Pravda On Canvas

SUNDAY--APRIL 2000

Even nonstop, the flight was long and dull. One Mulder had flown many times alone. The novelty of flying first class, a treat spared for special occasions, had been lost a long time ago. He had no complaint about the room, comfort, and attention from the flight attendants-- just the boredom. For a short time, he wished he'd talked Scully into coming, after all, though he'd deliberately gone out of his way to invent a circumstance she'd be sure to avoid at all costs. Then he began to wish he'd invited one of the Lone Gunmen, at least. They knew what was going on and could easily provide plenty of interesting conversation to while away the hours. However, he didn't need them to know what was going to go on, this trip.

After a meal more lavish than his usual fare, he fell asleep during the onboard movie, "Galaxy Quest", which he'd already seen and didn't mind missing. For him and the other passengers still on EDT, it was nearing 3:00 in the morning when they straggled from the Heathrow terminal. There at the airport, it was daylight, nearly 8:00 am, and the place was already busy with travelers.

Shouldering his bags, Mulder carried them to the nearest bank of seating to set them down. For easy access, he'd packed his leather jacket on top, and drew it out. Damn England was always cold. Then he made his way out to the curb for a taxi. Sure enough, it was cool with the familiar gray sky, kissed with the damp mist of the beautiful country. Though he lived and worked across the expanse of the Atlantic, he felt like he was home again.

He'd chosen not to give any advance notice. His FBI training had taught him it was always better to know a situation as well as possible in order to plan the best strategy for attack.

The cabdriver let him out at the relatively modern apartment building that stood at the edge of the Thames. Once Mulder paid the fare, he approached the front entrance. From the front pocket of his overnight case, he slipped out his card, inserted it in the slot, and the mechanism released in compliance.

On the plane ride, with too much time to think, he'd become a little apprehensive about what he may find. There was no denying Krycek was well trained at self-defense, marksmanship, and special strategic tactics. Furthermore, he was a sharp, fast learner.

The elevator doors slid open to the familiar penthouse apartment. Hefting the bags up again, Mulder silently stepped out. Past the foyer, he surveyed the spacious, hardwood-floored room. He set his luggage down again. A minimal number of the recessed lights burned there in the drawing room. There were no lights on in the kitchen and dining area and it was cool, as though the heating system was turned down.

Still, Mulder maintained stealth when he entered the hall for the bedroom and bath area. The doors stood open, revealing that no one was around. Leaving his bags on the bench at the foot of the bed, he went to the hundred-gallon aquarium in the room. Gently, he tapped on the glass that housed the array of clowns, cichlids, a black-saddled toby puffer, two starfish, and anemone. "Hey," he whispered. "Where's your daddy?"

With the heat turned up, Mulder slept another two-and-a-half hours on the luxurious, king-sized bed to the comfortable, familiar hum of an aquarium filter. On waking, he showered, shaved, and dressed.

Through the expansive windows overlooking the Thames, he saw the sun had broken through the haze. Still, he knew better than to expect balmy temperatures. Having come completely prepared for the climate, he slipped a thin sweater over a clean t-shirt to wear with his jeans. Damn, he was hungry. He went to scavenge something from the kitchen.

Down in the garage, he recognized the Honda Shadow VT100 and the Porsche Boxster. The Skyline was missing. Out of the way of any traffic, he crouched before the vehicles, admiring them while he rifled through the pocket of his overnight case again. Systematically, he tried out his assortment of remote keys until the alarm in the Boxster chirped and the parking lights flashed. He had brought the one for the VT100 in the event he had no choice but to drive it.

Leaving the top up on the slick two-seater, Mulder slipped behind the steering wheel of the white Porsche. It was always a welcome culture shock, transitioning between his mundane but practical Taurus and the exhilarating collection of thrill rides that awaited him in England. Six manual gears instead of four automatic ones. The engine leapt to life with considerably more throat than that of his placid Ford. He clicked on the stereo, once out of the parking garage and combed through their favorite preset stations of alternative rock, rock, and classical music.

