Cauterized

Good, the little fuck isn't home yet. Enough time to set a few things up. After I let myself into his apartment, I re-engage the worthless lock on his door and step into the darkness. I don't need a light, I've been here countless times; on errands for the cancer stick, orders from the consortium, and for personal reasons. I used to come here to sleep when I knew he was out of town chasing down aliens or technologically advanced cockroaches. His couch and I are on a first name basis, even if he and I are not.

I pick up the bag I'd put on the floor, and move to the bedroom door. I know it's the bedroom not because I have seen it before, but because I have a schematic of his apartment, and this is listed as the bedroom. Hell, I don't even know if *he* has seen this room before. I flip my hand around so that the straps of the duffel bag are twisted around my wrist and I can grip the doorknob and turn it.

I am not sure what I expected; huge bed, mirrored ceiling, disco ball...but what I find is rather mundane...boring even. A bed - made but dusty-looking, with a dent on the one side, like he sits there to put on his socks in the morning.

Well, the fuck's gonna see his bedroom tonight. As much as he can see of it while he's on his knees face down with my cock up his ass, and that's only if I don't blow in his mouth. Fuck it. I'll do both. I have all night. And Mulder sure as fuck isn't going anywhere once I get a hold of him.

Time to set up. I put the duffel on the dusty bed and unzip it. Taking out the contents one piece at a time and carefully arranging them on the bed, I consider changing the sheets. I wonder what it would feel like to sneeze in the middle of a violent fuck. And to be honest, I know he's gonna put up a hell of a fight. I would. Well, his nose will be in the bed, not mine. I didn't come here to do housekeeping. No, I came here to hurt an FBI son of a bitch. Speaking of, I wonder where Dudley fucking Do Right is. I left him about an hour ago in the basement of the Hoover. Not that he saw me, but I've been watching him since I got back to the States. Oh, yeah. Watching and waiting. Planning on how best to take the motherfucker down. Cancer stick says he's important, can't kill him. But he didn't say anything about maiming him. And his brain is already fucked up, so what's a little psychological torture between friends.

After arranging all my toys to my liking on the bed, I wander into the living room and sit down on the couch. My left wrist is aching; I go to rub it and realize anew that it is not there. It's really amazing how often I can forget that. Anger, unforgiving black fucking anger, rises up from my stomach, tasting just as rancid as bile, and I nearly choke on it. I break out into a sweat trying to control it, my remaining hand fisted and shaking slightly. I hit my thigh hard, gritting my teeth at the pain and try to focus on it, anything to get rid of the black rage that's hanging right in front of my eyes.

God I'm tired. That kind of tired where I can't even remember how I got home and I'm just fucking grateful that my automatic driving took me here instead of the Jersey turnpike.

That happened once. Man did that suck.

I swing my body out of the car and it's already planning how it's going to collapse onto my couch and melt into the smelly leather. My steps are weighted with the anticipation of it. My hand lays heavy on the doorknob as I swing the door open.

And it pulls me headlong into the room, propelling me across the floor to land in a heap on the other side of my small living room.

The slack of my body actually softens the impact of hitting the hardwood floor and I pull myself to my hands and knees quickly, blinking my grainy, exhausted eyes in the half-darkness, assessing the situation.

"That's a good position for you," growls the darkness. I still can't see anything but a dark shape behind the door. But I know that voice. <Don't touch me again.> It's that same low, straight-from-the-gut snarl that made me shiver as I pressed my arm across his throat in the gulag.

"Krycek." That came out a lot less venomous than I would have thought. Hey, like I said, I'm tired. I start to rise to my feet but he's across the room supernaturally fast and I feel a boot heel come down hard in the middle of my back, driving me to the floor. The pain is sharp and hot and I'm paralyzed for a moment, my face twisted, eyes helplessly closed against the spreading agony.

"You can fucking stay on your knees, Mulder. In fact," he continues, bending over to ram my face into the wood, "Eat the fucking floor, asshole."

In the nick of time I turn my head to the side so that my sizable nose isn't rammed into the dusty hardwood. Instead, my ear is grinding into it and I wish I'd swept it this...month.

"What do you want, Krycek?" I ask, my mouth distorted with the force of his hand pressing against it from the side. He gives me one last shove then removes his hand, and I think maybe he's a bit unbalanced for a moment, then he takes all his weight in his rock-hard thigh muscles and stabilizes in a crouch beside me. He wipes a gloved hand across his mouth and I stare up at him. I make no effort to get up. He has the advantage for now.

"What do I *want*, Fox?" He sneers. I know he's using my first name just to bug me and I decide not to let him know I know. He looks terrible, now that I can get a look at him. The low light of evening plays over features that are twisted in a snarl of barely controlled rage, and his eyes... God, his eyes are pure murder. "What do I fucking WANT!?" he screams, leaning in close, and I feel the spittle hit my cheek. I force myself to breathe as evenly as possible as I *feel* the heat coming off his body. He's crazed. This is not a side of Krycek I've seen. He's usually in cold control, manipulating and scheming even as he's wiping the blood from his nose. He's inches away now and I smell his sweat. It's panic-sweat. Again, another sign that this Krycek is a dangerous, feral animal. I need to tread lightly. I find myself slipping into profiler mode, using that part of my mind that slides away my exhaustion to reveal only the calm, rational de-escalation techniques I've learned.

"Yes, Alex," I say softly. Maybe if he hears his first name it will bring him back to some semblance of human. "What do you want from me? Tell me."

"Don't try that fucking head-shrink shit on me, you motherfucker!" he shouts in my face. "You're mine tonight."

Uh oh. That does *not* sound good. My heart is racing now where it's pressed against the floor, but I keep my expression calm, my tone soothing.

"Listen, Alex, just tell me what you want. I can't give it to you unless I know what it is." God, I feel so fucking vulnerable saying it, but I have to give him no reason to feel his power is being questioned. He has to become complacent in his domination and see me as a cooperative victim.

"Oh you'll give it to me, Foxy," he sneers. I watch as his eyes trail over my back and linger on my ass, then come back up to meet my eyes which I try to calm as his gaze falls on my face again. "You'll give me every fucking thing I feel like taking. Like I said, you're mine tonight."

He's just staring into my eyes now, and that leering smile makes my stomach do sick flips. I can almost see the rape happening behind those dilated pupils. Okay. He's got me where he wants me. He has sexual interest and possibly intent, gauging from his once-over of my ass. Best to play along at least until I'm in a better position to get the upper hand.

"I never knew you wanted me, Alex." I try to keep my eyes wide and focused on him, even though I want nothing so much as to shut them against that incredibly intense glare. Then I'm grateful that I was able to maintain eye contact, because I see his control falter for just a moment. He blinks. Then the animal is back.

"I just want to make you fucking pay," he snarls, low and hissing. He throws his left shoulder forward in an unusual gesture and it's then that I realize he has not used his left arm to either abuse or restrain me this whole time. I feel the puzzlement crease my features. I stare at his arm in the darkness. It's just hanging there at a stiff angle, resting on his bent thigh as he squats beside me. There's something very wrong with it.

"Your...arm..." The curiosity in my voice is blanketed with intentional concern as I let the question fade between us. Now I'm sure that's pain I see flash across his eyes as he blinks rapidly, his mouth a thin line as his jaw clenches. He makes no move to either answer me or shut me up, so I continue. "What happened to it? What's wrong with it?"

