mine, telling me he followed my work. Believed in what I was doing. I had seen that spark of integrity then and I know it wasn't all fake. It wasn't, damn it, and now I have the proof that lets me stop hating myself for trusting him. Of course I trusted him. I could feel, even then, this...energy between us. He didn't just say he loved me. He said he always had. Just words, but words that could have gotten him killed and yet he chose to say them anyway. You don't just rip your heart out and hand it to your enemy unless you're damn sure that what you're saying is what you feel.

So he loves me. So what the fuck does that mean?? Can he kill my father, help abduct my best friend, help murder her sister...and still love me?

What is love, anyway? I've never really known, except in a quantifiable, psychological sense. Scully would be so proud of me. Scully. I love Scully. I know I do, and I've never doubted that, not since very early in our partnership. So what does that mean...when I love Scully? Well, it means that I care what happens to her. That I enjoy spending time with her. That I know I can share with her, trust her, depend on her to always, always back me up. It means, sometimes, that I imagine myself touching her, her touching me, but then I feel the walls slam up. I don't think I'll ever let them down that far, with her, for fear they'll never come back up. For fear that I'll be left, spread-eagled, naked, exposed to the world, and my darkness and twisted soul and psyche will fill the world with its vacuum.

Jesus, Mulder, morbid much? I lather up quickly and duck my head beneath the spray to rinse.

So Krycek has a love for me that includes letting down those walls, obviously. He was under my hands and being robbed of his life's breath and he stopped fighting me. I felt it. He just....stopped. He's done it before, gone passive when I was hitting him. In fact, when I think back, he's gone passive *every* time I've beaten him; not hitting back, not even really blocking the blows, just giving me that raw, agonized look and telling me, "Finish it, Mulder! Go on! Do it to me!" Sick fuck that I am, I usually hit him again and he makes that totally accepting 'oof' sound that tells me he didn't even brace for it. I wipe the blood from my knuckles and it is never enough...I could never hit him enough to take away the compelling feeling to *do* something around him. To strike out, react, respond...reach out.

Yeah, reach out. Reach out and respond to that pull I've always felt from him. That horrible, powerful *draw* that takes away my ability to think rationally and turns me into pure physicality. What is that?? Is *that* the Mulder version of love? Is that what it feels like, to have your body and your mind taken over by someone every time they're near?

OH GOD is that what's going on here? What's gone on all along? I can't fucking *BELIEVE* this! I don't want to give a *FUCK* about him! I don't even want to fucking *hate* him and now I have to *love* him?

Goddamned, motherfucking *SHIT* that pisses me off. Sonofabitching, goddamned, fucking hell! I smash the heel of my hand repeatedly, painfully against the wall, shaking the shower stall and probably causing my neighbors to call 911. I can feel the burn behind my eyes start again. I can't fucking love him. I can't! Why the fuck is this happening to me? How can you *do* this to me?

A dark shape and movement catch my eye and I realize I spoke out loud...and that I'm not alone anymore. Oh god what did I say, what did I let slip in my little fit of pique at God and the world and myself? I look through the steamy frosted-glass shower door and he's standing there, just inside the door, not moving, not speaking.

NO, goddamn it I don't want to feel this overwhelming *PULL* to throw open this door and jerk him up against me and take his mouth and then his body, over and over and over until he's so *MINE* that he'll never be anyone else's!

I slap my hands down on the taps, turning them off, shaking the water out of my eyes. My jaw hurts it's so tightly clenched and I can feel the tears pricking at my eyes, threatening to spill. Motherfucker! I slide open the door and step out onto the mat and his mouth drops open and I stalk toward him, feeling my mind slip away, feeling that swirling, sparking madness that descends whenever he's near me and he sees it, somehow, and he's backing away but there is no fucking *way* I'm letting him get away from me. I'll make him *mine* tonight and there will never be a doubt again. I hear my bare, wet feet slap against the floor as I advance on him, backing him through the hall and into my room and I reach forward, hand splayed, and see him flinch but not retreat and I shove, hard, knocking him backward onto the bed where I fall on him and with a low, tortured groan, fasten our mouths together, wet and hot and starving for each other.

