Ick

Part One - Ick

Mulder's first thought upon awakening was, //Shit, I am never drinking Margaritas with the Gunmen again// because his head hurt, bad, and his mouth tasted like old beach sand, and felt just as gritty.

Mulder's second thought was, //Damn, what's that awful smell?// at that same moment his stomach rebelled.

He opened his eyes, preparing to roll off his couch and run to the bathroom to heave, but he was already on the floor, and it wasn't his apartment but he made it, by instinct, to his knees and hurled anyway.

Mulder's third thought was, //This is not right// but he just had to lie down, as far away from the vomit as his uncooperative body would allow him, and passed out again.

Alex Krycek might have had thoughts about his situation, except he was unconscious and being dragged down a corridor towards the cell, and, thus, was so far spared the dubious pleasure of thinking at all.

Mulder's first thought upon reawakening to the sound of the cell door being opened with a tremendously loud, high pitched squeal, was, //I should try to make a run for the door// Which was overlapped by the thought, //What the Hell am I doing in jail?// his eyes opened, unwillingly, but before he could enact movement or formulate a plan, he saw another body being unceremoniously dumped, perilously close to the vomit, and the door slammed shut again.

Mulder's second thought, by far the most concise one, was, //This is a very, very nasty way to start the day// he closed his eyes and gathered up his slender resources of strength of body and will, determined to actually wake up and keep his eyes open. He sat up and tried to take stock of the situation.

He saw that he was indeed in a cell. But it wasn't a regulation jail cell. It was a huge, commercial sized freezer; a fan in the ceiling spewing dusty, but not frigid air, running halfheartedly with an annoying clackity-clack sound that was already echoing in his head. The floor was cement and sloped down to a drain in the center.

The other body occupying the space was facing the other way and seemed dead or unconscious. It looked familiar in black, though filthy, ripped jeans, and a once white tee shirt. The body's feet were bare, and surprisingly clean.

Mulder thought about this and looked at his own feet, which had gone unnoticed so far on this busily mental morning, to find they were also bare and clean. He continued his perusal of himself, and found that he too, along with the body across from him, was clothed in filthy jeans. At least he was clothed.

His concentrated notice also brought to light the distressing conclusion that his unconscious, possibly dead cellmate was none other than Alex Krycek.

Mulder attempted to put his thoughts in order, deciding that the unconscious or dead Alex Krycek was no immediate danger to him, and being reluctant to move, in any case, because it meant, well, 'moving' and getting closer to the vomit, he decided to start with what he remembered about the night before.

Alex Krycek's first thought upon awakening was, //No way, not again// He smelled something noxious and felt his gorge rise. He scrambled to his knees and looked wildly around through slitted, gritty eyes, 'thought' he saw Mulder, decided that was just too, too bizarre for even this new nightmare and retched into a puddle of what //... oh ick// already seemed to be vomit. He grabbed his head and moaned aloud, "I fucking hate to puke", then everything caught up with him as a result of his sudden movements and, still clasping his head, he passed out again, fortunately back in the direction from which he had arisen; although he did scrape his elbow on the rough cement floor as he collapsed.

Mulder, seeing this display and deciding that even a rotten, lying, murdering, bastard couldn't fake that much wretchedness, smiled to himself at Krycek's plight. Then stopped smiling when he realized he was in the same 'plight'.

He stopped thinking altogether at this point, when the urgent need to urinate suddenly overtook him, and it was his turn to look wildly around him for a place to pee. Given that it was a commercial freezer it was unlikely to contain a toilet. He had a brief hope that maybe he would find a carton or a pot or something, and that, sadly, made him realize he was terribly thirsty.

He dithered for a second between deciding which need was more compelling; when he felt the unmistakable sensation of imminent loss of bladder control, he hastily made it to the far corner of the cell, and yanked down his fly. He had the first good feeling of this horrible day when his body yielded to nature and his aim was dead center in the corner and didn't splash onto his clean feet. He decided that this victory, however small, was noteworthy.

He shakily moved to the corner on his right and sat down. He was very thirsty, but a strange sort of calm came over him. He didn't think that things couldn't get any worse, he knew better than that. Things could always get worse, and why tweak fate into proving that maxim true, anyway. What he thought was that he was rapidly running out of space, what with the vomit, the urine, and Krycek's body. He knew he should get up and try the door, just in case it was miraculously unlocked, but decided that was unlikely. Maybe Krycek, when he woke up, could help or at least get out of the way.

Krycek's first thought upon reawakening was, //Why do my nightmares always include Mulder in them?// realized he was not in a bed in a motel somewhere, but lying on a cement floor facing what appeared to really be Mulder and a puddle of... well, he didn't want to think what the puddle was, except that it wasn't blood. More specifically, it wasn't his blood on the rough cement floor. Then he realized he was terribly thirsty, had a desperate need to piss, a headache, and a pain in his right elbow.