"It's still in fucking Tunguska is what's wrong with it," he answers, getting to his feet quickly but carefully, and stepping back from me a few paces.

Oh. God. The knife. The villager with the one-armed son. I think I'm going to throw up. My mouth is gaping as I struggle to breathe, swallowing back the old panic I'd felt as the behemoth had advanced on me, huge machete blade glinting in the moonlight.

"God...they got to you," I gasp. I'm staring up at him from the floor, slowly raising myself up on my forearms as I examine the new shape of the man before me. I'm now more shocked and sickened than angry or scared. He doesn't say anything, just breathes hard, staring down at me. I see his eyes flick to my two strong, intact arms as they raise me off the floor and I understand the anger and jealousy crackling in the dark depths of his eyes as they come back to settle on mine.

"They...they almost got me, too," I say, trying to create a sort of bond between us. There was a bond in Tunguska, before he betrayed me. I felt it. I actually found myself relaxing into it. Maybe even liking it. Hopefully it wasn't all bullshit. I'm banking my life on that as I bring my knees up underneath me and sink back on my heels, kneeling at his feet, fingers splayed wide on the floor on either side of me. I lick my lips, and I see his eyes riveted on my tongue's progress and remember that he wants me sexually, at least to some degree. Maybe I can use that to my advantage. Maybe if I convince him that I want him too...

The fucker. He's analyzing me, trying to find my weakness. It's right here, I want to scream, all the while beating him to death with my prosthesis. He's kneeling in front of me. It's like he wants me to shove my cock into his mouth, almost as if he's begging for it, licking his lips and pouting that way. I chance a look at his package and sure enough, he's interested. Goddammit. I wanted to take this, not have it offered. I reach for my gun and get the satisfaction of seeing him wince as I bring it to bear on his temple.

"That's right Foxy, I'll take what I want...and right now, I want you to suck me." Oh, the uncertainty in his eyes, the moment of truth. Will he submit or fight? I want him to fight. I want to bloody his lips before he pulls me into his mouth. I want him to remember the taste of blood and cum. I want those two things to be forever linked in his memory. I see the war raging in his eyes, and it's almost sweet enough...almost. I rear back and hit his temple with my gun, not hard enough to knock him out, just enough to put the fear of Krycek into him.

He groans and crumples to the floor. I have to squat to haul him back up to his knees. I keep the gun in my hand and grasp his collar with the tips of my fingers and pull him upright, and then back off and put the gun back at his rapidly bruising temple.

He looks at me with a little fear in his eyes this time. Yes. It's sweet, but not nearly enough.

Jesus! The pain is taking away my control...all my rationalizing is just slipping into the blanket of shooting stars I see swim over my eyes. I'm not bleeding...I can't feel blood on my face...but my eyes are difficult to focus. The cold gun barrel presses against just the right tender spot and a new agony explodes. I feel tears of pain try to squeeze from beneath shut lids. Yes, I'm really scared now. And I know I have no power.

Except for the power of submission.

"Alex..." I swallow, and fresh pain from the slight movement glances through my head. "I'm sorry. I'll do it. You don't have to hurt me to get me to...suck you." I feel a swelling in my crotch as I say the words and it shocks me. Am I tricking myself into believing my own lie...that I want him, too? That thought frightens me, but it could come in useful. After all, I can't fake arousal. I lick my lips again and open my eyes, blinking against the pain at my temple. "I want to."

He's staring daggers into me with a self-satisfied smile just playing at the corners of his mouth. God, I want to punch him so bad! But self-preservation wins out and I reach up with trembling fingers and start unfastening his jeans. He bucks slightly against me. My cock jumps. I can feel his hard length straining at the zipper underneath my fingers. He's like a rock under there. He wants this very badly. Maybe I can use that to my advantage.

He's undoing my jeans, and he's nervous. Oh yeah, this feels good. I could come just watching his hands shake as he has to touch me. I know he wants to punch me. That's his preferred form of communication with me, but the fucker isn't so smug when the tables turn. I always thought he would just shit if I ever actually fought back. Well, Foxy, how's your underwear now? Ohhh, he's pulling down my zipper and I don't have underwear on. Oh god, that tortured moment right before my dick springs free of my pants, I can see the apprehension and fear...and just a bit of want in his eyes. He looks up at me, and licks his lips again. Does he even know he's doing that? Now his attention is focused on my dick. I push the gun a little bit further into his bruise and say, "Suck it."

I gasp. It's big, my mind qualms. Bigger than I thought. Hoped? Jesus. His smell fills my nostrils as I lean in, the pain of the gun barrel like a switch that drives me forward. He's circumcised. I'm glad. Seems cleaner and...simpler. And, if I had to be truthful, his cock is quite...beautiful. Beautiful?? God, I must be a sick freak. Still, I've seen a few in my time, and this is a nice cock. A little worship isn't going to be that hard after all.

I inhale deeply, letting my eyes close for a moment, and open my lips. I press a soft, open-mouthed, firm kiss on the head of his dick and he grunts and jerks forward, seeking to push into my mouth. Quickly, I review my options. Let him brutally fuck my mouth and come, which would require little participation on my part other than keeping my teeth out of the way...or stay in control of the situation by making it really good. Somehow, both options seem very attractive as I feel him nudge roughly at my partially open lips and I taste the tang of his precum on my tongue. I pull away just barely.

"I can make it good," I breathe, letting the warm air bathe the head of his cock as I speak, looking up at him with dizzy promises in my eyes. "If you let me..."

Oh my god, he's looking at me and there's something like...love in his eyes. He wants to make it good for me. I thought it would be pretty good to fuck those beautiful lips. Just the sight of my cock laid out right on his lips makes me weak and I need to rethink this whole thing. Goddammit! I wanted to make this brutal. I wanted him to bleed. I wanted him to cry. I wanted to reduce him to nothing. But it's not working that way. He wants me too. And that makes me want him even more. I wanted to take, and leave a broken man, but he is breaking me.

I want a response out of him. I want him to make it good. I clear my throat and ask, "How?"

"Let me show you," I half-whisper, extending my tongue and swirling it around the purply-red tip of his cock. I'm panting now, and I wonder a bit at my own immediately eager dick as it twitches in my pants. I softly place my left hand on his hip for support and wrap my right around his shaft, giving it a firm squeeze. He moans and I feel it in my crotch. I use the leverage of my grip to guide his cock into my mouth, licking across the bottom of the shaft as I take him deeper and deeper, then slide him all the way back out, releasing him with another kiss. God he tastes good. Silky and hard and hot. I moan through my nose as I take him in deeper this time, feeling my drool ease the way and slurping at his delicious length hungrily, beginning to bob my head.

I'm amazed that he's not fucking my face. I can tell he wants to. He wants to very, very badly. He does have a rather good grip on my hair with his <one> hand, even while keeping hold of the gun, and he is helping the entry of his flesh with some shallow thrusting, but never in a way that does anything but make my own cock jump and drool in my pants as I suck and lick him.

He starts to grunt with each thrust, and I know he needs more. I make my lips into a seal around his flesh, covering my teeth and mouthing him tightly. I begin to fuck him with my face, flicking my tongue against the sensitive flesh as it bobs in and out of my lips. His grunts and his moans go higher...I'm doing it right.

