Conversation In Shades Of Grey

He had been on his way home when the man - he assumed from the weight that it was a man - had come from out of the shadows as he always did, an irresistible force that slammed the breath out of his body and forced his face against the wall.

He had been running, stretching out long limbs to pound through the warm evening until the blood sang through his muscles and he felt lighter than air, almost as if he could fly. Sweat-stained and weary, he was ready for the sybaritic comfort of the needle sharp spray of the shower. He had slowed to walk the last dozen paces and was in the act of pulling the sweat band from his hair when he'd found himself seized roughly, spun, and thrown into the wall. The breath left his body and he screamed his outrage.

"What the hell do you want?" There was no reply. The unseen presence merely leaned harder onto him, and he felt the pinpoint prick of a knife at his throat. He fisted his hands, pounding them against the wall once, and felt hot breath against the back of his neck.

"Temper, temper." A husky growl brushed his ears, and he gritted his teeth in fury.

"Krycek! You bastard! What do you think you're doing?" There was a faint chuckle from the man at his back.

"Do I have to have a reason? Why can't it be 'just because'?" The voice was gravelly, insinuating itself into his consciousness at barely the threshold of his hearing. He waited because there was nothing else he could do. The body at his back was leaning into him, pressing the length of him into the roughness of the bricks. He felt heat against him, and suddenly, with a perverse thrill that owed nothing at all to fear, he felt warm, soft lips on the back of his neck. He gasped.

"Krycek! What the hell?" The laugh came again, soft and insinuating. His tormentor licked the nape of his neck with a deliberate swipe of his tongue that could by no stretch of the imagination be mistaken for an accident. He writhed in sheer irritation, and once more that laugh assailed his senses.

With mounting horror, he felt one hand smoothing his flank, stealing over his damp sweatshirt until nimble fingers found the drawstring at his waist and began deftly to insert themselves into his pants. At that he uttered a cry, pushing himself back away from the wall and the invading hand, only to feel the distinctly scary sensation of an iron hard erection press into the cleft of his bottom. He gasped again and froze.

"Krycek?" The voice was trembling, with what emotion even he was not sure. "Don't you think this is going too far, even for you?" And his cry from the heart was stifled abruptly as the sneaking hand wormed its way down to cup his balls, finger and thumb circling a penis that was suddenly as hard as marble. Then it was stroking, stroking him while the mouth at his neck tasted him, nibbling at the angle of his jaw, wet tongue flicking delicately. He groaned.

"Krycek, why are you doing this?" There was a pause, and he felt the other man withdraw his hand. There was a rustle as his assailant adjusted...something...and then a swift crunching sound as footsteps receded. He turned then, as rapidly as he could with his muscles as loose and lax as butter and an erection the size of the Empire State building, but when he looked, there were only the shadows again and the welcome light of his apartment building.

His nemesis had gone.

Reaching his apartment and buzzing with a thousand confused questions to which he suspected he would never find answers, his first act was to shed the sweats, wadding them into a tight ball and hurling them in the general direction of the laundry basket. Heading for the shower, he ruefully surveyed his determined hard-on and reflected that he would need to do something about it if he ever wanted to sleep again.

//Damn Krycek. Every time I think he's out of my life, he comes back to haunt me. If he'd just go away I could forget him.// Even as he thought the words, he knew that forgetting the angel-faced rat bastard was not an option and never would be. Five years. It had been five years, and still the face floated in front of him unbidden whenever he became aroused.

He had fallen for Krycek almost at once. The wide eyes and growly voice had inserted themselves firmly into his heart, and he had found their partnership unbearable. Knowing how a relationship between the two of them would affect any future career opportunities, he had backed off and in some strange way had felt glad, almost vindicated when Krycek had revealed his true colors. Too bad, so sad, there was still an empty place inside him that he wished he could fill.

He climbed into the shower, gasping in hedonistic pleasure as the needle jets of hot water pummeled his shoulders. Reaching for the shampoo, he began to wash the sweat from his hair.

"Krycek!" Oh, God, when would he ever be free of him? He fumbled for his cock, shivering as he thought of the other man's fingers, the way they had invaded his body. He wanted to forget Krycek, but he knew that it was a lost cause. It was just totally impossible to forget the treacherous son of a bitch. Lost in a reverie where the soft mouth that had pressed into his neck traveled down over his needy flesh to envelop his hard-on, he could feel the sweet, aching crawl of skin as his balls rose and his cock screamed for release. In his mind, Alex Krycek, double agent, was on his knees, sucking him deep into his lying throat, and he stroked himself. It didn't take more than a half a dozen long, squeezing pulls before the tide of orgasm spread through him, forcing gobs of white, sticky come through his fingers to spatter onto the glass of the sliding doors. There, it clung for a moment and then gradually diluted under the force of the shower, running down to be lost in the drain.