The skies remained clear all the way to Amesbury with the sunlight enhancing the lush countryside of England in the spring. It was a beautiful country. It hadn't been easy to leave after graduating from Oxford. He remembered making plans to move back, after retirement.

It was nearing 2:00 pm when he reached the front gate of the French Chateau-style estate. With the gate card always on board, again, Mulder didn't have to announce his arrival.

Coasting through the archway between the main house and what once used to be a carriage house and the servants' quarters when the house was built, he parked in front of the garages in the meticulously manicured rear garden.

With his leather jacket over his arm, he left his bags in the trunk. The house keys were already in his jeans' pocket. On his way to the nearest door, he saw Finnegan rush out. He'd started out as one of the photography models and was therefore young and basically cute with a slender build and dark, curly hair. In addition to the modeling, he'd somehow been selected to receive a steady, generous salary when he was hired on as a personal assistant. Though not required to wear a suit, he treaded the border between semi-dress, semi-casual, flattering attire. "Mr. Mulder!" he greeted excitedly. "What you doin' 'bout? I din' even know ya--"

Quickly raising a finger to his mouth, Mulder cut the assistant off. It was a good thing he'd learned how to understand estuary English a long time back or he would have had a lot more trouble translating the assistant's thick accent. Obviously, he'd not had the benefit of public schooling. "I'm here as a surprise."

Lowering his volume, Finnegan nodded. "I see. That's a bit a problem. Mr. Somerton's got comp'ny, ya see?"

"Yeah, I know." Eyeing the house, Mulder continued to the side rear entrance which led to the rear hall by the kitchen and utility rooms. "I was informed in a round about way. Everything's okay, isn't it?"

"You're expecting it wouldn' be?" Finnegan followed after Mulder.

"I didn't say that. I'm asking."

"Far as I know.' Cept I haven't seen much of him to hardly ask. He seems right distracted with his comp'ny so he said it was all ri' if I cleared out for th' day."

Halting, he turned back to Finnegan. "How did he say it?"

"You know how he is when he's working."

"Working?" Mulder asked.

"Well, I'm not sure he'd call it work, but he's paintin' again, at any rate."

Mulder smirked. "Is he in the studio?"

"That 'e is. Seems right pleased with his model, too."

This time Mulder couldn't help but chuckle.

The anteroom doors to the studio were shut. With the utmost care, Mulder opened one. Because the art studio was at the far end, he had an entire room to cross, attempting to avoid detection with every step. That kept him toward the left-hand wall on entering, and necessarily from catching a glimpse into the studio. He left his jacket on a sofa chair.

Beneath the slow, sexy strains of alto sax coming from the CD player, he didn't hear anything, at first. Though Finnegan had stated without doubt they were in the studio, maybe he was wrong. Then Krycek spoke.

"Mind if I get another refill?"

"Help yourself."

Mulder shut his eyes. Krycek sounded mildly testy, but that was the nature of the beast. Perry was his usual, cool, affable self. For the most part, Mulder had tried never to imagine what would happen should the two ever meet. But, now he'd been forced to.

As much credit as Mulder was ready to give his husband, he still had to wonder what he'd done to pull the feat off. And why the two seemed to be getting along, according to Finnegan's testimony. While Perry wouldn't lose his cool, even if taken hostage, that didn't explain why Krycek would model or why he seemed so calm--relatively speaking.

To be absolutely certain of the situation, Mulder turned to the door frame into the turret and peeked in. From where he stood, he could only see the artist's station. Even from behind, he still knew his husband intimately--but nearly choked at the sight of his cropped hair.

When he'd started wearing it cut to the nape of his neck, that had been bad enough. This, however, was way beyond that. There wasn't a semblance of a curl left--just a hint of wave. Worse, Mulder knew exactly what that meant, though he was always astonished to learn all over again how much he meant to Perry and how dependent he really was on Mulder, underneath.