Still moving my mouth on his dick, I carefully release his shaft with my hand and move it back, rolling his balls carefully in my fingers. He jolts against me, driving himself deep into my throat and I gag and fight to breathe. A few more thrusts like that and he actually pulls back, letting me draw some air and swallow before pushing back in. He wouldn't have had to do that. He could have just continued fucking my throat. He was close...I know he was. I strengthen my resolve and relax my throat as I slip my fingers more deeply between his legs, pressing up on his perineum with my pinky finger as my index seeks an even more sensitive area.

Make it good, he said. Jesus, it's never been this good. A willing warm mouth and I'm no longer pushing my gun into his face. No, now it's my dick I am pressing into his mouth and my hand is in his hair, the gun trapped between my hand and his head. I'm trying not to push too deep. I want this to last forever. Oh, his hand on my balls, oh god, going back to my ass. I have to thrust; I'm so close to coming. I grit my teeth and ride out the waves that are rolling over me. His mouth opens even more and he sucks me down all the way to my balls. My eyes snap open and I see him looking at me even as he gags on my cock. I feel his finger stroking over the crinkly flesh of my anus, and I lose every ounce of control I ever had and slam my cock as deep into his mouth as it'll go. I'm coming with such force it seems to rip me out of my skin and hurtle me down his sucking throat.

I slide down to the floor right between his legs, my head resting on his shoulder for a scant second, and I can feel him moving. I jerk away from him, but his hand is on my wrist, the other hand is furiously trying to undo his trousers. He looks at me in a pleading way and pulls my wrist toward his hard bulge. All I can do is stare at him as he humps his crotch against my hand and gun. His eyes never leave mine as he licks his lips and moans. He is still fumbling with his belt buckle.

I slowly raise the gun back up to his head and whisper, "Stop." It takes him a second to register what I say. I can see the exact second when he understands. His eyes never leave mine but his hands stop moving and there is a gleam in his eye. I think it's tears. I am strangely calm and now I know what I want.

The first thing I want is for him to get out of his clothes. His eyes still haven't left mine. I motion with the gun for him to stand up. I wonder what he sees in my eyes that won't let him look away. When he's standing, and I am too, I tell him to take off his clothes. My voice is low and shaky. He seems to consider for a second, and as I start to raise my arm, his badly shaking hands reach up to loosen his tie and unbutton his collar.

I swallow back the taste of Krycek's semen and struggle with the buttons of my shirt, my hands slippery with sweat and smelling of musk. He just stands there, gun raised, taking deep, shaking breaths. His pants are still down around his ankles. That should appear ridiculous, but it only seems dangerous and promising right now.

Of course. I realize as I'm pulling my shirt down my damp, twitching arms that he can't keep the gun trained on me *and* pull up his pants. I should feel smug. I don't. I just feel...subdued.

And really fucking horny. I'm moving my hips to bring friction between my boxer-briefs and my cock as I let the shirt fall to the floor. I feel like a slut but I can't remember being this aroused. Maybe it's the danger...maybe it's the company. No, don't go there. That way lies madness.

I reach for my belt and my fingers slide on the buckle, struggling to yank it open. I feel one of the belt loops rip as I pull the damned thing free and it leaves my body with a light 'snap.' Out of the corner of my lowered eyes, I see Krycek flinch just slightly. I take hold of the zipper on my slacks and raise my eyes to meet his. I see him swallow hard and his chest begins to heave. He's going to hyperventilate, I swear it. He wants this that bad.

And all I wanna do now is give it to him. Any way he wants it. My gaze penetrates him and I don't take my eyes off him as I start to push my pants and underwear down my hips, and my dick springs up as it's freed. I lick my lips and taste him as I swallow. He blinks slowly in response. I watch his cock lengthen and rise up against his thigh again. I'm consumed by his mindless, dangerous desire for me. I want him more than I've wanted anyone, ever. I don't give a fuck why anymore.

I push my pants and underwear off in one long move and step out of them, stopping to quickly untie and shed my shoes and then socks. I straighten up, clothes at my feet, and my cock jumps against my belly, smearing it with precum as I regain my balance. I stand before him naked, hands fisted at my sides. I let him see it all. The lust, the confusion, the submission...and the painful, dangerous need. I need him. I fucking need to have him. Now.

I want to kiss him. I want to taste my cum in his mouth. He's taking for goddamned ever with his clothes, and I'm having a hard time breathing. When all his clothes are finally in a pile at his feet, he stands there looking right into my eyes and waits for me to speak. I step in closer and lower my gun to his dick. I use the barrel to outline the contours of it. His right arm reaches out and settles on my left shoulder and I tense for just a second. And then he moans and starts to thrust his dick against my gun. I hear him grate out a harsh moan and then he whispers, "Oh god, Alex...I want to fuck you." He's grinding himself into my gun and hand and whispering to me, "Will you let me fuck you?"

I don't think I can stand any more. I pull the gun away from his cock and wrap my arm around his hip to drag him forward into my body. Our cocks collide and I realize that I am hard again, and then everything flies out the window as he kisses me. Wet heat presses into my mouth and it carries the saltiness of my cum and just a ghost of cinnamon.

I let the gun drop into his pile of clothes and start to feel his back, clutching at muscles. I can feel him double his assault on my mouth as his hands run up my back under my jacket and he pulls me tighter into his embrace. I run my hand down to his ass and clutch his cheek and pull it hard. I swallow a moan and bring my hand up to our mouths. I push my hand in between our lips and suck on my own finger. He tongue-fights me for it, and I let him suck it into his mouth. I push down on his tongue and sink my finger into his mouth as far as I can. I slide it out with a small pop and run it around his lips, making them glisten. And then I attack his mouth with everything I have, my hand sliding down to rest in the crack of his ass.

I shiver as I feel the cool wet of his finger settle in between my ass cheeks. I raise myself on my toes, seeking more contact...lower contact. I wanna fuck him, feel him, eat him, have him...I want to be inside him and have him inside me and I grunt helplessly, devouring his mouth while I try to strip him. It's hard <Is it ever!> because his hand is still tightly pressing against my ass. I try to pull the jacket down the other arm and feel the artificiality of that limb. It sobers me up for a moment, and I realize I want to make this gentle; the unveiling of this altered man.

"Wanna undress you..." I say against his lips. His reply is a grunt as he pushes his tongue deeply into my momentarily stilled mouth. I sink back into the kiss for a moment, letting him control it completely and getting dizzy with my own surrender. Our cocks are sliding together and I'm close to coming. Have to pull back. Wanna fuck him too badly to blow it. I jerk my hips back from his and he nearly falls on me at the loss of support. I catch him with my arms and kiss him once more, quickly, before holding him away from me to look into his face.

Swollen, wet, kiss-bruised lips, parted on shallow, ragged breaths. Eyes so dark as to be black, but I know they're green. His hair has grown...and it looks better now. Especially sweaty and sticking to his forehead in little spiky strands. I just wanna lick him. I hear myself moan.

I'm amazed. I realize he's dropped the gun. And he's making no move to take back the control I've wrested from him. I could hurt him. I could knee him in his vulnerable groin and throw him to the floor. Grab the gun, put it to his head...and what? Make him suck me?

