For As Long As I Can Remember

The dark-haired man stirs. The first thing he is aware of is the sharp stench of urine. The second is the painful grit of cement under his cheek. The third is the spike driven down through the top of his head. <Wait, no, there is no spike. Just feels that way.> He struggles to rise from the ground, the dizziness and pain quickly sending his stomach into a sick spin. Agony shoots up from his hands and he realizes his fingertips are bloody and ragged. Panting on hands and knees, he becomes aware of the sounds of the city around him. He looks around, moving his head carefully, slowly, and squints against the painfully bright sunlight.

People push past him, nearly knocking him over in their haste to get by him and out of the range where they are expected to notice him. No one stops to give him a hand or even a look. Realizing he is in the middle of a busy sidewalk, he crawls to the side and pulls himself into a doorway, huddling against the far corner, hugging his knees to his chest, shivering.

He's not cold. He's scared. Terrified, really, as his eyes dart around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He doesn't recognize anything or anyone, and his panic escalates as the confusion goes even deeper. He struggles but cannot remember his own name. He squeezes his eyes shut tight against the pain, and the smell, and the light, and most especially, the complete lack of knowledge about who he is. Tears gather in his long, dark eyelashes and he rocks briskly, pressing his dampening face into his knees, willing himself to remember. Remember. Anything. Anything.

He wallows in his misery for a few minutes then raises his face, wiping away the evidence of his silent weeping. <ID.> He must have some form of documentation on him that could help clue him in to his identity. Frantically, he looks down at his clothes for the first time, patting himself, feeling for wallet, keys, papers, anything. He's wearing a battered and soft leather jacket over a black T-shirt. His jeans are black, too, as are his boots. Frowning, he realizes his boots are untied. He searches desperately through every pocket he can find, but there is nothing. Not even a dry-cleaning bill, to indicate who he is. Sighing deeply, he reaches down and ties up his boots. He feels something scratch him inside one of them, and slides his finger in to alleviate the irritation. As his finger finds the edge of card stock, his heart races in his chest. Looking around as if someone is going to take away his precious find if he brings it to light, he reaches in with two long fingers and catches the card between the tips, pulling it slowly out of his boot.

Fox Mulder Special Agent Federal Bureau of Investigation

He turns the sweaty, worn business card over and over in his hands, wondering if this Special Agent can shed some light on why he would wake up in the middle of a dirty sidewalk with no recollection of his own identity. It's the only lead he has, and as his heart settles into a more typical rhythm, he realizes he has no choice but to follow it.

First thing he needs is a phone. There is a number on the business card, and his hands shake with the need to call it. He pulls himself to his feet, steadying himself against the door frame as the ground threatens to come up and smack him in the face. He breathes deeply, watching the world come into focus, then with a steely glint in his eyes that he is unaware of, steps briskly into the pedestrian traffic, his eyes scanning the area.

After following the stream of traffic to a bustling business plaza, he spies a large decorative fountain and feels his limbs tingle with the need for water. He knows better than to think the concrete sculpture will yield water clean enough to drink, but as he feels the grit and sweat and grime of sleeping out of doors slide under his well-worn clothes, getting clean holds nearly the same allure.

He quickens his pace and sees that there is no one else at the fountain. Frowning into the watery sunlight, he decides it must be the early morning workforce traffic he is getting ushered along by, and no one has yet had time to meander over to the sparkling attraction to take a break. All the better for him. He makes his way over and without preamble seats himself on the edge of the fountain and leans in to scoop up some of the recirculated water in his hands. That's when he feels a grin work its way across his face for the first time since...he can remember. The bottom of the fountain is littered with coins. And just past that column there, he can see the metal hood of a pay phone. Things are looking up.

He surreptitiously removes his jacket and reaches down into the foot-deep water, scooping up as many coins as he can without attracting too much attention. Spotting a security guard facing away, he decides not to push his luck and shoves the wet coins into his jacket pockets, forgetting all about his desire to get clean. Now he has money and a pay phone and a more-precious-than-gold business card. It's time to call this Fox Mulder.

"Federal Bureau of Investigation. How may I direct your call?" He swallows painfully, his heart hammering at his ribs once more as the bored, ultra-professional voice offers him begrudging assistance.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder, please." It is then that he realizes his voice is only a tortured whisper.

"I'm sorry?"

He clears his throat and tries again, and this time it's more of a rasp, breathy but at least it's audible. "Special Agent Fox Mulder, please." Don't ask who's calling, please, he thinks desperately. She doesn't. This Special Agent probably gets a lot of anonymous calls, he surmises, as she tells him to wait one moment.

"Mulder." The deep, lazy voice of his savior rumbles over the phone line, and he sighs at the relief of getting the man himself. But there is no recognition mixed with his relief, and his shoulders slump in faint disappointment. It was too much to hope for.

"Special Agent Mulder, I need to meet with you."

The phone is silent a moment, and he wonders if maybe this law officer is putting a trace on this weird, whispered phone call. He guesses any sane cop would.

"Where?"

His eyes widen as this FBI Agent immediately acquiesces to this mysterious meeting. He really thought it would be harder. This guy must have a pretty boring job to want to get out of the office this badly. His mind races as he tries to figure out what to tell the guy. He doesn't know if he is on the right or the wrong side of the law, truthfully, and as he feels the zipper on his jacket scratch against his wrist, he realizes his clothing doesn't exactly peg him as your basic good-guy. He sighs, realizing he'll have to be very careful as he tries to figure out who he was. He scans the area for some sign of where he's at. Jefferson Plaza. Well, he supposes this column-filled, fountain-graced, tiled piazza is as good as any place, and hell, he's already here so why not?