Krycek's second thought, coming immediately after the first, was, //Maybe I really am in hell. Another room of Hell than the silo, but then he'd once learned that God's House was a mansion and had many rooms, so why not the other place?// he slowly maneuvered himself to his feet, keeping an eye on Mulder, just in case he wanted to start swinging at him, but Mulder just watched him calmly.

"Piss over there," Mulder said, indicating the corner with a thumb.

Krycek nodded, and carefully stepped over the 'puddle', noting that his feet were bare, and took the few steps to the corner where he saw another 'puddle'.

He briefly debated not turning his back on Mulder to do his business, but decided goading Mulder into a fight in the midst of this mess would be crazy, and Krycek had never thought of himself as actually insane. So, he turned his back on Mulder. He was glad to note his urine had no blood in it and counted that a victory, and along with the other puddle's lack of blood, as a hopeful sign that maybe he was going to get out of this intact.

He hated bleeding even more than puking.

When Krycek turned around, Mulder said, as he slowly rose to his feet, "We should try the door."

Krycek followed Mulder's careful steps over the puddle, and went up to the door. They pushed and pulled and yanked and battered it, alone and together, but it did not budge.

Now sweaty, tired, and more thirsty than ever, they retreated back across the puddle, and each taking a dry corner, sat down.

Mulder initiated dialogue. "You're alive."

Krycek closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Well, I have considered this could be Hell. Then we would be dead, and in Hell, together."

"You're the one who'll end up in Hell, Krycek."

"Whatever you say, Mulder." Krycek kept his eyes closed.

"We are not dead," Mulder stated flatly. "How did you get here?"

Krycek frowned and tried to recall the events of the previous night. "I got off the plane at the airport, and rented a car. I stopped at a Palermo's and got dinner. I got a room in a motel, took a quick shower, and turned on the TV. I had a drink with me, so I didn't leave for ice or anything. Then I was here, puking, with you. Since I ordered lasagna and," he shuddered slightly, "I see no sign of it there," keeping his eyes closed he tilted his head marginally towards the larger puddle, "I guess I didn't have time to eat before whatever else happened, happened."

Mulder experienced an uncomfortable moment of recall to the days when he and Krycek had worked together; back then, Krycek had given him similar, precisely detailed reports.

"What about you?" Alex asked in return.

Mulder also closed his eyes and reported, in an uninflected voice, "I got home from work about nine, ordered Chinese, took a shower, turned on the TV and the computer, opened a new carton of ice tea, woke up here alone, threw up, and then you were dumped here. The Chinese food hadn't arrived yet."

They both opened their eyes and looked at each other at the same time.

"We were drugged somehow," Krycek stated.

"Yeah," Mulder answered, "but for what purpose? Why are we here? I mean why are we 'both' here?"

"Hell if I know. I don't work for them anymore."

"What, Krycek, you get fired?"

"Something like that, only I was supposed to get dead."

"Too bad they didn't succeed. What'd you do? Betray them, too?"

"Fuck off, Mulder."

Krycek closed his eyes and thought in a contemplative manner, that like the vomit and the piss, Mulder's hate was, at the moment, blood free. That alone kept it on the plus side of still alive vs. almost dead equation. He didn't hate Mulder, although it was a less than charming proposition to meet up with him these days. Punches, accusations, guns aimed at his gut, aliens, the silo and now this.

It had been charming, briefly, back in the day.

He had been an ambitious ass to think he was cutting years off of paying his dues in the FBI bureaucracy by accepting a 'special' assignment from the Smoker's covert agency. He was a patriot, wasn't he? And Division Chief Blevins himself had come down to Quantico and sat in on the meeting.

It hadn't taken very long to realize that Mulder was the real thing, and not some wacko with connections on Capitol Hill, as well as an impeccable familial bloodline of government service. But, it was too late. If Blevins was in on it, then Skinner must have been too, and trying to get Mulder aside to confess his stupidity would have accomplished nothing when there was no higher authority he could trust to protect them.

Those cases with Mulder, if the accelerating death spiral he seemed to twist in these days was any indication, might well have been the highlight of his life.

It hadn't hurt either that Mulder was his beau ideal for a lover. Not that he had ever given a hint of any such thing, other than a tendency to stare when Mulder spoke. He stopped that soon enough as well, once he saw Scully looking at him, one brow raised and lips pursed in disapproving conjecture.

Krycek didn't open his eyes; he didn't want to spoil his often- remembered picture of Mulder, laughing in a relaxed moment, long lean legs displayed in running shorts and chest outlined in a worn tight tee. And that ass, that perfect ass, when Mulder had limbered up for his run, wow. Ah, well, there had been little hope of pursuing that objective when he had been fairly innocent of intrigue, and now that he'd been bloodied with it, no hope at all.