Nah. I'd rather fuck him. Maybe later. I push down on the jacket, working it down over his shoulders, which he shrugs for me to ease its passage. I have to grab the cuff on his fake wrist and tug it to get the clinging leather over the inflexible false hand. He lets me, and the vulnerability it shows makes me squint. Tears? I'm sure it's just a side-effect of my overwhelming sexual need.

I place my hand carefully on his shoulder, feeling tentatively for the juncture of plastic and flesh. I look into his eyes and he closes them, his face a mask of tension and pain.

I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.

I hold him where his prosthesis meets his arm and pull on the jacket to dislodge it from his body. Finally, the sleeve slides down and off and I wrap my arms around him to transfer the jacket to my other hand and pull it off his right arm. He's wearing a long-sleeved black dress shirt. This won't be easy...for either of us. He's still, eyes shut tight, body rigid.

"I won't hurt you," I whisper, leaning in to his ear. I hear him gasp lightly and he tilts his head just barely, leaning into my touch. I take him in my arms and just hold him, and the crying begins.

God, I haven't cried since, well, I don't remember. He's holding me and rubbing my back and I want to die. I could die here, in his arms. I feel safe. He won't let anyone hurt me. Had he been there in the forest, he would have fought with his life to save my arm. Hell, he could have left me in the gulag, but he chose to save me too. Well, the Mulder version of save was stealing a truck that had no brakes and then crashing it, but he tried. I'm the one who ran from him. He wanted to keep me with him. All the bitterness and blackness that was in me for the last months is slowly leaking out of my eyes and I cling to the only thing in this world that wants me.

I just hold him and let him shake and sob against me, stroking his back and murmuring in his ear. His arm is so tight around me it hurts and cuts off my air somewhat but I just lean into him and pet him.

"Shhhh...I know. Alex, it's okay. You're safe here." Wow...is that true? As I stand here in my dark apartment, naked, rocking Alex Krycek as he weeps, I realize it is. I don't want to hurt him. Ever again. Fuck me. This certainly changes things.

"Alex... Alex..." I struggle to get his attention; to lift his wet face where it's pressed into my shoulder. I pull back and move my hands up to take his face in them. I have to use the strength in my arms to pull him away from me as he fights to keep his face hidden. I don't allow him to hide. I force his face in front of mine and wait for him to stop struggling.

"Open your eyes, Alex." I lean forward and kiss the tracks of his tears where they've cut through the sweat on his face. Salt on salt. I kiss his closed eyelids. "Please?"

He struggles to open them, his mouth trembling with his silent tears. He's so beautiful in his misery. He's so open and soft and sad and tragic and...gorgeous. How can I hold against him the things he's done to me, when I can stand here with my two good hands on either side of his face and he is maimed forever because I took him with me?

"I want to love you." God! What the fuck? I meant to say 'make love to'...not 'love'. Freudian slip?! Jesus Christ, what now?

Something changed just now. He can't believe he just said that. He wants to love me...but he can't. How could he, with all the shit that has happened between us? I cast my eyes down again and try with all my might to control the tears. With effort, I move my hand back to my side and clench my fist.

I step away and desperately wonder how to get my pants up and keep some amount of dignity. I turn so that my right side is facing him and bend over to get my jeans and pull them up. Have you ever tried to button jeans with one hand? It's hard to do, but at least it takes all of my concentration and I don't have to see whatever look he is throwing me. What the FUCK was I thinking?? I wasn't thinking...that's the problem. I just poured my fucking heart onto his chest and...what, what did I expect? To be forgiven? No, just accepted I guess. I can feel my heart shriveling up as I walk over to his bedroom door. I had better grab the duffel bag and leave.

"I'm sorry," I say to the door. "I shouldn't have come here. I'll get my things and leave."

I walk into the room and look at the bed. All my little implements laid out, shiny and ready. I was going to take a body part with me tonight when I left. I was going to cut off his ring finger and keep it as a trophy. God, I am a sick son of a bitch. I feel bile rising in my throat and have to throw the stuff into the bag quick before I puke on it. And then I hear him in the doorway, and I see my gun in his hand.

He's...leaving?? And I'm...letting him. Well, yeah! It's either that or...keep feeling what I'm feeling and start acting on it.

He's all grace as he pulls up his pants and I marvel at the way he compensates for the lack of weight on one side. He's a survivor. He may be without a limb, but Alex isn't beaten.

Or maybe he is. He certainly looks it, as he walks to my bedroom door and I hear his apology. Shouldn't have come here? No, you definitely shouldn't have. This was definitely *not* supposed to happen. I'm still frozen, listening to my heart pound. Watching him enter my bedroom and sink into the shadows, head down.

I stare at the place he stood. Look down at my pile of clothes. Strangely, I don't feel like getting dressed. Then I see a glint of steel, and bend to retrieve his gun.

What...did he forget it? Not bloody likely. Is this his way of offering me his heart on a platter? Was the suicidal gesture conscious or unconscious on his part? I turn the weapon over in my hand, feeling its weight and contained power. Power to end a life...or just change one forever.

I take a deep breath and the spell breaks. I walk to my bedroom door and stop just inside, his gun in my hand, pointed casually in his direction.

"You forgot something."

He turns, and I see him shoving things into a duffel bag on my bed. What the fuck? Those are...blades. Knives and a...bone saw?? Jesus Christ. This is what he came for. To extract his pound of flesh. Literally.

My grip on the gun tightens, and I zero it in on him tightly, focused now.

"That..." I indicate the bag on the bed, half-full of deadly instruments, and swallow painfully. "...is what you came for tonight?"

He's not saying anything now. He's frozen, half-turned, a wicked little blade still in his hand. His shoulders sag. I guess he doesn't really have to answer that. It's obvious. My cock's been limp since the sight of that glittering metal spread out on my bed, and now I really do feel naked. Exposed. Vulnerable.

"Were you going to cut off my dick, Krycek?" I don't even want to hear the answer, but something inside me that hates me makes me ask.

"No." His voice is barely audible, a low, whispering growl.

"Just your finger."

I let my breath out in a shocked gasp. It's one thing to see the instruments of your torture and make things up in your own head...it's another to have someone flat out tell you they came here to cut off your finger. I'm feeling sick. The gravity of his voice leaves no question that he was serious.

Then I consider. A finger. Just a finger in exchange for a whole arm. That's all he was going to take...even in the darkest depths of his rage and insanity. That same sick part of me that made me ask the first question makes me ask another.

"Is that all?"

Now *he* looks sick. And pale. And very, very confused.

"You lost an arm, Alex," I say, reverting to his first name again. "You came here for revenge, and all you were going to take was a finger?"

I see him considering, blinking through the shock and puzzlement, struggling to come up with an answer.

"I just..." His voice is cracked and nearly inaudible. He clears his throat and straightens up, turning to face me completely, blade held loosely at his side. "I guess I just wanted something I could take with me." His eyes stay trained on mine and I don't look away either.

"So. Let me get this straight," I say, tightening my grip on the gun perfunctorily. "Your plan was to break in here, beat me up, rape me, and then cut off a finger as a memento of the evening. Is that right?"

His eyes flutter closed for just a moment. He's ashamed. Well he fucking well should be. I wait.

"That about covers it," he grates. I see his grip on the knife handle tighten and my body tenses, ready for a fight.