"Jefferson Plaza. Ten PM. Know it?" He swallows back the panic at the thought that the agent will tell him to take a flying leap.

"Yeah." A moment's pause, then, "How will I know you?"

He practically gasps into the phone as the guy finalizes their meeting with this practical question. Smart, since he would have no way of recognizing this guy that he was evidently supposed to know. Shit, what if this guy has arrested him at some time in the past or something? He could be in some serious trouble here. He'll have to be ready for anything.

"Sit at the fountain. I'll know you." He hopes that didn't sound threatening, but with only a whispering, painfully raspy throat to work with, he has little control over his tone.

"All right. I'll be there."

Before he can even respond, he hears the click of the call being terminated. <Guess this guy's not much for the social graces.> He gently lowers the receiver into its cradle. He picks through his change, counting out enough to get some food, and strides across the plaza, following the maddening scent of cooking kielbasa.

He took a walk around the area, scanning out street names, store names, landmarks, and businesses while remaining as secretive as possible, lest he be recognized by the wrong people. As he went over things in his mind, he decided that pillars of the community don't often wake up with amnesia on a sidewalk, dressed in black head to toe. Resigned to the fact that he was probably some sort of outlaw, he kept to the shadows, head down, figuring out where he was. The information he gathered didn't spark that hoped-for recognition, but it did tell him that he was in Washington, D.C. in the year 1996, May 12th. He even knew what the breaking story was in the news, but reading every paper he could find cover to cover had failed to give him any more helpful insight than that.

Now he's pressed against a column in the dark plaza, listening as a lone set of footfalls echoes across the deserted tile. He leans around, peering into the slightly lit darkness, trying to make out the features of the approaching agent.

<Tall, lanky, hands shoved into the pockets of a leather jacket, but his is blazer style and mine's...motorcycle bar- style. Looks thinner than me. Jeans, sneakers. Looks harmless enough.>

As the man steps into a pool of light, he can see that the agent is good-looking, almost to the point of unbelievability. Nice G. Q. haircut, he muses, finding himself unable to refrain from giving him the onceover from head to toe and back again as he comes closer. At the last possible moment, he ducks back behind the column and the agent walks over and slowly lowers himself onto the bench beside the fountain. He takes his hands out of his pockets and looking side to side, slowly lays his palms on denim-clad, slender thighs.

<Looks open, curious, pretty much friendly.>

"Mr. Mulder," he whispers, staying in his hiding place. A few seconds pass.

"Yeah." The agent's voice is hesitant, but not unfriendly. "We're alone. You don't have to whisper."

The man chuckles. If only that were true, but for some reason, his throat is raw and painful and capable only of raspy whispers, although it's a bit louder now than it was upon his awakening. "I need your help."

"Come out where I can see you."

He sighs. "Promise me you'll hear me out."

Silence, as he almost hears the agent's gears turning, trying to figure out who would be afraid to show himself. <You tell me, buddy.>

"How do I know I can trust you?" The voice is quiet, cautious, but he can tell the agent wants to believe him.

"Believe me. I'm in absolutely no position to do you any harm, Mr. Mulder. Just hear me out."

"All right. I promise."

He takes a last deep breath, then steps out from behind the pillar, hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"You!?" The agent jumps to his feet, yanking a gun out of his waistband, and the man's eyes widen, frightened at the look of open malice flashing in the agent's dark eyes. Well, the guy obviously knows him. Doesn't look like he particularly cares for him either. <Oh shit.>

"Easy! Please! Mr. Mulder! You promised!" His voice is pleading, even through the hiss of his forced whisper.

He watches the man draw himself up short, a few feet away, breathing heavily and glaring, the gun pointed at his chest. He can barely breathe and swallows back the taste of sick fear. He's going to die, he just knows it. This was a bad idea.

"What the hell's with this 'Mr. Mulder' bullshit, Krycek? And why are you still whispering?" The sable-haired head suddenly snaps around, the gun wavering slightly. "Or are we not as alone as I think we are, you bastard?" The weapon is trained on his face now, the agent in a shooter's stance, glaring down the barrel.

Krycek! A name! He called him a name! Well, he called him another name, too, but it was a pretty sure bet that 'bastard' wasn't his given name. Despite his stark fear at the hostility in the other man's reactions, Krycek feels himself sigh with relief at being given a tiny piece of the puzzle. Doesn't sound like a first name, so it must be my last, he thinks, chewing his lip as he struggles to find some flickering of recognition. Nothing.

"Answer me, you son of a bitch!" The agent shakes his gun for emphasis and Krycek winces, his hands shaking.

"We're alone! We're alone! I swear it! Please! Don't hurt me, Mr. Mulder!" His whisper is frantic, and he watches, stunned, as the agent's eyes narrow in total confusion. Blinking, the agent lowers his weapon slightly, looking him up and down as if trying to figure out what planet he's from.

"Stop calling me Mr. Mulder, Krycek!" He sounds both angry and scared, and Krycek is sorry for causing him such distress. Especially since he's pointing a weapon at him.

"I'm sorry!" Maybe he knows this man well enough to be on a first-name basis, and the formality is pissing him off. "I'm sorry, Fox!" He watches as the other man's mouth falls open, pure shock obvious even to someone who doesn't know him. That was *not* what the guy wanted to hear, obviously. Krycek decides he'd better start talking, or he's going to have a bullet in his brain.