He drifted, glad of the distraction from his thirst, and wondered, //What would Mulder would think about the elaborate 'romantic' encounters I played and replayed in my head to allay the cold dark fear in the silo?//

Mulder watched Krycek relax, knowing that he wasn't sleeping, knowing he was alert to danger or opportunity, but able to conserve energy this way. Krycek had always been a quiet sort of guy. It had been one of the things that had pleased Mulder the most. No extraneous chatter or debate to interfere with whatever Mulder wanted to think about.

Although he had never wholly trusted Krycek, he had begun to do so back then. He had become more relaxed himself. The betrayals had hurt him deeply; Melissa Scully and his father's deaths were unforgivable. Looking at Krycek now, very thin, bedraggled and worn, he wondered why he had done those things. How he had become enmeshed in the Smoker's net to begin with.

Mulder wasn't about to ask. Asking meant reciprocity, and possible understanding. He didn't want to understand; he didn't want to forgive. He'd been open and forgiving so many, too many times in his life already. He'd drawn the line in his psyche, with Krycek on the other side.

He was glad, he assured himself for the thousandth time, he had never allowed Krycek to see his yearning for anything other than the truth or the solution to a case while they had worked together. He had spared himself that personal tragedy, at the very least.

Krycek's first thought when the noisy fan ceased and the light went out was, //No way, not again// he lurched to his feet and tried not to panic or step into the messes around him. He became immediately aware this might mean someone was going to open the door when they thought the he and Mulder were confused.

Mulder's first thought was, //They'll probably shine a bright light into my eyes, don't look straight at the door// but it was already too late as the door squealed open, and the lights shone in. The outline of machine guns, and men holding the machine guns, quickly came into view.

"Jeeze Louise," a highly put-out and unknown female voice said from behind the lights, "it smells like a sewer in here. Men are just so disgusting."

//Jeeze Louise?// Krycek thought, //what the fuck is that?// He felt the almost irresistible urge to reply, "Are not!" He bit his tongue instead.

//Jeeze Louise?// Mulder thought, //what the fuck is that?// He felt the almost irresistible urge to grab a hank of her hair and pull it hard, but since he could see nothing beyond the flare of the lights, he clenched his fists instead.

"I bet you're thirsty," the singsong female voice taunted.

Mulder did not bother to reply.

Krycek did not utter a word.

"Ooh, tough guys," the female giggled. "I am impressed. Hey, Bertram," she went on, "they're the strong silent types, just your style. What do you say we clean them up a bit and give them something to drink?"

"Okay by me, Peaches. Let it go, boys," a bass voice replied.

Mulder's first thought when the cold water hit him in a ferocious blast was, //I knew that's what they were going to do, I just knew it// but the thought afforded him no comfort.

Krycek thought, as the water hit him full force was, //Bitch, mean bitch//

By the time the water stopped and the door was slammed shut, Mulder and Krycek were shivering violently.

When they opened their eyes it was still dark, but by the time they got their bearings, the light and the fan were on again.

The cell was transformed. The last of the filth was swirling down the drain, and in the front of the door was what, in these circumstances, seemed virtual manna from Heaven. A bucket with a lid, a bucket without a lid filled with water, two blankets, a large foam rubber bed roll, a pile containing two clean sweat shirts and two pairs of sweat pants, a clear plastic tub full of sandwiches and fruit, and best of all, two extra large containers of hot fragrant Starbuck's coffee.

"Jeeze Louise," Mulder said and whistled.

"Peachy Keen," Krycek replied.

Mulder almost laughed.

Part Two - Pick

Mulder went for the coffee right away and thought it had the most wonderful aroma and perfect flavor of anything ever gifted to mankind.

Krycek picked up a pair of sweats, peeled off his wet torn clothing, rubbed himself dry with one of the blankets and dressed. He looked around for a pair of socks, but didn't find any.

Mulder watched the whole thing while slowly savoring the coffee. He realized he was still cold, although not in every part of his body. He put down the coffee to change his clothes, with the blanket wrapped around him. He thought he heard Krycek snort.

Krycek, propped up in a clean and rapidly drying corner of the cell, was eating an apple, the coffee untouched beside him.

"You think the coffee is drugged?" Mulder asked.

"No more than I think any of this stuff could be drugged or poisoned." He slowly munched the apple.

Mulder got out a PB&J sandwich and began to eat.

"Why the bare feet, Mulder?" Krycek asked.

"What? Oh, I don't know. Maybe Peaches has a 'thing' for bare feet."

"You know this has to be one of yours, don't you?"

"What do you mean, Krycek?"

"I mean, Special Agent Mulder, bizarre kidnapping by a kooky chick with a thing for clean feet and well fed prisoners, and a guy named Bertram, for God's sake. Gotta be one of your X-Files."