"So what happened, Alex?"

His eyes open and he looks at me, and there is undeniable pain behind those eyes as he answers.

"You...you wanted me."

I let my breath out carefully. I wanted him. Did I? Fuck yeah, I really did.

"Or at least," he says, biting his lip in a painfully lost gesture. "You faked it really well."

I swallow. We stare at each other for a minute or two, and I see his eyes *beg* me to tell him that's not how it was. That's *not* how it was, of course. I wanted him so bad I couldn't even see straight. Worse than I've ever wanted anyone in my life. But do I want to tell him that?

I look at his left arm, hanging heavy at his side, and decide that yeah, I do.

I smile, gently. "Pretty tough to fake a raging hard-on, Alex." My smile fades. "I did want you. I...I *do* want you."

Green eyes squint with skepticism for a moment, then widen with realization. Yeah, that's right. I said I wanted you. I said I still do. Now what do we do?

I let my grip loosen and lower my arm slowly, flipping the safety on as Alex's gun comes to rest along my bare thigh. His eyes follow it, then come back up to my face, narrowing in disbelief.

"I told you. I don't want to hurt you. Ever again. I meant that, too." I lean to the side and place the gun on the dresser. He just watches, hand clenching the hilt of the knife at his side. I step forward and reach for his hand. Shocked, he lets me take it. I pull him over to the dresser. He staggers but doesn't fight me. My hand is wrapped around his, the knife held by both of us now. I lay my left hand on the dresser, fingers splayed. I raise Alex's right hand in mine, and he jerks and fights as I bring it closer to the one laid out on the dresser.

"Take it, Alex. I don't want this," I look pointedly at his fake left arm, "...to keep getting between us. If I give you this, will you let me love you?"

FUCK, his hand is pushing the knife I hold down onto his flesh. The knife is so sharp that I don't think he knows he's been cut till the blood starts to well out of the incision.

OH MY GOD!! He can't do this, he can't! I can feel the cut in my arm all over again and I scream, really scream, and he stops the decent of the blade into his flesh. I finally have enough strength to pull the knife away. I jerk my arm back so hard that I manage to throw the knife into the wall behind us. All I can do is scream and scream, horrible harsh gut-wrenching screams and I know I am losing my mind. I fall to the floor and hug my one arm across my chest and scream and cry till my voice is gone and I can't even produce tears anymore. And he's there, holding me and stroking my back, and telling me that it's ok, he loves me, and everything is going to be all right.

HOLY SHIT! What's wrong with him?? I thought this was what he wanted! Hell, the knife's so sharp that it doesn't even hurt...yet. I stare, stunned, at the knife embedded in my wall, still thrumming from the impact. Then I'm startled and shocked to see Krycek fall apart in front of my eyes, his face going white, his mouth open on a perpetual scream that only ends long enough for him to draw breath and start again.

"Alex!!" I grab him as he sinks to the floor and it dawns on my foggy brain that he is experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder, triggered by the sight of the knife cutting flesh.

Oh Jesus Fucking Christ. He's experiencing it all over again, writhing on the forest floor as they sever his arm.

Good God! Alex...

I wrap myself around him, trying to help him feel me, and he thrashes and continues to scream, his voice going hoarse. It hurts me to hear it. His face is streaming tears and I cry too, stroking him and rocking him with my body.

"Alex...you're not in Tunguska. You're here, with me. I'm so sorry I wasn't there. But I'm here now. I won't hurt you. And I won't make you hurt me." I'm kissing his hair and his face as I talk, but I can't tell that he's hearing me. I can't stand to hear the raw terror and pain in that scream! And my neighbors are *definitely* dialing the police as we speak.

"Alex, listen...I'm here. You're safe. You're safe with me. I'll keep you safe. It's okay." My voice is cracking, my words turning to sobs as they have no effect. God, the horror he's seen...felt...I can't even imagine. "Alex!" I'm yelling now, choking on my tears. "I care about you, Alex. I love you! Can you hear me? Please, hear me, Alex! I love you..." I rock him and rock him and repeat it over and over and over, and I'm shocked by how good it feels to say it.

"I love you, Alex. I love you...I love you...I love you..."

Finally, I feel his body start to relax a little, and it shakes so hard that we shake as one, my arms tightly embracing him as we lie on the floor. His screams have stopped and now he's sobbing, loud and long and so, so raw, and it hurts me to hear it, but I know he has to let it out and so I bear it, repeating my mantra.

Finally, the sobs turn to deep, shuddering breaths and I feel his body start to unclench. I stroke my hands through his hair, peppering his tear-stained, exhausted face with kisses. "It's okay. I'm here. And I love you, Alex." He hears me. I feel it as he burrows into my body, seeking comfort and warmth, and I'm so happy I can finally give it to him.

I notice that the left side of his face and hair are covered with blood now, and as my fingers smear more across his cheek, I realize it's mine. Fuck. Just what he *doesn't* need to see. I have to get it cleaned up and get my finger bandaged without him knowing what I'm doing. And without him seeing the blood that I now realize is dripping off the heel of my hand and running in small rivulets down my arm to my elbow.

"Alex," I whisper, so gently, with a soft kiss to his ear. "Can you hear me?" He nods and tries to speak, but he has no voice left and it's only air, forced through bruised and tattered vocal chords. "Shhh...don't talk, Alex. I need to get up for just a minute. I don't want to leave you, but I need to, for just a minute. Will you stay here? Will you be all right?"

I feel him try to speak again and place my right finger on his lips to silence him. His eyes, shut till now, open and try to focus on me. They're completely red and swollen, and his lashes are spiked with his tears, still caught in the long, dark fringe. I keep my left hand at my side, but up and away to keep it elevated and hopefully slow the blood flow. It still doesn't hurt, but I know that's the adrenaline in my system and that I'm in for it as soon as things calm down. I look into the eyes staring into mine. They're asking me a question. I answer it.

"Yes, I love you, Alex. I said it, and I meant it, and I mean it. I have to get up, but I'll be right back. Please stay here." He nods and closes his eyes, curling up in a ball again. I know he doesn't want me to go, but it can't be helped. I have to fix this finger and clean us both up, and I need to get dressed so I can explain things to the cops who are already on their way.

I unwrap myself from around him and get to my feet, now holding my cut finger tightly with my other hand and hurrying into the bathroom. I shut the door before I turn on the light, and I'm shocked by how much blood there is.

My hand drips with it. My arm is covered all the way to my elbow. It's smeared all over my body, and it's amazing to think that the only wound is a small but deep cut on the ring finger of my left hand. I rifle through the medicine cabinet and find gauze and tape, and as I run said finger under cold water to get it clean enough to wrap, the pain hits me.

FUCK! GOD! Oh it *hurts*! And not just in my hand. It seems like the pain extends all the way up my arm, and I'm nearly knocked off my feet with the thought of what it would feel like if the cut really were that extensive. God, Alex. How will I ever make it up to you?

I quickly breathe back the dizziness threatening to send me toppling to the floor, and dry my still dripping finger. I quickly wrap it in gauze and then tightly in tape, and I know Scully will need to look at it first thing in the morning, if not sooner. But at least the gauze is soaking up the blood and the tape is cutting off the flow. Surveying my body, I decide a shower is the quickest way to get the rest of the mess cleaned up. I step in, not waiting for the water to get warm, worried about the man I've left in a fetal position on my bedroom floor. I scrub with soap, using only my right hand, and again I'm reminded of Alex's daily challenges. I get out and towel off, then run a hand towel under cold water, soaking it so that I can clean him off too.