Not that he sounded it. In the next moment, he got off his stool to approach his subject, stepping out of sight. "That's all wrong, you daft git. Turn your head this way. I'd be more than happy to paint a portrait of your profile next, but I've already started the--"

"What next? No one said anything about a next. You think I'd put up with this shit all over again?"

"Don't do your nut over it. Just sit--just like that. You're lovely, you know that?"

"And you call me a daft git," Alex muttered.

"Fox doesn't tell you how lovely you are?"

"Not if he doesn't want me to drop him on his ass. We're queer," Alex snapped. "Not a couple of girls."

It seemed Finnegan's assessment hadn't been quite accurate; the Krycek/Elden-Beck encounter wasn't transpiring that harmoniously, after all.

"That's rather sad, innit?"

"What?"

"That you don't let him say it."

"He wouldn't anyway. At least not like that."

"Ah, but he would--"

Alex sounded pained. "Don't even start packing your bags for that trip. It's none of your goddamn--Look, would you just get back to your stool so we can get this over with? And do something about that damn music. It's sounds like we're in some kind of a burlesque show."

Whereas Perry was amused. "I was thinkin' on hiring the bloke to play for my next show."

"Why?" Alex asked with undisguised horror in his voice.

"The irony of it."

"You want to use this music with *those* photos," Alex said incredulously.

Perry returned to his stool, evidently making no attempt to interrupt the sorrowful sax. "Give it a chance. You never know. It might grow on you."

All right, Mulder was a psychologist; he was supposed to know how to handle difficult situations. Yet his training and years of experience escaped him. That was part of the enigma of psychology, though. An innate catch-22. A psychologist could never completely extract himself from his own stressors and therefore, could never give them a thorough, objective analysis. It was time to make his presence known. He fell back on the defense mechanism he usually did--humor. Stepping into the turret, he scoffed aloud. "You might as well give up; Alex plays three bands in heavy rotation--The Smiths, REM..."

Both of them started.

They couldn't have been more shocked than Mulder, though. His train of thought evaded him; his entire focus narrowed down on Alex's nudity.

Nearly falling off the model's stool, Krycek forewent his pose to seize the seat, single-handedly, and face the intruder. "Mulder! What the fuck are you doing here?"

"What am I...?" Mulder trailed again. "What are you doing here? And what the fuck are you doing?" Espying a robe next to a bottle of Stolichnaya and a long shot glass on the table close by, he seized up the cover and threw it on Alex's lap. "Are you fucking insane? Put something on!"

"Am *I* insane?" Krycek echoed, equally agitated. "He's the one you should be asking." He pointed behind Mulder, at Perry. "Or maybe I should be the one asking you, if all the crap he's been telling me is true."

"If that's what you think, then why are you naked?" Without awaiting an answer, Mulder went straight to the nearly full long shot of vodka and promptly downed it. The vile, emetic taste nearly made him throw it right back up, as it usually did. Gag reflex triggered, his instantaneous coughing was assuaged by a reassuring pat and rub on the back.

"I'd think," Perry remarked, "after six years, you would have learned how to take vodka with your bloke."

"Hey, what are you doing?" Krycek demanded, awkwardly pulling on the robe. "I can take care of--Is any of what he told me true?"

In answer, Mulder reached to pour himself another glass of vodka.

"Why don't you get him a glass of water, instead?" Perry suggested, taking the empty glass and handing it off to Krycek.

"I don't need any water," Mulder coughed. "I'm fine. Why are you doing a nude painting of Alex Krycek? And you." He looked to Krycek. "Why are you posing for it?"

Returning to his stool, Perry coolly observed, "You've been runnin' about with a steady mistress behind my back the past six years, and you've got the bollocks to come in demanding answers from me?"

"If I'd known about any of this in the first place," Alex countered, "I guarantee I wouldn't have to be posing in the buff now. He said you've had palimony documents drawn up with him. Is that true?"

"Whatever Perry told you, it's true," Mulder confirmed, considering taking a drink straight from the bottle.