//And that is the story of my life. It all goes down the drain and leaves no trace. I feel no better, and the end result is that nobody gets what they want.//

He sighed and stepped out of the shower. His body was beaded with moisture, and his hair was plastered close to his head. He didn't bother to pick up a towe, but instead squelched his way across the linoleum towards the kitchen to look for a bottle of cold beer. He was almost through the living room when he saw the shape on the couch. He froze in the act of spooking, arms raised in a comic book portrayal of shocked surprise that made his unwelcome visitor snigger.

Wet and tired, nerves jangling as he realized that it was going to be a long night, he turned to face Alex Krycek, supercreep, clad in righteous fury as if it were the finest robe.

"Very nice, Mulder. Very nice indeed." Mulder relaxed his posture, and his shoulders slumped. What was the point of even trying? It didn't matter what he did, the bastard was always going to fuck with his head. He might as well let him get on with it.

"Just hurry up and humiliate me, and then get out. I'm not in the mood tonight." Not really caring any more, he dropped limply into the armchair that was beside him. Droplets of moisture sparkled in the lamplight, and he could see little of Krycek except for a pair of shining eyes that seemed somehow to know everything about him and promise more.

"Why do you automatically assume that I'm here to make fun of you? That's not really fair." Mulder creased his forehead as he listened to the soft voice. What? What was this? What could he possibly want of Mulder?

"I assume it because it's usually true. Cut to the chase, Krycek. What is it this time? I'm tired and you're sitting where I usually sleep." His voice was irritated. He spoke with a deep underlying sarcasm and watched as the other man flinched.

"I'm here to tell you something, Mulder." He almost didn't catch the words, so quietly were they spoken. Krycek's voice was wispy, a mere breath of something seductive, raising goosebumps along Mulder's damp skin as the words skittered over him. He sighed, turning to Alex with a bland expression to await whatever psychic blow the turncoat was preparing to deal out.

The eyes closed for a moment, and Mulder, still naked, wondered whether to go back and find himself a towel, but it seemed too much like running away. He held his ground, listening. Krycek appeared to be somewhere else, in some space he carried with him, and when the eyes opened once more, they were not looking at him, rather, they were watching some distant memory, remote in the fastness of his mind.

"I came to tell you I love you."

Mulder gasped, a short, sharp sound that filled the entire room, so silent was the other man. He sat watching Mulder, content apparently to allow the confused man time to process his words, only they made no sense, no sense at all.

"I... I don't understand." Mulder spoke at last, and Krycek moved, getting to his feet and moving to stand beside the chair in which Mulder sat.

"It's easy, Mulder. I love you. I have done for ages. Now you know. I'll see you." He turned then and was about to make his exit. Mulder stood quickly, a lean, slim figure, burnished silver in the lamplight. Krycek saw him, and Mulder could hear a faint moan, soft as a whisper.

"Krycek." He didn't know how to continue; had no idea what he wanted to say. He stretched out a hand, not knowing himself why he did so. The other man turned back with a fierce look on his face, and Mulder withdrew the hand as if he had burned it.

"You are the one who's the bastard. I love you, and you keep me hanging on, waiting for a smile, for a word, for anything. You'll never let me go, will you?" Bitter words fell like dead things at Mulder's feet, and he raised his eyes to look at Alex, seeing for the first time a countenance that was twisted with pain. He put the hand out once again, daring this time to touch the other man's cheek, and then he was swept up into an embrace that astonished him, harsh leather against his chest and the scratch of soft, well-worn denim against his cock.

Chest to chest, the two of them locked eyes. Widely dilated green looked with longing into blue-grey. Mulder felt his heart stutter. The erection he had battled with a half-hour before was back, and it had brought reinforcements. He wasn't sure what to do next but felt that if he could only keep on breathing it would be a start. He felt his chest hitch in a sobbing breath. Then Krycek moved gently in to place those soft lips onto his, and it was too late to turn and run, too late to fight, too late to do anything except hold on tight to Alex and open up to the gently probing tongue, permitting it to slide in to tease his own.

Moaning now, he ran his hands around the other man's back and pulled him in closer, until the breath faltered and hitched in his throat and knew that this was it. This was what he wanted, had always wanted. He felt Krycek's hand tangled in his hair and fumbled for the hard, unyielding plastic of the prosthetic, taking it and passing it behind him until it seemed as though he were being held by Alex's two arms.

Lips parted then and Alex...he was Alex all of a sudden. How had that happened? Alex lapped tenderly at the corner of his mouth, and the words came again, low, rustle of voice like the leaves blowing through a crisp fall morning.

"I love you, Fox." And Mulder believed. His body surged and leapt as the words hit him, sank in and permeated him with joy. He smiled softly at his nemesis, the hated, despised, beloved rat bastard he didn't believe he would ever be able to let go of, ever again.

"You know what. Alex? I love you too."