I grab a T-shirt off the floor and pull on some sweats that smelled okay before I ran in them two nights ago. At least I'm decent. I turn off the light and step out the bathroom door and immediately hear the pounding. SHIT. The cops. I go to the shivering lump on my floor and bend to stroke him. "Alex, I have to get rid of the cops my neighbors called. I'll be right back." He doesn't answer. He may be unconscious. I hope he is. He needs the rest, and I need to take care of some things. I grab my ID from my jacket on the floor on my way to the front door.

I quickly explain away the sounds, flashing my ID, and finally they go away. Thank god I cleaned away the blood first or I'd be in cuffs now, no questions asked. Sighing, I close the door and return to my bedroom to try to put together the shattered man that lies on my floor. I grab the wet towel, which I dropped beside him when the cops knocked, and begin wiping his face and hair with it. He twitches slightly, but other than that he's completely unresponsive. God, his beauty takes my breath away as I gently wash away my blood and his sweat and tears. When I have him as cleaned up as I can get him without taking him into the shower, I pull a blanket off the bed and curl up around him again, wrapping the blanket around both of us snugly. I fall asleep with him in my arms, my lips pressed against his neck.

I wake up slowly with all kinds of new sensations making themselves known. My head hurts. I can feel light breathing on my neck. My throat is painfully dry. There is an arm lying over my ribs, and a hand lightly holding onto my shoulder. My whole body aches. I can feel a warm body pressing against my back.

I'm warm, bordering on hot. I try and move a little bit and my body retaliates by seizing up. The breathing at my neck has changed. I hear a sleepy "Alex?" and then more clearly, "Are you awake, Alex?" I try to speak and nothing comes out but a small whistle. I clear my throat and try again. A faint "Yeah..." is all I can get out. The arm that's around me pulls me tighter and I feel a warm sigh on my neck. The hand that's on my shoulder has a bandage that's soaked through with blood on the ring finger, and everything that I don't want to remember from last night comes back to me and I start to shake.

"Hey...no...Alex, it's all right. I'm here. Everything's all right. Do you hurt? What can I do to help?" I'm being turned around to face him. The first thing I see is the bruise I gave him with my gun last night, and I wince and look away. I bury my head in his chest and try to control my breathing. He's petting my hair and stroking my back, trying to comfort me, and suddenly I have to tell him everything. I can't take another breath without telling him. I speak into his chest. To his heart.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry... I wanted to hurt you like I thought you had hurt me..."

"Alex, don't talk...it can wait..." Mulder's pulling me closer and petting my hair. I shiver and burrow in deeper, immersed in his scent.

"It can't wait. Please, Mulder..." I rasp. "I have to say this. Please let me say this." I feel him nod and kiss the top of my head and I continue.

"You used to hit me all the time, and I always thought I deserved it." A sharp intake of breath. I know I'm hurting him, but I have to say these things or they will eat me alive. So I brace myself against the pain of knowing he's hurting, and continue once more.

"And I wanted you to touch me, so it was all right that you hit me. And then in the gulag, I was pissed at you for not trusting me. After I had followed you around the world and I could have run a bunch of times. I was so mad at you and I told you not to touch me. And I was so afraid that you really wouldn't touch me again. And then you dragged me out of there, and you were going to crash, so I rolled off the truck and tried to get back to the road where the guy had dropped us off. That's when they found me." My voice fades to a low whisper, and I can barely hear myself. I summon all the courage this man's love has given me, and will my voice to work just a little while longer. Mulder's lips are pressed against the top of my head now and he just rests there, listening and stroking my hair. When have I ever felt this loved? That's easy to answer. Never. Not even in my most outrageous dreams. Maybe that's what this is...just a crazy, pain-killer-induced dream and I'll wake up cold and alone, as always. Either way, the story has to come out. I take a deep, shuddering breath and speak again.

"They fed me and let me sleep next to the fire. When I woke up, they were holding me down and...cu...cutting me." Mulder's arms tighten. "They couldn't cut through the bone, so one of them...he put all his weight on the knife and the others...bent my arm up to snap the bone." A tortured moan sounds from above, vibrating against my skull. I hear him murmur, "No...no...no.." and it doesn't seem fair to force him to know this, but the words won't stop. They're like poison leaching from my soul. "I can't tell you how much it hurt. I wanted to pass out or die, anything not to have to deal with that pain. When they were done they wrapped some cloth around it and used my belt to stop any blood that was flowing. There wasn't as much as blood as I would have thought. The knife had been in the fire first, so it burned my skin and cauterized most of the veins as it cut." My voice is not only nearly nonexistent... it's now totally dead, as if the words hold no meaning for me. I suppose that's because if they carried the emotion behind them, they would merely be an unending scream, like the one that left my throat so torn and bruised last night. I inhale Mulder's smell and I feel my soul flicker to life a little more. I swallow, and it's agony, but I have to finish this.

"I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to make you feel what I had felt, and I wanted you to know that I had done it to you. I was going to rape you..." I can feel my throat closing and my eyes are burning. The tears are like acid in the wake of last night's exhaustion. But they cleanse and soothe somehow too. I let them fall.

"When I got back to the states, the only thing on my mind was revenge. I've been planning it for the last three months. I was told that I couldn't kill you, but I didn't want you dead, not really. I wanted you to suffer like I have. I wanted to take a part of your body and keep it, like they kept my arm."

I can hear his shuddering breaths as they rattle through his chest, and I know he's holding back his own tears. I plunge on.

"I know there has always been this sick pull between us. I just thought I was attracted to you, and I was...but it's more than that. I think I came to realize that I loved you." I pause to let him hear the sincerity behind the words, and as he lays his cheek against my head and sighs a trembling sigh, I know he has.

"I had heard this song after I came back and the lyric caught fire in my head. '...ring finger, promise carved in stone is deeper than the sea, sever flesh and bone, do something for me.' I wanted you to do it for me. Give me a part of your body that only I would ever have. I know it sounds fucking sick, but that's where I was until yesterday. Sick. I wanted to fuck you and take what I thought was mine. I knew you would never let me touch you in that way, so I was planning on raping you and taking what I wanted and then never seeing you again." My voice is well and truly gone now, and I whisper the last words as my throat closes and I sob silently into his chest.

Oh Alex...Alex...my Alex...I knew it was bad but could never have imagined this horror in my darkest and most twisted nightmares. I can't let go. I can't imagine ever letting you out of the safety of my arms...my two arms that I give you now to take the place of the one you lost. They're yours. They'll wrap you up and hold you and love you and keep you safe. I swear it.

I can't find the voice to say any of this as I lie there rocking him, kissing his hair and crying silent tears. I feel the wet warmth of his face against my chest, and I want to soak him in. I want to take him inside my body and nurture and feed and protect him. I know, it sounds crazy. The maternal instinct in a wombless individual, but it's there and I've never wanted to mother anyone this badly.