Before he could, Krycek snatched it from him and poured himself another drink. "I don't believe this," he marveled. "How could you essentially be 'married' without my knowledge? Without *any*one's knowledge?"

"I'm gonna get a drink," Mulder said, rubbing his face. "I'd rather it was something a little more palatable than your rotgut."

Supplied with a bottle of Scotch whiskey, cola, and a bucket of ice by Svetlana, Mulder sat down on the sectional sofa in the entertainment area to wait for Krycek to dress.

"What's he need to get dressed for?" Perry wanted to know, forsaking his tea for a glass of whiskey on the rocks.

"I think you've ogled him more than enough," Mulder replied, seated at the edge of the sofa cushion with his glass.

"What're you on about?" Perry lowered himself to the sofa as well, watching after Krycek until the bathroom door shut. "You've done much more than that."

As usual, Perry seemed more amused than anything else, although Mulder sensed some underlying import in his husband's tone.

With Alex out of earshot, Mulder went on, sotto voce. "You're right. I've been unfaithful and I didn't let you know about it. I can't deny it was wrong. It started out completely extemporaneous and went on that way for some time. I'd never know if I'd ever see him again. I didn't see any reason to tell you. By the time he started coming around more often and staying longer, I couldn't figure out how to explain the situation."

"This is right queer for you. You've never messed about. I dunno quite what to make of it."

After a drink, Mulder placed the cold glass to his cheek. "It doesn't look like you had any problem getting him undressed so you could check him out."

"Oh, I had a lot of problem with that." Perry took a generous swallow from his own glass. "I haven't been able to suss him all that well. He's obviously got years of practice of hiding his true self. Frohike informed me he worked for the Consortium. If you were finally going to go out and get a lover, where'd you get the daft idea to sleep with the enemy?"

Mulder's gaze drifted from his husband to the bathroom door and back. "It's not that simple," he murmured.

Perry pursed his lips and watched his husband fidget. "Bloody hell, Fox, you went and fell in love with him," he accused.

"What? Now who's being daft?" Mulder asked.

"You can pretend all you like, but I've known you for too many years not to see it. Don't do me or you the disservice of lyin' 'bout it now," Perry snapped.

"Oh, no you don't," Mulder said, catching Krycek's movement out of the corner of his eye when he slipped quietly from the bathroom, dressed. "You don't get to make a mess out of my life again and just slink away."

"Fuck off," Krycek stated. "I'm not the one hiding a secret family from the rest of the world. Poor Mulder, all alone--Bullshit. You're *not* going to pin this one on me."

Mulder dove over the back of the sofa and drove Krycek into the wall. Grabbing his lover by the lapels of his battered leather jacket, Mulder slammed him repeatedly into the armoire, heedless of Perry shouting at him to stop.

Perry seized Mulder by the wrist and tried to pull him away. Ripping free, Mulder struck Alex's mouth. Having had enough, Perry stepped between Mulder and Alex, put his hands on his husband's chest, and pushed him away. "Chill off," he ordered.

Mulder took a menacing step forward.

"Now!" Perry roared.

"We're not done," Mulder said, starting for the double doors, glaring after Krycek.

When Mulder was out of sight, Perry turned back to Alex, incredulous. "You just let him beat you."

"None of your business," Alex said, wiping at the blood from his lower lip.

"Come, let's get you cleaned up." Perry steered Krycek back to the bathroom.

Mulder stood naked at the edge of the lap pool. On entering the pool room, that stood separate from the house, he'd made sure to lower all the open blinds. In front of the 3600 gallon aquarium that stretched twenty feet across where it was built into the wall, he'd stripped. Taking a deep breath, he dove into the warm, spring water. Coming up for a quick breath of air, he began stroking toward the other end.

Eventually, someone else entered the room. On glancing over, he wasn't surprised to see Perry. In soft, draping, shirred-yoke shirts and sport pants of silk, rayon, or other fine fabrics, he always made a beautiful picture, every time Mulder got the chance to see him again. Actually, the clothes off a street person couldn't do Perry's looks any harm. His light-colored, loose-fitting shirt over soft jeans looked great; however, the allure of his appearance stopped there.