How can I do this to him?? What the fuck does he think he's doing to me? He can't pretend he didn't just argue with himself about his feelings for me...he *has* feelings for me. Oh god, he's reached right into my chest and is slowly squeezing the blood right out of my heart! I must have clutched at my chest or made some kind of noise because he has stopped hitting the wall and is staring at me. He pulls himself out of the shower and I step back in shock. The look in his eyes, I've seen it before. It's the look he gets right before he hits me, really hard. Which is it going to be? Ribs? Stomach? No, probably mouth. That way he can obliterate the evidence of his rough kisses.

I take a step back and then several more. I am pushed up against the bed. I tense and then relax, knowing whatever he dishes out I am going to take. It's what I deserve. If this is where we are again...well, at least it's back to the way it was before. Not perfect, but at least he's going to touch me. At least I'll have contact. I look right into his eyes, waiting for the fist to slam me. His hand comes into view. I can't help but flinch. Damn this is going to hurt. He's pushing me backwards, I'm in free fall, and I land on my back on his bed! He's on top of me, OHHHH a groan, and his mouth is on mine, glued there. My hand is clutching at his back; I want to pull him inside my body. I can't get close enough to him; I want to crawl into his body. His hands are on me. One is in my hair, holding my head as he ravages my mouth. The other is roaming up and down my body, eliciting moans as his touch sends little shock waves of pleasure down my spine and directly to my now raging cock. He's naked, wet, and so hot that I know I'm about to lose a second load into these jeans.

I pull away from his mouth to look into his eyes. That same look is there. That 'I'm gonna fucking pound you into the ground' look that I've seen almost every time we meet is shining out of his eyes like a beacon, and my will to ask him to undo my pants is momentarily forgotten. I instead fasten my teeth to that part of his neck right below his jaw and grind my hips up into his hard cock. Gasping, he can't catch his breath. I can feel him pushing his throat into my teeth, his ragged breath going directly into my ear. Hot puffs of air pushing me to release.

Oh god the denim on my naked cock scrapes and burns and I can't stop pressing into it. His mouth...his mouth, that sullen, pink, soft mouth that I've made bleed again and again is hot against my throat and biting and sucking and it's so damn good it *hurts*. My groan coincides with a writhing thrust against his crotch and he hums against my skin without releasing it from between his lips, between his teeth.

I've got to have him now. If I don't I'm going to start hitting him and I know, finally, that that is not what I really want...what I need. I twist my head to the side to dislodge him and he grunts in frustration, pulling me down on him harder with his one arm. He's damned strong, and I'm pushing up off him now and he's not letting go and his mouth is sucking on my chest now, on any bit of flesh it can reach as I try to raise up off him.

"Let me go," I growl, pressing hard against the bed, vainly feeling the soft mattress give and getting nowhere.

"No fucking way," he snarls back against my skin and he's leaving red and purply marks where his mouth fastens, desperately, sucking and biting and moaning against me.

"Krycek, Jesus, I just want to get these fucking pants off you," I hiss.

His mouth goes soft and hot against my pec. "Alex."

"What?" I ask, feeling his arm loosening as his tongue bathes me where he's bruised me.

"Please...call me Alex. Please, Mulder." The words are punctuated by kisses on my flesh and they take my breath and my will and all of my resistance.

"Alex, please let me up, so I can take these fucking pants off you and fuck you," I gasp out, trying to sound much more in control than I feel, and he throws his arm to the side, splaying himself out before me like a sacrifice. Sighing deeply with relief at finally getting what I want, I take just a moment to appreciate the sight.

He's looking straight at me. Into my eyes. My mind. Yeah, my soul, too. His fake arm lies at his side, his real one thrown up over his head in an arch. His legs are spread, a dark wet spot marking the crotch of his black jeans, a hard ridge of flesh lying along the inner seam just beneath it. I'm supporting myself with hands on either side of him and I can smell him, dark, hot, the smell of sweat and musk and semen and it's in perfect contrast to my scrubbed clean, soapy smell.

My eyes rake him from face to crotch and back again and my throat nearly closes with the power of the feeling that washes through me.

"Mine," I growl, low and shaky, not realizing I'm going to say it 'til it's out.

"Yours," he answers without hesitation. And he leans his head back into the mattress as if to bare his throat to me in surrender like an animal. I want to fall forward and suck and bite and mark him until he whines helplessly but it's time to get these fucking jeans off *NOW*.