"Tell me what to call you and I'll do it!" He says, pleading. "I can't do anything but whisper. My throat's all torn up. I'm sorry, I know it's weird." That's not the half of it, he thinks. <Brace yourself, Mr...Fox...Mulder.>

"Wuh...Weird?" The agent's head is tilted and that's apparently the only thing he can think of to say.

Still holding his hands up at face level, he continues. "Listen. It's obvious you know me. But...the thing is...I don't know you."

A look of blank incomprehension slams down over the other man's face. "What..."

"I woke up on a sidewalk this morning. I found your business card in my boot. I...I don't have any recollection of who I am, and your card was the only thing on me, so I called you."

He watches as the dark eyes trained on him narrow, and the low voice comes out in a hiss. "What game are you playing, Krycek?"

He sighs, his eyes closing a moment in frustration. He feels like crying. "I wish it was a game. I didn't even know my name was Krycek until you called me that." He opens his eyes and stares deeply into the agent's angry gaze. "Please...please...you're the only person I know who can help me. Just help me find out who I am and I'll leave you alone."

"HAH!" The scornful laugh ricochets off the columns, and Krycek winces. "Krycek! You ratbastard! The last time I saw you..." The agent stops, his face changing, as if putting pieces together and getting a new whole. "You were being pulled from the car," he continues, more quietly. "I thought they were going to kill you. I saw a light...and then I woke up in the hospital."

Krycek's heart races at hearing more of his past recounted to him, and he is relieved to see the look of utter hatred and disbelief fade somewhat from the other man's features.

"We...were in a car?" Krycek's eyebrows rise hopefully, imploring the agent to go on.

"Yeah," the agent answers slowly. "I was taking you back with me..." he trails off, then snaps to attention suddenly, startling Krycek and making him jerk back fearfully. "The key! The key! Krycek! Do you have it?"

Krycek's mouth is open, stunned at the sudden desperation in the other man's voice. He wishes with everything he is that he could give him what he's asking for. His eyes fill with sadness as he replies.

"I told you. The only thing I could find on me was your card. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." He really is. He'd do anything right now to be this man's friend. He watches as hope dies behind those eyes, then flickers back hesitantly.

"Maybe if we...search you," the agent says carefully. "Maybe you hid it...before you...well, whatever happened to you."

Krycek's eyes narrow a bit. He supposes it's worth a try. After all, the card wasn't in an easy-to-access location, either. Maybe the precious key is somewhere on him, too.

"Sure...whatever you want," he says, lowering his arms slightly as he watches the agent slowly lower his gun. "So...you'll help me?" he asks, eyes wide with desperate pleading.

The agent's eyes narrow, then his face goes blank, void of all expression. "Yeah, I'll help you. But if you're playin' me, Krycek, I'll kill you. You got that?"

"Yes, sir." He figures that ought to make anyone happy, being called sir. The other man laughs, thoroughly amused. "Just call me Mulder."

"Mulder," sighs Krycek, ecstatic to finally know how to give this man one thing he wants. "Mulder. Got it."

"Let's go back to my apartment and I'll do a..." The agent swallows, then steels his gaze. "Strip search."

Krycek feels his heart jump and his breath catch. He had no idea they were on such intimate terms. He smiles shyly, looking down at the ground, then up at Mulder from beneath lowered lashes. "Okay, Mulder."

"Don't get too excited," Mulder growls. "You're not my type."

But the way the man quickly looks him over from top to toe makes Krycek wonder just a bit at that. He feels himself harden slightly in response and wonders just exactly what has gone on between this Mulder and himself in his hidden past. It would be a shame to lose what they had, if the man has this kind of effect on him. He decides to nurture any trace of flirtation in hopes of rekindling the suspected attraction.

"How do you know what I am, Mulder? Even I don't know." His whisper is only a little bit teasing, cautious and playful, but still respectful. He doesn't want to piss off his only hope.

"Huh," Mulder chuffs out. "I know you better than anyone, Krycek."

Krycek feels his body warm further at the words, and his jeans get tighter in the crotch. He starts to feel very good about Mulder's promise to strip search him, and he can't help the happy smile that stretches across his face. "I'm so glad, Mulder. You're just what I need." He says it so quietly that he's afraid Mulder didn't hear him, but as he watches the other man's eyes narrow just a bit, he knows he's been heard.

"Let's go. Put your arms down. My car's this way." Mulder tucks his gun into the waist of his jeans and comes around behind Krycek. Krycek's breathing stutters as he feels the heat of the other man's body at his back, and he shivers as Mulder pushes his arms down and puts a hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward slightly. Krycek struggles to breathe normally, in wonderment at how the touch of this man can throw his body into such an obvious tizzy.

He lets Mulder lead him to the car, holding his breath as Mulder reaches around him to unlock his car door and then manhandles him into the front seat. All that physical contact has brought him into a fully erect state and he shifts uncomfortably in the seat, seeking a more suitable position. He watches Mulder walk around the front of the car without taking his eyes off his captive, and doesn't mind all of the attention. Mulder opens his own door and slides in next to him, slipping the key into the ignition. He reaches for the seatbelt and fastens it securely, then turns to look at Krycek, an odd look on his face. Krycek raises his eyebrows questioningly.

"Seat belt," Mulder says quietly, not looking him in the eyes.

Krycek grins delightedly at the thought that he even cares. "Sorry," he whispers, reaching to fasten himself in securely. "There."

Mulder clears his throat and turns back to the wheel, starting the car and pulling out without another word. Krycek leans back into the seat with a sigh, feeling for the first time today that he's finally where he belongs.

They pull up in front of a classic looking building in an upper- middle class part of town. Krycek's neck cranes around, checking out the surroundings curiously. "Nice neighborhood," he rasps amiably.