Taking his time, Mulder pushed off the end and swam another lap before he finally stopped at the edge, back in the deep end. He saw Perry patiently kicking back on one of the lounges amidst the lush indoor plants.

Wiping the water from his face, Mulder rubbed his eyes. He wasn't used to swimming without goggles, and had had to take out his contacts in the bathroom to make use of the pool. He shook his head. "I don't like it."

"That I'm painting your bloke? That he's cooperating?"

"The beard and the haircut. Go back inside and shave. And I don't want a pair of scissors or clippers near your hair for the next eighteen months."

"You don't like it?" Perry stroked his beard.

"You knew damn well I wouldn't and that's why you grew it. I've put up with your short hair for too long--I'm sure as hell not gonna put up with a beard. If you get another haircut before the next eighteen months -- and don't wait till I show up, because I intend to have full discretion -- I'll take it as an act of unequivocal indifference."

The ingenuous smile that lit his husband's face was enough to suspend Mulder's agitation. For a moment, at least. One of the first traits he'd been charmed by in Perry was his ability to find pleasure so readily and in the simplest things. All he'd wanted was assurance that Mulder still cared.

Sliding forward on the lounge, Perry leaned forward, encircling his raised knees with his arms. "I'll have it off, then. After you explain why you attacked Alex. You admitted as much he's your mistress. I'm right confused."

"You should be." Reminded of the present circumstances, Mulder's bristled again. "The whole damn thing is confusing." Upon reaching the Roman design tiled steps, he debated whether or not to get out. "What happened? Did he leave?"

"I hope not. He wanted to, but I talked him into stopping a bit longer."

"That's what you think. Chances are he left."

Before Mulder could make up his mind, Perry approached the poolside. "By the way you two interact with each other, I don't see how you could possibly be lovers."

"I don't profess to understand it, either," Mulder admitted.

Perry laughed in disbelief. "You're the bloody psychologist around here."

"I don't know how it happened. Especially because I knew what kind of a backstabbing, underhanded, morally deficient son-of-a-bitch he was." At last, Mulder chose to mount the steps.

Readily, Perry picked up the waiting towel to receive Mulder in. "There you go, luv." Leaving him huddling on the lounge, Perry disappeared through the doorway to the back rooms between a pair of columns. He returned with another dry towel, then took a seat beside Mulder, once he'd been bundled in the second layer of plush terrycloth.

"As barmy as it sounds," Perry ventured, "I think some of that mysterious unscrupulousness makes the bloke rather alluring."

Mulder regarded his husband. "You-you do?"

"Well, yeah. In spite of myself, I like him."

"Like him?" Mulder's surprise gave way to shock.

Perry leaned over and kissed his husband on the forehead. "Don't think too hard, Fox, you might break something," he said cheekily.

Mulder laughed as he cuddled against Perry's side. Resting his head on Perry's shoulder, Mulder drifted off to sleep.

Perry stood in front of a vanity mirror over a sink area that surrounded him within three walls, and applied a thick layer of shaving cream with his finger tips. Bringing the razor to his jaw, he stopped just before making the first swipe. "Fox said you wouldn't still be here," he said, noting Alex's reflection as it appeared next to his own.

Alex strolled into the large, luxurious bathroom and took the razor from Perry's long fingers. A Jacuzzi-sized bathtub was nestled into a small turret surrounded with window panes that matched the other turrets. Expensive tiles dressed the rounded tub as well as the rest of the room; they were colorful blues and aquas against white, vividly carrying the oceanic theme. That included an expansive shower with two separate rainshower-style heads, full body spray fixtures, and handheld attachments of gleaming gold hardware, enclosed in clear glass.

Struggling to hold his tongue, Alex hooked the toe of his boot around the leg of a bench and tugged it from the wall into the middle of the floor. He looked pointedly at the seat.

Amused, Perry sat and tilted his head back until it rested against Alex. He grinned up at his husband's lover.