I growl again and slide myself down his body to come to rest kneeling on the floor, my hands on his hard thighs, which bunch beneath my palms 'til they are even harder. I can't resist the tease and I scrape my nails over the length of his erection and he undulates beneath me, a sob wrenching from his throat.

"No! Please, Mulder! Don't make me come this way! I want you inside me when it happens. Please!" He's gasping and his eyes are squeezed tight and I didn't realize he was so close but I can tell that he is and I realize I don't want him to come too quickly either. I want to feel him lose control while I'm buried deep within him, taking, possessing, claiming what is my own and probably always has been.

His legs shake under my hands as I stop my teasing and give him a moment to recover. When his body is no longer held an inch off the bed, I reach up and quickly, efficiently pull the buttons from their holes, then lose my breath in a gasp when I realize there's nothing but hard, hot, jumping cock beneath my hand.

"You fucking beautiful slut," I say, feeling a grin spread across my face. I actually hear him cough out a strained laugh but he says nothing, still laid before me like an offering.

What he's offering, I'm taking. I yank his jeans down his hips and legs and realize I'm not going to get them over his damned boots. Swearing, I reach down and yank on the buckles, grateful that Krycek wears boots easily unfastened with one arm, though I focus with both to get the job done quickly. I pull off the boots and yank off the socks, then reach up and rake the jeans the rest of the way off, flinging them on the floor behind me. I raise up and his smell hits me, the semen and musk and sweat and *ALEX* and I'm fucking dizzy with it! I am! And I want to strip him the rest of the way naked and I want to ram myself deep inside him, but I can't help myself and I sink my mouth down into that smell, licking the flat of my tongue up his silky shaft and causing him to yell out and buck against my face.

"MULDER!" He cries as his hand comes down on my head, grabbing my hair but not painfully. "NNnnnno! Please!" He's sounding truly desperate and begging me and pulling back on my hair and it *is* painful now and I like it. I really, really do.

"Shut up, Alex," I murmur against his flesh, sucking the side of the shaft as if to give it a hickey, gripping the base with one hand to hold off the orgasm I can feel jerking just beneath my tongue. My other hand reaches up and fumbles with his shirt buttons as I move my mouth up and finally slurp the head of his cock into my mouth with a sloppy groan. I feel him twitch in my mouth and I squeeze hard at the base, cutting it off, keeping it at bay as I lower myself down and suck and lick and slurp and devour his salty, tangy, burning length. Oh yeah, there's that whimpering now, and a constant low groan as his hand alternately strokes and pets and yanks at my head, his hips rolling underneath me, pushing his cock into my mouth even as he tells me to stop. I'm gonna make this boy come and come hard and I wanna hear my name when he does it.

I open my throat and push my face down, taking him in deep in the back of my throat, and he sobs and grabs my hair and then I reach up and find his nipple and pinch it, hard, just as I release my grip from around the base of his cock.

"MULDERFUCKINGGOD!" He screams, and his throat sounds raw and painful and it's good; he's mine and he's out of control and he's screaming my name and finding religion as he shoots down my throat, and I'm grateful he came once earlier because I'm having a hard enough time keeping up with his climax as it fills my mouth and throat and spills around my tongue.

"MulderMulderMulderGod." I love it when I'm deified for sex. I swallow and release the softened organ with a smack, licking it a bit more clean before rising and sliding up his torso where his shirt lies open, half the buttons popped and lying on my floor. So sue me. I think I did pretty good for only using one hand and giving wicked head at the same time. I kiss and lick my way up his stomach and chest. I just want to eat him alive. I can't get enough and I fasten my mouth on his, swallowing his groan and sucking his tongue the way I sucked his dick. The pull in my own cock is hard and unforgiving and I'm pressing against his wet, spent cock and I feel it swell just slightly under the assault. That's my Alex. Good boy. I pull my mouth back to lick my lips and see that angelic/demonic face. The face of my nemesis, my challenge in life...my lover.

"You made me come," he says.

"Yes, I did."

"I wanted to come with you inside me."

"What makes you think you won't?" I take his mouth once more and swallow another groan, then raise myself up to reach over his head toward my nightstand. I have to slide up his body a bit, and I feel him moving down my body, heading for my cock with his pretty pink mouth. "Don't. Stop it, Alex."