"Thanks," Mulder murmurs, obviously uncomfortable. Krycek watches as he unfolds himself from the car and comes around to open Krycek's door. Krycek smirks happily, knowing that Mulder's behavior is due to lack of trust rather than chivalry, but enjoying the attention all the same. As he rises from the car, his eyes meet Mulder's and he gives him a grateful smile, teeth and all. "Thank *you.*" He watches as Mulder's brows rise and his lips curve up in a half-smile. He finally responds.

"You're welcome. Let's go in."

Mulder falls in behind him, ushering him up the steps to his door, then opens it for him and holds it for him to enter. Krycek cannot stop smiling the whole time, thinking what it must look like to anyone who's watching them. He feels a little giddy at the thought of being this man's lover, unconcerned with the fact that he is feeling this way for a man instead of a woman, as one might expect. He guesses that he must have been bisexual in his past and dismisses any further hint of worry from his mind, basking in the nearness and close attention of this gorgeous FBI agent. Mulder finally unlocks his door and holds it open for Krycek, who steps across the threshold, intensely curious to see where this enigmatic man lives. He turns as Mulder closes and locks the door behind him.

"Nice place," he whispers, appreciating the not-too-neat, unfussy, and decidedly masculine decorating scheme.

"Uh, thanks," answers Mulder, crossing the room to hang his jacket on the coat-tree, and then gesturing to Krycek to hand him his jacket.

Ah, it begins, thinks Krycek with a grin. His face is gonna hurt tomorrow, he's smiling so much tonight. Then he realizes he doesn't know where he's going to sleep tonight, and with a fluttering hope, wonders if it will be here. He shrugs off his jacket and hands it to Mulder, looking up at him shyly.

Mulder takes it, returning the smile and walking over to the black leather couch.

"Um...have a seat," he says, sinking down into the leather, Krycek's jacket spread over his lap. Krycek quickly looks over the room, and the only other place to sit is a hard wooden desk chair, pushed in under the desk. He starts hesitantly toward the couch, and his eyes meet Mulder's as he slowly lowers himself down on the other end with a quiet sigh. He's unsure what to do with his hands, wanting to use them to cover his erection, which is making a ridge under his jeans, but not knowing a less-than-awkward way to do so. He finally settles for resting one hand high on his thigh, partially obstructing Mulder's view from the side. As his own fingers brush lightly against the hard bulge under his black denim, he gasps very quietly and moves them down just an inch lower, no longer touching.

Mulder doesn't notice, however, intent on doing a very thorough inspection of Krycek's jacket. Krycek watches him, head tilted, amused at the look of utter fascination and focus on the man's face. If he didn't know better, he'd think Mulder was opening a Christmas present, the way his eyes are shining. He watches Mulder's long, slender fingers probe every pocket, inside and out, then slide over the lining of the jacket slowly and carefully. The sensuous movement of Mulder's hands over the nylon of the lining makes Krycek squirm slightly, the thought of those gentle hands exploring him the same way making it much harder to breathe quietly beside him. He can see the disappointment growing on Mulder's face as his careful explorations continue to turn up nothing. He frowns slightly in sympathy, hoping Mulder finds something to bring the light back into his eyes.

Mulder sighs, resting his hands on the jacket. "Nothing. Um...I'd like to check under the lining, if that's okay with you," he says, looking up to find Krycek staring at him intently.

"Anything you want, Mulder." Krycek's whisper is soft, and he smiles in encouragement. Mulder's eyes fixate on him for a moment, and Krycek feels a wave of energy swim between them for a moment, then Mulder breaks the gaze and looks quickly down at the jacket on his lap, his tongue flicking out to lick at his lower lip. Krycek watches it, his own lips parting to let the accelerated breaths escape. The sound of ripping fabric is heard and he jumps slightly, dropping his eyes down to Mulder's lap, where he watches those graceful hands pull the nylon lining away from the leather efficiently. Transfixed, he sees the hands slip carefully beneath the tattered edge, working their way around under the silky fabric, carefully and delicately feeling around every inch. Krycek feels himself drool at the slow, sensuous movements of those beautiful hands. So thorough. He's ready for his strip search.

Mulder sighs heavily once again and tosses the jacket to the side, frowning. "Nothing. Dammit. They must have gotten it."

Krycek moves in a little closer, instinct making him want to offer comfort to this frustrated man. "We still haven't checked my other clothing," he rasps helpfully, eyebrows raised, eyes gleaming with hidden motivation.

Mulder looks up and meets that intense gaze, and their eyes lock again. Krycek watches as Mulder's lips part, preparing to say something, then pause, remaining open and moist. Krycek can't help but drop his gaze from Mulder's eyes to his mouth and his own lips part in response, watching Mulder's pink tongue glisten just behind his teeth. He so wants to lick that fat lower lip. He licks his own instead and is thrilled when he looks up and sees that Mulder is looking at his lips as well. He smiles delightedly and the spell is broken, Mulder shaking his head just slightly, frowning.

"Um...you can take them off in there," he says, looking over toward a door to the side of the living room. "You can wear something of mine," he adds, and Krycek grins a little wider as Mulder sweeps him quickly head to toe. "You're about my size."

"'Kay," whispers Krycek, giving Mulder another smile and rising from the couch to make his way to the other room. As he reaches the door, he turns and looks back and is thrilled to see that Mulder is tracking his progress. He ducks his head shyly, and Mulder quickly looks away, his hands clasping between his knees. Krycek pushes open the door and enters Fox Mulder's bedroom, sighing happily.