Jeezus. Did he have to have such an amazingly charming smile? Alex held Perry's head steady with his prosthetic hand and made slow, precise strokes until the left side of his face was smooth. Shifting stance and grip, Alex started on the right side.

"Do you do this for Fox?" Perry asked.

"Mulder and I aren't about hearts and flowers. You have this romantic notion about us that has no basis in reality. You witnessed that earlier this afternoon."

"How long have you loved him?" Perry asked.

"Love--I just got done telling you. We fuck. We don't sit and drink coffee over the morning paper, walk in the park holding hands..."

"But, you wish you did. He loves you, Alex. You're a perceptive fellow; why can't you see it?"

"He told you...? He said he...?"

"He's stubborn as you. He wouldn't so far as admit it, but I could see it in his eyes," Perry said sadly.

Still wrapped in a robe from the pool house, Mulder dropped his traveling clothes in the basket in the laundry room and made his way back up to the studio. He expected to see that Perry had coaxed Alex back on the stool, but found the room vacant. He'd made a point of not looking at the canvas before, but now he was being pulled toward it. He needed to know what Perry found in Krycek's soul that warranted an oil painting. Perry had stopped painting all together when they parted; now not only was he painting, but he was painting Alex 'Fucking' Krycek. Not that he could really blame his husband, Alex was beautiful. Sitting on Perry's stool, he stared into his lover's eyes, which stared back from the canvas.

At the far edge of the drape that hung as a room divider, Mulder watched as his husband fucked his lover with a slow, lazy rhythm. The sight of them together was arresting. Not just because he never expected to witness them like this, it was also everything else about them. Instead of angry, he felt alone. He knew from the way that Perry had captured Alex's soul, that the portrait was more than an artistic exercise.

"Fox," Perry panted lightly, beckoning Mulder toward the bed. His imploring gaze and clean shave drew Mulder forward, overriding his desire to run.

Cautiously, Mulder approached the bed and lit on the edge. There, he rested his hand on Alex's shoulder and felt the tension there. "Look at me," he whispered.

Alex kept his head down so Mulder couldn't see his face.

Mulder moved his hand to his lover's jaw and turned his head toward him. The pain in the jade eyes said more than words for the reason Alex refused to look at him. "Perry, you need to fuck him harder."

"What? Why?" Perry asked.

"Keeps his mind off how bad it hurts," Mulder said quietly, his gaze drifting back to Alex's stump.

Obligingly, Perry slid a hand beneath Krycek to bring his hips up and accelerated the pace a few degrees, in new desire.

The act made Mulder catch his breath. He had to look away. How much was the desire? The painting gave him reason to wonder. He knew his husband had never forsaken him for anyone else. It could have happened so easily in their forced estrangement. Perry was goddamn beautiful--not just physically but in personality, as well. He'd come across a lot of people--male and female--who would gladly have taken him, given him a new life so he could have left the conspiracy crap Mulder had to deal with, behind. And those were just the ones Mulder knew about.

The fact that Perry hadn't just accepted Krycek but welcomed him was astonishing. As much time as they spent apart, they were bound to have met others--not necessarily with intention. However, Perry's jealousy had long deterred Mulder from at the very least pursuing sex partners. And that, even though he knew the relationship Perry held with some of his models wasn't strictly work-related. The jealousy he turned on Mulder wasn't blind, either, but keen and refined. Which was one of the many reasons he kept his affair with Krycek covert. Fortunately, Alex had built-in expertise at that game.

Alex's repressed moan of pleasure yanked Mulder from his thoughts. God, he was enjoying it. Well, of course he was enjoying it. He'd have to be quadriplegic not to. How the hell had Perry coaxed Krycek into--? No. Unbelievably dumb question.

Pausing, Perry reached to Mulder and touched his cheek, prompting him closer. Realizing what Perry wanted gave Mulder a shudder of arousal and adrenalin. It was made imminently clear with his husband's sensuous kiss.