"Please. Please, Mulder, let me." He's kissing his way down, edging himself clear off the bed, just inches from contact.

"I would but I've got to fuck you *NOW.*" I roll away from him quickly and grab the lotion off the nightstand, sitting up quickly and then standing and pulling Alex off the bed. He's putty in my hands as I rip off his shirt and I throw the bottle on the bed for a moment as I figure out the straps on his prosthesis, then fling it impatiently to the side, not caring that he's marred, only caring that he's now completely naked and completely at my mercy and completely mine. I flip him over roughly and am grateful for the extra high bed as he bounces on the mattress, his knees over the edge, his ass in almost perfect alignment. I reach up and snatch my pillow and roughly shove it under his hips which he raises for me obediently. "There," I say and grab up the bottle again.

My cock is jumping and thrumming with the need to bury itself in the body prone beneath me and I can't help but press it between the cheeks, running it up and down the crevice there, frustrated by the limited friction it offers. Growling, I squirt a blob of lotion on my fingers and slip them sloppily up between his buttocks and he spreads his legs for me and pushes back against my hand. As I press one slick finger into his hot little opening, I use my other hand to slick up my cock, groaning and thrusting into my hand gently, impatient to get him ready but not wanting to hurt him.

"Go on, Mulder. Do it to me." I've heard those words before and in an instant I realize that this was what he was begging me for all along. What *I* wanted up against the phone bank. And the thought of that day and our mutual repressed need makes me whimper and shove two fingers deep inside him, not as gently as I would like to, but barely keeping myself in check as I reach inside to find the place I know will get him ready to come a third time.

"AH!" He jerks against my hand and I know I've found it and closing my eyes and breathing hard, I stroke gently against it, making him sob and writhe below me.

"Gotta have you," I breathe, and pull out my fingers, grabbing myself around the base of my slippery, pulsing cock. I know this isn't going to last long. I'm afraid I'll come before I get all the way inside, the minute the head of my dick is squeezed by that welcoming muscle.

"Fuck me!" He hisses and I press against him and I let out a tortured groan as my fears almost come true, and I only barely hold back my orgasm as I slide myself hard inside, all the way to the hilt and then freeze, feeling the heat burn me, the flesh grip me.

"NNGOD Alex," I gasp. "Alex...Alex." He moans beneath me but stays still, letting me have control. "Gonna...fuck you now..." I pant, and I pull back and ram back in, hard and desperate and fast, wanting to get as many thrusts in as I can before I spend myself in that hard, pale, gorgeous ass.

"UHHHNNN!" I'm slamming into him and I'm making a continuous animal noise and I'm gonna come in a few seconds and I really, really, really want to hear Alex groan my name one more time, to prove that I own him, body, mind, and soul. I barely have control over my hand as I reach underneath him where he's thrusting into my pillow <God the smell that will leave...Oh god...> and my lotion-slicked hand closes around him and he fucks into it hard, gasping as I squeeze and ram into him so hard, so deep. "You're MINE Alex! Fucking MIIIIINE!" I scream maniacally as I feel myself let go, rocketing my hips against him out of control, feeling my orgasm blast through my body and into his.

"GOD YES MULDER!" And Alex thrusts into my hand, several times, hard and I have just enough presence of mind to keep squeezing as he comes to his own climax with me still buried inside him, his clenching ass wringing forth the final pulses of my own orgasm almost painfully.

I collapse on top of him, sliding out of him and rolling slightly to the side so as not to crush him. I immediately open my mouth against his skin, sucking and licking and kissing at the hot, salty flesh, humming with my contentment. I breathe against his back and I feel his chest heaving beneath me and I wrap my top arm around him and pull him in, rolling us a bit to the side, both of us now kneeling on the floor, his back to my chest, leaning sideways against the bed.

My mouth reaches his ear just perfectly and I nibble his earlobe and wrap my arms tighter around him as he settles back, reaching up and back with his one arm to pull my head down to his.

"I never wanted to love you."

I hear his gasp and feel it as his body jolts. He didn't expect that. That's okay. Neither did I. His chest shudders beneath my arms and I think maybe he's crying again and I lean forward and kiss away the tears as they fall.