"I resent that. It's not as if you socialize with the upstanding and elite, you know."

"Resent it all you like," Krycek replied and put the apple core back in the plastic tub. He waited a few moments, pressed his hand to his stomach and reluctantly but firmly closed the tub.

"You sick?"

"No," Krycek said shortly.

"Why don't you eat then? They could come take it away at any time."

Krycek ignored him, took the foam and unrolled it on the far side of the cell, sat down on the right side of the foam, near the edge, wrapped himself in a blanket, and closed his eyes. "You can have my coffee too, Mulder. I'd like the empty cup for water, though."

"What's with you?"

"What's with me? What's with me?" Krycek took a deep breath and tried to push down the pent up anger he'd held back for so long. He'd promised himself never to let Mulder know how much or exactly what he'd felt about the events that had taken over his life the last two years. He knew Mulder would either gloat at his suffering or launch into a diatribe of wrongs done to him, or even decide to start beating up on him again.

Krycek opened his eyes and looked at Mulder, sure to keep his voice steady and his gaze unflinching, "I haven't eaten in almost two days. I haven't slept, other than being drugged, for almost as long. Not too long ago I became severely malnourished and dehydrated. Coming on top of several months of rather precarious survival, it almost killed me. I finally had it arranged to hole up for awhile, and this happens. I would rather not hurl again, so I ate what I could tolerate. You don't have to worry, Mulder, or trust me, because when the least possible opportunity to escape comes up, I will be ready."

Mulder's first thought upon hearing Krycek's litany was, //satisfaction// it was only right that the bastard suffer as long as he was lucky enough to be alive.

The second thought was, //triumph// Krycek was seemingly at the end of his rope, possibly at the end of his recourses.

His third thought, however, had nothing at all to do with satisfaction. Mulder's third thought came to him clearly. //The past is a burden, all of it// the momentary, occasional triumphs and rare times of happiness were far and away, outweighed by pain, sorrow, loss and defeat.

If he took vengeance on Krycek, there was no doubt that he would be the instrument of his death. Arresting him and bringing him up on charges, which could never be proven, would in fact be a death warrant from the Smoker. Killing him outright would make Mulder a murderer himself.

Believing Krycek had had good reasons for what he had done was not an option. There were no good reasons to be part of the assassinations and other brutalities attributed to him. Forgiveness was also not an option, and not his alone to give, in any case. Others had suffered.

Mulder felt the burden of their ugly and violent past keenly.

"Truce," Mulder declared.

"What?"

"Truce. We don't forget, I don't forgive, you don't sell me out, and we don't start over. We just stop fighting. We find a solution to the mess we are in and help each other get out of it. How we go on after that is moot at this point. We have to get out to go on."

Krycek's first thought upon hearing Mulder's proposal was, //relief// maybe he could rest now and not worry Mulder was going to attempt to kill him outright while he slept.

The second thought was, //hope// maybe Mulder couldn't forgive, but he wasn't looking for forgiveness anyway. Maybe there was hope in the bare possibility of getting to retire from Mulder's enemy list.

His third thought was, //optimism// perhaps with Mulder's offer he could maybe, oh, possibly, find himself again, and get some small measure of his life back.

It wasn't hard to choose.

"Truce."

Mulder finished his coffee, filled the cup part way with clean water, and handed it to Krycek.

Part 3 - Lick

Mulder finished his sandwich, ate an apple, and drank Krycek's coffee before it got completely cold.

Krycek went back into closed-eyes mode and allowed himself to bask in being warm, clean, dry, and in no immediate danger from Mulder. He thought Peaches and her minions could barge in anytime, but somehow he doubted it. Just like he doubted their food or water was poisoned or drugged. Whatever conundrum he and Mulder were part of; it seemed to be over for the rest of the day, or possibly the night. He couldn't be sure of the time or how long he had been unconscious. He thought he might actually be able to eat soon.

He thought about Mulder being clean, warm and naked under those sweats, too. They had shared rooms before. But in those days he had been modest and straight Agent Krycek.

Not that he was going to test the water, so to speak, anytime soon. At this juncture spooking Spooky was probably not the best idea.

Besides, he felt a little self-righteously, this particular incarceration had to be due to Mulder, and he was very interested to see what Mulder was going to do about it.

Mulder, meanwhile, debated keeping to his corner and his blanket and forgo sharing the foam pad with Krycek, but reason, comfort, and the fact that he had already spent most of a day on the hard floor won- out.

He joined Krycek on the pad. He contemplated his bare toes and noticed he had big feet. He contemplated Krycek's bare feet. They were big, but not quite as big. Krycek's toenails were clipped neatly. Mulder wondered at the implications of that. It struck him that he had not considered exactly what was included in the lifestyle of a Consortium Assassin. Maybe it was like being in the infantry and good foot care was imperative, so as not to develop foot rot or something.