Try as the Consortium had to keep them apart, there was nothing they'd ever been able to do that could obliterate the feel of his husband's touch or kiss. Just as he was melting into the sensation, he remembered Krycek was present. Not for a second did Mulder think he was meant to forget his lover; yet sex like this--well, it had been broached before, and hadn't come easy.

In the next moment, Perry was tugging at the belt of the robe to loosen it while the kiss impassioned.

Beneath them, Krycek's quiet vociferation interrupted and Perry's attention instantly stole back to him.

Just because Mulder knew what was expected of him didn't simplify matters. However, watching his husband and lover coupling was inexplicably, incredibly stimulating. Drawing Alex up on his knees, Perry drove deeper in, driving harder and faster. At the same time, he seized Alex's genitals for some skillful handling, stroking in like rhythm.

That did it; Krycek was soon panting and gasping in familiar, lusty desperation. On his elbow, he raised his head, still avoiding Mulder.

Too aroused to hold back, Mulder turned to them and ran a hand over the toned muscle in Krycek's side, to his hip. Never would Mulder have guessed that the sight of Perry ramming into Alex would give him such a rush and one on multiple levels at that. The thought of the intimacy he'd shared with both of them and the realization that their curiosity was now being satisfied over what Mulder experienced with his respective lovers covered several levels. Watching them, he knew the extent of the pleasure they were both enjoying. Alex's grip and the stroke of his contours within and those of the tantalizing contours of his body, without. Knew precisely what met Perry's touch when he cradled that body against his, handled and embraced the shapely pecs and flat but comfortable belly. Knew the mind-numbing rapture it was to be rocked in those strong, wiry arms, pounded by those tight, rock-hard, narrow hips, and penetrated by his husband.

On the oversized bed, there was plenty of room for him to lie next to them for an excellent vantage point. And found himself becoming appreciative of the circumstances, as a voyeur. In no time, Alex forgot all about his effort to avert his gaze. The passion derived of his absolute ecstasy coupled with the anxious frown he adopted in his drive toward release overtook his pretty features.

Seeing Krycek reach orgasm in a spectacular way -- his thick, handsome piece violently contracting in Perry's long fingered grasp, shots of white cream dripping onto the towel beneath them--left Mulder overheated in the loose robe. Also satisfied, Perry eventually released Alex and backed to his heels, where he paused, still panting.

Recovering, Krycek sunk to his belly on the bed, eyes shut, equally out of breath. Beyond him, Mulder saw his husband carefully easing off a condom. Smart move, but it wasn't a sight Mulder was remotely used to watching Perry perform. Still semi-aroused, the tip of his shiny glans was exposed, its shape evident through his foreskin. God, that only spiked Mulder's arousal.

Setting a long, slender leg off the bed, Perry got up. The blue topaz eyes raked Mulder. "I'll be back for you."

All right. There was no denying it. Mulder was a sucker for Perry. He watched his husband skirt the drape to the entry hall of the master bedroom.

"I don't know if I should be jealous," Mulder half bantered, turning onto his side to resume taking enjoyable inventory of Krycek's body, "and if I am, who to be jealous of."

"You're not mad? A while ago you were ready to empty your clip into me."

"Did you do this just to provoke me? If I hadn't happened to wander in here, I wouldn't even have known about it."

Turning his head to Mulder at last, Krycek returned the scrutiny. His gaze lingered on Mulder's lap which had been partially exposed by his erection. "Obviously it wasn't about provoking you. I did it because Somerton's been coming onto me since right after we met. And he's so damn attractive, I couldn't say no any more."

A more distinct tug of jealousy coiled briefly around his heart, then receded. If either of them were going to be cheat on him, it made the most sense that they did it with each other. Unless they abandoned him.

Sliding close, Alex allayed that worry by placing his leg possessively over Mulder's and closing the gap between them. His voice dropped to that sultry octave and he breathlessly murmured, "The things you do to me, babe...I was so fucking furious when I found out you'd had someone all along behind my back, I wanted to kill him...Only you could have found a lover like him, though...Only you..."