At the same time, just the smell of him makes my heart beat faster, and the emotional tidal waves crashing into my body are driving blood between my legs in a humming rush. I want him. I want him so fucking bad. I'm painfully hard against him and I feel bad about it, because he's tired and sobbing and spent against me, and I don't want him to feel he has to do anything about it. But I can't help my reaction to this man. I never could.

We rock and hold each other and shed our tears for what feels like an hour. Then we both fall into another exhausted sleep, this one with Alex curled into my body, face against my chest. I hold him in arms that ache from being in the same position for so long, but can't imagine ever being in another position again.

I wake to a hot, wet, stroking sensation at my throat. I mumble and feel myself shiver at the pleasant feeling, smiling. Then I surface through the haze of my sleep-fog and realize what's causing that sensation.

Alex's lips and tongue against my neck.

I groan and feel myself hard against him, then realize it's his own erection that's pressing against mine and that ratchets up the pleasure yet another hundred thousand watts. I'm immediately gasping and pressing up against him, pushing my hands underneath his shirt and running them up his back. I hear a cracked groan in response, and Alex grinds against me and sucks hard.

"Alex..." I drop my head back, baring myself to give him better access. I feel his hand pushing up my shirt, then pinching my nipple, making me arch my body and cry out. I want him so bad it hurts. My whole body aches for him.

"Wanna kiss you.." I pull my hands out from under his shirt and grab his head, pulling it up to my face. His mouth leaves my neck with a loud smack and his face comes into view, all heavy lids and swollen lips.

"I've never seen anything so fucking beautiful in all my life, Alex," I breathe. He gasps and blinks slowly and I can feel him get harder and hotter against me. With a desperate moan I pull his face to mine and lock him into a deep, soft, searching, life- affirming, heart-stopping kiss.

As our erections press together even more tightly than our mouths and our hands attempt to disrobe each other without separating, I realize I should mind that neither of us have brushed our teeth since I gave Alex head last night. But it doesn't seem to be stopping him or even giving him pause, and I can't imagine not wanting to be sealed to his mouth, so we just keep kissing and grinding and moaning into each other's throats, our clothes feeling extremely unnecessary and irritating.

I pull out of the kiss and then kiss him on the lips, the cheeks, the chin, repeatedly. I want to be everywhere at once and everything to him that I can be. He grunts with every kiss, his face limp in my hands, giving himself to my desperate show of affection. "I wanna make love to you...oh god so bad, Alex..." I renew my taking of his mouth for a moment, then pull back to let him answer.

It's a soft, deep whisper of sound. "Please, Mulder..." His voice is gone but I hear him in my ears and skin and heart and soul, and it makes me gasp and groan and begin pulling the buttons off his shirt, some of them slipping out of the holes and some of them just skittering across the floor as I find them too stubborn for my needs. Pain shoots through my wounded finger but I give it no attention, actually grateful that I can suffer a little for Alex's pleasure. I rip open his shirt and see the straps that crisscross his shoulder, holding his new arm in place tightly. I see the red chafing and the way the hair's rubbed off where they touch him, and I bend and press my lips to him, trying to kiss away a little tiny part of his pain.

"Do you want it off or on?" I ask, kissing and licking up the side of his neck.

"Off," he whispers, and I fumble to undo the buckles that hold the thing to him. I have to take my lips from his neck so I can see what I'm doing, then it takes a moment and the straps fall away, leaving red, raw skin behind. I set to kissing it once again and work the sleeve from his real arm, then remove both prosthesis and shirt in one motion. I hear his broken gasp. I move my lips to his shoulder and kiss the tight, pale flesh there. The end of his severed limb is covered with a black sock where it fits into the artificial limb, and I kiss that too, my lips barely a whisper against what I hope isn't still-pained flesh.

"Is this okay?" I look up into his eyes and he gazes at me levelly.

"I'm yours, Mulder," he rasps. "I always have been. Anything you do to me is okay, as long as you touch me."

I let my breath out and close my eyes, dizzy at his raw surrender. "I never want to do anything but touch you...love you, Alex," I say, bending to kiss the cotton-clad limb again. "And I'm yours as much as you are mine." I hear his sigh and it makes me want to take his mouth again, so I detour up to his face and claim it again, moaning my devotion down his throat, wanting him to feel it in every pore. His hand yanks up my shirt and I raise myself up just long enough to tear it off and throw it, then sink back down on him, now hot flesh to flesh, and fall into his kiss once more.

I feel his hand at my waist, sliding into my sweatpants and grasping my ass. I push my cock against him hard and reach for his fly once more, memories of his silky flesh in my mouth making me moan and deepen my exploration of his mouth. He pushes my sweats down past my ass with one hand and I'm so glad I'm wearing something so easy to get out of. I don't even need his help as I use my feet to push them the rest of the way down and off, kicking them away and leaving me naked against him.

"Mulder, please..." he begs again in that same broken whisper.

"Yes," I murmur into his mouth, my fingers unbuttoning his jeans, aware of the fact that nothing but cock is under that zipper. I groan and pull my lips off his so I'm sure I don't hurt him in my eagerness.

"So beautiful..." I sigh, carefully lowering the zipper and watching his dark, velvety length press out past the metal teeth. I bend to take him in my mouth, helpless against the pull, and I work on getting his jeans down past his hips as I gently lick and suck his gorgeous cock. He lifts his hips to help me, pushing himself more deeply into my throat, and I moan against him, yanking his pants down his thighs. I'm grunting and groaning and devouring him so hungrily that even I don't know where all this need is coming from. It occurs to me that he might come without me inside him, and that is the only thing that allows me to let him go, with a last kiss to the glistening, plump tip.

"Gotta fuck you now," I gasp, and he hisses and kicks his jeans the rest of the way off, reaching down to take off his boots and socks to free himself completely from the constraint of his clothes. Finally, thankfully, he is blessedly naked beneath me, and I take one half-minute to survey him from head to toe with the new knowledge that this body, so blindingly beautiful to see and touch, is mine. It takes my breath away.

"I love you, Alex."

"Love you too," he whispers back, and our eyes burn into each other for a few more moments, searing the words on both of our brains and hearts and souls.

Then I bend down low and suck him in to the balls, pulling off with a slurp before sliding down on my belly and lifting his feet up over my shoulders. He gasps and falls back onto the floor, his heels resting on my back, my shoulders nudging his ass higher.

I kiss and lick and suck his balls, then push his legs forward, toward his chest, where he grabs around them with his arm, holding them up high, making himself completely accessible and open to me. I want to give it all to him. I want to do everything there is to do to him to love him. I've never done this before, but it seems to be the ultimate way to show complete acceptance and surrender to your desire for someone, and so I decide it's the right thing to do now.

I bend down even lower, tilting my head and press his ass cheeks apart gently. I push in with my face and extend my tongue toward the dark, tight opening bared before me.

"Nooo..." comes a whisper from above me.

"Yes," I say and lick that ring from bottom to top. He jerks against me and the reaction makes the act all the more easy to get into, and I concentrate on giving Alex all the pleasure I've ever seen given to anyone on all the tapes in my extensive and variant collection.

His gasps and moans are mere hisses and strange choking sounds, but I know he's enjoying it all the same as I tongue that opening with growing enthusiasm, loving the way it makes his cock twitch and his body writhe.

"Fuck me!" he hisses, giving my shoulders a push with his heels. Cheater. But I'm not one to disobey such a vehement command. I kiss my way up the backs of his thighs and then lean over him and brush the tip of my cock against the now-wet orifice he's begging me to fill.