He closes the door behind him, not wanting to be too obvious about offering himself to the man waiting for him to undress. He pulls his T-shirt and boots off, wrinkling his nose at their sweaty, filthy state and suddenly embarrassed that Mulder had to find him in this condition. He peels off the grimy jeans, still surprised, as he had been earlier, to find no underwear beneath them. He makes a pile of the clothing on the floor and steps to the door, opening it just a crack. Naked and hard, he whispers loudly through the slim opening.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"Mind if I take a shower? I don't know how long it's been, but I'm guessing days. My clothes are on the floor in here if you want them."

"Oh. Yeah, sure," Mulder answers. "The bathroom is the door right next to the bedroom."

Krycek pauses, wondering how he's going to get from here to there without any clothes on.

"Um, Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't have anything on, and I don't want to get anything of yours dirty. Can you uh...turn around while I get into the bathroom?"

"Oh! Yeah!" answers Mulder quickly. Krycek peers through the tiny crack and watches as Mulder swivels around to face the window over his desk. "Towels are in the skinny cabinet," Krycek hears him add in a slightly choked voice.

"Thanks," he whispers in response, pushing the door the rest of the way open and casually walking across the hall to the bathroom. He pauses at the door, looking back over his shoulder at the man on the couch, and he would swear that he can see a slight reflection of himself in the dark glass of the windowpane. He grins and opens the door, then steps into the bathroom and closes it quietly behind him.

He steps under the hot spray of a wonderful, high pressure shower, and lets out a long, raspy, shuddering sigh. Pure joy. He just stands there, eyes closed, letting the water wash over his face and hair and body, feeling almost weak with pleasure. Finally he opens his eyes and reaches for the bottle on the shower shelf, taking a sniff. A musky, woodsy smell invades his nostrils pleasantly and he closes his eyes, imagining that this is what Fox Mulder's hair would smell like if he sank his face into it. And now it's what his hair will smell like too, he thinks, squeezing out a generous dollop and working it into his itchy, hot scalp. He washes his hair twice, then grabs a similarly scented shower gel and brush and scrubs himself clean, head to toe. As he places the brush back on the small hook, he revels in the tingling feeling of exhilaration at being clean and smelling like Fox Mulder's shower products. He feels his cock twitch and reaches down, wrapping his hand around it firmly, squeezing it into full tumescence. He braces himself against the shower wall with one hand, soaping his hand slightly with Mulder's shampoo then returning it to his burning erection, sliding it in a hot, slippery fist, up and down from root to tip.

"Mmmulder..." he whispers into the spray, imagining plump, sensuous lips wrapped around him, moaning against his pulsing flesh as he thrusts between them. He visualizes himself wrapping one hand into that silky, musky-woodsy- smelling hair and gently fucking that gorgeous face. "God, yes, Mulder," he whispers, for the first time that day grateful that his voice is nearly gone. He can let himself go and not worry that Mulder will hear him over the forceful spray of the shower. He pumps harder, feeling his balls pull up against his body, his breath coming in short, choked pants. He pictures the look on Mulder's face as he strokes a hand through his hair and pushes more deeply into his lush mouth, and with a few more frantic, jerking strokes, he begins to buck into his fist, spurting into the slowly cooling shower stream and throwing his head back with the name Mulder frozen on his open lips.

As his shudders recede, his legs threaten to go out from under him, and he quickly reaches forward to turn off the water. He holds the taps for just a moment, regaining his senses. As his skin begins to feel chilled, he steps from the shower and opens the skinny cabinet, pulling out a large white towel and bringing it to his nose. He breathes deeply, once again enjoying another Mulder scent, then scrubs his hair with the towel before blotting himself off and wrapping it around his waist. He steps over to the mirror and gets his first really good look at himself since that muddled glance into the fountain.

He smiles at what he sees. Deep green eyes with long lashes. He'll be making better use of those, you can be sure. His nose is too small, pushing his looks from handsome into pretty, but he figures that if Mulder is straight, this will actually lend him the advantage. His lips are pink and soft, if a bit chapped and dry. His jaw is covered with a dark, rough shadow of beard, and he thinks for a moment that it makes him look rugged and manly and so considers keeping it, then returns to the thought that if he's really pretty, he might just snare Mulder more easily. Yep, beard's gotta go.

He walks to the door and opens it. Mulder's nowhere in sight.

"Um...Mulder?" he calls, and his voice is returning somewhat after the long exposure to steam. It's now a low, rumbling growl. He likes it. He hopes Mulder does. For a moment, he considers that his only thoughts tonight have been how to please Mulder. He grins. What the hell else has he got to do?

"Yeah?" comes Mulder's reply from somewhere to the side.

"Can I borrow a razor?"

"Sure...in the mirrored cabinet above the sink," Mulder answers. "Should be an extra toothbrush in there somewhere, too," he adds.

"Thanks." Krycek closes the door, wondering what Mulder is up to in the room next door. He quickly shaves away all traces of his beard, grabs a toothbrush from the package he spies next to the extra razors, brushes his teeth for a long, long, long time, finally ridding himself of the strange oily taste that has bugged him all day, then, feeling spic and span and shiny as a new dime, he runs fingers through his very short hair and exits the bathroom.

Just as he does, Mulder enters the room carrying two large soup mugs. He smiles, feeling incredibly pleased by the man's thoughtfulness.

"Thought you might be hungry," explains Mulder, looking first at the floor, then at the soup, and finally at the nearly naked man in front of him.

"Yeah, I am," answers Krycek, giving him a sparkling smile. "Thanks."