He wondered why he was wondering about Krycek's feet at all.

He looked to the side and saw Krycek had his eyes open and had seen him looking at their feet. It was a weirdly intimate sort of knowledge.

Krycek got up, fetched a sandwich and a tangerine from the tub, and returned to the pad.

"You going to eat in bed, Krycek?"

Mulder wondered how in the Hell that comment had made it out of his mouth.

Krycek looked at Mulder intently, but replied innocuously enough, "I'm sick of being on the hard floor."

Krycek munched on his sandwich and drank some water. "So, Mulder, what's up with the bare feet thing?" He was careful not to over emphasize the word 'up'. "I mean we were both torn and dirty, but not injured. How did that happen?"

Mulder contemplated their feet some more. Now that Krycek knew he was looking it was somehow both more comfortable and well, slightly erotic. He kept that thought firmly in the background. "Did you put shoes and socks on in the motel room after your shower?" Mulder very firmly kept the idea of Krycek in a shower in a motel room very firmly in the back of his mind, although it wanted to get pushy and come to the forefront, so to speak.

//Cool// Krycek thought, //Mulder is thinking Mulder-like thoughts// "No. I had socks on. I got dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and put on socks. I always put on socks in case I have to leave in a hurry. I can just put my boots on quickly. Did you have socks on?"

Krycek was enjoying himself hugely. He thought, //what a conversation! Maybe we can get to underwear preferences or debate sleeping in the nude// He must have grinned because Mulder was looking at him intensely all of a sudden.

//Is he baiting me in some way?// Mulder thought, //nah. Well maybe. Possibly. All right, of course he is baiting me//

He replied, "Yes, I had socks on."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you put socks on? You weren't going out again, were you? No one was coming over except the food delivery? Don't you have slippers or something if your feet get cold?" //Down boy// Krycek thought, //don't get carried away//

"Do I look like a 'slipper' sort of person, Krycek?" Mulder was pissed; did Krycek think he was a wuss who wore fuzzy slippers when he was at home alone?

Krycek peeled the tangerine and offered Mulder a couple of sections. "I don't know. What does a slipper sort of person look like?"

Mulder took the fruit unthinkingly, and bit into it rather savagely. The juice filled his mouth and got on his lips. As he licked his lips he heard Krycek choke quietly. He smiled to himself and thought, //we can see who can bait whom// chewed some more, licked his lips again, and looked at Krycek. Krycek's lips were also shiny with juice and slightly parted.

Krycek thought, //it's been a long time, really a long time, but I'm not dead yet// "Do your feet get cold, Mulder?" He saw Mulder blink slowly and thought, //this has to be my cue// leaned over and quickly licked the juice from Mulder's lips.

Mulder looked at Krycek's still parted and juicy lips and thought, //it's been a long time, a really, really long time. What the hell, 'hard' times and 'strange bedfellows' and all that//

The light went out, the fan stayed on, and no lights, guns, guys named Bertram or kooky women named Peaches came to the door.

After a few tense moments, Mulder thought, //this has just got to be my cue// and found the still juicy Krycek, unerringly, in the dark.

//Whoopee// thought Krycek, and didn't think about past or lost opportunities, future peril or what tomorrow might bring, if there was a tomorrow. He just reached out and held on, tight.

Part 4 - Slick

Mulder wasn't thinking. Panting? Yes. He was panting.

Krycek wasn't thinking either. Moaning? Yes. He was moaning.

Mulder's hands were holding Krycek's head, keeping it in place, in the pitch black, so he could have total access to Krycek's lips.

Krycek was rapidly searching for warm bare skin and finding it beneath the sweatshirt, stroked as much of it as he could, as quickly as he could manage.

They both attempted to remove each other's clothing at the same time, but were equally hampered by also attempting to not break the kiss.

Mulder's laughter came first, and that broke the kiss.

Krycek laughed second, but kept his hands moving at the same time and yanked Mulder's sweatshirt off, momentarily muffling some of the chuckles.

"Slow down, Slick," Mulder said, still laughing. "It seems we have all night or all day or whatever."

Krycek grumbled between kisses and licks and soft bites. "No, not slowing down. Gonna do everything. Now. Waited - forever."

Mulder's first and not altogether coherent thought was, //yes, I think I have been waiting forever too// which was followed by, //yes, there! There!// and he realized he was only thinking and not saying, said aloud in a not altogether coherent manner, "Yes! There. Fuck yes! There."