"Didn't know I could be such a dirty lover, did you Alex?" I purr, loving the way he squirms against the precum-slick tip of my thrumming cock.

"Fuck no!" He shout-whispers. "I would have bent you over an FBI desk a long time ago!"

I laugh, delighted that he's using humor again, and amused at how his whisper sounds sexy and funny at the same time. "Stay here," I say, backing away from him and getting to my feet. He looks up at me, slight questioning in his eyes, and a bit of fear. "Lube, baby," I explain, "And mouthwash so I can kiss you." I give him a toothy grin as I see his face relax into a smirk. "Be right back."

I hurry into the bathroom and grab the Astroglide, which hasn't been used in...three years? Shit, I hope this stuff doesn't go bad. I sniff...smells okay. No expiration date. Considering where we're gonna put it, we probably shouldn't worry. I smile and my dick twitches in anticipation as I swish some cinnamon mouthwash around my well-used mouth. There. Good enough.

When I come out of the bathroom, Alex is up on my bed, head on my pillow, arm thrown up over his head in an extremely inviting way. I stop, entranced, and drink in the sight. I wanna lick him from toe to head and back again. Yeah, oral fixation is my middle name. I'll wager Alex won't be complaining. I lick my lips and look from his bobbing cock, oozing pre-ejaculate, to his face, which is giving me the hottest come-hither look I've ever seen. I'll take a picture of it sometime. No one would believe how sexy it is otherwise.

"Mulder," he whispers. "You gonna look at me or fuck me?"

"How about look, fuck, hold, look, kiss, then maybe fuck some more?" I answer in a low growl, already squirting Astroglide in my hand.

"As long as there's plenty of fucking in there," he answers, smirking.

His lips part on a gasp as I grab my cock in my lubed-up hand and vigorously slick it, panting. "Plenty of fucking, Alex. All the fucking you can handle."

"I can handle a lot," he rasps, staring at my glistening dick suggestively.

I climb onto the bed, Astroglide in hand. "Good." I crawl up between his legs and lower myself carefully on top him, grinding my slippery shaft against his and swooping in for a thorough kiss. I keep kissing him, fucking him with my tongue the way I'm preparing to fuck him with my cock, and reach between his legs to sloppily spread plenty of lubricant all over between those tight little pale cheeks. I pull out of the kiss and lean back, and our eyes lock. "I can't remember a time when I didn't want you, Alex."

His eyes narrow, uncomprehending, then he blinks and answers, "That's my line, Mulder." I smile and lift his legs, and he helps me, settling them in on my shoulders as I lean in, brushing my slick cockhead against his eager ass. Then I reach down between us, rubbing my cock against his and pushing into him with one slippery finger. His hot gasp of air hits my face and I fuck him gently with my finger, matching the tempo of our cocks sliding against each other.

"More..." he whispers urgently and I'm only too ready to oblige, sliding a second finger in beside the first, feeling him quickly yield to me and grunt for more. After I've fucked him with all four fingers and stroked once or twice gently against his prostate, he's writhing and begging me in his wounded, raspy voice to fuck him. I've never heard anything so arousing.

I position myself with my cockhead pressed against his relaxed ring of muscle. "Do you know how much I want you, Alex?" I say, my voice shaking with the effort of holding off long enough to tell him this. He doesn't answer but his mouth draws harsh, deep breaths and I know he knows. I shove myself into him up to the hilt with a groan, and his throat scratches out a gasping moan as I fill him with my flesh.

"God! Alex!" I steady myself and lower my body down onto his. I move slowly, carefully. I want to be able to kiss him while I'm buried deep inside him. He grunts and shifts to make it possible, and our mouths come together and release the energy we're both holding back lower down. I break the kiss, and my face is inches from his as I start to stroke in and out, immediately feeling my own loss of control.

"SSsssso good Alex..." Now I'm the one hissing as I thrust, harder and harder, and his tight, hot sheath of muscle clutches at me with every move. I'm quickly building up to the climax I've been wanting to have since he first shoved his cock down my throat.

I can tell he's close too, and I lower my body to press and slide it against his erection, slippery with lube from my own. He bucks up into the movement, and his hand comes up between us, then pauses just short of its goal.

"Touch yourself, Alex," I gasp. "I'm so close..."

He shoves his hand between us with a groan and starts quickly and roughly working himself to the rhythm of my thrusts.

I thrust several times, hard and deep, then freeze.

"Promise...mmme...Alex..." I pant. He lets out a frustrated hiss.

"What??"

"Promise me..." I'm breathing a bit more normally now, even though he's clenching and writhing and trying to fuck himself on my cock.

"Promise what?" he finally rasps.

"Promise you'll never leave, Alex." I can't bear to think of him putting himself in the kind of danger that lost him this limb...and me, here, wondering if he is still alive. I can't do that. I won't.

"I can't do that, Mulder," he answers, gritting his teeth.

"You said you're mine. Prove it." Nobody said I was a fair fighter.

"Mulder..."

I give a little thrust, to drive his need higher, prodding against his gland lightly.

"Mulder I..." He doesn't finish and I lock eyes with him.

"Alex, I won't let this be just one of many random fucks between us. I want to know you're mine. I want to know you'll be here for me...to fuck again..." I thrust, hard. "And again..." Another thrust, even harder. "And again!" I ram myself in, hard, and freeze again, shaking, waiting for his answer.

"I promise!" he screams, and it's more than a rasp or a whisper...his voice, though weak and tortured, carries the words through the air where they lodge in my heart and my cock and I immediately thrust hard, fast, brutal, the way we both need it to be now. His hand works fast on his own cock, and I find I'm mouthing his name over and over as my climax coils in the depths of my balls.

"Alex...Alex...Alex...Alex....ALEX....OH GOD ALEX!" My hips slip out of rhythm, slamming into him erratically as I empty myself, coming harder than I ever have before or ever thought possible. As I'm coming off my high, I hear a broken sob tear from that shattered throat, and my chest and belly are bathed with Alex's semen as he sobs and writhes and comes against me. As soon as his hand stops moving, I lower myself down on top of him and catch his open, panting mouth in a quick, breathless kiss. We break it quickly because we still aren't breathing well, and I pull out of him slowly and help him lower his legs. He wraps them around my own. I lie down full on top of him and we breathe against each other, our hearts thudding wildly, our faces pressed against each other's necks. I feel his hot breath in my ear.

My eyes are closed, and as my breath returns to me, I have to ask. "Did you mean it?"

I hear him take a deep breath. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

I feel myself let out a held breath and I wrap my arms around him in a tight embrace. "Never leave, Alex. I love you. I need you."

His chest shudders as he struggles to reply. I know it's hard for him. Harder than it is for me. But I can't let this happen without knowing he won't disappear.

"No one's ever needed me before," he says, his hand stroking my hair, causing shivers down my spine. "I don't know how I'll do it, Mulder, but somehow, if you'll help me do it, I'll stay."

I smile into his chest, too tired to lift my head and kiss him again. Instead I kiss his neck and feel his lips on mine. I sigh and melt against him, and I don't know how we'll do it either, but somehow, we'll be together. We belong to each other, and as I lie here with him in my arms, I think we always have.