"I'll...I'll just put this on the coffee table till you get dressed," replies Mulder, not moving from his spot a few feet in front of his towel-clad guest.

"Okay," replies Krycek, making no move either. They look at each other for a few more seconds, then Krycek ducks his head, feeling himself getting hard again under the towel. "Guess I'll go get some clothes on."

"Yeah."

Krycek turns and steps into the bedroom and slowly closes the door behind him, watching Mulder walk over to the coffee table and put the steaming mugs of soup down with a heavy sigh. Just before the door clicks shut, Krycek sees Mulder run both hands through his hair, eyes wide, before muttering a quiet, "Shit." Smiling, Krycek lets the latch click into place.

He rummages through Mulder's drawers, stroking the denim and cotton knit he finds there, and finally choosing a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a matching T-shirt. He doesn't bother with underwear, feeling that wearing someone else's would be even weirder than not wearing any at all, even if that someone is sex on legs. Padding quietly on bare feet, he opens the door and takes a deep breath, stepping out into the living room.

"Feeling better?" asks Mulder, looking up from the couch, a bottle of beer in his hand.

"Like a new man," answers Krycek, grinning. He watches as Mulder's eyes narrow and his brow wrinkles in confusion.

"You...you said that...before," he says slowly, staring at Krycek.

Krycek's brows rise. "I did? When?" His returning voice is rising with curiosity.

"At the airport," answers Mulder, looking past him, remembering. "I hit you in the nose and told you to go in and wash the blood off. You came out and said you felt like a new man."

Krycek frowns. "You hit me?" His voice is soft.

"Well, yeah," answers Mulder as if it is the most natural thing in the world. "I smacked you in the face with the phone, grabbed your gun out of your pants, and threw you up against the wall with it shoved in your gut!"

Krycek drops his head and stares at the floor, all thoughts of making love to this man dying.

"Why?" he whispers, staring at his feet.

"Why? Krycek, you...I...you deserved it!"

Krycek doesn't look up. "I did?"

"Well...yeah, you did, Krycek!" Mulder's voice is insistent and incredulous and Krycek's shoulders slump at the obvious veracity of it.

"Why?" Krycek's voice is a whisper again.

"Krycek...you've done nothing but stab me in the back, betray me, hurt me, lie to me and ruin my life since we were partners! You were responsible for Scully's abduction and the death of her sister, you killed my father, and you've lied to me over and over! Every time I see you, all I can think about is making you pay!"

Krycek shudders as a heavy stone settles in the pit of his stomach. He feels the tears burn behind his eyes and breathes hard, trying not to cry in front of this man who, it is obvious now, despises him. He sniffles quietly.

"I...I'm sorry..." He's at a loss as to how to possibly make this better. He watches as a drop of water courses down his cheek and falls to the hardwood floor, making a tiny stain. Soon another one joins it. He raises his hands to his face and can no longer hold back the tidal wave of emotion threatening to drive him to his knees.

"Krycek?!" He can barely hear the sound of Mulder's shocked voice over his own strained sobs. The only man in all the world who can help him, and he's done more to hurt him than he can even imagine. The man he feels attracted to with something close to supernatural intensity hates him back with the same passion. He is alone. Utterly and dangerously alone, with only his worst enemy to turn to. His shoulders shake as he tries not to shame himself further by completely falling apart in front of this man.

"Alex?"

The softly spoken name reaches through his sorrow and he chokes back his tears with a shuddering sigh. His name is Alex. His enemy knows his first name and it is Alex. He's never heard anything more beautiful than his name softly spoken by this man's lips.

"My name's Alex?" he croaks, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand, head still bowed.

"Yeah...well...at least I think it is." Mulder's voice is close now, and Krycek jerks back slightly in shock, afraid of what he might to do him.

"I...I'm so sorry, Mulder. I had no idea. I...God, I don't know what to say!" He can't meet Mulder's eyes. Can't bear to see the hate and anger burning in them. His sobs begin again, and he barely holds them in check, weeping silently into his hands.

Suddenly he feels soft warmth at his back, and strong hands come down gently on his shoulders. "Hey."

Despite his fear and anguish, he feels his body relaxing at the touch of Mulder's hands. "I should go," he says shakily, his breath full of tears.

"No," says Mulder quietly, leaning in to his ear, bathing it in hot moist breath. "Don't go, Alex."

Krycek nearly crumples at the tenderness in his voice combined with the shivering warmth at his ear, and without thinking, he spins around and throws himself into Mulder's arms, still covering his face in his hands, burrowing against Mulder's chest. After a moment of sobbing into Mulder's shirt, swooning at the scent of him, he feels Mulder's arms come up and haltingly wrap around his arms and back. He melts into the stiff embrace, his sobs subsiding. Mulder holds him, not speaking, as he shudders and gasps and regains his breath, wiping his tears away with his ragged fingers, feeling the sting as the salt hits them.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again into Mulder's chest.

"Shhhh..." Mulder strokes his back slightly, sending shivers down his spine.

"I didn't know...Mulder, I had no idea...God, I'm so fucking sorry!" He buries his face against the firm chest under him and wraps his arms around Mulder's ribcage, squeezing desperately.

"I know." Mulder's voice is quiet as he leans down, placing his lips against Krycek's ear. "I know."

Krycek can't stop the shiver that wracks his body from chest to knees, or the way his erection swells through the soft cotton knit of the sweatpants to press against the man embracing him. He feels the pressure of his cock against Mulder's hip and shifts just slightly, bringing him into a more pleasant alignment. He hears Mulder's gasp right in his ear as he sinks in against the other man's crotch. He immediately twitches his hips forward at the sound, feeling himself harden completely, and feeling Mulder's own organ begin to swell against him.