Krycek's first and altogether blissed out thought was, //I'm gonna eat him up alive and then do it all over again// His second thought, as Mulder ripped off his shirt and immediately pushed down his pants was, //there 'is' a Santa Claus, and an Easter Bunny, and... Jesus! Yes!//

They wrestled for position, each unwilling to stop exploring. Licking, sucking, and kissing everywhere, all at the same time until they were wet with sweat, spit, leaking juices, and completely out of breath.

"If there is a God," Mulder said both piteously and breathlessly, "Peaches put condoms in the tubs along with the sandwiches."

"Fuck the condoms. I'm clean and you're clean and just forget it. I'm not stopping now to fumble around in the dark with kooky Peaches' tubs of bounty."

Krycek gained the position he'd dreamt of forever, on top of a breathless, willing Mulder.

"No. No! No!" Mulder gasped and quickly twisted himself and Krycek in a rollover until he was where he'd fantasized being forever, on top of a breathless, aroused, and impatient Krycek. "Don't want to fuck around with anything other than you."

Mulder reared back, grasped both cocks in his hand, and gathered up as much juice as he could, then added spit too, just to be sure, and found Krycek's opening.

Krycek went entirely still. His first thought was, //no way I'm gonna let Mulder get inside of me, I can't let him have this much of me// But as Mulder gentled his touch and stroked his entrance, his second thought was, //well okay, maybe I can wait for my turn and enjoy this ride first//

Mulder felt Krycek go still, and as he fingered him more intimately, his first and only thought was, //Oh - Alex - please// and he gentled his touch and after a moment felt Alex relax and, ever so slightly, tilt his hips forward. "Oh yes, Alex," Mulder crooned, 'yes, yes, yes,' and he leaned down and found Alex's lips, unerringly in the total darkness, and kissed him as he inserted first one, then two fingers. He remembered a long unused technique, and twisted them as Alex moaned, arched, and whimpered, "Yes, Mulder," in return.

//Yes, Mulder. Yes, Mulder - what the hell am I doing?// Krycek asked himself. //Yes, Mulder// then Mulder did a twist motion, and hit a spot Krycek had almost forgotten existed; the only internal processes he was experiencing was pleasure, and more pleasure as the kiss went on and on, hotter and wetter until he thought no more. His mouth went on without his brain attending, and he cried out, "Fuck, Mulder! Yes! Come on. Fuck me, fuck me." And Mulder did.

Mulder couldn't believe, well, of course 'he' could believe that the hot giving body rapidly being reduced to pure lust beneath him was Alex Krycek. He could never have imagined, however, that he would be as equally driven to 'want' to give and 'insure' pleasure for that same body. He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself and began to impale Alex with a shaking surety that had him holding his breath. When he found his way inside the heat, and the tight, tight sheath made way, lightning and lust coursed through his veins and cock, and he 'believed', and thought no more.

Part 5 - Flick

Krycek's first thought about twenty minutes and a lifetime later was, //I'm still a young guy. I'll just rest for a few and be up for it again// but he actually felt like he had died in some place of perfection, and wasn't going to be up for anything anytime soon.

Krycek's second thought was, //I'm not gonna go soft on Mulder, well not that kind of soft// This kind of soft was okay, momentarily, but he was afraid that the other might well be his undoing, permanently.

Mulder knew he had died and gone to some sort of bizarre, dark heaven, which didn't particularly surprise him. Since his life was so strange, why not his afterlife, too? Then he thought about how he'd gotten to this dark heaven. He thought about it for a long time. He had first, then second, and then fifteenth thoughts. He came to no conclusions, except that this changed things. Then Mulder knowingly, uncharacteristically and surprisingly, made a decision to just leave his thoughts there, at that fifteenth thought. He left them there, at simply 'this changed things', and left out figuring out all the whys and the wherefores, why-nots, and caveats.

He turned on his side, closer to Alex, stroked his warm chest and said, "Whenever you're ready, Alex, I want you to fuck me, too." He felt Alex go from languorous to alert in a nano-second.

//Fuck me too?// Alex thought, //did Mulder just say, Fuck me too? As in we are not going to pretend this didn't happen? Not going to chalk this up to dark insanity or drug induced licentiousness?// What came out of his mouth was, "Mulder, are you sure?" And then he cursed himself for sounding like an insecure teenager.

Mulder laughed. "Can't handle something so direct, Krycek? What's the matter? Want to pretend this isn't happening or make it fit into some scenario you concoct, wherein you don't have to be responsible?" Mulder said with a sneer in his voice, "Want to pretend later that you weren't even here? Is that how you live, Krycek? Pretending away the real things you do?"

Krycek got angry, then livid. "Damn you, Mulder. I'm not the one who lives in a fantasy world in which I am the 'special' victim of a worldwide conspiracy. I don't pretend anything. You want to get fucked? I'm glad to oblige. Just don't you pretend you don't know 'who' is up your ass. It may be darker than hell in here, but I'm the one with you, and it's not some weird wet dream, either." This time it was Krycek who found Mulder's lips, unerringly, in the dark and pushed his tongue inside the wet, citrus flavored orifice, pushed Mulder down and lay atop him and attempted to consume all of him at once.