The top of his head is pressed in under Mulder's chin, his own chin tucked to his chest. As he feels Mulder's arms tighten around him, his breaths tickling warmly in his ear, he lifts his face up and places it against Mulder's neck. The men are the same height, and fit together perfectly, their heads resting on one another's shoulders. Krycek raises his lips to Mulder's ear, and feels the man shiver as he breathes into it.

"Mulder, I'll do anything...anything to make it up to you." He can't stop his tongue from flicking out and tasting that soft, perfect earlobe. He nearly swoons at the tiny, grunting whimper it elicits from its owner. Mulder says nothing else, only holding him tighter, breathing harder into Krycek's ear. Krycek groans and swivels his hips slightly, grinding their rigid cocks against each other. Mulder moans into his ear and he can't stand it any more. He leans his head back, pulling away from Mulder's neck and brings it around in front of his face. For half a second, he looks into eyes with pupils so dilated as to appear black, lips slack with desire and confusion. Then not wanting to waste another minute, he presses forward, sealing their lips together firmly, a loud groan tearing from his wounded throat.

The answering whimper under his lips feeds his hunger, and his tongue presses out between his lips, gently but insistently seeking entry. There is a moment's hesitation and he almost pulls back, ashamed, when the lips beneath his part, sucking his tongue in, then filling his mouth with a similarly hungry, probing kiss. He moans into Mulder's mouth, feeling like the only thing holding him to this world are the soft, full lips against his, and the arms sliding up and down his back. He presses harder against Mulder's body and feels it falling away from him. He stumbles as Mulder tightens his hold and pulls Krycek with him until they are pressed up against the wall. Mulder groans and renews his mouth's vigorous assault, and Krycek slides one hand down to cup one tight, perfect buttock through worn denim. He squeezes and rams himself hard into Mulder's crotch and they both gasp into the kiss as pleasure explodes between them.

Krycek uses the moment to break out of the kiss, breathless. "I meant it, Mulder. I'll do anything. Anything."

Mulder meets his gaze, breathing hard, lips wet and parted on an unfinished kiss. He says nothing, but as Krycek feels Mulder's cock pulse against his, he knows.

He drops to his knees, heedless of the hardwood floor, and struggles frantically to unbutton and zip Mulder's jeans. Mulder's hands settle, one on his shoulder, one against the side of his head, as he gets them open and jerks them down his hips. He is more careful with the underwear, using trembling fingers to first squeeze the beautiful bulge, thoroughly enjoying the way Mulder's body sways forward over him, seeking more. He bends forward and kisses Mulder hard through the soft cotton knit, and Mulder moans and presses Krycek's face in harder. Krycek reaches up and carefully peels down the top of Mulder's underwear, unveiling his long, strong erection. Swallowing back drool at the sight, and pushes pants and boxer-briefs down further, holding them to let Mulder step out of them after untying and removing his shoes and socks quickly. He tosses the pants to the side, then slowly lets his eyes travel up the long, muscled expanse of coltish legs, to the gorgeous dusky-pink treasure at their joining. His eyes close briefly in disbelief and when he opens them, Mulder is staring down at him with desperate wonder shining through obvious need.

"Anything," Krycek whispers again, and leans in to place a soft kiss on the head of Mulder's cock. Mulder bucks against him, gasping, and Krycek opens his mouth and licks soft circles around and around the tip, sliding one hand up to grip the base gently, squeezing rhythmically.

As his tongue slides over the hot, silky flesh, he flashes on the thought that there is no doubt he's performed this particular act before. <It seems skills aren't forgotten as readily as sins.> Sucking the end of Mulder's cock into his mouth, he swirls his tongue in harder and harder circles, basking in the sounds of pleasure being forced from the lips above him.

Mulder's hands sink into his hair, gripping it tightly, almost painfully, and it only adds to Krycek's own pleasure as he takes Mulder deeper, relaxing his jaw and his throat, keeping his tongue working frantically against the underside of his hot shaft. He feels Mulder start to gently thrust into his mouth and stops his own head's movement, keeping his tongue going as he holds still for Mulder's face-fucking. Mulder holds his face in place and thrusts more quickly, his moans turning into a keening sob in the back of his throat. Krycek lets go of the base of Mulder's cock and slides his hands around to cup Mulder's ass, pulling him in harder, encouraging him to take his pleasure in his mouth.

"Alex...Alex..." Mulder sighs, his voice catching.

Alex moans against him, the breathless sound of his name stroking through him like a hand on his cock. Mulder's thrusts become more erratic and his sobbing groans deeper and louder, until Alex feels the hot, hard organ in his mouth pulse and twitch and shoot its load down his throat. He struggles to keep it open, not even bothering to swallow as it pumps down his throat. Mulder cries out once, loudly, desperately, as his orgasm begins, and he silently screams upward at the ceiling, eyes tightly closed, as Krycek sucks down the last of his climax.

Finally, shuddering and staggering backward against the wall, Mulder pulls back from Krycek's mouth, and Krycek sucks him to the tip noisily, his chin covered with the overflow of Mulder's juice. He licks it from his lips, bringing his hand around and wiping his sticky chin with it. Before he can bring it to his lips to lick it clean, it is grabbed in a vicelike grip, and he is yanked up on his feet. He stumbles forward slightly, caught unaware and still dazed from watching Mulder come for him. As he opens his mouth to ask if everything is okay, Mulder opens his mouth and licks Krycek's palm with the flat of his tongue, over and over, bathing it clean of his semen. Krycek's knees go weak, and he falls forward against the other man, bracing himself with one hand at the side of Mulder's head against the wall as Mulder slowly, thoroughly laves him clean.