"Come on, Krycek," Mulder taunted between moans and cries. "Make sure I'll never forget this. Come on baby, do it. Do it hard and tough, like you mean it."

Krycek caught his breath on a near sob and knew Mulder was going to be the end of him. How in the Hell could he ever, ever match this need, this taste, and this dark perfection? He didn't care if Mulder heard his labored breath or felt his frantic heartbeat. This was a moment he knew would have to sustain him when the lights flicked back on, and Mulder remembered to hate him again.

Mulder, who, for once, was feeling and not analyzing, was surprised at how warm, smooth and supple Alex's body felt above him, how young and malleable. He realized between breaths and moans, Alex had calmed his actions, if not his heartbeat, and was making love to him. It had been so long, so long since he had been made love to, and never before with this wholehearted intensity and appreciation. He panicked for a moment when the thought came to him, as Alex ever so carefully drove himself inside, //I am ruined// he caught his breath, //Alex could ruin me with tenderness more than he ever could with terror//

Krycek found himself gentling his touch, when he really wanted to just ream Mulder. He found himself; instead, crying out praises and curses between licking, kissing, and sucking every inch of Mulder's body. And when he reached Mulder's ass and had him splayed wide with his fingers inside, he was the one whose pants and moans were loudest. He pleaded, even though Mulder was urging him on and wanting it bad. "Are you sure Mulder?" Krycek whispered over and over while his thoughts were a tumble of confusion. The only clarity was, //if I take Mulder, I give away myself//

"I'll do it so you won't forget, Mulder. I'll do it like I want it and how I mean it," Krycek said low and husky, in a voice more naked than he'd ever imagined words could be spoken through his mouth. He entered Mulder in a fit of exhilaration, fear, and wonder, plowed all the way in and thought one more time, //everything is backwards. I should be taking, not giving// He wondered where his sense of self- preservation had gone to. When he withdrew and plunged home again, he gave up all attachment to thought, and just felt.

A long time later, after they had each inched their way to the buckets, and got it very carefully correct which one was fresh water and which wasn't, then made it back to the pallet, dressed and lay down to actually sleep, Krycek said, "You are one hot fuck, 'baby', wish I'd know that back in the day." But he said it in a voice that contradicted the scorn and sarcasm the nasty words were meant to communicate.

Mulder thought and understood Krycek's need for distance and autonomy. He thought it might be a very good thing to get some distance for himself. "Just cause you're a hot piece of ass doesn't make you any less of a lying piece of slime, just a slut as well," Mulder replied.

"Takes one to know one, Mulder," Alex sniped back.

Mulder smiled in the dark and thought the totally adolescent nature of the reply from Krycek confirmed how unguarded he'd allowed himself to become in their unlit sanctuary, and how in the light of day he would have covered himself with his world-weary cynical leather toughness.

Krycek frowned into his pitch colored surroundings and heard Mulder's breaths even out into sleep. He wondered why this time he wasn't afraid of the dark. Then he knew why, and was afraid. Not of the dark, but of what it meant.

When Peaches flicked the light back on several hours later, Krycek was sprawled on his stomach. Mulder was sprawled beside him, on his back, with one hand casually and possessively cupped on Krycek's ass. They were both sleeping like babies.

Part 6 - Chick

"Rise and shine, boys," Mulder and Krycek heard the hateful coo of Peaches voice from the doorway.

Mulder sat up and Krycek turned over, got to his feet, and started towards the door in one smooth motion. Peaches stepped aside with a flourish as Krycek barreled past her and out the door only to be immediately brought up short by a squad of rifles aimed his way.

"Shit!" Krycek said angrily.

By the time Krycek was escorted, at gunpoint, back into the cell, Mulder was on his feet. "What is this, and who the Hell are you?" he demanded angrily.

Krycek took a stand beside Mulder.

Peaches smiled at Mulder. It wasn't a nice smile and it got less nice as Krycek instinctively took a step forward to move in front of Mulder.

Mulder's thoughts were amazed, confused and slightly miffed. //Krycek is moving in to protect me? Is he nuts? If it wasn't an X-File before, it sure is one now!//

Krycek merely asked himself, //what in the Hell am I doing?//

"I am your worst nightmare, boys, don't you recognize me?" Peaches smiled more broadly still.

Mulder searched his mind for a resemblance between Peaches and anyone, 'anything' or any experience he had ever come in contact with and found nothing to compare.

Krycek looked at Peaches and tried in vain to match her with any possible nefarious activities. He went back a long way, surprised himself at what he was remembering, dismissed those as irrelevant and found nothing.

Mulder stepped up and aligned himself with Krycek. The guards put their fingers more firmly on the triggers.

Peaches positively grinned.

Peaches began to morph.

Mulder and Krycek took a simultaneous step backwards.

Peaches turned into a tall thin old woman with a tight rope of graying braid wrapped around her head. She scowled at Krycek, who took another hasty step backwards, and she spit out a long string of Russian, in a quite horrible, raspy voice.

Mulder actually felt Krycek cringe. He knew if he lived through this, he would take great pleasure in thinking about that again sometime. At the moment, however, he was intensely curious.

Krycek didn't answer the old woman's speech. He moaned very softly, but he didn't answer.

The old woman shook a gnarled finger at Krycek and said, this time in English, "Where is my crystal vase, Alexander? I brought it all the way across the ocean, sacrificing space in my one suitcase for clothing, other treasures or food. Five days in this country with you and it is gone! Tell me Alexander!" she demanded.

"You are not Grandmamma," Krycek replied in a sulky voice. "She's been dead for twenty years, and anyway, I don't have it. I never had it." Krycek stopped. "Stupid hunk of glass," he muttered under his breath as an afterthought.

Mulder wanted to laugh. He didn't, of course. Krycek would surely kill him with his bare hands if he did, but he thought it was the funniest thing he had ever heard in his life. He could hardly wait until he and Krycek were in some desperate straights some other time and he could use this gem.

The old woman turned to face Mulder and began to morph. Mulder thought, //Oh shit// quailed, and wasn't surprised to find himself backing up, even again with Krycek.

A lovely, blonde teenager quickly took the place of the old woman. She scowled, and pointed a perfectly manicured bright pink finger at Mulder's face. "God," Mulder said.

Krycek patted Mulder's shoulder. Mulder knew he must be on the edge of hysteria because he actually found Krycek's comfort, well, 'comforting', and not sarcastic at all.

The blonde spoke in a high whiny voice, "Foxy, you dumped me right in front of the whole school! I'll never forgive you! One minute you were dancing with me, and the next you were leaving with that awful queer basketball player. I mean it Foxy, why pick that moment to do such a thing, and Jeeze Louise, he wasn't even wearing a tux!"

Krycek sputtered. He tried manfully to hold it back, but he just couldn't. He choked, saw Mulder's hands clench into fists, and the choke turned into a chortle.

Mulder said in a grim voice, "Krycek, you are a dead man."

Krycek started to laugh. "I know, Mulder," he said, "you're gonna kill me, but damn if knowing this isn't worth it."

Blondie morphed back into Peaches. "See boys," she said, "I am your worst nightmares."

Both men found themselves nodding, rather emphatically, in agreement.

"But why?" Mulder asked. "And how do you know all this? Who are you?"

"Questions, questions!" Peaches made a shooing motion with her hand. "You two have become way to full of yourselves. Secret this, spying that, lying here and bemoaning fate there, dark holes in the ground and people dead all over the place." Peaches drew herself up imperiously. "You just don't get it, boys. There IS a higher power and I am SHE! So you two get your act together, and stop wasting time being fools. Fuck each other if you must, but stop fucking each other over!" And with that, Peaches morphed one more time into a hideous three headed creature with a long neck and the faces of Skinner, Scully, and the Smoker all leering and grimacing and puffing smoke at Mulder and Krycek.

She/he/it backed its way out the freezer door, the armed men followed, and by the time Mulder and Krycek got to the door they were gone. All of them.

Mulder looked at Krycek, and Krycek looked at Mulder. "Let's get the Hell out of here."

They ran.

Finding themselves at the end of a long corridor with an open door at the other end, Krycek paused, grabbed Mulder's arm and swung him to a halt. "I knew this had to be one of yours, Mulder," Krycek panted. "I may know a lot of lowlifes and aliens, but I don't know any vengeful spirits!"

Mulder stared at Krycek, shell-shocked. "Vengeful spirit? Yes!" he raised his fist in the air. Krycek got out of the way, but Mulder was only celebrating. "Alex," Mulder grabbed Krycek and kissed him full on the mouth. "It was a spirit and we both saw it, you just said you did! You can't take that back!"

Krycek burst into laughter and hugged Mulder hard. "I won't," he promised. "I don't know whom we could ever tell about this, but I promise if we ever can, I won't deny it."

Mulder nodded. "I didn't think I would say this in a million years, but thank you, Krycek. Thank you for not denying what we saw."

Krycek saw Mulder meant what he said, and to cover how his heart started to pound and ache in his throat he grinned and said, "But Mulder - we still don't know..." and started to sprint away into the night.

"What?" Mulder called out.

"Just what is it with the bare feet?" Alex yelled back, rounded the corner of a building and disappeared from Mulder's view.