"Oh Mulder..." His eyes drift closed. Finished with his task, Mulder lets the hand drop and grabs Krycek's head in both hands, pulling him forward into a deep kiss.

Krycek's rockhard cock bumps against Mulder's half- flaccid one and he cries out into Mulder's mouth, his hands gripping Mulder's naked hips. Mulder pulls his face back from the kiss suddenly, licking the bruised, wet lips with a look of ravenousness behind his eyes. Krycek stands, slack-jawed and panting, as his hips push helplessly against Mulder's naked body. Mulder grabs his shoulders and turns them both around so that Krycek is now against the wall. Krycek's eyes widen and his cock throbs as Mulder slides to his bare knees on the hard floor, pulling at the sides of the sweatpants Krycek borrowed from him.

"No...Mulder..." Krycek reaches to pull him back up.

"I want to," Mulder pleads, looking up at him, eyes shining. "God, I really want to."

Krycek moans at the entreaty in that low, rumbling voice. "Okay...but on the bed," he answers, using all his strength to pull Mulder up by the shoulders. Mulder stands and grabs his arm, yanking him along with him as he strides the few steps to his bedroom. Krycek is jerked in behind Mulder, then gasps as Mulder turns around and grabs him by the shoulders, tearing the shirt off his head roughly, spinning him and shoving him backward onto the bed, hard. His sweatpants are jerked down his legs and tossed behind them somewhere and then Mulder is on him, also shirtless, sinking down between his legs with a hungry moan, sucking against the side of his aching shaft as if he wants to give it a hickey to remember him by. <Interesting choice of words. Mulder is the only thing I *have* to remember, now.> As he feels the hot tongue lick firmly up his shaft to the tip, he throws his head back into the pillows and decides there is nothing he'd rather recollect than this moment.

Mulder grunts and opens his mouth to suck the head of Krycek's cock into it, his one hand slipping down behind it to fondle his sac while the other grips his hip painfully, leaving what Krycek is sure will be gorgeous finger bruises. He treasures every mark. Mulder slurps against his cockhead and kisses it roughly. "I've never done this before," he breathes, kissing it again.

"Like I'd know." Krycek raises his head to see the amazing sight of Fox Mulder's beatific face lowered over his dick, eyes raised to gain approval.

"Sure seemed like you knew what you were doing," replies Mulder, swirling his tongue around Krycek's cock the way he'd had done to him, never taking his eyes off him.

"Uhhnnyeah..." replies Krycek, his head falling back against the pillows.

"Hope I do it right." With that, Mulder lowers his mouth down onto Krycek, taking him as deeply as he can.

Krycek growls and writhes, feeling his cockhead bumping against the back of Mulder's throat, and hearing Mulder gag, but quickly resume sucking and licking, trying to take him deeper.

Moaning helplessly, he sinks his hands into the soft, dark brown hair on the head between his thighs. Mulder doesn't need to even try to deep-throat him. He's almost there just from seeing him kneeling over him.

"Mulder..." he gasps out, trying in vain to stop the erratic thrusting of his hips. "Don't try to swallow...just...close your throat...I'm...gonna...come!"

Mulder moves his head more quickly, moaning against Krycek's throbbing flesh and he feels his body tense, his orgasm coiling in his balls quickly.

"OH! GOD! MULDER!" he screams, grabbing hair as his body undulates like a fish on the bank, feeling his cock pulse and shoot deeply into the mouth of the most incredible man he's ever known. The only one he can remember ever knowing. As the spasms fade, he quickly pulls back out of Mulder's mouth, not wanting to suffocate or choke him. He opens his eyes to find Mulder grimacing, and he realizes he has pulled out strands of dark hair in his ecstasy. He lets go, gasping.

"Sorry! Mulder! Sorry..." Mulder swallows and wrinkles his nose, then wipes his mouth with his hand roughly.

"For what?" he finally says, licking his lips and swallowing hard again.

"I pulled your hair." Krycek reaches down and tentatively strokes Mulder's head in apology, smoothing down the messy, sweaty spikes.

"Mmmyeah, that was good," replies Mulder, leaning into his touch like a cat, his eyes fluttering closed.

Krycek's head falls back against the pillows and he laughs, sighing and stroking through the damp, soft hair beneath his fingers. Mulder crawls up his body and looks down at him, their faces level.

"Can I kiss you?" Mulder's voice is soft.

"God, Mulder, you *never* have to ask that," answers Krycek, pulling him down firmly by the hair and opening his mouth against Mulder's, swiping through his mouth with his tongue, helping rid him of the taste of his cum. With a deep groan, Mulder sinks down onto Krycek, their bodies flush and hot against one another. Krycek's exhale is Mulder's inhale as they slowly, languorously kiss one another until they both feel like they are going to pass out. Mulder finally pulls away, gasping, eyes closed, and slides over to the side, one leg still thrown over Krycek's body, his arm resting on the rising and falling abdomen. Krycek feels Mulder snuggle his face in against his shoulder, and he strokes up his back with his free hand.

"I've always wanted to do that," murmurs Mulder against his skin.

Krycek stops breathing for a moment, unsure how to respond. Finally, the answer seems obvious.

"I think I have too, Mulder," he considers. "I'm sure of it." He feels Mulder smile against him and they drift into sleep, Krycek not knowing or caring what the past has held for him and feeling more than hopeful about his future.